Boy Midflight (19 page)

“Call me
Canadian Metal
!”

“
Canadian Metal
, get off!”

I release his arms and roll off Ferni to lie beside him. He lifts his face, red, and his hair is mussed.

“Not so tough, are you, Ferni?” I laugh. He jumps on me, pinning me in place by sitting on my hips. Grabbing my wrists, he raises them to the headboard.

“Laugh it up,
Canadian Metal
. What kind of name is that anyway? You’re no match for my muscles. Why are you hitting yourself?” he asks, slapping my face with my own hand. “Don’t bruise that pretty face! Mikal won’t be happy.” My fist knocks against my jaw.

“Okay! Okay! I submit!”

“You’re lucky, I’ll let you off the hook because your boyfriend is bigger than me. Don’t you forget the damage these pipes are capable of,” he says, leaning back and flexing.

“Yeah, yeah, Hercules, get off me!” I say, pushing him. Ferni returns to his position propped against the headboard and again takes up his beer.

“Vegas, huh? You boys aren’t going to haul off and get hitched, are you?”

“Don’t worry about it, that’s a long way off. You’d be one of my best men, I promise.”

“Or bridesmaids, depending on which you decide to be. Personally I think you’d both look scary in a dress, but suit yourself. You do look nice in white.”

“Oh, you’re funny, aren’t ya?”

“You excited for tonight?”

“Yeah, of course. It’s Vegas.”

“I mean are you excited to be with him? You haven’t slept together yet.” Ferni turns to face me and raises an eyebrow.

Wow. Haven’t really stopped to think about that now, have we? I mean, of course. I think about it, always think about it. But thinking and doing are different.

Ring. Ring.

Ferni picks it up. “Ferni’s house of whips and chains,” he announces, and I shoot him a look. What if it was my mother? “Yeah, Mikal. He’s right here. Hold on.” Ferni holds the receiver against his crotch and mock pumps, his face contorted in pleasure and pain. I punch him in the arm and grab it from him.

“Hey, Mikal. I’m just getting ready.”

“We should leave for the airport in fifteen minutes. Is that enough time for you, babe?”

I smile and warm to his voice. “Yeah, no problem.”

“Okay, I’ll stop by your room and we’ll go down together.”

“Great, see you in a bit.” I get up from the bed and hang up the phone. “Gotta leave in fifteen minutes.”

“Well get packing.” Ferni laughs, taking a swig of his beer.

I start going through the closet and toss clothes into a small suitcase. Underwear, shorts, bathing suit, sunglasses, shirts, jeans, one suit….
Sex.
I wonder if that’s what Mikal wants tonight?
Of course he does! So do you.
Like every time I see him. This is big.
He’s big.
This is scary. He must be scared too. I mean this is all new to him. He’s so calm. Good thing because I can’t think straight. It’s all moving a little fast. Or slow. In the gay arena, we’re playing on the kiddy ice. I just like him so much and don’t want to mess anything up. Sex can mess stuff up. It can also be amazing. We’ve been tame so far.

“Hey, your door wasn’t closed. You have to be careful with that. Someone could barge in here,” Mikal says, hugging me from behind.

“Barge in and what? Give me a hug?” I laugh.

“Ready to go?” he asks, and I turn to him and nod. His impossibly white teeth bounce light from every source in the room. “Hey, Fernando. Plans for the night?”

“Not as big or exciting as yours, cowboy.”

“You’re not wearing this, are you?” I ask Mikal, tugging on the light sweater he has on. “Isn’t Vegas supposed to be super hot? You’re going to die as soon as you step off the plane.”

“Well, I was going to.”

“I’ll give you a shirt. I don’t think Las Vegas and sweaters jive.” I help pull it over his head. His pectorals fall back into place as he lowers his arms. Two perfect rocks to grasp hold of. “Maybe you shouldn’t wear a shirt,” I tease, poking his chest.

“Come on, Mr. Makeover. Get me a shirt, we gotta go,” Mikal says, grasping my hand. I love the feel of his skin. The outside of his hand is a little rough but the inside is milky soft. I walk to the closet and pick out a green T-shirt, simple with a number 1 on the front.

“If you must wear something, try this.” I throw the shirt to him. Mikal gets it on, somehow. What fits well on me, just snug in the right places, chest and arms, is a second skin to him. His biceps loom out of the sleeve openings and his chest pushes and contorts the number 1 on his front. “You look so hot! Are you sure you want to take me to Vegas? Can I even be seen with you?” I ask, sidling up to him and catching the scent of his cologne.

“Well, I may have you walk ten feet behind if that’s okay. Just whenever we’re in public,” Mikal teases. He squeezes my bicep, which I flex for him. He lifts my arm above my head and kisses the inside of my elbow up my triceps to where the flesh disappears beneath my shirt.

Ferni catches my gaze and winks at me. He starts giggling. “Here’s the thing. I’m in the same room as you two and I may as well be invisible.”

“You’re not invisible. We’re just going to see how far we can take this before you wig out.” Mikal reaches around and grabs my butt.

“Well, I’ll get comfortable, then. I can always give some pointers if required.” Fernando picks up his beer and takes a long swig.

I smile at his nonchalance and then push a hand up under the back of Mikal’s shirt, relishing the warm smooth skin. I love the way his spine separates the muscles of his back into mirror-image halves. Mikal releases my butt, and I let my hand find its way into the warmth of his armpit. Wrapping his arms around me, he kisses….

Soft and sweet

Like a woman

Savoring my lips

Flash of tongue

Against my teeth

Dancing with my own

Nibble on my lip

Delicious pain

Waiting to be pierced

Hard and savage

Like a Man

Insatiable Beast

Sudden force

Sucking my tongue

Gnashing of teeth

Ripping my lip

Chaste and Virginal

Delicious Pain

Like a Child

Holding me tight

Giving me comfort

Mikal holds me close and I feel so full, like I never want to cease this embrace. As if sensing my thoughts, possibly exercising his, he envelopes me further still and rests his forehead against mine. I am so in love.

“Okay, I guess this would be my cue to exit.” Ferni sets his empty bottle on the nightstand and crosses his arms thoughtfully. “Although the show has been fun. It got boring toward the end, though. Too much star-crossed lovers stuff. I was hoping it would veer more toward
Fifty Shades of Gay
.” He hops off the bed. “You boys better get going, don’t want to miss your flight.”

“Thanks, Ferni. Remember
Canadian Metal
kicks
Suck Boy
’s ass, but he still thinks he’s pretty cool.”

“Yeah, yeah. Get out of here, you two. I’ll give you a hand with your stuff,” Ferni says, grabbing my suitcase.

FLYING INTO
Vegas is always a magical experience. The lights of the city seem to extend forever in every direction across the desert floor. The mega resorts loom in an incongruous menagerie from a child’s toy collection: a pyramid and a giant sphinx, a replica of New York complete with Lady Liberty, the Eiffel Tower, and a pirate ship.

Welcome to Sin City. Slots clang and screens invite us to take in a dizzying array of shows and restaurants. We get on a sky train transit to terminal A to pick up our bags. “So, what’s up first?” I ask.

“Whatever you desire. I’m so happy to be alone with you I don’t even care.”

I lean into him as the sky train glides forward, and we both grasp the rail above our heads. “To be honest, I don’t care to gamble, or club, or do any of the tourist stuff. I’m happy to sit by the pool, have a bottle of wine, and relax. Golfing might be nice, though. You up for golf tomorrow?”

“I don’t golf, Ashley.”

“What? You’re from Miami! We’re going golfing. No argument. You remember what happens when you fight with me, right?”

“I’m not golfing.”

“What’s coming off first, mister? Shirt or shoes?” I laugh as Mikal grabs me in a headlock and growls in my ear in an attempt to show me he’s the alpha. I know better. The train slows to a stop at Terminal A.

“First I have to figure out how to get this shirt off. I think it’s getting tighter,” Mikal says, twisting his torso side to side in a boxer’s stance. We walk quickly to the elevators and descend to baggage claim, where a hurried throng of activity awaits. We find our bags relatively quickly. It helps that I made some little macramé rainbows to dangle from the zippers. No, I’m joking. Okay, I’m not.
Yes
, I am.

“Excuse me? Mr. Mikal? Mr. Ashley?” a valet in uniform asks us.

“Yes, that’s us,” Mikal replies.

“I’ll tote your luggage, gentlemen. If you’ll follow me, the car is just outside,” our valet—Spiff, by his polished brass nametag—informs us as he relieves us of our bags.

“Oh, you are a charmer,” I say, looking up at Mikal. “Now that I’m playing nice, you want to put me in a headlock again anyway? I kind of liked it.”

Mikal laughs and obliges me with a gentle squeeze around the neck and tussles up my hair. “If you weren’t so damn cute, I’d….”

“You’d what?” I ask, throwing an arm around Mikal’s shoulder after having been released from his grip.

“I don’t know. I’d probably love you just the same,” he says with a shrug, looping his thumb through a belt loop on the side of my jeans.

The heat of the evening air hits us like a chalk eraser to the face the second we step out from the air-conditioned terminal. “Glad I suggested you leave the sweater behind?”

“Yeah, it might have been a bit much,” Mikal concedes.

Adaptability is the word of choice in Vegas as the body goes through extreme temperature changes multiple times a day. From misted walkways and chilled hotels to blistering heat on the sidewalk and back again. In/Out. In/Out. And the temperature can change forty to fifty degrees. I do love the city, though. I feel like I’m on the set of
Total Recall
when Arnold Schwarzenegger is on Mars. It’s a city in the middle of a red desert. And there is always magic in the air or corruptibility, one of the two. Someone is winning; someone is losing. Deals are going down and others are breaking down. Our chauffeur pulls out of McCarran International Airport, and we sail toward Tropicana Boulevard. The mega resorts, which seem like grotesque mutations of children’s toys from the air, now loom ahead of us as testament to man’s imagination and the power of money. Easing into the bumper-to-bumper parade of traffic on Las Vegas Boulevard, Mikal and I are like children, our faces glued to the windows absorbing the visual extravaganza.

“This is ridiculous. I can’t see everything,” Mikal whines as he darts from one side of the limo to the other.

“Sure we can.” I open the sunroof and invite him to join me. We stand and gaze at the flagrant opulence from our new vantage point. A warm breeze runs through our hair and caresses our skin. I love this town, for all the glitzy razzle-dazzle, plastic and paint, the ludicrous heat, and for its struggling morality. God and the devil forever in a tango down the Boulevard.

Mikal slips an arm around my waist and rests the other on the roof of the limo. He makes me feel so full of life by his mere presence. Throngs of tourists crowd the sidewalks and progress at the pace of traffic. All walks of life are here, and if any city frees inhibitions, it’s this one. I suppose it may help that it’s perfectly legal to carry open alcohol down the street.

“Let’s get out of here. Too many people. I came to be with you,” Mikal says. “Let’s go somewhere quiet.” We duck back into the car and ask the driver to take us to the hotel.

“Mikal, thanks so much for doing this. It’s nice to get out of LA.”

“I’m just being selfish. There always seems to be someone else around. It was my only choice really. I had to fly us somewhere to get you alone.”

I say a silent thank you to Ferni for not taking my invitation. I reach for Mikal’s hand, and we ride in silence to the hotel. Contented and satisfied quiet engulfs us, in contrast to the bells and whistles of activity outside our windows.

Our hotel is located off the strip, and this detachment allows a semblance of solitude. A refinished hotel with clay-tile roofing and brushed plaster provides congruity with the desert and red mountains in the background.

The bellman opens our suite and places our luggage on cherrywood valise stands next to the dresser. I tip him and he turns and leaves Mikal and I alone.

“So, what do you want to do, cowboy?” I ask, walking to a wall of panoramic windows and pulling open the heavy drapes. Our suite affords us a view of the strip in its evening opulence. We can see clear from the Stratosphere to Mandalay Bay.

“Are you hungry?” Mikal asks, joining me for the view.

“Not really.”

“Do you want to go out?”

“Not particularly.”

“Should we order some wine?”

“Perfect.”

“Look, I love this shirt and all, but it’s suffocating me. Mind if I change?”

“I was thinking of doing the same actually. I’ll order the wine. You go ahead,” I say, giving him a quick kiss. As I dial room service, Mikal peels off my green T-shirt. His tan muscles are in silhouette against the light of the city behind him. My breath catches and it’s all I can do to stay on the phone and not go over to him.

“Ashley, do you have a tank top I can steal? I didn’t bring any.”

“Yeah, should be a couple in my duffle bag, go ahead,” I say and turn away. The sight of him has me flustered.

“Good evening, how may I help you, Mr. Mikal?”

“I’d like to order a bottle of merlot. Can you recommend a bottle?”

“The Duckhorn Three Palms is very nice.”

“That’s fine, thank you.” I finish and hang up the phone, anxious to join Mikal. I take his hand and pull him to the bed. “Forget the shirt.” I lay down, resting my head on one of the pillows. His delicious weight crushes me, and we sink further into the sumptuous bed. He closes his eyes and moves to kiss me. Those dangerous dark lashes settling on each other, creating envy in every woman he meets. His lips meet mine. So full, so exquisitely careful with me, as if I may break or disappear. Running my hands up his back, I grasp his shoulders and use them as leverage to hold him closer. He’s excited. So am I. His skin is so warm and so smooth. Stubbornly opposed to the rigid, hard muscles beneath. Mikal is of that rare breed of man both handsome and beautiful.