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Richard wants.
Not in the simple, easily satisfied way in which he desires a warm cup of royal milk tea or the taste of a sweet dessert.
Not in the way he occasionally finds himself wanting to go for a drive, or to shop for a new tie or for a new book to read.
Not even in the eager, desperate way that he found himself wanting Deborah, before and after their relationship ended (my dearest friend, what can I—what could I have—give(n) you to ensure you would never leave me?).
Not in the way, in the aftermath, he had longed for a sleep he would never wake up from, in which even in his darkest moments he had been ruled by his practical nature, rigidly rationing the bottle of sleeping pills to one night of dreamless sleep at a time, lacking the courage to swallow them all down, or maybe grasping tenuously to the narrow thread of hope that all this too would pass.
Not in the way he had wanted—needed—a new town, a new country, a new name, a new face if only he could have had it, to slip free from the bonds of that cursed inheritance, from the itch under his skin that told him to run before anyone else could get too close.
Those darker wants, Richard thinks, are well behind him, had started to fade when he met his hero of justice that night in Yoyogi Park years ago and found himself rescued in more ways than one.
He watches from his seat at the kitchen table as Seigi chops vegetables for their dinner. Richard observes the smooth, strong curve of Seigi’s back, his gentle, steady hands as he maneuvers the knife across the cutting board. Richard closes his eyes for a moment to listen to the soft tune Seigi is humming to himself as he cooks. No matter if their journey takes them to the ends of the earth, to some faraway unknown—as long as he is beside Seigi, Richard is home.
Seigi has already given him more than Richard could ever have imagined possible, both tangible and intangible. Of course, there are the innumerable cups of royal milk tea and dishes of homemade “Nakata purin” that Seigi has presented him with over the years. But he has also gifted Richard with things even more precious: his time, his labor—as an employee of Étranger, as an apprentice jeweler, and now in his new role as Richard’s own personal assistant—his trust, his friendship, his partnership, his perspective on the world.
He had thought, once, a long time ago, that he could be satisfied, that once he figured out what it was he wanted from or with Seigi, once he achieved some milestone in their connection, that the yearning he feels deep in his belly would be satiated. Richard has never considered himself a greedy person. Although he comes from wealth, he can make do with little should the situation demand it. But no matter what Seigi gives him, Richard finds himself wanting more.
And yet Richard knows that there is no limit to what Seigi would offer him, given the resources and the opportunity. Seigi has said as much in casual conversation, in that disarmingly earnest way of his that makes Richard’s heart leap with every word. And knowing this, Richard wants.
He wants to plumb the depths of Seigi’s limitless affection, to voyage to the very edges of Seigi’s being, to submerge himself fully in every current and every tide in the ocean of Seigi’s soul.
He wants simple things: the pleasure of Seigi’s company, to see him smile, to teach him everything Richard has ever learned about the world, and then when he exhausts his own knowledge, to throw himself into a mountain of books so that he can return every day with a new fact or story for Seigi to eagerly absorb.
He wants more complex things: to touch, to caress, to cover every inch of Seigi’s skin in tender kisses, to be so close and held so tightly in Seigi’s embrace that it becomes impossible to tell where Richard ends and Seigi begins. To leave marks on Seigi’s skin with his lips and teeth so Richard can make his claim on Seigi as visible as Seigi’s presence has become in every aspect of Richard’s life. To watch Seigi come undone beneath him, to lose himself in ecstasy in Seigi’s arms.
He wonders if this is what lust feels like, although such a weighty word doesn’t feel quite right to describe his desire, burning in his gut like the warm, orange glow of a hearth, flaring at times to a tongue of flame that can only barely be allowed to make contact with Seigi, like the risk one takes when pinching out a candle flame between wet fingers.
Richard gratefully drinks from the seemingly fathomless well that is Seigi, but he does not take anything that is not explicitly offered to him. Seigi is precious, more valuable than any gemstone he has ever had in his possession, and as much as he wants, he would rather bear his desires in silence than risk jeopardizing the partnership they now have.
Physical desire is not something that comes easily to Richard. When he made love to Deborah (he thought of it in those terms then, in fact he still does when he thinks of her), his focus was on her enjoyment, on solidifying, consecrating even, the bond between the two of them, on doing everything in his power to convey to her the intensity of his affections. His own pleasure was an afterthought. Not that making love to Deborah wasn’t pleasurable, but it was rarely something Richard himself initiated, and once their relationship had ended, he did not feel the desire to initiate a physical relationship with another.
Until now, that is. Until Seigi. The first time the fancy had crossed his mind had been during Seigi’s first tumultuous trip to London, Richard’s last and worst escape. Emboldened somewhat by the drink he had shared with Henry and Jeffrey, he had brushed a chaste kiss goodnight to Seigi’s cheek, and immediately put it out of his mind the next day when the liquor had cleared his system. Over the years that followed, he had entertained the idea of becoming closer to Seigi, but he had never in his wildest fantasies imagined the reality they now found themselves in. The reality Seigi had created for them by asking to be his personal assistant, by asking to devote himself entirely to Richard. Seigi had taken all of the risk for both of them, because he had trusted he knew how Richard would respond. All Richard had had to do was say yes.
He could not pinpoint the exact moment where his longing for Seigi took on its current hue of physical desire, but contrary to what films and literature might suggest, it was after the negotiation of Seigi’s newest employment contract, not a precipitating factor. Although Richard did not take much stock in popular culture or public opinion, he was aware that this order of operations seemed to others to be backwards, mathematically impossible, but it was the only way that made sense to Richard. As a younger man, he had wondered if his own disgust with the objectification of his appearance had rendered it impossible for him to appreciate the physicality of others, and no small part of him had thought, “good riddance,” until his friendship with Deborah bloomed into a romantic relationship and the same small part of him felt that he had finally achieved something “normal.”
Although his relationship with Deborah had not followed the narrow path the 7th Earl Claremont’s will had set out for him, in his relationship with her, Richard had known what scripts to follow, what words to say. They had dated, then gotten engaged, and then, after a time, remained on amiable terms when it all ended.
With Seigi, Richard was making up everything from scratch as he went along. There were no templates in literature or pop culture for their partnership (or well, nothing worth imitating. Richard knew what kind of results an internet search for “how to romance your secretary” would bring without even having to type the words, and those still were not the right words). Richard was often forced to admit to himself that he had no idea what he was doing, and he took comfort mainly in the fact that he was fairly certain Seigi didn’t either.
It wasn’t the physical acts he was uncertain of. Although he had never had a male lover, the mechanics were eminently researchable, and in some ways more familiar (he was, himself, male, after all, and he knew what his own body responded to). It was in how to voice his desire to Seigi, to make his wants known without coming across as forceful. He didn’t think that Seigi would rebuke him, but that was precisely why he wanted to proceed with caution—he wasn’t fully confident Seigi would rebuke him even if physical intimacy was not actually what Seigi wanted. And more than anything, Richard wanted what he himself wanted to be what Seigi wanted. He could tolerate no other alternative.
Recently, he had broached the subject in a conversation with Jeffrey, and immediately regretted his own choices. Business had caused Richard and Jeffrey’s itineraries to overlap in Tokyo again, and Richard had agreed to meet him at a wine bar near Jeff’s hotel. He had chosen to take the train rather than drive purely out of convenience, with no intention to drink, but Jeff had convinced him to try a sweeter white that he thought Richard might like. Richard blamed the wine for his uncharacteristic attempt to seek relationship advice, and in retrospect he had no idea what he had been thinking. His cousin was hardly a gold standard for communication in any kind of relationship, but part of Richard had thought that asking such a question of his older brother figure could be like tossing out a life preserver, a little gesture to repair their at times still tenuous relationship.
“When you and Joachim first got together,” Richard took a sip of his wine for courage, “how did you decide to make things physical? How did you bring it up in conversation?”
Jeff stared at him, wide-eyed. “Ricky, you’re not asking me about my sex life. Are you?”
Richard glared pointedly back at him and replied through gritted teeth, “Hypothetically, if someone wanted to bring up sex in a relationship where it previously had not been discussed, how might that conversation unfold?”
“Why are you asking me, how did it go with De—” Jeff’s eyes went wide again with realization. “You’re asking me because I’m gay. And okay, for the sake of my own sanity I’m just going to not acknowledge that I know which relationship you’re talking about.”
“I can ask Joachim instead.”
Jeff spluttered. “D-do not ask Joachim!” With a look on his face like he wanted the ground to open up under him and swallow him up, Jeff gulped down the wine that was left in his glass. “Look, Ricky. 'Chim and I were ‘physically intimate’ from the get-go. It was everything else that was complicated. We’re not a particularly useful reference for you and Seigi.”
Now it was Richard’s turn to look for the ground to swallow him up. He coughed and gestured for the waitress. “Jeff, more wine? Yes, another glass of the same for him, and a bottle of mineral water, and the raspberry cheesecake for dessert.”
As Jeff sipped the second glass of wine that he hadn’t asked for and Richard abandoned his own half-empty wine glass in exchange for his slice of cheesecake, Richard gestured pointedly towards his cousin’s face with the tines of his fork. “This conversation never happened. Is that clear?”
“Crystal,” Jeff replied, shifting a bit in his chair so that he was out of fork range. “I would absolutely prefer it that way.”
“Excellent,” Richard replied, and changed the subject abruptly as he scooped up a forkful of cheesecake. “How’s Henry doing?”
This was the last and only time he hazarded to ask either of his cousins for relationship advice. He would proceed as he always had with Seigi: by figuring things out as they happened, together, as partners.
In the kitchen, Seigi is putting the finishing touches on his oyster sauce stir fry. Richard knows that this is one of Seigi’s “easier” recipes, but also that for Seigi it is something of a comfort food, and so it is becoming a comfort food for Richard too. “Is it time to set the table?” Richard asks.
“Just about,” Seigi replies. “Taste test?”
“If you insist,” Richard says, offering absolutely no resistance. He gets up from the table and comes to stand beside Seigi at the stove, letting their shoulders touch just slightly as he nips a bit of stir fry from the pan with a fork. He makes sure to meet Seigi’s eyes while he brings fork to mouth, watching for the way Seigi’s expression changes as he watches Richard. “This is excellent.”
Seigi laughs. “It’s just oyster sauce, same as always.”
“Don’t talk yourself down. It tastes magnificent.”
“Sometimes I think I could cook anything and you’d love it just because I made it for you,” Seigi tells him. “If I ever cook something you don’t like, you have to tell me, okay?”
Richard scoffs. “I can't imagine how that could be possible.” Seigi is an excellent cook. And moreover, “I love everything that you have to offer me.”
There is a long silence while Seigi appears to be studying Richard’s eyes, and Richard fights with himself not to look away. Until the pan on the stove gives a hiss and Seigi seems to snap out of his brief trance, quickly tossing the stir fry with a wooden spoon.
“I’ll get the plates,” Richard tells him, backing away from the stove.
The simple stir fry of oyster sauce and vegetables that he eats that night, with Seigi seated across from him, seems to Richard to be more delicious than the creations of any five-star chef. He eagerly devours everything Seigi sets before him, like a man starved.
And yet still, Richard wants. And he waits, until the moment he’s sure that Seigi feels the same.