Wishing on a Blue Star

by Kris Jacen

  Kip started to pull back “Look, we don’t need to—”

  “No.” Crash held him where he was. “Don’t go. I want this. I want you. Please.”

  Kip met Crash’s frank blue eyes. “It hurts at first. I’m… I’m scared you won’t like it.”

  Crash shifted his hips and Kip slid deeper inside his hot, tight channel. He was nearly balls deep in his best friend. Holy...

  “Don’t stop,” Crash implored. He writhed again and Kip twitched the rest of the way in. They were connected in the most intimate way for a full minute before Kip came to his senses and his body begged him to move. He fought the urge to flex his hips and fuck Crash hard. His muscles trembled as he forced himself to hold back. Crash squirmed minutely, pulling away from the cock in his ass, then back again to get it deeper, and Kip thought it might be all right to begin….

  “Keep breathing,” Kip said, even as he pulled out, just a little, and thrust back in.

  Crash lit up a little, emitting a tiny startled “Oh.” Dazed eyes met Kip’s and he whispered. “Oh. Do that again.”

  Kip complied, this time, dragging it out a little, changing his angle slightly as he watched Crash’s head drop back on the most exquisitely erotic sigh he’d ever heard. After that, he gave in to his need and fucked Crash like a machine, losing himself in the rhythm of it. They rose and fell like music, especially Crash, whose every sigh was lyrically beautiful and whose voice sent shivers and warmth throughout Kip’s body.

  Absurdly, Kip imagined that very sound, their intimate music, was a liquid fire that flowed throughout his body and back into Crash where they were joined, even as Crash received it from him and returned it. That they drank from a vast invisible fountain of flames that scorched and purified and burned them both to ash.

  Crash locked his ankles behind Kip’s back, then wrapped his arms around him and clung. Kip lowered his head to join him in a passionate kiss. He continued to snap his hips forward and drag back; push… pull… until Crash jerked in his arms and hot come spattered between them.

  Kip groaned as Crash’s body clenched around him, arms and legs and ass spasming and squeezing him, until the first chilling buzz in his balls signaled his own slide into the breathless chaos of release.

  There was nothing like it, ever.

  Kip slid over the edge with nothing to stop his fall; only a hot, breathless, equally confused body to cling to as the ground fell out beneath them. “Crash.” He fought to drag in air. “Crash. Shit.”

  Kip’s skin, damp and mixed with come on Crash’s belly stuck as he withdrew carefully from Crash. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. The first ominous misgivings were beginning to hit him. What if everything changed? What if they didn’t? What if Crash regretted making love? What if he didn’t enjoy it? What if—

  “Don’t you dare fucking start.” Crash dropped his feet to the floor on the opposite side of the bed and padded into the bathroom.

  Kip pondered what he was certain was only the third f-bomb of Crash’s life until Crash emerged from the bathroom minutes later with a damp towel. He used it to clean Kip’s skin, but not before he bent to taste his own essence, licking a trail from Crash’s naval to his pubic hair.

  “Kipling Rush you’re beautiful.”

  Kip saw that flush on his cheeks again and realized it was a ruse. Crash was still shy about what they’d done. “Regrets?”

  “Not even one.” Crash threw the towel aside and curled up next to him. He drew Kip’s arm around him, forcing him to spoon up, even as he began to drift off to sleep.

  “Me neither.” Kip kissed the back of his neck, nuzzling in to fill himself with the Crash’s scent, which was like cookies now, with some deeper, more intoxicating note, like hearty dark red wine or port maybe. “You smell delicious.”

  “You too,” Crash murmured sleepily. “Like heaven and earth and all good things. Did you know the stars smell like raspberry?”

  Kip smiled at that. “Crash, I never imagined…”

  “Neither did I.” Crash sighed. “I should have though. I thought I’d foreseen everything. This proves you still have the power to surprise me. I love you Kip. More than any human words can say.”

  “Use inhuman words.”

  Crash snorted. “As if.”

  Crash began to hum again, that deeply resonant, otherworldly sound that every cell in Kip’s body responded to. It wasn’t loud, or even powerful music, just something haunting and lovely, something so simple it seemed to get under his skin and merge with his blood. Kip’s breathing, his heart rate, his very essence ebbed and flowed with the sound of Crash’s voice, until at last, Kip tightened his arms around Crash and drifted off to sleep.

  Did I regret? How could I? Regret seems to me as useless and foolish an invention as any that humans have ever conceived. Only those things we do and the choices we make exist. You were my choice, and I make it over again with every breath I take.

  If there is anything bitter in the sweet, it is only knowing that you never see me— truly comprehend me—as I am. Vanity is not a trait exclusive to humans after all. There will come a day, too soon, when you will perceive me in my truest form, for I will no longer need the guise in which I come to you. Will I frighten you? Will you believe what I say and trust me one last, desperate time?

  Kip woke with a strangled gasp, his entire body covered with sweat. He turned to find Crash sleeping beside him peacefully, his large square hand tucked under his cheek. As always he was still as stars. At thirty-two, Crash remained inhumanely perfect. If anything he’d gotten more exquisite. A seeming impossibility, as if he’d shattered all physical law to lie there beside Kip, sleeping beauty, so gorgeous still it made Kip’s throat hurt.

  In fact, that very thing had probably inspired the terrible dream Kip had, the one that crushed his chest with fear and caused him to wake with a start. Kip’s head dropped back onto the pillow while he waited for his heart to calm and his breathing to return to normal.

  Shit.

  In his dream he’d been a boy of ten again, falling through the earth, only it wasn’t Crash who waited for him there but something… unimaginable. Something ancient and powerful. Thrilling and terrible, terrifying and intriguing at the same time.

  That something had thickly muscled legs that ended in huge feet, like an ancient statue. It was living stone perfection that pulsed with light. His gaze traveled upward and fell on thighs like the trunks of healthy trees. The figure stood at an angle, nearly in profile, so Kip got an eyeful of sculpted abs, glutes like softly rounded boulders, the impossible curve of an immensely strong spine, powerful shoulders and wings.

  When that awesome, terrifying vision reached for him, the creature’s wings groaned as they unfurled, the sound loud and resonant. Leathery skin and feathers stretched over bone, over sinew and muscle that pushed outward into a space that was too small to contain them.

  Kip drew in his breath, aware in his dream— as he would never have been at that age in real life— that the creature’s naked perfection owed everything to its masculine beauty. From his thick square toes to his chiseled face, from his beautiful alabaster cock to the way the eye was drawn to it by trails of pale hair in the center of a lean abdomen surrounded by a well-defined iliac furrow, an Adonis belt, truly worthy of the name, he was everything male. A god compared to mortal men.

  When Kip could tear his eyes away from his first dry-mouthed glimpse of the forbidden perfection of the creature’s genitals, he found himself gazing at a face of such radiance, such divine beauty that it took his breath away. The creature shimmered before him, so bright in the darkness of the sinkhole that it hurt his eyes to look at him, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away.

  When he found his wits, he realized the creature’s very energy throbbed with song, rich and perfectly familiar. As if somewhere within himself, Kip had the very same song buried deep inside his DNA, and he’d been waiting all his life for someone else to sing it.

  “Who are you?” It bur
ned Kip’s eyes to look at the creature, but he couldn’t look away.

  “I am yours, Kipling Rush.” The creature held his hand out, and Kip could no more fail to take it than he could have refused to draw his next breath. He placed his small hand into the creature’s and flames shot up around them, momentarily excruciating, terrifying, agonizing flames that reduced them both to ash. He’d shot up fully awake then, to find his nice safe life, his Crash, sleeping beside him.

  “Shit,” Kip hissed, his hands shaking as he reached for a glass of water. Beside him, Crash shifted—as always— to draw him near.

  “Hm?”

  “Bad dream,” Kip allowed himself to be folded into the comfort of a warm embrace.

  “Mm.” Crash’s arms tightened. “Sleep for a while longer. We have don’t to be at the airport until noon.”

  “I know.” Kip gazed off into space as Crash hummed against his skin, the sound both familiar and frightening.

  The song from his dream.

  Kip closed his eyes and felt the music wash over him as he drifted back to sleep.

  * * * *

  “Do you have any bags to check Dr. Rush?” The man behind the counter looked up from his ticket.

  “No, thank you.” He patted his carry-on sized pilot case. Crash had his own carryon and the laptop case he insisted on carrying for Kip. They got their boarding passes and made their way to the TSA security check-in.

  As always, every eye found Crash, from babies to octegenarians, from polite interest to naked lust, Crash could barely walk through a building without generating a ripple of enthusiasm wherever he went. It only got worse as he matured. Crash had grown into himself, Kip thought, looking at him. It had taken lots of practice for him to learn to wield all that charisma and caring. From his work for an international not-for-profit that focused its efforts on protecting the health and well-being of children worldwide, to his most recent project, establishing an-award winning choir at the local senior citizen’s outreach center, he’d found his place in the world, and not just the one he’d carved out for himself at Kip’s side.

  They made quite a pair in their aging, eclectic neighborhood: the handsome veterinarian and his gorgeous partner with the funny name. Kip told people they could retire and simply sell Crash’s picture over the Internet, maybe even make enough money to live and some left over. Crash frowned at him when he said it, usually following up with a manly thump to his shoulder. But oh, how true it was.

  Kip saw Crash turn a smile of confused gratitude on the TSA employee who helped him gather his coat, phone, and laptop into a single gray bin and walked him to a chair where he could put on his shoes. The man grinned back so hard it nearly cracked his spine. Kip frowned as he watched, knowing that the metal detectors could electrocute him and no one would even notice his sizzling corpse lying there until it began to stink.

  “Sour grapes,” Crash muttered, standing as Kip approached.

  “Maybe,” Kip shoved his feet into his shoes and pulled his watch over his hand, clamping the fastening bar. “I don’t care who has their eye on you, as long as you keep your eyes on me, capisce?”

  Crash raised an eyebrow but continued on to their departure gate. Kip caught up with him when he stopped for coffee. When they boarded, Kip stowed their gear in the overhead bin and moved to the window seat while Crash waited in the aisle. Kip liked to look at the sky when they flew—he kept his eyes firmly on the heavens—because he didn’t care to think about being hoist in a machine tens of thousands of feet in the air. He knew Crash would take his hand when the engines roared to life, squeezing it to impart his strength and confidence. Kip laced their fingers together when the plane began to gather the power it would need to hurl them into the sky.

  “You scared?” Kip asked as they began to taxi down the runway.

  “No.” Crash told him.

  “Because it would be all right if you were,” Kip continued. “It wouldn’t make me think less of you.”

  “I’m not scared. I just like to hold your hand.” Crash gave him a reassuring squeeze.

  Maybe someone looked over at them at that, Kip had long since ceased to register anyone’s disapproval. “I like to hold yours too.”

  “Good.” Crash smiled, outshining the sun beyond the glass.

  As they gathered momentum for takeoff Kip felt the plane tug him forward. He had that awful sensation of leaving his stomach behind, waiting for it to catch up, then swoosh, his shoulders were pinned firmly into his seat by the laws of physics. He looked out the window of the plane and watched as Santa Ana, then Newport Beach and the entire Orange County coastline dropped away. The plane made its daring ascent, all the more spectacularly vertical because of laws restricting noise over the beautiful and costly coastal California homes. Then there was nothing but the wide, vast ocean below them as they rocketed up and up.

  “I had a terrifying dream last night,” Kip said idly as the plane shivered under them.

  “You did?” Crash let go of Kip’s hand when they leveled out and lifted his paper coffee cup to his lips.

  “Yes. It was so real. I dreamed about when we fell into that hole.”

  “Really?” Crash turned his head. His brows formed a ‘v’ between dazzling gray eyes when he frowned. “You did?”

  “Yes.” Kip laughed. “I fell into that hole and instead of you being in there with me I saw… something else entirely.”

  “What?” Crash’s fingers tightened on his cup. “What did you see?”

  Kip shrugged. “Some kind of creature. It was… like an angel from a cemetery. Huge, and powerful, lit by shimmering flames. Terrifying… Jeez. Do you remember what we ate last night?”

  Crash turned to him. “You saw this? In your dream this morning?”

  “I woke up with my heart pounding. It felt so real. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. Never imagined anything like that could exist. Why do you suppose—”

  “Kip. There’s something important you need to know.” Crash said urgently.

  Kip, cued by the sound of Crash’s voice, stopped in the middle of bringing his cup up. “What is it?” He’d long ago learned not to use Crash’s name on planes. “Tell me.”

  “Do you trust me?”

  “Of course.” Kip felt a bump and behind him; something beyond the draperies separating first class from coach started to rattle.

  Crash’s normally impassive face tightened. The plane hit a pocket of turbulence and the seatbelt signs went back on. The captain’s voice came over the loudspeakers in the cockpit, but Kip’s attention was focused entirely on Crash.

  “Of course. You’re—”

  “I am yours, Kipling Rush.” Kip watched Crash’s seatbelt fall away when he rose to stand. He moved to the aisle, right there in First Class, and held out his hand.

  “Cr…” Kip stopped himself just in time as he stared at Crash’s hand. The plane shook again, and this time, lights flickered. He caught sight of one of the flight attendants as her hand snapped out to catch hold of the bulkhead wall, and she definitely did not look pleased.

  “What is it?” Kip whispered.

  “I am yours, Kipling Rush” Crash said again. The plane gave a terrible shudder. A cracking noise rent the air as the aircraft heaved, knocking people to the ground. Screams erupted as the rumble of twisting, grinding metal grew louder and louder. People panicked and the plane rattled, wracked with a kind of mechanical cough. A man Kip assumed was a federal air marshal barked an order for Crash to sit down and assume the crash position. Crash ignored him.

  Kipling stared at the man he’d loved for most of his life, his mouth dry with shock. He knew. He knew, and he’d probably known all along, that Crash wasn’t—

  “Take my hand,” Crash commanded him in a voice he’d never used before.

  Kip put his hand in Crash’s, feeling it enfolded in a warm grip, and allowed himself to be pulled close. “I saw you in my dream,” Kip whispered. “Saw you as you really are, didn’t I?”

  “Do yo
u trust me?” Crash asked him again, urgently, as the plane fought to stay aloft. The cabin filled with flames and smoke, making it hard to see. Crash was untouched by the chaos surrounding him. His eyes were soft. His voice was warm and imbued with the strength he’d given freely to Kip at the best of times. It flooded Kip with peace, even though this was surely the worst.

  “Chemuel.” Kip understood. The awful noise, the terror, the panic and despair of the other passengers fell away as if they were dust particles floating in Crash’s light.

  “Yes.” Crash nodded. “I am Chemuel.”

  Kip’s eyes adjusted to the brightness of Crash’s fire as his clothing burned away and his wings unfolded. The flames licked away at Kip’s clothes, but they didn’t stop there, they burned away his flesh, tore at his muscles and bones, eked their way inside his body when he tried to draw in breath and filled his lungs with pain and smoke. He knew he was crying, but he couldn’t stop. He gripped Crash’s hand like a lifeline. Crash’s eyes never wavered. He never looked away. Kip felt his touch and heard his song— deep within him— in a place the fire couldn’t touch. Inside, where Kip discovered he was as ancient and eternal as Chemuel seemed to be.

  “Is this…?” Kip swallowed hard, knowing his life was over, knowing he’d left so much unfinished. “Are we saying goodbye?”

  “No. We will never need to say goodbye.”

  “My G—”

  “Shhh.” Crash hushed him.

  “But… All these people. What about them?”

  Crash shook his head. He grew taller and light emanated from his skin. “They are not mine.”

  Crash’s wings spread with a snap, like great sails on an old fashioned ship. Crash held him, even though Kip knew there was nothing—there could be nothing left of him—after the fireball that had blown through the cabin when the plane burst into flames.

  Whatever Kip was, whatever was left, Crash pulled it into his arms and rose with a thundering beat of his leathery, feathered wings, away from the twisted, burning metal just as the entire mass of fiery wreckage hit the Pacific ocean with a horrendous, dying hiss.