Motel. Pool.

by Kim Fielding

  With a slightly strangled sound, Jack pushed at Tag’s shoulders. “Slow down. Please. It’s been so long….”

  Tag rose with a nod. “It’s been six months for me. I can’t imagine six decades.” Their eyes met. “Will you fuck me, Jack?”

  Jack couldn’t even muster the words to say yes—he just nodded vigorously.

  Kissing as they walked, they stumbled their way to the bed, where Jack fell and Tag landed on top of him with an oof. Jack scrambled to remove Tag’s clothes—somewhat clumsily, because he needed him naked now—and he barely stopped short of ripping the fabric right off. With the clothing gone, there was a bonanza of skin to explore with tongue and hands. He liked the small patch of hair in the center of Tag’s chest, like a bit of seaweed clutched in the tentacles of the octopus. He liked Tag’s ribs, the indentation of his navel, the points of his hips and the creases where his legs met his body.

  And Tag had a lovely cock. It was cut, long and slightly slender, with a flared rosy head. Jack buried his nose deeply in the wiry hairs of Tag’s groin, wishing he could smell his partner’s sweet musk. But those regrets were forgotten when Tag rolled over onto all fours, presenting his muscular ass.

  “Holy cow.”

  Tag looked back over his shoulder. “What?”

  “That’s… that’s the nicest sight I’ve seen in a long time.”

  “Better than the Grand Canyon?”

  “Easily.”

  Jack knelt behind him and brushed his fingers over those perfect globes, making Tag shiver. The realization that he could have such a strong effect on a living human being—the heavy breathing and flushed face, the hard cock, the twitching little hole—was almost too much for a ghost who’d had little impact even when he was alive. They had complications, yes. But here and now, Tag wanted him, and that was a glorious thing.

  Jack bent to lick at that delicate pink flesh. When he curled his tongue and eased it inside, Tag groaned and pushed his hips back. “That’s good,” he panted. “So good.”

  It was. Working his tongue slowly in and out, Jack reached between Tag’s legs to stroke his shaft. Tag was already wet with precome, his cock pulsing under Jack’s touch.

  Jack was no virgin; he’d had sex even before he left Omaha, and in LA he’d done a lot of fucking. But most of it had been quick—two guys trying to get off as quickly as possible, each interested in giving his partner pleasure only so far as it benefitted himself. He’d rarely had sex with the same fellow twice. Except Sam, of course. But even that had tended to be cursory. Sam wasn’t tender or slow. When they fucked, Jack always suspected Sam’s thoughts were elsewhere. On other boys, on scenes he planned to direct, on the speech he’d give when he won the goddamn Oscar. And Jack had been no better. He more or less endured the sessions with Sam. His thoughts were generally on the big break he was sure was just around the corner.

  But now Jack’s attention was solely on the man before him. Jack wanted to memorize every inch of him, to inscribe every sound on the walls of his phantom brain. He wanted this brief interlude to be forever, made more permanent than film could ever manage. He wanted his time with Tag to be more firmly placed than a tombstone, each little movement another star on an unending walk of fame.

  Tag jerked forward with a ragged moan. “A-almost…. Good God, Jack.” He rolled onto his back, wrapped his legs around Jack’s torso, and looked up at him with wide eyes. “Lube. Rubbers. In my bag in the bathroom.”

  “Rubbers?”

  “Yeah. I always— Oh. I guess protection isn’t really an issue for us, is it?”

  “Protection?” Sometimes Jack felt three steps behind.

  But Tag just shook his head. “Never mind. But we still need lube.”

  Jack didn’t want to leave him—as if Tag were a mirage that might somehow disappear. But he disengaged himself quickly from Tag’s legs and hurried into the bathroom. The small black bag hung from a hook. After a moment of rummaging through toothbrush, toothpaste, and floss, Jack found the little bottle he was looking for. He rushed back to the bed… but stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Tag lazily stroking himself.

  “Holy cow.” Jack’s knees went weak and he nearly blinked himself away.

  “Come back here.”

  That wasn’t an order Jack needed to hear twice. He ran to the bed and landed hard enough on the mattress to make Tag bounce and laugh. Jack laughed too—it felt wonderful. But their chuckles soon changed to very different sounds as Jack poured the slick liquid onto his fingers and began to work it carefully into Tag.

  Tag bent his legs and grabbed his knees, spreading himself open for better access. He writhed beneath Jack’s touch, even grunting softly and trying to rock his hips upward for better penetration. Jack was thrusting in and out with three fingers when Tag reached down to tug his hair. “Fuck me, Jack. Now. Please.”

  God yes.

  Jack did his very best to move slowly as he sank inside Tag. Not because Tag seemed to feel any discomfort—he urged Jack on with panted entreaties—but because it was almost too much. The heat of Tag, the delicious squeeze as his body enfolded Jack’s cock… those were amazing. But best of all was Tag’s rapid pulse, which Jack could feel pounding inside his own imagined veins as if it were his own.

  “Do I feel right?” Jack asked, afraid he’d gotten some small detail wrong when he made himself solid.

  But Tag grinned crookedly. “You feel like heaven.”

  And what followed was an absolute feast for a man who’d been starving for over half a century. It was a feast with three bountiful dishes: The feeling of life that flowed to Jack from Tag, traveling from his cock up his spine, to his chest and his head. The sounds of Tag gasping and groaning and calling his name. And the sight of Tag beneath him—hair wild, pupils blown, hand working frantically at his cock.

  Tag came first. He covered his mouth with his left hand to muffle his howl, and he arched his back as far as Jack’s weight would permit. Jack wasn’t far behind. His orgasm was like an internal explosion, and he had to fight to keep his physical self intact. His movements slowed and he collapsed atop Tag’s sweaty torso.

  “Holy cow,” said Tag, both humor and amazement in his voice.

  After a moment, Jack crawled up a little, then rolled beside him, their bodies pressed tightly together. He gave in to an aching impulse he’d had almost since they met and ran his fingers through the tangled curls. Tag closed his eyes and practically purred.

  “We should clean up,” Tag said sleepily after a while.

  “I don’t have to. Ghost.”

  “No fair.”

  “Wait until morning, then. I’ll scrub you down in the shower.”

  Tag snorted softly. “Will you, now.” He splayed his limbs as if he had no intention of moving, ever.

  Jack didn’t want to move either, but he reached over to click off the light.

  It was strange how you could say things in the dark you could never quite manage otherwise. “Tag? If I’d had this when I was alive, I think maybe I wouldn’t have cared whether I ever got a starring role.”

  Tag was silent for a long time. “I wish we could have… I wish there was some way….” He barked a laugh. “I haven’t wished anything at all for a really long time. Never does any good. Sometimes when Mom was off her meds, she’d say that wishes were devils and angels whispering in your ears.”

  “You have a ghost whispering in yours,” Jack said—whispering, of course, right into the delicate shell of Tag’s ear.

  “It’s not just…. There’s a lot of reasons why I can’t… connect.”

  “You told me. You’re afraid you’ll mess things up.”

  “I will mess things up.” He sighed. “I’ve been pretty much on my own since I was a little kid. Mom and Dad were so caught up in their own issues, I think half the time they forgot I was there. I made my own meals, did my own laundry, got myself off to school. I kept my shit together so nobody knew what things were like at home. I didn’t want social workers to
come take me away.”

  “Would they have?” Jack groped for Tag’s hand and held it tight.

  “Maybe. Probably. But they didn’t. And I didn’t do such a great job, but I did it myself. And here’s the thing. Jason told me this after I turned down his marriage proposal. I told him he was full of crap. But he was right. He said I’m afraid to lean on anyone else because I think someday they’re going to step away, and then I’ll fall.”

  Jack tugged Tag’s hand to his mouth and kissed the knuckles. He couldn’t promise to hold Tag up—he was only a ghost, a wraith as insubstantial as Tag’s wishes. When Jack was alive, he’d never been good at keeping even himself propped up. And he’d never been responsible for anyone.

  “Not everyone will step away.” It was the best reassurance Jack could give.

  “No. I always push them first.”

  But Tag snuggled into Jack’s arms, his back against Jack’s chest. It wasn’t leaning, not when they lay together in the dark in a motel room with weekly rates and mouse droppings in the kitchenette drawers. But for the moment, neither was falling, and that had to be good enough.

  Seventeen

  JACK HAD rarely slept with anyone when he was alive. In Omaha, he’d fucked fellows in alleys and cars—he’d certainly never taken them home to his parents’ house to spend the night. He had sometimes stayed over at Sam’s place, but never in the same bedroom. As soon as the sex was over, Sam wanted Jack out of his bed. Now, of course, he didn’t truly sleep at all. But he spent the rest of the night and a good part of the morning lying in bed with Tag in his arms. He didn’t know what future the afterlife had in store for him, but he doubted heaven itself could top these warm hours.

  “Hey,” Tag said when he woke up. He smiled sleepily and gave Jack’s cheek a quick kiss. “Morning.”

  “More noonish.”

  “Isn’t this uncomfortable for you? Your arm’s not asleep?”

  “I don’t have circulation, so no.”

  “Hmm. Advantages to spooning with the dead.” Tag draped himself over Jack’s chest and sighed happily. Their pelvises were nestled together, which meant Tag’s morning hard-on dug nicely into the hollow of Jack’s hip. Jack settled his hands on Tag’s ass and squeezed lightly. He could happily remain like this all day.

  But Tag apparently had other plans, because after a few minutes, he squirmed slightly and began to mouth at Jack’s collarbone. He stopped suddenly, though. “Want me to brush my teeth?”

  “Not if it means letting go of you.”

  “But… morning breath.”

  “No sense of smell.”

  Tag blinked at him for a moment. “Oh. I hadn’t realized. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m used to it.”

  “Well. Bonking a ghost has all sorts of advantages—no worries about morning breath or STDs, no arms falling asleep.”

  “I’m glad you find my phantom existence convenient.”

  Tag frowned. “I don’t, you know. I was just joking. If I could wave a magic wand, I’d—”

  “I know. Thanks.” Jack kissed Tag’s curls. “Believe me, I’m beyond grateful for what I have.”

  “Well,” Tag said, his expression turning mischievous, “let me make you extra grateful, then.” And he slithered under the sheets.

  They spent an hour or more playing with each other. They deliberately drew things out, always stopping before either of them came. This was another kind of lovemaking Jack had rarely experienced—sex as a joyous game. Eventually, though, Jack began to feel a little ragged around the edges. He’d never maintained solidity for so long. He bent Tag’s pliant, willing body over the edge of the mattress and fucked him hard and deep. This time they both cried out when they came.

  Once they disentangled themselves, Tag stood, stretched, and gave Jack a thorough kiss. “I’m not gonna be walking straight for a week.”

  “Did I hurt you?”

  “Only in the very best way.” Tag slapped Jack’s butt. “I’m gonna hit the shower. I think I want to get some exercise afterward. Want to come with?”

  Jack was tempted but shook his head. “I think I’ll, um….” He waved vaguely in the direction of the laptop.

  “Update your blog and tweet your followers?” Tag winked, patted Jack’s ass again—more gently this time, but with an added little grope—and walked to the bathroom.

  Jack didn’t quite vanish, although he did allow his edges to fuzz a little. He sat on the edge of the bed, smoked, and listened to the water run.

  Tag smiled at him when he got out of the bathroom but seemed a little surprised Jack was just sitting there. “I thought you were going to surf the Internet.” He rubbed a towel over his hair before tossing the towel behind him onto the bathroom floor. Then he padded across the room to the dresser and began choosing clothes.

  “I have to tell you something,” Jack said to his back.

  Tag looked wary when he turned around. “What?”

  “I… it’s something the dam ghosts told me.” He materialized a cigarette and lighter, but instead of smoking, he flicked the little wheel again and again, watching the flame flicker and die.

  Maybe Tag was in a patient mood, because he didn’t press. He pulled on a pair of underwear and beige shorts, then tugged a blue-and-gray T-shirt over his head. Combing his fingers through his hair, he walked to the bed, then sat beside Jack and waited.

  Jack cleared his throat. “There used to be more ghosts at the dam. I guess a lot of fellows died there, and most of them were young. They had unfinished business, maybe missing their families. But over the years, a lot of them learned to accept their fate. The other ghosts, they told me those fellows seemed really peaceful at the end. And they disappeared for good.”

  “To heaven?”

  “Don’t know,” Jack said with a shrug. “The other ghosts never saw them again.”

  Tag moved a little closer so their thighs touched. “Does that worry you?”

  “Not especially. I mean, I don’t even know why I’m here, so how can I find closure? And if I did, well, I wouldn’t mind that kind of peace.”

  “Then what is it, Jack?”

  “The ghosts warned me too. Did you notice how they were all kind of transparent?”

  “Yeah. Kind of hard to miss.”

  Jack didn’t want to say the rest. He tried to turn away, but Tag tugged him around and embraced him. Jack rested his head on Tag’s shoulder, where the damp curls tickled his face. “They told me that being solid takes… energy. Or something. And a ghost has only so much energy stored up. Eventually, the tank runs empty.”

  Tag breathed in and out a few times. “And you can’t fill ’er up?”

  “If so, the ghosts don’t know how, and I sure as hell don’t. I mean, it helps a lot when you’re nearby—I feel stronger—but I still get… depleted.”

  “So.” Tag rubbed Jack’s back soothingly. “I increase your fuel efficiency but you can’t actually run on me.”

  Jack nodded against him.

  “What happens when your tank is empty, Jack?”

  How could Jack’s throat be dry when he didn’t even have spit? “I disappear,” he whispered.

  “Like—”

  “Not like the others. It’s not peaceful. The ghosts said the ones who stayed solid too long, they went out screaming and clawing. It was like they burned away.”

  “Fuck.”

  They were both silent a long time, although Tag’s breaths hitched raggedly in his chest. He didn’t stop stroking Jack, which was nice, and Jack didn’t remove his head from Tag’s shoulder. He could feel the strong pulse against his cheek.

  Finally Tag sighed. “Maybe you should… conserve.”

  “When you’re not here, I’ll blink out.”

  “But—”

  Jack sat up, grasped Tag’s shoulders, and pushed him slightly away so they could look each other in the eyes. “When you’re here, I want to be too. As long as I can. Tag, I’ve been lonely for… forever. I’ll be damned if I blow the
last chance I’ll ever get to have someone. Not even if I can only have you for a few days, not even if I truly do end up damned.”

  His face solemn, Tag stroked Jack’s cheek. “What if you didn’t have to be solid to stay with me? What if I die—”

  “No! Christ, no, Tag. Don’t. Don’t you fucking dare.”

  “It wouldn’t be….” Tag looked at some point over Jack’s shoulder for a moment, then turned his gaze back. “You wouldn’t have to feel guilty over it. It’s something I’ve thought about long before I met you. Off and on. It’s—”

  “It’s a fucking mistake! Look at me, Tag. Dying didn’t solve any of the problems I had when I was alive, and it raised a whole lot more. As long as you’re alive, you can do things, change things. But that stops the minute your heart stops beating.”

  Tag chuckled humorlessly. “My heart stopped beating a long time ago, babe. I’m not sure it ever worked all that well. And I know what you’re saying. When my dad was feeling low sometimes, Mom would give him pep talks. We might be getting evicted from some shithole worse than this one, but Mom would talk Dad into unloading his gun and moving on. ‘Where there’s life, there’s hope,’ she used to say.”

  “Your mom was right.”

  “My mom was psychotic.”

  Tag stood. He looked around the room for a moment before finding one shoe near the bed and the other in the kitchenette. He’d kicked them off pretty vigorously the night before. He slipped them on, grabbed his wallet and phone, and paused to smile at Jack. “Get some rest. Save some juice for later.”

  But Jack would not let him go so easily. He hurried across the room to grab him before he could walk out the door. “Promise me, Tag. Promise me you won’t try to… join me.”

  “Can’t make any promises. I can’t be trusted anyhow. But I guess I’ll give it a try, Jacky. At least for now, while you’re still with me in the flesh—I’ll keep my gun unloaded for now.”