by T. J. Klune
“What do you want?” Mike says into his chest, because there’s so much, there’s so much that they could do. He knows they have time now, time to do everything, but it’s overwhelming, these first few moments. He wants everything.
Then Sean says, “I want to do it. To you.”
Mike’s heart jackrabbits in his chest. “Do what?”
Sean’s hand squeezes the back of his neck. Mike’s hand is still holding his dick. “I want to fuck you, Mike.” And it’s short and sweet, and oh so filthy, because he’s never heard Sean speak like that before. And the way he says fuck is nervous innocence wrapped in want, and Mike swallows thickly.
He nods against Sean’s chest.
“I need you to say it,” Sean says, kissing the shell of his ear. “Mike, please just—”
“Yeah,” he says. “I want that. I want you.”
He thinks, There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you, as Sean slowly strips him of his clothes, fingers trailing along exposed skin.
He thinks, I don’t care what the rest of this world is as long as you’re in it, as Sean kisses his chest, taking Mike’s nipple into his mouth.
He thinks, You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, as Sean licks up the underside of his cock, eyes fluttering shut.
He thinks, I am going to do everything I can to keep you with me, as Sean pants above him, both of their dicks in his hand, jacking them soft and slow.
He thinks, The birds, the birds, the birds, they formed a cloud. Don’t you see? They formed a cloud and they swirled above me and I’m slipping. I’m slipping, no, not right now, not right now, not right—
Mike gasps as Sean’s fingers breach him, slick with the Vaseline he keeps in the drawer next to the bed. It’s just one finger, and Sean’s watching him with wide eyes, gaze roaming from his hand to Mike’s face and back to his hand again. He’s knuckle deep and Mike says, “More.”
He’s not capable of coherent thought when Sean finally, finally presses into him, propped up on his hands over Mike. Mike’s legs are wrapped around his waist, his dick straining between them. Sean’s moving slow, like he’s unsure of what he’s doing, like he’s worried about hurting Mike. Mike digs his heels into Sean’s back, the muscles in his thick thighs bunching. He groans as Sean is pushed forward until his hips are pressed against Mike’s ass.
Sean says, “Mike, oh, Mike, this isn’t going to last, I’m not going to last,” and Mike just says, “Move.”
He does.
Sean leans down and kisses Mike as he fucks up into him, their hands intertwining above Mike’s head. The bed is rocking back and forth as Sean snaps his hips, and Sean’s face is pressed against Mike’s beard, breathing hot and wet onto Mike’s neck. There’s a pressure building in Mike’s stomach and groin, and he reaches between them as Sean pulls back, wrapping his hand around his cock, jerking himself off in time with each thrust.
“I want to see,” Mike gasps. “I want to see you come.”
Sean’s face screws up tight, and he sucks his lower lip between his teeth. He’s pushing into Mike again and again, and then he’s out, fucking into his fist, Mike’s legs still wrapped around his waist.
He comes first, because that’s the way Mike wants it. Sean’s chest is flushed red, and there’s a trickle of sweat dripping down his cheek, and the sound of his dick in his fist is slick and obscene. He says, “Mike,” and then he’s coming in his hand, splashing down onto Mike’s thighs and balls. He’s trembling as he works himself through it.
Mike follows after. It rolls through him and he grays out a little as he spills over his hand and onto his stomach. His skin is buzzing and it’s almost like he’s floating, skin hot and muscles loose.
Sean collapses on top of him, seemingly uncaring about the mess between them. They’ll have to move, and soon, but for now, he doesn’t care. He wraps his arms around Sean’s neck. Sean has his ear pressed above Mike’s heart, listening to that fast, erratic beat.
Mike thinks, Yeah, this could go on forever.
Mike thinks, I want this to go on forever.
Mike thinks, And I’ll do anything to make sure it happens.
LATER THEY’RE lying side by side, facing each other, knees bumping together. Mike knows it mirrors the last time they were in a bed together, not that Sean remembers most of that. He’s not going to bring it up, though, for fear that it’ll cause Sean to forget. He doesn’t want Sean to forget what happened tonight. Not any of it. It’s precious, this thing between them, and Mike will protect it at all costs.
Sean’s got this goofy smile on his face, like he’s blissed out and stoned. He’s chuckling quietly at something Mike’s said, and Mike leans in and kisses him and kisses him, just because he can.
“Worth the wait,” he sighs as Mike pulls away.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he says.
“Didn’t you get tired of it?” Mike asks, almost fearful of the answer. “How long it took for me to… I don’t know.”
Sean captures Mike’s hand in his own, bringing it up and kissing his knuckles. “We did what we had to,” he says, “to get where we are now. I needed to wait, just like you did.”
Mike nods. “To make sure I was what you wanted.” It hurts a little, but Mike gets it. Sometimes you have to keep your heart locked up and safe before giving it away.
“No, and you get that fool thought out of your head right now, big guy. I knew it was you from the very first day.”
“Oh. Then—”
“Because,” Sean says. “I knew what it would mean. It takes me time, Mike. Sometimes a very long time to get to the point where I’m ready to say out loud what I’m thinking in my head. I knew you were what I wanted, but I just had to get used to the idea of it. Because there’s no going back now, you know? This is it for me. I wouldn’t have been ready for this a year ago. Or six months ago. It happened because we were both ready for it. And I’m ready for you.”
Mike reaches out and touches Sean’s cheek. His heart is very full, and he’s having trouble choosing what words to say. Finally, “I would do it again.”
“What?”
“All of this. To get here. If I had to, I’d do it all over again.”
Sean chuckles. “Lucky for you, big guy, you won’t have to. I don’t know if you know this, but you’re kinda stuck with me now.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Eh, I guess we’ll see.” And he’s smiling, like it’s a secret just between them.
THE NIGHT stretches on.
He kisses the palm of Sean’s hand.
Sean says, “Do you remember when you came into the diner for the first time?”
I think I know what you’re looking for.
Hi.
Hi.
I’m Mike.
Mike. I’ve heard about you.
You have?
Hmm. Here and there.
And everywhere?
They talk. They always talk. And apparently you’re something to talk about.
Yeah?
Yeah. Now, like I said, I think I know what you’re looking for.
And what would that be?
You look like a meatloaf kinda guy. Side of mashed potatoes. And peas? No. Corn. You look like you’d have corn.
That’s… sounds amazing. Yes, please.
I’m good at what I do.
What’s your name?
Sean.
“Yeah,” Mike says. “Yeah, I remember.”
“I knew from the first day,” he says again. “But do you know what I thought? The first time I saw you?”
“What?”
“I thought to myself, Boy, he sure is handsome. And then I thought, I’d like to know his name. And then, Everything is going to change.”
Mike sighs. “How did you know? That everything was going to change?” Because that’s what he thought too.
Sean gives him the just-for-Mike smile. “Because you came in here all big and quiet. You were like
this great storm that was still far away.”
Mike kisses him and kisses him and kisses him.
LATER STILL, their voices have been reduced to whispers.
Sean says, “I can’t wait to dance with you.”
“Hmm?”
“Tomorrow. We’re going to dance.”
“Are we?”
“Yes. I wanted to last year, but I was too nervous to ask.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
Mike shrugs. “Okay.”
“You’ll dance with me?”
Mike thinks, I’d do anything for you. “Yeah.”
“You a good dancer?”
“Probably not.”
“S’okay. I can teach you.”
“Even if I step on your feet?”
“Even then.”
AND FINALLY, as the clock ticks past midnight, Sean says, “This is it, you know? This is how we end. Like this. Like you and me. This is our ending.” His eyes close and he lets out a little sigh, sinking into sleep.
Mike thinks, No. This is how we begin.
Mike thinks, All that came before? That was the lead-up. The intro. This is our beginning.
Mike thinks, Tomorrow.
Mike thinks, Tomorrow I’m going to dance with you.
Tomorrow I’m going love you just a little bit more.
And tomorrow, I think… I think I’m going to tell you that.
That I love you.
Because you deserve to hear it.
And I’ll mean it more than anything else I’ve ever said.
I love you today. And I’ll love you tomorrow. And every day after.
You’ll see.
We’ve only just begun.
Mike Frazier closes his eyes and follows Sean into the dark.
XX
HE OPENS his eyes.
He’s in an off-white room. There are machines around him beeping quietly. He’s been here before. The machines screaming, the voices telling him to calm down, that he’ll be all right, CODE ORANGE, CODE ORANGE, the tube shoved down his throat, and he’s unable to breathe around it—
He breathes.
He swallows.
His throat hurts.
Everything is muddled.
Everything is too bright.
It smells strange. And that’s something that sticks out in his mind.
He’s never been able to smell this place before.
It’s cloying and sharp. Medicinal.
He closes his eyes again.
HE DOESN’T know how much time passes before he hears a voice around him. It’s a woman, and she’s humming to herself. It sounds so pretty that it makes his heart ache. He doesn’t know the song, but he’d like to. Maybe she can tell him so he can have the band play it at the Harvest Festival. Sean would like it, he knows. They can dance to it together.
He says, “What song is that? It’s nice.”
The humming stops. There’s a sharp intake of breath.
He opens his eyes. Everything is blurry and still too bright, but maybe he can focus a little better, maybe he can see the woman standing next to his bed, holding a bag filled with a gold liquid. She’s wearing dark green pants and a matching top. She has blue latex gloves on her hands and a mask over her face.
Her eyes, though. Her eyes are wide and focused on him.
“Sorry,” he says, and his voice sounds strange, like he’s speaking through a mouthful of rocks. He tries to lift his head, but can’t find the strength. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
The woman says, “Oh my god.”
“The song, though? What was it? Sean. Sean would like it. When we dance. I’m going to dance with him tomorrow, you know. And tell him I love him.”
But she’s already backing away slowly, the bag still in her hand and he’s tired again. He’s so tired. She’s out the door and shouting something, but he doesn’t hear much of anything as he sinks back under.
HE DREAMS of green eyes and dancing to Dizzy wailing on his horn.
He says, “You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
He gets a just-for-him smile in return.
He says, “I’m going to tell you I love you tomorrow.”
The man he’s dancing with chuckles.
He says, “I’m so glad you’re real.”
They dance and dance and dance.
EVERYTHING IS surreal around him. There are people moving in and out of the room, and they’re loud, and they’re asking him questions he doesn’t quite understand. They say Do you know who you are? and Do you know where you are? and, alarmingly, Do you know when you are?
He does, he knows the answers to all of the questions, but everything is hazy around the edges, like he’s still dreaming. He thinks that must be it. He’s never had a dream where he couldn’t move very well. He can turn his head a little to the left and a little to the right, but he can’t do anything with his arms and legs, though his fingers and toes twitch.
Along the edges of the dream, along the people bustling around him, poking and prodding and staring at the screeching machines, he sees two other people. One is in a wheelchair, and he thinks it’s a man, an old, old man, but he can’t quite make him out. The person standing next to him is a woman, and she’s murmuring quietly to the man. He can’t hear what they’re saying, but they’re both staring at him. It makes him uncomfortable.
He doesn’t know if he’s ever been uncomfortable in a dream before. It’s an odd feeling.
HE’S DRIFTING in and out, one moment he’s dancing in the park under a sky filled with stars, and the next moment he’s being wheeled down a hallway, the lights above harsh and blinding. It’s an unreal dichotomy, because he’s on his feet and he’s happier than he’s ever been, and the man in his arms is laughing, he’s tilting his head back and laughing, and it might be the greatest sound he’s ever heard.
Then he’s on his back, the lights hurting his eyes, and the people around him are wearing masks, white masks across their mouths and noses, and he’s in a machine then. A circular machine that’s shaking around him, groaning in metallic bursts. It’s loud in here, louder than anything in the world, and he’s scared. He’s not going to lie, he’s a little bit scared, but he knows that bad dreams can be scary sometimes. He knows this. He’ll get through it, and he’ll wake up with that young man in his arms and they’ll go dance.
He’s flitting back and forth between these two things, the good dream and the bad dream, when he’s pulled in a third direction. It’s familiar, this place. He’s lying on his stomach on a balcony, the gummy glass poking at his thighs, and he’s peering over the edge. Below, far below, a woman—I know her, he thinks, oh god, I know her—and she’s bent and broken, metal and glass twist around her. He can’t make out her face, but he can see the bright splashes of red around her, and her arm is at an angle that no arm should ever be at. He thinks he sees her shoe lying on the ground, and there are people, so many people, and they’re shouting and screaming and pointing their cell phones at her. And at him. They’re looking up and he can hear them. “Call the police!” they cry. “She fell from up there, someone call the police!” He’s thinking, You made me do this, you made me do this, you made me—
“You know,” the young man says as they sway back and forth, “I worried we wouldn’t get to this point. That maybe it was going to be too much for you. For me.”
“Why?” he asks. He’s not worried, merely curious. He knows where they are now, and he’s secure with it.
The young man shrugs but holds him a little tighter. “Because I think we both had reasons to be scared, and sometimes fear can win out. You don’t want it to, but it does. But I didn’t want to be scared. Not of you. Not of this. Not of what it could be. So I decided not to be scared. Easiest decision I’ve ever made. You’re the easiest decision I’ve ever made. I’ve always thought so.”
“Tomorrow,” he says, “I’m going to tell you I love you.”
The young man laughs. “I know.�
�
“You do?”
“Well, not that you were going to tell me. But I already know you love me. Because I know you.”
“When I tell you, what do you think you’re going to say?”
The young man smiles. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we, big guy?”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
God, how they dance. And it’s—
THERE’S A woman—a young woman he’s never seen before—standing next to his bed. Her dark hair is pulled back into a ponytail and she’s wearing the same mask as everyone else. Her hands are on his arms, and he can feel her touching him. She’s moving up and down his arms, pressing and palpating. It’s disconcerting because he’s never felt anything like this in a dream before. He can actually feel the press of her latex-covered fingers, and there’s a little clip hanging from her utilitarian blue shirt with a card attached at the end. He can’t quite make out the words on it, but he can see a picture at the bottom, showing a smiling young woman with perfect teeth and perfect hair done in a style he doesn’t think he’s ever seen before.
He can make out a name, though, as she leans closer. “Allison,” he says.
The woman startles backward, bumping into a stand next to where he’s lying. The bag with the clear liquid attached to the stand is jostled, but it doesn’t fall down.
She’s breathing heavily, hand at her breast near her heart, and her eyes are wide.
He says, “On your card. Allison.”
She’s breathing like she’s about to start hyperventilating.
He says, “This is such a strange dream. I’m going dancing tomorrow, you know.”
He thinks she opens her mouth to say something, but no sound comes out.
“I’m sorry,” he says and wonders why his voice sounds like it does, rusty and broken. It takes a lot to get the words out. “I’m being rude. My name is Mike. Mike Frazier.”