Photographs of Graves

“No take backs.”

“But –“

“Nope. You love me.”

God, Graves could be such a kid some times. About two weeks had passed since that meeting in his office, and things quickly peaked then mellowed from there. We often made jokes about the “love” issue because it still scared me shitless and Graves apparently enjoyed seeing me squirm. Aside from that we had a lot of sex and at work made a compromise to try to stay away from each other to keep from getting distracted.

As much as I joked about feeling otherwise, I couldn't be happier that I'd opened that door and let Graves in to my life. He might drip with things like sexiness and mirth, but sappiness was not one of his dripping qualities. That was good: I couldn't do the gooey cuteness.

“Hey, Murph,” Graves launched himself at my back, grabbing my shoulders from behind, “Smile for the camera, babe!”

That was the first of many photos of the two of us. Being a photojournalist, Graves took photo documentation very seriously. The number of photos of me either at the coffee shop or working at my desk that were uploaded to Facebook quickly skyrocketed, much to my dismay but to the pleasure of Zoe.

“Dude, you're in Europe two weeks and you have a sex god. Even I find him attractive, and sorry Ari, but usually your taste in men sucks. I want your luck.”

“Oh, my taste in men was fine,” I sighed.

“Ari. Your first crush turned out to be gay, your first boyfriend jumped out of a moving car and had a seizure the day he asked you out, and the second was an asshole with a soul patch that I wanted to gut most of the time. After that you had another douchebag with a soul patch followed by Oliver, who was about to be affianced and resembled a puppy. Your taste in men sucks.”

I had to relent when she put it that way.

“I'm still looking for that Spaniard for you, doll,” I told her. She laughed into the mouth piece.

“You better, man. Well, I have a date in about twenty minutes, so I'll talk to you later.”

“Nothing's changed while I was gone, I see,” I laughed.

“Nope. Not a bit. Love you babe.”

“Love you, too. By Zoe.”

The phone clicked as she hung up.

When I wasn't at work or with Ana I was with Mikael, Cosette, Bastion, and Ana exploring Amsterdam. Today we were hanging out in Marion's living room, talking and laughing about various things and drinking beer. Marion was leaning against the wall, participating in our conversation, and Bear and Sherlock found homes in the laps of Ana and Mikael. I was trying not to drink too much, remembering my past hangover at Xavier's, but Mikael and Cosette had no such notion: Cosette was flat out drunk off her ass and Mikael was getting there. He got up, pushing Sherlock off his lap and falling onto my lap. I pushed him off my lap but he persisted, sitting in my lap and taking another drink of his beer.

“Get off of me, asswipe,” I said, but I was laughing too hard for it to be influential. Ana just kept laughing and laughing, until Cosette walked over to her and pressed her mouth to Ana's. Oh man. Apparently Cosette had some bisexual tendencies when she was drunk. Mikael whistled and Bastion clapped. Ana pulled back, blushing from both the kiss and the alcohol.

“That was very sexy,” Bastion said in that low, gravely voice of his that was so rarely heard.

“Well I'm glad you liked it,” Ana batted her eyelashes, then looked at me. “But I would like to kiss Ari next time, I think.”

Cosette didn't seem offended, instead hiccuping and going to curl up in Bastion's lap.

“We should have sex later tonight,” she said to him probably louder than she intended. Oh hey. The Frenchies had gotten together. That's cool. He nodded in agreement.

“I feel like I'm seeing and hearing a lot of things I don't want to,” Marion sighed, “I'm going to bed. You kids have fun.”

We all said goodnight as she ascended to the upper floor before turning to our previous drunken activities. Again I motioned to push Mikael off, but he was heavier than he looked.

“Everyone else gets kisses, do I get one Ari?” Mikael slurred. The unfortunate thing about being with Graves was that we weren't “label” people, so although we'd seen each other multiple times, a couple of which Mikael knew about, as far as he knew we were just having sex for the fun of it. That created a problem.

“Get off, man. I don't want your mouth,” I insisted, pushing against his nearing face.

“But you're cute, Murphy,” he said. Mikael was an extremely nice guy, a bit sarcastic and cynical perhaps, but nice. He just wasn't quite as nice of a drunk.

“Thanks for the complement, but off my lap,” I slapped at him a couple times. He grunted and backed off a bit, much to my relief, and Ana got up and started tugging him off.

“Come off, Mikael, you are not welcome on her lap,” Ana ordered, yanking against his back. “She does not want your penis, get off.”

Alcohol with friends could be a great thing, don't get me wrong. They could be the best nights you'll ever forget. But they could also cause a bunch of problems that you never intended to happen. One of them was about to happen.

In the shouts of us trying to get Mikael off my lap, none of us heard the door to Marion's apartment open or the newcomer enter the room. We did not see him freeze in shock, bristle in anger, and we really didn't notice him until he gripped the back of Mikael's shirt.

“Mikael, what the hell are you doing?” Graves growled, sending Mikael sprawling drunkenly to the floor. He sat up groggily.

“Oh, hey, Theo,” Mikael blinked and smiled, getting up. “What'd you do that for? I was 'bout t' get my kiss from Murphy.”

Silence.

Then Graves decked his tall intern in the jaw.