"It was. Are you Hindu? Was it a mistake to give you beef?"
Bailey looked so worried that Quint just wanted to kiss him. “I've just never had beef before,” Quint said.
Bailey nodded, and didn't ask what Quint usually ate, just like Quint never asked the stall holders he bought meat-on-a-stick from.
"Shall we go?” Bailey asked. “We can take the beer with us."
Quint pressed the cold glass against his face for a moment, luxuriating in the feeling, and nodded.
Bailey gave a handful of coins to the woman, so many that Quint couldn't watch her count the money out. He'd seen that much money before, after a busy night at the pub when Frood counted up the take, but it hurt to think how much the meal must have cost.
Bailey draped an arm around Quint's shoulders. “Come on,” he said.
They walked back through the tangle of streets around the Bellevue Heights security fencing, the flare fading slowly from Quint's body, so he had to concentrate on where he was walking in the dark.
Bailey turned down what had once been a wide street, but that was now a jumble of salvaged construction equipment, solar panels and street vendors. The houses bristled with solar panels and water distillation piping, what had been their gardens were filled with lean-tos and shacks. “Where are we going?” Quint asked.
"My place.” Bailey pointed at a tall house draped in solar panels that glistened in the lights shining out from neighboring houses.
Quint said, “You can't live here; you're a corporate slave. You live in one of those residential enclaves, where you have to work every moment of the day to pay for your water."
Bailey laughed, stepping around the rudimentary kart made of crumbling piping a child had left on the paving.
"If I did, then I couldn't bring pretty boys like you back to my house, could I?"
Quint shook his head, not quite sure what he could say, but he could feel he was smiling to himself.
The front door had a security keypad and a retinal scanner, and Quint turned his back as Bailey unlocked the door, giving him some privacy. Bailey was showing a huge amount of trust in Quint by bringing him to his house, more than Quint had ever expected, and he didn't want Bailey to decide it was a mistake.
Quint had never had a corporate lover before, he'd always run with blokes like himself, grabbing a bit of fucking when he could, in the margins of his life. Bailey ... Quint shook his head mentally, and followed Bailey up a flight of wooden stairs.
Bailey's home was all the rooms at the top of the house, with walls knocked out, and everything was white and clean. Bailey went around the rooms, opening windows, and then took two bottles of beer out of a fridge that stood in one corner of the big room beside a sink and table.
"Here,” Bailey said, handing a beer to Quint. “Want to sit on the roof?"
"You have a roof?” Quint asked, then he realized how stupid that sounded.
Bailey didn't comment, just nodded and took Quint's hand.
The stairs went up, through the ceiling, and when Bailey unlocked a solid door, it opened onto a sloping roof.
"Like it?” Bailey asked, squatting down on the tiles close to the door, patting the roof beside him for Quint to sit down, too.
Quint squatted beside Bailey without taking his gaze off the city spread out before him, the harbor a darker patch in the distance.
"It's...” Quint shrugged. “What the fuck do you do for a corporation, for them to pay you enough to live like this?” Quint waved his hand at the solar panels draped across the roof and down the walls, and at the water distillation unit behind them.
"I'm a tech,” Bailey said. “A surgical tech."
"You said you weren't a doctor."
"I'm not. I just do surgery, nothing else. It's a skilled job, that's all."
Quint grabbed Bailey's arm. “I don't know your world,” he said, and he must have sounded desperate because Bailey curled his hand over Quint's reassuringly. “I've never known anyone who had a house like yours, or a job. Why bring me here? What do you want?"
"Do you need to ask?” Bailey said, and then he kissed Quint hard, pushing him back across the sloping tiles, his body solid over Quint's.
He lifted his mouth wetly from Quint's. “You're so fucking hot,” Bailey whispered. “I want you to fuck me, hard as you can. Then do it again, and again. Does it have to be anything other than that?"
"But ... dinner?” Quint managed, struggling to find words when Bailey's cock was grinding against Quint's thigh through layers of clothing.
"I was hungry, after working all day,” Bailey said. “Thought you might be hungry, too."
"Oh,” Quint said. “Are we going to fuck up here? Isn't the slope a bit risky?"
"Perhaps not,” Bailey said. “It would be so hard to explain an accident."
Quint laughed, and wound his arms around Bailey's neck. “Then you'd better show me your bed."
Bailey's bed was smooth and soft, draped in mosquito netting, and Quint tossed his clothes on the floor and flopped down onto the bed. Bailey switched off the lights in the larger room, so that the room was blue-shadowed in the glow from the solar light Bailey had moved from the open window to beside the bed.
Bailey dropped his clothes onto the floor and crawled onto the bed, closing the netting around them. “Mmm,” he murmured, running his hands across Quint's thighs, and then he licked up the side of Quint's cock, tracing his tongue around the beads.
If Quint hadn't already been hard, that would have done it. As it was, his cock was aching, his balls burned, and the feel of Bailey's mouth sliding down Quint's cock was better than flare, better than spike.
It was even better than the beef curry they'd had for dinner.
"Gonna come,” Quint managed to groan, his fingers rubbing the stubble on Bailey's head, his hips jerking, cock sliding deep into Bailey's mouth. “Stop, or I'm gonna come..."
Bailey didn't stop. He tugged the bars through Quint's sack, finding the back piercing, behind Quint's balls, the one Quint always touched when he jerked himself off, and sucked all the way down Quint's cock.
Quint groaned and twisted, the burning spreading deep inside him, then he was coming, yelling and thrashing, while Bailey sucked the insides out of him, through the tip of his cock.
Bailey clambered up the bed, wiping his mouth on his forearm as he knelt over Quint. “Want it?” he asked, pressing his cock against Quint's mouth, nudging his lip spreader.
"Yeah,” Quint said, sliding one hand between Bailey's thighs, groping for his arse.
Bailey's cock slid easily into Quint's mouth, and Quint took some time teasing, rubbing his tongue stud against the underside of Bailey's cock.
Bailey's arse was slick and good to touch, Quint's fingers sliding in smoothly, making Bailey grunt and his cock throb.
Quint's cock, which was always ready to party, made its presence felt, twitching and stirring. Quint had never been one to argue with his cock, it usually wanted only good things, like to be back inside Bailey's wetarse.
It took some willpower to guide Bailey's cock out of his mouth, but Quint found the strength.
Bailey groaned, sounding disappointed, so Quint swiveled his fingers a little, just to make up for it. “Wanna fuck?"
Bailey slung one leg over Quint's chest, so he straddled him, and then worked his way backward. In the blue, his eyes were huge, and Quint could understand why, as Quint was having trouble breathing himself.
He wasn't used to that, to wanting someone so badly, and having them want him, too, and it made his head spin and his body burn. He'd done some bad shit in his time, used some of the old drugs from before the corporations stepped in and cleaned up the manufacture and distribution, and this felt something like that had.
The tip of his cock brushed against Bailey's arse cheek, and Bailey's hand curled around it, guiding it.
Bailey didn't take it slow, he just grunted and shoved backward, jamming Quint deep inside, his fingers clutching Quint's shoulders, dig
ging into skin.
Music came in through the open window, a band playing nearby, and Quint could hear voices, too, people calling for children or selling food. Bailey groaned, hunching himself forward so he could kiss Quint, then began to rock slowly, rolling his body across Quint's hips, so pressure swirled around Quint's cock.
Bailey's face creased and moved, his mouth shaping around words he didn't say, like some code that Quint couldn't read, but there was no mistaking the heat around Quint's cock, or the way liquid leaked out of Bailey's arse, seeping around Quint's balls and trickling between his thighs.
It was hot in a way that Quint couldn't figure, as if the way Bailey's cock was bobbing and swaying and he was moaning wasn't enough of a sign that Bailey was seriously into the feel of Quint's cock in his arse.
Quint was good with that, because Bailey's arse was just about the best place in the free world right then. The only way it could be better was if it was raining right at that moment, though not even the sound of water splashing onto the tiled roof would be enough to make Quint want to stop.
Sweat streaked Bailey's chest, and when Quint wriggled and rolled, turning them over, he put his mouth on Bailey's skin, just to taste the salt.
"Hard,” Bailey gasped, so Quint lowered himself down so Bailey's cock was trapped between their sweat-wet bellies, dug his knees into the soft bed, and fucked Bailey hard.
Their bellies became wetter as Bailey came, but it was too late for Quint to slow down, because he was on fucking fire, deep inside, his whole world narrowed down to the feel of his cock, beads digging in, slipping in and out of Bailey's arse.
Coming left him shaking and gasping, head buried against Bailey's neck, sweat trickling, Bailey's hand gentle as it stroked his back.
He flopped off Bailey, onto the bed, his foot caught in the mosquito netting, and lay there panting. “Fuck,” he gasped.
"Yeah,” Bailey agreed, and his face loomed over Quint. “You alright?"
Quint managed a nod. “Think so. Can you see if anything is broken?"
Bailey's head disappeared briefly, and then he said, “Looks intact to me."
Quint slung an arm around Bailey, drawing him closer and hugging him. “This...” he said flapping his other arm around, “this is..."
Bailey kissed him, stopping his lips from stumbling over any more words. “Me, too,” he said.
They lay in silence, tangled together, and the noise from the street and city drifted through the open windows, along with the first real cool air of the night. “Beer?” Bailey finally asked, prizing his body off Quint's, the suction of the sweat between them making a squelching noise.
"Yeah,” Quint said.
Bailey padded naked through the darkened rooms, then a fridge door squeaked, and he was back with beer.
"It doesn't get any better.” Quint liftied himself up one elbow, taking the bottle of beer Bailey held out for him.
"Not even with a shower?” Bailey asked, sitting down on the bed.
Quint moaned faintly at the thought, and they thudded the bottles of beer together, in a toast, then he drank a long pull of the icy cold beer.
Chapter 4
It took some time, and they didn't get out the shower until the distiller tank ran dry. Quint almost floated down the stairs, in borrowed clothes, his knees wobbly from fucking and beer. Bailey slung his arm around Quint's shoulders on the street, his skin warm where the water was still dripping from Quint's hair.
Quint had known that people lived like that, with water and cold beer and rooms to themselves, but he had never imagined it would be something he'd see himself. He was an illegal, and the only way he could change that would be through military service.
He knew what the army did to people, and it made him glance at Bailey's face, creased in a smile, in the pale light from the train station.
Quint waited until Bailey had dropped a coin into the machine and bought them both tickets. The platform was lit by bulbs strung along the roof, shining on the pros working the station.
"You did military service?” Quint asked Bailey, when Bailey shooed away the boy pro who tried to hustle them.
Bailey nodded and squeezed his arm around Quint's shoulders. “Survived it, yeah."
"What did you do? Where were you?"
Bailey shrugged. “Far North Queensland,” he said. “It was hideous. You think it's hot here; it was worse there."
"You didn't get sent overseas?"
"I scored really highly on the testing, so I was recruited to the medical corps, and learned to cut.” Bailey glanced at Quint. “Why?"
"You wouldn't have a job if you hadn't served,” Quint said. “And I just couldn't imagine you being army."
Bailey's lips brushed over Quint's ear, whispering. “Because I love having your cock in my arse?"
"Yeah,” Quint said, his voice rough, because even though they'd fucked themselves stupid already, his cock was rubbing against the soft folds of his borrowed trousers.
"I found that, if you're good enough at what you do, people decide not to notice who you fuck. It's still prudent not flaunt it, so I don't live in corporate land and I don't fuck at work. What about you?"
"I'm an illegal,” Quint said. “Guess I could just turn up at a recruiting camp and hand myself over, get into the army that way, but I've not got skills, apart from pouring beer and breaking up fights. They'd make me take out my mods, too."
"They'd put new ones in, but I prefer the ones you've got,” Bailey said, as the train rattled into the station.
"I like yours, too.” Quint grabbed hold of the handle welded onto the train door, heaving at it, dragging the door open, then hauling it shut behind them.
The carriage was half full, and reeked of flare and spike, but for a change, Quint was glad all he had inside him was beer, because he didn't want to forget how he felt later.
They got off the train at Central Station, and climbed the flights of broken escalators to the main concourse. Central Station was crowded regardless of the time, and the press of bodies sucked them in, dragging them forward.
Bailey grabbed Quint's hand, tugging him through the crowd toward Eddy Avenue. The concourse narrowed, and Bailey pulled Quint to one side, against a shop window.
"Just a moment,” he said, and he pulled the hood on the tunic Quint had borrowed forward and draped the pollution shield across Quint's face, then hid his own face the same way.
"You don't need to hide my identity,” Quint said, “since I don't have one."
"What I'm hiding is that you don't have one,” Bailey said, his voice sounding amused, though Quint could read nothing through the opaque mesh across his face.
They caught the tram, which Quint had never been able to afford, out of the city centre, and across the Sydney Harbor Bridge. Quint peered out of the tram window, down at the harbor, but could make nothing out in the darkness.
Bailey leaned across, behind Quint, and looked, too. “See those red and green lights?” Bailey said, and Quint nodded. “They're the lights of a sail freighter. It'll be running on a bio-diesel turbo in harbor, but out on the open ocean the freighter runs under huge sails of solar-collectors."
The lights were gone, and the tram rattled off the bridge and into the North Shore suburbs. “First stop,” Bailey said.
The tram slid to a halt, in the middle of a concrete and weed wilderness, where once freeways had run. They walked out of the station and into a pedestrian tunnel in complete darkness. Quint wished for a knife, and considered feeling around under his feet for a rock to arm himself with, until Bailey flicked something in his hand, and a beam of bright blue light sliced down the tunnel.
"Nice,” Quint said.
The tunnel was empty, apart from the usual scurrying rodents, which was a relief. Quint didn't fancy any kind of conflict, not without lots of running away options.
The street at the other end of the tunnel was unlike any Quint had ever seen, and he thought he'd been everywhere in Sydney. A security guard stood at t
he tunnel end, back to the tunnel, bristling with weapons but completely uninterested in anything.
People, corporate types with covered faces and clean clothes, milled around the street, their clothes shimmering in the lights hanging from the buildings towering over the street. Shops with glass windows filled with hardware, lit from within, crowded the street. Restaurants, actual restaurants, with tables covered in cloth, like Quint had heard existed when he was a child, spilled out onto the paving.
He must have made a noise because Bailey took his hand and led him through the people, to a laneway between shops.
Another security guard nodded at them but didn't say anything, and Quint began to feel he'd stumbled into another world. How had Bailey ever learned to navigate here?
The concrete walls of the laneway were interrupted by a plain, solid door, which Bailey knocked on.
A speaker crackled, hidden in the wall, and a voice said, “Faces, please."
Bailey lifted his pollution filter, exposing his face, and he nudged Quint to do the same.
The voice chuckled, but didn't say anything, and the door clunked. Bailey pushed the door, swinging it open, and they stepped into darkness as the door behind them swung shut.
"Relax,” Bailey whispered, just as hands patted Quint through his clothes.
Quint squashed his reflexive need to turn around and thump the person touching him, and the hands felt over his back and legs, then his chest.
"You're good to go in,” the voice from the speaker said. “Mind the gauss."
Gauss? Quint had heard of gaussing before, and it was guaranteed to fry any hardware you were carrying or had been modded with. His mods were strictly decorative and recreational, and he had no hardware, though he'd wondered what else Bailey had tucked away in his impressive body.
They went through another door, into a room packed with people and the noise of glasses and voices, and the hair on Quint's body prickled at the doorway, presumably from the gaussing.
Bailey tugged Quint's hood and mask lower, so they hung down his back. “We're safe here,” he said. “Want a beer?"
Spiked Page 16
