In the Labyrinth
C
November 11
"It's wilting a bit," Raul said, pointing to the middle orchid.
"So it is," replied Jerry.
No one else was in the room. Jerry wasn't humming. It was seven in the morning. A Saturday.
"That's Rey's, right. Mean anything?"
"Everything means something." Jerry flashed that smile, that infuriating smile. It ended arguments; it made Raul get up at this obscene hour.
"You won't tell me."
"I've already told you," chuckled Jerry, wagging a finger. "We build each other up."
Raul shook his head, unable to stop from smiling. The professor was a caricature of himself. But that was fine. Raul walked up to him where he sat at the desk, magical diagrams strewn about before him. With his right hand on his own orchid and his left on Jerry's chest, Raul bent forward.
"Sure we can build somethin up, Jerry."
Jerry just kept smiling, the gentle, knowing grin splitting his clean-shaved face. He was still smiling after Raul kissed him, unmoved, eyes twinkling. Raul's hand moved, and the top two buttons of Jerry's purple striped shirt came undone.
"Feel like talkin?"
"Hmm," said Jerry. He winked. "I feel like the answer might just be on the tip of my tongue."
Raul grunted, stepped back, and dropped his pants, the cool air of the unheated room bracing on the swollen nub of his dick. Jerry's expression didn't change. There wasn't a hint of surprise in his face. There never had been, and Raul treasured that. There was, of course, the sly smile, curling at the corners.
"My. We sure built something."
Jerry wasn't like this with the others. The teasing, the flirting. With the group, he was friendly but serious. When they were alone, he was out of control, silly despite himself. It was only when they were both spent, holding hands, staring down at the waking city through the window, that Jerry could answer.
"Rey's depressed, Raul."
"What do we do?"
Jerry didn't answer, his grip on Raul's hand tightening as he watched the people go by below. He wasn't smiling.