Refugees

by Kim Fielding

  When Walter blinked, Martin laughed softly. “More small talk. It’s a way we say good-bye to people we’re getting to know.”

  Although he was a little flustered, Walter attempted a response. “You have pretty hair. And it’s always neatly braided no matter how much you rush around.”

  Dorothy patted her braid, beamed at him, and then quickly stroked his cheek. “I feel good about this,” she said, glancing at Martin. Walter didn’t understand what she was talking about.

  All the other customers waved and called out good-byes as Martin and Walter left.

  A soft mist surrounded them as they walked across the gravel lot, moving as if they had all the time in the world. When they reached unit three, Walter unlocked the door, but Martin paused. “You still want me?” Martin asked.

  “God, yes.” More than he’d wanted anything in years.

  “You’re sad.”

  Walter wondered how he’d suddenly begun wearing his emotions so openly, when his family had complained that he was unreadable. “I suppose so.”

  “Because of me?”

  “No, because of me. Because everything good slips away.”

  Martin stepped into the doorway, putting them chest to chest. “You can keep the good inside of you the same way you’ve been keeping the bad. Then it’s never quite gone.”

  Wouldn’t it be nice if good memories haunted him the way the awful ones did? Walter shook his head and gave a small smile. “I’m not usually like this. I’m no philosopher, and I don’t tell people what I’m feeling. You, this place… you’re having a weird effect on me.”

  “Does that bother you?”

  “No.” It made him wistful, like unrequited love. He saw the serene, thoughtful man who’d temporarily replaced the frightened, jumpy one, and he wished the change could be permanent.

  Walter settled an arm around Martin’s waist and urged him inside, then shut and locked the door.

  They stood looking at each other, Martin smiling faintly. Walter felt as nervous as if he were the virgin. Then Martin chuckled. “Is this foreplay?”

  “Fore-foreplay, maybe.”

  And just like magic, the tension was gone. Martin lit a fire in the woodstove while Walter fussed around: hanging up his jacket, removing a few things from the bed, drinking a glass of water. The little room warmed up quickly, and the flames that flickered behind the grille lent a cheery atmosphere to the already cozy cabin.

  “How often to you rent out these units?” Walter asked.

  “Not often. My people, we have communities in other places too, and sometimes we get visitors. Other times, one of your people passes through looking for a rest.”

  Walter couldn’t remember seeing more than two or three cars on the road since he arrived. He couldn’t imagine how Martin supported himself with so little trade, but decided it would be rude to ask. Besides, they weren’t here to talk business. “I’m glad I decided to make that turn.”

  “Me too. But maybe it wasn’t just a random decision. Maybe I was wishing for you so hard that I influenced you.”

  “Nah. You were wishing for someone way better. I’m just what came along.”

  “I was wishing for you,” Martin insisted. Then he reached over and unbuttoned Walter’s shirt.

  If anything, Martin was even more beautiful in the cabin’s mellow light than he’d been in the woods. His pale skin glowed, and his hair was like spun gold. He smoothed his palms up Walter’s arms, down his chest, and over his belly. “Memorizing the feel of you,” he said, smiling. “And making sure you’re real.”

  That made Walter laugh, because surely Martin was the fantasy, not him. Walter touched Martin too, marveling at the softness of his skin and the clever ways his muscles and bones moved. Tracing blue veins with his fingertips. Teasing pink nipples to stiff little peaks. Then Martin and Walter moved even nearer so they could kiss, but their hands never stilled, instead mapping the expanses of broad backs and the gentle curves of buttocks.

  Their earlier encounter hadn’t been hurried, but now they moved even slower, as if they were in a perfectly wonderful dream. Martin spent a century or so licking and nibbling on Walter’s neck and collarbones, and then it was Walter’s turn to spend a happy eternity kneading Martin’s ass while inhaling the sweet fragrance of his hair. They gently rocked their pelvises together, their hard cocks rubbing.

  “You want to be inside me,” Martin whispered into his ear. A statement, not a question.

  Walter’s breath caught. “Yeah. God, yeah. But not if you don’t—”

  “I do.”

  Chuckling, Martin stepped across the floor, the wood creaking a bit under his barefooted tread, and retrieved something from his jacket pocket. When he returned, he held the object for Walter’s inspection. “Will this do?” It was a little jar of Vaseline.

  If Walter hadn’t been excited already, that mundane little container would have done the trick. It meant this was really going to happen. He was truly going to fuck— No. He was truly going to make love to this amazing man. And Martin, his hand shaking a little as he held the Vaseline, seemed as excited about the prospect as Walter was.

  Walter took it from him, then wrapped an arm around Martin to pull him closer. His skin was warm. “I want you to remember this for a long time,” Walter said. “When I’m gone, when you find someone for real, I don’t want you to regret this.”

  “You don’t have to—” Martin stopped himself, sighed, then nuzzled against Walter. “I won’t regret this.”

  Enough talking, Walter decided. He wanted another kiss, then another, and in the process he and Martin somehow made their way to the bed and tumbled onto the colorful quilt. Much better than a forest floor. And as they moved their bodies together, gasping and groaning their pleasure, it seemed to Walter as if nothing in the universe mattered except making Martin happy. God, if Walter weren’t such a mess, he could find enough purpose in making Martin happy to get them both through the rest of their lives.

  With the help of the Vaseline and a lot of encouraging strokes, Martin opened up beautifully for Walter, and by the time Walter entered him, they both nearly sobbed in relief. Martin lay on his back, his ass supported by a pillow and his ankles hooked over Walter’s shoulders. Walter began to thrust, slowly at first and then with more vigor, while Martin clutched desperately at him. Although the very physical connection between them felt better than anything Walter could remember, what truly electrified him was the intensity of Martin’s gaze, which never left Walter’s face. Walter was inside Martin’s body, but Martin was inside Walter’s soul. The joy of the moment was tempered a bit with Walter’s knowledge that nothing would ever be this good again—not once he left Kiteeshaa.

  Walter’s skin tightened and his nerves sang. “T-touch yourself,” he panted. He would have liked to stroke Martin’s cock himself, but he needed both hands to prop himself over Martin’s body. Besides, watching Martin would be as good as touching him.

  Martin’s skin was flushed across his face and down his chest, and his curls had become even wilder than usual. He grinned and shook his head. “Rather touch you.” He was as breathless as Walter, and to emphasize his point, he rubbed his palms along Walter’s forearms.

  Just a few more thrusts and Walter’s body went spinning ecstatically through space. “Martin!” he shouted.

  Martin answered with a cry like ringing bells—a sound more celestial than human—and Walter could have sworn Martin’s eyes glowed like ice on fire.

  When Walter’s strength left him, he collapsed onto Martin, not minding the sticky heat of Martin’s semen. Martin gently petted Walter’s back, soothing him as if it had been Walter’s first time.

  “Thank you,” Martin whispered.

  Walter was going to object—he was the grateful one—but Martin silenced him with a deep kiss.

  Eventually Walter rolled to the side and Martin cuddled up against him, threading his fingers through Walter’s hair. “You’re sad again,” Martin said. “Did I do so
mething wrong?”

  “No! God no! That was… that was a gift. Best anyone’s ever given me.”

  Martin leaned in to press his lips to Walter’s cheek. “Then what’s wrong?”

  “I don’t deserve what you just gave me.”

  “You wouldn’t say that if you could see yourself the way I do.”

  Walter shook his head. “You don’t even know me.”

  “Not as fully as I’d like to, but I know enough. I like the shape of you.”

  Glancing down at his body, Walter shrugged. “I look okay, I guess.” His blocky body carried muscle easily, even when he didn’t do much physical work. The rest of him was unremarkable.

  “That’s not what I mean. You’re handsome enough, but I was talking about…. Your language doesn’t have a word for it. It’s the… the feel of you. Your true self. Your essence.”

  Walter contemplated that silently. He’d never given much thought to his inner self. Before the war he’d assumed it was as unexceptional as the rest of him, and since then, well, he figured it was a charred and twisted ruin. But Martin looked at him as if Walter was worth something.

  Martin propped himself on one elbow to look down at Walter. “You don’t know me either. What do you think of me, Walter?”

  “You’re beautiful,” Walter answered promptly.

  “Is that all? Would you like me less if this weren’t my true face?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Martin stared gravely at him. “I haven’t been honest with you. I—”

  “Don’t.” Whatever truths Martin was about to utter, Walter didn’t want to hear them. “Let’s just have this time together. Please? We don’t need honesty when I’ll be gone in a day or two.”

  “But why leave? You can stay here.”

  “And do what? I’m pretty much broke. I can do construction, but you guys don’t need that—everything here’s in tip-top shape. I’ve worked at factories, paper mills, driving a truck, things like that. But you don’t need that either. I can’t—”

  Martin touched a finger to Walter’s lips. “We don’t care about jobs, Walter. We do what makes us happy, we share what we have, and we all have enough. What’s important to us is who you are, not whether you earn money.”

  “You’re communists.”

  “Communists!” Martin laughed as if the accusation was a funny joke. “No, no. We simply…. Our priorities are different. I don’t think that’s a bad thing. Too many of your people define themselves—or judge others—by their occupations. That’s as bad as falling in love with someone just because he looks nice.”

  “So I get to hang around indefinitely and leech off you just because you think I’m a swell guy?”

  “No.” Martin’s voice was soft. “We want you to join us and share what we have because we know you’re a swell guy. Special.”

  Walter wished he could believe any of this. Hell, maybe he would have turned out well under other circumstances. His teachers said he was smart, and he got good grades. Without the war, with parents willing to pay for college, maybe he’d have gone to medical school like he dreamed about when he was a kid. But his parents had figured the family business was good enough for him, and the Army had killed his passion for medicine by forcing him to attempt to reassemble war-torn men.

  “Would all your buddies still want me around if they knew where I was right now?” Naked in bed with one of their own.

  An odd smile flickered across Martin’s face. “They’d be happy for us both.”

  Walter scoffed. Even communists hated queers.

  Martin traced a single fingertip from the point of Walter’s nose down the center of his mouth, his chin, and his neck; the length of his sternum; through the drying mess on his belly; into the sticky curls at his groin; and finally, to the sensitive tip of his cock, which valiantly attempted to reenter the fray. But when Walter reached for him, Martin moved back and gave him a peck on the lips. “Can I spend the night with you?”

  “Yes,” Walter answered at once.

  “You’re happy I asked you.”

  “Of course I am.” He’d never slept with another man. He tried a cocky grin. “You’ll help keep the bed warm.”

  “Gladly. But I have some things to do first. While I’m gone, will you at least consider staying for a few more days?”

  “Yeah. Okay.”

  “Good.” Another kiss, quick and sweet. “But we’ll need to talk about some things when I get back.”

  Walter tried to scowl, but that was hard to do when Martin was nude and cupping Walter’s face in one hand. Walter elected to accept another kiss instead.

  Then Martin was out of bed, quickly pulling on his clothing. “Do you want me to bring anything back with me? Something to eat?”

  “Just you.”

  A good answer, perhaps, because Martin hurried over for another kiss, this one heated and spicy. “What you did with me tonight… being inside me…. Do you also like to have a man inside you?”

  For a moment Walter forgot how to draw breath. He’d never been on the receiving end before, but God, he ached to welcome Martin inside his body. Before Walter could formulate an answer, Martin smiled widely. “Good! I’d like to try that too.”

  Then—with a pause at the door to turn and wave—he was gone.

  4

  For an hour or so after Martin left, Walter dozed lightly. A really good orgasm did that to a fellow, especially when it was his second in one day. But with Martin as his partner, he was fairly sure he could manage a third. That thought plus the early hour were enough to keep him from slipping into deep sleep, and eventually he got up and had a quick wash, wrapped himself in a blanket, and read by the warmth of the woodstove.

  He was still reading when a soft knock sounded and the door creaked open. Martin crept in, his hair and jacket damp. “You’re awake.”

  “Waiting for you, I guess.”

  Martin’s face lit up with a brilliant smile. “That’s a nice thing to say.” He hung his jacket on a hook and bent to untie his shoes.

  “Did you finish your chores?”

  “They weren’t exactly chores.” His shoes removed, Martin stood and bit his lip. “Walter, we have to—”

  “Talk. I know. But tomorrow. Please? I want….” He couldn’t say it out loud. But he wanted so badly for Martin to make love to him and spend the night, and he was certain neither of those things would happen if Martin had his talk.

  “I don’t like being dishonest with you.”

  “You’re not. It’s… delayed honesty, is all. Just give me tonight.” He looked at Martin beseechingly. Walter had learned during the war that you could never take the next day for granted. Hell, you could never take the next hour for granted. More than once he’d been talking to a guy, maybe chatting about baseball or movies or where to get the best pizza in Chicago, and minutes later, that man’s lifeblood had spattered Walter’s uniform. And if now was all Walter had, he wanted to enjoy it.

  Martin eyed him closely. “All right. As long as you understand that I’m not what I seem.”

  Walter didn’t know what to make of that, so he shrugged dismissively. “Nobody is.” He stood, allowing the blanket to drop and reveal his naked body. Then he held out his arms.

  That night Martin treated him like a precious thing, carefully preparing him for penetration. Too carefully, really, because eventually Walter was reduced to babbling pleas. When Martin finally slid into him, they stared at one another like men visited by a divine revelation. “That’s… that’s….” Walter couldn’t find a word for how it felt to have Martin filling him.

  Martin just nodded, wide-eyed. “I don’t understand why you don’t do this all the time.”

  Walter laughed. Had he ever laughed during sex before? Not that he could remember. Other partners might have taken offense, but Martin laughed with him—at least until he began to rock his hips, and then the laughter shifted to moans and whimpers.

  In the dark afterward, their legs entangled
beneath the blankets, they stroked each other’s skin and talked softly of small but important things, like Walter’s childhood memories of chasing fireflies and the fierce neighborhood games of baseball he’d join with his brothers. Like Martin’s thoughts about maybe getting a dog and the peace he felt when sitting in the woods.

  It was a good night. The best, Walter thought as he drifted into sleep. A treasure to keep forever.

  It was strange and wonderful to wake up beside another man. They didn’t make love, but they kissed, and then they took turns in the shower. Each sat on the closed toilet to talk as the other soaped and rinsed. Walter had bathed in front of countless men before, but none of them had constituted such an appreciative audience.

  They had breakfast together at the Kitee Café, and if Dorothy or the other customers thought there was anything odd about that, they kept their opinions to themselves.

  When the meal was over and Walter and Martin stood in the parking lot, Martin got the serious look that meant he intended to have The Talk. But Walter was still resistant. “I need some exercise,” Walter said.

  “I’ll come with.”

  “Alone.”

  Martin put his hand on Walter’s shoulder. “You can’t avoid this forever.”

  “But I can damned well avoid it for a few more hours, can’t I?”

  After a lengthy pause, Martin sighed. “You’re leading me to do things I know I shouldn’t.”

  Stricken, Walter stepped back. “But I thought you wanted—”

  “Not the sex. I wanted that. I still want it. Believe me, no regrets on my part. I mean not coming clean to you. I should have done that from the start. Only… then you’d have run away.”

  Martin appeared so distressed that Walter wanted to hold him—but they were in public. “I’ve seen a lot of ugly, Martin. Unless you’re Adolf Hitler in disguise, nothing you can tell me is going to upset me.”