0 comments/ 21501 views/ 0 favorites The Lily-White Boys By: Madame Manga This began life as a Star Trek story, but don't worry about that--all you need to know is that both characters were played by the same actor, which accounts for the exact resemblance! Every time I think about that night, I figure I must have been drunker than I realized. I'd only had two beers, but they were the real thing, not synthehol, even though they tasted like warm weak piss. When he walked in, I didn't even notice what he looked like at first. I was finishing the second beer, and wondering if I should order another one or just start in on the hard stuff. It wasn't a really well stocked bar; all they had was two brands of scotch and four of tequila. That kind of place. I figured I deserved to be drinking in a dump. It wasn't easy to find one this bad in San Francisco, but the cab driver had steered me right. Or wrong, depending on your point of view. A genuine dump. So he was the kind of guy that belonged in a dump, or felt like he did. That established a rapport right away. He chose a stool two away from me, though there was no one else at the bar, and only one table occupied. The bartender had slopped a puddle on the bar when he handed me the first beer, and hadn't wiped it up yet, so the guy got his sleeve in it. I wasn't really watching, but I saw him lift up his arm and give a little sigh, then put it back down out of the puddle as if it wasn't worth the trouble to change his seat. The stool creaked as he rocked it back and forth. "Beer," he said when the bartender finally came out of the back room and stared at him. He didn't specify the brand, which was good, because they only had one kind on tap and the bottled stuff wasn't refrigerated. Beer spoils, you know. Got to keep beer cold. So the bartender drew him a mug of the warm weak piss, and he sat with it for a while before he drank any, watching the head slowly subside until it was just a scum on the sides of the mug, holding it like it was something that belonged to a good friend of his. I finished my beer and got a shot of the worst brand of tequila they had, and told the bartender to leave the bottle. It was half full, and I figured that would be enough. I was pouring my third shot but hadn't downed it yet when he finally lifted the mug. Down the hatch, all at once, the way you do at parties when you're trying to impress your friends. No breaths. I looked up just to see if he would choke before he finished, because if he sprayed that shit all over me I was planning to object. I hadn't lost quite enough self-respect to sit still and let some asshole spit bad beer on my civvies. His head was back, and the beer was glugging down his throat like he was dying of thirst. Long white throat, sort of refined-looking, a little bit of stubble showing this late in the afternoon, blond like mine. That was the first thing I noticed that was like me, besides the fact that we were in this dump when there were ten better places in walking distance. It all went down smooth as glass, quite a feat considering what the stuff tasted like, and he put the mug down with a clunk and looked at me. It was pretty dark in there, with some of the fixtures broken and most of the light right over the bar, so I still didn't notice, not really. Half his face was in shadow. I could tell he was thin, and light-haired, and his hair was in that stupid cut the Academy barbers give you, but he wasn't wearing a cadet's uniform. This kind of place was off limits to cadets anyway. That never stopped me when I was in the Academy, but with a name like mine, you have to do a lot worse to get thrown out. A lot worse. I didn't say anything to him then, because I had nothing to say. I hadn't come here to talk to anyone. I drank my third shot and poured the fourth one. None of it had hit me yet since I had drunk them so fast, but I could feel them waiting, kind of gearing up, like an ax hanging over my head, trembling in the hands of the executioner, waiting for the order to fall. I liked that thought. I'd been tried, and condemned, and no one had the decency to just take me out and shoot me, not in this enlightened age, so I was doing it myself with more old-fashioned means. I had figured on getting as drunk as I could while still being able to stand and hail taxicabs, and then going out to the Golden Gate and walking to midspan. I knew they had put up a force field all along the railings years ago, but no one had even tried in so long that maybe it wasn't maintained very well. There might be gaps I could slip through. I'm good at slipping through gaps. Slicker than owl shit in an okra dish. I like that kind of expression. My favorite grand-uncle, the one who wasn't an admiral, the one who died when I was ten, used that kind of expression, especially when he'd had a few. I liked the pursed-up look my father's face got when he heard down-home talk. I learned as many expressions from my grand-uncle as I could. We didn't see him very often. We didn't go to his funeral. I doubted that my father would go to my funeral. I wasn't sure I wanted him there. I wanted him to sit at home while my mother and sisters got dressed in black and looked at photo albums and maybe cried a little. I wanted him to sit in his study with the transcript of the court-martial, and run it with the sound off because he couldn't bear to listen to the testimony. At least he would be looking at my face. He did show up on the third day when they read the verdict, though he hadn't been there for the trial, and sat and listened to it, and then left. Even the reporters didn't block his way. He never looked at me. Judgment had been passed, and for once by a higher authority than him, and that was all he needed to know. It never mattered how hard you tried; the end result was all that mattered. That's a good credo for a Starfleet admiral, but it might not be a good one for a father. He knew which one was his higher calling. So I was sitting in this dump, and I had two beers and three shots of tequila in me, and there were three voices calling me down to the water, I guess, and the guy two stools down from me ordered another beer. There was something familiar about that voice, but a little strange as well. Like the first time you hear someone you know from 'phone conversations speak in person. I frowned, but the tequila was starting to hit me. I wasn't thinking very straight. I didn't care who he was. I hadn't come here to meet anyone. I was going to have two more shots, or maybe just one because I had lost some weight since the accident and it didn't take as much to get me blind anymore. I used to have it figured pretty well. I knew exactly how much it took to get me to each stage of drunk and keep me there. That was one of the main things I learned in the Academy. He chugged the second beer just like the first. This time he seemed to taste it, and made a face. It reminded me of the face I had made when drinking the stuff. Weird--I had the thought that he was me, just a little delayed, a few minutes behind me every step of the way. But he was wearing different clothes, plain civilian stuff like me, but a different color, and he had a long coat on. I had a better haircut, too. I had the pointed sideburns still, of course, because I had been Starfleet until earlier that afternoon, and I had it a little long on top to let the wave show. I hadn't had a scalp job like his in a long time. Only cadets get haircuts like that. I did begin to wonder why a cadet was in here, and in civvies, and drinking as fast as I was. "That stuff is piss," I said, and passed him my shot. "It goes out the same way it came in. This sticks with you." He looked at me again, and I saw his brows wrinkle up, but he took the shot and tossed it back, just the way I had been doing. "Thanks," he said. He didn't say anything else, just looked at the mirror behind the bar, and I looked at his profile for a minute, and then at the mirror. I was seeing double already. I didn't think I had lost that much weight in the hospital. But one of my reflections had on a long dark coat, and had a bad haircut, and his cheeks were a little fuller. He had my face, though. I'm seeing one and a half instead of double, I remember thinking. I'm seeing my face on this guy. He turned and looked at me again, and I saw his profile in the mirror. Now he didn't look so familiar. I picked up my bottle of tequila again. He was still staring at me. The tequila was about halfway there now, just biting down good and hard, and I studied the label for a while until I got uneasy. What the hell is this asshole's problem, I thought, and he said, "Who the fuck are you?" "I'm famous," I said. "I was on the news at six. I don't have to tell you who I am." "You're Thomas Eugene Paris," he said. "Fuck." "Fuck you," I said. That ended the conversation for a while. Then he held out the glass, and I poured him another shot. One more, and he'd have caught up to me. He could probably hold it a little better, though, having about twenty pounds on me. But he gave me the glass back when he finished, and I poured myself another one. I didn't drink it yet, but looked in the bar mirror. There was my face again, twice. I'd know it anywhere. Kind of triangular, a little bony, pretty well put together when I was smiling, which was most of the time. Blue eyes. "What the fuck are you doing with my face?" I said. "That's mine," he said. We turned our stools and really looked at each other for a minute. "I'm not that drunk," I said, but I guess I was. "Neither am I," he said, and he probably wasn't. Still behind me on shots. "Who the fuck are you?" I said. He didn't answer for a minute. "I'm not famous," he said. "My name is Nick Locarno." "I don't know you," I said. "I don't know you either," he said. "Not in person, I mean. I saw you on the news. I read about the court-martial." "So did everyone on the planet. Everyone in the Federation. You don't know me any better than any of them." "No." We went back to staring in the mirror. I could tell he was starting to feel the tequila. "You've got my face," he said. "I said that," I said. "We're long lost twin brothers. You must be as drunk as I am, since you're having the same hallucination." "I don't think it's a hallucination." "What else could it be?" "An omen. A doppleganger." "A dobble-- dobble--" "Doppleganger. It's a spirit that appears to you when you're about to die. It looks just like you. Usually it shows up when you look in a mirror, looking over your shoulder." "You're sitting next to me. And you don't look just like me. Your haircut is worse, and your clothes are different." He looked down at his clothes. "I just bought them. I don't like civvies." "No shit. So why aren't you wearing your uniform? Don't want the monitors to see you in a place like this? Might get your butt kicked out of the Academy?" He had gone white, but now he was turning red. I always flush easily, especially when I've had a few, and he had my face. "Shut the fuck up," he said. I drank my fourth shot. "You're two behind me," I said. "We ought to match." I handed him the bottle and the glass. "Save it," he said. "I'm leaving." "We won't match anymore," I said. "We ought to stick together." "Why?" He slid off the stool. "I think you're a bad omen." "What the fuck have I ever done to you? I've bought you drinks and insulted you. Sounds like friendship to me." "I'm leaving." He put some credit chips on the bar and turned to walk out. "Shit, I'm coming with you. I'm not letting my face walk around without me." We got out on the street, and I saw it was getting dark, and there was no color left in the sky. The damp was in the air, and it was getting cold. The fog rolls in from the ocean in the late afternoon, and moves in through the Gate, and you sometimes see the tops of the towers on the bridge above the fog, catching the last light, like the crests of mountains or of tall trees, or of gallows. They still use the red-orange paint on it, though it doesn't need rustproofing since it was rebuilt out of alloys. You can't change the color of the Golden Gate Bridge. No light left on the towers, but a dark deep red in the twilight, above the fog. "I was going to the bridge," I said. I remembered why I was going there, and looked at the guy who looked just like me, and wondered if he was there to tell me I was about to die. I didn't need telling that. "I don't want to go to the bridge yet," I said. "Christ, make up your mind." "I'm going to the park. I want to go down to the end, where the windmills are, and look at the ocean until I feel like going to the bridge. Are you coming, or are you worried about curfew?" "I'm not under curfew." "Senior, huh? Lucky bastard. I liked being a senior. But then I had to go into 'Fleet, and you know what came of that. The whole fucking quadrant knows." "I know. Do you want a taxi?" "Shit, yes. It's too far to walk." We waved at cabs until an empty one came along, with a woman driving. I told her to go to the west end of the park, and she smiled at me and at him. I guess she thought we were going there to hold hands or something. The windmills have been there a long time, and it used to be a hangout where men went to meet other men, in the days when that kind of thing made a difference, and it still has that association on it. Going to the Academy, you learn those little things. I just wanted to look at the ocean. From the windmills, you look across the Great Highway, and there is a seawall and the beach below it. Beyond that is the ocean. Not the bay, which is sheltered by the peninsula and can only be entered at the Gate, but the open ocean. The Farallones are out there, thirty kilometers or so, and then it's a straight shot to Japan. We didn't talk in the cab, so the driver didn't either, but I could see her smiling at us in her reflection on the windshield. I guess we made a cute couple, both of us with the same face. I paid her when we got there, and gave her a wink, and she smiled at me. Oh, Tommy, you still got it, I thought, and I looked at Nick, and he got out of the cab. I almost expected him to stay in the cab and go where he was going, but he got out and followed me. The driver waved at us as she pulled out into traffic again. It was getting dark, but I could see the ocean anyway. The waves were coming in front of a stiff breeze, and the foam was breaking in long white lines on the beach. I could taste the salt in the air, and it was bitter, like cold blood on my lips. "You want to go down to the beach or to the windmills?" I asked Nick. "The windmills," he said. There's a tulip garden there, to go with the windmills, because it was all a gift to the city from the Queen of Holland or something, hundreds of years ago. They weren't blooming this time of year. They rebuilt the windmills out of alloys about a hundred years ago. That salt air didn't do the originals any good. You can go up in them and look out at the ocean. When we got up to the top of the stairs to the observation area, in the southern one, there were already about three other couples there. A man and a woman, and two male couples besides me and Nick. Everybody was pretty cosy. I felt a little out of place, since we were the only ones not holding hands, at least. Two of the men were cuddling and kissing quickly while they looked out at the ocean. One of them was Starfleet, though he was wearing civvies, and I didn't want him to see me. "Let's get out of here," I said. "Sorry," said Nick. We went down the stairs again and walked around the tulip garden. People pedaled by slowly on bicycles, with their lights on. I couldn't really see his face any more. He might have been just another guy, my height, a little heavier than me, a few years younger, his hairline a little lower. Another couple came up the path toward us with their arms around each other, talking and laughing in deep voices, so I knew they were men. I stepped aside to let them pass. I was still really drunk, maybe drunker than when I had left the bar, and I stumbled into one of the flowerbeds. A sprinkler head caught my pant leg, and down I went. I was pretty relaxed with all that tequila, so I didn't hurt myself. I had my face in the dirt before I could even think to break my fall. "Shit, Tom, are you OK?" "Yeah." The guys who had been walking by offered to help, but I waved my arm at them, so they figured I was embarrassed and left. I guess I was embarrassed, but not that badly. Nick came and stood over me, and took my arm to help me up. I was really feeling limp, like I could sleep right there in the dirt. He had a hard time getting me up to the point where he could put his arm under my chest and heave me to a sitting position. He was half hugging me, and I smelled him through his coat, and he smelled like me. "Are you sure you're OK?" he asked. "Fine." "You've got dirt on your face." "Figures." I spat some out of my mouth. All of a sudden it was funny, and I started laughing. Nick smiled, and laughed along with me. His laugh was just like mine. It was creepy. "I can't be a ghost," I said. "Ghosts don't trip and fall." They don't smell like real people either, I thought. "Maybe not. Maybe I imagined it." "Imagined what?" "That you look like me." "You mean, that you look like me." We laughed some more. It was too dark to see much beyond the white flash of his teeth. "Who's got dibs on the face?" he asked. "I do. I'm older." "Are you?" "Sure. I've been in 'Fleet for two years. You're only a senior." "I thought we were the same age." "I dunno." "Do you want to stand up?" "Yeah. The ground is wet." He helped me up, putting his arm under mine and draping one of my arms over his shoulders, and heaving me up. I staggered when the blood all rushed to my legs, and fell into his arms. He held me until I got less dizzy and shoved back from him, my hands on his shoulders. "Thanks, Nick," I said. He didn't say anything. I had the feeling all of a sudden that he wanted to say something, but that he thought I wouldn't like it. What it was, I didn't know, but I had a feeling. "Were you planning to go to the bridge?" he asked after a while. I still had my hands on his shoulders. "Oh, yeah. Later, maybe. Let's walk around for a while." "OK." He stepped back, slowly, as if he was afraid I would fall. I didn't fall, and we walked down the path into the trees. Practically pitch black under there. I couldn't see his face at all. I liked it better that way, really. You usually can't see your own face. We had to go slowly, but I could see the path, very dimly, and his silhouette leading the way. We walked for about fifteen minutes, not saying anything. I kept stumbling on rocks and tree roots, and he kept turning back to help me, but I didn't fall. I was starting to work off a little of the drunk, but I was pretty far gone still. I kept looking up at the trees when I wasn't stumbling. These were all big cypresses, very old, even older than the Academy. The park was planted three hundred years before Starfleet even existed. I liked that thought. We got to a clearing where it was a little lighter, and stopped to rest. There wasn't anyone else around. The city lights kept the sky pretty grey, and the fog hid all the stars. I looked up where I knew they were, and so did Nick. We looked even though we couldn't see them. "Are you going to miss them?" he asked. I wasn't surprised he knew what I was thinking. "What do you think?" I said. He didn't answer. He put his hand on my back, and took it away. "Do you want to keep walking, Tom?" "Not right now." We looked up at the sky. The fog was moving in from the ocean, and the mist began to fall, and my face was wet. I tasted the salt when I lowered my face, warm this time, and Nick put his hand on my back again, and left it there. I didn't mind when he put his arms around me, or when he put his hand under my chin and started kissing the salt water away from the corners of my eyes. It was like me comforting myself, and it feels good to comfort people. When he kissed me on the lips, it felt good. He tasted like me, too. Both of us had drunk a lot of tequila. The Lily-White Boys "Shit," I said. "What?" he said, and pulled back. "I'm sorry." "I left the bottle in the bar." "We can buy some more." "Not the really bad stuff. That's hard to find any more." "Everything around here is pretty good, I guess." "Yeah. You have to go pretty far to find anything bad." "I don't want to go anywhere right now," said Nick. He kissed me under the jaw where the stubble was growing, and laid his head on my shoulder. I looked at the stars again. I felt like I had myself in my arms, and both of us needed me. I turned my head and kissed him. He was pretty eager. Yeah, Tommy, you still got it. That's always nice to know. I found a good tree to lean against at the edge of the clearing and pulled him against me. I think he must have been stronger than I was, since I had lost all that weight, but he was almost limp in my arms, his lips open against mine. Our tongues were thrusting against each other, and he was groaning deep down in his stomach. I could feel him trembling against my chest and belly. "Tom," he said, and started kissing my ear. "Tom." It sounded weird all of a sudden, hearing my voice say my name like that. I stiffened up a little. Nick stopped, his mouth on my neck, and asked, "Are you OK?" "Yeah, I'm fine. Keep going." I raised my head to let him kiss my throat. I always like that. He seemed to know. His hair brushed my face, and I put my hands in it and stroked the back of his neck. He felt good. I could see the two of us together. I closed my eyes. Nick started licking my neck, just under the jawline, very lightly with the tip of his tongue. I like to do that with women. They close their eyes and shiver, and usually take a deep breath, which pushes their breasts up and into my chest, or into my hands. That's really all a man lacks: breasts. I sighed. Nick raised his head, and I kissed him, nipping his lips between mine, getting more interested all the time. He was a good kisser. His mouth wasn't as dry as mine, because he hadn't drunk as much booze as I had, and I liked the feeling of his tongue slipping between my lips. We were getting pretty hot. I ran my hands down his back and over his ass, and tucked him in closer to me so I could feel him getting hard. Both of us were hard. I was beginning to think about his mouth, and how it would feel on my cock if he went down on me, when he knelt and unfastened my pants. My best friend sprang out and saluted. He didn't know he wasn't in Starfleet anymore. Nick curled his hand around the shaft and stroked the skin, then licked the head. His tongue was wet and warm, and I rolled my head back against the tree trunk and let out a groan. If he was as good at this as he was at kissing, I was going to be begging for mercy. A bright light flashed in my eyes, and I jerked. Nick gasped and looked up at me, then turned to see where the light was coming from. It moved away from us and made a pool on someone's shoes about ten meters away. "Better take it indoors, boys," said a voice, with a chuckle in it. "You're not breaking any laws, but this isn't what I'd call private." "Sorry," said Nick, and stood up. I stuffed my cock back in my pants and was glad it was dark, because I was blushing really hot. I hadn't been caught like that since freshman year, when some girl's roommate laid a trap for her and we had three women giggling at my naked butt in the air. I dated one of them for a while after that. "Jesus Christ," I muttered when the policeman had gone. "I gotta pee." "Beer'll do that to you," said Nick. We each picked a tree and watered it, then headed along the path again. We came out on JFK Drive, and walked along it to Fulton Street, and looked for another cab. "Let's go to my hotel," I said. "I'm not a kid anymore. I've got my own room." I could see Nick's face again under the streetlights. He smiled at me, and I kissed him. A cab stopped for us, and it was the same one that had dropped us off at the windmills. The driver was happy to see us. She was one of those big friendly-looking women, with her hair in little braids with beads at the ends. You could tell she drove a cab because she liked to meet people. "Where you going, darlin'?" she asked me. She had a down-home accent. I liked that. "My hotel," I said as she pulled out on the street. "That's fine, honey, but which hotel?" I was so drunk I couldn't remember. "Jesus--it was somewhere in North Beach, or maybe on Lombard Street." Nick was laughing, and I punched him in the arm to get him to shut up. "You two are so cute," the driver said. "You look like twins. You're not brothers, are you?" "I sure hope not," said Nick, and laughed like a maniac. No, we weren't brothers. I had the feeling that we were a lot more closely related than that. We were all laughing, but I still couldn't remember the hotel. "Let's drive around until I remember," I said. "Let's take the scenic route." "To North Beach?" said the driver. "That won't take long enough. Let's go all around the park. Let's stop at a liquor store and get some more tequila." "Sure thing, honey," the driver said. Nick and I cuddled and kissed in the back seat of the cab, and the driver kept laughing and looking at us in the mirrors. I saw a liquor store and told her to stop so I could get out. They didn't have any really bad stuff. I wasn't in the mood for bad stuff anymore. "What do you want to drink?" I yelled at Nick, who was sitting in the cab talking to the driver. "How about beer?" he yelled back. I picked up a case of Anchor Steam and put it on the counter. No more weak piss for me. "What does she want to drink?" I yelled. "That's sweet of you, honey. They got any peach juice?" said the driver. They didn't have peach juice, but they had mango-lime, which was fine with her, and I got her a sixpack of that and some chips and stuff. It was a drugstore too, and I got a tube of lubricant. I thought I had some already, in my luggage in the hotel, but I still couldn't remember the hotel. I was all set, and it was only about 2000 hours. I was feeling pretty good now. I was blasted, and I had a good-looking guy crawling all over me, even if he did look like my twin brother, and I was stocked up for the evening. I carried all the stuff out to the cab, and Nick and I each cracked a beer, and the driver cracked a mango-lime, and we went down to Lombard Street eating chips all over her cab. I didn't see my hotel anywhere, but I wasn't looking really hard. I had a couple of Anchor Steams and started singing the Academy song. Nick joined in, but he only sang a few bars and went a little pale. I stopped and looked at him, and he gave me a funny smile, just on one side of his mouth, and cracked another beer. I tried to think of another song. The driver started up with something I knew the choruses to, and we sang that until she ran out of verses. Then I sang "Green Grow the Rushes-O", which has lots of verses, and they got the hang of it after a few and joined in. We were tooling around North Beach and singing really loudly, the way you do when you're so drunk you don't care what you sound like. *Seven* for the seven stars in the sky, and *six* for the six proud walkers. *Five* for the symbols at your door, and *four* for the Gospel-makers. *THREE*, *THREE*, for the rivals-- Two, two, the lily-white boys, clothed all in gree-een-o, one is one and all alone and ever more shall BE-- SO. We tried to do a really low note on 'be so', and since we were both tenors, our voices cracked, but the driver saved it. Nick choked on a chip, and I pounded his back for a while until he coughed it up. I spilled my beer. "Sorry," I said. "Oh, this thing cleans up real easy, honey," the driver said. "I got the latest model, just push a button." We sang "Abdullah Bulbul Amir" with the verses out of order. "Shit, I think that's my hotel," I said. "Why?" said Nick. "Look at the guys on the sidewalk. I think those are reporters." "You famous or something, honey?" the driver said. "Yeah, I'm famous," I said. "Shit." "You want to get out here, honey?" "No. I don't want my picture taken." We passed the hotel. "I don't want my picture taken with this guy." Nick looked at me funny. "He's too ugly," I said, and we all started laughing again. "I don't need to go to my hotel," I said. "I can go to any old hotel. I've got credits. Let's just go to a hotel." "I know a real nice one, darlin'," said the driver, and went to the Marina District. She let us off at a little place where you could have seen the bridge if it hadn't been dark and foggy. The Palace of Fine Arts was just down the road. It was one of those places that used to be an apartment building, painted white, with brass knobs on the doors and beveled glass. We took the rest of the beer with us and left her the chips. I paid her about triple what was on the meter. She deserved it. "You guys are so cute," she said, and waved to us again when she pulled away. "Nice place," said Nick, looking through the glass doors. "I deserve a nice place," I said. "I deserve to celebrate. It's not every day you get kicked out of Starfleet." "I'm not sure I deserve it," said Nick. "Sure you do. You're with me. I was going to drink bad stuff all night before going to the bridge, but I realized I should celebrate. I don't have any problems now. It's all over with. I feel great." Nick's face was changing expression. "I don't feel so great," he said. "Why the hell not? This is going to be the best damn night of my life. Nothing matters anymore. I can do whatever I want." I grabbed his arm and pulled him up the steps. "I know how to cheer you up." We forgot the beer and had to go back for it. I checked us in and got the room key, and when we got in the elevator I kissed him really hard and grabbed his ass. He smiled. We kissed all the way down the hall, carrying the beer between us, and got in the room. I was really hot again. We started taking each other's clothes off. Usually the first time you do that with someone, you're a little shy, wondering if they're going to like what they see, even if you don't let on. I know people like what they see when I take my clothes off, but I always have that little moment of doubt. I didn't have that with Nick. The hair on his chest was just like mine. He had a little more muscle, but I hadn't wasted away to nothing in the hospital. We were kissing like crazy, rubbing faces, licking. His skin was so warm, so alive-feeling, like an electric charge running through it, tingling my palms. I remember thinking he was transferring something to me, some kind of energy. The minute he had walked into that bar, my evening had taken on a whole new aspect. I hadn't been looking for anyone to share it with. I was just going to get drunk and go to the bridge. I had been going about it the wrong way. You don't drink the worst stuff on a night like that. You drink the best, and blow your last dime, and have the best damn time you ever had in your life. No time like the present when it's all you have. He felt so good to me, and he looked just like me, and I wanted to make him feel good too. I pushed him down on his back, on the bedspread, and pulled his shoes off for him, and he helped me take his pants off. I loved looking at him there, slim and white-skinned, blond hair on his chest and legs just like mine, his cock standing up from the blond bush between his legs. I liked knowing I looked so good. I was going to have to get that weight back on, I remember thinking, and then realized I didn't have to worry about that. I knelt down on the bed between his feet and leaned forward. Nick curled his legs up over my back, and I kissed the head of his cock to get the taste of the little drop of pre-cum there, and then just opened my mouth and plunged down on him. I was choking a little, but I didn't care. I wanted to make him feel good. He was rocking his hips back and forth, and he grabbed my hair and let out a scream. I think he was liking it. Tongue working around and around when I pulled up a little, pulling with my lips and sliding up and down, opening wide and pushing him as far back in my throat as I could stand. Nick was jerking and moaning, his feet thumping on my back, and I realized I was going too fast. He was too far gone to stop me. It wasn't even 2200 hours yet, and we had all night. But Christ, he turned me on. I slowed down and just sucked him gently, listening to him moan, feeling his cock throb, the skin stretched out so much it was practically transparent. I licked up and down the shaft, the veins a little bumpy under the skin, his hair getting damp from my saliva. He had that warm taste, a little salty and sour, which went well with all the beer I had been drinking. You might have thought neither of us could get it up with all that, but the flesh was willing. I was burning up, I wanted him so bad. It would have taken a hell of a lot more than what I had drunk to put out that fire. God, I was swimming in him, in his warm smell, in the tenderness of his skin and the crisp hair on his thighs, his cock thrusting in my mouth as he heaved up to me. "Jesus Christ, Tom," he yelled, pulling on my hair. "I'm not going to last another minute--" I pulled out and lunged up to kiss him, and he grabbed me and sucked my tongue into his mouth. We were both pretty frantic. I realized I hadn't been this horny since before the accident. It took a while to heal up, and then of course the shit hit the fan. I rubbed my hard-on against his. "Nick, I want to fuck you," I said. "I won't hurt you." "I want your cock in me," he said, and I practically came, the way he said it. I nuzzled my face into his neck and closed my eyes, and felt the pulse beating under the angle of his jaw. He held me and kissed my shoulder, and I turned and started licking his ear. "Do you like it on your back?" I said. "I don't know. I don't usually do this. Usually it's me doing the fucking." "Me too." We laughed. "That's just the way I am." "Yeah. But with you it's different. Of course, you're just as big as I am--" I bit his ear. "Ow! You asshole--shit, I want you." We kissed some more. My lips were actually getting sore. "I got some stuff at the store." "Yeah, I noticed. The driver laughed her ass off. I was blushing." "Hey, you're a big boy." I rolled off him and went to get the stuff, which was on the floor along with our clothes. "I'm going to use the can," said Nick. "OK." I sat down on the bed and waited for him. I heard the john cycle, but he didn't come back. I got up and looked in the bathroom. He was standing leaning on the sink, staring into the mirror, which covered most of the wall behind the sink. He was looking at his face. I came up behind him, and looked over his shoulder. We didn't have different clothes on anymore, and our hair was so messed up you couldn't tell the difference in our haircuts. Both of us froze. It was the creepiest thing I had ever seen, at least up until then. Nick looked sick. His face was white, and he was shaking. I put my arms around him. "Christ, take it easy. I'm not a fucking ghost. You don't believe that shit." He turned around and grabbed me, and held so tight it hurt. I felt him breathing hard against my shoulder, and some dampness from the breath, and the edge of his teeth pressing in. He certainly felt real. He was as real as I was. "Shit, Tom, fuck me, please. I feel awful." "I'll do anything you want. I'll get the stuff." I detached him, slowly, and got the lubricant, and came back in the bathroom. He wouldn't leave it, and kept looking in the mirror. I let him keep doing that, and put the package down on the counter, and put my arms around him. I kissed the back of his head, and put my hands on his chest and stroked him. After a while he started to push back against me, and I saw his eyes close, looking at his face in the mirror. He had a nice ass. I stroked his chest, and fingered his nipples, and then moved one hand down to his cock. He was hard again pretty soon, and I stroked his ass with the other hand, pushing my cock against the crack. "I won't hurt you, Nick. I want to slide it in you and make you feel good." His eyes didn't open, but he smiled. I opened the lubricant and put some on my fingers, crouching down with my head resting on his back as he leaned forward over the counter. I jerked him slowly with one hand and found his hole with the other, and smoothed a finger around it. I could feel him relaxing himself, taking deep breaths and sighing. I worked one finger slowly in, kissing his back. I kept that up for a while, stretching and adding fingers, until I figured he was ready, and stood up again. I took his shoulders and dry-humped him for a minute. He turned his head and I kissed him, and I felt really strange all of a sudden. Like something was passing out of him again, into me, something essential. It was weird. But I was too hot to care. I wanted to fuck him. I wasn't getting hard real fast, so maybe the booze was getting me after all. Nick turned around when he heard me grumbling about that. I sat on the counter and he knelt on the rug between my knees. Yeah, he was just as good as this as he was at kissing. It didn't take long for me to get stiff as steel. When he used his hands and pulled the skin back tight, flicking the tip of his tongue over the head, running it in the groove, pumping me, I almost shot it in his mouth. I had to grab his wrist. We got back into position. I was unsteady on my feet, partly from beer, partly from the thought of fucking him. I got more lubricant and put it everywhere I needed to, and started pressing the head of my cock against him. I saw my own face in the mirror over his shoulder, a little flushed, my eyes a little bloodshot, my expression a little fierce. Nick was dreamy-looking, kind of rolling his head back and forth, not really in this world, his eyes closed. When I started penetrating, he trembled and flung his head back, and rolled his ass against my hands. I popped inside and groaned. I had to remind myself to go slow. Oh, real slow, centimeter by centimeter, watching myself disappear into him; he took all of me, eventually, and I was gasping, inside his skin, holding his shoulders and rolling my head backwards up to the ceiling. The movement started all on its own, and I was fucking him, sliding easy with him, so hot I could barely stand it. God, he felt good. His ass gripped me when he clenched up, and he bore down to let me out when I pulled back. I looked at our faces in the mirror, different shades of the same expression on each. I was sweating like a cold mug, but I was burning up with the feel of him. I had the urge to pound him really hard, but remembered that wasn't too good with back-door, from experience, and kept my rhythm steady, watching my cock move in and reappear again and again. He was open and loose, perfect. He trusted me like himself. I wouldn't hurt him. "Uhh--ah," he said. I could feel the sweat dampening his back when my chest touched him. He slipped down a little against the counter. I wrapped my arms around his chest and held him. Our hips kept moving, my cock stroking into him, his body warm and wet, the wet skin sliding against mine. I had to stop for a minute, buried in him, and leaned down to rest on his back. I could feel how hard his heart was beating and how shaky his breathing was. "God, Tom, don't stop." "I've--got to. I've got to, to cool off for a minute. You--turn me on so much, Nick." I was practically incoherent, but he understood me. He took one of my hands and put it on his cock, and I concentrated on jerking him, waiting until he was rolling his hips and moving against me. Damn, I couldn't wait any longer. I started fucking him again, and pretty soon we were groaning together, like one loud voice, moving like one body. The Lily-White Boys There wasn't any way to stop now. I was thrusting into him, trying hard not to hurt him, sweating, feeling him heave every breath out of his body, seeing his face transformed in the mirror. I saw myself, or maybe it was him, with my mouth open, gulping in air, throwing my head around so that my hair flew back and forth, spraying sweat in every direction. I was about to come. I felt it moving up behind me, about to embrace me and take me away. I held onto Nick and felt him quivering, his cock rock hard and jerking in my hand. I couldn't tell which face was mine. We climaxed together, his cum shooting out all over the place, mine captured in him. I thought I was going to die. It was wonderful. I shot into him over and over, yelling in his ear, my knees trembling, the trembling spreading over my whole body. He hit his head on the mirror. I eased out of him and he turned around to hug me, and we leaned against the counter and just held each other. He seemed kind of weak and limp, but I was feeling like I could do loops around Jupiter. I had to hold him up. He slipped down to the floor in a while and I went with him, cradling him, and was really surprised to find he was crying. "Shit, Nick, I didn't hurt you, did I?" "No. No." He put his head in my lap. "Good. Because that was great. You are one fine fuck, if I do say so myself." I could feel him shaking, and I wasn't sure if it was with laughter or not. "Let's take a shower." I got up and turned it on, and Nick sat up on the rug and wiped his hand over his face. I stepped into the shower, and he got in too after a minute. We washed each other's back and rinsed off all the sweat, used up all the towels and left them on the floor, and went into the bedroom and got into bed. I was still feeling charged up and didn't want to sleep, because it was still early, really, but it was comfortable cuddling up with him. He was kind of quiet, and I talked a blue streak, telling him my goddamn life story. He listened, but he didn't have much to say. Except when I told him about the accident. "You falsified a report?" "Yeah. You ought to know that, if you read the news." "It's different hearing it from you. I didn't think of you as a real guy. You were somebody on the news. I didn't notice that you looked like me. I...um, I thought you were just some admiral's brat who got into Starfleet by doing nothing, and then blew it--" "What makes you think that was wrong? I coasted in the Academy. I took all the courses, yeah, but I only paid attention when I really had to. I wanted to be a pilot. That was all I cared about. I was in Nova Squadron and that was the whole reason for sticking out the four years. My senior year was the greatest--" "Shut up." Nick looked sick again. "I don't want to hear about your motherfucking senior year." He rolled over and sat up. "What's biting your ass? That you're a senior? Don't tell me, you're in Nova Squadron too and you're afraid of ghosts. I'll tell you about ghosts--" "SHUT UP!" Nick screamed at me. "You're an ASSHOLE. You killed three officers and lied about it and then didn't have the guts to stick to your story. You fucking wimp. You're worse than Crusher. Nobody had to put the screws to you. You just caved. You motherfucking asshole." "What the fuck do you know about it? Careful who you call an asshole. What the hell did you want to screw me for if that's what you thought of me, you little prick? You knew who I was." "I didn't know you were me. I didn't know you were me three times worse. I hate what you did, and that's what made me realize what I did was the same thing. I'm never gonna forgive you for that." "What the fuck are you talking about? What you did? What the hell did you do? I don't give a shit." I got up and started sorting out my clothes from the pile on the floor. Nick sat there staring at the wall. When I was dressed, I looked for the key to the room and threw it to him. "Here. I don't need this. It's paid for the night, so stay if you want to. Or leave. I don't care. You might think about going back to the dormitory, kid. I'm outta here. See you in the next life." I slammed the door and headed down the hall to the elevator. I was holding my jaw tight and my lips pulled in, even tighter, and I knew where I was going. I didn't see any cabs on the street, since this neighborhood was mostly apartments and houses, so I walked west, out towards the Gate. The fog was sitting right down on the ground and I couldn't see more than a block ahead. I didn't look back. The street lights would show as big glows up ahead, dim, and then get brighter and smaller as I approached, and resolve into street lights, and pass over my head and vanish in the fog again. I was heading straight towards the Academy, and Headquarters. They were built on the site of a place called the Presidio, an ancient military base that was there for hundreds of years, right at the Gate. I cut down towards the water. You can walk straight along there at the northern end of the city until you get to the bluff where the bridge anchors. I walked pretty fast. It was only three or four kilometers to get where I was going. I wasn't afraid of anything like criminals, not on Earth, and I didn't give a shit anyway. I didn't see anyone. It was not really a night for strolling. I went down to the beach and filled my pockets with sand. I got to the bluff, and the walls of Fort Point loomed up out of the fog. It looks like a prison, all built of brick and hundreds of years old, at least the original was. It fell down in an earthquake and was replaced. It had guns trained on the Gate. I backtracked a little and climbed the path up the bluff to the road at the top, and went out to the viewpoint just before the bridge, by the huge concrete cable anchor. There was nothing to see. A few vehicles were passing by in both directions. Most people use the transit system these days. I set out again and passed the anchor and the statue of the guy who designed the bridge, and walked out along the east side, heading for the first tower. The suspension cables rose up along the walkway, the huge swoop of the main cable pulling them up with it, spaced regularly like prison bars. When the main cable rose high enough on its way to the top of the tower, I couldn't see it any more. I passed the bars one by one, feeling the sway of the bridge in the wind. I couldn't see the tower ahead of me, though I knew it was there, and when I looked back, I couldn't see the land. I kept going. I passed the first tower and stopped to rest. Down there, where I couldn't see it, was the water. The tides are pretty strong through the Gate, and boats get swept out to sea on the ebb. The foghorns were blowing. They don't really need them any more, since everyone has guidance systems and GPS on boats now, but they do it for old time's sake. They use recordings of the real thing. I thought I should start looking for gaps in the force field. I threw sand over the railing and watched the fizz and sparkle to gauge where the generators were. Eight kilometers of force field, both sides of a bridge, is a lot to keep running, especially when the reason for it is so old-fashioned. I'm an old-fashioned guy, in a lot of ways. I like old cars, and down-home talk, and some people call my sex life something out of the Dark Ages, but I like it that way. I walked along slowly, tossing pinches of sand as I went. One generator near the middle of the bridge was burned out. The sand flew out into space, and I heaved myself up on the rail and straddled it. I sat there a long time. I had all night. There were three voices calling me down to the water. The last time I had really heard them, they had been screaming, first in fear, then in agony. Dreyfus was beside me in the copilot's seat, though she wasn't taking the controls like I said she was. Homma and Jacobsen were behind us in the passenger seats. I got a big splash of Dreyfus' blood across my face, and a lot of it in my mouth because I was screaming too. I could see Dreyfus' face as she hung there in the straps. Her blood went cold on my lips. We stayed that way for five hours before the rescue teams cut through the hull, and I was conscious the whole time though I prayed to pass out. If I hadn't been off course, they might have found us sooner while one or two of them were still alive. If I hadn't been off course, we might not have crashed in the first place. If I hadn't been off course, I wouldn't be here. I was never going to fly again, except on the way down through the fog, for a few seconds. I wouldn't see the water until it hit me. I would be flying. I put both legs over the rail and looked out into nothingness. The wind was pushing at my back. I don't know how long Nick had been standing there before I noticed him. He didn't register as another person, really, but as something connected to me, like my shadow. He had on his long dark coat and was breathing hard, but slowly, as if each breath was difficult and he couldn't spend too much effort on it. He looked as if he had walked the whole way, tracing my steps, stalking me like a ghost, a few minutes behind me. His coat blew out around his legs, and he seemed unsteady in the wind. When he saw my head turn towards him, he walked up to the railing and put one hand on it, sort of tentative, like he needed my permission to touch it. He looked at me, and I turned away. I could see about twenty meters out in front of me, and down, a sphere of visibility centered on the two of us and the lamp over our heads. The fog blew through the illuminated area, the patterns changing, the wisps forming and dispersing, never solid, never entirely gone. It blew past me and vanished, and more came to replace it from the ocean, behind me as I looked towards the invisible land. Nick reached into his coat and pulled out a bottle and held it out to me. I stuck my hand out automatically and took it. It was warm from his body. He pulled out another one, and waited for me to crack mine before he cracked his. We drank warm beer together. When we were finished, we threw the bottles over the railing and watched them vanish. The water was too far down to hear them splash. The foghorns were blowing. "Messing up the bay," I said. "Nice clean bay," said Nick. "Hundreds of years ago, it was so polluted you couldn't eat the fish," I said. "It was pretty bad." "Everything's clean now," said Nick. "You have to go pretty far to find anything bad." He put both hands on the railing and hoisted himself up, with some trouble, because he looked sort of weak. I reached out to steady him, and he sat beside me. I let go of him. We didn't say anything for a while, and then I noticed he was shivering. I put my arm around his shoulders. "The whole planet's lily-white," I said. "I stick out like a turd in a pitcher of milk." That was another one of my grand-uncle's expressions. "Everything's new and synthetic and doesn't rust. Even the things that are supposed to be old. Nothing's dangerous any more. No one makes mistakes." "I made a mistake," said Nick. He turned his head and looked south along the bridge, in the direction of the Academy. I didn't ask what he meant. He stared off in that direction for a while. I kept my arm around him and held him closer. He leaned into me, pulling his coat around him. "I killed someone," Nick said. "I told him to do something he wasn't capable of doing. I thought I could do anything, and take anyone along with me, I was so good. He died. I blamed it on him for being a wimp. But it was my fault. I was the pilot in charge, and I lost my sense of direction. I got off course." I thought I was hearing my own voice speaking to me. He was speaking inside my head at the same time I saw his lips move. "They do make allowances for mistakes. But I made it in the first place, and then I lied about it. I made three other people lie about it too. They found out I lied. I deserved what I got," he said. "I only realized that because you deserved what you got, and you did the same thing I did." "Three times over," I said. "I never made allowances for myself. I had to be the best pilot. I couldn't make a mistake. If something went wrong, it had to be someone else's fault. And that person was dead, and couldn't defend himself." "Herself," I said. "If I had made allowances for myself, if I had thought I was capable of making a mistake, I would be in Starfleet now. I thought they demanded perfection, but they don't. They do demand honesty. An officer's first duty is to the truth." I said, "Lies drag you down." "They drag you down. I know why you have to let go of lies now. I went to the bottom with mine around my neck. I reached too far, and I lied when I fell short, and I'm not in Starfleet, which is all I ever wanted. I wanted to be a Starfleet pilot. I never was one. I never even tasted it, what I wanted my entire life." "Well, you've tasted a Starfleet pilot now," I said, and gave him a funny smile, and Nick laughed, silently, shaking against me. I felt a surge of energy again, and held him up to keep him from falling, and kissed him. It was different now. I pressed my lips to his and thought he was breathing something into me, and I wanted to give it back to him, but he couldn't hold it any more, I think. He gave me something to hold for him, and I took it to keep. I thought he was going to slip away from me, out of my grip, and the railing seemed really narrow all of a sudden. I leaned back, but I couldn't throw my leg back over and hold on to Nick at the same time. He started pushing away from me to let me move, but he was limp and sagged towards the water. I panicked. I didn't want him to fall. I didn't want to fall. "Nick, for the love of Christ, hold on to me--" He was trying to make me let go. I grabbed him and flung myself backwards with him, and we fell on the bridge walk. I bruised my elbow, pretty badly. He landed hard on his shoulder and grunted. "Nick, I think we've thrown enough shit in the bay for one night," I said. He lay there, not moving, though I could see him breathing. I wondered if he was out cold. I peered into his face, but his eyes were open. I couldn't figure out what was the matter with him. He was like a rag doll. I thought he had drunk more than he could handle. Sitting on the damp walk, I rolled him over and pulled him on my lap, held his head up and looked at his eyes. The pupils were so dilated they looked black. Just a little rim of blue around the void. I don't think he was seeing much. "Nick?" "Tom," he whispered to me. "Where are you going to go?" I had no idea. I hadn't thought ahead any farther than to the bridge. I had liked the idea of having no more life to worry about, and I had been celebrating that. All of a sudden I had a life to worry about. Maybe that's what he gave me. "I don't belong here," I said. "Can I come with you?" "Sure." "Thanks." "I'm going to leave Earth. We can both leave Earth. We'll go where we match the background. We can leave the goddamn Federation if we want to. We can find someone who needs some flying done and doesn't care who we are. We can get drunk in really bad bars and have a good time anyway because we're together. I bet there are some real hellholes around the Cardassian border. Let's go get drunk there." "Sounds good," said Nick. "I'll come with you, if you don't mind." "I don't think I'm ever going to get rid of you now." "Thanks, Tom. I'll be in good hands." He grinned, but his eyes were closing."Shit, I'm tired." His head fell back in my lap and his throat was exposed, covered in blond stubble. "Go to sleep for a while," I said. I leaned over and kissed him, and stroked his cheek. I felt the stubble, sharp, and the skin, white and warm, translucent. "I'll hold you." "OK," said Nick, and closed his eyes. I watched his face. His head seemed weightless on my lap. I must have fallen asleep. I thought I felt him getting lighter and lighter, and I could almost see through him. I guess I was dreaming. He was just as real as I was, but he faded in my arms like fog when the sun rises. I didn't feel like he was going away. I thought he was staying with me. I thought he would be with me for the rest of my life. When I woke up, there was a shadow in front of me. The sun was behind me, just rising over the East Bay hills. The fog was gone, and I could see out through the Gate and to the ocean. My shadow stretched out across the roadbed. There wasn't anyone with me. One all alone. I wasn't drunk anymore, but I had the worst fucking hangover of my life. That's what makes me think I had drunk more than I realized. I puked over the bridge rail. I walked all the way back along the bridge before I saw anyone. I wanted to tell them they had a burned-out generator, but it was too early for the office to be open. I dumped the sand out of my pockets. I got on the transit system to save my credits, and went back to the hotel where I had my luggage. There weren't any reporters there. I thought about calling information, but I didn't think there would be any number for someone named Nick Locarno. You can't have two separate people that look that much alike, and have that many things in common. Not in one universe. That doesn't happen. I figured I had better stay away from that brand of tequila. I still like Anchor Steam, but I can't get it any more. A month after that, I was in the Maquis, and then in prison. And I'm a Starfleet pilot again, though I never expected that. Not in this lifetime. "This one's for you," I say to myself sometimes, when I pull a really good move at the helm. Chakotay looks at me funny, but he always does. Screw him anyway. I hope he appreciates his luck. Not everyone gets a second chance. Sometimes things work out in ways you never thought they would. If you go down, you'll never find out what might have happened. And if I ever see real beer again, I'll drink too much, just on my own account. I'm drinking for two. Maybe one and a half.