Wisdom Wednesday FlashBack
When I wrote this story for the 2012 M/M Romance Group Summer Event Love is Always Write, our concern was about the end of times according to the Mayan Calendar.
Who would have thought then that eight years later the world of that sci-fi story would resonate so much with the world we're experiencing in 2020, not just for the face-covering situation but the mental and physical isolation becoming such common ground? Also The Mandalorian vibe with the mask and stuff...
Take a look...
CHAPTER ONE
Blast
me.
If Alaric Aquinas hadn’t been ravenous, he
wouldn’t have been chasing the furry thing; ergo he wouldn’t be in this
predicament, hanging from a precipice. A damned man-made precipice nonetheless,
outcome of the improvised junkyard when people started to throw everything they
didn’t need anymore, into this former depression of the terrain.
Perhaps, today was his last day on Nova
Gaia.
A
mighty fine day to end twenty-six years of shenanigans.
The straps about Alaric’s torso (preventing
his fall) were not meant to support his weight, just to carry the few things he
used whenever he was away from his quarters. Weak after so many days without
food, he wasn’t strong enough to propel himself upward, not even to promote a
swift, undramatic death by swinging a little.
His pappa would have said Alaric should
give a better fight before giving up. The only thing he was fighting right now
(besides hunger) was fricking gravity, and one needed machines to win the
constant battle against that bitch.
Every time Alaric opened his eyes in the
dwindling twilight, vertigo seized him. He was pressing his eyelids so hard
they trembled in a rebellious effort to betray him, to make him meet his last
moment with frightening awareness and flailing arms.
Something smacked him between his closed
eyes. Luckily, he was wearing his goggles. That would have been annoyingly
painful otherwise.
A rope.
Can
it be?
The miraculous rope was long enough to
circle his waist. If the straps yielded now, he wouldn’t fall. Phew, he wasn’t
afraid of heights, but it’s not the same when you don’t have anything under
your feet. All he needed now was to find
strength to pull himself up and fast. Maybe this time he could have the chance
to talk to his savior.
Helping Alaric every time he met with
trouble, the strange man in a gas mask had kept his distance, never exchanging
words, just letting his presence be known.
Curiosity moved Alaric to act swiftly more
than the actual sense of danger. He longed for an opportunity to face his
protector. The masked man had been haunting his dreams and— lately—even his
waking moments. It had become a compulsion stronger than hunger and survival.
It had inflamed his desire for company.
Alaric knew it had a lot to do with
worldlier things than gratitude, in a very testosterone-seeks-testosterone kind
of way. In his dreams, he unclothed the stranger without removing the gas mask.
He frankly did not care what his savior looked like. The only important thing
was how good that man had been to him, without asking for anything in return.
In a place with so few people left,
kindness was a rare oddity. All went about their lives paying as little
attention as possible to other survivors. The natural, human instinct to seek the comfort of a group had been forsaken for that of isolation. Fears
fathered on the illogical claim that gatherings might bring back the dust
plague.
Alaric was finally on his feet, running
toward the place where he saw the glint of the dying light on the visor of the
gas mask. It was too late though, all he found was the rabbit he had been
chasing impaled on a stick, like a macabre offering. His protector didn’t even
give him the chance to blow a kiss in his direction now that he had summoned
the courage to do so.
I
have the shittiest timing in the galaxy.
He quickly changed his goggles to thermal
recognition in a last effort to see if the man was still around. Useless,
everything around him was colder than a dog’s nose.
Strained and frustrated, Alaric decided to
set camp in the first decaying building he found outside the improvised
junkyard. He hadn’t encountered survivors this far in the outskirts of the city
before. He did a cursory examination of the place (to confirm he was alone) and
started to skin the rabbit.
He broke some chairs to start a fire and
used the stick the rabbit had been delivered on to roast it. His place was
almost at the other end of the city, and the night was too cold to be wandering
when he could rest here by this nice fire with a sated stomach.
If the man hadn’t scurried like a scared
pigeon, Alaric would have loved to share his food.
Be
honest with yourself Alaric, you’d share with him food, mouth, hands, cock,
hole, and everything in between.
As he chewed a roasted strip of meat, he
pondered all the things he couldn’t do with the masked man, adjusting his
intruding cock. He was messy enough after the junkyard snafu to consider a
hasty masturbatory release. No, he was going to wait until he could do it at
his own leisure in the security of his own quarters. GM deserved better than a
mechanical, uninspired tug, and Alaric deserved to clean himself properly
afterward. He had an adequate amount of water contained for a decent bath.
Alaric chuckled inwardly; this was the
second time he had thought about the masked man as GM. Calling his savior Gas
Mask was too impersonal, GM sounded like a friend’s nickname, and he wanted to
feel close to this silent protector. Not to mention that little interaction
with other human beings really helped with the unrestricted explosion of
wishful thinking and fricking gas-mask-gazing fantasies.
He readied himself to sleep on the marble
floor of the abandoned hotel lobby, draping about him bedclothes from one of
the rooms and hoping with all his heart for the opportunity to be face-to-mask
with the stranger without the need to be in danger.
The founders had brought myths saying a
rabbit’s foot was a good luck charm, maybe Alaric’s good luck charm was a gas
mask at the end.
****
Blessed be the Universe, for I was able to help him
again.
Sule
Sarong’s Personal Log - Standard date 5772.03.12
When Sule discovered the handsome lad, it had been raining. Sule rounded a corner and by pure chance looked up. The vision was there, naked and pale in the filtered light of the morning. The weathered green, double doors behind him and the ochre and pink façade of the two-story building did nothing but enhance his lean frame. The contours of his long arms ended in manly hands firmly grasping the wrought-iron balcony. With his body tilted a little forward as if to catch the blessing of the rain more easily, the naked dream had his eyes close and a line of happiness curved the plump lips on a square masculine face.
Struck by something more powerful than
lightning, Sule staggered out of sight, just in case the young man looked down.
Sule stood there frozen until he tasted the rain and realized he was gaping in
idyllic awe.
Nova Gaia architecture had been designed
after Earth’s Belle Époque before the Great War, and the ornate building had
two statues not far from the vision’s balcony. Those representations of beauty
were mere children’s doodles compared to the willowy godling enjoying the rain.
The place wasn’t far from his own; ergo it
amazed him how it was possible he hadn’t seen this man before. Sule
floated—enthralled—on the street until the lad became bored or cold and moved
inside without even looking down at the street once.
The first time Sule helped the handsome
lad, he was wearing his gas mask. It had been a particularly dusty day, and he
had it on as a precaution. Now, he kept using it so the lad would know it was
the same stranger helping him every time because it had a distinctive blue
mark. However, Sule had never had the courage to introduce himself.
Nova Gaia recovered quicker than the humans
who thought they had conquered her. A lustrum after the dust plague, Nova Gaia
was lush again, while the sparse human population had reverted to an age long
before the colonization of this planet. The devices running on extended-life
batteries still worked, but those that needed constant renewal had been
abandoned since there weren’t enough skilled survivors to keep things in
working condition.
Hundreds of years of human civilization in
Nova Gaia had been destroyed in less than six standard months by a plague with
no rational or scientific explanation. Powerful furnaces, wielders of the
metallurgy-based industry of the planet, had been used to incinerate the insane
amount of bodies left by the dust plague in its wake and to avoid the second tide
of disease originated by the indiscriminate decomposition. Ironic since during
the Second Industrial Revolution and France’s Belle Époque on Earth the theory
to eradicate diseases had been developed.
Large Industries were inconsequential;
there were no masses to consume. Cattle and poultry roamed freely in the
mountains far from the outskirts of the one-time prosperous colonies. People
survived mostly from the animals that were never truly for human consumption:
rabbits, dogs, doves, cats. All former pets and therefore stuck within the
cities.
Sule hadn’t eaten a dog or a cat yet, he
tried to stick to rabbits and doves. Occasionally, a hunting party would go to
the mountains and come back with meats. Meats, they would exchange for sexual
favors.
As long as the man was clean, Sule hadn’t
had problems with it, and his stomach had always thanked him greatly afterward.
Now, after the vision at the balcony had entered his life, the thought of another
man joining him felt somewhat on the verge of disloyalty. So invested was his
mind in the lad, it was only appropriate for his body to follow suit.
The plague had left the survivors so
melancholic that there weren’t even the usual hoarders trying to keep goods for
themselves and profit. Anyone could go to the stores and get clothing and
footwear. Scarves and hoods were the most popular articles since many survivors
presented facial abrasions.
Perhaps
the lad thinks I’m disfigured because of the gas mask.
Saddened but grateful to be alive, most
people kept to themselves, interacting very little with others, just attentive
to their com-devices, waiting for the signal of the long-awaited rescue, coming
from any of the other colonized planets a couple of light-years away from Nova
Gaia.
Sule stared at the two moons, muted
guardians of their night. Nova Gaia had three moons but one was retrograde, and
they were so infrequently together in the dark sky that a myth existed saying
every time the three moons were together a catastrophe would befall.
Many said the dust plague had started after
the three moons had been seen together.
There was only one bright thing in Sule’s
firmament, and he wondered where his lovely vision was spending this night.
CHAPTER TWO
The thick head of GM’s cock painted Alaric’s lips with delicious fluids in rapid brushes. His body was aflame waiting for the imminent penetration after so much yearning. Then GM did a wicked thing, sweeping Alaric’s nostrils with the raging head. So naughty.
Blast me.
Alaric opened his eyes to discover a dog
licking his nose.
He could hear the amused voice of his maman
in the distance. “That’s what happens when you don’t wash your mouth before
bed.” He sprang to a sitting position, startling the little perpetrator covered
in a mane like an unruly mop. A mop that must have been white when brand new
and now was dirty-water-colored.
At least the doggy wasn’t feral. It
wouldn’t have been nice to wake up to the pain of his face being ripped
unceremoniously. “Little fellow, the lick-fest is over.”
Alaric hadn’t used his voice in a long
time, and it was rough, sounding more like a fricking growl, which drew a yip
from the little mop. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.” He stood up and went
to the sealed container where he had left the entrails of his
gas-mask-delivered supper. He opened the can and put it on the marble floor.
“Here, you can have this. They are not my favorites.”
Leaving the little mop, munching
desperately, he walked to the entrance of the abandoned hotel. It was that
surreal moment—darkest before dawn—when for a second everything stood frozen
waiting for the sun to chase away horror and obscurity. The promise that no
matter what, day always followed night.
A muffled noise snapped him out of his
contemplation, like many people heavily dragging their feet. Alaric turned his
head away from the changing sky and saw it.
At the far end of the street, an irregular column of survivors walked.
As he stared agape, more survivors joined the bizarre march.
In five years, he had not seen this
concentration of people before. Alaric gathered his few things and went toward
them, happy that the little mop didn’t follow him. It would have been sad to
resort to eating him at some point.
Almost at the end of the silent procession,
an old lady in a hovering cart (with a battery so low that it was moving sadly
as if somebody was pushing it) smiled at him. Alaric walked beside her cart.
“Good morning, mother. What’s going on?”
“A blessed day for you, boy. Hadn’t you
heard? Rescue is coming! The survivors in this area should go to the spaceport
close to the Tyrrhenian Sea.”
That was a journey of three standard days, and it would take them a standard-week to get there at the pace the survivors were moving. “Wonderful news, mother.” Alaric wondered why she was alone. Probably all her family was dead; at least she had it in her to look forward to a new life somewhere else.
Alaric pondered as he walked beside the
hovering cart. He must keep with him a few mementos if he was to start anew on
another planet. He didn’t want to get old and forget what his parents, brothers
and sisters looked like before the plague yanked them away from him.
“Excuse me, mother. I wish you a safe
journey. I must go back to my quarters.” Alaric took her bony hand and kissed
it. “Your blessing, please.”
“May the spirits of your ancestors guide
you, and my blessing goes with you, my boy.”
Alaric bowed to her and left running with
all his might.
Panting heavily, Alaric reached the top
floor of the two-story building he called home. He retrieved the hand-size
painting of his family in its beautifully gilded frame. As much as technology
gave them the opportunity to have holographic files, it was tradition to keep a
painted family portrait. He had requested to have the full-sized that adorned
the family room reduced to have it on his nightstand. Now, it would be the only
important thing from Nova Gaia flying with him to a new planet.
He studied it one last time before wrapping
it with a cloth to secure it in his backpack. His maman and pappa sat while he
and his siblings stood behind them. Alaric was in the center since he was the
youngest, his sisters each on one side, and his two brothers completing the
group on both extremes. His maman and sisters looked ethereal with their high
hair and jewels, short sleeves, and pristine gloves beyond their elbows, all
dark-haired beauties. His pappa sat with his top hat resting on his lap,
elegant and stoic with such a thick moustache that always tickled Alaric when
his father kissed him goodnight as a kid. All the brothers had their top hats
on, and all men wore morning frocks, waistcoats, and cravats. They were the
image of cordiality and prosperity.
His pappa would have wanted him to give a
good fight and not be sad and pathetic at this crossroads. His maman would have
been encouraging him to take several changes of underpants for the journey. His
brothers and sisters would have been fluttering around him jesting and laughing
and wishing him a safe trip.
Alaric hastily packed water, flashlights,
and underpants. He was used to going
without food for a couple of days, and surely, their rescuers would feed them.
He ran; it was time to join the throng of
survivors on their way to a new planet.
By the time Alaric reached the limits of
the city, the survivors were nowhere to be seen. Perhaps they had realized they
were moving insanely slow.
“Well, well, what have we here?” A very
unfriendly voice called behind him.
It was a trio of men, who usually came back
to the city from the mountains with cattle meat to trade. “Oh, hello,
gentlemen. Heard the good news?” Alaric commented, happy to find out he wasn’t
the last one to leave the city. He had never been around them long enough to
learn their names, maybe this time he would.
“Yeah, we heard. Mind if we join you?” The
tallest of the group said, ogling him strangely.
“Sure, the more the better,” Alaric
answered nonchalantly, although inside him alarms were furiously sending
distress signals.
The shortest and most menacing of the group
had a wicked look on his flat face and said gleefully, “Exactly, the more the
better.”
Alaric wasn’t sure if the right action was
to flee or prepare himself to fight like a feral beast. These men had never
been extremely friendly, he had exchanged sexual favors with them for food, but
something was wrong this time. What could they do, kill him? What would be the
point? The only thing worth killing on this planet under the circumstances was
food, and Alaric didn’t think these men had suddenly turned into cannibals.
If they wanted sex, they could ask for it,
couldn’t they? After so many weeks of wet dreams with the man wearing the gas
mask, he might not enjoy it, but it wouldn’t be an aberration of the customs.
Alaric wondered if GM had received the rescue signal and was on his way to the
spaceport with all the others.
Alaric selfishly hoped that if he were in
danger surrounded by these men, GM would be close to give him a helping hand—again.
What
a shitty moment to be unarmed.
They walked for a standard hour when they
reached a part of the road with trees on one side and a burnt field on the
other. The trio paced behind Alaric, and that kept his hair on ends. He was
seriously considering going back to the city when two of the men grabbed him by
the arms and the third yanked his trousers down, underpants included. “What
the…?”
“Shhh, we just want to play a little,” said
one in his ear, licking his earlobe.
Alaric thrashed to free himself, but he
couldn’t use his legs to kick with his trousers around his knees and the
awkward face down position. “Sons of bitches, you don’t need to force me. Be
decent and ask.”
“Ah, pretty thing, but this ain’t trade,
this is rape.” The one holding his legs, spat evilly as they carried him toward
the group of trees.
“Let me go, you fuckers. Let me go!” Alaric
was frantic, and the men were easily overpowering him, no matter how much he
thrashed.
“Yeah.”
“That’s what we want.”
“Put up a fight.”
“Make it interesting.”
Alaric heard the voices, but in his wild
struggle he couldn’t discern who was speaking.
The one holding his legs, let go with an
“Ouch!” One of the others jerked his arm before releasing him with a “What the
fuck?”
Alaric landed ass first on the ground and
before he lost consciousness (thanks to the angry reception of a tree trunk),
he saw the man in the gas mask serving steaming jabs and ferocious kicks to his
attackers.
A gas mask was indeed his lucky charm.
****
Blessed be the Universe for the lad is safe in my
arms.
Sule
Sarong’s Personal Log - Standard date 5772.03.13
Sule had taken care of the three idiots trying to force his lad, bringing him back to the city in his transport. They had several days before the rescue party arrived at the spaceport. It was sad to think that now that help was on its way, the survivors would start turning against each other.
Trying not to traumatize the lad further,
Sule had just pulled his clothes together and waited patiently for him to come
back on his own. He caressed the disheveled locks he had dreamed about so many
nights. Long, dark lashes begged him for a kiss, a kiss he couldn’t bring
himself to steal.
Since Sule had never been close enough to
the lad to learn the color of his eyes, he wondered. Sule knew they were fair,
in plain contrast with his dark, manly eyebrows; eyebrows he tentatively traced
not wanting to disturb the peaceful unconsciousness of this dreamboat.
And when your eyes’ve shone
Upon my face
And your smile’s blinded me
With nonnatural radiance
I will happily die
Knowing there’s
No more to yearn.
Sule recited mentally as he caressed a pale
cheek, with the back of his fingers, in a silent glide of nails and knuckles.
As much as Sule didn’t want to disturb the lad, he couldn’t help himself. So
close for him to have, it was impossible to put distance between them now.
The vision leaned onto his hand with a
pleased hum and opened his eyes. They were pale blue, like a cloudless sky at
the moment the sun was at its highest. “Your name,” the lad murmured, his voice
rasped as if his throat was extremely dry.
The gas mask came off, as Sule was just
waiting for the lad to recognize him first, and, holding the lad’s hand, he
spoke, “My name is Sule Sarong, your humble servant.” He drew the hand to his
lips and kissed it. “Allow me the gift of your name.”
The vision smiled, caressing with trembling
fingers his stubbly cheek. “Alaric Aquinas,” he pronounced calmly. “I owe you
so much, Sule.” This time he traced Sule’s lips with a single, now steadier,
finger.
“You owe me nothing, Alaric. Your safety is
my biggest reward.” Sule went to his feet to get something for Alaric to drink.
He settled the gas mask on a nearby table and poured water.
Wasn’t
Alaric a king who conquered Rome? How fitting.
Alaric sat, looking at Sule with adoring
eyes, and then assessed his state, as he accepted the offered glass. “Thank
you. I’m a mess.” There was mud and grass all over him. “I’m defiling your
bed.” He chuckled softly. “Please, forgive me.”
Sule sat again—close, so close—and smiled
openly. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not that we will stay here for long. We must
go to the spaceport by the Tyrrhenian Sea soon.” He took the emptied glass from
Alaric’s hands. “I can offer you a bath if it pleases you.”
“Only if you share it with me,” Alaric
uttered with a falsely solemn face.
“Are you sure? After what happened to you,
I wouldn’t impose my presence in such an intimate way.”
“I’m positive I want you there with me, as I am positive there will be another dawn tomorrow.”
CHAPTER THREE
Sule had said his name, stressing the final E, in the same way his tutor had done when Alaric was learning his vowels as a
child. The tutor had held a card showing an animal with large, hanging ears and
a long trunk that didn’t exist on Nova Gaia but was still used to teach
children the alphabet. “E-le-phan-t,” his tutor had enunciated condescendingly.
An action Alaric hadn’t understood at the time but now was clear as water.
Lately, Alaric learned that the inhabitants
of an outer-rim planet had characteristics very similar to Earth’s pachyderms.
“The patterns of the Universe are repeated endlessly and with wisdom,” his
pappa had said in the middle of one of their frequent and entertaining
discussions.
As Alaric watched Sule strip out of his
brocade morning coat and waistcoat, and discovered the sultry coat of hair
adorning Sule’s chest as the white shirt became undone, he wished he hadn’t
gone through the chemical removal of all his body hair. The only follicles
active in his body were the ones on his scalp and eyebrows.
With the gas mask gone, a stark new concept
of desire exploded inside Alaric. His fingertips still tingled with the
sensation of Sule’s incipient beard, and Alaric wanted that wonderful stubble
scratching every inch of his body.
“Are you unwell?” Sule asked, just
underpants covering his magnificent, lean body. “Is the lump on your head
hurting?” His dark locks swayed forward as he tilted his head inquisitively.
Alaric shook his head. Absent (like a
dummy) and sure that he had the silliest star-struck look on his face. He
wasn’t drooling because the Universe was merciful. He swallowed audibly and
said, “I’ve dreamt of you so much. I still don’t know if this is just another
of my naughty dreams or blissful reality.”
Sule smiled, with his mouth and his amazing
steel eyes, and walked toward him. Sule took Alaric’s hand and rested it on his
chest over his heart, the hairy plain— hard and enticing. “Do you hear this?”
Alaric did, hating the clothes that still
covered his own body. He nodded, hearing and feeling the steady heartbeat
scorching his hand, melting his body.
The underpants close to his chest were
tented—proof that Alaric wasn’t alone in his ardor.
“Let me help you out of these clothes,”
Sule murmured as he pulled Alaric up and held him in his arms for a moment.
Sule’s eyes were the color of flaming
steel, and they devoured Alaric. Every single cell about Alaric’s body tingled
in anticipation. Why was he still clothed?
The removal of each garment was accompanied
by a feathery caress on the discovered area, Alaric wanted to close his eyes
and drift, but Sule’s eyes held him in place, alert, conscious. And that mouth,
that mouth surrounded by amazing stubble was an equally powerful magnet. It
took all the restraint his body was capable of not to be the first to venture
for a taste of those lips.
“Oh,” Alaric gasped, remembering he didn’t
have his backpack. He was happy to be there, but losing his family portrait
immediately dampened his mood.
“Don’t worry, it’s over there.” Sule
pointed toward a corner, as Alaric leaned on him to remove his shoes. The
backpack lay inconspicuously, covered by dirt, but apparently whole.
Alaric thanked Sule in hushed tones as they
moved to the next room, which was an ample bathroom. Sule took a low stool and
settled it in the middle of a large bathtub. “Let me sponge you first to remove
all that caked dirt.”
Sule moved about, collecting items for his
chore, while the bobbing of his tempting cock, behind thin fabric, enthralled
Alaric.
Blast
me. I’m going to make a fool of myself.
“Where did all this water come from?”
Alaric asked (just for the sake of asking) to distract his feverish brain.
“It’s the filtered water of a hundred
rains.” Sule beamed, pride coloring his tone. He pointed to an immense tank in
the middle of the inner patio. “It also irrigates a little greenhouse.”
Then Sule wasn’t simply lurking around the
corners waiting to rescue him. Alaric didn’t know whether to feel disappointed
or grateful that Sule wasn’t just a harebrained stalker.
By the time Sule finally started to sponge
him with soapy water, his cock head peeked from its foreskin cocoon demanding
attention, and no amount of fresh (or filtered) water could conquer the fire
running over Alaric’s face.
Hey, horniness
trumps embarrassment.
The worst (or should he say the best) part
was when Sule circled Alaric’s ass cheeks with maddening slowness and spread
them, rubbing lovingly his puckered hole, as if to make him beg to be fucked
senseless without remorse. Who could have told him that a man literally wiping his fricking ass would
be the most erotic thing he had ever experienced? He was lost, light-years
beyond propriety.
None said a word. The only thing
accompanying Sule’s torturing and delightful ministrations was the heavy almost
strangled breathing of both.
An eternity later, all the filth of the
morning’s bad experience had been drained, and they were face-to-face, knelt in
the bathtub with water happily splashing about them. Alaric couldn’t get enough
of Sule’s hairy chest rubbing against his, nor the celestial scrape of that
stubble over his swollen lips.
Sule’s ass was a masterpiece, and Alaric
refused to cease his kneading of the hard muscles. They were mutually obsessed
with their behinds because Sule couldn’t stop either. He pulled their groins
together, steering Alaric’s ass and making their cocks mingle their encouraging
fluids.
“I’ve dreamt of you so much,” Sule
whispered moving one hand from Alaric’s ass to his groin.
That strong hand around his shaft was
Alaric’s undoing. “I’m sure I did it more.” He chuckled with a strangled gasp.
“Who did what is not important anymore.
You’re here in my arms.” Then Sule did something Alaric couldn’t have foreseen.
Inserting a finger in Alaric’s foreskin, Sule circled the head like a warlock
from an ancient tale stirring a concoction, perhaps to destroy, perhaps to
create life.
“Blast me,” was all Alaric could hiss as he
rolled his eyes. A thousand commands escaped from his purpled head, ordering
goosebumps and flashes of light, and Sule inserted one finger of the hand
still kneading Alaric’s ass into that burning hole, making him whimper.
Squeaky clean as they were after the
meticulous bath, the fluids oozing from their cocks could only taste like
ambrosia. Sule proved this, licking the smeared finger and sharing the flavor
with Alaric in a passionate kiss.
Invaded and giddy (thanks to both hands
commanding him), Alaric replicated Sule’s maneuvers, extracting moans of
approval and grunts of encouragement.
Each mirrored the other’s actions, tasting
and kissing, fingering and rubbing. Water splashed with their efforts because
they only gave each other space for narrow moves, bucking and grinding, until
all that was left was to stroke their cocks to completion.
Alaric exploded first, torn between the
hand stroking his cock, the finger plucking his prostate, and the mouth covering
his mouth. He became a million pieces, his consciousness still whole—thanks to
Sule’s sweet gravity.
The wicked clench around Alaric’s finger
(with Sule’s orgasm not far behind from his) brought a new wave of ecstasy to
his trembling frame. Both rode the high crest not wanting to untwine their
bodies now or in the future.
****
Blessed be the Universe, for I’ve known bliss on the
lips of Alaric Aquinas.
Sule
Sarong’s Personal Log - Standard date 5772.03.15
They made love for two standard days. They learned each other’s geography, from north to south, from east to west, kissing creases, licking plains, engulfing summits. They discovered and adored every inch of their inflamed bodies with abandon. The diminishing of that bonfire was never in sight.
“It’s time to leave this nest, Alaric.”
Sule told the object of his desire with sadness. They didn’t know under what
conditions they would do the interplanetary journey, ergo if they would be
sharing the same living space. Many, many people would certainly surround them
by the description of the column of survivors Alaric had given him.
But
even if there are a thousand survivors, it would be nothing but the meager
remains of a city with more than two million inhabitants before the dust
plague.
“Are you sure your transport has enough
energy to take us there?” Alaric asked, still tangled in dark sheets, making
him look like one of the moons in the midnight sky.
“More than necessary. If we depart tonight,
we could arrive at the spaceport in less than forty-eight standard hours.” Sule
sat on the bed, offering Alaric a plate with his share of the roasted doves and
Nova-Gaian potatoes he had prepared for their meal.
Alaric ate silently, just looking at Sule,
a mixture of adoration and apprehension in his pale blue eyes, cross-legged and
immersed in a pool of satin darkness.
“Speak your mind, sweetheart.” Sule
caressed one cheek when Alaric stopped chewing. The lad leaned into his touch.
“What if they separate us?” Alaric
scrunched his nose as if not wanting to delve too seriously into that thought.
This fretting lad was the one who even in
the middle of an ordeal kept fighting, as Sule had witnessed every time he had
come to his rescue. Sule didn’t want to make Alaric weak just because he was
near. “Would you let that happen?”
The response was a hissed syllable. “No.”
After a sip of his water, Sule
encouragingly murmured, “That’s the answer I was hoping for.” He took their
plates and settled them on a nearby table. He crawled on the bed until they
were face-to-face, his eyes boring into Alaric’s. “I’m absolutely positive, if
I’m the one who needs rescue at some point you’d prevail.” He slid his lips
over Alaric’s without kissing, just relishing their texture. The tip of their
noses brushed in silent invitation, an echo of things they did earlier.
Alaric gave him a quick smooch. “Totally
true. My middle name is berserk.” He chuckled softly. “There’s something about
you that makes me want to be rescued, and I swear I didn’t look for trouble
just to see if you appeared. They were all honest-to-Universe mishaps.” He
lifted his right hand as if making an oath.
“I believe you. I know there’s spunk in
you.” Sule pushed Alaric to lie down, savoring the muscles of Alaric’s square
shoulder.
Snickering, Alaric blurted, “There’s not
much left, after what’s been going on in this bedroom.”
It took five standard seconds for Sule to
grasp the meaning of Alaric’s words, and he exploded in laughter. “And there’s
going to be less in a moment.”
“I’m banking on that,” Alaric whispered as
he closed his eyes and opened his lips to accept him.
They left the abandoned city that night,
the bark of dogs their only farewell.
Having learned about their bodies
previously, they used the journey to learn about their life before the dust
plague. The expectations that were, and those that were coming to be with the
nearness of a new start on another planet.
They reached the spaceport with the second
night more than well advanced. Two enormous spaceships, phallic and stunning,
illuminated the area, and a male voice continuously gave information through a
loud PA.
Gathering their backpacks, they walked
toward the reception booth at the gate of the spaceport, hand in hand, leaving
the transport and their previous life behind them.
“Did you notice that?” Sule pointed at the
sky with his free hand, stopping their march.
“Oh, GM.” Alaric sighed, somewhat
embarrassed. “I did, and it’s supposed to be a bad omen. That’s why I didn’t
mention it.” Alaric pressed his lips, squeezing Sule’s hand and looking up in
the direction of the three moons, visible after the dispersing clouds.
Sule liked that moniker; it would always
remind him of how they met. He squeezed the lad’s hand back, “Never for us,
Alaric. These three moons, we will never see again, proclaim the beginning of a
different life.” He winked and nodded—smiling—lost in the pale blue eyes that
seemed molten silver thanks to the scarce light. “Besides, it’s almost a new
day.”
Alaric stood on his toes to nuzzle Sule’s
cheek and gave him a quick smooch. “Yes. It’s always darkest before dawn.”
THE END
