I was sitting naked on Mark's bed, and he ran his fingers up and down my outer thigh. "So," he said.

"So?" I looked down at him and smiled.

"So, how come you won't let me meet Blair?"

I pulled away as if I'd been burnt; climbed out of bed and started to get dressed. My movements were jerky and rough and my fingers were clumsy. "Why the hell do you want to meet him?" I asked, buttoning my khakis.

Mark sat up and looked at me. "We've been dating six months. And we never go to your place, and you've never let me meet him. I just want to know why." He tucked his legs up, ankles crossed, heels almost touching the backs of his thighs.

I skinned into my t-shirt. "He doesn't know I'm gay."

"Jeezus."

"Yeah, well."

"You said you'd lived with him for three years."

"Yeah."

"So--I mean, are you afraid of how he'd react?"

"No. Sandburg'd be cool with it." I ran a hand through my hair, trying to remember where I'd put my watch when I'd taken it off.

Mark rocked forward, just a little. "You're in love with him."

That froze me in my tracks, and I turned back to him. "No," I said. "I'm not."

"Yes, you--"

I sat next to him on the bed. "I'm not, Mark. But I'm--tied to him. For life, probably. And I--can't afford to lose him. And he's in love with me. So--see, if he knew, and if he asked me to, I'd be with him. Because--I can't afford to lose him."

Mark drew back. "You're saying that if Blair told you to break up with me and be with him, you would."

I drew in a long breath, knowing what I was about to kill here, knowing that I loved Mark, that he could have been it, could have been the one for me, if only--

"Yeah," I said. "I would. And that's why I can't let you meet him. That's why--Blair has to think I'm straight. He has to."

Now it was Mark's turn to get out of bed and dress, his movements as harsh and erratic as mine had been. "So what am I to you, Jim? What the fuck am I?"

"You're the man I'm in love with. That I'm going to lose to--needing Blair."

He closed his eyes. "Can't you need me instead?"

I stood up and walked over to him, wrapped my arms around his waist and held him tightly. "You--I'm not going to be able to explain this well. You I love and I want. Blair I need. That's--there's nothing I can do about it."

"I don't get it." He turned his head, pressed his cheek against my head where it lay on his shoulder. "What the hell does he have that you need?"

I shivered and felt Mark's arms come around me, pulling me closer. I didn't have an answer for him--couldn't think of how to say that Blair had all the answers, all the control; that my partnership with Blair was something I couldn't survive losing anymore.

Couldn't explain why it was that if Blair asked, I'd be his lover, faithful all my life or as long as he wanted me.

"I can't tell you," I said, hearing the pain in my voice, trying to choke it back.

"Dammit, Jim," he said, and then he was kissing me, and I knew it was goodbye. We weren't over, not yet--we'd continue to see each other, and we'd continue sleeping together, but tonight had been the beginning of the end. A few more months, at most, and Mark would tell me he couldn't do this anymore, and he'd kiss me like this again: bittersweet and desperate and full of the love that could not be.

I kissed him back as though I'd never see him again, knowing that each touch between then and now was on borrowed time, and that I wouldn't go back to the loft tonight.

Knowing that this pain, this desperation, the onrushing loss that would leave me one of the walking wounded for months after Mark left me, was the price for living: the price of what I needed from Blair.

--
The End