Elemental

by K. L. Noone

  Malevolent energy swung his way and glowered. Heaviness flattened his existence to nothing. He grew small and insignificant and worthless under the sheer weight of contempt, a spirit who considered him good only for consuming, useless and futile—

  His lungs did not work. His heart did not work, or at least he could not feel it beating, crushed by the inexorable ice.

  “Oh, no, I’m so sorry,” Sterling said, and his voice held all the notes of the universe in it, a tapestry of thrumming and growing and unfurling life, green and gold and joyous, poignant and broken as a teardrop, a sunrise, a riotous storm. “Someone hurt you, once, very badly, didn’t they? I know. I can feel it with you. I can hear you.”

  The darkness paused. Bewilderment snuck in along with intimidating fury. Ice got less icy.

  Dan gulped in a breath. Two. Because of that voice.

  “You’ve been here a long time too.” Very carefully, Sterling detached one hand from the light. Held it out. To the dark. Kept the portal spinning, one-handed. “You want me to show you someplace where it’s better? I can. Not a trick, not another hurt, I promise. I’m right here.”

  That was different. He’d not done that with the others. Anchors, Dan thought; and then the thoughts connected themselves, and he wanted to shout at Sterling, wanted to take those wondrous splendid idiotic shoulders and shake them—

  The darkness took that offered hand. Sterling’s eyes went black. Silver eaten by coal.

  “No,” Dan said.

  That smile, when it turned his way, was wrong. More jagged. Cruel.

  “Sterling,” Dan said.

  “Still me.” The voice came out right, but shaky. Fewer of those vibrant symphonies. Very human, and young. “I did ask you to hold onto me.”

  “I will—I am, of course I am, you showed up at my door and asked for my help, you owe me like three new spices and a knife—” Anything, any words he could think of, any connection. A pathway back. A hope, a wish, a desire. “Plus you said that thing about climbing into my lap and you can’t just run off with a shadow monster after that, come on, I’ve been thinking about it this whole time—”

  Sterling laughed.

  The shadow monster in question, wreathing around his arm, did not retreat; but Dan gathered the impression of bafflement. Laughter? In the face of anguish? What was that?

  Sterling’s recently acquired pet spirit, puffed up big and spiky and protective, came over and landed on Dan’s hand, right where he was holding onto his psychic’s shoulder. They both waited; Dan said, words and linkages and babbling, desperation and certainty that this was helping, he could help, he’d been asked to, “If you actually like garlic, I have leftover pizza—”

  Sterling took a breath. Let it out. Human and more: drawn back to the present, and hurting.

  “Right, you,” Sterling said to the shadow, green leaves and joyous oceans twining back into that voice, “I’m not leaving you, don’t worry, we’ll just do this first step together—” and put his own hand, shrouded in obsidian tatters, into his portal.

  The entire universe let out a wordless shout, a cry of welcome, a hymn of care. Sterling’s eyes went wide and stunned and then fell shut.

  Shadow-tatters swam along his arm, pooled upward, summoned more of themselves from the veil hanging mid-air. They poured into glory, and did not come back.

  The rain, drumming and quick, drenched the world. Water and light, ozone and spices, commonplace and astonishing, mingled. Became entwined.

  Weight lifted. Lead transmuted to gold: Dan’s living-room lamplight returned to normal, topaz and routine.

  The last of the shadows—other than the one that’d adopted Sterling and now quivered over his shoulder—had gone. Vanquished, not by battle but by a gesture, a recognition, a listening. Dan wanted to cheer, or to cry, a sort of dizzy vertiginous gasp of triumph.

  He whispered, “You did it—you saved them all, all of them—you’re amazing, you can do anything—”

  Sterling hadn’t moved. Eyes closed. Fingers brushing whatever world lay beyond this one. Unfocused blurry rapture touching his hand.

  Dan said his name again. More loudly.

  No response. Only the rain.

  This time he did shake that shoulder, gingerly but with increasing force. “Sterling? Come on, you’re done, you’re finished—you can come back now, any time, but now would be good—”

  Nothing. He wasn’t sure that Sterling was breathing. He couldn’t see any rise and fall, couldn’t feel an exhale. No motion under orange shirt-sleeves and that clinging bandage.

  He whispered, this time, “Please? You said this was a first date, I know you were joking and we’ve only barely met but—but you did offer, about doing things on my couch, and you smiled at me, and you said—you promised I could help. You said I could. Please. Let me help. Come back. Wake up.”

  He whispered, “I can try to help, but you have to wake up, you have to tell me how to help, I’m kind of new to this, Sterling, please.”

  He held on as tightly as he could. One hand. Two. On those slender shoulders. Their sympathetic spinning puff of inky cotton candy bounced up and down and nuzzled Sterling’s hair.

  Lightning flashed out over the city, beyond the windows. Electricity arced through the night, white-hot and incandescent.

  Sterling gasped, shuddered all over, and opened both eyes. The light-wheel at his fingertips winked out.

  He promptly fell over. Dan’s arms were right there.

  Dan’s heart was there too. A twist and a shout. A need. Please be unhurt. Please be okay. Please.

  He didn’t know when or why this had come to matter so much. But sometime in the whole riotous night, caught up in spells and ghosts and a young man who’d flipped his life upside down, it had: he needed those enthusiastic grey eyes to forever be okay.

  “How’s the first date going,” Sterling murmured, ragged but rallying, collapsed against him. “Usually there’re a lot fewer vengeful spirits and also a lot fewer clothes, but I’m really going all out to impress you here.”

  “I thought you were dead! You—” He dropped his face into Sterling’s hair, finished, “I’m impressed. Trust me. I don’t meet stupidly reckless clairvoyant witches every day of the week. Why did you think I wouldn’t be interested, earlier?”

  “Um…because I’d never heard anything about bestselling author Daniel Rose being anything other than spy-thriller action-hero heterosexual? And there’s the whole bestselling author part? And I have garlic on my fingers and I think I’ve locked myself out of my apartment again and I keep telling you I’m not that good a witch and—”

  “You’re right,” Dan said, “you’re not a witch, you’re a hero,” and leaned in.

  He wouldn’t’ve dared—himself from a week ago, from earlier that night, from an hour before, would’ve gone red and bashful and flustered—except that he could dare this, here and now. With Sterling looking up at him and starting to laugh, with magic in the air and dancing above their heads, with the knowledge that everything they’d done tonight they’d done together.

  Sterling even laughed while being kissed, he discovered; laughed, and smiled, and melted into him bonelessly, seeming to love being discovered. That mouth was exactly as sweet and teasing as it looked, and tasted a bit like honeyed lip balm, even with stray lingering notes of garlic and cumin and rosemary in the background.

  He pulled back enough to say, breathless and exhilarated, “Are you okay? You’re not—should you be resting? Or—and what the hell even is an action-hero heterosexual, seriously, I thought you’d read the books, did you not notice all the commentary on Johnny Stone’s thighs.”

  “I did,” Sterling said, “I kind of thought you just had a thing for muscles,” and then hesitated.

  “Are you hurting? Is anything wrong? What’s wrong?”

  “I’m fine—it’s not that—I mean, I don’t exactly look like—you were at that premiere with an arm around your real-life Johnny Muscular Thighs Stone and I’m not a
hero—”

  “But you’re incredible! And I’m a writer, I’m not anyone’s idea of sexy, and you could have anyone, you can do magic—!”

  “But I want you,” Sterling said, wide-eyed, “I like you—well, I like everything really, I like fun and I’ll try anything, but I really, really, like you. I like gorgeous genius writers who don’t run away from me even when I sound like a crazy person and instead ask whether I’m okay and want to help—”

  “I like you,” Dan interrupted.

  The second kiss was even better than the first, mostly because they kept stopping to say “You!” and laugh. The apartment tucked itself around them, stalwart and safe. The books were only books. The rug was just a rug. No traces of ice left. Banished by kisses and giddy aftermath joy.

  Sterling ended up in his lap after all, being cradled and caressed and tenderly supported, mostly because Dan wasn’t entirely convinced that he could sit up on his own. Sterling did not seem inclined to protest, practically purring when Dan stroked a hand through his hair or lifted him up enough to adjust position.

  “Why do you taste like honey?”

  “Lip balm. Verity’s beeswax. I like your hand doing that. I could like your hand doing that more.”

  “This?” He’d snuck the hand in question up under the eye-watering orange shirt. Sterling felt warm and reassuringly solid, tempting further exploration. But also weary. Leaning on him. Nestled into his hold. Accepting caresses, but languidly. “I don’t want to push you if—don’t think you owe me anything, you said favors before and—and I don’t want to hurt you—”

  Sterling stopped nuzzling his neck. Sat up. Hands on Dan’s shoulders. Head on one side, hair rumpled, eyes huge and glittery again. Their ghost-companion had tactfully curled up atop the nearest bookshelf and seemed to have gone to sleep.

  “I’m sorry?” Dan tried. “I don’t want to kill the mood. And I want you. But I don’t exactly do this a lot? And I don’t want you to think you have to!”

  “I’d have a lot of questions if you said you did do this a lot. For one, which other practitioners you’d been kissing. And why nobody told me.”

  “You know what I mean!”

  “I kind of actually don’t.” Sterling favored him with an expression midway between frustration and fondness. “Is it just too weird? All of this? Is it me? It’s not about me owing you a favor—I do, but I was thinking more like empathic assistance sometime, to balance out the universe—”

  “Assistance? Like what? Never mind, go on—”

  “—and I’m not hurt and I totally completely want to have sex with you right now, everything feels all tired and fizzy and weightless and sparkly, and I really want to be touched and reminded that I’m—I don’t know, here and human and real, after that, but you just said you didn’t do stuff like this and I get it, of course not, it’s too much and I’m too messy for you anyway and—”

  Dan couldn’t find words, couldn’t think of a good comeback, couldn’t listen to that for another second, and put a hand over Sterling’s mouth. Then moved the hand and kissed him. Thoroughly. Scorchingly. Inarguably so.

  “Oh,” Sterling said, once they’d paused. His lips remained parted, astonished. “Oh. You—you. Um. Okay.”

  “I want to,” Dan said. “I want to do everything. Anything. Whatever you want. With you. We just saved a lot of people. Ghosts. Whatever. And magic’s real and you’re real and—you said you were tired. Lie down. Let me take care of you.”

  “Does taking care of me include sex, because—”

  This time Dan shoved him flat onto the couch and settled atop him. Hands, lips, body weight: keeping him in position, holding him here, making this true. Touch. Connections. Being real. He observed, “You said you like bossy.”

  “I absolutely do.” Sterling attempted a halfhearted squirm beneath him, testing the response, and smiled more when Dan put more effort into keeping him in place. “I said I like everything, and I do, but if you’re asking about preferences, I love just being…put where you want me. Taken how you want me. Held down and claimed and—and completely wanted.” The admission came out playful, that unabashed charm on display; the silver of those eyes offered sudden shy truthfulness in counterpoint. “I mean if you’d rather—if there’s something you want I can—”

  “You do talk more when you’re tired,” Dan said.

  “Or nervous,” Sterling said, with chin-up brazenness, even while curling fingers down to touch Dan’s hand, pinning his to sofa-cushions.

  “Are you?” He nudged their noses together. “About me? We don’t have to do anything you don’t feel good doing.”

  “Nervous,” Sterling said, “about asking you to do something you’re not ready for?” He’d left the fingers touching Dan’s hand.

  “I want you,” Dan said. “I only meant I don’t really—I don’t even go out much. I don’t talk to people much. I avoid big conventions because I never know what to say. I’m only good when I’ve got time to edit and revise and give words to my characters. Not me.” He dropped a kiss at the corner of that enchanting mouth, added, “You’re what I want. Which is apparently a pixie-sized walking rainbow with magic powers and all the words ever. Who needs taking care of.”

  “I’ve met one or two pixies,” Sterling complained, “and I am much taller than that—”

  Dan put a finger over his lips. Sterling blinked, raised eyebrows, smiled. Kissed the finger. Then licked it, a swipe of pink tongue over skin: a promise and a racing heartbeat.

  Chapter 4

  Thunder bounded across the night. Rain picked up the rhythm and gave it right back, embellished with melodies and flourishes. From Dan’s table, garlic and cumin and rosemary and a knife that’d need cleaning and some spilling-over jars cheered him and Sterling on: yes, messy, but exuberantly successfully so. Spices dusted the rug; that could be cleaned. Like the building and the world, cleansed and exultant.

  Dan found himself wanting to laugh. Wanting to kiss his impossible magical pocket-sized psychic demi-witch, over and over and over again.

  He said, “By the way, this is the best first date I’ve ever had, just so you know,” and Sterling wrapped legs around his waist and agreed “Good?” in a tone that aimed for smug and came out simply pleased at the words. “I’m not even done with your building yet, not everyone accepted that invitation—”

  “So we’re going to do this again?”

  “I hope we’re going to do this again.” Sterling wiggled under him: arousal rivaling Dan’s own, unmistakable and elated. “But yes. Not tonight. But later.”

  “I’ll be here when you do.”

  That came out as both a question and a statement, caught between asking and trying on the role of assertion; those wide eyes got even merrier in reply, grey like winter skies and holiday mornings. “Good. I like you being here.”

  “I like me being here—” He shifted position, rocked their hips together; Sterling’s next inhale caught and quivered on the brink of being a gasp. “—too. More?”

  “Didn’t I already say yes, because—”

  Dan got hands under that cozy pumpkin-splash of shirt and yanked it up above Sterling’s head. After a moment’s reflection, left it tangled around those delicate wrists, stretched up across his sofa. Orange fabric and fair skin became artwork, framed by conspiratorial beige cushions; Sterling himself was artwork, an expanse of ethereal tattoos and slender muscle and pert nipples on display. And said, cheeks faintly pink, “See something you like?”

  “Yes.” He trailed fingertips along one arm, over the vines he’d seen earlier. They looped upward and blossomed into flowers, symbols he didn’t recognize, a sequence of moons that became a circle ending under Sterling’s collarbone, on the left. A branch curled around from the back, emerald and brown; a tree, he thought, some sort of mystic wood. A scatter of runes made themselves visible over the opposite hip, disappearing under pajama pants; fascinated, he bent down. Kissed the half-moon where it lay etched in ink over skin, under ambe
r lamplight. Learned the taste of witchcraft and sketched lines, heat against his tongue.

  Sterling, rather miraculously, was being quiet. Dan brushed lips over his collarbone, knowing the words would be felt as much as heard. “Still good?”

  Sterling made a sound that wasn’t quite a word: astonishment, desire, a glimpse of rainbow in the night; and then nodded, eyes lit up with excitement.

  “You like it when I kiss you?” He ran one hand over that flat stomach, down to the runes and the beckoning pajama pants. “It doesn’t matter if I touch any of these, right, it’s not going to interfere with them or anything—”

  Sterling rolled eyes at him, somehow managing sarcasm even while prone on Dan’s sofa with wrists bound up in his own shirt; he’d plainly remembered how to talk. “As if I’d get anything that meant I couldn’t have awesome sex. They’re mostly defensive. A couple focus-aids. Enhancements. It’s an oak tree, if you were wondering. There’re magpies lower down. I can explain them all if you want, but can we do that after the awesome sex, please—”

  “Lower down?”

  There were indeed magpies. Two of them perched in elegant color on Sterling’s left thigh. They made an exquisite flutter-winged contrast to clinging violet boxer-briefs. Dan wasn’t sure what to appreciate first, slim strong legs or tantalizing decorations or the impressive color choice or the equally impressive jut of desire straining against containment.

  He settled for running hands along those luscious inner thighs, having pulled plaid pajama pants down around Sterling’s ankles. “How many colors are you wearing?”

  “I like bright colors. Why are you still dressed?”

  “Impatient, are you?” He walked fingers upward, not quite touching violet temptation, toying with elastic edges. Sterling whimpered and tried to lift hips toward the touch; Dan said, “Don’t move,” and his adorable psychic’s eyes got even wider. “But I want—”

  “I know you do. So do I. But we’re taking care of you. You said.” He touched a magpie. “That means you stay put—where I put you—and rest, and you let me give you what you need. Is it two for joy? These.”