Last Song (Heinlein's Finches Book 3)

by Robin Banks

  “What the hell did she say?”

  “She pointed out to me, and I quote, that she is inordinately fond of dick. She thought it was perfectly normal for me to want to get some, too, as I’d spent enough time watching her enjoy it, and that if anything was weird about the situation it was that it took me that long to wise up. She also said that if I didn’t like it when it came to it, I didn’t have to go for seconds and she’d be happy to take my share.”

  “She has a way with words.”

  “She sure does. And she is fond of dick.”

  “Yeah. I noticed. I wouldn’t call it ‘inordinate’, though.”

  “Me neither. ‘Delightful’, if anything. But anyway, when she put it like that, and with the way she’s got of looking at me like I’m the biggest doofus she ever met and it’s a wonder I survive and she couldn’t love me more if she tried, it made things easier. But she still had to hold my hand all the way through it.”

  “As I recall, she didn’t. Your hands were otherwise occupied.”

  He blushes again. “Maybe so. You don’t have to be so literal all the time, you know? Damn intellectuals.”

  “Gods, Asher… You took a risk for me.”

  “Nah. We took a risk for all of us, because it was worth it. I just never thought it was worth this much. Just as well, really: if I’d known that, I’d have been so terrified to fuck it up that I’d have fucked it up for sure. The two of you, the three of us… Half the time I’m so happy I could burst. I wouldn’t want things to be any different between us. But that doesn’t mean that I want to keep you from finding happiness in other places.”

  “Not this again.” I try to turn away from him, but he doesn’t let me.

  “Quinn, so you like a guy and maybe he likes you. What’s the problem? If you think I’m gonna be upset because he’s like me, but better…”

  “He’s no such thing!” It comes out as a squeal. I hate it when that happens. I rewind and try saying it again in a more reasonable tone. “He’s not. He’s nothing like you, and nobody’s better than you.”

  “I could kiss the shit out of you right now, but when you’ve stopped being my number one fan, hear me out. Ok?”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “Quinny, stop pouting.” He kisses my bottom lip. That doesn’t make me want to pull it back. “Me, I don’t really have a type, unless ‘happy and kind’ is a type.”

  “It ought to be.”

  “Damn right. It’s hugely underrated. But anyway, the only thing I ever knew for sure was that I liked girls, and then I met you, and that just proves how right I was. Gwen, bless her soul, likes doofuses, which suits me fine. She’s obviously making allowances for you, but that’s none of my business.”

  “I don’t believe that’s quite right.”

  “It might not be. I wouldn’t know: doofus, remember? What I do know for a fact is that, while Gwen and I are either monotheistic or just too busy to mess around, we’re both aware that when you’re out and about you keep your eyes open, and other things too.”

  I feel a blush coming on. It threatens to be a deep enough one to be visible. “That’s never been a problem. Is it?”

  “Not a bit. Neither of us are in the business of depriving you and your friends of your fun. You’ve never brought a problem home, you always come back to us, and you come back happy. That’s all we need to know. But I can be a nosey bastard when the urge takes me, I’ve flown some of your runs, and I couldn’t help noticing which ones you always volunteer for and from which ones you come back particularly happy. I’m not that good at numbers but I can put two and two together, and with my amazing powers of deduction I worked out that all your favorite runs have a lanky dude at the end of them.”

  I could deny that, but that would make me a liar. Asher can read my face too well: he gives me a kiss with a grin.

  “Gorgeous, you have two definite types that I’m aware of: lanky dudes and small, curvy ladies. I don’t know whether the two of us lucked out or we caught you young enough that we imprinted you or something.”

  “That sounds awfully creepy.”

  “Doesn’t it just? It’d keep me awake at night, if living with the lot of you didn’t tire me out so much. Anyway, that’s how it seems to be. And our Luke here, he ticks all your boxes. He’s about as close to what your type is without requiring genetic engineering. Don’t tell me you don’t like him, because I won’t believe it and I’ll be disappointed in you.”

  “I like him well enough. I just don’t wanna go there.”

  He stares right at me. “He’s got those blue eyes.”

  “So what? You’ve got blue eyes.”

  “Love, the only three people in the world who ever believed my eyes were blue are you, Gwen, and my dear old mom. Much as I treasure your delusion, my eyes are grey. They’ve always been and they always will be. His eyes, on the other hand, are so blue he ought to get checked for mutations. And he’s got the matching golden curls, and I don’t.”

  “Your hair goes golden in the summer.”

  “My hair contains no precious metals whatsoever. It’s ginger. If you really want to be a metallurgist about it, it’s copper. You know it.” He pulls my hand down to the hair that stays dark red all year round and holds it there. My brain starts to get hazy and he has the audacity to smirk. “And he’s taller than me.”

  “He’s not. You’re precisely the same height.”

  “Ha. So you checked.”

  “Hard not to. You stand next to each other often enough.”

  “But his shoulders are broader than mine.” He runs his lips across my shoulder until he reaches the point where it meets my neck, then he rakes his teeth over that.

  “That they are.” My voice comes out all croaky.

  “More muscly, too.” His breath against my neck is making my knees go liquid. This is ridiculous. It takes a lot more than this to wind me up. “Particularly since he started working out again. He buffed up really quickly, didn’t he?”

  “I guess. I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it.”

  “Gwen reckoned he was pretty buff to start with, anyway. She saw him half disrobed. Mattie opened our ‘fresher door and barged in, as she would, and there he was with his shirt off.”

  “Huh.” My mouth has suddenly gone dry.

  “Yeah. Gwen reported favorably, from a neutral, purely aesthetic perspective. The guy, not being a doofus, is not her type, but she said she was bummed out that he was only half disrobed. She reckoned that he could do with feeding up, but that if his back is anything to go by then his ass must be spectacular. I’m surprised she didn’t share this with you.”

  “You’re making it up.”

  “Such wild accusations! What am I supposed to be making up? Neither your kid barging in on a guest nor your wife checking him out are unlikely events. They’re both brazen and you know it. Do you think his ass is unlikely to be spectacular, then?”

  “I have not the least idea what his ass may be like, and I don’t care to think about it.”

  He pulls back from my neck to grin wildly. “So very prim and proper of you. What do you think about when you think of him, then? Him playing guitar, maybe? It wouldn’t surprise me in the least. He plays like a god. Good fingering, don’t you think?” He takes his hand off mine and rests it on my dick, matching mine still on his.

  “You know I’m not musical,” I manage to croak.

  “You’re not. But you understand about passion. If the guy fucks like he plays, he’d turn you into a puddle.”

  Whatever remonstration I was about to make evaporates when Asher bends down to rake his teeth on my throat. Somewhere inside me a switch flicks and

  his hand moves on me and

  everything explodes.

  I don’t know how long it takes for me to fully come round. Asher is holding me. He’s watching me closely, torn between pride and concern, and I feel everything he’s feeling just as clearly as I feel his skin against mine and his hand still on me
and

  the switch flicks and

  Gods if this doesn’t stop my brain is gonna blow next.

  When I come round again, he’s moved a little way away from me. It makes no odds; I can still feel him. I feel as if I’ve lost my skin. My entire body is a nerve ending. I manage to shield up, and that cuts out about half of this, this, whatever this is.

  He’s definitely looking concerned now. I smile at him. He smiles back.

  “Hey, gorgeous. Are you alright?”

  “Yeah.” It takes me two goes to say it out loud. I feel alright, though.

  “Am I safe to touch you?”

  I nod. He shuffles next to me and puts an arm under my shoulders.

  “You scared me just then. That’s not how it normally goes. You sure you’re alright?”

  “Yeah.” I flash him a split-second of the memory of how it felt and watch his eyes dilate.

  “Wow. Ok. Now I don’t know whether to apologize or try to work out exactly what happened so we can do it again.”

  “Not for a couple of days, ok? I don’t think I could stand it.”

  “Sure.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “What for?”

  “It was so… Uneven.”

  “Maybe you are a doofus, after all.” He brushes the hair off my face and my breath catches. He freezes and watches me half fearful, half eager. I’m ok, though. Whatever it was, I think I’ve got it under control. I push my cheek against his hand and he relaxes and leaves it there. “Love, the only thing that could feel better than what you’ve just shown me is being at least partly the cause of it. Forgive an old man’s egotism, but it warms the cockles of my heart.”

  “It didn’t warm anything else, though.”

  “Yeah, well, there’s more to life than that, and the day is still young.”

  “Wait.” My neurons are starting to rearrange themselves in their normal configuration. Some of them are even firing up. “What do you mean, partly?”

  “I may have played a hand in this…”

  “Nobody else’s hands were on me, boyo.”

  “True dat. But I barely touched you, and your head was at least partly elsewhere. And now if you try and convince me that you don’t like the guy, I really shall worry. It’s not like you to lie to me, which would mean you’re lying to yourself. That’s a lot harder to get over.”

  “Asher…”

  “What are you scared of?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know and I don’t care.” I try to say it clearly and confidently so it will end the conversation, but I fail on all counts.

  He takes a big breath, slides closer to me, and holds me tighter.

  “Quinny, this is important to me. I’d like you to figure it out. I can’t do that for you, or for us. If you go for it, what’s the worst that can happen?”

  “He doesn’t like me. Or he doesn’t like me like that.”

  “You’ve dealt with rejection before, though. Not often, I wager, with you being such a babe…” I scoff at that, but he carries right on “…but I know you have. And more than that, you know how to approach people gently enough not to scare them off, and maybe even gently enough to make the rejection sting a little less. That can’t be it. I know you, love. You’re many things, but you’re not a coward.”

  “Maybe this time I am.”

  He shakes his head and his curls fall into his eyes. It’s my turn to brush his hair back, and his turn to stroke my hand with his cheek.

  “Nah, love. I’ll believe most anything before I can believe that. In matters of the heart I’ve never seen you steer wrong. I don’t think you can. If you’re scared of something, it’s because it’s scary. So what is it?”

  “What if it fucks everything up?”

  “Oh.” He moves back from me, startled. “So you’re not afraid of him saying no. You’re afraid of him saying yes.” He’s frowning now, a cluster of thin lines creasing his brow. I hate being the one who put them there.

  “Asher, I’ve got it so good. We’ve got it so good. What if I fuck it up?”

  “This is what has been going on with you? You like the guy so much that you think he or it could mess us up?”

  “I don’t know. Most of the time I can’t stand him.”

  “And the rest of it? Oh, Quinny,” he sighs, “I’m so sorry. I wish Gwen was here. She’d call you a silly goose, make you cry buckets, and then kiss you all better. I’m no good at that.”

  “You seem to be doing alright.” I sniffle. “What are you sorry about, anyway? It’s me rocking the boat.”

  “Rocking the boat? Love, the last mystery of my life is resolved. You definitely are a doofus. Need I remind you of your own daughter’s theories on love?”

  “Please, no. They are as accurate as they are charming, but I think I know them well enough.”

  “In theory, perhaps. But you seem to be falling short when it comes to the practice.”

  His frown turns out to be contagious. “That’s harsh. I’m doing my level best to protect the greatest love of my life.”

  “Loves. In the plural. Quinn, do you really think that you’d not have room in your heart for another one? You’re already more than half in love with the guy and I’ve not noticed my share going down.”

  “What if we don’t all get on?”

  “Then you’ll have to love us in shifts. But I seriously doubt we could fail to get on so badly that we’d be unable to stand being under the same roof, or at the very least in the same compound. Our house could stand another room off the side. It might stop it falling over.”

  “We don’t even live on the same planet.”

  “Says one pilot to another. Quinn, are you worried he might ask you to choose?”

  “Don’t even say that.”

  “That’d be a yes, then.” He slides closer to me and props his chin on my shoulder. “Love, nobody who saw you in your home, with your family, would try to take you away from it. Nobody sensible, and definitely nobody who loves you. You might be a dashing young man when you’re out and about, but you’re also a homebody. And you’re your kids’ nonny. Our kids’ nonny. Nothing is ever going to change that.”

  Just thinking about the kids makes me tear up.

  “I miss them so much. It’s bad enough missing Gwen, but those two… You turn around for five seconds and you can hardly recognize them, they grow so fast. Jojo will probably have forgotten me by the time I get back.”

  “But I bet you’re just as sure that he’ll remember me. You’re a soppy old bear, you know that? Nobody’s taking you away from us, Quinn. They can’t. The only person who can is you, and you don’t want to. And nobody can break what we’ve got, because it’s too solid. I’m marginally insulted that you’d think otherwise.”

  “I didn’t…”

  “Oh yes, you did. You thought your Bonnie Prince Goldie could make us fall apart. I call bullshit on that. If I’m wrong and he can, then what we had wasn’t worth much to start with. Now, if we get our asses shot off or imprisoned, then yes, we’ve got a problem. But the oracle foretold that we’ll be going home, so I’m going to be incautiously optimistic. As you should be. You don’t want to spoil the start of a new love affair by being fretful and despondent. You should be too busy chasing the butterflies in your stomach.”

  “I don’t even know if he swings that way.”

  “Were you to ask me, which you didn’t, I’d tell you that I’m not sure that he swings at all, but I’m incautiously optimistic about your ability to navigate that, too.”

  “You seem to think a lot of me.” I am trying to be flippant and maybe a little bit unkind, but it backfires. His face lights up.

  “Yes, I do. About time you got that.” He kisses my shoulder. “Once you’ve realized that I’m right and you’re wrong, for a change, and accepted that I’m temporarily the font of all knowledge, will you do me a favor?”

  “Declaim your superiority in a public square?”

  “After that. Try and enjoy this love affair,
if this is what it is. If it isn’t, try and enjoy a new friendship. The guy has a whole load of issues, but he’s cool, in his own way. I think so, anyway. If you can settle for being his friend, if that’s all there is on the menu, I’m willing to bet you’ll get on. And if that’s not on the card, at least try and enjoy this trip. We’re on the fanciest ship ever. We’re off exploring. You haven’t had a break since forever. I know you miss home, but getting on with this trip is the only way we’re still gonna have a home to go to, so you might as well have a good time. Eat, drink, fuck, and be merry. If you can’t fuck your boy, you’ve got me to fall back on. Literally and figuratively.”

  “You sound just like Gwen. Are you trying to make up for her absence?”

  “I might have picked up a thing or two from her. I’m slow, but I do move. Quinny,” he rolls me over so we’re face-to-face, “you’re not gonna fuck up. You don’t want to and, more importantly, I won’t let you. I’m the pater familia and all that guff, remember? My wife said so.”

  That makes me giggle, and that makes him smile.

  “There you go. That’s better. So go forth and see what’s what. It may be nothing, but it may be something. Don’t waste this chance. Lanky boys that pretty don’t turn up all that often.”

  “And you really don’t mind…”

  “You working towards your happiness? No. You torturing yourself with what ifs instead of giving something a shot, hell yeah. I’m rather fond of you, in case you haven’t noticed. I want you as happy as possible as often as possible. Particularly now.”

  “Because of this trip?”

  He nods. “Yeah. This isn’t precisely the same as taking cabbages to market. I know what the oracle said, but all the same, I’ll feel a lot better when I’ve brought you back home.”

  “Asher?”

  “Quinn?”

  “Are you scared?”

  He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Yes. Not as scared as we were back at the Academy, not quite. Nowhere near as scared as when Gwen and Jojo were struggling. But there’s too much woo-woo in this, and too much uncertainty. I just want to take you home to Gwen and the kids. That’s all I want. I’m not going to rest easy until this is over. But you know the thing about situations that remind you of your own mortality…”