Standby (2 page)

Tom was beginning to wonder if the guy was a little nuts. Or maybe drunk. But he
was
really hot, and he seemed far more wistful than dangerous. Besides, a little craziness might break Tom out of his funk and give him something to do besides wander and wait. His exhaustion was making him a little punchy.

“I don't believe in airplanes,” Tom said. “I mean, I took a physics class in college, so I learned all about lift and stuff like that. But... I don't know. Seems like bullshit. I don't see how a little bit of moving air can keep tons of stuff from crashing.”

The man was grinning widely. “But you fly in planes anyway.”

“I
try
to fly in planes. Today I've been only halfway successful.”

“You try to fly in planes even though you don't believe in them.”

Tom shrugged. “I suspend disbelief. Maybe that's enough to keep me in the air.” He laughed at his lame joke.

But the guy laughed too and waggled his eyebrows. “Maybe it's magic.”

“Maybe it is.” And because he was tired and would never see this man again, Tom decided to expound on one of his theories, the sort that was generally fueled by a couple of joints rather than by proper reasoning. “I think lots of things are magic, actually. Like my phone.”

As the man watched, Tom dug his phone out of a pocket. “This thing is, what, about the size of a deck of cards? But I can use it to call people and even see them while we talk. I can take photos and video, I can play games, I can listen to music or watch movies, I can surf the Internet and send text messages and.... And I can't actually do any of that right now, because the battery's dead. But I could if I hadn't forgotten my charger. People will tell you it's all about bits and bytes and chips, but I call bullshit. I say it's just magic.”

“Rafael,” said the man, holding out his hand. He looked perfectly delighted.

“Tom.”

Rafael's hand was very warm and his handshake firm.

“Where are you headed?” Rafael asked.

“Iowa. If I can. I've been on standby forever.”

Sadness flitted across Rafael's face. “I know how that is.”

“Oh, you too? Where are you trying to go?”

“Nowhere.” Rafael sighed. “I just come here to watch the airplanes.”

Considering Tom's admission about magic in flight and cell phones, he was in no position to judge. “Are you into planes? As a hobby, I mean?” He was vaguely aware that just as some people were obsessive about cars or trains, some had a thing for aircraft. Freud would likely have a good explanation for that.

Rafael gazed out into the darkness. Tom could see Rafael's reflection in the window. He looked very far away.

“I used to fly,” Rafael said quietly. “But I... I made mistakes. I was grounded. Now I can only watch.”

“Doesn't that make it worse? Like being on a diet and visiting a bakery?”

After considering this for a few moments, Rafael shook his head. “No. It's a reminder. A small consolation. Is there something you truly long for, Tom? With all your heart?”

Tom's chest tightened. He stared down at his shoes and gave a small nod. “Yeah.”

“And do you avoid any mention of it? Or do you seek it out because even a shadow, even a tiny taste is better than nothing?”

Fine. Tom might have spilled about his magic hypothesis, but no way was he going to admit to this stranger that he regularly sniffled over the kinds of movies where the main couple ended up clinging tearfully to one another. Usually in the rain, for some reason. Sometimes one of them was dying or had to go to war, or some other tragic circumstances intervened, but it didn't matter because they'd found True Love. Tom would further not admit that his Kindle was filled with books whose covers generally featured two naked male torsos floating over a landscape, books in which an HEA—or at least an HFN—was guaranteed.

“I don't avoid it,” Tom admitted to his shoes.

For five, maybe ten minutes, they sat silently beside each other in the empty concourse, looking at the motionless planes outside. Tom imagined they looked like a scene in a film. Not a rom-com, but something moody and artsy. Coen brothers. Kubrick. Sofia Coppola? Maybe even something French.

Finally, Tom had a question. “To get this close to the planes, don't you need a boarding pass to get through security?”

Rafael laughed gently. “It's not a problem for me.”

Perhaps he still had his old ID, or else the security people knew him from his pilot days and let him through.

Tom scratched the stubble on his cheek. “Um, I hope you don't mind me asking, but... are you grounded permanently? Or just for a while?”

“I'm not sure. I keep hoping my superiors will reconsider, but it's been a long time.”

“I'm sorry,” Tom said sincerely.

“Thanks. I guess I'm sort of on standby too.” Rafael patted Tom's shoulder and a very strange thing happened. Right through the stupid sport jacket that had been all wrong for the interview and the pale blue button-down that had been even worse, Tom felt a jolt where Rafael touched him. It was a little like getting zapped by static electricity, but it was more painful
and
more pleasant. Way more pleasant, actually, in a way that made Tom's khakis (also totally wrong) immediately feel far too tight.

Rafael froze with his hand hovering just over Tom's shoulder. He was wide-eyed and flushed.

“Wh-what the hell?” Tom squeaked.

“Not hell. Definitely not hell.” Rafael took a deep, shuddering breath. “We need to go somewhere more private.”

“I can't afford a hotel.”

“We don't need one. C'mon.” Rafael stood and held out his hand. When Tom took it, Rafael led him at a near run down the concourse, the suitcase bumping along behind.

Vaguely, Tom remembered some politician getting arrested for soliciting sex in an airport men's room. Wait! Wasn't it even
this
airport? Tom did not want to get arrested. But he had never in his life felt such a desperate need to get into another man's pants. Criminal record be damned—if he didn't get to taste Rafael soon, Tom was going to fucking die.

As it was, Rafael didn't take him to a bathroom. Instead, they rushed down a hallway with a tornado shelter sign at its entrance. Several closed doors lined the corridor, and Rafael stopped at the last one, which was beige and marked only by some numbers. It was locked, but he held his palm over the keypad and then was able to turn the knob and open the door.

“How did you—” Tom began.

“They didn't take
everything
from me. Come in.”

When Rafael switched on the overhead light, Tom found himself in a small room with scuffed yellowish walls and a worn white floor. Large, dusty boxes were stacked in the corner, but the room was otherwise bare.

“What's this?” Tom asked.

Rafael shrugged. “Storage, I guess. Nobody ever comes in here.” He moved very close to Tom but didn't quite touch him.

Although Tom really, really wanted to tear the guy's clothes off, and although they'd known each other less than half an hour and Tom had no claim to him at all, he narrowed his eyes. “Is this where you bring all the men you pick up?”

Rafael reached for Tom's face but let his hand drop. “You're the only person I've ever picked up.”

It had to be a lie, no matter how sincere Rafael looked. And Tom, who'd ruined more than one hookup in the past by being embarrassingly needy, just had to press the point. “So how come you know about this room, then? I doubt pilots spend a lot of time in storage closets.”

“I come here now and then when I need a little quiet. And I never said I was a pilot.”

“You did too! You said—”

“Wait.” Rafael closed his eyes and chewed his lower lip. When he opened them again, he seemed to have reached a decision. Keeping his gaze on Tom's face, he pressed his hand firmly to Tom's chest.

The bolt of lightning that hit them this time was so strong that they cried out in unison and collapsed to their knees. Tom was certain he was going to die right then, and he almost didn't care because the ecstasy that wracked his body was worth it. But when the sensation faded, he was still fully alive—and more desperate for Rafael than for oxygen.

“R-r-rafael,” Tom rasped, reaching for him.

But although Rafael looked equally stricken, he rolled out of range and lurched to his feet. “I've heard of this happening. This connection. But I never thought....” He took a deep breath. “I... I have to show you this, Tom. I'm not supposed to. You aren't supposed to know. But I have to.”

Show him what? The handcuffs, so he could drag Tom to the police station for attempted public indecency? The assortment of illegal substances he wanted Tom to body-cavity smuggle to Iowa? The collection of severed heads he'd stuffed into those cardboard boxes, and to which he'd shortly be adding Tom's?

No. Rafael smoothly pulled off his T-shirt. His muscles were as well developed as his tight clothing had promised, his stomach as lean. His skin was startlingly pale, like freshly poured cream, and hairless. But apparently showing off his pink nipples and six-pack wasn't his goal, because he slowly turned away.

Tom gasped. Two long, narrow scars ran the length of Rafael's back, angling slightly from just between the scapulae to the bottom of his ribcage. They looked new—raised and angry and raw.

“What?” Tom whispered. Without quite realizing it, he'd stood and moved closer.

Rafael turned his head slightly, but not enough to look behind him. “I won't quite heal. I keep hoping that's a good sign, like... like maybe they'll grow back someday.”

“G-grow back?” Tom's question came out in a squeak.

Rafael's shoulders slumped and he hid his face in his hands. “My wings.”

And here was the thing: Tom believed him.

Moving slowly and hesitantly, he reached out and put his hand on Rafael's back, right between the scars. He wasn't jolted this time. Instead, heat flowed from the point of contact through his body, as if his blood were being replaced by molten lava. Only nicer.

Rafael made a sound that was either a gasp or a choked sob. Then he turned around to embrace Tom tightly. They were almost the same height, and their bodies fit together perfectly. As Tom hugged back, Rafael tucked his face into the crook of Tom's neck, his hair tickling softly at Tom's cheek. “It's my own fault,” Rafael murmured. “I deserved to be punished.”

“What did you do?” Tom couldn't imagine what transgression would be worth such a desecration of Rafael's body.

“Hubris. I hurt others. The details don't matter.”

Tom was going to say that making mistakes was only human—but that wouldn't have been an appropriate statement under the circumstances. So he simply held Rafael tighter and smoothed a palm over the bare skin of his back. Rafael shivered slightly when Tom touched his scars but didn't try to stop him.

“How can you stand it?” Tom asked. Not just the loss of flight, which would be devastating enough. But the loss of... everything. Because being grounded must have also meant being isolated from the others of his kind.

“I watch the airplanes fly. I... I
hope
.”

“Can I help?”

Rafael's body stiffened. Then he pulled away slightly so he could look into Tom's eyes. Rafael's eyes glowed like molten glass. “You want to help me? Why?”

“If I can. Because....” Tom had to think for a moment. “I'm not really sure. This is easily the weirdest thing that's ever happened to me. I'm not at all sure my sub sandwich wasn't spiked with ‘shrooms. Or maybe I'm sitting in a chair at gate D5, drooling while I dream. But whatever. Something about you just feels right to me.”

The smile he received in response was almost beautiful enough to blind him. “Maybe I'm dreaming
you
, Tom.”

“Oh, I bet someone like you could dream something a lot more exciting than an unemployed marketing guy from Iowa.”

“No. You're perfect. You know that. You've felt it too.”

Tom slowly nodded. The sensation he got every time he touched Rafael—while literally shocking—was as unmistakable as writing on the wall.
You belong together
.

“So. How can I help?”

“I don't.... I'm not sure.”

“But you have an inkling.”

Rafael frowned thoughtfully but nodded. “I've heard of a few cases. It's about balance, I think. When I messed up, I threw things out of balance. If that happens while flying, you'll end up spinning into a crash.”

Considering that, in theory at least, Tom was going to get on a plane in a few hours, he didn't want to think about crashes. “You need to straighten things out. Make things right with the people you hurt.”

“I can't,” Rafael said, wincing. “They're gone.”

Wow. Exactly how long had Rafael been grounded? Tom didn't ask. He pulled him close instead, trying not to tremble at the contact. “But it's not hopeless?”

“Maybe not. I told you I've been hoping. In the other cases I heard about, the punished ones atoned by doing for others. Helping them gain something good, something they longed for.”

Tom remembered the conversation they'd had earlier, the one that had led him to thoughts about romance novel covers and couples making out in the rain. What he truly wanted was a long-term, deeply loving relationship with the man of his dreams. But since getting down on one knee and proposing seemed a little much at the moment, he decided to try something simple and straightforward.

“What are you thinking?” Rafael asked.

Tom gave him a gentle smile and began to strip.

He did not have washboard abs or flawless skin, and he was moderately hairy. His endowment was fairly average. But the avid stare he received from Rafael made him feel like the most favorited guy on Jack'd. Rafael took off the rest of his own clothing so quickly that he was little more than a blur. Not surprisingly, seeing him naked was enough to steal Tom's breath away. He was hairless below the waist too, perfectly proportioned, his erect cock the same pink as his nipples. And he had no navel.