Astounding! (7 page)

When Carter emerged from the bathroom, John waited for him in the entryway, his hair dripping onto the floor. He looked very young, like he ought to be wearing a varsity jacket and thinking about going to the prom. “Are you really going to drive all the way to Seattle tonight?”

“That’s where I live.”

“I know. But it’s a little late and it’s raining.” John glanced briefly at the floor and then back up. “Stay here tonight. Please.” He had a pleading look in his eyes, as if he really wanted Carter to do a sleepover.

And to be honest, a long drive in the rain didn’t much appeal. But Carter barely knew this guy, and what he did know… well, John wasn’t exactly
normal
. On the other hand, neither was Carter. “I don’t know…,” he hedged.

“I’ll make my bed up with fresh sheets. It’s a good bed, really comfortable.” A light blush colored John’s cheeks. “I’ll sleep on the couch, of course. I didn’t mean….”

“I’m not taking your bed away. Look, just lend me a blanket and a pillow and I can crash on your couch. Believe me, I’ve done worse.”

After a moment’s indecision, John began to scurry around almost frantically. He spread a white sheet over the sofa, unearthed enough blankets from a closet to suffocate an elephant, and proudly topped the pile of bedding with a large pillow. “I have lots of spare toothbrushes in the bathroom. Help yourself.”

Carter was slightly embarrassed because he’d seen the toothbrush stash himself when he was snooping around. “Thanks,” he said gruffly.

“Do you want anything before you go to bed? Some food or drinks? Or maybe you want to watch some TV for a while.” John gestured at the antique console set in the corner, the kind with the big speakers and the small rounded screen. When Carter was a teenager, he’d helped his mom and stepdad clean out his grandmother’s house after she died. He’d found a television very much like John’s hidden by some boxes in the cramped spare room. He wondered now if his parents had sold it or just hauled it off to the dump.

“I think I just want to crash,” Carter said.

“Of course!”

John seemed to make an effort to be unobtrusive as Carter prepared for sleep, but it was a small house and John was twitchy. They kept dancing around each other, bumping as they passed. Finally Carter took off his shoes and socks, then peeled off his sweater, leaving on his undershirt. “Well, good night,” he said, oddly hesitant to remove his pants in front of John.

“Good night, Carter. Let me know if you need anything. Even if I’m asleep—you can wake me up. It’s all right. And… thank you.”

Although Carter wasn’t sure why John was thanking him, Carter nodded. “I’ll be fine.” He waited for John to leave the room. As Carter was switching off the light, the bedroom door clicked shut. Then he shucked his jeans and, still in undershirt and boxers, climbed onto the couch. The room was quite warm, so he needed only a single blanket, and the pillow smelled slightly like lavender. The couch wasn’t long enough and he had to crook his legs. But the cushions were comfortable—more so than his aged futon, in fact. With the lullaby of raindrops hitting the windows, Carter swiftly fell asleep.

W
HEN
C
ARTER
awoke, he nearly rolled off the couch. The room was still dark, and he spent a moment in groggy confusion before remembering where he was. Ah, yes. The alien’s duplex. His legs were a little cramped from the too-short couch, but he liked the odor of John’s bedding, and he wondered if it would be too weird to ask what detergent the guy used. Not that it would make much difference to Carter’s everyday life. He rarely washed his sheets since he had to haul his laundry down several flights of stairs to the mildewy, spider-infested basement.

Carter glanced at his watch—it was well before dawn—and carefully turned to face out into the room. He couldn’t see much. The sole illumination came from a dim streetlight filtered through the lacy curtains. He could make out only the outlines of John’s bulky vintage furniture. But he could smell the glue-and-paper scent of the many books and magazines, a scent as familiar as his own reflection in the mirror. More so—lately his reflection had begun looking like a strange old man.

He hovered for a time in that zone where he couldn’t decide whether to get up and pee or simply go back to sleep. The room might be cold when he peeled off the blanket, but his bladder was full.

Back when he and Freddy were an item, they used to fantasize about all the places they’d visit someday, when their magazine was a success and they had money lining their pockets. Of course, that day never came—for the two of them, anyway. Freddy managed to travel, at least. Sometimes he e-mailed Carter a selfie from Ginza or Machu Picchu or Montmartre, always with the same message attached:
I can’t believe I’m here!

Carter rarely had those
can’t believe
moments. But he had one now, curled on a madman’s old couch in one of Portland’s working-class neighborhoods. How the hell had he gotten here? It was an unsettling thought, as if his life were an out-of-control carnival ride. Even more upsetting, though, was the follow-up thought:
Where the fuck am I going to end up next?
Where would he go when the magazine went belly-up, when his credit cards maxed out, when his landlord booted him out the door? At twenty, having his whole life in front of him as an empty page had been exhilarating. Now that he was pushing thirty-eight, the idea terrified him.

That thought got Carter out of the blankets and off the couch. He rubbed his face as he plodded to the bathroom. John had a small nightlight in there, which meant the bright overhead fixture could remain off. That was a mercy, and so he was thinking kindly of his host as he exited the bathroom—and nearly collided with John.

“Shit! Sorry!” Carter said.

“No, it’s… I didn’t realize you were in there. I’m sorry.”

The hallway was narrow. They attempted an awkward little dance around each other in the dark, and it was only when Carter accidentally brushed a hand against John’s hip that he realized John was naked. Carter jerked his arm back violently, lost his balance, and jostled to the side just as John was trying to move around him.

They ended up pressed together, chest to chest. Carter couldn’t see more than an outline of John’s head in the dim hall, but he heard John’s rapid breathing and felt his warmth through the thin cotton undershirt. The world suddenly seemed too small.

And then, somehow, they kissed.

Carter didn’t know which of them initiated the kiss. It was entirely possible that they reached the decision simultaneously. In any case, once their lips made contact, neither of them moved away. To the contrary—they began groping desperately at one another, Carter pawing bare skin while John reached under Carter’s shirt and down his boxers.

In their haste and hunger, they banged against the walls so hard that Carter was certain he’d end up bruised. But at the moment, he felt no pain at all. Just a rush of heat from his dick to his head, as if a rocket inside him had suddenly roared to life.

They very nearly collapsed to the polished wooden floor, where they would have rutted wildly but not very comfortably. Luckily John had the presence of mind to grunt a single word—“Bed!”—and steer them into the bedroom. Within seconds, Carter’s clothing lay discarded and he sprawled on the mattress, clutching John tightly on top of him.

Most of the circuits in Carter’s brain overloaded or shut down entirely, but the most primitive bits of gray matter registered John’s smooth skin, which, like his bedding, smelled faintly of lavender and herbs. John tasted good too—mint and cloves—and his agile tongue danced in Carter’s mouth. But good God, his hard cock dragging against Carter’s, grinding against Carter’s balls, poking at the sensitive skin behind his sac and then working ever so slightly into—

“Rubber,” Carter said, his voice hoarse.

John went still. “Wha-what?”

“Condom. We need a condom.”

“Oh.” John slumped on top of him. “I don’t have any. And I suppose you won’t believe me when I tell you I don’t need one.”

“Yeah, I have a clean bill of health too, but I haven’t been tested in a while and—”

“It’s not that. I’m not human, remember?”

In the rush of lust, Carter had managed to forget that part. Which said something about how strong that rush had been. “Aliens can’t get STDs?”

“No.” When John sighed, air puffed along Carter’s cheek. “But you don’t believe I’m not human.”

Carter didn’t. Couldn’t. It would be a ridiculous thing to believe. He smoothed John’s ass, which was round and muscular. “Let’s just manage without, okay?”

Perhaps relieved, John moaned quietly before renewing their kissing with added vigor. Now, though, he kept his dick lined up with Carter’s, hard length against hard length, and then proved himself strong enough to grab both shafts in one hand while propping himself up on the other arm. Unlike Carter, John was uncut, but they were otherwise very equally matched. Soon their mingled precome slicked their bodies, making their frenzied movements easier, making the amount of friction almost unbearably perfect.

After that, everything became somehow both very sharp and very fuzzy, as if Carter’s body stretched exquisitely between two universes. It had been half a lifetime since he hungered so deeply for physical contact, since he yearned so intensely to crawl under someone’s skin and have that man crawl under his. He became aware he was making noises—animalistic growls and drawn-out moans—and was too emotionally overloaded to be embarrassed. Besides, John was noisy too, gasping and grunting when he wasn’t sucking on Carter’s neck or—oh God—his nipples.

Then they were kissing again, ravenous and urgent, and John still tasted delicious, and even in the dark bedroom with his eyes squeezed shut, Carter saw bursts of color like a frenetic pop art exhibition inside his skull. He and John came at the same time, both shouting, and although the Earth didn’t quite move, a smaller planet might have.

Almost immediately afterward, Carter felt as if he’d transformed into a sea creature. Something boneless that moved in pulses through tropical waters, allowing its appendages to dangle negligently. John hauled him up the mattress and arranged a pillow under his head. Carter summoned just enough energy to lift his ass so John could draw the blankets out from under him and over their sweaty bodies. And then Carter did something he never, ever did. Not since Freddy. He rolled on his side, pulled John close in a tender embrace, and fell asleep.

J
OHN
’
S
HAIR
had escaped its gel completely and now floated around his head in adorable, unruly waves. “I’ll make us breakfast,” he said.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Carter sat upright in the bed. “I don’t eat breakfast.”

“You seemed to enjoy those pancakes last night.”

“Right, but that was dinner. My stomach likes to sleep in.”

John glanced at Carter’s bare belly and smiled. “All right. But how about coffee?”

“You make me coffee and I’ll nominate you for sainthood.”

Still grinning, John got out of bed. Carter watched appreciatively as John padded naked around the morning-lit bedroom, gathering his clothes. It had been a very long time since Carter experienced a morning after, the sensation more pleasant than he expected. It was nice to see a handsome man, nude and a little sleepy, and to know that the man found him at least reasonably attractive. It was also nice to watch that man bend over to retrieve something from the bottom dresser drawer. Nicest of all, Carter caught no hint of regret from John and felt none himself. Their hookup had been unplanned, to be sure, but it hadn’t been a mistake.

While John slowly dressed, Carter scratched at the dried mess on his belly. “Is it all right if I use your shower?”

“Of course. Towels are in the closet.”

A little self-conscious—John was in a lot better physical shape than he was—Carter waited for him to leave the room. Then Carter crawled out of bed, noting that John’s mattress was a hell of a lot more comfortable than the couch or Carter’s ancient futon. Only when he picked his clothing off the floor did Carter realize that, in their excitement and eagerness to get rid of intervening fabric, he and John had managed to rip both the boxers and the undershirt.

“Great,” Carter muttered as he lumbered into the bathroom. He’d barely owned enough clothing as it was. He shoved the ruined clothes into the trash can and waited for the shower to get hot.

John’s place had better water pressure than Carter’s, where the showerhead emitted hardly more than a trickle. Also, John stocked his shower with nice soap—it smelled like cocoa and foamed up beautifully—rather than the cheap stuff Carter bought on sale at the drugstore. Consequently, Carter spent more time washing than he’d intended to. When he finally emerged into the steam-filled room, he brushed his teeth but had to finger comb his hair, which would probably soon erupt into a frizzy disaster.

With a towel wrapped around his waist, he skulked into the living room to fetch his jeans and sweater. He hated putting day-old clothing on his freshly washed body, and he wasn’t too thrilled to be going commando either.

The scent of coffee drew him into the bright, tidy kitchen. As soon as he entered, John got up from the Formica table and poured Carter a cup from a large french press. “Milk or sugar?”

“Nope. Black and bitter, like my heart.” An old joke that had become less funny as the years passed.

As they sat across from each other and sipped, their gazes occasionally met. Finally Carter cleared his throat. “You don’t have to get to work?”

“I don’t have a job.”

“How do you pay the bills?” Carter was genuinely curious, in no small part because his own meager source of income was about to dry up.

“I have investments. It was hard when I first arrived. My people don’t use money and I didn’t understand the concept. Took me a while to catch on. But once I did, I made sure to save as much as I could. And I don’t really need a lot to get by.” He spoke quietly, matter-of-factly, but with an expression that said he didn’t expect Carter to believe him. Carter found himself wishing he
could
believe.