Spilling Guts

Part 85 - Pencil Marks and Steam

One Balcuwitz had left, Cetz and Rachel cleared off her desk and set up tray after tray of sushi. Lined hills of California Rolls, pink marbled tuna and salmon, spikey fried eel, red-orange mounds of fish eggs in nori cones like river stones in a onyx horn, and a local delicacy of thin strips of fried beef over a rice layer, and a center of corn and cream cheese. By each row stood a tiny mountain of wasabi, and slices of pickled ginger piled like flower petals for pressing. To the side, small bowls of miso soup and various veggies and shrimp fried in tempura. Golden crab rangoons herded together like discarded crowns by pools of ruby sweet and sour sauce. Avocado and veggie rolls lined the edge of the desk like windbreakers to a field.

A landscape of delicious, rarely indulged food.

Rachel adjusted a roll with her chopsticks until it was aligned with the rest, taking satisfaction in the orderly placement. At her elbow sat a small plate of ice cream mochi in pastel colors, and kept cold with an ice mat under it.

Rachel was happy. To Cetz, that meant he was allowed to be happy. Happiness was fleeting. Dig in while you can.

Then Balcuwitz returned, in itself a surprise, with good news. "Will is asleep. And according to the SkySprecht readout, so is Louis."

Cetz muddled a small bead of wasabi in a shallow dish of soy sauce. He'd already squirreled away a few extra packets of soy sauce to join the collection at his desk. "Good for them. Pull up a seat and dig in. We have a lot to talk about."

Balcuwitz did so and accepted a set of chopsticks. "Like what?"

Rachel quickly bowed her head, muttered "grace" and then sipped her bowl of soup. "Like how Watch Mission Control wants to put Louis on missions where his ability to shrink would be an "asset"."

"Only hints," chided Cetz.

"Oh." Balcuwitz glanced at his watch. "This is one of those nights where I'm going to see just how comfortable my leather couch is, isn't it?"

"Only if you want to," said Cetz. He was up for testing out the couch if Balcuwitz wasn't.

"I'm up for a working sleepover." Balcuwitz took out his phone, sent a text with a kissy face, and then refocused back on the spread. "By the way, if the janitorial service gets mad at the pencil marks on the walls, send them to me. Now which are fish, which have cream cheese, and which are shellfish?"  

***

Will arched back into the mud, lightning flashing overhead and rain pounding into the puddles like medicine balls into a fountain. Above him, Louis' hips ground against Will's lap.

"Whoa," hissed Louis. "That should not feel as good as it does."

California, their tiny sized fight outside the shack they had been imprisoned in. Except they weren't fighting. The bruise on Louis' face wasn't from a fist, but a sucking kiss. Will's breathless moans came not from exertion of violence, but trying to grasp every point of desire he could. To cradle Louis' face closer, run a hand down his back and up his shirt. To get more of that friction. To feel Louis on his face, neck, stomach, chest, anywhere.

Will would be on fire if not for the rain; steam rose from his limbs like a latte in a Denver January. Why were they doing this instead of dancing?

"Please, more," Will's voice rasped with the wind. "I like it."

"Hold on there, fanboy." Louis grabbed Will's wandering hands and pinned them on either side of Will's head. Louis huffed as the steam around them billowed. "You need to cool down. And so do I."

"Please," Will begged. Tears sprung at his eyes, somehow more shiny than the rain. His limbs, once clinging and strong, wilted, weak as cooked noodles. "I like it. I need it."

Thunder roared above them, vibrating the earth and their bones. Will arched his body up, trying to get closer. Louis pinned his shins over Will's thighs.

"You're overheating," said Louis. Louis needed to get Will someplace he could cool down. Not the rain; he had the feeling the rain was making it worse. Maybe a fridge, or a fan somewhere inside, away from the elements.

Will collapsed back down, tears steaming off his face. "I need you."

Then Louis saw it; a red glow burning from under Will's shirt. Like a forge or the end of a rifle barrel that fired too many rounds too fast. Louis released one of Will's hands and, like every dumb child told not to touch a hot stove, tapped his hand over it. The hiss of steam between then was blinding. Will bucked upwards, panting anew.

Yet Louis hadn't felt pain. His hand intact. Instead his hand seemed to be dripping, all of him dripped water, as if he had become a fountain the same way Will had become a forge.

Will whimpered, his trembling hand reaching up to Louis' face. "Please."

Louis couldn't do anything out here to quench the coal inside Will. So he'd have to go where the coal was.

Thunder roared again, as if protesting the meeting between fire and water.

"Deep breath, fanboy."

Louis leaned down towards Will's lips, his body liquefying to pure cool water, and let himself seep into nostril's and throat. He steamed as he pushed deeper. Hotter. Heartbeat faster and louder.

"Louis?"

More thunder, and a splash of cool liquid. The new earth that was Will's body tilted.

"Earth to Louis."