by Jerry Cole
Isaac found the buttons on Wyatt’s shirt, undoing them swiftly. He shrugged the garment from Wyatt’s frame, allowing his fingers to sweep across the muscular shoulders, down the blond hairs that glowed in the moonlight that came in, almost timid, through the window. He kissed his neck, the softness of his peck. Wyatt let out a soft moan.
Isaac wondered how long it had been for him—if he had someone back in Los Angeles, wondering where on earth he was in the world. This titillated him even more, drawing his mouth toward Wyatt’s belly button. He unlatched the button at his waist, his eyes glowing up toward Wyatt’s face. He gave Isaac a firm nod of approval, an affirmation that this—this was all right. This was more than fine.
Isaac yanked Wyatt’s pants toward his knees, revealing dark blue boxers beneath. A dot of pre-cum had been drawn in the center, evidence of Wyatt’s need for him. Isaac’s cock surged, thick and filled. Wyatt’s hand dropped across his crotch, feeling at the outline of Isaac’s staff. Isaac’s tongue released from between his lips, and he kissed Wyatt again, almost leaping upon his lips.
Isaac’s fingers dipped beneath Wyatt’s waistband. He folded it over and over again. The air filled with the scent of cum, of want.
“God, I wanted you since I saw you in the crowd,” Wyatt murmured between kisses. “Standing up to that monster.”
“I didn’t know you were watching. I wish I had known,” Isaac whispered back.
“Would you have performed even more?” Wyatt asked. “It felt like it was all for me.”
“I didn’t even know you,” Isaac returned.
“Now, you do,” Wyatt said.
His boxers were fully off, now. Isaac’s hand wrapped firmly around Wyatt’s cock, which surged, pulsing. The veins were thick. Another bit of cum dribbled out on Isaac’s fingers. He reached up to his lips and licked it, tasting the salt. His eyelashes drooped. His was different. Perhaps they were always a bit different.
Isaac dropped to his knees upon the mattress, forcing Wyatt to lay back. His cock sprung up, pointing toward the ceiling. Isaac moved over him, placing both knees on either side of his legs. He was a mighty, long, powerful being—a person Isaac would have said to be the best-looking person he’d ever slept with in his life. Although he couldn’t think about that now.
Isaac moved over Wyatt, allowing his tongue to skirt across the top of his cock, slipping along cum, across soft skin. Again, Wyatt moaned, and Isaac’s heart stirred with longing. He’d never been one to think of anything as easy, as simple. He opened his mouth wider, slowly guiding his mouth over Wyatt’s cock, so that the tip of it surged against the back of his throat. Cum dribbled down the back of his throat, and Wyatt’s cock pulsed against his tongue.
God, it was incredible, tasting him. Knowing him.
Isaac brought his lips up on the cock, slowly, methodically, casting his eyes toward Wyatt’s face. His eyes were closed, his mouth opening and shutting, as though he was struggling to maintain any sort of composure. Isaac wanted nothing more than for him to lose control.
It had been ages since anyone did, as a result of his power, of his prowess.
Isaac’s motions sped up bit by bit, until Wyatt cast his belly skyward, making his back a downward U. His cock was pressed so tightly against Isaac’s throat, he hadn’t bothered to breathe in nearly thirty seconds. It was as though he didn’t need oxygen.
Suddenly, Wyatt reared back, drawing himself toward the wall. He gasped for air, along with Isaac. Isaac spread his hand across his mouth, attempting to clean himself, but it was already too late for any such thing.
“I want to see you,” Wyatt said, his words articulate, charged. He burst forward, tearing at Isaac’s clothes, tossing them toward the ground. Isaac felt renewed, naked before him. He shook, perhaps because of adrenaline, or simply because of the allure of being seen by someone fresh, new.
He lifted his arm and swept his fingers across Wyatt’s chest. They were on equal ground, now, both their cocks hard and flung forward. To Isaac’s intense pleasure, Wyatt reached forward, wrapping his hand around Isaac’s cock. He tickled his fingers across the thick veins, slipping them along the cum that surged from Isaac’s tip. God, he hadn’t been so hard in ages.
Wyatt matched Isaac, giving him an intense, passionate blowjob, one that cast his blond hair toward his stomach. Isaac watched the hair as it moved this way and that, throughout the blowjob, his mind moving someplace it hadn’t in quite some time. The effort with which Wyatt conducted the blowjob was extraordinary, the stuff of dreams. And when Wyatt finally moved his head up, showing his glistening lips, Isaac wanted to yell out, to scream, “Please! More!” But he didn’t, as he saw the exhaustion in Wyatt’s eyes.
“You’re so beautiful,” Wyatt murmured, reaching his lips up to catch Isaac’s.
Isaac had never been told he was beautiful before. Handsome. Cute. Yes, all that. But beautiful? It evoked a more powerful message. Feeling foolish, extraordinarily so, he whispered back, “You’re beautiful, too.” At this, Wyatt lent him a crooked smile, one completely genuine in nature. Isaac felt, for perhaps the first time in his life, that he wasn’t being made fun of. That he was safe.
“Do you want to?” Wyatt asked, his voice tentative.
“I do,” Isaac returned, knowing fully what Wyatt meant.
“I have condoms,” Wyatt returned. “In my pocket. For a rainy day.”
“I suppose that’s this day, isn’t it? Rain in the middle of Western Texas. I never thought I’d see it.”
“You’re a bit too clever for your own good, aren’t you?” Wyatt asked.
“It’s been said before,” Isaac whispered.
Slowly, Wyatt spun Isaac around onto his stomach, so that his body was stretched out, languid and smooth across the sheets. He listened while Wyatt busied himself in his pants’ pockets, yanking out a condom, and something else. Lube, by the sounds of it squishing out of the inner part of the plastic bottle. Isaac felt Wyatt’s fingers, sure and soft, against his asshole, opening him up so that he could use him fully, completely. The motion was tender, yet powerful, the precise amount of force used. Two of Wyatt’s fingers entered him, stretching him out. His lips pressed against Isaac’s ass, giving him a beautiful, joyous kiss.
The tip of Wyatt’s cock found Isaac’s asshole slowly. Wyatt whispered, “Are you ready?” And Isaac nodded that yes, yes, he was. Wyatt thrust into him, filling him, casting impossible darkness across Isaac’s eyes. His motions were sure, methodical, as though Wyatt felt he might come at any time. Isaac loved the idea that Wyatt’s ass drove him so mad. He felt him deep within him, as though he had become a greater part of Isaac, thrusting himself harder until finally, he came, crying out, spasming. Cum dribbled itself across Isaac’s ass cheeks, making him feel like a sort of painting, an art project, completed only with this final burst of inspiration.
Nearly an hour later, after they’d both cum, Wyatt and Isaac wrapped one another in thick, muscular arms. Wyatt’s feet were several inches beyond Isaac’s on the mattress, seeping out over the mattress. Wyatt mentioned that that was how he normally liked to sleep—with his toes outside the blankets. It thrilled Isaac to know such a tender thing about him. He yearned to know more, to collect the specific, little things about Wyatt, until he had the complete and total picture.
He wondered if it could possibly be so.
It was a funny thing, Western Texas at night. Impossible heat gave over to impossible chill, and the only thing the pair of them could do was hold one another close. Isaac found himself matching Wyatt’s inhales and exhales throughout the night, finding it difficult to cast himself over to slumber.
Increasingly, in the hours that dipped into the night, Isaac was reminded of what awaited him the following day. Surely, he couldn’t wait a second more to find his father, to acknowledge his sisters. He could feel the black hole of his cell phone, waiting for him in his pants’ pocket.
Just after seven in the morning, Wyatt creaked to the side in Isaac’s arms, blinki
ng awake. It was such a profound shift from sleeping with anyone else. Isaac’s heart bumped wildly in his chest, ready for another round. But Wyatt’s eyes were filled with slumber, hazy. They remained latched to one another, sharing a long, somber gaze.
“You look so good when you sleep,” Wyatt murmured.
“You can’t be serious,” Isaac said, chuckling. “You slept the entire night long. There’s not a chance you caught me asleep when you weren’t.”
“Ah! So arrogant,” Wyatt said, snuggling closer. He ticked a single kiss upon Isaac’s chin. “And yet I can assure it to you. You were sleeping and I glanced over. And there you were, glowing in the moonlight.”
Isaac drew himself up, allowing his spine to cool against the chill of the wall. Now that the sunlight eased in through the cracked pane, they took greater stock of the room, of the wardrobe with all its drawers tugged out, the rug with a violent black stain in the corner, assuredly coffee, although it was very much an eerie sight.
“I’ve never slept with anyone in a ghost town before,” Wyatt said. He slipped his feet to the ground beside the bed, seeming to make sure not to touch the strange, gritty rug. He reached for his shirt and swept his arms into it. The muscles flashed with the sunlight.
Again, Isaac strained, yearning to sleep with him again. His fingers flashed along the bottom of Wyatt’s perfectly flat stomach, watching before he snuck it closed beneath his shirt. Wyatt gave him a wry smile.
“It won’t be the last of it, I hope,” he murmured, before drawing closer to Isaac, slipping his lips around Isaac’s lower one. “I had such a wonderful time.”
There was a flurry of activity after that. After all, there was really little more that could possibly be said, besides sort of hum drum things, in the wake of such reality, such bigness.
Isaac simmered with the words, feeling them humming up and down his spine. “Had such a wonderful time.” God, he had, too.
Isaac and Wyatt fell into easy conversation, both stabbing their feet into pant legs and cinching belts tight. Isaac sensed that, in the light of the morning, news of his father wouldn’t seem so bizarre to Wyatt. But he sensed it would color the mood, shift it, perhaps alter Wyatt’s opinion of him, so Isaac kept that portion of his mind locked tight. Perhaps this lying was inappropriate. But it was what he felt he had to do to ensure the morning remained bright, unhurried.
Oh, how he wished they were somewhere in New York, instead—that they could march into the Greenwich Village streets, their fingers latched together, their chins high. “Brunch?” perhaps one of them would offer, to which the other would have to agree—for, in the first stages of love, or whatever it was they were doing, it was absolutely essential to agree. Anything else cast a strange sour feeling over everything.
At least, this had been Isaac’s experience in the past.
“What do you suppose they’re up to now?” Isaac asked, sneaking his hand across the rusted door handle, creaking it open. He remembered the wide stretch of fields, the cult, the world just beyond the shadow of the busted-out hotel.
Wyatt yanked at his shoelace, arching his thick, blond brow. “I haven’t a clue.”
“What about your trip here with the cult members, anyway?” Isaac asked, bounding from the room. “They must have given you more information about the plan—about the next few weeks, before this apparent being is meant to arrive. Or whatever it was they said.”
“First of all, Isaac, the ‘being’ is more than just one,” Wyatt said, faux mocking him. “It’s a whole collection of men and women and non-gender conforming beings from Venus. And, as you know—”
“No, that’s the thing. I don’t know,” Isaac chortled. He knocked down the steps, two at a time, his eyes racing back toward Wyatt. “You spent days and days with cult members, Wyatt. I can’t believe they didn’t make you transition to one of them.”
“Perhaps we met at the right time?” Wyatt suggested. “If I hadn’t seen you in that crowd…”
“You might be eating monkey brains right now,” Isaac said.
“Or much worse,” Wyatt offered. “They might have put me in charge of, like, breakfast duty. I’ve lived on my own for years and years. I don’t imagine that anything I could cook would have any sort of quality, certainly not for such a big group of people. People are people, I don’t care what you say. Even in a cult, they’re going to want something tasty.”
Isaac and Wyatt cut out of the door of the once-hotel, with Isaac spinning back after a moment, letting out a foolish, “It was a pleasant stay! Thanks so much,” which made Wyatt fall into overzealous laughter. The laughter echoed out across the Main Street, bouncing across the white-washed buildings. They paused, blinking at one another, their fingers several inches apart. Isaac hungered to hold his hand, but Wyatt took a slight step away, his eyes growing shadowed.
“You remember what Marcia said,” he murmured. “About the town’s people. And I can’t get a good read about the cult, either. It’s best to just keep it cool, yeah?”
Wyatt cut forward, almost strutting away from Isaac. He didn’t give him time to respond. Isaac ambled along beside him. When they passed the saloon, he was surprised to see the OPEN sign still illuminated with Conrad seated in yesterday’s stool, gazing up at the television. Isaac took a long step toward the door, peeking round to see Marcia as she ambled around near the taps, sliding a washrag over the counter.
“That ain’t what they’re here for, Conrad. You should have heard ‘em,” Marcia said, seemingly speaking only to herself. “Don’t you have the curiosity to go see what’s going on?”
At this, Conrad grunted, shoving his left shoulder toward the sky. Marcia glanced toward the door, finding Isaac standing in the sunlight. Isaac gave her a firm wave, and she returned it. Her glance led toward Wyatt. She winked, curving her lips into a little smile—one that seemed to give a sort of hint about the sort of little girl she’d been, long before any of the saloon chaos had begun. Long before, it seemed, the loneliness had curved her over, caused her spine to question-mark itself.
“Uh, Isaac?” Wyatt called.
Isaac yanked his head toward Wyatt, sensing his thoughts swirling. In the distance, the sunlight flung itself across the cult field, making his father’s ranch house glow. His stomach clenched once more, a near-constant reminder of what he had still left to do.
But before he could indulge his worries, Isaac noted what was happening in front of the ranch itself. The fifty-some cult members had arranged themselves in a kind of circle and had cast their bodies forward, seemingly praying toward something. Isaac swept forward, his legs churning into a run. Wyatt caught up to him. After a moment, they grew breathless. Isaac had the feeling that they were bombarding through the early stages of a church service. He imagined his mother scolding him. “Isaac! You know not everyone prays the way we do. You have to give them respect.”
Hannah was always the sort to lend respect. She was a lover, above all things.
When they grew closer, Isaac could make out what it was the cult seemed to be praying toward. Upon the RV, they’d positioned a sort of gleaming faux artifact, freshly made, perhaps with aluminum foil, paper and various clothing items. The cult members, themselves, seemed to have donned long robes, long white t-shirts, stringy dresses—anything without any allegiance toward anything. Nothing could link them to a separate identity. At least, that was what Isaac assumed.
The artifact itself was a sort of triangle, with a glinting arrow at the top. The glinting arrow wasn’t fully attached to the rest of the triangle, which meant that it wove around and around in circles, pressed forth by the wind. The only member of the cult who seemed to regard this constant spin was Everett McLean himself, who stood alongside the RV, his eyes cast toward the strange triangle they’d made. He’d lodged his hand atop his hip and tilted his weight, so that he looked the portrait of sass. Of course, his breed of egoism had altered the course of nearly every person who currently prayed before the RV, sweeping their beautiful twenty-
and thirty-something arms across the dirt, aching for whatever it was Everett promised them. A sort of eternal life, up there on Venus.
Isaac and Wyatt stood tall along the edge of the circle of people. Isaac caught the sound of the deep inhales, deep exhales across the cult, making him feel as though the cult members had formed an even greater being; many organisms forming a greater one. Their hair—blonde, black, bright red, sometimes purple or blue, gleamed beneath the sun.
“Think of it, my children!” Everett called from the RV, his eyes still closed. “Think of the time before now. The time when we were all separate beings, cast out across the planet. The horrors of the world were enacted upon each and every one of you. And now, as we prepare to move toward a new future, a better reality, we must shun the memories of the past. Say it with me—THE PAST DOES NOT DEFINE ME.”
The cult echoed the words back, slowly and softly at first, before proceeding with louder, more brash words.
“THE PAST DOES NOT DEFINE ME.”
“THE PAST DOES NOT DEFINE ME.”
Isaac felt the words echoing in his stomach. They felt oddly on-point for him, forcing his eyes back toward his father’s ranch house just on the other side of the field. Monica’s car glinted in the driveway. He thought he could see one of his niece or nephew’s toys in the front yard—a bright red fire truck. He hoped his sisters were keeping the children in the house, to avoid the mad hippies in the field. They hadn’t yet revealed any sort of danger, but he couldn’t trust them.
He suspected that the behavior would soon devolve to drug use, to overzealous sex, to the sorts of things he’d read about, regarding cults. When Venus didn’t come for them, what would they do to themselves, instead?
Isaac hadn’t noticed Wyatt drop to his knees, joining the others. Now, Isaac blinked down at him, while Wyatt spun his head ever-so-slightly, blinking wide eyes up at him. He mouthed something Isaac couldn’t initially understand.