Made in Heaven

@2003

Editor Don Kennedy

The chapter's titles are influenced by Robbie William's "Feel"

"Dead men naked they shall be one

With the man in the wind and the west moon;

When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,

They shall have stars at elbow and foot;

Though they go mad they shall be sane,

Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;

Though lovers be lost love shall not;

And death shall have no dominion."

-- Dylan Thomas

He couldn't believe his eyes. Maxim's cigarette smoke got in the way so much he had to take it from the corner of his mouth and watch. Both blonde guys were having a quarrel he couldn't understand because the disco music was too loud. He leaned over his piano he was sitting at and tried to read lips. In vain.

The pair had stopped dancing and were now being pushed by several bodies, getting an elbow into the back or a jab in the ribs.

The taller one - Christian he knew - held his partner by the leather belt, preventing him from running away. Also in vain, because he freed himself and went quickly toward the exit. Maxim stared at Christian standing lost amid the crowded dance floor. Flickering light bathed his body in red colours, then abruptly in blue, until Maxim couldn't see his contours anymore. Christian's blond, soft hair was glowing violet. Slowly he put his hands into the pockets of his jeans and seemed to watch the swirling feet of the other dancers. Or the dust they were whirling around. Or he sniffed the air, a scent of fresh sweat mixed with Nivea-hairgel; Cool Water with the background smell of alcohol. Perhaps he saw nothing and just pondered the event. He was alone for the first time in this night club. Alone and lonely.

Maxim couldn't take his eyes off him. He looked like a beautiful animal, caught in a cage while life was happening outside.

He had always fancied him; his long legs, the short blond hair curling at the tips, unruly to cut, always in danger of flipping out against its master's will. The ice grey eyes, clear as a diamond, radiating in the light. Well, as far as Maxim could make out in the always dim light of the club.

For a whole year Maxim had watched both, across the space that covered his work as piano player in this bar called Made in Heaven for a more mature audience. The pair always had only had eyes for each other and Maxim had never seen one of them go off with another.

"Ouch," he cursed suppressed. The cigarette had burnt his fingers. He dropped it to the ground. Christian was still standing motionless, being pushed by dancers. Finally he moved his feet that dragged him to the bar. He sank upon a stool and put his face into his palms. A golden band shimmered around his left ring finger.

"Cola-Rum?" Dario, the barkeeper, opened a bottle of Coke. Flashlights mirrored in the countless bottles behind him, and reflected themselves in the glass wall behind them. He pushed the drink over. The glass slid on a surface of wetness and stopped at Christian's elbow but he didn't seem to notice.

"Trouble?" Dario's teeth flashed in the black light and Maxim got a glimpse of Christian's white top beneath his shirt. Dario leaned over. "My bed's empty tonight." He winked and Christian smiled weakly, but not too interested. At least to Maxim it seemed so. He stood undecided next to his piano. Go before Dario could pick him up .... that's a chance you'll never get twice. He brought his feet into movement and suddenly found himself standing next to Christian. His 'walking dream' as he called him in his mind, stupidly romantic though it might be.

One year of watching the pair had made him very fond of both. Well, fond of one of them to be honest, but he couldn't explain why exactly. Perhaps it was the aura both were giving, an aura of everlasting love that was made in heaven. Jesus, what crap he was thinking.

Maxim watched Christian's long nose that formed a perfect antique profile, with high shaped cheek bones and small ears. "Hi," he managed to say and received a spiteful look from Dario.

Christian gave him a side glance. "Hi," he mumbled and reached for his glass. He drank and wiped his mouth.

"Aren't you the piano player?" Christian asked tiredly. "Why don't you play a sentimental piece now and leave me alone?" His voice was all Maxim had imagined. One year of watching didn't mean that he had ever exchanged a word with Christian. Just an occasional smile and nod of recognition.

Dario grinned wickedly. "Yeah, why don't you return to your job?"

Christian gave him an odd look, then turned to Maxim and screwed up his eyes.

"You've been here as long as I can remember. But I don't recall having talked to you before, right?

Maxim shook his head, a strand of his fine dark hair fell over his right brow.

"Why has he left?"

"Who?"

"Him."

Christian stared into Maxim's dark eyes. Almond eyes, exotic and slanted, like the ones of those coconut beauties, as Christian called those half naked chicks the straights were so keen on. He sighed. "We had a quarrel, that's all. He's gone home I suppose."

"Better you follow him," Maxim said without thinking, biting his lips afterwards.

But Christian shook his head. "I'm tired of giving in. This time it's his turn."

"Giving in? I never thought you could ever have trouble with each other."

Christian almost laughed. "You snooped around." He lifted himself from his stool, took his drink and went slowly with Maxim to the side where his white piano stood. They were pushed by dancers' swirling bodies and squeezed themselves through sitting groups of red and blue plush, around tables with smooching pairs and through thick cigarette smoke.

Christian touched the surface of the piano. "Do you love playing?" he asked.

"Sure. I love music. I have a Russian soul."

Christian looked surprised. "Russian soul?"

"My family came from the Volga two years ago."

"Ah, Volga-Germans."

"Do you mind?"

"Of course not." Christian stared at him. Maxim spoke perfect German though with a touch of a hard accent. All of his lovers had found it very attractive.

"That's where you got your eyes from?"

Maxim smiled. "We don't have Tartars in the family if that's what you mean. My mother looks just the same."

"I can imagine." Christian relaxed visibly. "Now, play it, Sam ... 'A kiss is just a kiss' ... or how does the song go?"

Maxim looked irritated, then his face lit up. "Casablanca. One of my favourites." He sat upon the piano stool. "I have to wait until the break of the disco music." Christian popped his elbows upon the piano, his hands turned the glass between his palms. "Have you really watched us? Or why do you think we've never been able to have a quarrel?"

"Well . . . ." Maxim's eyes flickered away into nothing. He saw their bodies tightly pressed together, moving to the slow music, heads upon each others shoulders, kissing each other. It has always been the same, each weekend, and some weekdays too.

"Do you never go to other places? Why always here?" he asked instead of giving an answer.

"We like the music, that's all. My ears are too old for all that mindless techno- and hip-hop-crap."

Maxim nodded. He didn't mind techno-music once in a while, nor was he too old for it. Christian's comment made him sound ancient. He was older than Maxim, surely, but it could be just a few years.

"And what now?" he asked. "Shouldn't you follow your boyfriend? What's his name?"

Christian's eyes narrowed. "Maxim? That's yours right? I'm Christian."

"I know." Maxim said quietly. This odd conversation doesn't seem to answer questions and he wouldnít ask again. Christian's eyes were big, clear diamonds in the stroboscope light. Being so close to him, Maxim found Christian's body had an overwhelming aura of domination and suddenly Maxim wasn't sure he liked it. Although he longed to touch him. Running his fingers up and down the exposed underarm skin, scratching softly with his fingernails until Christian would get goose bumps. Christian looked him straight in the eyes. A cool, emotionless expression. Subconsciously Maxim bent back his body to escape Christian's influence. Then his look fell on the golden ring on Christian's finger.

"Are you both married? Or just engaged?" This question had come out of his mind before he could stop it. "I mean, it is allowed to marry now, isn't it?"

"Right." Christian's face had become sinister and he emptied his glass. A sweet smell came from his lips; sugar and a faint scent of alcohol.

"What right? Are you married?"

"No." Christian stood upright and turned his back to Maxim. But he didn't go away. "Listen, I don't want to talk about it, ok?" he said indifferently. A slow song sounded, Elton John, Christian recognised.

"Do me a favour and dance with me," he mumbled, his back still turned. Maxim didn't react. He didn't like it when somebody talked to him not facing him.

"Why should I. I'm not a compensation for your boyfriend."

Christian swirled around, his eyes glistening dangerously. But he stretched out his hand. "Please."

Christian sounded self-assured, as if he would not accept a 'no'. Never, ever.

As if he was pulled on a string, Maxim rose and took his hand. Perhaps he was guided by fate he thought afterwards. But this had to be heaven. No, a dream. His 'walking dream' was dancing with him; his body pressed against his own, the buckle of his belt poking his belly, the long legs entwined with his own. He smelled his hair, a baby scent from freshly washed hair. Arms embracing him, but not touching. Oddly, Maxim though. Surely Christian was touching him, but he didn't feel it. Not exactly. He was too high on emotions to feel anything. Afterwards he would curse himself for not being able to remember this feeling, the long muscles under the thin shirt, the movement of his hips, being in harmony with his own, the mouth so close, the breath - a steady rhythm to his chest. Maxim thought he couldn't breathe at all.

Maxim's eyes met Dario behind the desk, pretending disinterest. But he knew that the barman was watching them both. He knew that Dario was hot for Christian, he had overheard some dirty talk he had had with the second barman.

Christian was silent. He didn't speak a word until the song was over and he let Maxim free. "I should go now."

Maxim was disappointed. He almost tumbled from Christians embrace and had difficulty focusing his eyes on him. Then he was relieved. Better not to get too involved into something he couldn't handle. A quarrel wasn't reason enough to take advantage. Or was this being stupid?

He watched Christian walking away. He didn't look back.

* * * * * *

At half past four in the morning Maxim was home again. Greeted by the meowing of Coco - his white tomcat who scampered towards him and rubbed up against his legs. Maxim picked him up and stroked the soft fur. Coco's name was actually Coconut from his stark white coat and he had been owned by Maxim's last lover, but he couldn't take Coco with him when he started his new job in another country. He said he would return, but he never did. There were letters and phone calls but they gradually subsided until they had stopped completely. And Maxim had started to fill his empty nights with bar music.

Maxim turned on the light in the kitchen, illuminating a table under the window, light grey furniture which was scrupulously cleaned. He liked to return to a clean house and always tried to be as tidy as possible. His look fell upon a white puddle on the floor in which a box of milk swam. The cat struggled in his arms, jumped down and started to lap up the white fluid.

"Hey, Coco, what a mess you've made." Maxim said half-laughing. Coco looked at him with heaven blue eyes and he couldn't be angry with him. He wiped up the puddle, took the cat, sat with him on a chair and leaned back. Despite the late hour he wasn't tired. Friday night and he was alone again, he thought, if he didn't count the brief encounter with Christian. "What do you think about this, hmm?" he said to the white cat. Coco purred and closed his eyes to slits.

"It's been so long." Coco surely couldn't know if he meant his empty bed or empty heart.

Maxim - despite his reluctance - had never missed an occasion to spend the night with a man he was interested in, but there has never been a man among them who could hold his interest. He was too picky, as Nadine, his friend, always told him. Surely she was right, but he couldn't help it. Over the past year he had developed a crush on the tall blond man named Christian - but perhaps basically because he was unreachable for Maxim. And to be honest ñ Maxim adored the stable relationship.

Coco meowed and yawned. "Right, sweetie. It's late." And tomorrow he had late shift at the bookshop he was actually working at.

The bathroom was a dream in black with a large mirror wallpaper at the door. Maxim stripped down and glanced at his body. Dark skin all over because he loved to sit naked on the small balcony of his separate attic flat. Maxim was long legged himself, and he was proud that his skin was smooth and he didn't have to shave his body hair - doubtless he would do so if he had hair. He hated those thick mats of hairs on legs, arms and chest and got sick when he saw hairy shoulders or backs - or even worse - hairy butt cheeks. There was a guy he'd fled once from his bed when he had seen him naked. Oh well .... Maxim grinned now and knew there were plenty of lovers of hairy bodies, he just didn't belong to them.

His hand brushed his cock between his legs and it stirred. So he gave it a second stroke and enjoyed the tingling. He turned on the water, took the hose and guided the water stream over his abdomen which forced his member to rise.

Maxim dreamed about Christian's lips which had been so close to his own, dreamed about being undressed in the darkness of an empty dance floor, imagined his tongue between his arse cheeks and came with a gasp. When he opened his eyes again, he found Coco sitting at the tub's feet, looking knowingly up. Maxim giggled and sprayed the cat a little. Coco jumped protesting aside and waited for him in his bed.

Maxim stretched out beside him, and pulled him to his naked skin. In his dreams Elton John sang to his dancing body held tight by two strong arms, but the face belonged to a stranger.

* * * * * *

Philipp sniffed at the open bottle and its sharp smell stung his nose. It got directly into his brain or better, directly between his legs. Martin curled up his lips while watching him and pulled Philipp's body over his own. He raised his legs, embraced Philipp's backside and drew him closer to the entrance of his body. Philipp was so horny that he pushed carelessly in, pulled back, pushed in again until Martin moaned with pain. But neither cared. Martin's cock was hard as steel, harder than it had ever been and so was Philipp's. Losing all senses and inhibitions their cries were loud and their movements frantic. But as fast as the erotic frenzy had come - it had gone and left them both lying in sweat, sleeping.

When Philipp opened his eyes hours later, both glued together, he peered at the night stand with the bottle of poppers still open. His heartbeat was a little irregular and he felt dizzy in the head. But it had been worth all the time. He shook Martin who opened his eyes and moaned. His cock hurt and his anus hurt as well when he sat upright, looking into Philipp's eyes. They were reddened and his hair was all mussy, but he looked so lovely. Not speaking he let his eyes wander around Philipp's face and thought that his own brother had been lucky.

"What will you tell Christian where you've been the whole night?"

Philipp shrugged. "The same as before. Hanging around with a friend. Or in a pub."

Martin's grey eyes looked doubtful. "You know he never believed your excuses."

Philipp turned his back to Martin and swung his legs out of the bed.

"At least I'm free for a few hours," he mumbled.

Martin slid closer and embraced him from behind. "Free from what?"

"From his fits of jealousy for instance."

"Well, he has good reason."

Philipp freed himself and stood up. His naked toes touched used condoms. "Why do I have the feeling you regret the nights with me?" he asked angrily.

"And why do you choose Christian's twin brother to fuck with when you can have the original?" Martin snapped back.

They stared at each other for a moment before Philipp started to grin. "Your hair's cinnamon, you know."

Martin raised his eyebrows. "True. And I'm not jealous." He lifted himself from the dishevelled bed and went into the kitchen. He got out the coffee and started the machine.

"He never had any reason to be jealous." Philipp had followed him into the kitchen. "Not until now."

"Well, it hasn't been our first night together, you know."

"Yeah, sure. But it's pissing me off."

Martin turned. "What pisses you off? Me or his behaviour?"

Philipp didn't answer. He left the kitchen and vanished into the bathroom.

Martin sighed and sat at the bar that separated the kitchen from the living room. He had loved the American kitchen as soon as he saw it, that was one of the reasons he had rented this house. Even if it wasn't in Berlin, but on the outskirts that actually belonged to a little village. His house was surrounded by other newly built houses for Berlin citizens tired of living in the bustling town. He watched family fathers driving to work in the early mornings and come home late in the evenings. An idyll of family life with kids playing in the gardens, and where everybody knew what's for dinner today.

Actually he hated it and slightly regretted moving here. Especially since he was sort of an exotic exemplar amid the ideal family world. People whispered behind his back, calling him a warm brother and worse, and hid their kids from him. Martin grinned. His light grey eyes sparkled. Actually he loved those games, but sometimes he was tired of them. And he had never thought that homosexuality would cause problems nor any notation in general, so close to the town with Germany's largest gay community. But there probably gathered up here all the homophobic, old fashion, reactionary trash that couldn't find a place in the capital city. He envied his brother Christian who lived amidst the bustling life and didn't have to care for the neighbours. He could afford it.

The door closed and Philipp appeared washed, combed, dressed, and fresh as a summer's breeze. His hair was wet and looked dark red, much darker that it usually appeared in the summer. But this summer had been a pisser so far. Philipp flopped upon the chair next to him and watched him. "And what now?" he asked.

"What about coffee?"

Philipp made a face but laid the table. "It's Saturday I mean."

"And you should spend it with your boyfriend." Martin's voice was acid. Then he pulled himself together. "Hey, I ran out of books. Why don't you come with me to the bookshop?" Martin knew there was one thing he could console Philipp with: books for he was a mad reader.

As he knew it would, Philipp's face started to smile. "You'll pay?"

Martin pulled Philipp on his lap. "You're a tart." He kissed him. "But a lovely one."

* * * * * *

Maxim was woken up by Coco's paws scratching the carpet. "Bloody cat," he mumbled through clenched teeth. He wiped his eyes, then the hair out of his eyes and blinked at the cat now attacking the curtain. Looking at the clock beside his bed he found it was time to get up anyway. "All right, I'm coming," he said tiredly to Coco who rushed to the door he opened.

Ten minutes later he sat on the small balcony overlooking his hunting ground: down the red and brown roof tops, further to the Kurf¸rstendamm and the rail station Zoo and the nearer places of the gay triangle of Berlin. One of the triangle's he corrected himself. For insiders Berlin was one big gay and lesbian theatre. And he was insider enough to know it well. He bit into the warmed buttered roll and leaned back relaxed. Two years ago he hadn't had a single clue of it at all. Now, at twentyfour he was much wiser.

Two years ago he had met Leon, his partner for one year and owner of Coconut who had been his entrance to the gay world he hadn't dared to enter alone. But Leon had given him confidence and it was always easier when you have someone at your side. He was also the one who had provided him the job at the bar Made in Heaven for he adored his piano playing. But Leon had forgotten him for this job as journalist for a German newspaper at Mallorca. Funny, Maxim had studied journalism himself, but just a few semesters when he had first arrived in Berlin. Actually he wanted to earn money, and the course seemed far too long. He wanted to buy all those things he saw in the shop windows, in catalogues.

Arriving here from Russia seemed to be paradise. In this town there was a small grocery shop and sort of a tiny mall with old fashioned stuff. The first thing he bought was underwear. . . before he found the real juicy things. He never went out without his red or black slips from Bruno Banani or even juicier: the strings with the push ups. Maxim grinned. His dark red lips exposed a string of white pearls of teeth. His money went down the drain with all the clothes, the books, the CD's, the videos. Leon had said he had fallen into a buyer's delirious state, a shopaholic. He could talk! Easy to say when the most exciting thing to find was a lace covered bra. That was luxury, but Leon had just laughed. Not that Maxim was in need of a bra for he liked to watch the Drag Queens, but would never have had the idea to slip into women's clothes himself.

Coco was noisily slurping his milk next to him and Maxim smiled. "Do you think Christian will come alone today?" Coco didn't answer.

Prinz Eisenherz was Berlin's biggest bookshop for gay literature and stayed open until late in the evening, especially on Saturdays. Maxim never minded because he loved to be among books and the visitors. He even organised reading sessions with known and unknown authors and loved to talk about their works or God and the world in general.

A short way led him behind rail station Zoo to the big glass front of the bookshop which was already filled up. Surprised but pleased, Maxim raised his dark brows. He nodded to Nadine, sorting out the new catalogues, a young woman, tall, slim and firm as a rubber ball, dressed always in black. The people called them the 'black beauties' and asked jokingly when they would be married - a subject of constant good-humoured laughter. Nadine accompanied him often to bars, looking at all the hot men, in her own words. She was a hobby photographer in her spare time, so it happened that pictures of Maxim hung in her flat, all black and white glossy prints. When he should find it odd - he didn't. Asked about it she answered she didn't know what to do with the ones her age, no matter if girls or boys. And being friends with gays she was sure never to be groped or try to get off with her in any case.

"What's up?" she asked now and suggestively raised a Marlene-Dietrich eyebrow. "Got lucky last night?"

Maxim grinned. "Nosy thing", and shook his head. Nadine pulled a playful face and slapped him on his buttocks. "The new catalogues are here. I'm waiting for the new delivery of the ordered books. Can you do this for me?"

"Sure."

Maxim rushed into the storeroom, looking at the mess in there and sighing started to make room for the new delivery. At the honking of the truck he ran out.

Three hours later he came sweating back into the salesroom, looking around. The coffee machine was besieged by guys, lounging on the sofas, settees and armchairs, leafing through books and magazines. Nadine had vanished into the video-department. She wasn't ashamed to praise in highest tones the hottest porn video and make the guys giggle. Probably she was watching them herself. Maxim shrugged and turned around.

And then he saw them. Christian and his boyfriend. Oddly he had never been able to learn his name, no matter how much he had pricked up his ears. So they had found consolation together and were reunited. Sigh. But then, Maxim had never thought that they would break up at the first quarrel. But hadn't Christian spoken about a not 'giving in' this time and this time it was 'his' turn? Surely he had.

He watched them out of the corner of his eyes, standing together at a bookshelf, leafing through magazines. If he had had Christian as his lover he wouldn't need to leaf through magazines, but this wasn't his problem. Odd, he had thought that Christian's hair was lighter. Now, in daylight, it appeared a cinnamon-colour, a golden-reddish with a touch of hazelnut. He loved it instantly.

He tried to get a better look and suddenly caught Christian's eyes. Diamond-grey, just as he had imagined. At least here he had been right. But Christian's eyes remained empty. He didn't recognise him and looked away. Maxim was disappointed. Perhaps he was looking differently by daylight himself. Not half as good as he imagined to be.

He laughed a grim laugh. Good-bye to his dreams. His boyfriend was taking Christian around his waist and showed him the title of a book. Maxim screwed his eyes and recognised it. At least he had good taste.

Nadine was rushing past him and tapped him on the shoulder. "Fallen in love?"

"Huh?"

"You look like a love-sick tomcat." She snorted and followed his stare. Then she purred like Coco. "All of them are taken."

"If you're looking for a boyfriend you work at the wrong place, hon," Maxim said. Nadine nodded and rushed away.

The books in Christian's arms had piled up and Maxim went slowly over to the cash desk, just in case... and he didn't have to wait long until the pair came to pay. Maxim stared at Christian intensely but again there was no reaction. Just the man at his side seemed to want to flirt with him, in opening wide his blue eyes, and making his eye lashes flutter. It made Maxim smile. While he handed over the heavy bag their fingers brushed against each other and Maxim was electrified. Christian's boyfriend gave him a seductive smile and a wink, unnoticed by Christian. Then they were out and Maxim followed both through the large glass windowpanes.

Then he raised his eyes up to the ceiling and rolled them at himself. What had happened here? Back at Heaven Christian and his boyfriend appeared to be the perfect pair, and by day he changed into a perfect slut? He couldn't figure it out. Why wasn't there just a tiny sparkle of recognition in Christian's eyes? Maxim stared into the room seeing nothing. Not the young guys, nor Tim, his colleague, always being love sick and having trouble. He was sort of a queen, but Maxim really liked him. Tim was always on a needless diet and was nibbling on a carrot even though eating in the sales room was strictly forbidden. He looked in his direction and Maxim smiled at him. Perhaps he should take Tim to his bar tonight. First he had thought that Tim - being at the bookshop for four weeks - was too shy to talk to anybody. But when he shared more time with him, he found that Tim was a very bright man, he knew absolutely everything about books and authors and some private things he wondered where he had the knowledge from.

Tim smiled back: a very infectious smile.

Despite it being a Saturday night - or perhaps because of it - Made in Heaven was empty. Maxim at the piano understood that it wasn't always soft kiss-and-cuddle music that a man needed, but the hard pulsating beat running down from head to toe, directly aimed at heart and cock.

Dario, the barman, seemed asleep behind the bar but Maxim knew very well that he never missed a thing. And like a lion, a slit of yellow eyes shimmered through his lashes.

Maxim hadn't needed much argument to persuade Tim to come with him. It was his fourth week at the bookshop now but he hadn't been able to get friendly with his colleague, Nadine, though he got along well with the other staff. Maxim wondered about the reason.

"What about Sex on the Beach?"

"Huh?" Tim seemed to wake from his reverie. Maxim had stopped playing and was now sitting next to Tim on the red plush-sofa. He saw his brown eyes light up like a flashing light. Tim slid closer. "Have you ever?"

Maxim looked oddly at him. "What?"

Tim rolled his eyes. "Had Sex on the Beach", he said and Maxim laughed amused. "Oh, that's a drink, Tim."

"Oh." Tim's eyes looked disappointed, and Maxim couldn't understand why. He stretched out two fingers to Dario and called, "Two sex".

Both watched Dario mixing Amaretto, peach brandy, vodka with pineapple juice and cranberry syrup, put it into a shaker along with ice cubes and shake it altogether like a professional at a competition. Maxim shook his head. Dario was a hopeless show-off. Now he flashed his grin to Tim while fumbling the shaker over his left ear.

Tim, sitting and staring, was not grinning back. "I don't think I can drink this," he said finally.

"Oh, come on, there's pineapple juice in it," Maxim teased him. His eyes wandered through the sparsely crowded dance floor, waiting for Christian to show up. It was his usual time but neither he nor his boyfriend seemed to be coming. Several pairs were dancing, some of them he knew the names, they were regulars.

Dario shoved the drinks over the bar top and Maxim took them. "Christian won't show up tonight, eh?" Dario leaned over, his blue tank top stretched over his chest.

Maxim said nothing. He took the frosted glasses with the reddish fluid and went back. "Cheers!" he said to Tim and clinked his glass with Tim's.

A half hour and two drinks later Tim started to giggle. Dario had served him a Caipiranha, the drink you need if you want to be up to date and completely cool and hip. Maxim sighed and shook his head, while he played a slow fantasy piece. The heavy rum would finish Tim off Maxim thought and saw him swaying to the rhythm of his playing. It didn't take long and he was asked for a dance by an overweight, elderly man, Roland, one of the regulars, but always going home alone. Maxim knew that the body cult among gays was at its height, it doesn't exclude himself. A diet and some hours in a fitness centre would certainly have helped him.

He saw Tim embracing the man's big waist, Roland closing his eyes, and clutching Tim's little arse with both hands. Tim grinned drunkenly.

Maxim himself felt the effect of the drinks and his piano playing had become pretty poor. But who would notice anyway. He finished the song and drank down his third Sex on the Beach. The Amaretto burnt like a soft glowing fire in his stomach and left a sweet, almond trace upon his lips. He stepped towards Tim and Roland, clapped his hands and wrested Tim's body from Roland's grip. He smiled apologetically and the older man gave up instantly. Tim still grinned an angelic grin.

Certainly it was different to be so close to Tim as to be close to Christian. Tim's slender body felt good though and Maxim relaxed. Tim leaned his head towards Maxim's ear and sighed a tiny bit. Maxim felt it more than he heard it.

"Why don't you have a boyfriend?" he asked.

Tim raised his head from Maxim's shoulder and looked into his face. His vision was a little blurred. "You could be mine," he said and grinned again.

"Ha, now, this would be funny."

"Why funny? Fun indeed." Ah! Tim came out of his shell gradually Maxim thought but didn't take it seriously.

"Have you finished your job here now? Can we go to another place?" Tim asked.

"Why another place? Don't you like it here?"

"Yeah, but. . ." Tim loosed himself from Maxim's arms and made a pirouette which he only just managed to finish completely. "I need to move!"

Maxim gave him a wicked look. "Follow me."

At the crack of dawn both staggered into Maxim's flat. Coco was sleeping, so he didn't notice that both were holding each other around the waist, giggling senselessly and reeling into the bedroom.

Tim stood in front of the bed and stared unfocused at it. "You know . . ." he started and hiccupped. "That's a nice bed of yours." Suddenly he stood stock still and looked at Maxim with a look never seen before.

"You know that I like you," he said. He stepped closer, embraced Maxim and kissed him. His slender fingers removed Maxim’s black, short sleeved shirt and hesitated a brief moment at the belt of his black trousers. Maxim's head swirled and he couldn't stop his actions. He needed to undress anyway if he wanted to sleep, and sleep he needed, certainly.

His trousers were gone, like his socks and shoes. Tim leaned against him and ran his palms over Maxim's skin. Light as butterfly wings, but with a certain firmness that Maxim liked. The hands stopped at the black, tight pants, revealing more than they were covering, slipped his fingers into the waistband and pulled them down to his thighs, Maxim doing the rest by stepping out of them. But Tim didn't look down, nor did he touch him.

"I like you very much." Tim undressed himself now. "Very, very much." He hiccupped again, stumbled over his shoes, still not looking at Maxim. But even Maxim's cocktail befuddled mind realised that Tim was in no need of a diet nor anything. He was perfect, he thought.

"Very, very, very much. . ." The rest of Tim's muttering died in a yawn and he fell upon the bed. Maxim followed him without thinking. Tim cuddled up to his back, embracing him. A stiff cock resting in the cleft of his buttocks and Maxim was sound asleep.

When he awoke, he looked into heaven blue eyes. He needed a moment to realise it was his cat. "Coco, damn. . . don't always look so mysterious and so. . . accusing," he muttered and froze then. A stiff cock poked his butt cheeks from behind and he heard a soft breathing. Abruptly he turned which caused a blacksmith's hammer to start in his brain. Tim was sleeping peacefully on his pillows and covers and looked like an angel. Jesus Christ, how could he let this happen. . . and what had happened indeed?

Tim stirred, opened his eyes and gave Maxim a charming smile. "Your bed is great," he murmured and looked as if he was waiting for a good-morning kiss. But Maxim didn't move. Instead, he scrambled out of the bed and rushed into the bathroom, stumbling over Coco. The cat jumped between the sheets, stretched out in Tim's arms and started to purr. Tim lay there with eyes open. All his happiness fell from him like a slowly drained tub. He had awakened next to the man of his dreams - and he had nothing better to do that to flee him as if the sight was repulsive.

As quick as Tim could, he slipped into his clothes - all strewn on the green carpet - and stepped into the square hall from which all the doors opened. The cat had followed him and meowed loudly.

The door with the sticker showing a naked man under the shower, opened and Maxim stood in the door frame - stark naked. Tim couldn't keep his eyes off of the hairless calves in a rush up to Maxim's dripping hair. The rest of his body he left out - it pained him too much.

"Where are you going? I thought you'd do breakfast?"

Tim stood transfixed and nodded slowly. Maxim smiled at him. "I'm sure you want to have a shower, don't you. I'll fix the breakfast."

Maxim's head still pounded, but he could endure it. Tim though seemed to be in a pretty bad state, judging from his shaded, brown eyes, and the unnatural pink of his cheeks. The alcohol was still coursing in his veins. At least neither of them felt sick.

Both sat on Maxim's small balcony and let the sun burn their skin. It was a sunny day which would end in an endless row of rain and storm. Tim stared over the red and brown roof tops until he found the dark green spot of the large park district of the Tiergarten. Sunbeams glistened on the golden coat of the angel of the victory column. "Are you coming to the CSD?" he asked suddenly.

"Like every year. Of course." Now Maxim made the connection. The route of the annual Gay Pride Parade would lead - as always - through the Tiergarten, following a broad avenue and the final event would take place at the victory angel's feet. A blast of fireworks at midnight, blue laser fingers searching the firmament, drum beats drowning down your throat, thousands of half naked men pressed together, dancing, kissing, making out...

Maxim swallowed. "Every year" had been a little exaggerated. To be honest, it would be his second. Last year he had been there with Leon, but Maxim had never told anybody that he came to Germany and Berlin as a virgin for back there in his native Russian village he had never had the chance to live out his fantasies. Perhaps Tim thought him a complete slut because there had been a time when Maxim indeed had behaved as one. That was after Leon's silent disappearance. And Maxim had to prove to himself that he wasn't a man who was thrown away like a used condom.

"Do you?" he asked.

Tim nodded. "We could go together?" he suggested furtively, not looking at Maxim. Not looking at Maxim's bare chest because he hadn't bothered pulling on a T-shirt. His natural dark skin glistened as if powdered with golden dust when met by the sunlight. He could see the muscles defined, but they emphasised only his slender and firm feature.

He felt Maxim's stare. How could he have made such a fool of himself? That love declaration last night - yes! He remembered everything despite his drunken state - was a slip he regretted. But perhaps Maxim didn't remember at all.

"Sure we can go together, Tim." Maxim leaned forward, brushing his arm. "Why don't you eat? Look, I've grapefruit, that's good for your headache, and tomatoes and cucumber, so there's not an ounce of fat in it." He examined Tim's slender body. "And besides I have no clue why you're always on a diet. You're perfect. Eat something proper."

Coco arrived and jumped upon Tim's lap. Maxim raised his eyebrows in surprise. Coco had always been shy with another man at his home, but he said nothing. Tim's fingers stroked through the white, soft fur and ruffled Coco behind the ears. His eyes had become slits. Then... suddenly.... Tim groped determinedly for his cup of coffee, bit into the toasted and buttered roll and started to chatter as if nothing had happened. Maxim let it silently happen. Perhaps Tim was in need of somebody telling him what to do.

"I've always been there, sometimes even on a truck or dressed up. You know, stockings, high heels, skirt, false lashes and all." He grinned and suddenly Tim had become a complete new man. "But that's drag, you know, and I won't do that again. The whole of the following week I was busy cooling bruises and sore feet. I had been picked up by somebody and had been fucked the whole night..." Tim swallowed the coffee the wrong way and blushed. "I guess I shouldn't tell you this."

But Maxim found it highly amusing. More amusing than the ask-but-get-no-answer-game he played with Christian. For seconds Tim's dark eyes changed into translucent diamonds and his brown hair with the blond strands became completely blond. No, cinnamon. But after a year that was filled with a growing affection towards Christian he couldn't just shift his focus to another man, no matter how likeable he was. He had only a blurred memory of Tim's words before they had fallen into bed together but that was all.

Maxim gave him a sharp look. Tim being always in love, he had now chosen him - Maxim? Perhaps it had always been him and Tim had just left the impression that it was another. It didn't matter though. Maxim couldn't imagine falling in love with a guy like Tim. He was much too immature for his taste. On the other side, waiting for Christian was more than stupid. He hadn't considered seriously the fact that Christian and his boyfriend would break up some day, because it was out of the question. So what was he waiting for actually?

"Are you going alone or will Nadine be with you?" Tim asked.

"She wants to go with me." Maxim saw disappointment and added "But I can link her up with others." He smiled now and leaned forward. Something in Tim's behaviour touched a very hidden place within him. His hair brushed Tim's when he put a very light and furtively kiss upon Tim's lips. "You were waiting for a good-morning-kiss."

For a short while Tim was frozen in his movements, then he whispered with raised eyebrow "That's a good-morning-kiss?" He closed his eyes -- deep pools of mystifying brown -- and pressed his slightly parted lips upon Maxim's, hesitated a moment before his soft tongue started to explore and Maxim let out a surprised moan, pulling Tim over the table.

His elbow brushed the butter box, Tim's coffee cup fell to the ground, but neither notice. The kiss lasted a long time and left them out of breath, then they started a heavy giggling.

Maxim's head was reeling. Now, what was that? Immature, eh? He noticed his straining erection and peeped at Tim's groin.

"I'm not that easy to get when I'm sober," Tim said as an answer to his unasked question. He grinned mischievously.

"No?" Maxim played his game. "Let's see...." He was about to touch Tim but Tim got up from his chair. Still half laughing he said "You heard me." And, suddenly sobered up, "don't destroy the feeling." He looked down. "The magic of this morning." He put his hands in his jeans and looked over the roofs of Berlin. Maxim blinked and couldn't follow his mood changing. But he felt that Tim was right.

His voice was fragile when Tim asked "Do you like me?"

"Of course I do," Maxim answered without thinking. Tim looked over his shoulder. "Nothing more?"

"Not for now."

It was quiet for a long time. A motorbike rattled along and kids on roller blades. Birds twittered in the chestnut trees lining the street.

"I should go now."

Maxim stood up. "Why?"

Tim turned, not looking at him. "I really should."

"Well, we could spend Sunday together." Maxim noticed how weak his voice sounded. Tim's questioning eyes forced him to say, "I'd really like you to be around."

Tim was still looking. His hair was uncombed and Maxim would have liked to run his fingers through it. But his cheeks were pale now. Like his lips.

"Are you in love with somebody else?"

Maxim sighed. "No... I..."

"Sure you are. I feel it."

But Maxim didn't know if he was still in love with Christian. He was so far away and Tim was here. But Tim's erection had gone like his own, and the fun drunken night was now only a memory.

"Why don't you have a boyfriend?" Tim asked quietly.

"I'm too picky -- they say."

"Ah! Always looking for a hot body?" Tim sneered.

"Well, both. Body and brain."

"And I have neither of these..."

Maxim rushed to him and touched him on the shoulder. "That's rubbish and you know it. You remember me as I was when I came from my Russian village. I felt at times like I was in a Zoo. The party was in there but I was just watching. I didn't belong to them. I was afraid." He stopped.

Tim examined him carefully and very interested. He pressed Maxim's hand. "Nobody knew about you?" he asked and Maxim shook his head. When had he ever talked about his past? Leon never wanted to know.

"But you! Grown up in Berlin you must have had thousands of opportunities to pick up men, haven't you."

Tim grinned. "Millions." When Tim grinned he didn't look like the quiet and troubled man he seemed to be. Rather Maxim could understand why Tim was constantly in love and perhaps many men in love with Tim. But his grin died. "You haven't answered my question. Are you in love with somebody else?"

"I think yes." How stupid his words sounded. Either he was in love and knew it, or he wasn't in love. What was there between? Maxim ruffled his hair. "I don't know, goodness! It's a hopeless case, you know."

"I'm an expert in hopeless cases."

Maxim looked at Tim and started to laugh. Tim joined him, came up to him and embraced him. "What a pair we are. Hopelessly in love." He hesitated. "Just not with each other."

Maxim lifted his head from Tim's neck. "No? I thought you were in love with me."

"I said I like you. Nothing more." Maxim looked into his eyes. Black met brown with an amber touch around the pupils and lashes long enough to reach from Berlin to Paris. Actually it was impossible not to fall for those eyes. If there weren't this diamond light ones. Pure crystal diamonds that had pierced his heart. This and the antique nose and the blond hair and the body to die for.

And where was Christian's brain then? Maxim asked himself, remembering Tim's question. What have you ever talked to Christian about anything other than stupid questions without getting answers. Perhaps Christian had the IQ of a salami. He hadn't even noticed that his lover had flirted with Maxim at Prinz Eisenherz . Christian must be daft. Or he hid it well.

He hesitated, needed a moment, until he noticed Tim was stroking his hair, brushing his ears and planted a kiss upon his lips. "I'll go now." He released Maxim and turned at the balcony door. "Thanks for the breakfast. See you tomorrow." He winked and was gone.

Chapter 2: Come and hold my hand

Christian passed the death's sector to his right side, riding on his motorbike. It was still a meadow, the last watch tower that once guarded the borderline between two German countries, torn down long ago. Detached houses came closer. Why Martin had rented his house exactly here? Amidst the philistine? He hated it and Philipp would hate it too. Philipp. . . .

He had said he needed to visit his parents. Probably he told them about his newest conquest of a girlfriend, because he wasn't out to them yet. Christian grinned grimly behind the plastic pane of his helmet. His rebellious Philipp! The constant child in the body of a man; always looking for fun - and probably the next man he was all to willing to spread his ass cheeks for, was afraid of telling his parents the truth about his feelings. Well, Christian had never met them - naturally. But from what he had heard he knew that Philipp's parents would never accept it. He just wasn't sure why it was so important to Philipp what his parents thought. He lived his own life.

Christian's hands now gripped the handles of his motorbike so strongly that his knuckles became white. His father had never accepted it either. But he didn't accuse him, they just never talked about it. And his mother. . . his mother never had a chance to learn about their boys.

The landscape became rural. Light alternated with shade from the trees lining up the road he was driving, until it changed into a country road and the first houses started. Neatly trimmed gardens, white curtains behind clean windows. Mowed lawn, rose bushes and marguerites, some garden-gnomes draped around a pond, silvery Audi's and Mercedes cars in open garages to show off with.

He throttled back the tempo and turned right where his motorbike came to a halt in front of a white washed house with a steep, green roof and little balconies at all windows of the second floor. Christian knew a large terrace was behind the house, overlooking the garden. The hedges were still low and Martin must feel like being on show.

He took off his black helmet and ran his fingers through his hair. The sun was warm, the first real summer's day of the year and this in the middle of June. He sweated in his black motorbike gear and swung the leather jacket over his shoulder.

He rang in front of the iron gate and had to wait a long time before Martin - out of breath - came to open the gate. Christian watched his brother coming from behind the house, a tall, broad-shouldered man in light blue jeans, barefoot and naked upper body. His cinnamon hair hung into his eyes and he seemed to be sweaty. It was odd to look into his own spitting image but after twenty eight years he was used to it.

Martin looked mildly surprised but smiled. He opened the gate widely and hugged his brother briefly. It was good to feel his body, the smooth hairless skin - very much like his own. Short flashes of shared jacking off sessions in the bathroom raced through his mind; or the clumsy fumbling under a shared shower. But after both had found out they were more interested in boys than in girls, they had stopped touching each other as if there had been an invisible wall between them.

Concerning the lovers, they had the same taste but had never shared their partners - at least not that Christian knew about. Their relationship was somewhat strange. Not as identical twins are supposed to be: identical in clothes, identical in mind. It simply was not.

Martin took Christian's jacket and Christian rolled his motorbike into the garden.

"Surprise, surprise," Martin said, his voice tensed. "What a seldom guest"

"You know that I don't fancy this surrounding." He looked at the single houses around. Behind hedges he saw sunshades and swing seats. Fathers pumping up air mattresses and round plastic pools for the kids. The sharp scent of roasted meat hung in the air.

"I didn't know you're a philistine deep inside."

Martin didn't answer. He went ahead around the house and Christian saw a new little Butterfly tattoo on his left shoulder blade. Surprised he lifted his brows. Philipp had a rose on the same spot. Then his look fell on a table, chairs, two glasses of wine, and a half full ash tray.

"You had a guest?" he asked.

"Oh... yes." Martin scratched his forehead. "This morning. An editor from the publisher." He pointed to a heap of manuscripts upon the table top. Christian read "Made in Heaven." "A manuscript in German? I thought you'd translate English ones."

Martin sorted the chairs and wiped over the table. "Well, Claudia has asked me to read. Could be interesting, you know. Gay stuff."

Christian examined his brother sharply. "Odd he used the same name of the night club."

"Night club? Ah yes, the one you and Philipp use to go to." He didn't look Christian in the eyes. "Care for a drink? Wine?"

Christian nodded and peered at the manuscript again. Under the title there wasn't a name. Most odd. He thought that for an author, the most important thing was to read his name under the title of a novel.

Martin returned with two fresh glasses and an open bottle of red wine. Christian read the label and clicked his tongue. "Just the best for your guest, right?" It was more a statement than a question. He sat at the table and pushed the manuscripts aside. "Who's the author? Do you know him or her?

"His name is Tim. He showed up at the office with his manuscript and didn't give up until Claudia promised to read it, although it would be better placed at a publisher for gay books. Perhaps I can do something for him."

"Cute?"

"How should I know; haven't met him yet."

Christian fingered the paper sheets. Smooth surface with neatly typed letters. He thought about Philipp who was a fervent reader and always had to finish the last pages of a very exciting book before he could do something with him.

His head turned because he thought he heard the garden door closing. But Martin didn't react. He poured the wine and lifted his glass. "Now what's the reason for your visit?"

Christian clicked his glass with his brother's. "Nothing especial actually. Philipp's with his parents."

"So, you're bored?"

"Sort of. Philipp wants to attend the Gay Pride next Saturday. Are you coming too?"

Martin pondered the answer. "Don't think so. I'm not keen on parading through the town as a tourist's attraction."

"Tourist's attraction?" Christian echoed. "I don't think you should see it this way."

"Whatever. That's for the young chicks showing off their big cocks." At the same time he thought that Philipp had gone on at him how fantastic it would be and if he didn't want to go, it would be Christian then.

He watched his brother over the rim of his glass. How did he feel, looking at his twin, speaking about his lover when they were lying in bed together just ten minutes ago? The closing of the garden door had told him that Philipp had gone. He hoped he hadn't left any trace of his presence in the house. Martin felt nothing actually. No guilt.

"He still isn't out to his parents? What will happen when they see him on TV?"

"Don't think they will watch the broadcast." Christian sighed. "No, he isn't out. I thought with twenty- three years he should be adult enough."

"Philipp adult?" Martin laughed.

"Perhaps you'll meet somebody at the parade," Christian said.

"Not interested. Nor in need of it." Martin's thoughts went other ways. The day when they had sat at the dinner table at home, holding hands secretly and told their father that he shouldn't speculate about any grand children ever. The father had pretended he had never heard. He had a deaf ear to this issue.

"You think mother would mind?" Christian asked, interrupting Martin's thoughts. Martin wasn't surprised that Christian had read his mind.

"Perhaps it would have been another reason for her to try to commit suicide," he said dryly and Christian cringed.

"Yeah," he managed to say and poured the rest of the glasses content. "How long is it?"

"Yesterday was the day of her death. Twenty years ago."

Christian closed his eyes. An anniversary and he hadn't been at her grave.

"I wasn't at her grave. Had no time. Perhaps we can go together," Martin suggested.

Christian nodded.

"Do you really think Philipp is at his parents?" Martin suddenly said and Christian's head jerked in his direction.

"What do you mean by this?"

"Oh, I was just referring to your notorious jealousy." A faint smile traced around his lips. He searched the table for his package of cigarettes. He loved those games. Perhaps he had inherited his mother's jealousy too - like Christian had. Perhaps not. He preferred to think the latter.

"What jealousy?" Christian's brows had pulled together to a blond line over his eyes. A steep wrinkle had built across the base of his nose and Martin knew what this meant.

"Why do you say it? Why do you always have to shit me with this?"

"Oh, I just say 'Gregor'...." Martin blew grey smoke into the air.

Christian's heart made a leap and he involuntarily pulled his head between his shoulders. Gregor had been the one he had been with before Philipp. And Gregor had ended up in hospital. He had never heard of him again - after the trial. Christian's fingers squeezed the glass, threatening to break it, but he relaxed after some seconds. "Don't remind me," he said dangerously low. "You know that this had had reasons."

"Exactly. I wouldn't like to speak for you in court again, you know. Especially when I had to tell a lie. You being the best brother in the world. Innocent and shy as a lamb. You still owe me something." He squeezed out the unfinished cigarette.

Christian glared at his brother. "I don't think Philipp is suffering. Or did he tell you he does?

Martin shrugged. "He hasn't told me anything. I don't think we ever met alone, you're always having an eye on him, and he can hardly go to any place alone."

"Sounds like an accusation. Or a complaint? Do you fancy him?"

"Sure I do." Martin laughed. "Jesus, if looks could kill, I'd be dead right now. Calm down, brother heart. I'm not interested. I told you before. And in no need."

"Your hand's still working fine, right?"

Martin leaned over the table. "Stop it. I'm not such a sex driven thing like you." He spoke light-heartedly to soothe the mood, but deep down inside he knew the fight was on.

Afterwards Christian wasn't sure if he should take Martin's words seriously. He withstood the idea to follow Philipp to his parents and see if he was really there. Showing up and let it all out: "Hello, I am Philipp's boyfriend!"

His brand new Penthouse apartment overlooked the filigree like hovering tent roof of the Sony Centre at the rebuilt Potsdamer Platz in the heart of Berlin. He rolled into the underground car park, placed his bike at the rented spot and then rode the lift up to his flat under the roof, the 15th floor exactly. He had rented this apartment at the same time Martin had rented his house.

Christian leaned against the silvery lift's wall, the helmet dangled from his hand. Fuck the false whispering. Of course Philipp had been with his parents. But the pictures of Gregor - Philipp's predecessor - remained in his mind, producing pictures of hate and uncontrolableness . He always had sneaked around the pretty boy, watching jealously each step he made. The prison's psychiatrist had said he suffered from fear of loss and recommended a therapy. But who wanted to lose his partner? Wasn't it just normal to watch for him - so no harm could happen?

Philipp had no idea of the whole story. How could he explain anyway? Listen, sweetheart: I've beaten down the man I was with before you. I raged for jealousy, and for love. The psychiatrist called it egomania. Gregor had stumbled and hit his head on the edge of the fire side. He hardly survived. His parents insisted on a report. I was sentenced because of physical injury and manslaughter and got a suspended sentence of eighteen months because it was the first time and I was not psychologically alright. But I'm stable and have everything under control.

Christian rolled his eyes to the silvery ceiling, stared at dead flies behind the milky pane of the lamps and listened to the soft purring of the ropes pulling him up. Hadn't Philipp complained recently about his closeness, his curiosity? Hadn't he said that he would suffocate Philipp with his care?

Since Philipp had taken the job as a reception man at the gay hotel Art-Connection Christian's nightmares had returned. He had begged Philipp to never take the night shifts again. Too much allurement for him. What a luck that he had stopped visiting the semester at the university. He had studied communication's science, but Christian had found this crappy and useless and suggested to stop it rather, enjoy the money that was enough to share for more than two people. And Philipp had obeyed like a good boy.

The door rolled noiselessly aside. Christian pulled a plastic card and put it into the slit, typed a number and entered his flat. Philipp was there, he sensed it instinctively - and the loud disco music coming from the living room wasn't to be ignored.

There he lounged upon the tomato red sofa, a colour that clashed terri