Night Owl Willa Okati All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2008 Willa Okati
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ISBN: 978-1-60521-040-7
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Editor: Crystal Esau
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
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Night Owl Willa Okati Always faithful. After serving his country in the Armed Forces, Taj knows that family, home, and love are the greatest gifts a man can have. He’s in search of a lover who’ll be his everything, someone he can cherish and who’ll stand strong by his side. Instead, Alder finds him. An owl who takes the form of a man, Alder is exotic, affectionate, passionate and loyal. Taj could never have imagined anyone he’d love more and vows his fidelity to Alder until the end of time. Even when Alder loses his wings and can no longer fly in the shape of an owl, Taj stands fast, refusing to let his man give himself up to despair. Whatever he has to do to help Alder fly again… he won’t hesitate. Semper Fidelis. They aren’t just words. They’re a way of life, and the firm foundation of a love that’ll last forever.
Chapter One Taj’s life changes on a Saturday night. Three weeks out of the military, he still doesn’t sleep well, too used to tossing and turning in the sweltering heat, in the company of other soldiers, all of them restless, waiting for the next round of screaming missiles overhead. Limbs aching from harsh use, weak from the relentless sun. The skies are not their friends. Taj doesn’t know anyone in the city he’s moved to, and he prefers it that way. He wants a fresh start. Anyone who sees him with his sable hair buzzed close to the scalp and his erect posture will pin him for ex-military, sure, but otherwise they don’t know anything about him. He’s free to be all he can be. And what he wants to be most is a man with a home. And for Taj, a home means someone to share it with. Taj has thought about getting a dog, but as good as hounds are, they don’t fill all the empty spaces in a man’s life. No, Taj wants a man -- and he can say it easily, out here in civilian life -- a strong, tough man with a soft heart and a hot body, a man who’ll challenge him and captivate his fantasies. That’s what home means to him. And so ironically enough, he’s at a bar. Some hole in the wall in the trendily ramshackle part of downtown; his neighbor Ray-Don, an ex-Marine, told him about the place. Taj forgot the name as soon as he walked in. A few folks, less than thrilled with the government, gave him the hairy eyeball when he first arrived, but they’ve forgotten about him now. They ignore him, twined around their boys in eyeliner, black-painted nails thrust through dyed, spiked hair, and crimson-painted lips consuming one another. Some male, some female, and some Taj can’t tell about.
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No one for him. Not yet. S’okay. The night’s young. Taj finds himself drifting toward a window made of one-way glass. Anyone outside who doesn’t know better will see it as a mirror. He likes looking out without anyone else able to look back in. It’s safer to look at the skies this way. He’s forgotten how beautiful they can be, especially at times like now, night shading toward sunrise, coloring the clouds with vivid streaks of red and purple and lush blue. He used to fly kites, when he was young. Loved nothing better than to see them soaring overhead, proud and bold, bright and brilliant. Sometimes he dreamed about flying, even in Afghanistan. Taj sips idly at his beer, long since gone warm, and waits by the window. He’s in no hurry. He spies a bird, or what he thinks is a bird, out of the corner of his eye. Big friggin’ bird, Taj notes curiously as it approaches, increasing in size. Not a pigeon. What is -- is that an owl? What’s an owl, a great snowy owl, doing in the urban jungle? Fascinated, Taj watches in awe as the proud avian coasts to a stop outside the one-way window. It ruffles its feathers before smoothing its wings down and cocking its head to blink up at Taj through its black, black eyes ringed with gold. The feathers on the bird’s throat flicker; Taj knows it’s just hooted at him. At him. This bird can see through the glass, can see Taj. He is sure of it. Taj wonders if this should freak him out more than it does, then decides, nah. After what he’s lived through? It’ll take more than a bird to scare Taj. Besides, his grandmother was Romanian. A traveler. She told him stories of the old country, where peddlers were princes and Baba Yaga flew across the sky in a cauldron, granting wishes. Stories are as familiar to Taj as ordinary people. Why should he be afraid of them? He’s always wished that one of those tales would come true, anyway. “Hey there, big guy,” Taj whispers, laying his fingers lightly on the glass. The owl tracks his movements. It can see him. “Smart, aren’t you? Did you escape from someone, somewhere?”
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The bird flares its wings. “I guess not.” Taj strokes the glass, imagining its smooth coolness is the owl’s warm, soft down. He watches the owl, who watches him in return, studying Taj intently. The owl’s a king among his kind, Taj thinks, pure white from ruff to tail feathers with an odd sort of red-colored barred ring around its neck, a necklace of sorts. “Hey, watch it!” Taj pivots around, moving before he realizes he’s broken away from the window, his reflexes still razor-keen and his nerves edgy. In front of him, a drunk, laughing kid who’s too young to be here reels back, plastic cup of beer tilting crazily in his hand. His buddy, dressed in ripped black from head to toe, points and mocks him for his clumsiness. Heart beating in his throat, Taj turns back to the window -- and the owl’s gone. No. Aw, no. Taj’s spirits sink. Damn it, they must have scared the owl away. So he won’t lose his temper -- they didn’t know what they were doing; they’re just kids -- Taj stays put, facing the window and the mostly-empty street. Everyone who comes down here is already passed out in bed or still partying. He sips his beer, traces patterns on the glass, and wishes the owl would find its way back. The warm, dry hand on Taj’s shoulder doesn’t startle him, and that in itself alarms Taj enough to look around sharply the second after the touch registers. “Who do you think --” he starts. He doesn’t finish. Behind Taj stands a man dressed simply in loose dark blue jeans, still crisp with folds from storage on a shop shelf, a white undershirt too small for him that’s molded itself to his ridged torso, his hair soft and nearly white, floating to his shoulders, as baby-fine in texture as bird’s down. Taj’s throat swells up. His tongue’s empty of words. The man fingers his necklace -- more of a choker -- made of heavy red wood beads -- and grins slyly at Taj, the tip of his pink tongue wetting his lips. “You looked like you could use some company, soldier,” he says. “My name is Alder.”
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“You’re the owl,” Taj whispers. Alder nods, as if that’s enough. And maybe it is.
*** Taj has been keeping company with Alder for three months when he invites him over to cook a simple meal. It’s been a long, long time since his sister imparted the secrets of compatibility tests to him, but Taj remembers her rules. Anyone who can untangle Christmas lights without going crazy, or who can listen to all sides of a question without popping off before he knows everything, or who can help bake the bread you break with them is someone worth keeping. Taj, not knowing much about owls and nothing about shapeshifters, had thought Alder would eat meat. Wrong. He’s vegetarian, by choice; it’s a matter of respect for other creatures. Alder’s never had spaghetti. Taj doesn’t like to ask, but he suspects it’s been a while since Alder took on human form long enough to fall into human curiosity over new tastes and textures. Vegetarian’s not his thing but Taj can roll with the changing times, and he sacrifices the hamburger in his red sauce for Alder’s sake. Besides, there’s a lot to be said for red sauce. By itself it’s smooth, velvety, sweet and spicy at the same time. It goes everywhere, no matter how careful they are -- and that’s not very careful. They’re having too much fun horsing around, daubing smears on noses and cheeks and chins and licking them clean, tasting salty skin and the earthiness of sage. Taj can’t let a single drop of sauce go once it’s caught his eye. He leans across the kitchen island counter to lick the daub of red from the corner of Alder’s mouth. “Can we skip dinner? I think I’m full already.” Alder laughs, the hint of an owl’s call echoing behind the human noise, and pulls Taj into a kiss that goes far, far beyond an ordinary meeting of lips. “I could wait a while to eat. I have an appetite for something else now.” “Good,” Taj breathes before he covers Alder’s body with his own, taking him to the kitchen floor as gently as a feather on a breeze, inexorably as a storm wind.
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Tongues battle against each other, striving for the right to explore one another’s mouths; hands tangle knuckle-deep in hair, slide down backs, grip each other’s hips and pull their bodies flush and hard together. Never stopping, always moving. Gyrating to a beat only they hear. Undulating against one another’s bodies in the pulsing rhythm of their pumping hearts, demanding more, more, more, now, now, now. Tugging at Alder’s belt, kicking off his shoes. Cradling Alder’s head with his rough soldier’s hand to protect it from the cold floor. Searching out Alder’s addictive mouth with his eyes closed. Parting for air only when he has to. It’s taken Taj so long to get here, to the place in his life where he can just love and be loved. No worrying what he looks like, sounds like, how well he performs. With Alder, he just does what feels good and right. Alder, an owl, makes Taj a better man, and Taj tries to show Alder that every time he has Alder naked in his arms. Slick and slippery, gliding on a sheen of salty sweat. Hands scrabbling for purchase and clutching deep, bruising muscle with their effort. Palms tugging sharply, then softly on swollen flesh. Fingers sliding down and down, nudging against puckered holes and pushing themselves in knuckle-deep. Panting, unable to get enough air, dizzy but refusing to stop. Groaning when his and Alder’s cocks, lubricated with their own come, skid together. Forgetting to breathe when Alder positions himself behind Taj, links their hands across Taj’s ribs, and pushes inside. Alder’s shout when he comes sounds like the wild cry of a fallen angel. He’s barely spilled his last before he turns, guiding Taj over onto his back. He crawls between Taj’s legs and sucks him down, kneading Taj’s hips while he feasts. Taj comes down his throat, his hands knotted in Alder’s soft white hair, and thinks, no, knows: Alder is the love of his life. Alder laughs and rolls them both on their sides, facing each other this time. Taj is happy to curl up right there, kitchen floor or not. It’s clean. He presses close enough to
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enjoy the sensation of Alder’s soft breath against his cheek, growing light and even as he recovers. This is it, for Taj. This is all he wants for the rest of his life. The end. “Stay with me,” he whispers, tucking his chin in the crook of Alder’s downy shoulder. “Don’t ever leave me.” Alder sighs. “I never will,” he says, spent and lazy, tugging Taj closer. “My soldier.” Taj kisses Alder, licking away his sweat, breathing in the rich smells of sex and wine.
*** It was just an expression. A way to ask Alder to be his permanent honey. Taj didn’t mean for this to happen. But it has. A week after they made spaghetti, a week in which Taj doesn’t see Alder at all, Alder appears on his doorstep during a rainstorm. He’s soaked to the skin -- pale, smooth skin, washed clean of down. His white hair, light as candy floss, has fallen away, leaving him with lank blond locks that fall to his shoulders. “I can’t change back,” he says, sounding lost and terrified. “I can’t fly. I’m not an owl anymore. What have we done?” Taj can’t speak. He and Alder stare at each other for a long, desperate moment before Alder falls forward, grasping onto Taj for dear life and squeezing him tight. Taj’s life changes again, then, when the owl has lost his wings.
Chapter Two Three Years Later Taj’s friend the ex-Marine Ray-Don leans out the doorway of Taj’s old apartment. Drops of sweat glisten on his forehead. His eyes are squinted against the searing summer heat and sunlight, and his gray cutoff tank clings damply to his dark cocoa skin. “You sure you’ve got everything?” he calls to Taj, five feet away, loading a stack of boxes into the backseat of his car. “Should be,” Taj answers, manhandling the last of his worldly goods and trying to make them fit. He’s tired of hauling cartons to and fro between the old apartment and his first house and the thought of having to come back for one single box that wouldn’t fit -- nuh-uh. Damn box is awkward, though, and heavy, crammed with paperback novels that Taj couldn’t bear to give away or toss in the trash. He doubts he’ll ever have time to sit down and read the stories again, but the books themselves are familiar, the cracked spines and dog-eared pages old friends of his. Comforting. Usually. Right now, they’re just a frickin’ stack of bricks that are about to break his arms as he shoves them into the backseat footwell of his ungracefully aging Corolla. He’s long since stripped off his own soaked cherry-red T-shirt and kicked off his duct-taped sneakers to pad barefoot through the grass. “Now those are muscles,” Ray-Don comments, eyeing Taj in appreciation. “Gotta work hard for that living.” Taj drags his forearm across his forehead to wipe away sweat threatening to roll down in his eyes. “I like carpentry.” “Bet Alder does, too, reaping those bodily benefits.” Taj shrugs off Ray-Don’s casual leering, frowning to himself. He doesn’t like talking about Alder to outsiders these days -- people who don’t know what Alder is,
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and was. Who think he’s an ordinary guy, a human, with a human’s troubles weighing him down. “Yeah, well. Like I said, I enjoy working with my hands, and it’s good exercise. It’s too easy to go soft living like a civvie.” “My heart bleeds peanut butter and rose petals for you, sunshine. So for the benefit of my personal knowledge bank, you’re saying that hoisting and toting an apartment’s worth of crap instead of hiring a moving crew is your replacement for PT, is that it?” “That and the fact that I can’t pay moving men with love.” “You can in porn.” “Shut up.” Taj flips Ray-Don off and grins at him to show no offense was meant before getting back to work. “It’s more expensive than I thought, moving into a house. Moving men aren’t in the budget.” He gives the box of books another push. Stubborn POS refuses to fit. The cardboard’s battered and the sides bulge, overstuffed. That’s the problem. “You could’ve asked me for a loan. I wouldn’t have told you no,” Ray-Don says, stretching his arms over his head and yawning. “Still, can’t change what’s done, right? You need a hand?” “Nah, I’ve got it.” Taj puts his back muscle behind the effort and finally gets the box wedged in tight and settled. “That kind of work will kill you.” He turns to rest against the car’s trunk, wincing at the burn of the sun-toasted metal. “Think we picked a hot enough day?” “Supposed to be ninety in the shade. Your timing is, as ever, beyond compare.” “Nothing compares to me. I’d offer you something to drink as a thank-you --” “But you forgot to keep anything around. Me, I’d have saved a six-pack of something for when we were done loading the cars. Preferably alcoholic, although I’d go for a plain bottle of water.”
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“Yeah. My fault.” Taj shoots Ray-Don an apologetic grimace. “I was just thinking about getting the refrigerator at the new place stocked and clearing out all the crap we had in this one…” “Relax, soldier, I’ll survive. Now, once more: have you got everything? ’Cause once I’m gone, I ain’t coming back for love, money, sex, tequila, or --” Taj laughs. “That’s all of it, everything, I swear.” “Thank the sweet baby Jesus.” Ray-Don pushes himself away from the door, shutting it behind him. Taj listens as the latch locks automatically with a sound of finality. He’s still got a key, so he could go back in, but he doesn’t feel the need to. Everything’s gone, nothing left behind but an empty shell with broken closet doors hanging ajar on their hinges and cracked mirrors. He’ll mail the key to his landlord. He’s got no reason to take one last look around. This is the first day of the rest of his life, right? He’s not going to spend time visiting with the ghosts from his past. Ray-Don lopes to the car, thumping Taj on his shoulder. “I gotta book, friend. The ball court’s reserved all afternoon for a game of one on one with the sweetest, tightest sexass I’ve been trying to get in the sack for weeks.” Taj socks him back. “You’re a good man, Ray-Don. A horn-dog, but a good man.” “Damn right I am.” Ray-Don drops a light kiss on Taj’s lips. “Gonna miss you, soldier,” he says, sweaty arms wrapping tightly around Taj in a brief, back-slapping hug. Taj returns the embrace, even though he’s laughing. “Moron. Alder and I are just moving across town, not to frickin’ Antarctica.” “About damn time too. I wondered if you’d ever get it together to leave this dump behind.” Ray-Don shuts the car door and leans against it, folding his arms. He tilts his head at the frayed screens and cracked glass that marred Taj’s apartment windows. “Landlord never did fix those, I see. How many times did you call?”
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“Too many to count.” Taj shrugs that off. It’s part of the past. Finding his sneakers, he stuffs his feet in, leaves the laces hanging open, and jerks his head in the direction of the side parking lot. “C’mon, I’ll walk you to your car.” Striding together in loose, easy sync, Taj and Ray-Don make their way comfortably down the cracked asphalt to Ray-Don’s Jeep, shiny and bright red as a polished apple. It looks out of place among the much older vehicles with their Bond-O and rusted wheel wells, their taped windows and their coats of dirt. Stands out like a nipple that’s been teased and sucked into a taut, nibbleable peak. Technically speaking, much better than Taj’s car. Taj glances back over his shoulder at his Corolla, so heavily weighed down that it sags. He’s owned the same car since he militated out, three years that he’s spent with Alder. The Corolla boasts mismatched splotches of paint here and there where he’s had run-ins with immovable objects. The original cherry red has faded to a rusty rose. He fucking loves his car. Almost as much as Ray-Don adores his giant dick on wheels. Ray-Don puts out a hand to caress the shiny trunk of his Jeep when they reach the vehicle, petting her lovingly. It’s a guy thing; Taj gets it. Cars and dogs are treated with the same kind of tender affection. Ray-Don’s expression changes from casually sardonic to concerned as he studies Taj. “Soldier… I said I wasn’t gonna push, but --” “Then don’t.” Taj holds up his hand, palm out. “Alder’s not getting any better, Taj.” Ray-Don fidgets, uncomfortable. “Loyalty to the man you love, Taj, that’s one thing. And God knows I am glad down to the bone to see you moving up in the world, from an apartment to a house. But… soldier, if you think this is gonna work like a magic wand and bring Alder back to you the way he was, then you have to know that’s crazy dreaming.” “Ray-Don…” Ray-Don is as serious as death. “I’m not trying to be a great big wet blanket. I just want to make sure you’re happy and that means playing my cards honest with you.
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Tell it like I see it. Damn, soldier, I’d be happy as a pig in slop to see Alder back to his old self.” He squeezes Taj a little. “We’ve gotta take care of each other, right?” Taj ducks his head. Alder’s old self. Yeah. Taj would give his left nut to see that again too. Only Ray-Don doesn’t know what Taj knows. Why Alder’s changed. What the only thing that could wake him from his grief would be -- the one thing Taj can’t give him. “Yeah. Brothers,” Taj says, bumping knuckles with Ray-Don. Ray-Don was with the Marines and Taj was in the Army, but they’re still brothers in arms. “This new house, it’s gonna be great. I know it won’t fix anything, Ray-Don. I know. But at least it’s quieter. Peaceful. Almost rural. Alder loves it.” Ray-Don raises one eyebrow. “And how can you tell?” Taj jerks away from his friend, irritated. “Cut us some slack, okay? Whether things change or stay the same, Alder and me, we… we’re gonna be fine. Alder does love the new house, I swear. He’s already over there, organizing all the boxes.” Taj imagines his lover bending over, sorting through this and that, and a flash of wantwantwant rolls in his veins, heating him from the inside out. “We’re gonna be better than ever.” Ray-Don sighs. He shakes his head. “Alder better know how lucky he is you put up with him. It’s not every man who’d take on your kind of load.” He ducks in for another quick kiss. “I give you a lot of flak but, brother, I admire you, you know?” “Yeah, yeah. We’re a two-man admiration society.” Taj slaps Ray-Don on his hip. “Go on, get out of here. Bet you have time to shower before you hit the park.” Taj can’t help a twinge of wistfulness. He’d love an afternoon spent doing nothing but playing for playing’s sake, wasting his hours on pure fun. “You know you could always come.” “I could.” Taj looks over Ray-Don’s shoulder, focusing on the distance, the drooping trees, the graffiti-scrawled walls of the units behind them, everything he’s leaving behind. “I’d rather be with Alder,” he says simply. And it’s the truth.
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Ray-Don’s hand caresses the back of Taj’s neck. “Then good luck to you, soldier. And if you need anything -- I mean anything -- you call, all right?” “I promise.” Taj waves goodbye as he backs away from the Jeep. “And keep reminding yourself it’s not frickin’ Antarctica! You’re invited over for poker night same as usual next Thursday.” “I’ll bring the tequila.” “I’ll supply the limes.” They grin at each other for a minute before Taj ruffles up the dark, sweaty curls at the base of his neck. His hair’s longer than it’s been since before he joined the Army, and he’s not sure he likes the weight or its tendency to wave up. “I’d better…” he starts. “Get going,” Ray-Don finishes. “One small step for mankind and all that jazz.” “Right.” Taj turns around as Ray-Don slips into the driver’s seat of the Jeep. He himself walks away, heading up the hill to where he’s parked his Corolla in front of the apartment door. It’s unlocked, which is dangerous in this neighborhood, but most everyone who lives around here knows to respect Taj, and he’d have heard anyone thinking they were cute enough to get away with stealing from him. His stuff’s intact. Then again, if anyone had been watching -- which they probably were -- they wouldn’t have seen much to steal. Taj doesn’t own anything really valuable that isn’t already at the new house. The TV, the DVD player, his laptop. The mellow old acoustic guitar his grandfather left him that he’s always sworn he’ll learn how to play. And Alder. Alder is there, waiting for him. Taj thoughtfully thumbs the broad gold band on the third finger of his left hand. He takes one last glance back at the dilapidated old subdivided hovel that he and Alder lived in for three long years, and mentally throws it the rod. All the pain, all the bad times, all the anger… sayonara. On to bigger and better things. Maybe he can’t give Alder back his wings, but he’ll lift his man up any and every way he can otherwise. He gets in his car as Ray-Don cruises past, waving back when he’s waved to. His car door hinges creak and the seat squeaks when he sits down. His safety belt has
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gotten stuck again, and he has to feed the entire length back into the well before being able to pull it out and across his chest, clicking it shut. Doesn’t matter, though. These are little things. Taj sets his hands on the wheel and takes a deep breath. Ready or not, here he goes.
Chapter Three Taj remembers the last time he and Alder made love, the night after he’d put in his first offer on the house they’re moving into now, about three months before. A celebration. Alder had caught the excitement, turning from the windows and his constant searching of the skies, focusing on Taj. Laughing with him. Wrestling. Cozying up with satisfaction and pleasure when Taj pinned him and kissed his lips until they were swollen and red. Taj remembers as if it’s happening now…
*** “So hot. Alder. So hot.” Already half-naked himself without shirt or shoes, Taj wants to even the playing field. He lazily undoes the first buttons on Alder’s flannel, his fingers lingering on warm skin as it becomes available. Alder’s body temperature is still noticeably warmer than an ordinary human’s, his body hair fine and fair around his cock and in his armpits. He inhales the faint, wild scent that he likes to imagine still clings to Alder; he could get drunk on Alder’s fragrance. “What are you in the mood for?” “Lots of things.” Alder darts in to lick his way up Taj’s neck, from shoulder to nape, nibbling under his ear. “Mostly, I want you naked and pressed up against me as fast as I can get you there.” “As hot as you are, it’ll be damn fast.” Taj gives up on the buttons and dives for Alder’s belt, stopping halfway to yank the shirt up and off. Alder’s arms get tangled in the sleeves and they wrestle for a moment, laughing at one another. Finally, Alder subsides and raises his arms to help get the shirt successfully off.
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Taj goes down on one knee to unzip Alder’s jeans and pull them off, pausing only to hungrily mouth the rigid span of Alder’s hard-on, no boxers or briefs to get in his way. “Stop, stop. Too much.” Alder tugs at Taj’s shoulders. Taj releases him, breathing quickly. “You want me? You can have me. Wanna share a shower?” Alder lights up -- he almost glows, happier than Taj has seen him in months -and hauls Taj to his feet, smothering him with kisses, muttering demands and encouragements into his mouth as they stumble together toward the bathroom, not wanting to part even for a second. “Hurry, hurry, hurry.” It seems to Taj that Alder has never been this hungry for him. When he steps out of his jeans and is naked at last, his owl man hauls him directly into the shower and cranks the faucets on, releasing a lukewarm spray that slowly heats to steaming. Taj moans happily and undulates, rolling his hips and shoulders to better enjoy the heat. Alder flanks Taj from behind, the jutting pressure of Alder’s eager cock nestling into the cleft of his ass. Alder rocks Taj, riding back and forth. “Feel good?” he whispers in Taj’s ear. Taj gasps for breath. “Too good,” he manages. “And too one-sided. I want to play.” Slick as a fish, he wriggles around in the circle of Alder’s arms and meets him face-to-face. He and Alder both hiss as their erections collide, sliding firmly together. “That’s better, huh?” Alder’s response is buried in the curve of Taj’s throat, mumbled in the midst of nips and open-mouthed kisses that suck up faint pink marks on his flesh. Taj thrashes under the assault, but manages to make his hands cooperate enough to reach up and grasp Alder’s ass, pulling them into closer contact still. Slippery when wet, they glide against each other, cocks bumping bellies and grazing across shallow hipbones. “Better yet,” Taj growls, digging his fingers tight in the taut muscle of Alder’s ass.
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“Taj,” Alder pants at his ear, sounding crazed, desperate. “God, Taj -- I need more --” “Oh, yeah. Try this now.” Taj slips a finger down the crevice of Alder’s ass, then dips in between the cheeks to tease his hole. Alder writhes against Taj, kneading the small of Taj’s back, his shoulders, the long muscles in his arms. “More than that,” Alder demands. “Need your cock. Now.” “Anything for you, but not so fast, not so fast…” Taj’s finger slips past Alder’s first tight ring of muscle. Damn, it has been a while; Alder’s tight enough that no matter how much time he takes to prep his owl man, it’ll still hurt some. But he can make Alder care less. Taj drags his fingertip deliberately across Alder’s sweet spot, then bears down, massaging. Alder’s heavy cock spasms against his stomach in time with a strangled cry. “Again?” Taj teases, proud and wicked. Alder growls, a strangled noise, incoherently demanding more. “Anything for you.” Taj slips in another finger, and another, twisting and stretching, relentless in his assault on Alder’s prostate. Unable to resist the temptation, Taj dips down and gnaws gently at Alder’s nipples, sucking them into dark, puckered nubs. Alder releases an owl’s hunting scream, too close to tolerate such rough play. Thick, ropy strands of precome stretch from the shiny tip of his cock to his stomach, desperate with the need for release. Taj withdraws his fingers reluctantly. God, the only thing he hates about shower sex is the floor’s not long enough to lie down on. He burns to see Alder’s face when they do this. Watching the bliss wash over Alder is better, in some ways, than his own orgasm. He nudges Alder’s shaking shoulders with the point of his chin. “Turn around.” Alder twists, careless of the slick tiles, and braces his hands against the wall, legs spread, begging without words to be fucked within an inch of his life.
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Taj can’t wait another second to get in there. He fumbles blindly for conditioner, not the best lube but it’ll do, it’ll do. He’s impatiently clumsy until he finally closes his hand around a bottle. Squeezing a vast dollop onto one palm, he slathers his erection glossy-slick, compressing the base when the pleasure is almost too much. “Hurry,” Alder rasps. His legs shake, threatening to give out. “Need you.” “I’m here.” Taj wipes wet hair out of his eyes and lines up. He grunts as he pushes home in short, choppy shoves, giving Alder time to adjust and take him without pain. Being inside Alder, hot, wet, ready and open for him, has never gotten old and it never will. Incredible heat, tightness, pressure, sucking him in to the very last inch. When Taj moves, it’s like being inside a vacuum, drawing and pulling at his cock with desperate hunger. He angles to hit the best of all possible places deep inside Alder and is rewarded with the ululating cry of an owl in flight. Alder’s inner beast rises to the surface when he’s close, making Taj savagely proud to have been the one to push his man this far. “Good,” Alder manages to pant, gulping air and water together, droplets running silvery down his throat and shoulders. “Move. Now. Move.” Taj’s hands fumble around Alder’s torso, tugging at his nipples, scratching his stomach, finding his leaking dick. He’s too wound up to last, but God, if he could only freeze this moment forever. Taj thrusts slowly in, out, struggling to keep the pace as he strokes Alder’s cock, urging him closer to the edge. He needs to feel Alder come apart for him. “Come on,” he demands, butting his head hard into Alder’s shoulder. “Come for me, baby, come with me…” Alder’s growls grow louder, frantic from the double stimulation of being filled and stroked. His hands are fists now, thumping at the wall. He thrusts back, deep as he can, onto Taj’s cock, then forward into Taj’s squeezing fist. Under Taj’s hand, Alder’s balls draw up high and tight to his body.
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Taj moves a hand down to Alder’s sac, kneading it to the tune of Alder’s deep, desperate groans. He loses the beat, able only to pound into Alder, bursting with need of his own explosion. Alder beats him by just a second, the violent spasming of muscles around Taj’s cock pulling him into the white-hot void. Lights flash in front of Taj’s eyes. He slumps against Alder, weakly stroking down Alder’s arms. Peppering the skin with light kisses. He hears and marvels at the strong, avian-fast pounding of the heart beneath Alder’s ribs, and lavishes kisses over his pulse. I belong to this man, Taj thinks, fiercely glad of it. Just as he belongs to me. Under the tender treatment, Alder’s slumped boneless against the wall, completely fucked-out. “Feeling okay now?” Taj murmurs. It’s like old times again. Better than old times. “Very.” Wearily, Alder turns around to enfold Taj in his arms. They rock against each other, not with passion but in love. “How do you always know what I need?” “I’m just good that way.” Taj nuzzles Alder’s temple. He’s careful not to brush over Alder’s shoulder blades to remind him of what he’s lost, that he can no longer transform into a snowy owl with a breathtaking wingspan and soar through the skies after his moments of ecstasy. “I love you,” he whispers in Alder’s ear. Alder sighs and melts against him. “And you,” he replies, almost too quietly to be heard over the running water. The air that carries his words tickles coolly on Taj’s chest. It’s enough for Taj. “Take me to bed, soldier.”
*** It’s not a long drive to the new house. Maybe fifteen miles as the crow -- owl -flies. Taj looked it up on MapQuest when they were hunting for a new place, but the specifics escape him now. Taj knows the way by heart, and he doesn’t count the distance so much as the time.
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Because he was lying, mostly, to Ray-Don. Acting like everything was fine and he had nothing to worry about with Alder being alone in a strange place. Alder asked Taj to trust him, and he tries, he does, but… he’s losing his owl. Alder’s pining away for want of his wings, wasting to nothing from missing the power of flight, and Taj knows Alder resents being trapped in a human body. He wonders, sometimes, if Alder will resent him someday too. Or if he already does. Taj strikes the steering wheel a glancing blow. I’m not gonna think like that, he tells himself determinedly. That’s just gonna lead to what-if and could-be and maybe, and I’m not starting off this way. Alder and I, we’re gonna be okay. I’ll make us be okay. He pulls onto the residential street that’s now his home stretch, and eases into his new driveway with a momentary buzz of pure satisfaction, of homecoming. The place has character to spare. Back in the 20’s and 30’s, this was what they called a “mill village.” Employees of the big textile mill, abandoned and torn down decades ago, could live here in houses all built along the exact same lines. Every one of them looks alike except for the flying flags or the colorful floral plantings. There’s something comforting about how far away from everything this all feels, out on the country roads. Taj thinks that’s what sold Alder on the house. A chance to live where he could just be quiet. Turning off his engine, Taj cranks open his door and decides he’ll leave the boxes in his backseat for the time being and see if Alder’s up to helping him lug them inside. He pushes the lock into place, because some habits die hard, and heads for the set of white steps leading up onto a small, glassed-in front porch. The screen door sticks. They’ll have to level it out somehow. Taj’s not the best with home repair, but he figures he can find a solution. There’s always a solution if you look hard enough.
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With a tug and rattle, Taj pulls the screen door open and steps onto the porch. His porch. Two plastic chairs, hopefully to be replaced with rockers when they have some more spare cash. An urn for Alder’s cigarette stubs, though Taj wishes like hell Alder would drop that habit, dotted with a few stubs and a light coating of gray dust. He stops for a moment to savor the smell of old house, new plastic, and a hint of cigarette smoke. This is home. He tries the front door and finds it unlocked. A grin tugs at his lips. A neighborhood where you can leave the door open. Talk about moving up in the world. “Alder?” he calls, stepping inside. He kicks his shoes off, not wanting to damage the glossy hardwood floors. They’re gonna have to polish the whole thing over again after they’re done unpacking, but for right now it feels good to have the cool wood underneath his bare feet. “Hey, Alder, you want to help me unload these boxes?” No answer. Taj frowns. He makes his way through a maze of cartons and furniture that needs to be moved into place, pausing only long enough to caress the cool, white-painted plaster walls with their spring-green trim. He likes the way the slightly bumpy surface feels until his fingers. There’s a sense of age to this place that he loved the moment he first saw it. “Alder?” he calls, making his way into the extremely short hallway leading off the main room. Their tiny bathroom is to one side, just big enough for a toilet and a shower, done in an alarming pink. Repainting that Pepto mess is really, really high on Taj’s list of priorities. “Alder, you okay?” He comes to a stop at the edge of the kitchen. Alder stands in front of the old kitchen window, gazing out into the tangle of the yard. Landscaping, also high on the list. But nothing matters as much to Taj as the sight of his fallen owl standing there, safe and sound. He doesn’t seem to have heard Taj or sensed his approach… or maybe that’s just Alder being Alder. He’s got one arm wrapped around his chest, and the other raised to his face, where he’s absently rubbing one cheek. He looks good enough to eat, trim and lean and fitting into his sleeveless ribbed T-shirt as if he’s been poured in. His jeans are
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old and faded, a few holes here and there, looser than they once were but still trim enough to display his fantastic ass. “Alder, baby, there you are,” Taj says, hoping to get Alder to turn around. Alder makes a small noise and continues to stare out the window. His hand, long and strong-fingered, moves down to the chunky necklace -- more like a collar -- that he still wears, toying with the central thick wooden bead. He leans forward as if to better catch his reflection in the glass. Maybe he’s not pleased with what he sees, because he raises his hand to brush at the short bristles of his hair with a frown. “Too short,” Alder says after a long minute. “It was better long.” He offers Taj a half-smile. “I look like you used to, soldier.” Humor. It’s a start. Taj walks forward, nudging his way through boxes that have been haphazardly opened, some unpacked a little, some not, and comes up behind Alder. He wraps his arms around Alder’s stomach and hugs him close, just breathing in the scent of warm male flesh and the lingering remnants of soap from a morning shower. “See anything you like out there?” he asks, his voice muffled between Alder’s shoulder blades. Alder shakes his head slowly. “Just a bunch of vines. You’ll have to cut them down, won’t you?” “Not if you want to keep them. I think they’re grapes. You like grapes, don’t you?” Alder reaches out with one finger to touch the glass. Eighty years old, and the pane is still intact. “Scuppernong,” he says after a moment. “Makes great wine. I remember the days when they grew wild, everywhere, all of the fields they’ve built over in this century…” His voice trails off. “Cut them down.” “You sure?” Alder nods, slowly, then decisively. “Cut them all down.” Taj kind of likes the grapevines, but it’s not worth wasting his breath arguing over the fate of some tangled greenery. “Whatever you say, babe.” He kisses Alder on the back on his neck, playfully biting with his teeth.
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Alder grunts and pushes Taj away. “Cut it out. I don’t feel like playing.” Taj remembers when Alder would have turned around and pounced on him, maybe wrestled a little bit and gotten in some nibbles of his own. That’s been a long time gone, though. He knows how to act now, so he backs away, leaving Alder to stand and stare out the window. Business as usual. If Alder sees life going on around him, then maybe he’ll feel like joining in. Taj pulls a penknife out of his own pocket and cuts open a box sitting on top of the cheap, faux-pine table they got for a discounted price at a furniture warehouse. The knife goes back into his pocket as he takes a look at what’s inside. “Ha!” He pulls away a layer of newspaper, revealing a cheery, cherry red clay plate. “That set Ray-Don gave us as a joke when I made fun of how flashy his Jeep’s new paint job was.” They’ve never used the dishes. “How did those end up on top?” Alder shrugs. Taj starts unwrapping the plates and stacking them on the table. The reds, and two other sets Ray-Don bought, sunny yellow, cobalt blue. At the time they’d unwrapped the box, Taj remembers laughing at Ray-Don for never knowing when to let a joke die. When were they gonna use something this bright? No time like the present. When all the plates are out and he’s working on the saucers, he tries Alder again. “You want to load those in the dishwasher for me? They’re clean, but I guess they could use a rinse to get off the dust.” That gets a rise out of Alder. The man half-turns, his face in profile as he looks at Taj. “What do you think I am, Taj?” Taj feels as if they’re on the edge of something dangerous. He holds out a yellow plate. “You’re Alder,” he says, keeping his voice mild. “What’s wrong? They’re just dishes.” “Just Alder. Just dishes.” Alder gives Taj an unreadable look, and Taj thinks he’s going to walk away without another words, but instead Alder peels himself away from the window and comes over to the table to pick up the platter. He’s still got that rolling, fluid stride to his walk that draws all attention to his hips and groin, sending a surge of
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lust through Taj. Three years together and no matter what’s passed between them, he still wants Alder as much as when they’d just met. A little of that heat must show in his eyes when they meet Alder’s, because Alder flinches back, recoiling away from Taj. The plate slips out of his grasp and falls to the floor, ricocheting off a box and clattering on the black-and-white checkered linoleum. “Shit!” Alder swears even before it hits, stepping back. His feet are bare, long toes curling up as he moves away from the damage. Taj is right there, scooping up the pieces. “It’s okay, babe. Just one plate. I’ll throw it out.” “Just one.” Alder has his stone-face on again, his eyes betraying nothing. “You shouldn’t have trusted me. Everything I touch gets broken.” “Hey.” Taj deposits the broken pieces back in the now-empty box. He steps forward to cup Alder’s cheek in his hand, stroking with his thumb. “Don’t say that. Touch me. Reach out and put your hand on my side. I won’t break, Alder. You’ve got me and I haven’t broken yet. I’m still here. Still right with you. We’re gonna make a fresh start, Alder.” He’s being a little too urgent, he realizes, but Alder has to understand this. Understand him. Alder draws back, his expression shuttered. “You put the dishes away. I’m going to go smoke.” He turns and leaves too quickly for Taj to stop him, even if he had been planning on it. Taj stands there next to a pile of brightly-hued plates, the colors of happiness, and lets his head drop. He closes his eyes for a moment. I’m doing the best I can. I won’t give up on you, babe. Taj takes a deep breath and lifts the stack of dishes. Balancing them in one hand, he opens the washer and files the set in neat as catalogue cards. Everything in its place. The colors gleam at him like jewels, high quality and polished to a shine. Taj hears the front door slam and knows that in a minute he’ll smell cigarette smoke. Quietly, he moves back into the front room to take a look through the windows. No curtains up as yet. Alder is sitting in one of the chairs with an unlit cigarette
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dangling from his hand, his head tilted back and his legs splayed apart. His bare feet are planted flat against the concrete floor and his back sags in utter dejection. Taj’s heart hurts. It’ll just take some time, he repeats to himself. So what if it’s become a mantra? They’re on a journey together. Through richer and poorer, in sickness and health, right? He can handle Alder’s being sick. Maybe better than Alder can, himself.
Chapter Four By the time Taj’s got the kitchen unpacked, all the groceries put away in the oldfashioned cupboard and all the flatware, silverware, cups, and glasses washed, the sun’s starting to go down. Alder hasn’t moved from his spot on the porch, smoking cigarette after cigarette. There’s a gap under the front door that lets the fumes in, turning the good old smell of the house bitter. Taj ignores it. He can handle a little smoke. He didn’t realize how much work it would be to unpack everything. The last time he moved, he had almost nothing and was done in less than an hour. Now, it’s drudgery. Open a carton, heft out the contents, decide where they went, and either wash them or stack them in place. He likes the way the kitchen’s set up, with a space-saver microwave and a flat stovetop, and bright cupboards painted in creamy white with accents of the same yellow that’s on the walls. To go with the sodashop look of the floor, he’d splurged and bought some red accents. Salt and pepper shakers, a utensil holder, a paper towel rack, and a coffeepot. Alder loves his coffee. On an impulse, Taj digs out the beans and grinder and starts the machine whirring. A rich scent fills the air, strong and pervasive. Taj inhales appreciatively. This new coffeemaker has more dials and buttons than he’s ever seen before, plus a funky filtration system he doesn’t understand, but with a little trial and error he’s soon got a pot going. When the coffee’s done, he pours two bright red mugs and carries them out to the front porch, ignoring the rest of the mess. The door’s a little tricky to open with both hands full, but he manages it. Alder doesn’t look up as Taj steps onto the concrete. He taps the end off his cigarette cherry, staring at the glowing red ember as if it holds the meaning of life.
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Watching him, Taj wishes for about the thousandth time that he could read Alder’s mind. Get some kind of bead on what he was thinking. Anything would work. Instead, all he can do is guess. He nudges at Alder’s knee with his own, getting a startled turn in his direction. “Coffee,” Taj says simply, holding out a cup. He waits to see if Alder will take it. Alder looks wary, but after a moment licks his lips, stubs his cigarette out in the urn, and takes the drink from Taj’s hand. If his hand shakes a little when he takes the cup, it’s nothing to comment about. Taj rests his newly free hand on Alder’s shoulder and gives it a light rub, expressing his pleasure without words. Alder’s hand comes up to cover his own. Not to move it away. To encourage his being there. It’s more than he’s gotten in a while. Taj feels a sense of peace and a weight of tension lift off his back. Instead of moving to the other chair like he’d planned, he stands behind Alder and lifts the coffee to his mouth. It’s strong, maybe too strong, but the textured flavor of the brew hits him like a wave of clarity. “Whoo,” he says after his first drink. Alder chuckles softly, taking a sip of his own. He nods slowly. “You make the worst coffee in the world, Taj, but right now it tastes great.” His hand squeezes Taj’s. “Thanks.” “No problem.” Taj stands behind Alder and watches the glowing orange sun slip slowly down toward the horizon. The view is blocked somewhat by thick, leafy trees in their front yard, but it still gives him a sense of contentment. That’s nothing to match what he feels with Alder’s hand on his own, though. That artist’s hand, elegant as a feathered wing in flight. Taj wants to lift it to his lips and kiss it. After a second of warring with the impulse, he gives in. Alder doesn’t protest as Taj takes his hand. Pressing his lips against the knuckles, Taj holds them there for a moment, hoping that some of this is getting through. That it’s not just a gesture on Taj’s part, but that it means something.
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“Did you ever think life would turn out this way?” Alder asks suddenly, still gazing at the sunset. “You and me, I mean. Me, the way I am.” Taj takes in a deep breath. “Some of it I did. Some, I didn’t.” Alder sips his coffee one careful draught at a time. “I didn’t think so. If you could change the choices you’ve made, would you?” Taj doesn’t reply directly. He can’t answer that with “yes” or “no” -- or he could, but he won’t. “You are the best thing in my life,” he says instead. “You know that, don’t you?” He caresses Alder’s hand with his thumb, running it over the nimble fingers. He brushes Alder’s ring, a match to his own, and can’t help but smile. “You remember when we put these on?” The small laugh that Alder gives is startling -- and heartening. “As if I could forget. You and me on a three-day weekend in Canada. Standing in front of that official with our hands linked so tight I thought you were going to cut off my circulation.” “Hey, you were holding on just as hard,” Taj teases. “I think I remember feeding you a shot of bourbon before we went in, just so you wouldn’t turn and run away.” “Maybe I should have.” Alder pulls his hand out of Taj’s. It falls down into his lap, limp. “Would have saved you a lot of trouble.” He turns slightly to look up at Taj. “I’ve tried to fit into the skin I wear now, but without me… you’d have a normal life. Maybe a man who didn’t weigh you down so heavy. I don’t know what I am sometimes, Taj.” Taj shakes his head. He sinks down to a half-kneel, looking up at his lover, his life, his Alder. “I do,” he says simply. “You’re my home, and I need you.” Alder half-closes his eyes. “I need you too,” he whispers back, reaching out for Taj’s hand again. They link fingers and hold on, coffee forgotten, sunset forgotten. A car rolls smoothly past, playing country music loudly enough for them to catch a snatch of the lyrics. Alder frowns. “I know that song. How do I know it?” “It’s the song we listened to all night in Canada,” Taj says. “When we didn’t get out of bed all the next day either.”
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“You remembered.” Alder twists to look at Taj, wary and awed at the same time. “You remember such a small thing as a song?” “It’s a good memory, and there wasn’t anything ‘small’ about that night.” Taj kisses Alder’s fingers again, flickering his tongue out to catch the taste of cigarettes and salty skin. “Besides, I always remember what’s important when it comes to you,” he says quietly. Alder laughs, one quicksilver burst. “Yes. You do.” They sit there until the sun’s completely gone, and quiet dusk falls over the porch. They don’t have to do anything, say anything, act like anything. They just are, and it’s good enough for then. There’s unpacking to be done, but more important things come first. Taj lets his eyes fall shut in pleasure, Alder’s skin warm under his own.
*** Alder follows Taj as he goes back inside, trudging in Taj’s footsteps. When Taj glances back, he sees ghostly gray footprints following Alder, but he doesn’t say anything. They’re floors; they can be cleaned. So can Alder’s feet. There’s an almost awkward moment when Alder enters the kitchen, as if he isn’t sure what to do with himself. He could go over to the window where he was earlier, move back into the front room or the bedroom or the study, or he could stay put. Taj pushes just a little. “Keep me company.” He gestures at the table, mostly cleared of packing materials. “I’m going to make some dinner.” Alder shakes his head, but he doesn’t leave. “Nothing heavy.” “Nah. Veggies, rice? Salad?” Alder shrugs. Taj starts opening cabinets and peering into the refrigerator. It’s the damndest thing to his mind, but no matter how recently he’s put things away, he can never remember what he’s got on hand. “How about Southwestern bean soup?” he suggests after coming up with some cans of tomato broth, veggies, and a sack of black beans. “It won’t take too long. I promise not to melt cheese over your serving.”
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In times past, before Alder’s heartsickness wore him down so far, that would have gotten Taj a laugh. Taj’s content with the half-smile that flashes across Alder’s face as he looks down at the table. Alder starts to draw patterns that don’t make any sense, but he nods. “Sounds good.” They’re quiet while Taj fishes out a saucepan and starts opening cans. The slurpy sounds of broth and veggies pouring into the pan make them both chuckle because guys will be guys, right? Taj knows he’s never lost his fascination for seeing a can of condensed soup glop out of its tin in one solid lump. He reaches for a wooden spoon in the bright red holder and starts to stir, humming a little to himself as the beans and corn wash to and fro. His hips start to rock in tune with the song. “Alder,” he asks without thinking, forgetting to tread lightly as he would around any other soldier who’s lost too much, “speaking of cheese, you want to get that pouch out of the fridge for me?” To his surprise, Alder scoots his chair back. It makes a loud rattling sound across the floor, but there’s no angry jerking or a fist coming down on the table. Holding his breath, Taj watches as Alder crosses to the fridge, opens it, roots around, and comes out with a package of fiesta blend cheese. Alder’s expression is almost amused as he puts the cheese down on the counter. “Carnivore.” “Tree-hugger.” “Trees are very friendly,” Alder says seriously, only the slight quirk of his lip giving him away. Taj laughs and elbows Alder with his free hand, figuring that if things are going this well he might as well try his luck a little further. Alder catches his elbow and pushes it back, chuckling. “Smells good.” “What’s your favorite? This or the vegan corn chowder?” “Don’t know. I like them both.” Alder comes up behind Taj and very, very slowly slides his arms around Taj’s waist. He tucks his chin into the crook of Taj’s shoulder. Taj is almost afraid to move. This is the Alder he remembers from the beginning days. So good. Maybe too good?
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Don’t hope too much. Not yet. Give it time. But if only, maybe… “We should get a dog,” Taj says abruptly. “Some little half-breed. A mutt would be wicked fun to have around.” “Something for me to take care of?” Alder’s tone is light but guarded. “And me,” Taj says, deftly stirring the soup. “Dogs are good companions. I was just kind of imagining this ragged-eared black-and-white pooch running around between our feet. Maybe even sitting up on his hind legs to beg for a taste of the cheese. I’d like that.” Alder nestles a little closer, his arms holding Taj tighter. “Maybe. Do they still do adoption fairs at the one pet store? I remember seeing them when we went for groceries.” “I think it’s mostly cats, but they do have some dogs.” “You can check it out.” One of Alder’s hands slides down a little further, just brushing the top of Taj’s jeans. “If you find something you like, then feel free.” “Nah. You’ll go with me. We’ve both gotta like the dog, or it’s no good.” “What if I told you I wasn’t a fan of dogs?” Taj shrugs. “We’d get a cat.” “I hate cats. They know too much. You can see it in their eyes. And they’re always watching things that aren’t there.” A shiver runs through Alder. Taj waits for the movement to run its course before stirring again and then taking the spoon out. The broth is on the boil now, beans cooking away from hard nuggets to soft flesh. “Not a cat, Taj.” “No cats. But a dog?” “If you want one.” Alder presses a soft kiss to the nape of Taj’s neck. “I’d like that too.” “Someday soon, then. For right now, let’s eat. I’m starving.” “You always are.” Alder kisses him again, lips lingering, tasting Taj instead.
***
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Empty bowls sit on the kitchen table, waiting to be washed, along with two drained aluminum cans, one of soda, and one of organic juice. It’s a comfortable sort of mess, the kind two guys can just leave sitting for a little bit while they enjoy the evening. They’re standing in the back yard now, watching the skies turn color after color. Thick clouds form pink and purple masses as the sky darkens from violet to indigo. Alder is in front of Taj, letting himself be grasped around the waist the way he took Taj earlier. His head is leaned back against Taj’s shoulder, the short bristles of his hair tickling the underside of Taj’s chin. Taj doesn’t think he’s ever been this happy. Well, at least not for a while. He can hear Alder breathing, slow and steady, in and out. Both of Alder’s hands are wrapped around his where he’s encircling Alder’s rib cage, feeling it expand, then contract. He breathes soft and light himself, not wanting to disturb the moment. It’s good and it’s peaceful and it’s right. Alder is quiet, but that’s nothing new. He hasn’t been really talkative since… it’s been a while. Taj can’t seem to help himself, though, and he starts to talk. “Remember the last time we watched the stars come out?” Alder shakes his head. “Yeah, you do. That beach in Newfoundland. No city lights to block out the sky. Just stars. Stars like we’d never seen before, scattered across the sky. Diamonds on black velvet.” He cradles Alder closer. “I asked you what your favorite constellation was.” “Geek.” Alder shifts a little. “I told you --” “You don’t know any. Right.” Taj rocks them a little. “Geek cred. See up there? Big Dipper. And over there, Orion. Cassiopeia.” Alder snorts. “Okay, so you don’t care about this,” Taj teases. “Just enjoy the sights.” There’s a hitch in Alder’s ribs as he takes in a deep breath. “I’m more enjoying the touches,” he says, taking Taj by surprise. “It’s… better… than I thought it would be.
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This neighborhood is so quiet. I can hear the crickets chirping. There are a couple of birds on an old feeder hanging from that apple tree.” “We have a bird feeder?” “And an apple tree.” Alder leans back a little harder. “I checked it out earlier. They’re still small and green, but they’re going to be Red Delicious.” “You know a lot about this kind of stuff.” Alder shrugs. “It’s been a while since I…” He exhales softly. “I remember things. From before.” He swallows; it sounds painful. “When I perched on the branches to eat whatever I wanted.” He twitches, probably wanting a cigarette. “Never mind. It’s no big deal.” “Considering I wouldn’t know a Red Delicious from a partridge in a pear tree, I’d say it’s something.” Taj chances pressing a kiss to Alder’s temple. To his pleasure, Alder leans into the caress. He stays there, then, speaking against Alder’s skin, his breath ghosting across the man’s cheek. “Every day, you amaze me. With who you are, what you know, how you survive.” Alder flinches, but Taj goes on. “Look, I’m not trying to bring up bad memories. All I’m saying is that you make me proud.” Alder doesn’t want to accept that. His skin is silky-soft against Taj’s lips while his hair tickles them when he shakes his head. “You give me way too much credit,” he says. “I screw everything up sooner or later. This, right here, this is nice. But it won’t last.” “It will.” Taj kisses Alder again. “We’re going to make it work. You and me together. We’re in it for life, remember?” Alder lets out a small hmm noise. His fingers curl around Taj’s. He raises their joined hands to his mouth for a kiss, lips ghostly-light, the pressure barely there. “Taj?” Taj holds Alder close. “Yeah, babe?” Alder takes another deep breath. “I was thinking… I mean, hoping… you and I… this first night in the new house…” Alder hasn’t taken an interest in lovemaking in so long Taj has nearly given up dreaming about it. Taj’s disbelief is followed hard with a flash of hope. “You and me?” he has to ask, pulling Alder tighter against himself. “You want to?”
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There’s a pause, and then Alder nods. He wiggles and turns around in Taj’s arms, because Taj’s not letting go of him for one second. Once Alder’s facing Taj, he wriggles until his arms are up and looped loosely around Taj’s neck, fingers twining and tangling aimlessly in Taj’s dark curls. His eyes are huge, pupils dilated until there’s almost none of the hazel left, but the set of his soft mouth is determined. “You and me,” he says softly, leaning in at a slant to kiss Taj on the lips. His tongue laps lightly at Taj’s mouth, asking for entrance. Although he’s startled, Taj opens up to let him in, tasting Alder for the first time in way, way too long. His flavor is a mix of tomatoes, juice, and cigarettes, familiar and strange at once. Taj’s head is telling him no, that this is all too much too soon. Alder has had a good day for the most part, but he shouldn’t be pushed. Sex might be more than he can take without giving way. But his heart is aching to know that Alder loves him enough to give up his body. His cock has already grown hard at the thought of seeing Alder beneath him, naked except for a fine sheen of sweat. When their lips part, he asks one more time because he has to: “You’re sure?” Alder nods, his eyes gone hazy with desire. “Very sure.” He gives Taj’s curls a tug. “Take me to bed, soldier.”
Chapter Five The bedroom isn’t very big, but they didn’t build them for spacious size back when this house was constructed. It has enough room for a bed, a dresser, and two nightstands, and that’s good enough for them. The bed is new, a replacement for the old broken-down double that they’d had at the old apartment. Taj had delighted in being able to afford something better, and in dragging that old mattress to the curb along with the scarred wooden headboard and the broken slats of the frame. Their new bed is soft, and big enough for two men to lie comfortably side by side. Taj had bought a daybed for the study, just in case… but no, Alder wants him to be in here. Alder wants to be with him in all senses of the words, which makes Taj feel almost dizzy. It’s been so long. His cock is hard and flat against his lower stomach, but he’s not going to rush this. Slow and easy, that’s how it should be and that’s the way he wants it. From the way Alder is moving, languorous, as if he’s in a dream, he’d rather not be in a rush either. Fair enough. Taj doesn’t bother turning on the overhead light. It’d show the room to be painted in shades of cream and emerald, and let him see Alder’s face, but he knows that by memory and touch. His hands wander over Alder’s cheeks as he walks his lover toward the bed, moving slowly, step by step, until they reach the edge of the mattress. The bed’s been made up, crisp and neat. Taj reaches down to touch the soft new comforter and one of the fat pillows. “Did you do this?” Alder nods. “I was… hoping.” A smile tugs at Taj’s lips. “All afternoon?” “Mostly.” Taj hears a small sigh. “Sort of. But when I made it up, yeah. And then I got up the nerve, and…”
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“Shh.” Taj places his fingers over Alder’s lips. “That’s all I needed to know.” He replaces his fingers with his mouth, licking and then sliding inside, stroking along Alder’s tongue in slow, lazy sweeps. Alder gives way with a low moan, reaching for Taj. He fists one hand in Taj’s loose T-shirt, his hold tight enough to strain the material across Taj’s shoulders. His other hand grasps Taj’s hip, pulling him closer at the groin. Alder isn’t hard, not yet, but there’s hope. Taj frees his mouth long enough to spread a trail of kisses down Alder’s jaw and throat, sucking just a little -- not enough for a red mark to rise up, but just so that Alder will remember he’s been there. When he reaches the snugly fitted crew neck of Alder’s shirt, he swirls his tongue in a lick, tasting salty sweat, and whispers against the skin: “Can I undress you?” Alder’s hand tightens on his hip. He nods, the motion just barely visible in the half-light drifting from the kitchen. “Light a candle?” he asks. “There are some on the mantelpiece.” Taj kisses him again, quick and full of promise, then parts with a squeeze of the hands. He almost trips over a box on his way to the mantel, not minding a bit when he hears Alder chuckle behind him. There are candles, the kind in jars. The one he unscrews smells like sandalwood. “Did you buy these at that shop down on Maple?” he asks, opening another that smells like ylang-ylang. The thought gives him hope. Alder used to love hanging out in that store way back when. “I did.” There’s a pause. “Do you really think that fireplace is going to be working by winter?” “The realtor said if we got a good chimney sweep, yeah.” Taj hunts for matches, his movements calm; inside, though, he’s jumping up and down at hearing Alder talk about things like the future and old interests being renewed. He pushes the envelope a little further. “You and me, we could lie in here and watch a Yule log burn down. I’d like that.” “So would I.” Alder’s voice is almost too low to be heard, but Taj catches each word. Unable to keep the smile off his face, he rummages around until he finds a box of
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matches and strikes a light. Touching the flame to both wicks, he inhales the smell of herbs and feels their warmth on his face. When he turns around, he’s struck dumb -- as always -- by Alder’s physical beauty. Alder is as he’s always been, lean and rangy, hard-chested and slim-hipped, his legs long and his bare feet sturdy. His face, though, is what takes Taj’s breath away. Alder isn’t just smiling, he’s grinning, if shyly, and as Taj stares he turns around in a slow circle. “So. Do you like what you see?” In answer, Taj crosses to Alder and puts his hands on the man’s waist. “I do,” he says, kissing him lightly on the lips. He can’t express why he loves this so much, that’d be going too far. He’ll just enjoy it. This is a sign of good things. A step on that journey, he thinks, and starts tugging at the hem of Alder’s ribbed tank. “Let’s get this off,” he directs, pulling up. “Can we?” The grin broadens a little. “Let me.” Alder raises his arms and twists out of the shirt, tossing it to the floor. He helps Taj with his own looser shirt, making a small pile out of the clothing. Taj comes in closer so that they’re chest to chest, nipples brushing against nipples. Taj can’t help himself. He has to have a taste. Bending at the knee, bracing one leg behind himself for balance, he lowers his mouth to that sweet cherry nipple and sucks it into his mouth. There, that gets him a definite moan, Alder arching backward. Taj holds Alder steady as he laves, nibbles, and licks over the tightly puckered nub, stopping only to blow streams of cool air over the tip and switch to the other side. Alder’s hands begin to move. At first on their own, like falling leaves, gently landing on Taj’s back, but then with more purpose, grasping at skin and leaving faint nail scratches in his wake. “Taj,” he manages. “Taj.” “Shh, babe.” Taj comes up for another kiss, licking across the width of Alder’s lower lip, sucking it into his mouth and biting the top lip. “Help me get these jeans off.” Alder stands still for this, although he seems reluctant to let go of Taj long enough for Taj to work the task at hand. Alder’s jeans are button-fly, their holes frayed at the edges, and snapping them open is the work of seconds. Alder’s still not hard, but
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there are signs of interest. Taj hastily undoes his own zipper, wriggles out of his jeans, and then goes to his knees, taking Alder’s jeans down with him. He taps the arch of one bare foot. “Step out.” Alder blinks down at him, as if surprised, but then obeys. “Now the other.” He hasn’t worn anything underneath, and when the jeans are off he’s wholly naked. Taj kneels at his feet, gazing up and worshipping what he sees. “Fucking gorgeous,” he breathes. Alder makes a face, and his hands move to cover himself. “No,” Taj says firmly, grasping those hands and moving them aside. “I’m not… I can’t…” “Doesn’t mean I don’t love you.” Pinning both of Alder’s hands to his sides, Taj leans forward and carefully pulls Alder’s soft cock into his mouth, sucking hard on the tender flesh. He begins to knead as if he were a cat, pressing Alder’s own fingers into his skin. Taj’s eyes close in bliss. It’s been so long since he’s tasted Alder’s musk. The flavor has remained in his memory, but there’s nothing like the real thing, baby, ain’t nothing like the real thing. He bathes the whole of Alder’s cock with his tongue, probing the slit, and then slips off to dip down and suck first one ball and then the other into his mouth. Alder gives a shuddering sigh. His cock begins to harden. “Oh, yeah,” Taj encourages, nuzzling against the slowly growing erection. “You remember how. So good.” He sucks Alder’s prick back into his mouth, working with a gentle tongue massage as the member expands. For his part, Alder is taking huge, shuddery breaths. His fingers twitch under Taj’s as if he wants to move, to do something. Taj lets him get free, praying that he won’t be pushed off. Instead, he feels those fingers come lightly to rest on the top of his head, then start combing through his curls. “Don’t stop,” Alder whispers. “God. Don’t stop.” No plans on it, Taj thinks, using the tip of his tongue to trace a swirling pattern along the side of Alder’s cock. It’s grown rapidly to full length, as if it, too, is eager for a
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reunion after the long separation. Beginning to pulse with its own beat, it jumps in Taj’s mouth as Alder slowly starts pumping his hips forward and back. Taj makes a noise of appreciation and sucks harder. He can smell the tangy sweat of a man who’s been out in the sun, salty and musky. Raw. Once upon a time, Alder would have wanted a shower before doing this, but Taj gets the feeling that once he’d decided what he wanted to do, there wasn’t room for anything else in Alder’s mind but sex and now. The first drop of piquant fluid lands on Taj’s questing tongue, which forms a cradle underneath Alder’s cockhead -- all the better to lick and catch. Alder’s hands curl into fists in Taj’s hair, tight enough to hurt, but Taj wouldn’t have stopped him for the world. Pushing gently down the length of Alder’s thighs, Taj urges him toward the inevitable. Come on. Come on, baby. Feel good again. Feel so good, just for a minute. Alder lets out a sharp cry and stiffens, Taj’s only warnings. He catches hold just in time to clamp his lips down and take in the load of hot, sticky seed that pulses over his tongue. Some he swallows right away, and some he saves to roll around and around Alder’s cockhead, savoring the taste as if it’s a rare brandy. When Alder begins to go soft again, Taj gives him a final long, lingering lick and pulls off. He laps at the corners of his mouth, making sure no drop has gotten away from him, and looks back up at Alder, who stares at him with wide eyes. “You,” Alder manages after opening and closing his mouth twice. “You… for me…” “Always for you.” Taj surges up, enveloping Alder in his arms. The noise he makes as his own engorged cock comes in contact with Alder’s stomach is involuntary. This isn’t about him -- it’s about Alder. He won’t push any harder. Five minutes in the bathroom will take care of his own needs. He’s already taken more pleasure than he’d dreamed possible. Alder breathes out, a whispering sound, and pulls Taj closer with one arm. The other he moves down and rests on Taj’s hip. Then, surprising Taj, he pushes his hand between then and loosely circles Taj’s cock. “You,” he murmurs. “Your turn now.”
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Taj shakes his head. “Nothing you’re not ready for.” “Taj.” The tone in Alder’s voice brings Taj’s head upright to look his man in the eyes. Eyes that are bright with lust and hard with determination. “Your turn,” he insists. Rubbing both hands down the smooth skin of Alder’s back, Taj tries to clear his head. “You want this?” he manages. Alder nods. Taj swallows, choking back his worries and doubts. “Then lie back on the bed,” he directs quietly. “Get comfortable. However you want this.” Alder examines Taj’s face closely, then nods without saying anything. He turns and crawls onto the bed, sprawling on his stomach with his ass slightly raised. Taj’s heart skips a beat. He’s seen Alder naked more times than he can count, but the way Alder looks bathed in the candlelight is enough to knock him down. “Lube,” he hears his own voice asking. “Fuck, where did I pack the lube?” “It’s in the drawer.” Alder extends one hand to point. “I already put it away. That special six-pack you ordered online. All flavors. All colors.” His voice shakes a little with self-deprecating humor. “Self-warming.” I’ll warm you up. Taj reaches into the drawer and grabs one of the small single-use bottles, noting in passing that it’s both cinnamon scented and self-warming. He doesn’t care about those things, though. All he wants it for is to ease his way. Alder’s ass muscles twitch, and Taj’s cock jerks against his belly. He can feel a sticky spot there where his cock has rested, tremendously eager, since Alder initiated their lovemaking. But slow. He’ll take it slow. Taj eases his own way onto the bed, careful not to spook Alder. With each move slow and deliberate, he grabs one of the fat pillows and nudges Alder’s side. “Raise up,” he directs, then slides the cushion beneath Alder’s hips. Supported, Alder’s legs fall apart, the cleft of his ass cheeks opening a little. Taj can’t resist running his finger down the length of that crack, dipping in just a little where he knows he’ll find the tight hole.
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Alder moans. His hands, now braced in front of him, tighten into fists. Taj takes everything easy. Opening the little bottle of lube, he drizzles it down the length of Alder’s cleft and then begins to work it in. Alder is tight as a virgin after months of celibacy. He hisses in pain once, sending Taj back off, but then he urges Taj on with soft, wordless cries. Bending, Taj licks a path down the side of one ass cheek while his fingers probe inside Alder, stretching him open carefully and gently. It takes a long time, but he knows he would have gone all night if he’d needed to before Alder was ready for him. There’s no need for condoms; Taj’s been faithful and Alder’s been… well, he hasn’t been out of Taj’s sight. Taj licks up one taste of the cinnamon oil, the flavor making his tongue tingle, and then takes his position between Alder’s spread legs. The comforter bunches around them, soft as feathers. It looks pristine and virginal, as if this is a wedding bed. Something new starting between them tonight, like a second chance at a first time. A fresh beginning. “You ready?” Taj asks quietly. Alder nods. Carefully, Taj places the head of his cock against Alder’s stretched entrance and begins a slow slide in. Alder lets out a groan when the head pops past his ring of muscle, then begins a series of low grunts as Taj moves deeper inside. Taj can’t help but grin. Alder has always been noisy. This wouldn’t have woken the neighbors, but God, it’s good to hear him again. When Taj’s finally resting with the wiry curls of his pubic hair pressed against Alder’s ass, both have to take a moment to breathe. Taj feels as if he were being squeezed in a vise. Alder so hot and tight around him that he’s almost dizzy. Blood pounds in his cock, and his hips twitch, wanting to move. All the same, he waits for Alder to relax. He strokes the man’s hips patiently, knowing Alder will give him the signal when he’s ready. Taj doesn’t know how much more he can take, though. Alder’s a furnace and he’s about to set Taj on fire.
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Finally, finally Alder gives a short nod of his head. His hands bunch into the covers and he tucks his chin down. “Do it.” Taj knows that there’s more to Alder’s terse order than the words themselves convey. He says it for the both of them: “Love you.” Then, he begins to move. Keeping it slow, he drags out a little, then pushes back in. Short, choppy motions. There had been times when he’d been able to nail Alder to the mattress, but he knows that right now it would be too much. All the same, the heat and pressure are getting to him. Taj feels and sees a drop of sweat slip from his forehead to hit the small of Alder’s back. He pauses to lean down and lick a stripe up Alder’s spine, drawing a low wail out of him. “Ready for me?” he whispers hoarsely, pulling out one last time, hovering on the precipice. “You ready?” “God. Yes.” Alder rasps, lifting his ass to impale himself. Taj lets out a long breath and drives himself in hard, one good rough stroke to finish it off, and comes in long, heated streams deep inside Alder’s ass. He can’t stop himself from jerking back and forth as he erupts, pumping each shot further within. After the last pulse, Taj’s strength almost gives out. He all but slumps over Alder, but at the last second manages to keep himself upright. Still buried inside Alder’s ass, he strokes down the length of Alder’s back, soothing and petting him, muttering nonsense words of comfort and praise. Alder’s head is buried in his crossed arms, but Taj hears equally unintelligible sounds coming from him. Taj slips out, sticky and wet. “Lie there,” he orders quietly, then scoots off the bed and out into the hallway. He finds two washcloths on the bathroom shelf and wets them with warm water at the small sink, wrings them out, and makes his way back. Candlelight flickers over the picture of a lover debauched. Taj holds his breath at the sight of Alder splayed out, naked and just fucked. He still has his face hidden, but with his short blond hair and strong back, he could be an angel newly fallen from grace. Crooning to Alder, still no words, just sounds, Taj climbs onto the bed. He uses one washcloth to clean the come and leftover lubricant from Alder’s ass, then strokes
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his own cock with the other cloth. He tosses both pieces of fabric onto the floor, then crawls up beside Alder and lies on his side. One hand on Alder’s back, ring on his finger glinting in the light, he begins to massage, slow and easy. Alder lets out a shuddering sigh and relaxes, turning on his side. He pushes the pillow out of the way, then coils up against Taj, butting his head against Taj’s chest. Taj wraps an arm around him and pulls him closer, the warmth of afterglow sapping his strength. His eyes droop, but he waits until Alder’s choppy breathing evens out and falls into a slow, regular rhythm. Holding Alder close, Taj lets his eyes shut and allows himself to fall asleep.
*** When Taj wakes up, he knows that that Alder’s half of the bed lies cold and empty. The comforter is rucked up as if Alder had been restless before pulling free of Taj’s arms and climbing out. Taj lies very still, listening as hard as he can. There are no sounds in the house that he can hear. No one walking in the kitchen, no creaks of the daybed from the study. The two candles have burned into charred wicks floating in pools of wax, letting him know how long it’s been since he’s fallen asleep. A glance at the clock tells him that it isn’t time to get up for another few hours, but that the night is well on its way to past. Did I push him too far? Taj wonders. Too much, too fast? He said he was ready… did he know what he was able to do? What if he’s run off? Where do I even begin to look? Although he’s half-afraid of what he’s going to find, Taj pushes himself out of bed. He rescues his jeans from the floor, noting that Alder’s pair is gone as well although both of their shirts still lie there. None of the boxes with their clothing have been disarranged. A glance out the window shows that Alder’s truck is still there, parked where it had been that afternoon. Alder hasn’t gone anywhere, then, unless he’s on foot. Then where…?
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As Taj zips up his jeans, he takes a deep breath and catches an unmistakable whiff. Cigarette smoke. His shoulders relax in shuddery relief. He knows where Alder is, now. The floors of the house creak when he walks over them, something Taj hasn’t noticed before. He guesses it goes with the age of the place, forever settling into its foundation. Navigating his way through the maze of boxes, he heads for the front door and carefully, slowly pulls it open. Alder sits much as he had earlier, slumped back in a plastic chair while a cigarette dangles in his fingers. He lifts it to his mouth with a shaky hand as Taj watches. “Couldn’t sleep?” Taj asks quietly. Alder exhales a long plume of smoke, then shakes his head. “I tried. Then I dreamed of flying, and…” “Babe, you’re breaking my heart.” Taj doesn’t mean to say it, but he does, and he can’t take it back. “I’m sorry,” he can say, immediately, and does. He goes down on one knee next to Alder, taking the cigarette out of his hand and stubbing it into the ashtray. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything --” Alder shakes his head. “I know, Taj. It’s okay.” Taj nods. “Look… Alder. I need to know… did I push you too far? Not just with the sex tonight, although I’m asking about that too. The house, the move, everything. You’ve said yes to it all, but I really need to know. Are you okay with the changes?” “Yes,” Alder says after a long minute. “The sex… I wanted it. I needed it. Need you. You’re all I have to hold on to.” “Even though it’s my fault you’re stuck like this?” Taj asks, bitter despite his best intentions. “It’s not your fault. I agreed, when you asked. The blame’s mine.” Taj squeezes Alder’s hand. It shines pale in the moonlight, the faint tan turned luminous. He half-laughs. “We’re a pair, aren’t we?” Alder laughs too, a broken noise. “That we are, soldier. Taj --” His voice cracks.
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“Hey. Hey, it’s okay.” Taj stands, pulling Alder up with him. Alder goes along, falling against Taj’s chest and burying his head in the crook of Taj’s shoulder. Taj strokes the man for comfort, giving all he can give. “I’ve got you. If I could change things, give you back your wings, you know I would.” He turns away. His stomach twists, thinking of a possible solution. It’s come to his mind before, but he’s never had the guts to say a word. Now, though, he can’t keep the notion locked up inside any longer. It’ll hurt like cutting out his own heart, but if this is the key to Alder’s freedom, it has to be used. “Alder… if I said you could go… don’t panic, don’t… if I let you go, released you out loud, in honest words, do you think you could fly again once you were free of me?” Alder’s gone stiff. “No. I don’t know. I don’t want to find out.” “But --” “No!” Alder’s chin juts out. He softens after a moment, only a bit, shaking with tension. “I lived alone as an owl for three hundred years, Taj. Can you wrap your head around three centuries? No? I can. And I lived them alone. I grieve for flight, but… Taj, don’t you understand? I never knew this kind of love as an owl. I won’t trade it. For anything. Ever.” Alder’s shoulders hitch. “Please don’t let go. Don’t ever let go.” Taj catches Alder to him and squeezes him tight. He rubs Alder’s back, and his ring glitters with the light of a falling star. The relief drowning his dry, hot nerves is a blissful balm. “As long as you want me, I’m yours,” he whispers. “No matter how long it takes. I’m yours for keeps.” Together, they stand on the cold concrete floor, holding one another until the light of dawn touches the horizon. A new day. A new start.
*** Taj sees the change first -- feels it, actually. A new softness to Alder’s bare skin, the differences slipping in unnoticed until he runs his hand down Alder’s arm to enjoy the texture and realizes he’s touching not hair, but soft, light bird’s down.
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He almost doesn’t breathe as he draws Alder’s attention to the alteration. “Look,” he whispers, guiding Alder’s touch. Alder says nothing. Taj doesn’t think he’s capable of speech right now. He’s riveted to the bird’s down growing from him, soft as a newly hatched chick’s, white as snow. When Alder leans forward, lips parted in a quiet cry of relief that doesn’t break, but mends Taj’s heart, Taj sees the smallest of feathers in Alder’s hair. Hair that’s longer than it was after they made love, an inch of new growth, soft and porcelain. The feathers, three of them, trail along Alder’s neck, delicate, thin. Taj doesn’t say anything to Alder, but tweaks the feathers. “God!” Alder covers his face with his hands. Taj lets him. He holds Alder while his lover rides out the rush, not sure if Alder’s laughing or crying in his arms. Either one helps. Alder’s healing. “You see?” he murmurs at last, when Alder’s calmer, only faint tremors shivering through him to betray his shock. “I knew you could do it.” He kisses Alder’s temple. “But even if you hadn’t, we’d have flown together in the next life.” Alder laughs shakily. “I’ll hold you to that promise, Taj, no matter what, but if I fly again in this world…” he says, running his palm reverently over the faint pale down on his forearms. “If…” “It’ll happen.” Taj kisses Alder’s forehead. He smells different now, rich with the scents of sex, but his fragrance carries a wild spice, something feral. He’d learned to identify that smell as owl before Alder lost his wings. Now, it’s back. He pulls Alder tighter, then relaxes his grip, copying the rhythm of beating wings. “I promise you. It’ll happen.” Taj has faith. Alder will fly again. But when he’s tired at the end of each flight, his new wings will carry him to the home they’ve made together. Always.
Chapter Six “Little pigs, little pigs, let me in, or I will kick your lily white asses down the street into your neighbor’s prize chrysanthemums.” Standing over the kitchen stove together, each making fun of the other’s breakfast choices, Taj and Alder glance at each other at the same time, Taj cracking up and Alder smiling. “Sounds like Ray-Don,” Alder observes dryly. “You think?” Taj retorts, skidding out to the front room to open the door before Ray-Don bangs it down. “About time, soldier!” Ray-Don greets Taj gifts first, shoving a bottle of tequila into one of Taj’s hands and a fifth of vodka into the other, Ray-Don’s apparent idea of a housewarming present. Then, when Taj’s hands are occupied, Ray-Don steals the chance to grasp him by the upper arms and plant a kiss on both cheeks. “Ray-Don, cut it out,” Taj gripes, but with a grin. “Come inside. We finally got all the boxes unpacked and put away. You can actually see floor space now.” “I’m looking at it. Hardwood, very nice. Smells like oranges. Should I take off my shoes?” Ray-Don toes out of his sneakers before Taj can answer. “It’s good to see you, Ray-Don,” Taj says instead, sincerely. “It’s a couple of days early for poker night, but since you’re here do you want the grand tour?” “I think I can see most of it from here,” Ray-Don says comically, craning his neck around. “Mind if I stay for breakfast? Whatever’s cooking smells better than anything my momma ever used to make.” “A salsa omelet for me. I can make another.” “With bacon in it?” Ray-Don wheedles.
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“Sorry, you’re out of luck. Alder won’t let me keep any in the house. I can offer you some coffee he made. Mine’s absolute shit, or so he’s let me know. Café a la Alder.” “Alder, huh,” Ray-Don grunts. He rocks thoughtfully on his heels, painfully clear that he’s sorting through ways to ask without being an ass. “So… tell me the news, soldier. How have you two lovebirds been?” “Follow me and see for yourself.” Taj jerks his head toward the kitchen and begins lugging Ray-Don’s presents in there. “Alder? We have company.” Alder looks up from his glass of orange juice and the morning crossword puzzle as Taj walks in, Ray-Don at his heels. “Ray-Don,” he says, as if he hasn’t seen the man in years and his arrival is a curious surprise. “You came.” “Last night? Bet your bottom dollar I did.” Ray-Don swats Taj’s ass cheek. “Hey,” Alder says with the ghost of a smile. “Hands off. He’s mine.” Ray-Don pauses, surprised. Alder hasn’t addressed anyone except Taj directly in months. He regards Alder for a long moment, his head tilted. “Yes, he is,” he replies after a moment. “You’re looking better, soldier’s boy.” Alder gives a shy smile and lifts his juice to take a sip. “So it seems,” he says, lowering the glass and licking his lips. “I think I’m going to like it here.” Taj crosses to Alder and kisses him, tasting orange juice. Raising up, he tousles the short edges of Alder’s still-buzz-cut man’s hair, glosses his fingertips over the three promising owl feathers that are here to stay, and then takes up a protective position behind him. “I think so too.” I’m going to make sure of it. This is home sweet home, Alder my man, for however long we choose to bide here; home is what we make for ourselves with love. Welcome home to me. To us.
Willa Okati Willa Okati is made of many things: imagination, passion for manlove, creativity and sheer bloody-minded determination to keep writing, getting out all the stories in her head. The only problem with that clever plan is that as she writes, more story ideas pop up… She’s getting into ménage these days, and finding that it’s really peachy to write female leads -- but these leading ladies have always gotta have their two men (who are into each other as well as her). That makes for extra-special spicy good times! Willa, by the way, looks nothing like her picture -- but she wishes she did! You can reach her at
[email protected], visit her at her website (www.willaokati.com) or join her Yahoo! Group for updates at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/willa_okati/ May the force be with ya’ll!
