Motel. Pool. (18 page)

Tag exited the freeway and drove toward a large casino with a Wild West theme. But he didn’t stop there; instead, he drove up to a low brick building, spoke to someone via radio, and pulled up to a window. The girl there traded him a paper bag and cardboard cup for some money.

“You can do that?” Jack asked.

“Drive-through.”

“We had carhops.”

“This is even better. No need to turn off your engine, and God forbid you should walk a few yards to collect your greasy, sodium-laden meal.” Tag parked the car at the edge of the lot and cut the motor.

“But cars use gasoline. Didn’t you tell me that was bad for the environment?”

“Yep.”

“I don’t understand.”

Tag slurped through his straw before unwrapping a burger and taking a big bite. “It’s easy,” he said after swallowing. “Twenty-first-century Americans want everything and we want it now. We complain about how much work we have and then send each other e-mails on weekends and vacations. We decide we’re out of shape, so we pay to join a gym, then drive our car there so we can go on the treadmill. We carefully sort our garbage into different-colored bins and we buy endless crap packaged in plastic. We think we do everything bigger and better than everyone else, and anyone who says otherwise is unpatriotic and possibly a socialist. We claim everybody’s created equal, but we commit hate crimes against immigrants, Muslims, blacks, and gays. We insist gun ownership is a constitutional right but health care is a menace. We’re fucked-up, Jack, every one of us, and the sanest of us are crazier than my mother ever was.”

He took another bite of his food.

“Things weren’t always that great when I was alive,” Jack pointed out.

“Oh, I know. The Depression. Segregation. Women treated as second-class citizens, and fags could still be thrown in prison. It’s a screwed-up world, Jack. If there is a God, life is a prank he’s pulling on us all.”

Tag said this lightly, with the corners of his mouth turned up in a grin. But there was nothing humorous about it. It was the most pessimistic monologue Jack had ever heard.

Fuck. Tag really was teetering at the edge of the pool.

“Tag?” Jack settled his hand on Tag’s leg. “Don’t get mad at me, okay? I know… I know you had problems with your family. A really rough childhood. But you survived. And you’re smart and handsome and you have sixty thousand dollars in cash. What’s wrong?”

Tag shook his head bleakly. “Told you. I fuck it all up.” He shoved the burger wrapper into the bag, hopped out of the car, and tossed the trash in a green container. When he returned, his expression was pinched and closed off. Jack decided not to push.

They drove back to the city but not straight to the Baja. Tag drove them past blocks of identical houses, past seedy-looking shops, past casinos and hospitals and shopping malls. He seemed to be choosing his route at random. Jack was struck by the realization that even the old-looking buildings they passed were probably younger than he was.

Just as the sun was setting, they pulled into the alley behind their motel. They hadn’t exchanged a word for at least an hour, and Tag didn’t say anything as he got out of the car. Once inside their room, he headed straight for the dresser and his hidden stash of bills.

“Can I come?” asked Jack.

“No.” Then Tag added in a softer tone, “I’ll just be an asshole. Maybe Buddy’s around. He’ll be way better company.” He walked back to the door, where Jack still stood. And then Tag did something unexpected: he wrapped his arms around Jack and leaned in against Jack’s shoulder—lightly, as is if he were afraid to rest too much weight on him. “I’m sorry, Jack. Now you know why I don’t have any friends.”

“You have me.”

Tag pulled away enough to look up at him and smile. “Thank you.”

J
ACK
WATCHED
TV after Tag left, but not for very long. He was tired, and holding himself together was just too much effort. He faded out into the fog, which seemed chillier than before. Maybe just in contrast to the warmth he’d felt briefly in Tag’s embrace. He floated there, not quite seeing or hearing, not quite thinking.

But the sound of the door closing did make its way to him. Pleased with Tag’s quick return, Jack made himself visible, not bothering with clothing.

A short, middle-aged woman stood in the center of the room, her mouth hanging open in shock. She dropped the stack of towels she’d been holding. “Madre de Dios,” she whispered, crossing herself.

Jack blinked himself away.

“J
ACK
? A
RE
you here?”

Jack was more cautious about appearing when the door opened this time, but he popped into view once he heard Tag’s voice. He didn’t miss the look of relief that flashed across Tag’s face.

“Thought maybe you were with Buddy again.”

“No.” Jack considered whether to tell him what had happened with the maid, then decided not to.

Tag looked exhausted. His eyes were shadowed and red rimmed, and it looked like he’d been running fingers through his hair all night. He trudged over to the fridge and drank some juice straight from the carton, then closed the fridge door and leaned against it for a few moments. He pried himself away to empty his pockets onto the table.

“How much?” Jack asked, eyeing the thick rolls of bills.

“Dunno. I think I came out about even. I lost almost all of it at one point and I thought I’d finally— But then I won it back.” Once again, he appeared to find no joy in it.

“Do you want to go to sleep? I’ll help you get ready.”

“I don’t… I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to touch me.”

“Why not?”

“Because I won’t want you to stop.”

Jack swallowed and moved slowly closer, until he was within arm’s reach of Tag. “I won’t want to stop. I don’t have to.”

Tag took a small step back. “We can’t.”

For the first time in almost sixty years, Jack was angry. “Why not? A few days with a ghost is too much for you? Even a commitment-phobe like you should be able to handle that much!”

Blinking slightly, Tag said, “Commitment-phobe?”

“I… I watched some daytime talk shows.”

Surprising Jack with a soft chuckle, Tag came closer. “You’re right. I suck at making commitments. The closest I ever got to settling down was with Jason, and you know how that turned out. But it’s… it’s complicated, you know?”

It
was
complicated. Would have been even if Jack hadn’t been dead, although that certainly wasn’t helping matters. But Jack was tired of excuses. “There’s not much time left,” he said quietly.

A long moment passed as they stared at each other, silently acknowledging their separate secrets. Jack hadn’t told Tag everything he’d learned from the ghosts at the dam. And Tag—for reasons Jack didn’t understand—was balanced on the very edge, ready to fall. Almost no time was left at all.

“Jack,” Tag whispered. That was enough. They moved to each other, against each other. Tag pressed his warm, wet lips to the crook of Jack’s neck before trailing kisses along his collarbone to his sternum. When he nibbled lightly on a hardened nipple, Jack gasped.

“What do you want, Jack? How can I make you feel good?”

“Th-that’s nice,” Jack replied as Tag turned his attention back to the sensitive nub of flesh. It was even better when Tag grasped Jack’s asscheeks and massaged them firmly, pulling Jack’s hips flush against his. Jack was already fully erect, and the denim of Tag’s jeans rubbed wonderfully against his hard-on.

And then Tag dropped to his knees and took Jack’s cock into his mouth.

Standing nude in the middle of the room while a beautiful, fully dressed man sucked him off—that was so deliciously decadent that Jack had to throw back his head and close his eyes. And Tag’s fingers proved as skilled as his mouth. He toyed with Jack’s balls and teased at the tender skin behind them, making Jack widen his stance so far he nearly lost his balance. “Oh God,” Jack groaned when Tag brushed lightly at his hole.

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

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

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

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

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

“Holy cow.”

Tag looked back over his shoulder. “What?”

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

“Better than the Grand Canyon?”

“Easily.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Rubbers?”

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

“Protection?” Sometimes Jack felt three steps behind.

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

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

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

“Come back here.”

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

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

God yes.

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