Again

The first thing Noah noticed when he got home was the table—completely empty. Pristine. Like it had been cleansed of sin. It was so shocking, he almost tripped over the bags by the door—except, of course, they were neatly arranged to avoid being tripped over. Two suitcases, three bags. He nudged one gently with his foot, just to confirm it was real. Then looked up at Aidan and Ewan on the couch. Neither of them looked especially awake. At least Aidan was pretending to work. The cat didn’t bother. “You’re home,” Noah said. “For long?” “Flight’s at two a.m. Ryan’s picking up me and Kiran. The models are flying in from LA.” “How long will you be gone?” “Three days, total. I’m trying to write something for my agent—concept notes. Want to look?” “Sure.” Noah sat beside him, took the laptop, and deposited the cat back onto Aidan’s lap. “What’s the shoot about, exactly?” “Well…Visually, we’re leaning into unconventional perspectives.Emotionally — melancholy over joy. Monochrome desert, overwhelming scale, eternity of stone, all that existential fun. Plus the usual tension between power and fragility, humans vs. nature, timelessness. That kind of thing.” “Sounds promising,” Noah said, scrolling. At first glance, the draft looked like a mess—concepts flung across the page in no discernible order. But as he read more closely, it became clear that each section covered something specific: setting, ideas, imagery. “Foregrounding the contrast between organic matter—reproductive, ephemeral on a cosmic scale, a.k.a. the human body—versus static, rigid, dead stone and the eroded remnants of mountains now present as sand…” “I see where you’re going with this—full marks for melancholy—but this sentence is… kind of unreadable.” Aidan gave him a pleading look. “Will you fix it?” “I’ll try. Let me get through the rest first… okay, here’s the monochrome section—much clearer. Shorter sentences help. Oh wow, here we go.” He cleared his throat. “The penis’s apparent vulnerability is undermined by its relentless insistence on presenting itself in full, unapologetic glory—defiant in the face of the elements, the chill of pre-dawn, and the weight of its own oversized head, which threatens to unbalance the man entirely.” He glanced over. “You’re definitely not obsessed or anything.” “That was not meant to be read aloud,” Aidan muttered. “You can tell—the font’s smaller. But I will admit, I’d love to head into this trip carrying warm memories of… proportional beauty.” “I wouldn’t mind putting my hands on something that proportionally perfect right about now, too” Noah murmured, setting the laptop on the floor with mild hesitation. He reached out and gently touched Aidan’s cheek, like he was half-expecting his husband to either vanish into thin air or whirl around and bite off a finger or two. Neither of those things happened. A smile didn’t appear either. But Aidan did shove the cat off his lap, pushed Noah onto his back, and immediately got to work on his belt. “I missed you,” Noah whispered, expecting a kiss But instead, a hoodie flopped in his face as Aidan reached past him toward the couch armrest. “I was only gone for a day. Where the hell did the lube go? Itwashere. Like, I saw it. Did it fall into the couch? Are you lying on it?” “No? I think I’d notice. Check the other side.” Noah had already wriggled out of his pants and tossed them onto the nearest chair to avoid them becoming a fur magnet. Meanwhile, Aidan was elbow-deep in the sofa cushions like a man on a mission. “Oh! Got it. Didn’t even have to cross the Mojave. Okay. Where were we?” And then right into: “Is there a reason we’re not kissing?” “Huh?” He was already focused on the task at hand: applying lube with an intensity that suggested the fate of the planet might depend on evenly distributed glide. “Oh—no! No objections. Zero reasons. Just—hang on.” And soon enough, Aidan was hovering over him—studying his face with the kind of focused intensity that made Noah feel like a hallucination being double-checked. Like Aidan wasn’t entirely convinced he was real. Then, finally, he leaned in—slow, deliberate—still moving his thumb in steady, satisfied strokes over the part of Noah that never failed to please him. And then Noah moved. Not much—just enough. Hips shifting in rhythm, one hand curling around Aidan’s wrist, the other brushing along his side, inviting, grounding. It was all working—beautifully, actually—until their teeth clacked together in an awkward little collision. Something that hadn’t happened since…well, never. And then Aidan, utterly unprompted and completely off-topic, let out a despairing groan and muttered— “Oh for fuck’s sake, Ewan!” The cat didn’t respond. He just shifted slightly, nestling deeper into Aidan’s back with the kind of balance that suggested he’d trained for this. Despite the movement. Despite the chaos. Despite the wildly unstable terrain. He stayed put. “Bailey,” Aidan hissed. “What is he doing?” “Squinting. He looks smug.” “That little bastard. We raised a sociopath. He has no idea what’s acceptable behavior in a functioning society.” “He’s just cold.” “Don’t defend him! Easy for you to say—he’s not digging his claws intoyourspine every time you move! And stop petting him! Ugh—can you even imagine how much fur is on your hand right now? Use your left, at least!” “I love you both so much,” Noah sighed. “But, Mewan, you really do have to move.” …Nothing happened. “He doesn’t know you’re serious. Use your top voice!” “I don’t have a top voice.” “Your dom voice then?” Noah turned to him, absolutely deadpan. “Do you know who you’re talking to right now? Have you mistaken me for some other Noah James Bailey who has a dom voice just lying around?” “You already touched him. Now you have to be the one to kick him off.” “You planned this. You made sure it’d be me, so he’d remember who betrayed him.” “I am—literally—holding your balls right now. Just do it.” Noah groaned in defeat. “Mewan, buddy, I’m sorry. But he’s right.” And with a gentle push, he nudged the cat off. Ewan slid to the floor in silent outrage, shook his head like he couldn’t believe what just happened, and stalked off toward another room—deeply offended and probably already plotting a cold-blooded revenge nap. Which finally—finally—meant they could get back to what they were doing. In that final moment—vision blurring, hearing fuzzing—Noah heard Aidan’s hot breath at his ear: “I want a threesome.” And somehow, that single whisper shaved off the last few milliseconds between almost and absolutely. Five minutes later, still tangled together in the aftermath, Noah hadn’t said a word. He just lay there, arms tight around Aidan. Aidan shifted slightly. “So?” No response. “So?” he repeated, nudging. “So… what?” Aidan turned his head. “Dude. Seriously? You were literally like, ‘Oh my god, yes, mmm,’ and I was like, ‘I want a threesome.’ Ring any bells?” “I thought you were just… saying it.” “Why would I just say that?” “I don’t know! Like—added intensity? Spice for the moment?” “Bailey! Come on.” Aidan gave him a look. The kind of look that said, I am not joking, and I am also freshly lube-slicked and morally unassailable. Noah blinked. “So… you want… uh…” “Why do you look like I just asked you to move to Kenosha?” “There are scarier things than Kenosha.” “Milwaukee?” “Aidan.” “Oh wow, now that was a top voice.” He grinned. “Anyway. We’ll talk when I get back.” “But—” “Think about it.” “I—” “Do some research.” “Aidan—” “Just don’t answer in the heat of the moment. That’s all I’m saying.” He kissed Noah on the forehead, got up, and padded toward the shower. “Now you fix my draft, I’ll register us all for the flight.”

***

There was sand. Everywhere. The most forgiving place it managed to lodge itself was in his boots. Everything else? Just layers of irritation and regret that evaporated the second Aidan started working. Once the camera was in his hands, he could drop onto any surface, contort into any position, balance on a patch of rock barely wider than a shoelace, and forget entirely about heat, discomfort, or basic self-preservation. Like right now—sprawled in the Mojave Desert under the full wrath of the noon sun, only vaguely aware that his back was probably frying like an egg on a skillet. The sand had officially gotten too hot to shoot barefoot. Which meant the models were now wandering around in… fucking Crocs. A sight that would probably fill some head of the modeling union with pride and safety-related satisfaction—but for anyone with even the mildest aesthetic sensibility, it was a crime against art. Aidan was flat on his back, sprawled between the model’s legs—not exactly glamorous, but at least there was some temporary shade. “Turn your torso to the right. No—the other right. A little more. Few more degrees. Don’t move your hips.” “How well do you know human anatomy, exactly?” came the voice from above. “It doesn’t twist that far. There’s a spine in the way. Or something.” Excuses,” Aidan muttered with a grin. “Okay—got it. Beautiful profile.” “Thanks.” “Don’t talk.” “I won’t,” said the model in a creepy little ventriloquist voice, which for some reason made Aidan laugh—actually laugh. Just like that, the tension from earlier—those first frustrating minutes when the freshly-oiled models had seemed stiff, confused, occasionally even argumentative—completely dissolved. Turned out, once you explained things like this photographer was a stranger with made-up terminology they’d never heard before, things went a lot smoother. One model still struggled a little with his expression—something about his face wasn’t quite lived-in enough. But Aidan figured out the trick: just ask a question like, “Does the Sun orbit the Earth, or the Earth the Sun?” and you’d instantly get a look of deep, pensive melancholy. He did try to sneak a glance at the sky, possibly hoping for a cosmic hint, but Aidan told him to cut it out—and the pondering resumed without the weird eye movement. By three o’clock, to everyone’s great relief, the pace had slowed. The team relocated to the rocks, and anyone not currently needed was allowed to rest in the trailer—though not before a gently stern reminder to avoid any creases on their backs, and especiall ynot on their faces. The models, all glazed over and nodding, stumbled through the door and immediately collapsed onto the bed. Most of them were asleep in seconds. Only one remained on duty—Sebastian, as he called himself—unlucky enough to still be working, though at least now they were shooting inside a cave. Aidan silently congratulated himself on finding the location. It was perfect. Roughly the size of a truck—just enough space to avoid any claustrophobia, but still small enough to evoke the sense of someone needing to break free. And the best part? A jagged hole in the ceiling that let in a slanted beam of sunlight, hitting almost dead center like it had been designed for drama. They crawled into the space, leaving Kiran outside to sweet-talk the occasional hiker into not coming in just yet. Aidan fiddled with the settings on his primary camera. Sebastian—without being told—walked straight into the light. Like it was his spotlight. Aidan looked up. And everything stopped. Time. Breath. Heartbeat. Because there it was—perfection. In the frame. In that body. In this moment. It was so stunning, it hurt. So stunning, his instincts failed him. He didn’t want to breathe, move, exhale—didn’t want to interrupt whatever divine alignment had brought this into being. And then, panic—the fear that if he hesitated even a second longer, he’d miss the best shot of his life. He pressed his eye to the lens and hissed through his teeth, barely louder than a prayer: “Don’t move. If you so much as twitch a finger, I swear I’ll kill you.” The cave was silent, save for the quiet click of the shutter and the shuffle of rock underfoot as Aidan moved slowly forward, one step at a time, until he was close enough to reach out. He dropped to his knees. Tilted the lens upward. Didn’t shoot— just watched through the viewfinder as Sebastian’s face blurred, then sharpened back into focus. His left hand had twitched away at first, but now it crept upward—slow and tentative—until his fingertips grazed the model’s thigh and came to rest. Against a perfectly smooth ass. He lowered the camera. Didn’t move his hand. The model’s cock gave a sharp twitch—like it was locking onto a target. Aidan swallowed. A hand settled lightly on the back of his head. The moment stretched. He thought the beam of sunlight had even shifted. He didn’t care what was happening outside this cave—out there was lava, dust, uncertainty. In here? There was silence. Stillness. A devastating kind of beauty. And it held. And held. Until Sebastian asked, impatiently: “So are you gonna suck it or not?” And just like that, everything snapped back into place. Aidan blinked as the roar returned to his ears and the moment collapsed into exactly what it always was. “Are you?” “I mean, I could.” Sebastian shrugged. “But I can’t. Someone opened his mouth too soon.” Aidan stood, brushed the dust from his knees, and scrolled through the last few shots. He smiled. “Worth it. I can die happy.”

***

“Hey, humans—and Ewan—I’m home!” Aidan dropped the first two suitcases by the door. “Almost. Still gotta grab the rest.” “I thought we agreed not to let Ewan know he’s not human,” Noah muttered, too late to cover the cat’s ears before kissing his husband hello. “He’ll survive. Pretty sure he figured it out when he didn’t develop opposable thumbs or learn how to open bottles. Unlike you, Bailey, who has that important evolutionary edge. So how about uncorking whatever’s chilled?” “Happy to.” “God, I missed you. And I love that you’re starting this reunion with affirmatives.” Aidan winked before disappearing back out the door. By the time he returned—carrying a much more fragile haul and pausing to wash his hands (shower delayed until further notice)—two glasses and an open bottle were already waiting. “How’d it go?” Noah asked. “I think…” Aidan took a sip of wine and flashed him a blinding smile, “I’m pretty sure this is the best work I’ve ever done. I sorted some of it out on the flight, so I can actually show you.” “Yes! Please!” Noah followed him closely—suspiciously closely—as Aidan headed for his backpack to grab his laptop and return to the couch. The brief pause while the computer woke up was efficiently filled with another, longer kiss. As Aidan turned to open the right folder, arms wrapped around him from behind—slipping boldly under his T-shirt—followed by a chin resting on his shoulder. “Just a warning—you’re not allowed to call me a genius after the first photo. You have to wait till I finish editing the full series.” “Can’t promise that. I mean…” Noah trailed off with a stunned exhale as the first image appeared. His hands, which had been enthusiastically enjoying the return of his husband, suddenly stilled. “You… this…” “Okay, okay, I’ll admit—I got lucky with the location, the light, the model. Just the right combination of things. But I’m the one who got it.” “Wait—is this all natural light? No filters?” “Yup.” Aidan sighed happily. “No filters. If that cave had been a little bigger, or the skylight a little smaller—it wouldn’t have worked. Not like this.” “Not bad,” Noah said, quietly awed. “Here—let me show you a couple more. Sand and cliffs. The rest you’ll get later.” He clicked to the next image. “You do realize this actually, no-joke, might be your best series ever?” “I’m starting to get that, yeah. Who’s gonna tell me now that my art history degree is useless in the real world?” Aidan grinned, eyes flicking back to the screen. This is shaping up to be a photo series so striking, not a single dickhead will be able to resist declaring it an ‘obvious modern classic’—which is already an oxymoron—raving about bold but reimagined biblical motifs and late Renaissance saints like they’ve just been personally touched by divine light. So… does this make you my forever fan?” “Yes.” “You know I’m not gonna sleep, right? I’m gonna sit with this all night.” “Yeah. I figured.” “You’ll support me through everything, though?” “Always.” “So… when are we having a threesome?” “Oh my god. Are we still on this?” “We haven’t even started!” Noah stared at him, completely blindsided. “I just—what even happened? Everything was fine.” There was a faint crack in his voice, a flicker of real confusion. “Nothing un-fine is happening, Bailey! You’re acting like I just handed you a surprise gang bang as a birthday present. I’m only talking about a threesome. That’s like…” he gestured vaguely upward, “the vanilla fantasy equivalent of lying on pink clouds and whispering sweet nothings.” “You and I clearly have very different definitions of vanilla.” Noah drained his glass and immediately poured another. “Or maybe your whole idea of it is just… off. That ever occur to you? Getting all your intel from porn again?” “And where do you get yours?” “Want me to tell you? I don’t mind. Been there. Survived it. Got a T-shirt… ruined.” “I just don’t want to.” “Okay.” “…Wait, that’s it? We’re done discussing this?” “Yeah.” “…Aren’t you hungry?” “Not right now. I’m long gone from Arizona, and yet somehow I’m still full of fucking sand.” Aidan sighed. “Here—feel.” He grabbed Noah’s hand and shoved it down the front of his pants without ceremony. “…Yeah. I feel… something.” “I’m getting in the shower. But if you have any other questions, comments, or just wanna stare at greatness—door’s open.” Apparently, Noah did have one of those urges, because Aidan didn’t spend a full minute in the shower alone. “Great. Keep me entertained then. No? Then I will.” He exhaled and said, almost calmly: “I might have cancer.” “What? What?!” Aidan pulled off his shirt and raised his right arm. “See this thing?” “I see it.” “How long’s it been there?” “Uhhh… since spring? April, maybe?” “And I wasn’t supposed to know about it?” “I thought you saw it.” “Turns out, I didn’t. Found out at the exam.” “Aid—” Noah stepped toward him, but Aidan stopped him with a look. “Not a great feeling, just so you know. And I was kinda hoping for your support here.” “Shit—of course! Maybe we don’t wait for insurance? Let’s get you in tomorrow.” “A couple days won’t make a difference. I’d rather save the money for a trip. You know when I last had a real vacation?” “Last year?” “Sure. But I was working the whole time.” “I can’t really take time off right now—the school year’s just started and we’re seriously short on subs.” “Well… think about it. I was thinking Europe. Haven’t been in five years.” “I don’t know if—” “I just don’t want to keep putting things off.” “I get that.” “Doesn’t feel like you do.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “I think you know.” “Nooooo… you are not playing the last wish card right now.” “Sad that you think that low of me. And, for the record, my idea was for both of us. Not just me.” “Hm. Debatable.” “You’re being very inconsiderate toward a dying man’s wishes.” “I’m still hoping that man isn’t you.” “That’s sweet.” “So. Are you eating?” “Yeah.” “Should I order something?” “Nah, I’ll eat whatever’s here. See? I never ask for the impossible.” “Uh-huh.” “Ten days from now.” “What?” Noah asked cautiously. “Vacation.”