When Angels Fall
By Z.A. Maxfield
Copyright 2010 Z.A. Maxfield
Cover Art by Lex Valentine at Winterheart Design
Smashwords Edition
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Once, you asked me what manner of being I am. I told you then, because you could never
understand, I simply am.
I am lighter than air. I am denser than gold. I am taller than your largest building, and I
can fit inside the crystalline structure of the finest flake of snow. I am immense, yet I could dance
with my peers on the head of a pin.
But I won’t.
Dancing on the heads of pins seems like an extraordinary waste of time, unless you ask it of
me.
I suppose it never occurred to you that I do everything you ask of me and more because in
all the worlds you are the only one to whom I will ever say, “I am yours.”
Why?
When you were very young you found a yellow pup and coaxed it to you, luring it with soft
sounds and gentle hands. You knew everything it would ever be, just as I know the whole truth of
you. You didn’t wait for him to grow or prove himself; you simply knew that you would be there
for him in all his moments, from the first time he pushed his damp black nose into your palm to
the very last time he lifted his gray muzzle from his paws and you saw farewell in his sad brown
eyes.
This is what you are to me. You are mine. I have foreseen it.
My peers are everywhere around me, just as yours surround you. Waking, sleeping,
working, playing. Yet in the entire universe there is only we.
And today… Since you’ve chosen today --this very moment-- to step through a rotting board
and slip into an abandoned mine, this is the day we begin…
~*~
When Kip hit the damp ground beneath what appeared to be a hole of rotting wood planks
and thin earth, he got the breath knocked out of him so hard that he guessed he’d blacked out.
The next thing he knew he was leaning against something warm and soft, and emitting what
sounded like frightened huffs of breath.
Kip wanted to find out what he was up against, but he could barely see. A clumpy ceiling of
mud held together by roots that dangled from it like strings in the dim light that filtered through
the place where he had fallen. It didn’t make sense. He sat upright and looked behind him. There,
a boy about his age sat at his back, supporting him while he’d been lying there unconscious.
They stared at each other while their eyes grew accustomed to the darkness.
The boy gazed down at Kip without much expression at all. “You fell,” he said evenly. A
frown creased his forehead and his eyes narrowed. “Does anything hurt?”
“I…” Kip pushed slowly to his feet. He took a brief inventory of sensation. The air smelled
funny and the mud baffled any sound from above ground, but nothing seemed to hurt. “I don’t
know.” He tested his legs and looked around in the gloom. On the ground his backpack and
insulated vinyl cooler lay where he’d obviously landed. “I must have fallen on those.”
“Yes, I’m sure that’s exactly what happened,” the boy said dryly, giving him a look he
couldn’t read as he climbed stiffly to his feet. He moved carefully, testing his legs and stretching
out his arms. At one point he uttered a sharp exclamation in some language that Kip had never
heard before.
“I’m Chemuel.”
Kip faced him and held out his hand. “My name’s Kipling Rush. You can call me Kip.”
“Hello Kip.” Chemuel took the hand he’d been offered with a warm, firm grip.
Kip pumped his new friend’s hand a few times then dropped it. “What do they call you?”
The boy frowned again. “They call me Chemuel.”
Kip shook his head. “You must spend a lot of time with your head shoved in a toilet. Can I
call you something else? How about… Crash. Can I call you Crash since we both sort of crashed
here?”
“You may call me whatever you choose.” Crash gave him a smile so warm Kip felt like he’d
put on a sweatshirt. “I’d like to be called Crash.”
“I haven’t seen you around school before.” Kip studied Crash, who wore a pair of new, dark
blue jeans and a polo shirt. He looked like a lot of the kids from school, but his polo shirt wasn’t
the uniform burgundy with the crest on the pocket required of all Oak Crest Academy students.
Kip knelt down to take stock of the things in his backpack and lunch bag. “What grade are you
in? I’m in Mrs. Clepper’s fifth grade class at Oak Crest. She’s young and pretty so everyone
likes her.”
“I don’t go to your school,” Crash told him, kneeling awkwardly beside him. “What are you
looking for, tools?”
“Tools?” Kip blinked up at Crash and his hands stilled.
“Yes. In your rucksack. Do you carry rope? Matches?”
“Oh, yeah.” Kip grinned. “No. But I have Oreos.”
“Oreos?” Crash frowned at him again.
Kip wondered if Crash was simply a frowny kind of guy; some kids were like that. All
gloom and doom and what’s-the-point. “Yeah. Here.” He gave Crash a handful of cookies. He
found a juice box and some water, so he decided he would ask. “Do you want juice or water?”
Crash looked at the cookies in his hand. “Water, please.”
“Here.” Crash gave him the bottle. “That one hasn’t been opened – no germs.” He tried to
stab the straw into his juice box but it crumpled the first few times. When he looked back up,
Crash still stared at his Oreos as if he’d never seen one before, and Kip thought maybe Crash hit
his head when he fell.
“It’s okay to eat those, I have plenty.”
“That’s not…” Crash looked at him. “What are they?”
Kip gazed at him sadly. “Dude. You are totally homeschooled aren’t you?”
“I’m what?”
“This is an Oreo cookie. A chocolate sandwich cookie with something called stuff inside.
You can get them in different flavors but my dad always says you can’t beat the classics.”
“Oh, I see. It’s a food.”
“It’s the food, Crash. I’ll bet wars have been fought over these. Or Fig Newtons.”
Crash brightened. “I know what figs are. And Newton. Nature and nature's laws lay hid in
night; God said, ‘Let Newton be’ and all was light.” Crash chuckled. “That Pope.”
Kip didn’t get it. “Which Pope?”
“Samuel Pope.” Crash explained. “He said that. About Newton.”
“Ah.”
Crash seemed fascinated by his cookies so Kip took pity on him. “Like this, see? You break
them apart by twisting, then lick.”
“Sweet,” Crash observed when he did the same.
“My mom says they’re nothing but sugar and pig fat.”
Crash’s eyes widened as he nearly gagged. “Pig fat?”
“Not really, though. You’re probably a vegan huh, or eat macrobiotic food? Kenji Sarukowa
in my class eats macrobiotic.”
“Sometimes it seems to me that you aren’t speaking English.”
“That’s probably because you don’t get out much.”
Crash laughed at that. “Do you have anything in there that might be useful?
“I carry my books in my backpack. Papers, pencils. Crayons.”
“Pretty soon it’s going to be dark.”
“I know that, I have my cell phone, and it has a little light that we can see by.”
Crash snorted. “And how will that help you when it gets cold? Surely you can’t expect it to
keep you warm? Its glow gives off no heat at all.”
“Are you kidding me?” Kip looked at Crash again, peering at him through the shadows.
“Probably not, huh?”
“No.”
Kip reached for his phone and opened it, sliding the keyboard out so the screen lit up and he
got his first really good look at the boy he’d named Crash. His first conclusion --that the strange
boy had to be Amish or something-- seemed to be corroborated by his weird perfection. It almost
hurt to look at him. Kip stared at Crash in awe. “Dude.”
“Dude, again. What do you mean when you say that?”
“I can see why it might be hard for you in public school. You’re learning English as a
second language plus you’re as pretty as a girl. If you went to my school Sean Velasquez would
run you up the flagpole in your underwear.”
Crash stared at him with wide gray eyes.
Kip’s voice rose. “Crash. When you fell, did you hit your head?”
Crash growled, “I’m right here. I can hear you fine. I just wish I could understand you.”
Kip stopped what he was doing when understanding dawned. “You’re scared, aren’t you,
Crash?”
“No.”
“’Cause it’s okay if you’re frightened. I mean-- it’s a dark and kind of scary place. How long
have you been down here?”
“A while,” Crash seemed reluctant to talk about it. “But I’m really not frightened.”
“All right.” Kip dismissed his denial. If Crash didn’t want to admit he was scared, it was no
big deal. If he didn’t have to keep up a brave front for Crash he’d probably be scared too. “I
didn’t even know this place was here. I come home this way every day.”
“I know.” Crash told him. “I watch you. I could see that one day you’d simply step on the
wrong board and fall through.”
“Jeez! If you could see that, then why didn’t you say something?”
Crash shrugged his shoulders.
“Is that one of those immigrant things? Were you afraid to talk? First thing we’re going to
do is work on your language skills.”
“My—”
“Hold on, Crash, I got this.” Kip turned his back, holding his phone out to squint at it.
“Cool. We’ve got three bars.” He could feel Crash’s fathomless gray eyes boring into his back.
“Three bars? Does that mean we won something?”
Kip ignored him. “Hello? Mom, you won’t believe this…”
~*~
How shall I describe it? Once I stared into the void. Once I gazed upon the very spark of
creation. Even then the idea of you was in my imagination.
Yet as easily as if you found a shiny pebble -- as effortlessly as plucking a stone off the
ground and placing it your pocket -- you pulled me into the immensity that is your human spiritt
and made me whole. That day, when I gave up everything to break your fall, you caught me.
Even years later, even after I’d made my home securely in your heart, I had no idea what
that could mean to me…
~*~
Crash pushed his body harder than he ever had. He ran as fast as he could, cursing the
limitation of lungs, the pitiful skin sacks that pulled air into his chest and refined it, and heart,
the pump that sent oxygen through his blood to his muscles. He railed against the meaningless
restrictions of natural law. He’d given his all, as always, but as he tore through the empty campus
he feared the consequences of being even seconds late. He reached the science building barely
in time to throw open the door before the buzzer.
During school, when students broke free of their classes and ran pell-mell through the
hallways, the place thrummed with energy and laughter. Now, during winter break it was as
deserted as an ancient tomb, open only to those who really had no business being there, and Kip,
of course, whose job it was to lock it up after he fed the laboratory animals. Crash took the stairs
two at a time and pelted for the lab, knowing exactly what he’d find there.
“HEY!” he shouted, shoving aside three beefy boys. He used the precious adrenaline that
seemed to flow from his fear to his fingertips as he fought for possession of the man they held
down between them. For the love of heaven, they’d already begun to tear Kip’s clothes off. He’d
almost got there too late after all. “I’ve already informed campus security and they’re on their
way. Leave him alone or I’ll—”
“Or you’ll what,” snarled a boy with short spikes for hair.
Crash stood his ground, vibrating with such rage it made the very air around him crackle.
Kip’s attackers looked at one another. They took several steps backward. Crash smiled his most
beautiful --and therefore his most alarming-- smile.
I’ve still got it.
Crash held his hand out to help Kip from the floor.
Kip drawled, “Or he’ll tell you long, drawn-out stories in Latin until you drop dead of
boredom, that’s what.” He got shakily to his feet. “Crash? Meet Bullies. Bullies, Crash.”
The three boys who’d attacked Kip seemed to lose their nerve, possibly because they
believed the lie he’d told about campus security. It was a tremendous relief when they fled.
Crash let out a shaky breath. Kip was safe and the threat, gone.
A useful thing, adrenaline, but it had its drawbacks.
“Those were not merely bullies. They intended to ravish you.”
“Ravish? No need to take on like someone’s Victorian auntie.” Kip refused to meet his eyes.
“I doubt it would have come to that.”
Kip’s legs trembled, but as always he didn’t show his fear. He walked past Crash to wash his
hands in a show of bravado that nearly made Crash cry. When Kip kept washing and steam rose
from the sink to fog the mirror, Crash was reminded of Lady Macbeth.
“How did this happen?”
Kip was silent, even when Crash pulled him away from the sink and gave him a towel.
“Tell me.”
“I told you I went to a club last night, right?” Kip pulled a cigarette from a pack in his
pocket and lit it with hands that still shook.
Crash reached out and grabbed the cigarette away. “And I told you. You may not smoke.”
Crash frowned when Kip surrendered without a fight. “You went dancing with Stacey, didn’t
you?”
“Not exactly.” Kip turned and sat in a rolling chair behind a computer, making notes, still
avoiding his eyes.
“What do you mean not exactly.”
Kip put up a token resistance. “You’re not my mother.”
“No.” Crash agreed. “I’m not your mother.” He sat down beside Kip and waited patiently,
which he knew Kip hated. Kip despised patience in any form.
Kip sighed and rolled his head. Crash swiveled Kip’s chair around and began to massage his
shoulders before he even thought about it, using his strong hands to knead the ropy muscles that
ran down Kip’s neck and across his back. They probably burned with agony as he dug into knots
that felt like acorns, but Kip leaned into his touch as if it were hot water.
“That’s good.”
Crash said nothing, merely continued to push with his thumbs, relaxing Kip’s still tense
body until he chose to break his silence.
“I went to a club alone. The one on 19th Street. Pulse.”
“Pulse?” Crash tried to hear what Kip wasn’t saying. “What happened there?”
“I danced.” Kip hissed when Crash pressed his elbow into the knot just below his shoulder
blades. “I met someone I thought was nice and we went outside for a smoke.”
“I hate that you do that.”
“I know.” Kip swallowed hard. “Prepare to hate this even more. I didn’t just go outside to
smoke. The person I met was hot.”
“I see.” Crash’s hands stopped moving.
“I thought—” Kip slumped into Crash’s touch, silently asking for it to continue, like a dog
that wanted to be scratched. “I thought we had something going. It turned out it was all some sort
of awful prank and I ran away.”
“You didn’t tell me.” Crash’s heart slammed into the bones that surrounded and protected it,
very much like it had when he’d run. He’d always found the sensation interesting. Apparently it
happened for a number of different reasons. Like now, when he realized he’d been inadequate in
his care of Kipling Rush. “How could I not know about this?”
“I didn’t want to tell you.” Kip didn’t turn. “I thought maybe you’d rather not know.”
Hmph. “And?”
“It was one of those guys. He came with his friends tonight to finish what we started.”
Crash’s blood went cold and he wondered if there were times when the pump in his chest
stopped altogether. “I don’t think I comprehend.”
Kip rolled his chair out of reach. “There was a kind of scavenger hunt. Like a game. I found
about it from a friend, later. They broke up into groups of three with a list of things to get, and
the first team back would win.”
Crash shook his head, still not able to understand. “But what did they want?”
“The list apparently said blowjob from a queer.”
“But,” Crash blinked. “That’s…”
“Over.” Kip waved off Crash’s outrage. “It’s over now.”
“But did… Did you want…?”
Kip lifted his chin and finally, finally looked directly at Crash. “I did. Yes.” Kip moved
suddenly, gripping Crash by his upper arms. “Look. I’m sorry I never told you. You’re my best
friend and I didn’t want things to get weird between us.”
Crash stared at him. “News flash…”
“Yeah. Okay. I get that it’s weird now.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want it to ruin our friendship.” Kip pushed a hand through his hair. “But I don’t
want to have to hide who I am all the time either. I can’t see it making a difference but if it does,
that’s your damn problem, not mine.”
“If you recall, I asked you to make all your problems mine.” Crash thought he knew every
emotion that could play over Kip’s face but he couldn’t begin to fathom what he saw there right
then. His heart sank as he realized Kip didn’t trust him with his truth. “Didn’t you have faith that
I could see past that?”
Kip’s voice, when he finally spoke, came out small. “I guess I… maybe not.”
“I did not foresee this,” Crash said, more to himself than Kip. “I thought I knew what all
your possibilities could be.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” Crash leaned back against the counter. “So when you want to meet someone you
go to this place, this Pulse?”
“Yes. And it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change anything. Not between us.” Kip turned away
and picked up his sweatshirt, apparently done for the evening, both at the lab and with the
conversation. “I’m just getting ready to lock up.”
“All right.” Crash followed him.
Kip turned off the lights, closed the door behind him, and fumbled for his keys. At the last
minute he seemed to change his mind. “I don’t go to Pulse often. I never really meet anyone.
Sometimes a parking lot hook-up.”
“Kip—”
Kip held his hand up. “Before you ask, I always have safe sex. I don’t plan on getting a
disease and anyways, normally tricking isn’t really my thing.”
“Kip—”
“Hear me out, alright? Sometimes I get a little lonely, and I think why not, you know?” He
turned the key in the lock and tugged it hard to make sure. “I’m a junior in college. I work hard. I
get good grades. I just want a little fun.”
Crash stopped him so they were eye to eye. “Kip—”
Kip let out a long shuddering sigh. “Please don’t lecture. It’s not like I’m playing Russian
roulette or shopping the after Christmas sale at Macy's. I don’t even hook up, half the time. I just
—”
Crash covered Kip’s mouth with his own. It was a move guaranteed to stop him from
talking, but beyond that, it was something he’d always wanted to do but had never dared.
Crash experienced his own surprise. His heart --which had already had such a busy night--
had only just begun it work. It thudded loudly in his ears and seemed to throb in his groin. He
backed Kip up to the door they’d just firmly locked and held him there, teasing and tasting and
testing the limitations of their new connection.
Kip pressed both hands to Crash’s chest, at first to push him away, which Crash didn’t
allow, and then to grab the lapels of his jacket in order to hang on. Crash found a way to wedge
his knees between Kip’s, pushing his feet apart, and before he knew it they were cock to cock.
“Crash.” Kip still struggled weakly. “Don’t do this.”
Crash stopped, but didn’t move away, he lifted his head. “You want me to stop?”
Kip shook his head as if to clear it. “Just tell me why?”
Crash was unable to find words.
Kip pushed past him for real, and Crash let him, following at a discreet distance, knowing
he’d messed up, knowing he had to do something, but his body was vibrating with something
he’d never felt before and he couldn’t think.
When Kip got to the outer doors he looked back. In that moment he looked so devastated, so
completely alone, that Crash took a chance that he could find the right thing to say if he simply
tried. “I knew there would eventually be somebody.”
Kip turned his body and folded his arms, waiting.
“I knew that you’d want someone, someday.” Crash swallowed. “I never foresaw that it
could be me. I never imagined… But—”
Kip shrugged and started walking again.
“Kip.” Crash nearly wept with frustration. There was a time when his voice had held a
beauty so powerful --so deep and resonant-- that it made humans fall to their knees. Now he
pushed air through folds of flesh, mucous membranes, he’d read, to vibrate them. No matter how
hard he tried, he could never convey what was in his heart. “I really, really wanted it to be me.”
~*~
Kip turned back to Crash in shock. The last thing, the very, very last thing he ever thought
he’d hear was that Crash wanted him. They’d been friends forever. Deeply, richly connected in
ways that he’d felt with no one else, but Crash… Well… Crash was beautiful. Golden and shiny
and almost perfectly inhuman… And he’d never, ever showed one hint of attraction to anyone
that way.
Kip had long ago written his best friend off as one of those guys who was simply asexual.
Not interested. While the rest of their friends had been spanking it and reading skin rags, Crash
hit the library or helped out at the local soup kitchen. That was just…Crash.
Kip chalked it up to the fact that he was HomeSchool-Kid; that he was innocent and decent.
That he hadn’t been nurtured in the high octane, erotically charged yet sexually crippling
crucible of public school. That his didn’t watch television or read the paper. He’d imagined that
Crash’s family probably spent most of their time playing various musical instruments and
singing hymns in eight-part harmony.
“Oh, hell no.” Kip turned his back on Crash a final time and walked away.
Crash kept following after him, his footsteps remarkably uncertain.
“Don’t, Crash. Don’t follow me, not tonight.”
“Why?” Crash sounded…odd.
“Why?” Kip turned to find Crash flushed and in a rare state of temper. “Because you have
no idea what you’re asking, that’s why. You want me to blow off a friendship I’ve had forever
--the best thing in my life-- on the off chance that you know enough to know that it’s me you
want, when you’ve never, ever showed one bit of interest in me before?”
“Never showed…” Crash drew back. He looked as if he wanted to tear his hair out. “I never
showed one bit of interest in you? Are you out of your mind?”
“That way. You’ve never been interested that way.”
“Because I thought you were interested in women. Because I thought when you chose
someone to love it would be a woman.”
Kip shook his head in disbelief. “But all this time, there’s never been anyone you’ve even
glanced at—”
“Except for you!” Crash poked his chest. “I’ve never glanced at anyone except for you. I’ve
lived for you. I’ve been here for you every single time you needed me. I’ve loved you since I
first laid eyes on you!”
“But, Crash, that’s different from wanting to fuck me.”
Crash frowned. “But loving you. That’s what drives desire, right?”
“Not always,” Kip said gently. “I just don’t think you understand, and it isn’t something you
can offer lightly, all right?”
Crash took Kips hands. “I don’t offer it lightly. I give my entire being. You’re right when
you say that I don’t understand but if ever I did, it could only be with you. I belong to you,
Kipling Rush. I’ve waited whole lifetimes to say that.”
Kip wanted to look away but couldn’t. Tears glittered in Crash’s eyes.
“Please understand.” Crash crushed his hands and the pain made his words grow sharper and
gave them a resonance that tripped some kind of wire in Kip’s heart, blowing it up until it nearly
burst. “I am yours.”
Kip gaped at him.
“No pressure or anything.” Kip kept hold of Crash’s hand. He started walking with no
particular destination in mind to allow himself time to think. He and Crash had literally slammed
into each other in the fifth grade, and he’d always felt, always known they had more than a bond
of friendship.
Something happened to him when he was with Crash. Night air got crisper. Scents and
sounds that were elusive and distant teased and tickled him, begging to be explored. Books were
better, jokes funnier, films more poignant, even the sun was brighter and warmer when shared
with Crash, so yeah. It stood to reason that sex… That would have to be something else, right?
Kip was the first to admit that -- together -- he and Crash were more than the sum of their
parts. He couldn’t speak for Crash, but he hated to jeopardize that for anything. It reminded him
of a story in a children’s book he’d allowed his mother to read to him just once before he
demanded she staple the pages together, because he’d been upset -- was traumatized even now –
by the illustration. It was about a dog who had a bone, but saw what he thought was a bigger
bone in another dog’s mouth. Being greedy, he snapped for it to try to take it away and lost his
own bone because what he saw was actually his reflection in a pool of water.
The moral of the story was supposed to be about selfishness, or being grateful, but all he
could see were the dog’s sad eyes in the aftermath of bad choices, of not being glad that things
were perfectly fine, but instead trying to get more somehow, and he’d never forgotten it.
Crash snapped, “Don’t you start with the dog story.”
“What?”
“This isn’t that.”
“It’s apt.” Kip argued, not even curious, after all the years they’d spent together, how Crash
seemed to read his mind. “It’s got that bone, and it’s a perfectly fine bone, a great bone…”
“Enough with the fucking dog already, Kip.”
Kip stared. Crash, uncharacteristically profane. Wow.
“You always use that story to illustrate why you can’t have more. Why you won’t dare try to
make things better. You’re happy to carry a spear in the school play so you don’t audition for the
lead, you’re happy to work in the lab feeding the animals but you don’t apply to veterinary
school even though you have the grades. You’re happy to have nameless, faceless encounters but
you’re afraid to be with someone who loves you.”
“Crash, don’t do this man. You are my one good thing. If I fuck that up…”
“I will always be your one good thing. Always.”
Filled with misgiving, Kip couldn’t help but notice that the hand in his felt good. It felt
right. He continued to walk and hold Crash’s hand until he saw his car in the parking lot, which
meant they had another decision to make. “Do you want to come home with me?”
Crash smiled pleasantly, as though Kip had asked if he wanted a stick of gum. “Yes,
please.”
Kip’s Honda chirped when he unlocked it remotely and they got in. As soon as he keyed the
ignition the radio started playing, loud, some hiphop, and Crash turned it off.
“Nervous?” Kip asked. He’d have to stop swiveling his head to look at Crash or his neck
would be sore in the morning.
“No.”
“’Cause if you’re nervous you know you can back out at any time. I’m not going to think
any less of you. I get that we’re close, maybe we should just—”
“I’m not nervous, Kip.” Crash hummed something quietly and Kip found it beautiful. “Are
you?”
“Me? No.” Kip reared back in his seat, fiddling with his shoulder belt. “No. Why should I be
nervous? I mean, I’ve done this lots of times. I was just thinking you might be nervous because
it’s your first time and all…” Kip stomped his foot on the brake; he needed to watch the damn
lights or he’d get them both killed.
Crash gazed at him. “Were you nervous your first time?”
“No.” Kip made himself keep his eyes on the light. “Me? No.”
“Then why would you think I’d be?”
When the light changed Kip didn’t let the clutch out fast enough and it made the
transmission grind -- metal against metal. Kip’s lips were pinched by the time he got the car into
gear and smoothed it out.
Crash grinned. “Forgive me, but you seem nervous now.”
Fucking Crash, pointing out the obvious.
Crash started to hum again. Kip sighed. The tune seemed old; it had a piercing sweetness,
each note sung with simple clarity, but it traveled along a minor key that gave him gooseflesh.
After a few moments of listening to its haunting transitions he felt relaxed and at peace, although
he couldn’t say exactly why. Maybe it was simply Crash’s voice and not the song. At the worst
moments of his life, like when he’d been attacked that night, he could always hear Crash’s voice
inside his head soothing him.
Kip looked over at the man sitting next to him in the car and decided he wasn’t going to ever
tell anyone that.
“Feel better?” Crash asked idly.
“Yes.”
Kip pulled into the driveway that led to the back of his apartment building and parked in his
carport. They walked through the grounds together in relative silence, then mounted the stairs to
the two-bedroom Kip shared with his roommates, two other students who had both returned to
their families for the holidays. There was a wreath on the door and when Kip unlocked and
opened it, he ushered Crash in. He had a tiny Douglas fir tree in the corner, covered with
inexpensive ornaments and icicles and when he toggled the switch, the multicolored lights he’d
strung painstakingly around the apartment and on the tree lit up.
“This is nice,” Crash stood in the entry and waited. Kip rubbed his hands together.
“I’m going to have a beer,” Kip pulled Crash to the kitchen. “What do you want?”
“A beer would be fine, Kip.” Crash’s eyes followed him like short shadows.
Kip froze. “You never drink beer.”
“No. I don’t.”
“Yet you’re having one now?”
“Based on my perception of what is going to happen, I thought it might be wise to have
relaxed muscles. Was I wrong?” Crash blinked at him.
Kip let himself fall backwards against the refrigerator, which thunked against the wall
behind him. He rolled his eyes. “Crash—”
Crash stepped forward and pressed dry lips to Kip’s. He must have sensed there was
something not quite right, because he leaned back and licked his lips while his gentle hands
fluttered from Kip’s shoulders to the sides of his face. Kip felt Crash’s thumbs trace the arch of
his brows, then the curve of his cheek. The tip of Crash’s tongue touched the fullness of his
mouth and he groaned.
“Crash.” Kip leaned in and pulled Crash close, slipping his hands into the waistband of his
jeans. He felt a sweet heat building in the pit of his belly, like the warmth of hot coffee or even
booze. Crash’s lips opened to his exploration and their tongues found one another in a delicious
slip and slide of flesh, moist air, and noses pressed together. A bristly upper lip scratched like
crisp crumbs on his skin.
Kip felt Crash’s surrender all the way to his toes, Crash melted around him, his skin damp
with passion; sweat that --for some inexplicable reason-- gave off the faint perfume of sweet-
butter sugar cookies. When Kip opened his eyes, he saw that Crash’s eyes were closed in what
could almost be termed ecstasy. He moved then, and broke their kiss reluctantly so he could take
two bottles of beer from the refrigerator. The light from inside the fridge limned Crash’s face.
“Kip.” Crash smoothed his hand over his own forearm, looking at it as though he’d never
seen it before. “My skin feels like it’s on fire.”
“Yeah?” Kip handed him a beer. Blushing, he nudged at Crash’s neck with his nose,
breathing in that sweet scent and nuzzling with his lips. “Do I make you hot?”
“Yes,” Crash hissed, leaning in. “I burn for you.”
Kip sighed. “You say some pretty outrageous things.”
“What should I do?” Crash took the cap off the beer and smelled it. It made him wince.
“You don’t even like beer, do you?”
“No.”
“Want something else? I have some Baileys.” Kip raised his own beer to his lips and took a
healthy swig, but Crash caught his hand and lowered the bottle, tasting the beer on his lips.
“Beer is nice, when I taste it on you. Look. I just want you, Kip. If you don’t want me then
stop stalling and say so.”
Kip stared. When had he not wanted Crash? From the second he’d realized he wanted the
boys at school and not the girls, Crash had been his holy grail. He’d learned to breathe the scent
of him, to suffer through the affectionate touching, to walk and talk and smile as though he was
perfectly satisfied to spend the rest of his life without ever having the one man that he wanted
more than any others because… well. Because Crash wasn’t gay. Was he?
“Crash, are you even gay?”
Crash displayed the exaggerated patience that made Kip see red. “I don’t even know what
that means, gay. I am simply yours.”
For a fraction of a second, maybe the space of a heartbeat, Kip wanted to test Crash’s
complacence; it was an itch he wanted to scratch. He wanted to push Crash over the table, shove
down his jeans, and put a cock up his ass -- just to do it -- just to see how fast Crash changed his
tune. An image came to his mind, unbidden, of fucking Crash hard and angry, looking away so
he didn’t have to see the pain and disappointment in his eyes.
“Never in anger.” Crash’s hands found Kip’s face again. He felt Crash’s thumb ring bite his
cheek a little to go with the admonishment. “Anything we share will be beautiful. I promise you
that.”
How did Crash always seem to…
“Come on, lover, I’m not so untried as to believe that we’ll accomplish anything standing in
the kitchen.”
Kip allowed himself to be led toward the bedroom, but grumbled, “Shows how much you
know.”
“I know enough to know it will require me to undress you.” Crash looked at Kip from under
his lashes. Teasing. Seductive. “I hope.”
Kip let the breath he’d been holding escape him as a shuddering sigh.
When they reached his room Kip left the overhead light off and lit a couple of candles. He
thought maybe that would be better under the circumstances. Crash reached for him, firmly
caressing his shoulders and pecs before slipping his hands over and down his chest and abs to
grip the hem of Kip’s T-shirt.
“Lift your arms,” he told Kip before pulling it over his head. When Kip’s head popped from
the tight neck, Crash’s face was the first thing he saw. He wore that same sweet smile, the one
that said, wherever you go, I’ll follow, that he’d worn since they’d met in that hole.
Kip tried to calm his racing heart; it thumped like a high school drumline, echoing off his
ribs. Crash placed the palm of his hand flat over it. “You’d think I’d be the nervous one.”
“Aren’t you?” Kip could hardly catch his breath. For an answer, Crash reached for Kip’s
belt buckle and undid it, removing the belt and working open the button on Kip’s jeans.
“About this? No. I’m worried how you’ll look at me tomorrow. If you’ll want me again. If
you’ll see me differently and whether you’ll still be my friend.”
Kip caught Crashes hands. “This makes things weird.”
Crash shook Kip’s hands off. “When was it ever not weird.”
He slid Kip’s zipper down, and for a moment, Kip worried that he’d misread the situation.
That Crash had a lot more experience than he’d ever let on. Crash pushed Kip’s jeans and briefs
down and his cock sprang free.
Kip groaned when Crash’s hands wrapped around it. “It’s like velvet,” Crash whispered.
Kip fought a snort of nervous laughter. He toed off his shoes and stepped out of his jeans.
“Not much different than yours,” he murmured, embarrassed.
“You know that’s not true.”
Yes. He did know. Crash and Kip had innocently compared their cocks -- while pissing --
when they were just boys, since Kip was cut and Crash wasn’t. That had led to an interesting
discussion in the Rush household and they’d been told to be more modest in the future. Crash
had always taken that to the extreme. While he might have been forced to urinate in front of
other boys in public bathrooms, Kip realized he’d never once seen Crash in the nude. They’d
never even been swimming together. Crash claimed he was afraid of the water.
“I mean how it feels. Crap, why is this suddenly so—”
Crash kissed him again, this time with one hand wrapped around his cock, pulling his hot
hand along the length gently, sliding his fingers down to explore his balls. Kip thought he might
have died and gone to heaven.
Crash laughed against his lips, a deep, throaty sound that vibrated over Kip’s skin like the
light buzz of static electricity.
“Why am I the only one undressed,” Kip reached for the collar of Crash’s button down shirt.
“You’re such a geek.” He undid the tiny pearlescent buttons and found Crash wore an undershirt.
Kip raised his eyebrows. “You dress like a missionary.”
“I get cold,” Crash defended himself. Kip saw his cheeks color.
“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” Kip removed the first shirt and grasped the hem of
his white v-neck.
Crash stopped his hands. “Stop. Wait--”
Kip’s heart froze. He fully expected Crash had changed his mind the second it came down to
skin on skin. And damn, he’d gotten this close. He could almost still feel Crash’s hand on his
cock. Shit.
Kip let go of Crash’s undershirt. “I’m sorry. It’s okay.”
Crash still had hold of Kip’s hands. “No. I just wanted to say… No one has ever seen me
entirely without clothes. Well. Except my family. Doctors. It might be…”
“It’s all right. You don’t have to be shy.” Kip waited for what seemed like an eternity for
Crash to say more. “Is it all right?”
“Yes.” Crash relaxed a little, but when Kip indicated Crash had to let go of him to take his
T-shirt off, he didn’t seem to understand at first. Then it seemed to dawn on him and he dropped
his hand. “Oh.”
Kip’s heart did a little tumble when Crash blushed again, lifting his arms as the shirt came
off. His let his hands explored the amazing expanse of pristine, creamy white skin of Crash's
chest and abs. They circled around to Crash’s back to pull him close, but there, his fingers
encountered a territory of transition -- smooth, slick, and then rough, nearly plasticine skin. He
stopped what he was doing and frowned.
“I have scars.” Crash admitted. “On my back. From a fire.”
“What?” Kip turned Crash around. Crash's entire upper back -- the area surrounding his
shoulder blades, up towards his neck and downward nearly to his waist -- was covered in ugly,
rough scars that looked like nothing so much as gum, chewed and stuck haphazardly on his skin,
pushed down and flattened, but shiny and red. As different from his glorious, pale skin as night
from day. Kip's stomach lurched. “Fuck me. What happened?”
“It was before I met you. I was burned."
Kip’s hands traveled over the ruined skin. That was the understatement of the century. Crash
had been… melted. As if he’d backed into a blast furnace. “It must have been horribly painful.
You’ve never mentioned a word. Did your house catch fire?” Kip couldn't stop himself from
touching it, smoothing his hands over it as if he could heal it.
Crash frowned. “No. Not the house.” Crash's voice sounded rough. “I… I reached for
something I wanted and didn’t think of the consequences. No one but me was hurt.”
“Oh, Crash.” Kip’s hands caressed Crash’s scars, then his lips. He kissed each shoulder
blade where it stuck out, because they seemed to be where the worst of the damage had occurred.
“I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all right,” Crash spoke to the ground. “It was a long time ago.”
“That’s why you never swim.” Kip rested his head on Crash’s shoulder and reached around
to the fastenings of his chinos. He unbuttoned them, slipping his hands into Crash’s serviceable
underwear to mold his hands to that heavy, uncut cock. “Did you at least get what you wanted?”
“Yes,” Crash whispered. “Finally, I think. Yes.”
Kip pushed Crash’s pants and underwear off his hips, kneeling and helping him off with his
shoes and socks until they stood facing each other, completely unclothed.
“You’re beautiful,” Crash spoke first. “Exactly as I imagined you.”
“Crash.” Kip swallowed hard. “You’re perfect.”
“Hardly,” Crash rolled his eyes. “The crispy bits aren’t very attractive are they?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Kip leaned in to kiss him once again, gently at first, and then more
passionately as he pressed Crash backwards toward his bed. “You’re perfect. Perfectly…
perfect.”
Crash sat first, then lay back on the small mattress. “I’m perfectly happy” --he touched Kip
shyly-- “to be here with you like this.”
Kip cupped Crash’s cock then, drawing the loose foreskin gently up and down until the
plum-colored head emerged, slick from where it hid. He thumbed the slit, rubbing around and
over the surface, watching Crash’s face as he reacted to the touch.
Crash moaned and lifted his hips, pushing his cock into Kip’s fist. “That feels so…”
On impulse Kip leaned over and ran the flat of his tongue across the shiny purple skin,
pumping his hand until he was teasing the flesh inside the foreskin, and tasting Crash’s essence.
Crash jumped like he’d been struck by lightning and his hands clamped down on the sides of
Kips head.
Kip didn’t think that was a no…
“Kip.” Crash’s voice pleaded. “Holy… Kip.”
Kip continued, excited by Crash’s need. He changed his angle and took Crash deeper,
drawing off hard, with lots of suction, then teasing with his tongue as he took Crash in again,
deep enough to bury the tip of his nose in the thatch of curly blond hair above his cock.
The scent he’d found so intriguing on Crash’s skin –the rich, vanilla-infused butter and
sweet of sugar cookies-- appeared concentrated in the folds of skin where Crash’s legs met his
torso but underlying it was the scent of a fully aroused man. Kip couldn’t stop himself from
using the heels of his hands to push Crash’s thighs apart and explore his balls. He pulled first one
into his mouth, then the other, sucking them, then nudging them away with his nose as he slipped
his tongue beneath them to the strip of skin above Crash’s pink, puckered hole. Then he returned
his lips to Crash’s cock, working the length, bobbing and twisting until Crash let out a warble of
shock as Kip ran a wet finger over his entrance.
“Feels so good,” Crash writhed and licked his lips, gripping the sheets in both hands.
Kip rumbled a groan of his own, transmitting the sound and vibration through Crash’s skin.
“So hot,” he murmured against the velvet length.
Crash arched as Kip allowed him to drive into his mouth in his own rhythm. He found he
quite like the desperate edge of Crash’s passion and the way his voice turned needy and sweet as
he begged.
“Please.” Crash practically sizzled as his balls drew up. “Please, Kip.”
“Please, what?” Kip teased gently, loving the jerky movements that accompanied Crash’s
uncharacteristic loss of control.
“I don’t know.” Crash thrashed, hot and breathless. “Just… Please.”
Kip swallowed Crash’s cock as far as he could and pressed a finger into his hole. Crash
nearly blew apart in his hands, shuddering, squeezing his finger and shooting come down his
throat. When Kip looked up, his gaze met eyes so amazed he paused for a minute. The
expression on Crash’s face was… Well. That was innocence. He’d -- not only -- never been
sucked off before, he looked like he’d never even…
How could that be possible? Kip lost all concentration and choked. Great. He’d be in the
paper the next day, having choked to death while fellating a lover. Good thing he could only
aspirate the jiz and not the entire dick. He pulled off coughing, and felt Kip’s hands firmly
rubbing his back.
Crash still breathed like a racehorse and he couldn’t hide his chuckle. “Well. This is
awkward.”
Kip buried his head into Crash’s lap and tried to tell himself he wasn’t hiding. His voice
muffled, he said, “Crash, can I ask you a question?”
“Yes.”
Kip coughed again, clearing his throat. His eyes had teared up. Crash’s soft hands never
stopped moving over his skin, and the result was so satisfying. It soothed him like the sound of
water lapping against the side of a boat, or the trickling of a fountain.
When he finally had got his breath back he asked, “Have you ever been with anyone?” He
hoped Crash wouldn’t confuse things by being coy. Crash would know what he meant. Crash
always knew.
“No.”
“Do you ever jerk off?”
“No.”
“While you sleep? Did you ever…?”
This earned Kip a blush. “Yes.” Crash looked away. “Sometimes. When I dream.”
“Oh, my fucking… Crash.” Kip sat upright and pushed Crash onto his back. He climbed
between his legs, his cock hard and throbbing. It felt delicious pressed against the still damp skin
of Crash’s groin. He shuddered and rocked his hips, driving his cock against Crash, giving in to
his desire to grind. Something tender and protective flared to life inside Kip. “I love being your
first.”
Crash wrapped his arms around Kip. “First. Last. Always. The alpha and omega.” He
seemed to find that funny.
“I want…” Kip couldn’t finish that sentence.
Crash shifted under him a little. “You want… to fuck me?”
“Yes.” Kip didn’t know how he withstood Crash’s frank gaze but he did.
“All right.” Crash appeared to be waiting for him to make the first move, which, considering
that between them Kip was the one with experience, should have been easy.
Kip hesitated.
“It’s all right. I’m not experienced but I’m not… ignorant.”
“I need…” Kip got up to get condoms and lube from a shoebox on top of the television tray
he used as a nightstand. “Maybe you should roll over? It’s easier that way for the first time.”
“Maybe you should just assume I won’t do this unless at all I can look into your eyes,”
Crash’s own eyes seemed to sparkle. “I’m certainly not getting down on all fours like an animal
when I could be facing the man I love.”
Kip dropped back on his heels and sighed. “You say shit like that and it makes me feel
stupid. Why didn’t you say something? How come I never knew?”
“You’ve always known.” Crash’s smile faded a little. “You have. If you think about it.”
Kip thought about all the adventures they’d had: the lovely, lazy school days and stargazing
of childhood, the tough emotional excesses of adolescence, the insecurity of making their way
into college and choosing their individual academic paths. Through school and fast cars and first
love, Crash shadowed him, solid and loyal, unquestionably his, through everything.
“You’re the one person who has never let me down,” Kip said finally, awed by it, as if he’d
never given it serious consideration. Maybe he hadn’t.
“I never will.”
Kip heard the truth of those words and believed it with his whole heart.
He took his place between Crash’s legs again, and this time, he had no words. He uncapped
the lube, and began by stroking Crash’s cock back to life, pleased at the soft gasping sounds that
emerged when he did it, but not really, entirely, certain from whose mouth they came.
He found it fascinating to watch the minute changes flow over Crash’s face as Kip’s hand
traveled from his cock to his balls, down further, to the delicate skin of his entrance. When he
pressed a thoroughly lubed finger into the tight channel, a flush deepened over Crash’s creamy
skin, rising from his chest to his neck and filling his cheeks. Kip got gooseflesh from the sight as
he watched, entranced.
Crash’s lips parted on a groan and stayed slack. Kip dared another finger along with the
first. Crash’s breathing quickened.
“Kip.” He panted, his voice barely audible. Crash drew his knees up to give him access. Kip
tried to find Crash’s sweet spot, curving his fingers upward until he found the spongy mass and
brushed it, watching wonder unfold on Crash’s face as the jolt of sensation shot through his
body. “Kip!”
Kip tore open the foil condom package and rolled its contents easily down his shaft. He
pumped his length a time or two, unnecessarily, because he’d never been that hard before, like
granite. He knew he’d die -- or kill-- if anything stopped what he planned next but forced himself
to ask, “Are you sure?”
Crash leveled a look of such trust at him that it took his breath away. “Yes. I’m sure.”
Kip carefully pressed forward. Crash bit his lip and sweat beaded his brow, but he remained
silent. He wrapped his hands around Kip’s hips, and when Kip might have slowed, he used
pressure to indicate it was all right to keep going.
“Kip?” Crash spoke on an indrawn breath. Kip didn’t hear him breathing for a few seconds
and grew concerned.
“Take a breath.” Kip kissed away the frown on Crash’s face. “You need to breathe and try to
relax if you can.”
Crash drew a shuddering breath in, and huffed it out just as quickly. “Kip.”
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, Crash. 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.
Kip had experienced nothing like it, ever.
He slid over the edge with nothing to stop his fall except Crash's hot, breathless, equally
confused body. Kip clung to him 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 and tossed his used condom into the trash.
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 nothing did?
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 Kip 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 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 had 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 echoed loudly in the small space. 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. This vision 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 Kip's 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 burned Kip’s eyes to look at the creature.
“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 consumed them both. He’d shot up fully awake in his nice safe bed --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 octogenarians, 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 at 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 shoot a smile of confused gratitude toward 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, closing the
fastening bar and adjusting it onto his wrist. “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 Kips 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 from 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 and fear.
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 you 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 blinding 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 thundering
beats 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.
“Are you mine, Kipling Rush?” Kip heard Crash’s voice as a rumble all through his being as
he was lifted up, away, skyward.
“Yes, I am yours Chemuel.”
“Then come with me.” Air pulsed around them and Crash’s song found Kip’s heart, weaving
what was left of him into something entirely new. Something strange and different. Powerful and
eternal.
Chemuel-who-was-his sang their song.
Chemuel, whose music could bring him back to life.
As surely as Kip knew his life was over but had only just begun, he understood the words of
Crash’s music for the first time.
“In all the world, there is only we.”
FIN
About the author:
I began writing in 2007 on a dare from my children and never looked back. Pathologically
disorganized, and perennially optimistic, I write as much as I can, read as much as I dare, and
enjoy my time with family and friends. If anyone asks me how a wife and mother of four
manages to find time for a writing career, I’ll answer, “It’s amazing what you can accomplish if
you give up housework.”
My published books include Crossing Borders, Epic award finalist St. Nacho’s and the St.
Nacho's series, Drawn Together, Blue Fire, Fugitive Color, and Rhapsody For Piano And Ghost
from Loose Id, ePistols at Dawn and The Pharaoh's Concubine from Samhain Publishing,
Notturno, Stirring Up Trouble, All Stirred Up and Vigil from MLR Press. And I Heard Him
Exclaim from Carina Press.
You can contact me at: zamaxfield@zamaxfield.com
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