Chapter Text
The hotel was nicer than usual. By mistake, of course. Another of those lucky situations when the decrepit hotel Carolyn had booked them into the last time they were here had been torn down and rebuilt, and hadn’t had time to fall apart yet.
Which meant that the double room that Martin and Douglas were sharing was nice. So nice that it had a small sofa for watching television. It was almost time to go to bed, and they were both in their pajamas. Douglas was surfing the channels for something they could both stand to watch while Martin nervously peeled the label off his beer. Martin took a deep breath. Might as well do it now, he thought. Now or never. Strike while the iron is hot. No time like the present. Good God, stop thinking about stupid sayings and get on with it!
“Say, Douglas?”
“Yes.”
“You haven’t been pulling many girls lately.”
“Why, thank you for noticing. How kind of you to mention these little details about my love life.”
Of course, that was the wrong way to go about it. Damn. “I mean, you usually won’t let me into me the room until midnight whenever we’re sharing. So, you know, I, I was just wondering if everything was all right.”
Martin kept his eyes carefully fixed on the TV screen, heard Douglas take a breath, blow it out. “Yes, well, as it turns out, even sky gods are not all powerful, and have their limitations.”
“Ah. So, not looking for your fourth wife, to keep up with Herc?”
“No.”
“Ah.”
Douglas had finally settled on a headline news show. Martin could see out of the corner of his eye that he was facing rigidly forward, his jaw tight.
“It’s just because anyone would be lucky to be with you. And if the girls you’re interested in aren’t interested back, it’s their loss. I just wanted to say, that’s all.” The words had spilled out in a rush, not at all as smoothly as Martin had imagined. Hoped.
Douglas turned to look at him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up in anticipation. He looked at Douglas, feeling his face flush.
“What?” he asked innocently.
“Just how long did you practice that speech. And why?”
“It’s, it’s, it’s not p-p-practiced,” Martin lied. Damn his stutter. Why did it always come out when he was nervous?
Douglas’s eyes narrowed infinitesimally and he clicked off the TV. “Martin, are you trying to tell me something?”
The sudden silence was shocking, as if all the air had rushed out of the room.
“Erm, ah. . . .” Oh, good going, Crieff. No, it’s okay, don’t panic. Just start again. Why hadn’t he thought about what he’d have to say next? “Um, ah, you see, the thing is, that, um—”
“Because if you are,” Douglas continued, as if Martin hadn’t been stumbling over his tongue for half a minute, “I need to tell you I’m sorry, but no.” Douglas’ face had transformed from a frozen mask to a soft look of pity. Martin felt like he might be sick.
“No,” he managed, “no, that’s not it.” He sounded frantic, even to himself, and his voice seemed to have gone up an octave. He knew he was bright red. “I just wanted to tell you that, ah, you should, you know, you should, erm, you shouldn’t worry if—”
Douglas patted his hand and stood up, smiling paternally. “Let’s just turn in, shall we? We have a long flight tomorrow.” He went over to his bed and got in. Martin couldn’t seem to move. God, how stupid was he? How could he have thought that Douglas would be interested in him? Time kept passing, the years kept ticking by, but he still couldn't get his life going. He was still ridiculous and undesirable. And he’d always be. And that was the most humiliating thing he’d done to himself in a long time.
He sighed and stood up. Douglas lay on his right side, facing away from Martin’s side of the room. Douglas usually slept on his left side. He went into the bathroom, poured out the last of his beer and rinsed the bottle. No stale beer smell to face in the morning. Just himself. He got into the bed, turned out the lamp and stared at the ceiling by the light coming into the room where the curtains didn't quite meet, waiting for sleep.