Talker's Graduation

good with clay. If this is
    the only way you‟ll listen, then listen. You and me will never
    happen. But this is the boy you keep talking trash about, and you
    need to know why I can‟t let it stand.”
    Mark moved slowly, stiffly, through Talker‟s field of vision, like
    Brian had really hurt him when he‟d been thrown up against the
    empty pottery rack. He moved to where Brian was standing and
    Talker heard the softly indrawn breath that indicated true shock and
    praise.
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    “That‟s beautiful,” he said quietly, and Talker let out a breath
    he hadn‟t known he‟d been holding. “That‟s him?”
    “The fact that you have to ask means you haven‟t been
    looking,” Brian replied. His hand stretched out to the thing they
    were both looking at, and Tate recognized that angle of his fingers,
    the softness of his jaw—it was an expression, a touch, that Brian
    had only ever aimed at Tate.
    “Okay, Brian,” Mark said, his shoulders slumping. “I can‟t say
    I‟m not disappointed—I think we would have made a real good
    team here. But you‟re… you‟re brilliant. I‟ve loved art all my life; I‟d
    be a real asshole if I took away your big break. Just… you know. If
    this,” he gestured toward the hidden object, “isn‟t who your boy
    really is, you know. Remember there‟s this old guy with a lot of
    money who would love to take you in.”
    Brian‟s look eased up a little. “Don‟t need money,” he said,
    covering up the thing they‟d been looking at. “Lived without money
    my whole life. I need Talker, though. Didn‟t really live until he saw
    me.”
    Talker‟s heart stopped. He held his hand up to his mouth and
    blinked hard, wishing he had a hole he could cry in or a church that
    would take him in or a holy place he could give offerings to—oh,
    Brian.
    You’ve been trying to make me believe this for three years,
    haven’t you?
    Talker hadn‟t believed. He thought he had. He‟d let Brian
    touch him in their bed, stood up for him when he couldn‟t stand for
    himself, come to trust that Brian would always be there for Tate if
    he could ever possibly could….
    But he‟d always suspected a grain of pity there. That maybe
    Brian was settling. He‟d confessed it shyly to Doc Sutherland, his
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    shrink and his friend, in one of their one-on-one sessions, when
    Brian had been at class. Doc Sutherland had told him that he‟d
    never seen anyone more in love with someone than Brian was with
    Talker, but Tate… he‟d held on to that disbelief. His entire life, he‟d
    had to settle for hand-me-down clothes, pro-bono medical work,
    leftover love. He didn‟t trust that someone as beautiful, as true as
    Brian could serve up the real thing and not lord it over someone like
    Talker. But not Brian—Brian worshipped Talker because he thought
    what Talker had to give back was worth it.
    The man who had nearly decked his meal ticket hadn‟t done
    that because he was settling. The man who had said he hadn‟t
    lived until Talker had seen him—that hadn‟t been settling.
    Suddenly all of Tate‟s fears about not being worthy, about
    being a fuckup who couldn‟t graduate—they were all secondary. He
    opened the door again and closed it harder, so the bell would ring,
    and watched as Brian looked through the lit entryway and smiled.
    Tate met him as he walked forward in greeting, taking Brian‟s
    face in his hands—the scarred and the sound—and pulling him into
    his deepest, wettest, best kiss.
    Brian pulled back and blushed and smiled. “What was that
    for?”
    “For loving me,” Talker said. God. Brian really did.
    “Always,” Brian murmured, and they kissed again in Brian‟s
    holy place, and it was close enough to marriage vows for Tate to
    always believe.

    TALKER kissed him as they were getting dressed in their trunks.
    “What was that for?”
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    “For loving me.”
    “Always.”
    Talker smiled a little. The words had become their affirmation
    of sorts, just like an art gallery had become their holy place.
    “Hey,” Brian told him, “I’m going to go feed the guys, okay?
    You go ahead and catch the first few waves—I’ll be a minute. They
    looked like they needed some love.”
    Talker nodded and let Brian go take care of the four alpacas
    and three Merino sheep that they kept on the little spot of land next
    to their cottage. Sunshine the rat had died while