Every time, when Dave was thinking about Martin, his stomach started itching. Yes. It sounds stupid but that was the simple truth. As if somebody was sitting inside him and scratching him with tiny claws. Right here straight between his ribs. Where Mystics suppose the soul should be and Doctors insist that there is a solar plexus. It was tickling because of this scratching and chill was running down his spine. This feeling wasn't exactly erotic, may be it was fear, may be uncertainty and may be adrenaline. His cock did not rise, no. Nevertheless, that was a strange feeling, because though it wasn't completely sexual but still he started to realize what was between his legs. Somehow. And he started to feel with entire skin and body the air and the touch of clothes. Just as if he started to sense it suddenly.
He felt it the first time, when Clarke persuaded him to try himself as a vocalist for the band Composition of Sound. They drank several glass of beer; Vince was paying so Dave decided to try. They came to the guys. There were two lads, except Vince. Dave held out his hand:
- I'm Dave.
- Andy - said Andy and pouted his cheeks to look more impressive. He was red-head and very tall and skinny so it turned to be rather funny then impressive.
- Dave.
- Ma-a-artin, - second lad answered with little aspiration. It wasn't intended it just was his way of pronouncing. His cat pronounced this way the sound that he is hungry. It was something between "meow" and "now", - Will you sing for us?
- "Heroes" - Dave sniffed, - I will sing "Heroes".
I
I will be king
And you
You will be queen
Though nothing
Will drive them away
We can be Heroes
Just for one day
We can be us
Just for one day*
Martin was staring at him almost not blinking. Dave was scared at first. Scared and confused with the intensity of his stare. Martin told him after that he just has bad eyesight. But now he was looking right at Dave's face and smiling. Not because HE was smiling to him. He had very strange lips' line. They were smiling by themselves without his participation or participation of his tiniest emotions. His smile existed independent from him. Dave could never get accustomed to it.
But this time the Cheshire Cat descended from Lewis Carroll's book, made him really nervous. Dave's voice almost broke a few times, thanks God, hysterical manner of performance was just decorating this song, moreover there was even written in the score: "To perform higher an octave, desperately". Well and he was performing it. Desperately.
And you
You can be mean
And I
I'll drink all the time
'Cause we're lovers
And that is a fact
Yes we're lovers
And that is that.*
Martin approached him.
- I like you - he said looking somewhere above his head.
- I like you too…I mean you all, - Dave corrected himself.
- And I love Bowie, - Martin said.
- Uh…I'm…kinda… punk…but, yeah - Dave said, - Bowie is Bowie…yeah. By the way, my name is David too.
- I remember, David - Martin smiled, - will you come tomorrow to rehearsals?
- Uh, well…you mean I should?
Vince volunteered to take him home because he was like going the same way. Dave was inquiring him about Martin all the way. Somehow Vince turned out to be very taciturn. It was strange, because he seemed to be very communicative in the bar but probably this topic didn't find a response in his soul. Dave thought that it was rather odd, and the rest of the way they spent in silence.
I
I can remember
Standing
By the wall
And the guns
Shot above our heads
And we kissed
As though nothing could fall
And the shame
Was on the other side. Heroes' by D. Bowie.
***
They've just lain down to the bed but Martin somehow managed to fall asleep already wrapped in entire blanket with his head. Susanna had turned off the light of the bedside cream lamp, when the phone rang. She picked up a phone and not answering handed it to Martin's nose, sticking out from the blanked.
- Whassup? - He whispered frighten.
- Yours, - She whispered in return.
- Why? - He asked with indignation, because he didn't want to wake up at all.
- Because I don't have such psychos as my friends from the other side of the ocean who can call me at 3 o'clock a.m. - she pulled the blanket to herself seizing an opportunity, but Martin didn't notice it; - Does he ever heard anything about time zones?
- Dave? - Martin said into the receiver and shook his shoulders in answer to Susanne.
- Hush, - Susanna hissed at him, - Ava just fall asleep, get out of here.
Martin came out of the bed idly and shuffled to the bathroom, closing the door carefully.
- Well, hello, dear, - he said, - how are you?
Dave was telling for a long time about his new life, about his move to New York, about Jennifer, about her and now his adopted son, Jimmy. About the fact that Dave had worked on public works with courage he was sentenced to by a Los-Angeles court with a big fine for the drug-keeping.
- I love New York, - Dave told, Martin set down on a white fluffy carpet on a bathroom-floor and leaned his back against the doors of the wooden cupboard under the wash-basin, - Totally crazy city. No, it's not as fucked all up in obscene way as Los-Angeles of course, but it's different, yeah, different. You know, I won't ever change it on something else. Here. The air. It's in the air you fall in love with it forever and ever. This is complicated city, harsh, cruel, maybe, cynical, you can love it or you can hate it, but you won't stay indifferent to it. I remember then, when we were there the first time… when we were riding a car from the Kennedy airport, and the moment we saw the twin-towers, spotlight with sunset.
- Yeah? - Martin rubbed his forehead with the hand, - what a pity, we've finally decided to move to Santa-Barbara.
- Santa-Barbara? Oh, no, to the pathetic place for rich bitches…
- You're so sweet, David, - Martin replied in a pointed manner tenderly.
They both laughed out loud.
- But the best thing is that I've been clean more than half a year already. Jennifer was right the change of place where to live helps very much…
Martin yawned convulsively.
- How are you there? - Dave asked, - Are you, like, sleeping?
- A-ye, - Martin answered and yawned again, - Almost every second and in every position in rare moments when miss Ava becomes tired.
- I told you, that to have a little baby - is the best medicine from insomnia, and you didn't believe me.
Martin laughed.
- Listen, I think I'm going to visit London studio in a few days, the album should be finished somehow. My voice is much better, I work on it… and you will have a place to sleep.
They both laughed out loud.
- Dave, your suggestions are too seductive, - Martin grinned, - but I'm afraid to compose something now.
- Hey, stop it, Dave replied, - I swear, I'm alright, I won't let you down.
- I believe, - Martin said, - But I'm afraid. And more than this, I have songs only from Disney cartoons in my repertoire the recent half a year, I'm afraid that this experience will be a fatal test for Depeche Mode.
Susanne opened the door in a bathroom, her black hair were tattered and laying on shoulders in disorder.
- Are you going to sleep tonight or what? - She asked.
- Wait, - he answered, and waved his hand, and told into the receiver, - Yeah, it's Susanne. Susanne, Dave says hello to you.
- Ah, that was so surprisingly lovely of him; - she said in a strange voice, - kiss him from me.
She stepped up to the sink and moved Martin away with her hip easy, observing herself in a mirror. He grabbed her by the leg and kissed her bare thigh shows in a slit of a short silk night-dress.
- You've been talking for an hour already… men… - she said, - and you say that women like to talk… - although, her behavior was contradicting the meaning of her words, she moved her hips making Martin's hand slide higher up her leg on the inner side. And higher more.
- Ma-arti-in, - she whispered, bending in a small of her back, - don't, - but the tone of her voice with voluptuous aspiration was uttering the opposite meaning and proving the fact that he should continue instead. He moved his hand higher.
- Dave, listen, I'll call you back later, - Martin said, suddenly hurried up, - ok?
***
They were recording Home.
Dave was pacing to and fro, eating bananas and singing under his nose everything he was thinking of. He didn't understand a word in this song and it made him angry more than anything. Some reporter asked him recently the meanings of Martin Gore's songs, Dave answered honestly, that nobody knows what the meaning and nobody knows why he is writing them and that's beyond the reach of the human mind. And that he is making him to sing it. And he wanted to add something else because he was in a bad mood, but the reporter had urgently retired.
There was a smell of burned rubber because of overheated wires in the studio where audio operators were sitting mixed with Martin's cigarettes and Martin's perfume. And banana shells in the dust bin were stinking too. The air-conditioner was hardly working; here in the damn Europe nobody seemed to know why to use it. The sugared and weird smell of it all was irritating.
Tim was sitting at the control panel and he was looking in the computer's monitor concentrated.
Here is a page from the emptiest stage
A cage or the heaviest cross ever made
A gauge of the deadliest trap ever laid
And I thank you for bringing me here
For showing me home**
- Tim, listen, buddy, why am I here? - Dave asked darkly.
Tim looked at him and rubbed his nose. There was strange whitish spot of the unknown etymology on his T-shirt; he was yellow-teethed and unshaved. He had abnormal eyes, to all appearances, he was creating something and not for a first 24 hours. He took a sip of the cold espresso:
- Have a cigarette? - He asked huskily.
Dave gave him a cigarette. Tim inhaled and coughed.
- Well, Tim, listen, here I'm out of place, Martin writes, Martin heads, Martin sings. Fletch read exchange bulletins; they can cope without me very well.
- And who will guzzle down bananas? - Tim hoarse - I won't survive without a smell of decaying banana shells. My inspiration will leave me.
- Fu-u-uck, - said Dave.
- Don't go into hysteric, - said Tim, - I was kidding.
- Tim.
- Dave.
- Ti-im.
- Da-ave.
Dave cast banana shell into the bucket near Tim's feet.
- Dave, you posses amazing energy, you have talent, you have voice. Dave, you're the face of Depeche Mode, you are Depeche Mode, do you understand? No one can sing these songs, as you do.
- A-ha, - Dave said gloomy.
- Martin is always saying that too.
- Blah-blah-blah.
- No blah-blah-blahs. But to everyone and almost every time and he even told you you, but you prefer not to hear. He says that without you it doesn't make any sense. It doesn't exist.
- Ai… ya know, sometimes he can say words even I believe… but sometimes... - Dave said. Tim grinned.
- Hey, guys, do not do it again, - said Tim, taking one more sip of coffee. Daniel comes tomorrow. His health is bad, even without your help don't drive him to take his nervine medications again. He didn't forgive you for how you abused Flood during Songs of Faith and Devotion recording.
- How come? - Dave asked, still offended.
- How come… - Tim mocked him, - I know how inhumanly mean you were with Flood. No, I don't know exactly what were you doing with him and I'm not sure that I want it to know. But I know that half a year you were doing fucking nothing. You were behaving like total degenerates and hardly destroyed everything within a radius of ten miles around.
Dave sniffed.
- Ah, yeah, I have a hazy recollection of something. I was leaving my room very occasionally.
- Aha, - Tim said, - Gareth told me about the tour. You all nearly died there in the full sense of the word, appending half time in some hospitals one after another. Only Dave was feeling good, he was on another planet.
- I nearly died too, - Dave said offended.
- You stupid girl finally found what to be proud of, - Tim gloomy joked.
Dave laughed.
- As a matter of fact, you're right. Once I saw Flood, I was carrying my clothes to the laundry-room and found him there. He was sitting in the corner between the washing machine and the dryer, holding his legs up to his chest and crying. There were his trampled glasses near him. I remember it, I asked him, if probably something happened but he had just shook his head and said nothing. Then I thought that may be his pacific motives were leading him and he meddled into the usual Mart and Al's Evening Carnage, thus they tore him by accident because strengths were not equal.
Tim pensively belched.
- Sorry, - he said. - You are wicked cruel bitches and terrible obnoxious dogs. Although you seem so sweet and kind, cultured and polite people at first sight. Who could ever believe?
God send the only true friend I call mine
Pretend that I'll make amends the next time
Befriend the glorious end of the line.**
Daniel visited them. He was gloomy. They were imitating creative orgasm with all their might not to let Tim down. Fletch's mug had swelled up from antidepressants though he was hitting one string of the bass-guitar like an evil maniac all day long. Martin was in a traditional condition "a little stiff after yesterday" but he was frowning his eyebrows diligently imitating brain activity and he was drinking liters of coffee to stifle the smell of alcohol. He wore his hair in a crop and actually reminded of a patient of a soul asylum. However Dave with sacks under his eyes and with flabby mug wasn't looking any healthier. Somewhere in the middle of the day they were already out of energy, Martin over-drunk coffee but as a paradox his eyes became dull and he crawled under the table and fallen asleep like a log. They tried to awake him, but it was useless, in the end they've just closed him up with cardboard boxes around the table, hoping that Daniel won't notice him.
Daniel went to Denmark. He didn't say anything to them and perhaps it was even better.
A week passed.
Dave was talking to Jennifer by the phone for an hour, later he was telling Martin about her for the same period of time, sitting in the arm-chair and rocking nervously.
- Jennifer? - Martin asked, standing on his knees and squeezing a cable in his teeth, and some others in his hands and putting them one by one into the plug in of the synthesizer placed on a floor, - Jennifer is an angel. Angel incarnate. I'm ready to pray to her. I don't know how to pray, but I will try.
Dave dragged the cigarette and exhaled the smoke up slowly.
- Are you jealous? - He wondered.
- No, - Martin answered. He got up from the knees and shook his pants down.
- Why? - Dave asked persistently, extinguishing the cigarette in the ashtray unpleasantly.
Martin raised his eyebrow thoughtfully, stepped closer and bended above Dave, leaning on the arms of his arm-chair.
- And. Where. Will you. Hide. From. Me? - Martin said making long pauses between the words. Dave had lost his breath at once because of Martin's impudence and self-confidence, his closeness and because of his goddamn cynical rightness too, - You live your life, - Martin continued, - Take your time, Dave, I'll be waiting. I have all the time in the world, and you know there's not so much to do.
The phrase hit Dave on his head with a strange deja vu, and made the brittle sense of reality even more unreal. He sensed Martin's warmth he sensed the smell of his skin. This sense was so familiar, so precious that tears had nearly fallen from his eyes.
He felt like he was chilled to the bone and injured everything by a frost-bite, nut finally found his home. Warm, cozy and sweet home at Christmas. No matter if something was wrong there in some moments, but though your home can be the only one. Dave was fidgeting on a his arm chare trying to get more comfortable, his body was reacting on Martin's closeness by a growing languid and harmfully slowly creeping pleasure, reviving his body like a numb arm being massaged, when it starts to sense the touch of the fingertips, thawing out like freeze fingers, with the pain and pleasure from growing sensitivity.
Martin lowered his eyes, noticing Dave's movements. His heavy stare went down onto Dave's fly. Dave had lost his breath. The blood with a rapid torrent flew to where it shouldn't, making his pants stretch harder, outlining the great contour, oh, no, the blood flew to where it should of course, but still Dave was hoping that some part of it stays at his cerebrum, because nobody would ever teach him better then Martin that sometimes it's very useful to be on his guard with the best friend more than with anyone else. Especially if your best friend's name is Martin.
Martin kept on starring at Dave's balls, obviously not feeling any discomfort. Dave felt himself paralyzed under Martin's gaze, unable neither to break the silence nor to change the position, unable even to move his legs together. He felt himself irritated because of Martin's aggressive domination.
- You'd better be jealous, - Dave said all of sudden.
- As you wish, - Martin smiled and stepped back at once.
- Why? - Dave asked, clenched his teeth and leaping up from the arm-chair, - Answer me - he suddenly went mad. He didn't like that Martin stepped back so fast and even worse, the fact that it was that harmful to him.
- Sorry? - Martin wondered.
- Where were you when I needed you most? Where? - Dave's voice became louder, - I was calling for you. But she came instead. She saved me, not you. Why?
Martin was looking at him, there was no any muscle twitched on his face. He was looking silently for a long time. So long that Dave suddenly realized that Martin wasn't going to answer.
- Answer me, - he wheezed. He had lost his voice.
- You know I hate to defend myself, - Martin said, - and I hardly will start it now.
- A friend in need is a friend indeed, Martin. You understand that that's impossible to forget? There are things that will never be forgiven.
- Yes, you are right. So what's the point to ask the forgiveness then? - Martin said in a strange tone.
Dave stepped up very close to him, his face turned red, there was a lump in his throat, he hardly breath. He grabbed Martin by the shoulders with both hands.
- Don't…do. Don't do this… to me. Don't do this… to people. Don't be so cold, Mart, don't.
He couldn't look Martin into the face because it turned to a stone mask.
- Don't you feel anything? Nothing makes sense for you…
- Perhaps, you're right, - Martin said, his voice didn't tremble, though he was hardly picking up the words, - there aren't much things that make sense for me. I love you, David, and virtually I care about nothing else.
Dave screamed as though feeling a pain:
- DON'T YOU DARE TO TELL ME THIS! YOU DON'T HAVE THE RIGHT!!! You don't have the right to tell this, you only lie. AND YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND, DAMN YOU, WHAT YOU ARE PLAYING WITH… DON'T YOU DARE! THIS IS NOT A GAME… damn, this is not a game.
He didn't feel tears falling from his eyes. Martin's eyes stayed dry.
- As you wish, Dave, - he said hardly audible.
The heat and the sickliest sweet smelling sheets
That cling to the backs of my knees and my feet
Well I'm drowning in time to a desperate beat **
Dave spoke to Jennifer in the evening again. He felt some relief. His stepson, Jimmy, hardly blew up school toilet with the detonating cartridge, she was telling about her fight with the school direction colorfully and for a long time. He laughed even. All in all, there are much more important things in life, than these idiotic relationships they were inciting each other every time leading them to the blind alley.
He had a new life, new love, new sense, and now he wouldn't sacrifice anything to the shady pleasure of screaming at nights from pleasure that was passing the borderline to pain. For this fucking insanity, when their souls and their minds had nothing to hide from each other. For those humiliations he was taking infinitely, boundlessly, losing all control, leaded by the instinct to get more intimacy. For the physical feeling that he is dying, cumming. And after that, when they would return to their senses from the love fever they would start again to tore up their souls to the blood and meat with fanatic and inventive force again, because it was impossible to possess physically or mentally somebody's soul more. But the thirst was stronger than the common sense. A trivial orgasm, experienced in every accessible and inaccessible form was turning into the metaphysical act of soul possession. For it to stop scratching between his ribs and flow like warm milk through his veins, to shine through the pores, like sunlight. For the pleasure of feeling Him inside, in his head, of feeling him with his skin, for befuddling with this feeling of dependence. He hasn't enough strength to fight this drug alone.
- Honey, please, come here, - he whispered, - no, everything's alright, really, don't worry; I just miss you so much.
The moment he hang up the receiver, the phone rang again.
- Jen? - He whispered.
- This is Mart, - the receiver established mercilessly.
- Something happened, Mart?
- Uhm…no. Sorry, I've disturbed you, I'd better call later, I…
- No-o-o-o!!! - Dave shouted - Wait!!!
Mart fell silent.
- What's up, Mart?
- Just a folly, - he said.
- Mart, you did want something… - Dave repeated pressingly.
- Listen, I'm sorry, I don't want to disturb you…this is my folly, - Mart repeated.
- Hey, disturb me already, huh? - Dace said.
- I'm a fool…
- A-ye?
- I think I've lost my wallet somewhere… I don't know. We were at yours yesterday with Andy, remember? I understand it sounds absurdly but I thought I could leave my jacket there…
- I'll look for it, where could you leave it?
- I can't remember I'm really sorry that I'm disturbing you.
- You're not disturbing me at all, Mart.
- May be in the hall?
- I'm looking and searching, but no, there is nothing there and here…
- Damn, I'm so embarrassed.
- It's alright. Alright. Mart, what color is it? - Dave grinned, looking over the hall closet, - Mart, black or…black?
- I'm not sure…but I think, probably, it's black, Dave.
They both laughed.
- Ouch, it is here, now it's alright, don't worry…yes. Shall I bring it to you now?
- No, you needn't to, pack it in, later, it's not so important, I just wanted to know, I thought, I've lost it…can you bring it tomorrow to the studio?
- Of course, Mart.
- Thank you, Dave.
- Don't mention it, Mart, it was my pleasure.
- I will…
- Mart?
- Yes?
- Listen.
- Yes?
- It was really my pleasure. I…
- Dave…
- Mart, would you…do you want me to look for something else for you?
Dave swallowed a lump in his throat.
- Yes, - Martin whispered.
Dave was feeling that under his protest, a happy smile spread across his face.
Feels like home
I should have known
From my first breath **Home be Martin L.Gore.
***
Riders on the storm
Riders on the storm
Into this house we're born
Into this world we're thrown
Like a dog without a bone
An actor out alone
Riders on the storm***
This song was playing quietly in the car. Dave stopped the car at the verge.
- There? - He asked.
- Uh…I think…probably, yes, - Martin said, looking through the papers, placed on his knees. He looked through the windscreen uncertainly shifting his sunglasses down, - There, take right, yeah, there should be a turn behind the tree.
- This way?
- No, not this way, that way.
- It should be behind the garden, or so you said.
- It IS behind the garden.
- This house is before the garden. There is a difference, you know, between words behind and before.
- Why the bloody hell are you picking on my words?
- Am I picking? Hey, you fucking can articulate nothing.
- I've fucking articulated it for five times already, it can't be more fucking articulately at all.
- And what exactly did you say? The house is near the fucking river and we've come into the wrong town.
- Well, I've muddled myself then, but there was a fucking river.
- Listen, Mart, are you imbecile, or what? How did you manage to stay alive to those declined years of yours with your amputated brain?
- Look who's talking now, Dave, and you should be Fucking Professor. May I attend your lessons, Professor Fucking? Teach me some how to live a good life.
- My last name is Gahan.
- As you wish, Professor Fuck…
- Can't you shut up first if just once, you cunt?
- Suck my dick.
- Cad.
Suddenly Martin grabbed Dave by the hand.
- STOP! Dave, stop the car!
- Why?
- Here is my fucking river.
- Fuck you and your fucking river too.
Martin unfolded the map thoughtfully, turned it upside down, and then turned it over back.
- And now we should go this way, - he pointed somewhere above the windscreen.
Dave laid his head on his hands; his fingers were tapping the wheel nervously.
- Right into the river? Are you sure that it is really necessary?
- Why? Can't you take the road?
- Why don't you drive by yourself, honey?
- I can't.
- You mean you haven't learned to drive a car till now?
- What for?
- Of course, what for, when there are so many people for your evil experiments around?
- What the fuck are you screaming at me?
- You are screaming!
There appeared to be a pin-drop silence for a few minutes. Dave saw out of the corner of his eye Martin's shoulders. They were shaking, as he was hiding his face not to laugh too unconcealed, Dave was angry at first, like, fucking bitch all he can do is laugh but soon he couldn't restrain the uncontrolled laugh by himself.
Soon they've finally found the house they were searching for. Dave drove to the house and stopped the car near the garage. Martin went out and opened the boot. He took a huge box with CDs and walked by a lawn to the house.
- Hey and why not to enter home through a garage?
- Why the hell should I know how it opens? There was some automatic remote… somewhere…I think.
Dave mothered him and extracted another box from the boot, and was standing for a long time trying to hold a huge box with his knee and one hand, and extracting keys from his pocket to switch the signaling on.
- Forget it, Dave, this is not New York don't worry to leave your car open on the street here, - Martin shouted.
Dave slipped the keys back in the pocket gloomy and walked to an entrance. He came in and placed a box on a floor near the stairs. Martin went somewhere. Dave was humming the Doors' song.
[i]Take a long holiday
Let your children play
If ya give this man a ride
Sweet memory will die
Killer on the road, yeah ***
He was observing contents of Martin's box with interest when Martin returned back with the third box.
- Mart, why are you are listening those shit all the time? - Dave asked.
- No shit but history, Dave.
- And where are Punks? Where? Well, if only Iggy, yeah, I see, Lou Reed too... and where is the…
- Dave, - Martin said, walking upstairs, - Music history knows a lot of genius composers, not only Sex Pistols.
- CLASH! - Dave corrected him with indignation, grabbing a box and following Martin upstairs; - Not Sex Pistols their name is The Clash!
- What the fucking difference? Iggy is worth ten Clashes.
- You're wrong.
- I am right, - Martin cut short.
Dave shut up, taking offence, and kept on humming his song.
Girl, ya gotta love your man
Girl, ya gotta love your man
Take him by the… COCK! *** The Doors "Riders on the Storm"
Martin looked askance at him across the shoulder from the upper site of the stairs.
- Well, you see, it sounds better, huh? Cock… More truthful? - Dave said.
- Ah, yeah? - Martin wondered.
- Yeapp, - Dave answered, - I'm sure Morrison meant that. What the fuck he would mean hand…what's the shit? Take him by the hand make him understand… what can a man understand if you'll take him by the hand? ... Take him by the cock… yeah, baby, ha-ha. Jimmy meant exactly this, I know for sure. I feel him like nobody does… Martin, and where are you supposed to be now? What's that Fucking Maze you have here? Hello, Mister Go-ore? Captain, will you give me a compass to find a latrine at night? Or I will piss into some flowerpot with a rare tree from Sumatra, or something.
- Just try - Martin said unusually friendly, appearing unexpectedly from the other side, not where Dave was calling, and took a box back, - you can get comfortable, feel yourself at home, the living room had already been furnished.
***
They've finished talking long time ago but Dave was still sitting on the floor of his big empty London flat squatted down stupidly pressing the telephone against his chest. It would be a big overestimate to say that he was thinking about something. He was just sitting and looking nowhere. He wasn't feeling bad, he was feeling good. He didn't want to think about anything. He was just drowning in this sensation like in clouds of candy-floss.
The doorbell rang.
He thought it was probably his order from the Chinese restaurant, automatically stood up tipping his pockets in search for tips money. Then he raised his eyes and was struck dumb.
Martin was standing in front of him. He was pensively gnawing at his finger and saying nothing. His knitted cap was pulled almost on his nose. Dave opened the door wider, but Martin didn't even stir he was just looking at him almost not blinking. Dave grabbed him by the collar of his sweater and dragged into the room. Martin grabbed Dave's waist to prevent his fall. Dave slammed the door and grasped his lips with a groan.
- Baby, - he whispered, - my baby.
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