Aphelion

by Andy Frankham-Allen

  The evening had been no better. His day job he could put off; if they complained too much he’d just tell them his mother had died. Wasn’t like he ever spoke to her, so the guilt factor would be pretty low. But his evening job…much like the show, it had to go on.

  He was a performer, and Tess Tosterone never kept her audience waiting. Hiding behind the make-up, the glitz, made things easier to deal with, although while singing his end number, a funked up rendition of Madonna’s “Cherish,” he could have sworn he’d seen Iago’s face in the crowd. Several times over.

  Now as he approached the converted terraced house, still dressed up as Tess, his mind was returning to Iago again. And he knew, without a doubt, that he had it bad.

  Hunter had never been a believer in love at first sight, but after seeing Iago standing outside the cab… Now he knew it was possible. No, not just possible, it had happened. To him.

  He just had to tell Caitlyn. She would understand. Of course she might be a little angry at first, since technically Iago was hers, but he’d make her realize that his love for Iago was stronger than any lust she felt.

  Hunter closed the door behind him and made for his bedroom, which was the first door along the hallway, a few feet away from the living room opposite. “Hi, honey, I’m home,” he called out, using his husky Tess voice. “Be a love and put the kettle on, I’m beyond parched.”

  Once he’d dumped his gear in his room and removed his heels (yes, they helped sell the illusion, but they were a nightmare to wear—almost as bad as the tights, but he couldn’t be arsed to remove them yet, besides his cuppa was waiting), he headed into the living room.

  Where Caitlyn sat on the sofa with Iago.

  Hunter stopped, his heart jumping into his throat. “Oh.”

  Caitlyn looked up with a huge grin, her hand flying to her mouth. “Oh god,” she said, struggling on to her knees so she was leaning against the back of the sofa. “I was going to introduce you to Iago, but…” She looked Hunter up and down. “Who should I introduce you as?”

  Hunter worked his mouth to speak, but no words would emerge, instead all he could do was look at Iago. The man remained where he was sitting, the same look of confusion sweeping across his features like the previous night.

  “You really are most perplexing,” Iago said softly.

  Caitlyn looked from Hunter to Iago, and back again. Hunter didn’t like the look in her eyes, that suspicious, almost accusatory, stare. He swallowed. “Yeah, get that a lot. Excuse me, love, I just need to go and jump in front of a bus.”

  With that he rushed out to his bedroom, his heart a maelstrom of hurt and rejection.

  *

  Several hours passed before Hunter dared to venture out of his room. The flat was quiet, the living room light off. He had no idea if they were still in or not, he’d made sure his music was on full to drown out any possible noise the two of them might make together. It was bad enough just imagining the things Caitlyn would do to Iago, without the sound effects crashing into his room like some ghastly confirmation.

  Now dressed only in his quarter lengths and a tee, he padded down the hallway towards the kitchen, careful to not make any sound as he passed by Caitlyn’s room. Just in case they were in there. He didn’t think he could bear seeing Caitlyn right now, let alone Iago. They had probably had a good laugh at his expense already.

  Once in the kitchen he made himself a tea and sat down at the breakfast bar. He sat like that for a while, cradling the hot cup until it was not so hot, his thoughts running wild at what Iago had probably told Caitlyn about last night outside the restaurant. He didn’t know what she’d do about it, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out. All he knew for sure was that he wanted Iago, way more than Caitlyn could possibly want him. There were things he could do for Iago, to Iago, that Caitlyn couldn’t possibly compete with. If only Iago would give him a chance.

  He sucked back a sob, just as the door to Caitlyn’s bedroom opened a crack. He looked up, expecting to get Caitlyn’s full wrath, but instead out stepped Iago. At first he was bathed in shadow, his outline implying that he was very naked, but as he stepped into the kitchen light Hunter saw that Iago did, at least, have his boxers on. His very tight boxers.

  Hunter shifted uncomfortably, folding one leg over the other so as to hide his reaction to Iago’s remarkably perfect body. He swallowed hard, and offered up a “hiya”.

  “Hunter,” Iago said, stopping at the breakfast bar directly in front of him. Hunter couldn’t help but notice that his knee was barely an inch from Iago’s crotch. Again he shifted, now even more uncomfortable, the object of his desire so close to him and yet, with Caitlyn only in the next room, so very far away still.

  “Why do you perplex me so? Since last night you have filled my mind, and I do not understand why. This has never happened to me before.” Iago shook his head, and sat on the other stool. “I was created for women, not for men, and yet I feel drawn to you.”

  “And not a sniff of alcohol, eh, love?”

  Iago frowned at this. “No,” he said, his voice carrying a depth of seriousness Hunter had only ever heard from a priest performing last rights.

  “Sorry,” Hunter said, trying to keep his own voice serious. Not an easy job; humor was his natural outlet when it came to unexpectedly intense moments like this. “It was a joke, you know, the old story about what’s the difference between a straight man and a gay man?” Iago looked at him blankly. “A few pints?” Still nothing. “Wow, thought everyone had heard of that, love.”

  “I have not.” Iago leaned forward. “This world is very strange to me; not as I remember at all.” He sat back, and rested his hands on the breakfast bar. “I was made for women, they are pulled to me irresistibly; this is a fact. But I have noticed men looking at me, before and since last night. I thought they looked with jealousy, angered by the perfection they could never reach. But… Now there is you. And I see it is not jealousy. Like with women, it is desire.”

  Hunter didn’t know what to say. Instead he just searched Iago’s face for some trace of humor. Clearly the man had to be pulling his leg. But Iago had the most earnest look that Hunter had ever seen.

  “I have filled your head.”

  Hunter blinked, not too sure he had heard right. “Sorry?”

  “Last night, you were marked by me. Since then all you can do is think of me, is that not so?”

  Hunter couldn’t help but smile at this. Wasn’t quite the way he would have put it, but Iago spoke the truth. “Yes, ever since I saw you outside last night I’ve wanted you.”

  “Men desiring men?” Iago shook his head, his eyes clouding. “This is wrong.”

  “Well, yes and no,” Hunter said slowly, not having expected to delve into such an intense topic so soon. All he really wanted was to get Iago into his bedroom. Only… “It’s not wrong for men to want men, but for me to want you. That’s wrong, love. Caitlyn is my friend, I love her, but…” He tried to find the words, to explain what his heart was telling him. He shrugged. “Truth is, Iago, she is not right for you. I am.” Hunter took a deep breath, glad he had finally said it.

  “How can you be? Always there have been men and women. Two sexes, made to procreate, bring forth new life. I was made for women, to impregnate them.”

  Now Hunter understood. He had met people like this before, straight men who had never considered the possibility of being bi, until being confronted with that one man who was able to spin their heads. And then the confusion set in.

  “Times change, love,” Hunter said, and removed himself off his stool, no longer bothered by the stirring beneath his shorts. “Tell me you haven’t wanted me since last night? You said it yourself, you can’t stop thinking about me.”

  “This is true,” Iago said, allowing himself to be pulled gently off the stool. “But it is still wrong.”

  “Perhaps,” Hunter said, bringing his face closer to Iago’s, “but sometimes the wrong things are the best things.”

  Iago was goi
ng to reply, but as soon as his mouth opened Hunter placed his tongue inside. For a moment they remained as they were, their tongues probing each other, casting about inside their mouths, each man enjoying the sensation of being within the other. A precursor to bigger and better things. Hunter was the first to pull away, and when he did he couldn’t help but smile at the way Iago placed one finger on his own lips, his brow furrowing.

  “Tell me that wasn’t great?”

  “It was…” Iago shook his head.

  “Different? New? Exciting?” Hunter winked. “Exciting would be the best answer.”

  “Wrong.”

  Hunter pulled away, he didn’t understand. He was sure he was on to something, that Iago was seeing the light, but still all he could say was wrong?

  “No, love, it’s not wrong. You are what you are, and you have to just accept that.”

  Iago nodded slowly. “Yes, you are right. I know what I was made to be.” He pulled Hunter close, and ran a finger up his face. “This must never happen again.” His finger stopped against Hunter’s forehead. “You must see the truth, and abase yourself.”

  A sharp pain stabbed his brain, and Hunter staggered back, holding his head. The pain continued, surging through him, causing him to fall to his knees. Once it finally subsided he opened his eyes and looked up at Iago. “What the hell did you just…”

  What stood there by the breakfast bar was no man. It stood at least eight feet tall, a beast from hell. Leathery wings sprouted from its back, while coarse black hair covered its body like dripping oil. Its limbs were long and thin, built with sinewy muscle, and hanging between its legs, poking out of the dark hair, was the longest and most repulsive penis Hunter had ever seen.

  “I have traversed the world more times than you can conceive of,” the creature said, its voice deep and resonant. Hunter swallowed; his throat dry. The voice, although lacking the warmth, was unmistakably that of Iago. “Always the men feared me; my name became myth, a tale used to scare adolescents. In Mesopotamia, I was known as Lilu, and my son was Gilgamesh. A great warrior, created for the war above. I have seen so much of this world, but never have I seen it so changed as now.”

  Hunter couldn’t speak. This was beyond him. Iago, that most handsome of men, who had seduced him with just a look, was this creature, this… “What…” Hunter ran his tongue over his lips. “What are you?”

  “I am incubus. I am he that preys on mortal women, he that raises them up to be the bearer of warriors, the victors of the war above us all.” The creature, the incubus, moved forward, every muscle in its legs moving beneath the oily skin. “This world is wrong; men no longer fear me, instead they wish to mate with me.” Hunter barely had time to blink before the incubus’ claw-like hands surrounded his throat, lifting him off the floor until his face was inches from the demonic visage. “Can you now bear children? Does the seed of man swim within you to create new life?”

  Hunter wanted to answer, to explain what it meant to be gay, why it wasn’t wrong, but he could barely get breath into his lungs. Only the air supply through his nose was preventing him from fainting, such was the creature’s grip on his throat. He was getting delirious, he must have been, to even think that this creature cared what he thought.

  A scream echoed from somewhere in the house. It had to be Caitlyn. The creature turned its great black head, its yellow eyes casting a look at the closed bedroom door. “Behold, man, you are about to witness the true meaning of creation,” the incubus said, and released its hold of Hunter.

  He dropped onto the kitchen floor, hard. But he did not make any attempt to get up, instead he gasped for air, which flooded his lungs like shards of broken glass. His vision was becoming blurred, but he had to focus. To see what the incubus was going to do next. And so he watched. There was little else he could do.

  The incubus approached the small flight of steps that led up to the hallway, and with each step it took its form began to change. First the legs and arms pulled in tighter, and the coarse hair seemed to melt into its skin. The wings folded tight against its back, sinking into the tight muscles there. Slowly the black oily skin became lighter, until it was the bronze it had previously been. Once again the creature was Iago, only this time he was completely naked, and for a moment Hunter found his eye lingering on the bubble butt as it moved in time with each step.

  Hunter shook his head and looked away, reminding himself that Iago and the incubus were the same thing. That the perfectly formed man, the most stunning example of hunkdom that Hunter had ever laid his eyes on, was really that demonic creature which preyed on women. That lived to…

  “Oh god,” Hunter said, his words barely a breath. He knew why Caitlyn was screaming.

  *

  It was impossible. And it was unwanted. Two thoughts, intricately linked to the size of her belly. Caitlyn could feel them (yes, them!) moving inside her. That’s what had woke her up. She had been sleeping, dreaming nice dreams of her and Iago, of all the fabulous things they would do together, when an alarm sounded in her head. As if her body was trying to nudge her from her dream. Wake up, it was saying, you have simply got to see this.

  And see she did. As soon as she opened her eyes she noticed it. The massive lump in her belly, her skin stretched out like some balloon. She had never asked to be a mother, never wanted to be a mother. She knew she’d make a bad one, learned far too many mistakes from her own mum. There was nothing she could teach a child that would be useful.

  She was careful. Always, no matter how serious a relationship she was in, she was always careful. A couple of years back she even had the Implanon contraceptive implant put into her arm, supplying her body with the progestin needed to stop ovulation. Only one in a hundred women with the implant got pregnant. She was sure it would not be her.

  But, wait. The little lives growing in her, her body undergoing amazing changes so damned quickly. Hormones out of whack! She wasn’t thinking straight. She’d been pregnant for, what, an hour or two? How was she supposed to react? Think things through calmly, or go off her rocker.

  Caitlyn screamed again.

  *

  The door opened before Iago reached it, and Caitlyn stepped out, looking around wildly. She pointed at Iago. “You!” she yelled, her arms flailing at him. “What have you done to me?” She pointed at her belly. “I mean…how?”

  “Be calm,” Iago said, reaching out to her. She tried to pull away, but in her condition she could not move fast enough. He led her by the arm into the kitchen, and Hunter got a full view on her new “condition.” She was dressed in her usual pink satin pajamas, but they were now incredibly tight around the waist, while the top was no longer open, the bottoms having popped under the sheer pressure of her expanding belly.

  Caitlyn was very pregnant.

  And still Hunter just watched, the air ripping through his lungs.

  Iago glanced over at him, as he helped Caitlyn to sit on the bottom step, and grinned. Hunter felt a shiver shoot up his back. He had to do something, prevent whatever was going to happen from happening. He attempted to rise off the floor, but his strength failed him.

  Iago had done something to him.

  The fake-man knelt beside Caitlyn, his naked knees resting on the cold lino of the kitchen floor. Hunter blinked, unable to miss the lengthy manhood hanging between Iago’s legs. Before Iago had revealed his true form, when he had still worn the tight boxers that now lay shredded on the floor, he didn’t seem to be packing so much. If he had been, Hunter would have noticed. Clearly, when disguising himself as Iago once more, the incubus had failed to disguise the thing that now hung so freely. Accident, or was it a spiteful act to remind Hunter of what he might have had, had things been different? Is that why he had winked? Iago was playing with him, sapping him of his strength so he was forced to watch while this…thing…that had so worked its way into Hunter’s very soul played out its twisted act of creation with Caitlyn.

  *

  “How is this happening?” she asked Iago, no
w calmed by the gentle administrations of her gorgeous man. “We only slept together last night… And tonight we…”

  “One night was enough,” Iago said. “It always is enough,” he added with his calming smile, the one he had used on her so many times. She touched his face gently; his skin was so warm. Warm and soothing.

  “But how? I have this implant; it’s supposed to be ninety-nine percent…”

  Iago shushed her. “Be proud, my dear katharos, you will give birth to my new legion. And soon we will win the war.”

  Caitlyn just stared at him. “What war?”

  *

  Hunter looked up at this. Iago, the incubus, had mentioned the war before. The war above!

  Of course. He had read enough mythology books over the years; he had heard of the war in heaven. But it was just a myth, right? Like the incubus was a myth…

  Reality crashed in, and Hunter’s brain shut down.

  *

  Iago noticed the man pass out, but he did not care. The world of man had become more complicated, and he needed more time to study it. But right now he had more important things to which he had to attend.

  Caitlyn let out a scream of pain, and Iago turned to her. Beneath her belly, deep in her womb, his children were moving. Already they pressed against the birth sac, wanting to be free, to join their father in the war. It was only a matter of moments.

  “Be at peace, katharos,” Iago said. “You cannot prevent this.”

  She looked up at him, and he was struck by the anger and hate. He was not surprised by it. So many women over the centuries had responded the same way, once the truth became clear to them. Iago and Caitlyn were not destined to be with each other, she was merely an incubator for his seed to create life.

  The truth hurt. “You bastard!” she screamed.

  Iago smiled. “I am many things.”

  He placed his hand on Caitlyn’s belly and, feeling their father’s presence, his children broke free, tearing their way through the woman’s internal organs, cracking the rib cage as if it were a weak prison, and ripped through the layer of skin.