Not Another Hero

by Wendy Rathbone

  “I order large bottles by the crate from Netbay. Same with the burritos. I brought them aboard in my own private belongings.”

  I grin at him. “Why didn’t I ever think of Netbay? But that must be expensive.”

  He doesn’t comment on the exact cost, or say anything about if it’s a hardship or not. “It’s worth it.”

  Maybe he’s a secret zillionaire. I bask in the idea, but not more than I bask in the sight of him, unconsciously beautiful, and serving me what he thinks is garbage but is really an event. I fucking love burritos.

  He heats them up in a microwave all unit. It takes about thirty seconds. Then he serves them steaming on the plates he’s set out. He fills the little plastic glasses with ice and pours the Coke over all that good coldness. The carbonation hisses.

  We use our hands to eat.

  “Unfuckingbelievable,” I say between bites.

  He gifts me a short chuckle.

  The Coke is like drinking ambrosia straight from Olympus. He’s a Greek god for sure.

  We eat and start out casually conversing. It’s nice. Relaxing. My nerves have forgotten to be tense.

  “I like your tie,” he says.

  It’s a shiny blue tie that catches different light colors at different angles. “Thanks.”

  I talk about spending part of my day catching aliens for further study. He smirks. He tells me he’s been playing with numbers again.

  “Did you write today?” he asks.

  I shake my head no. “Too distracted.”

  “By what?” As he finishes asking the question, he seems to figure it out. His eyes roll. His smirk turns to a half-smile, the one that sends tingles of heat throughout my body.

  As we are finishing up, and I’m on my second glass of Coke on the rocks, he says, “Would you ever show me one of your poems that you’ve never shown to anyone else?”

  “You mean like something new?”

  He shrugs. He can’t know I hide a bunch of them. No one knows.

  My face heats at the question because it’s so personal. How could he know? My poetry is silly. A time-waster even if it makes me money. It’s just strings of words. My inner thoughts. And stupid, now-becoming-ordinary descriptions of space. Planets strung like necklaces. Moons that look like winterscapes.

  “I’ll think about it. Maybe I’ll have to get to know you better.”

  He nods knowingly. “And that’s how I feel about sex.”

  I figured this out yesterday. Or maybe even before. He hasn’t been hiding out with Danielle. He’s been staying to himself. “Then why did you want this job?”

  “I told you. I love space. I wanted to go. I convinced myself I could deal with the rest.”

  “You could have told me.”

  “Told you what? When? When I first came on board that I’m only here to stare into space, and if I become a cock-tease in the process, well, I’m sorry?”

  I stare at him. “Well.” I pause. “Uh, yeah.”

  He sighs loudly as he gets up to clean the table. “I thought I could do this.”

  I want to placate him badly. He’s gotten under my skin. “It’s all right.”

  “How?”

  “Well, you’re with me. I’m the captain. I fix things, right? That’s what a captain does.”

  He approaches the table and sits, facing me. “You’re different.”

  “From what?”

  “From when you were two weeks ago when I first boarded.”

  “You didn’t know me then.” I smile.

  “I know. You flirted. You played hard. You’ve already logged a bunch of vids. It’s why you’re rich. You know how to play to the market.”

  “I do.” I take a deep breath.

  “But you’re different with me. Is it because I’m more difficult? Are you still using tactics to get me to bed?”

  “Tactics? Like a battle?”

  “Isn’t everything a battle?” he asks.

  “I’ll tell you this much,” I confess. “I haven’t done this much talking to one person—the same person—in a year. And you’ve had me on edge all day. If that’s tactics, then I’ve got them down pat and consciously don’t know I’m doing it.”

  He leans back and crosses his arms over his chest.

  This continues for some time. Our volley, like throwing the ball back and forth between us. Catching it better and faster each time.

  He has opinions on everything and I love to see him get animated about a topic. He likes mystery holos, like me. But he doesn’t have a single care about sports. He thinks all the planets could eventually be colonized—well, their moons at least—through terraforming. He likes to think about the future. He’s way too animated about anti-gravity and how ships like ours could do these journeys in a day not only to the planets in our Solar System, but far-flung worlds as well.

  “Ah, a science fiction fan.” But then I think, why hasn’t he ever seen a Lacrosse holo-vid starring Stirling Kane?

  “You could say that.”

  I don’t want to focus on the fact that he hasn’t watched me in my starring role and ruin the night, so I don’t ask him what his favorite vids are. Instead, I change the subject.

  “Got any games you might like for two?”

  I expect him to suggest a whole list of holo titles. Instead, he goes to his closet and brings out boxes. Dominoes. Chess. Backgammon.

  “Hmm. Really?”

  But I like his eccentricity.

  We play all of them long into the night and I find it loosens me up. And him. We’re both laughing at our moves, our wins, our defeats.

  At the end, I don’t feel like a goof-off or a joker or a flirt. Just a guy having fun with another guy. Before I leave, I say, “Tomorrow night? Same time? My quarters?”

  “Yes,” he says, voice low, and bows his head. It’s wonderful. That reaction. It curls my toes.

  “Bring the Dominoes.”

  “I will.”

  We stand at his door staring at each other for a moment. I want to reach out. Nothing too overt, just a touch on the shoulder. Before I can, he reaches instead. His hand rests lightly on my left shoulder.

  “Thank you,” he says.

  “This was fun.” My eyes go to where he’s touching me. My face heats.

  He gives me a wry smile. “Sleep well.”

  “You, too.”

  There’s a spring to my step as I head to my own bed. Alone.

  Chapter Seven

  He shows up on time. A surprise I do not expect.

  I don’t have Coke to offer him, but I remembered how he didn’t touch the wine on our first date, so I have iced tea instead. And strawberry milkshakes for dessert.

  I’ve spent the day thinking of him. All day, actually.

  Armstrong came by once in the early afternoon and asked if I was feeling okay. “The crew thinks you’re avoiding them.”

  I reassured him. The crew is large enough, diverse enough; they don’t need me to entertain them. They don’t need all my attention. If they’re jealous of Drac, that’s their deal. And it could play well in the script, anyway. Everyone loves a little drama. And besides, Drac and me? It’s none of their business.

  Now Drac is here and my world is complete again. After only a few hours away from him, I’ve missed him.

  He has brought the Dominoes. We eat and play with them for a little while, and grow more and more at ease. I learn he was a nerd in school, head of the chess club. I wasn’t head of anything like that, but also a nerd in school. An outcast. I feel free enough, finally, to tell him my name used to be Weldon, not Stirling.

  When he doesn’t laugh, when he only smiles and tilts his head like he’s thinking it’s not so bad, that I’m not a complete flibbertigibbet, that’s the moment I know for sure. I’m in love with this hard-edged dude who lives on frozen burritos and Coke.

  I sit in silence, remembering Weldon. Thinking about how if I’d met Drac back in high school, maybe we would have been honest friends, then. Like-minded. Maybe not e
xactly the same, but wanting similar things. I wasn’t a sex addict back then. I wasn’t a porn star. I was just a boy who was lonely. But would he have liked even the ugly me? I was real. I guess that counts for something, because I can see it in his eyes when he doesn’t laugh. When Weldon Philbert is like the word captain, just another label.

  I can’t wait any longer. The energy between us is strong. He has to feel it. “Will you ever let me kiss you?”

  “Will you ever show me one of your unpublished poems?” he counters.

  My cheeks heat. At the kiss or the poem? I don’t know which.

  “But they’re not the publishable ones. They’re stupid.”

  “So you say. And the touching of lips is more than sex, but affection. That might be stupid, too. Depending on who it’s with or what it means to them.”

  He has a way with words, but I didn’t see it at first when he wasn’t open. When he failed to talk much. But now? I love how he can hone in on depth of meaning, on the heart of a topic, which right now happens to be about our dating, our thing, our relationship if that’s what it’s becoming.

  I sit very still. I can feel him staring at me.

  “Are you not ready to share?” he asks.

  I take a deep breath. I’ve taken my clothes off so many times in public I can’t count. I’ve publicly fucked hundreds. I preen, I show off, I come for the camera. But this…

  The cameras are rolling. Even here. In the ceiling, the bulkheads, the deck.

  I get up and go to my desk. The folders are on my tablet under a lock and key.

  When I return to the couch with my tablet, I open it. I log in with thumb print, retinal scan and a code.

  My notebooks pop up. I see hundreds of poems by title and date. I don’t really reread them much. I can’t remember half of them. I tell myself they don’t matter. They’re about love. Not space. And I don’t do that. Not in vids. Not for my brand. Not for fun. John Luke cured me of that. Until now.

  I pick one, pop it up. Read a few lines at random. It’s a credit to Drac that he doesn’t move, doesn’t try to read over my arm. It begins:

  a boy dressed in wind

  turning away from candlelight

  the rippling soft tones

  lips, pillow, new star

  I close my eyes to more. I remember writing it. I was in a lonely mood. I don’t usually get lonely. So it’s kind of embarrassing.

  I hand the screen over to Drac.

  Eyes still closed, I feel him take it.

  After about half a minute, I peek at him.

  He is looking at me. “May I read some lines out loud?”

  “No…” I shake my head. “Please.”

  He says, after reading silently, “It’s beautiful.”

  “Okay, just three lines,” I say. I’m not breathing. “Pick three.”

  He says, very softly, with a reverence in his tone like maybe he really is a trained actor, “Muses and houses and old shutters. Behind me a black poem. Ahead of me an alien lover.”

  He looks up at me.

  “Am I still breathing?” I ask.

  He nods, then he leans in. He puts his hand on the side of my face and moves his mouth to mine.

  When his lips touch mine, a dry soft caress, my skin flames. He smells of storms and sunlight, known and unknown all at the same time. He holds his mouth against mine as if he is concentrating everything he is right there, feeling, just feeling.

  His lips are full and lush. Trembling a little. Warm. His hand on my cheek cups gently, the fingertips pressing, the palm barely touching. His bangs tickle my forehead.

  After a long moment, when things feel right, I puff my lips a little, giving him a kiss in return, though we have not yet parted. I open my mouth just enough to catch the skin of his upper lip between my own. He lets me do that twice before pulling away and taking a deep, loud breath.

  I watch him, painfully hard, body taut and heated.

  “Am I still breathing?” he asks.

  I smile and nod.

  “Stirling—I—you’re different than I thought.”

  “You said that. I still don’t know if it’s a compliment, but I’ll take it.”

  “It is,” he assures me.

  “That was really good. Now I want to kiss you.”

  His eyebrows are half-raised, his eyes wide open. In answer, he leans in.

  Our second kiss sears me to the core. I swear I could come from just kissing him. I open my mouth more this time, and he does the same, latching us together deeper. Our tongues meet.

  He tastes of the strawberry ice cream shakes we just ate, and of a deeper essence that my secret poems can’t even contain. I’ve been searching for this feeling all my life without knowing it.

  He lets me reach out and up, place my hand alongside his neck and slide to the back of his head. I pull him tighter to me. His mouth opens wider. His hand is flat on my chest but not to push me away. He’s pressing his palm to my heartbeat. It’s the gesture of a lover, not a porn star.

  My body is on fire. I already want to kiss him all night long. Nothing else matters. He’s amazing in so many ways, not just his beauty.

  I’m disappointed when he pulls away for a breath.

  “I want you,” I whisper.

  His face is flushed, pupils dilated. At his leather-bound crotch: a noticeable bulge. His gaze flickers. He looks from me to his bed through the archway from his office to his sleep space. I get up and grab his hands, pulling him to his feet. He comes willingly. His vest rides back revealing more of his chest. Perfectly muscled. Lean and tight.

  His bed is covered with a plush spread the color of an ocean at noon. I wait for him to sit first, but he stands at the side of it looking down, chest rising and falling.

  “Hey,” I say. “It’s your first mission. I know.”

  His mouth grimaces. He turns his head to the side as if to admonish me, but says nothing. I crave anything from him. Everything. Even admonishment would be fine. Just as long as he doesn’t reject me. Not now.

  “What I mean is,” I try to clarify, “I’ve got your back. Nerves are common.”

  “Isn’t it weird knowing all the cameras are around?”

  “You get used to it. You forget about them. Let the editors worry about making it look like whatever they want it to be. We can just be.”

  “But of course you perform for the cameras,” Drac insists.

  “It’s whatever you want. We’re pros so yes we perform. But don’t think about that right now.” I want less talk and more of his incredible kissing. The moment is too sweet to lose to practicalities.

  He holds back a little, shoulders hunching.

  “You okay with this?” I ask, fearing the answer.

  “I haven’t done it live before.”

  “It’s not really live. There’s editing and final packaging even though it all seems like it happens overnight.”

  He nods.

  “Didn’t you audition?”

  “On paper. And in an interview. There weren’t cameras.”

  “None that you could see,” I inform him with a smile.

  “Oh.”

  “Come on.” I tug his hands, which are a little slippery now. I pull him toward me and feel my thighs impact with the side of his mattress. I let my weight pull me down. He follows. I spread my legs and scoot back to make room for him.

  He leans on his knees between my legs. I let go of his hands and wrap my arms around his shoulders. He is a force. At first he doesn’t budge, but then he loosens up and lets himself bend over me, propping himself with his hands on either side of my shoulders. When he kisses me like that, my vision goes white.

  His lips are firm and soft at the same time. His tongue is shy but strong, and I am so happy to report he is no slobbery kisser.

  Slowly, Drac lowers his weight until I can feel his stomach against mine, and his definite hard-on. My hips rock, push up a little so he can feel me. In response, I receive a grunt and he kisses me harder.

 
My arousal flares even more, if possible, as if my entire body is one big erogenous zone.

  His body feels big in my embrace, but also light, graceful. Sweet. My hands run down his back, under his vest to his waist. The naked skin is like satin. My hands want to feel more. My fingers caress between the “V” of his pants.

  Drac pushes up, clutching at my shoulders and looks down at me, eyebrows narrowed.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Can we take this slow?”

  His clothes are in the way, but I can wait. “Hell yeah.”

  I turn us on the bed until we are on our sides, face to face. I run a hand up over his side to his neck, his jaw, then through his shining hair. An erotic flame lights up his eyes.

  The way to this man’s heart is not through crudeness or quick, lascivious flirting. I understand this now. He’s not a mere fuck-toy like me. He deserves more.

  I stare into his eyes and it’s a strange comfort. I’m hard and wanting and trembling, but getting off is not the first thing I’m thinking about in this moment. How odd.

  He smiles. “You look rather perplexed.”

  I love the way he talks.

  “Well?” he pushes.

  “I like being with you. Going slow. Thank you for suggesting it.”

  “You mean yes, we can be boring for the cameras.”

  “You’re not boring. And stop thinking about them. They shouldn’t concern us right now.”

  He nods. His thick lashes flutter. I lean up and kiss him right below his left eye. I stream more kisses across to his temple, down his cheek, to his jaw line. I give a quick lick under his ear, then kiss my way down the side of his neck.

  His hands hold tight to my waist, one trapped under my weight but still able to grip. My knee bends and finds its way between his legs. We embrace tighter and I bring my mouth again to his.

  I love sex. I always have. But I have used it so much in a business sense I almost forgot how much more it can be. It’s natural, of course, but to feel like you are sharing more than pleasure, to feel as if you want to be deeper with another, be a part of them, those feelings sweep over me and ramp up the thrill. This high with Drac is personal, and off the charts.