Skyglass: Chapter 10

Fear and Flame

MOSS

I hadn’t been to the house since my parents had died. Knotweed had taken over in my absence, so from a distance it looked like a mound of green. My breath wheezed as I crawled forward, like my lungs had gone dry and cavernous. It had taken me hours to get there; the last two had been half-crawl, half-stagger. On the porch, I tore away handfuls of vines, gripped the door handle, and hauled myself up, shaking harder than ever before.

I knew that when I reached the bed and climbed inside, I wasn’t getting out. The bed was the end. The thought of dying in there like they had, only quieter, was terrifying–but soothing, too. I hadn’t come here to die, and yet here I was, too weak to do anything else. Maybe this was how it was supposed to be. At least it was cyclic.

The house was faded and dusty inside, but otherwise, nothing had changed. Technically, it belonged to the BBP, but like most things in the Gut, they left it alone.

I put my hand on Dad’s chair in the kitchen. I made myself touch the lopsided clay bowl I’d made as a kid, gagging at the crusty mystery food inside. I brushed the goat hide mom had been working on the night before she’d died, brown and cracked now. Spiders skittered past my feet. I followed them to a closed door.

What I did next was probably worse than the memory Phoenix had deleted from my p-com. What I did, I did because I wanted to. I wanted to guilt myself. I wanted to hurt myself, gouge myself so deeply on the pain in this room that I’d have no choice but to cling and be steady, always–even if that always ended tomorrow or the day after, when my body inevitably shut itself down.

I opened my parent’s door. I crossed the room. I lay on my back on the red bed–the rust bed now. Blood-dust sifted slowly up. I felt like I was falling.

Embrace the plunge. Breathe in the dust. The lyrics from some half-forgotten song scraped idly across my mind, a lone leaf on pavement pushed by a weak breeze.

It was probably dawn. But there were thick curtains. And covers, and blankets, I thought as I crawled under the layers of stiff, blood-heavy cloth. I shut my eyes and crammed myself into the smallest ball I could.

Light-blot. Dark in there. So much silence. Time-kill.

***

When I woke up, I decided to lie to myself.

You overslept. You’re late for school again and Mom’s going to come in with a bloody butcher’s knife and threaten to force-feed you raw goat organs if you don’t get up right this moment. You can smell bread drenched in eggs, pop-sizzling as Dad drops them lazily on the cast-iron skillet, and then Mom comes closer with the knife and–

I could hear someone arguing. Not in my fantasy, but just at the room’s threshold. I kept still–trying to hear who it was, what they were saying.

“Nope, nope, nope. It is creepy in there, all that nasty, crusty parent blood. Anyway, I’d be all truthful and abrasive, which is probably the last thing Moss needs right this very sweet moment, sad and pitiful as that may be. He’s like a freshly molted spider–all skinny and soft and defenseless.”

Phoenix. A confusing twist of relief and anger wrung itself in my chest. Of course, Phoenix. Rot her. How had she found me? Why did she have to be here?

“I think Marko should go in.” Devin. Well, at least that mystery was solved–he was the only one who knew where I’d grown up.

“No.” A faint, haggard voice–Marko, of course. “I–I should leave. Yeah. That would be best.” I heard a chair clatter, and dwindling footsteps.

“No, you don’t,” Phoenix hissed. “Coward. Get in there.” Her voice grew loud as the door swung open.

“I can’t,” Marko said weakly, his footsteps stumbling forward.

The door slammed shut and Phoenix said, “If you come out of there without Moss, I swear I’ll kick in that rottingly handsome face of yours–got it, sweetling? Devin and I will be in the kitchen, trying not to eavesdrop.”

More footsteps, leaving this time, and not coming back. Then, silence. I couldn’t even hear Marko breathe. Minutes passed, maybe even half an hour–was he just standing there?–and then the floor creaked. I listened to him pace away from the bed and settle on the floor. Farthest, darkest corner, probably, I thought.

“Moss?” Somehow, he made that single word into the most broken thing I’d ever heard. Still, I didn’t answer–but he went on. “What’s wrong?”

I almost laughed, but held it in. What a question.

“Did I… I didn’t make you do anything, did I? I never thought or imagined that you a-and me, that we would…would… I swear–but if I did…do something, you have to tell me.” A moment of silence. “Or–or not. You don’t have to do anything. I should leave. I should go. I–”

He stopped talking and stood unsteadily, back scraping against the wall.

Rot everything. I’d wanted to make things better for him, and now–this.

“Wait,” I said. I unwound my body, gritting my teeth against the unraveling stiffness. I shook off the covers. Mark was standing at the door, eyes on the floor, fidgeting, one hand tangled in his hair.

“Sit,” I said, motioning to the bed. He did so gingerly, like he was afraid the rising dust might be a smoke signal for ghosts. Once he’d settled, he offered me a flask. “Water,” he said.

I hesitated, then took the bottle and drank half of it in one go. It tasted slightly sweet; one of them had probably spiked it with some kind of nutrient elixir, but hydration felt too good right then for me to care. After a few more sips, I forced my voice out. “You didn’t…try anything, Marko.”

“Oh. Okay.” Such relief. “Then…what happened?”

I shook my head. “You still don’t get it, do you?”

He turned his head and stared at me. His angular face was hard to read in the low light, but he still managed to look tragically bleak. I could barely stand it–so in a probably nonsensical move, I told him the truth, brutal and short. “I don’t love you. I never will. I’m sorry. But I want you to fuck me so badly and so hard it’s–it’s stupid. And impossible. Because I refuse to hurt you anymore.”

Marko ran an anxious hand through his hair, mouth half open in shock. “You…what?” he finally managed.

“Are you really gonna make me say it again?”

“I–no.” He let out a strangled laugh. “Moss, I know you don’t love me. I know you never will. But you’ve gotta understand–all that was kinda something I had to come to terms with because I fell for you. All of you. Including the fact that you’re aromantic. I know that you’ll never love me back.

“So, really, I-I never expected anything like…this. Don’t take that the wrong way. I want to help you in…um…whatever way I can.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair again. “I mean, uh, I admit that fucking you wouldn’t exactly be a hardship and I really can’t keep talking about this without sounding like a really selfish and really horny fifteen-year-old, but…if that’s…if I’m what you need, don’t ever think that’s gonna hurt me.”

I rolled my eyes. “I don’t believe you,” I said. “I don’t know about love, but I’m pretty well acquainted with pain. Don’t lie to me, Marko.”

He sighed. “You’re right. It would hurt–but I wouldn’t regret it. It would hurt more not giving you what you need and–rotting hel. It still sounds selfish, no matter how I say it.”

For the briefest of moments, he slid his hand across the stiff comforter and touched the tips of our fingers together. “Anyway. It’s your decision. We can go out into the kitchen and hang with Devin and Phoenix–or I can leave. Or we can stay just like this. Or–or something else. Your choice.”

I let myself sag back, palms digging into my parent’s bed. My mouth quirked. Didn’t Marko know what had happened in here? Probably. He was sensitive to those kinds of things–anyway, he’d sat in my vomit once. What was a little dried blood?

I studied the gray shadows caught in the rafters above the bed. To fuck, or not to fuck. Marko was going to hurt either way–but there was only one selfish choice, and I hadn’t shoved myself in my parent’s bloody bed to indulge. But…it wasn’t like sex was eating, right? It was different. It was expulsion, not intake. Maybe the release would help me focus? Maybe?

My eyes flicked sideways toward Marko. His hair looked rusty in the gloom, his face older, and weary. But there was a smile turning up the corners of his mouth, because he’d caught me looking, and somehow that was just hot.

“If you could touch me anywhere right now, where would it be?” I whispered. “And with what?”

“Your neck,” he said, voice just as quiet as mine, but lower. “With my mouth, and tongue.”

“Do it,” I told him.

He hesitated. “In here?”

The comforter felt like canvas as I gripped it. I wanted to stay here.

Marko was already backtracking. “Sorry, it’s fine. I was just–”

“No.” Asking him to touch me was already asking too much. Asking him to do it in my parent’s deathbed was just mean. “No, we can go to my old room.”

There was more light in my bedroom. Two of the walls were windows; a green gloom fell through the layers of dust and knotweed. I shut the door behind us, but lingered near the threshold while he looked around. I stared at the floor. Nothing had changed in here; I didn’t need reminding. After I’d first scrambled from their bodies, I had gone back; I had touched them, because I’d needed to know for sure. And once I was sure, once I was blood-slicked, I’d come back here. The clothes I’d wore that day were still in a heap in the corner. The snow-and-birches winterscape was still on the soul-paint of the walls, dim and frozen. A couple dirty plates were stacked on the windowsill beside my dead houseplants. A bundle of drumsticks and a practice pad leaned against. The bed was still small and familiar.

Marko put a hand on the closet door, then turned to me. “Can I?”

I shrugged and didn’t make eye contact. “Sure.”

A moment of stunned quiet, then, “These are beautiful, Moss.”

“I know.”

He was referring to the hand drums inside–handmade and hand-painted for me by my mom, one for each birthday.

“Did you want to see?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“Okay,” he murmured as he drew the door gently shut. Then he faced me, hands stuffed in his pockets. “Um…do you just want to sleep in your bed? I can shake out the dust, if you want.”

“No. I mean…I want to be in bed, but with you.”

He nodded mutely.

“There’s a sleeping bag in the corner,” I said, pulling off the musty blankets and pillows from my bed and leaving them in a pile on the floor, my gaze unfocused. “We can unzip it. It should be big enough.”

I stood near him as he smoothed the sleeping bag out and flipped back a corner. I slid in first, slouching against the window frame. Marko followed and sat so he was facing me.

“Do you still want…?” I managed to get out.

“Of course,” he said.

He leaned in, stable and sure, careful not to touch anything else, and pressed his mouth into the soft niche at the base of my throat. He kissed upward ’til he reached the underside of my jaw, and the flesh there that would give easily had he put a knife there instead of his tongue. Then he crept to the very corner of my jaw, to the border between throat and neck, and bit.

I moaned and pressed myself closer, leaning away from the window, toward him, wanting more, heat and blood a jolting rush to my groin.

“You said nothing about teeth,” I said, voice hitching. I followed him beneath the sleeping bag so we were lying side-by-side, almost chest-to-chest.

“Sorry,” he said. “Aren’t teeth part of my mouth?” Then, “Can I touch your back?”

I shook my head, knowing he wanted to pull us together at the hips, not sure I could handle what that would feel like. Even if I wanted him to do all that. Badly.

“I’ve never had sex before,” I reminded him instead, soft as I could, hoping he wouldn’t hear.

But he did, of course.

“I know. ’S okay,” he said. “We can start with something else. I could–I could suck you off…or…something. I’m not smart, or musically talented, or anything like that, but I am pretty good at making people feel nice. So–whatever you want, just tell me, and I’m pretty sure I can deliver.”

I wound my hands up in his shirt, not sure what to say, but wanting.

A grin lifted his mouth. “Okay,” he said slowly. “Seeing as you can’t talk, how about…one tug on my shirt for yes, two for no. So–do you want me to suck you off?”

This was stupid and the thought of his mouth–on me, around me–sounded far too good to pass up. “Yes. Please,” I said. “Just–yes. Do it. If you want.”

“If I want?” He laughed and guided my hand between his legs–slowly, so I could draw back if I wanted–to the steady heat of his cock. “That should be obvious. But do you?”

“Yes,” I hissed.

“Anything else?”

“N-no,” I managed. “Maybe more…sometime else. Depending on how I feel…after.”

“So, just suck you off?”

“Yeah. That.”

He grinned. “Will do,” he said, and went down on me.

***

Probably hours later, after a stretch of dozing, sleep shifted into green light.

I didn’t feel like I thought I would–not messed up, or scarred, or scared, or guilty. How could I feel guilty when Marko had so obviously enjoyed himself–jerking himself off with me against his tongue, spilling all over his hand moments after I came in his mouth? I felt as close to peaceful as I had in a long time.

Mark was still asleep, his arms too tight around me. I fit well with my back against his chest, and I found I was okay with half-strangled lungs. I was just…okay. Exhausted, starved, emotionally fucked–but better. A little more stable, and not in that vice-clench version of stability I usually fixated on–I just felt like I was floating. Almost balanced. I was glad for what Marko had given me. For the catharsis, for a friend who was willing to do messed-up things for me (to me) and take all my piss and still keep me safe.

“Are you awake?” I asked him.

His arms tightened. I found it hard not to squeak. “I’m sorry,” I managed. “Did I wake you up?”

“Yeah. But don’t worry. You’re fine. Fiiiiine.” He snickered, but it died soon. He went silent for too long.

“What?” I asked.

“Don’t make me say,” he murmured into my hair.

I flattened my hand against the arm he had slung across my waist. His palm was spread across my stomach, which usually would have bothered me, but for now, it was okay.

Marko let out a shaky breath, almost panicked, as I aligned our fingers. “Moss…”

“Tell me about yourself, Marko.”

I felt him tense before he caught himself and relaxed. “Why?”

“Because.”

He laughed, but I could tell he was just trying to ease the mood. “Don’t you already know everything?”

“No,” I said. “You never talk about yourself. And I’ve been too busy being selfish to ask. But I’m asking now.”

“I’m pathetic, Moss. You don’t want to hear about me.”

“I asked. I want to know.”

He sighed. His breath warmed the back of my neck. For a moment, I thought he wasn’t going to reply, then he gave in. “Okay,” he said.

Marko told me about how he’d left his home city on Black Isle, halfway across the world, to study martial bright-battle in Raith. Upon testing positive by the BBP during his citizenship application, he was given a choice: become an elf, or get out of the city. So he stayed, got his ears cut, his eyes and thumbs dyed, all so he could continue his studies–only he got caught up with some elven freedom fighter ten years his senior, who later died (Marko didn’t give specifics). By that time, bright-battle had faded to a pastime. Marko met another guy a little after starting Myriad–an artist who liked to bring guys who weren’t Marko into his studio and fuck them.

“Sometimes,” Mark said to me, “I feel like it’s not even my life, like–like I’m just experiencing bits and pieces of other people’s existences. I’m patchwork, or something–cobbling myself together before whoever I’m with runs off or dies and I have to start all over again.”

“Sorry,” I said.

I felt him shrug. “It’s not anyone’s fault but mine. I choose to be like this; I’m fine with it. I usually screw something up and then the relationship ends in piss. But with you, it’s good. Even if it’s doomed.” He sighed. “I know…it’s not always going to be like this. It’s too much for you, I know. But I’m grateful for what you’ve given me.”

“Stupid,” I said.

“I guess I am,” he said softly. “Can we sleep a little more?”

“Yeah.”

***

The four of us–Devin, Phoenix, Mark, and me–walked slowly to Sable and Yunayuna’s ship. I didn’t like holding them back with my trudging pace, but it was better than exhausting myself and having Phoenix sling me over a shoulder and manhandle me the rest of the way.

Marko fell back as Devin sidled up beside me. “What was it like, visiting your place for the first time since you left?” My singer was a little twitchy–he’d gone a whole night and morning without a single Peep–but the question was still sincere.

“I dunno,” I said truthfully. “It’s not…them, you know? Just an empty house. They didn’t leave me any answers.”

“Their p-coms didn’t have anything tasty for you to nose through?” Phoenix asked.

“Told you already,” I muttered. “They were confiscated.”

“Well. Pooh.” She sniffed and fell back to bug Marko about the flavor of my cum. How she knew I didn’t want to know. I’d been quiet. Hadn’t I?

“Think you might move in?” Devin asked.

I shook my head. “No. It would feel…weird.”

“Yeah,” he agreed.

At the Pixilikker, Sable led us up to the bridge, which–for the first time ever–was clean. I was about to make a snarky comment, but then I saw the feast Sable and Yunayuna had put out, and knew immediately it was meant mostly for me. But before I could tell them No, I’m not hungry, I found a can of fermented goat testes in my parents’ cupboard and mmmm! It was delicious, my gaze snagged back on Phoenix.

She was standing by an astro-coffin. My astro-coffin, but buffed to a black sheen, its light panels gently gleaming a prismful of colors.

“Of course,” I murmured, glowering at my meddling housemate. “Of course.”

Proceed to Chapter 10, page 4–>