The Boy Who Could Fly

How did it start?

Who knows, not even Wesley.

But how?

We don’t know that either.

What do you know?

We know he flew that one time, carrying that boy.

Wesley celebrated his twelfth birthday on April the eighth. Around the table singing Happy Birthday were his few close friends from school, a few first cousins along with adults who comprised of his parents, grandparents and two Aunts and Uncles. The dining room was crowded, and gifts covered one end of the table. For Wesley it had been the best birthday ever, the one where he got a new bike and a skateboard, and none of the gifts, except those from his grandparents were clothes.

He had invited more of his classmates from school but there were practices for Little League and other family commitments, so none of them showed, not even the one he had wanted the most. He didn’t know why, but there was something about Keith, who had moved to their community last, that captured his attention. He didn’t understand it, but he felt weird when he looked at Keith. At times he told himself it was because they were so different. He had black hair and Keith had blonde hair, so blonde it looked almost white. And where he had brown eyes, something he thought boring, Keith had blue eyes. He didn’t know why he noticed such things, but he did.

That night, laying on his bed, with the lights turned out and moonlight spilling in over the shutters that only covered the bottom half of the window, he stared at the shimmering sky. He looked at all of its stars, thinking of all his gifts and how he had to wait till tomorrow to ride his bike. His party had gone too late for him to ride that afternoon. He rolled over on his stomach and looked across the room at the skateboard wondering how long it’d take him to master riding it. Then his eyelids grew heavier and heavier, the excitement and play of the day catching up with him. Sleep came easily, carrying him into a dream state.

Keith moved next to him, there arms rubbing he was so close. A gift wrapped in Spiderman paper with a red bow. Hands tearing into it. Keith smiling, then laughing. “No, Wesley, you can’t do it” his father exclaiming then his mother, “You shouldn’t stare, it’s not nice” as he stares at Keith.

A bike ride. Keith behind him, holding on with hands around his waist.

The tree house in the backyard, the one his father built three years ago. “It’s too high” his mother says as he climbs up. Keith is waiting for him. They’re playing in it. It’s a fort. They’re under attack. He is wounded and Keith as to do surgery on him. His shirt is pulled up.

They’re flying kites at the park. They soar high in the sky. Higher and higher, impossibly high.

Wesley opens his eyes and for a moment he doesn’t understand what he is seeing. He blinks and looks again realizing it is his bed, four feet below him. He looks up and easily sees out the upper part of the window over the shutters. He sees the quiet street outside, with circles of light from the streetlights. He begins to panic, arms flailing and legs kicking, trying to make sense of what can’t be true. He is about to cry out when he tells himself to go down, to go down, repeating the phrase over and over with his eyes tightly closed.

He feels the bed as he gently settles back on it and very quickly, he feels his own weight against it.

For a long time, he lays wide awake, scared to death. He knows it is not possible, not something any boy should be able to do. He rolls over and stares up at the ceiling and wonders what would happen if he had been outside when he started floating. He imagined it, floating higher and higher, till he couldn’t breathe, or he froze to death. He knew high up was cold and the air thin. His father had explained it when they had watched a special on spy planes, and the pilots had looked like astronauts.

Sunlight was streaming in when Wesley woke the next morning. He sat up, feeling excited about getting to ride his bike. He jumped down on the floor and tugged his pajamas off as he went to his chest of drawers. He pulled out jeans and his favorite shirt, the one with Spiderman on the front, and put on his shoes. He was reaching for the doorknob, when he stopped. Suddenly he remembered floating in the air, hovering over his bed and at first, he felt his heart racing in his chest. But it must have been a dream he told himself, and soon was convinced it had not been real, that he had dreamt it, like the monster in his closet when he was six.

By the end of the morning he had ridden his bike till his legs ached from the exertion. After lunch, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich at the bar in the kitchen, and a slice of his birthday cake, he went out and tried to ride his skateboard, falling so often he considered giving up. Then he saw the Lucas boy coast by on his board, and his determination to master the thing pushed away all doubt. By the end of the day he was exhausted and fell into bed at his normal bedtime. Lights out, door closed so he couldn’t hear the television as his parents watched a movie, he quickly fell asleep.

He was going so fast, so terribly fast, the skateboard left the ground.

He was riding his bike around the block, faster and faster, pedaling as hard as he could. He rounded the block and instead of staying on the sidewalk, he jumped the curb and rode out in the middle of the street. A car was coming, a big black sedan, and as it got close, he pedaled faster. The bike left the ground and as he went over it, he was so close the rear wheel rolled over the top.

He was outside Keith’s window, watching him play a video game. He hovered at the window, reaching out, begging Keith to look his way.

Wesley jerked awake and found he was hovering over his bed as before. He now understood it was no dream. He rocked in the air as he swung his arms and kicked with his legs, trying to feel something solid, anything that would give him purchase, a sense of being grounded.

Down! Down! Wesley repeated in his mind over and over, and he watched the bed come closer and closer till he was laying on it once again.

He sat on the side of the bed, heart racing, wondering what was going on. The ‘how’ and ‘why’ rattling him so, he knew he would not go back to sleep anytime soon. He lay on his stomach and held his arms out like wings and wondered about how he could control it. Was it as simple as thinking up or down? Was that it? He closed his eyes and repeated to himself: Up…up.

He felt himself moving, upward, off the bed. He opened his eyes and saw it was about four feet below him. He was scared, but curious too. He thought about circling the room, moving to his left and around the room. He moved, slowly, past the window, over his desk, chest of drawers, past the door to the hall, then the door to his closet and back around until he was hovering over his bed. Down. He floated down till back on his bed.

He rolled over, grinning from ear to ear. He wanted to shout out, to run to his parent’s room and tell them. But then he thought about how it made him different. Not like the other boys. He pictured Timmy from school who got bullied for being shorter than the rest of them. The names hurled at Timmy came to him and he worried being different would get him treated the same. He didn’t want to be treated differently, to have his classmates ostracize him, so he vowed to keep his difference a secret. He’d not tell anyone, not even his parents. He worried they wouldn’t like their son being different either.

It was bad enough he felt different for other reasons.

For nights, after his parents were in bed, he grew bold in his flying around. He eased his door open and flew down the hall to the game room at the back of the house. Then he practiced going down the stairs, hovering at a height aligned with their slope. He flew around the first floor, practiced rising and falling in the rooms with their higher ceilings.

It would be weeks before he dared fly outside, afraid he would lose control and go higher and higher till he froze or suffocated. He knew it could happen if he went too high. He kept remembering that documentary for a spy aircraft, and the pilots dressed like astronauts in order to survive the extreme altitudes. He wouldn’t have a suit, and it scared him. But after practicing night after night, he finally built up the courage to go out. It was late, his clock had indicated 2:35 A.M. when he flew around in his room, before making his way downstairs and to the front door. It was further away from the stair and least likely to be heard by his parents when he opened it. He floated down to the handle, unlocking it and eased it open, hovering back as he pulled. He pulled the door to but didn’t latch it, in case he needed to get in quickly, then he turned to the front yard, telling himself he would not go far, just to the street and back to see if he could control it as easily as he did inside. He set off, bringing himself higher, up till above the trees and he flew out to the street and back. Then he did it again and again, grinning at how easy it had been. Then he flew over the street down to the main road and when he turned around, he tested his ability to control his speed. Faster and faster he flew till the wind made him tear up and he had to slow down.

At school, Wesley found himself isolating himself. He didn’t hang out with his friends before first bell, or during lunch. He stayed to himself, afraid he would reveal this new characteristic that made him different. It wasn’t good to be different, even if it seemed to be a good difference.

He realized he couldn’t keep going out every night and restricted himself to three nights a week. But he on those nights he grew more daring, going further and further, and as he learned to control his speed. He flew so fast it blurred his vision. He flew over the shopping center where his mother bought groceries and had the used book store that he often begged to go into so he browse the old books of Science-Fiction or books on animals and space flight and shots of space showing a universe so large he couldn’t wrap his head around it. He went out over the surrounding neighborhood, to the park in its center and down to the small creek that edged it, following its meandering path until he came up deer running along its shallow bed.

He turned fourteen and found himself at the dining table surrounded by his cousins and family, none of his old friends coming, for he had alienated them, isolating himself to protect his secret. And it bothered him how he even wanted his cousins to leave.

At school, he looked at the other boys, wondering if any of them had a secret. A special ability they were not revealing. Was he the only one? He watched Keith the most, knowing he shouldn’t do it, things at play he didn’t want to consider. But he couldn’t stop himself. There was something about Keith that made him feel a longing he was just beginning to understand.

When he dared to do it the first time, he didn’t remember, but he soon found himself hovering outside Keith’s window. It was fortunate Keith left the curtains open, probably thinking the second-floor bedroom facing the rear yard was safe. That there was no way someone could look in. But Keith didn’t know about Wesley’s ability, nor the crush he had on him.  Wesley hovered at the window, watching Keith sleep, fighting to stay level as he watched him kick off the blankets revealing his lean body, sleeping only in his underwear.

For months Wesley kept up this routine, of three nights a week of flying over the neighborhoods and downtown, the small-town dark and closed up during the late-night hours. And after he had put it off for as long as he could stand it, he flew to the Madison Height neighborhood where he watched Keith for as long as he dared.

 Just before his fifteenth birthday, everything changed.

He rode home on his bike, coasting up the drive and to the screen porch at the rear of the house. He saw the garage door up, one his parents could get neither car inside, with his dad standing at the door looking in. Inside the house, the bar separating the kitchen from a family dining area was covered in documents and his mother was on the phone talking about a truck. How much for a week, how big was it and what did it come with were questions she asked into the phone while making notes. He stood at the end of the bar until she hung up the phone.

“What’s going on?”

“Wesley, we’ve decided to move out of town, out into the countryside. We found a house last month, and even though we didn’t think our offer would be accepted, it was. We’re moving to a new home. Isn’t that great?” She was smiling, for this was something she had wanted for a long time.

“No…maybe…I don’t know” Wesley stammered feeling like there was shift in the alignment of the world and he’d been thrown off. He didn’t want to disappoint her, but it wasn’t what he wanted.

Four weeks his parents would close, and in another two weeks they would be moving into the house. He could not make it a reality in his mind. For days he came home, went to his room and lay staring at the familiar ceiling, the walls with posters for Sci-Fi movies and the window that overlooked the rear yard. He didn’t want this move, no matter how badly things had gotten at school. It could only get worse was all he could think. He was freaked out about it far worse than he let on. And the worst thing. He lost the ability to fly. He had tried night after night, but he just lay heavily on the bed. He had feared the difference it had made him, not normal, like the other boys. Now he was scared, not because of his difference, but the loss of it.

On June 14th, the move began. The moving van was backed into the drive. Boxes were being pulled in with a handcart and fragile items loaded in their two SUV’s. It would take two trips, even though all the old furniture and appliances that had been in the garage and deemed ‘still good’ had been donated to charity and hauled off two weeks prior. Ready to leave after loading the last of their items, Wesley found himself standing in the doorway to his room. It was empty. And it appeared smaller, and sad.

“Wesley! Let’s go,” his dad called from downstairs, and he stepped back, and went downstairs, knowing he’d never step foot in this house again.

Wesley walked down the corridor of the high school, backpack slung over each shoulder, as he headed for the exit. It was spring and his sixteenth birthday was the next day, a Saturday. He felt the usual excitement of getting his driver’s license and the freedom it would give him. There were several in his class who had already turned sixteen, so the envy to make this milestone was there. But he also felt a sadness he hid from his parents and his friends. A sadness of how inadequate this new freedom really felt to him, since he had been unable to fly for over a year. He still tried, usually on days he felt desperate about some situation, or depressed, letting himself think of his old friends, his old house and his room that was smaller without its own bath. It was crazy how he missed it.

The new house was everything his parents had promised. It was an old farmhouse that had a family room and master suite added at the rear. This afforded the original master bedroom to become Wesley’s and the smallest bedroom that was next door had been made a closet and bath for it. His window was on front, facing the two-lane highway and the pastureland across it with a large pond. There were no cows, only a couple of horses that had free reign, and he often watched them run, apparently for the pure pleasure of it.

“Hey, Wesley, what time does your party start?” asked Rebecca.

“Five. Are you coming?”

“Of course. Quinton will be there, right?” Rebecca replies, blushing at the admittance.

“Yes, he’ll be there,” Wesley told her, seeing how she blushed, hoping he was not doing the same.

Quinton was the first boy to talk to him, the one who introduced him to others, showed him around, the one he developed a crush on and struggled to hide. He was the boy that made the transfer to a new school bearable. He often wondered what drove one’s attraction, for Quinton wasn’t like Keith. Where Keith had been one of the jocks, at times aloof, he had still been friendly. And he had blonde hair that was longer than most boys and the most vivid blue eyes. Quinton was the opposite. He played some sports but didn’t act the jock and was friendly toward everyone, never aloof. And he had black hair, and fair white skin and the darkest brown eyes that looked black. Maybe his attraction was more about how someone treated him than mere looks, for it was obvious even to him how similar in appearance they were. Even their friends made jokes about them being brothers. But he wasn’t sure about his attraction, and what drove it, and keeping his desires to himself insured he would never be hurt, even if he never would know if those feelings could be returned in kind.

Saturday morning, Wesley woke early, excited about his party. A bonfire was set up in the small field behind the storage shed in back and two picnic tables were arranged in the rear yard, along with a volleyball net and horseshoes. He had considered the horseshoes silly but found himself practicing after school the day before. His mother was in the kitchen pouring coffee when he entered.

“You’re up; good. I was about to wake you.”

“Why? It’s Saturday.”

“We have an errand to run this morning, then we’re going to grab lunch in town before coming back and getting the final arrangements done.”

“An errand? What errand?”

“You’ll see” she replied coyly, then sipped coffee looking over the mug at him. “Go get dressed and put on shoes, not those flip flops you wear all the time.”

They drove not to the town nearby, the one they had moved from, but over to Greenville, the largest town nearby. They drove through the old downtown area, noting the new shops and restaurants since their last visit, then made their way out to the road that ran parallel with the interstate, where shopping centers and car dealers lined it, all facing the interstate.

“Where are we going?” Wesley asked, leaned forward so he could look at his mother’s face.

“You’ll see.”

His father slowed as they approached the Jeep dealership, then flipped on the left turn signal as they neared the first drive.

“No, no…are you serious? You’re not messing with me, are you?”

“No, Wesley, we’re not messing with you. After the move, and really, even before, we saw you were going through some kind of hard time. And after getting here, you seem better, but…”

“What your father is trying to say, we think you can handle your own car. There will be some rules…”

“Lots and lots of rules” his father interjects.

“But we know, out here in the country, it is not as easy to get with your friends and we don’t want you to feel isolated.”

“I’m getting a Jeep?”

“Yeah, maybe one of the little ones like over there,” his father replies pointing at the small front-wheel drive models along one side.

They pulled into a visitor’s spot and Wesley hopped out, and his eyes were drawn to a yellow four-door sitting in front. A couple of guys were looking at it and there was a sold sign in the window. He assumed it was one of them who had purchased it. He fell in behind his parents as they approached the front of the dealership. As they neared the door a salesman came out heading their way.

“It’s all ready, tag is on it and here are the keys” the salesman said as he held out the keys toward Wesley’s dad.

“They’re his” his dad replied, pointing at him.

“Let me get a few last signatures and you folks can be on your way.”

“Which Jeep is it?” Wesley asked and sees his parents smile. The salesman turns and points to the yellow Jeep.

“That one.”

The party had been perfect. There was a table of gifts on the screen porch, the picnic tables were covered in dirtied plates from the cookout and out in the field, a bonfire blazed brightly in the night. Wesley and his friends were sitting around the fire, talking loudly and joking around. Sitting in the drive at the garage was the yellow Jeep, one that the kids had hovered around for a long time, each asking when they could go for a ride.

Wesley was sitting next to Rebecca and both were looking over to where Quinton sat among two other boys, talking about girls.

“I don’t think he knows I’m alive” Rebecca whispered to Wesley and he realized he was thinking the same thing.

“Maybe you should approach him.”

“What? No way.”

Yeah, no way, he thought as his eyes looked over at Quinton again.

Over the remaining school year, Wesley found himself hanging out with his friends more than before, taking them into town to cruise around, or to a cinema for a movie. He got Quinton and the other boys to go riding down old logging roads, some washed out, giving him an excuse to use four-wheel drive. They drove down to the river and over to Matthew’s farm where a washed-out gully gave them another place to play. Quinton would ride his trail bike to the farm and race around the Jeep as it eased up one slope and down another.

Through it all, Wesley found himself drawn to Quinton even more, lying in bed at night creating fantasies that would embarrass him to admit to anyone, even his best friend, Rebecca.

Junior year gave way to senior year and everyone became excited about nearing their end of grade school. For Wesley, life in the country, and the new school had been better than he could have hoped. Hanging out with friends, especially Rebecca and Quinton, happened every weekend. A party, or a night in one of the nearby towns, or just playing video games at someone’s home. By the winter, Wesley found himself hanging out with Quinton more often. Just the two of them, usually in his Jeep riding around, or in one of their rooms watching television or playing games.

Wesley felt there was something more between them, the way Quinton sometimes looked at him. The casual way Quinton would lay next to him on his bed, bodies sometimes touching, or just the playful punch or slap to an arm or back. The best had been when they wrestled, rolling around on a bed or floor till one or the other was pinned down, saying they give up. He just knew Quinton had feelings for him. He thought about it all the time, till the point he was convinced.

One Saturday night, Quinton was in his room, the two of them fighting it out in a video game. On their fifth or sixth game, Wesley won decisively, making Quinton sit up.

“Hey, I think you’re cheating,” Quinton exclaimed.

“What?! No…you just suck,” Wesley replied, taunting him.

“I don’t suck…you do,” Quinton replied, suddenly wrestling Wesley on the bed.

The controllers were pushed to the side as they fought for dominance, rolling from one side to the other, pinning each other down. They were laughing and exerting themselves till sweat ran down their faces. Wesley found himself on top of Quinton and for a few seconds they just stared at each other. He thought it meant something the way those dark brown eyes looked at him. He leaned down and kissed him. A quick kiss on the lips and pulled away to see Quinton’s reaction. It was not as he hoped. Quinton looked shocked, then fought to get from underneath him. He rolled over letting him stumble to his feet.

“What did you do? What…Why?” Quinton stammered, backing away.

“I’m sorry. Just forget it, okay. Pretend I didn’t do it.”

“Are you…” Quinton stammered, going to the door. With it swung open, Quinton looked over at Wesley on the bed. “Do you think I’m gay?” The way it was said was so sad and pitiful, Wesley just shook his head, not sure if he was answering Quinton or trying to tell him not to leave, but suddenly the door was closed, and Quinton was gone.

At school the following Monday, Rebecca cornered him as soon as he arrived, wanting to know what happened between Quinton and him. Why Quinton was going around telling everyone they were not friends anymore and everyone should keep their distance; Wesley wasn’t to be trusted.

“What did you do?” Rebecca asked again.

“Rebecca…please not now.”

“If not now, when? What are you hiding?”

“I’m not…” Wesley stopped mid-sentence, took Rebecca by the hand and led her down to the music building out of sight of everyone. “You want to know the truth? Why Quinton hates me now?”

“You’re scaring me; what is it.”

“I kissed him. I kissed him because I’m gay and thought…no, hoped he was too.”

“OH, Wesley.”

“So, now I’m going to be ostracized by everyone.”

“Wesley…”

“What Rebecca? Are you going to tell me everything is going to be okay?”

“No, but…are you really gay?”

Wesley looked at Rebecca as if she slapped him, the way she seemed not to accept it either.

“I’m going to class. I’m sorry I’m not the kind of person you want me to be” Wesley uttered in a low pained voice, fighting the urge to yell instead. He walked off, not looking back as he heard Rebecca call his name one time, then fell silent, doing nothing to stop him, as he expected.

In his first class, Wesley sat up front, the seat nearest the windows that let him stare out and ignore everyone who came in. He heard how they came in talking only to fall silent when they came into the room. He knew what it meant and didn’t need to look around to confirm it. He heard his name a few times in other’s comments, but no one addressed him.

It was the same in second and third period classes. Wesley taking the seat furthest from everyone else, hoping to be left alone and fearing it at the same time.

Fourth period was the worst, for it was art, a class that was smaller and with everyone loving Mr. Samuels, they crowded at the front, leaving him to move to the very back. He had to look over everyone to watch the instruction, and he saw a few turn to look his way then turn back quickly.

At lunch, he waited outside till he knew most of the others would be through the line, then went in to go through the line. Tray in hand he circled across the front of the cafeteria, near where the teachers sat and took the next table, drawing their attention. No one said anything and he sat facing away from the room, trying to figure out how he would get through the rest of the year like this.

“Wesley, can I sit down?”

Wesley turned to see Rebecca standing close, tray in hand. He nodded his head and watched as she moved around the table and sat opposite.

“I’m sorry if I came off wrong. It was just a surprise is all. I don’t care…Wesley? I don’t care.”

“Really?”

“Really. I wish you had told me sooner.”

“Look over my shoulder and you’ll see why.”

“But they don’t know why Quinton is upset with you. They think you really did something wrong.”

“So, I should tell them the truth about what happened? No…no, that’s not happening.”

“I have to admit, there were times I wondered about the two of you.”

“Don’t Rebecca. Please don’t go there.”

“But Wesley, I can see how you might have thought Quinton would be receptive. I saw how the two of you were like when together.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter. I’m now the class loser.”

“No…just wait and see. It won’t be like that.”

“Okay,” Wesley replied, not convinced.

By the time Wesley got home he didn’t want to deal with anyone, not even his parents. He came into the kitchen, told his mother he had a headache and was going to lay down, then disappeared into his room. When called for lunch, he pretended to be asleep and didn’t go down.

The next morning, the sun filtering in around the blinds, Wesley rolled to his back and stared up at the ceiling. As much as he wanted to pretend to be sick, some sense of defiance welled up and he rolled out of bed and got ready. Twenty minutes later, he climbed into his Jeep and went to school. It was as if he wanted a confrontation. Rebecca met him at his Jeep and they walked together to his first class. It was as the day before. The whispering behind his back and looking away when their eyes met. By lunch time, he expected it to be the same, when he sat down three people came into his view, standing in front of him. He looked up and saw it was Susan, Rachel and Robert. He was about to ask what they wanted when Rebecca came over with her tray and sat down next to him.

“Hey guys, what’s up?” Rebecca asked.

“We were just wondering…what happened between Quinton and you” asked Susan, looking at Wesley.

Wesley saw how they didn’t look mad, but more curious. “It’s nothing. Just let it go.”

“Nothing? That doesn’t seem to be the case with Quinton.”

“It’s my fault, okay, all my fault. That should satisfy everyone, right?” Wesley replied, exasperated at having to even discuss it.

“Wesley, this doesn’t make sense. If you had bruises, a black eye even, from a fight, some evidence then this would make sense, but…”

“I kissed him, okay?” Wesley interrupted Susan, defiant, challenging, ready to let everything get out of control.

Rebecca held her head down and the teachers at the next table over, looked on in silence, not sure they heard right. Susan looked at Rachel, then over at Robert. When she looked back at Wesley, he was holding his breath, waiting on the response.

“That’s it? He’s mad about that?” Susan asked and Wesley sat, mouth open, unsure of what to say. “Thanks for telling us,” she added as she led the others away.

“What the fuck” Wesley whispered, and he looked at Rebecca who was staring back, suppressing a laugh.

By the next morning, word had spread through the school, and there were some who responded just as Wesley feared, and there were some that seemed unsure what to think but he was relieved to see several began to talk to him. There were questions and words of encouragement, and a few that wanted more detail about him kissing Quinton, which he refused to do. But the thing that still hurt was the way Quinton continued to avoid him.

Wesley’s eighteenth birthday was a smaller celebration, one of mixed emotions. Those that came were more supportive and they were able to hang out inside the house, since it was drizzling rain. Wesley knew his parents had been suspecting something was wrong for a couple of weeks, but the way everyone was acting at his party seemed to confirm it, and it was obvious it involved Quinton. After everyone left, Wesley helping to gather the garbage, his mother came up behind him, blocking his way out of the kitchen. His dad stood at the bar.

“Wesley, we’d like to know what is going on with you,” his mother asked.

“It’s nothing” Wesley replied.

“Wesley, we know better. There is something going on with you. What is it?”

“Son, you have to talk to us,” his father added.

Wesley took a depth breath and looked from his father to this mother. “I’m gay.”

That night Wesley lay in bed, not sure how he felt. His parents had initially reacted in shock and he had braced for the worst, but then they sat next to each other at the dining table and told him to come sit. They talked for a long time, how it was a surprise, but he was still their son and they would work to understand this, for they knew it wasn’t some choice he had made. He smiled at the relief of having his parents know, and how he felt like he could now breathe.

The house grew silent, his parents long ago retired for the night. The moon shined in through the window making his room glow with silvery light. He tried to fly, something he had given up on months ago. He lay still, calming his mind. Up, up, up he repeated to himself and he felt a lifting from the bed’s surface, no longer his full weight on it, but he didn’t rise above it. Instead he lost his train of thought and fell back against the bed with his full weight. ‘Fuck” he uttered aloud, frustrated at the loss of this other difference that had scared him so at first. For some reason, he wanted it back.

The following Wednesday, Wesley had gone into town to have dinner with Rebecca, Susan, Rachel and Robert. They met at the pizza parlor in the shopping center, then cruised around town for a while, all piled up in the Jeep. It was after sunset, the sky darkening quickly when Wesley was finally on his way home, knowing he had a paper to finish in English.

He drove down Highway 97 out of town and through the countryside, till he came to Highway 8, known as Buford Lane to the locals, and turned. The road would take him to Carson Bridge Road, the one that he lived on, a narrow unmarked paved road that until recently had been one of the last dirt roads in the county. He drove along slowly, for with the top and doors removed, it was nice to just ease along with the wind swirling around inside the Jeep. He crossed Cane Creek and motored up the grade till on the next plateau. On the left pine grew in rows, and on his right, the Miller’s place. There were barns and silos behind the two-story farmhouse and cow pastures each side of it. The only lights on were the rooms in back and a security light in the backyard. The Millers were an older couple, all their children grown and living elsewhere, and it was no surprise to see their place closed up for the night.

He passed the house and was nearly past the pasture, when he noticed a motorcycle tangled up in the barb wire fence. It was smoking slightly, and the rider was nowhere to be seen. Wesley slowed as he approached, trying to make out the bike when suddenly he realized it was Quinton’s. He jerked the Jeep off the road onto the shoulder and slid to a stop. Running around the front, headlights still on so he could see, he made his way through the tall grass and weeds. The bike was beat up, looking as if it tumbled through the ditch before crashing into the fence.

“Quinton!” Wesley shouted as he drew closer. He saw a red shirt, then a leg and he raced to where Quinton lay on the ground down in the bottom of the ditch. “Quinton!” he cried out as he fell down on his knees next the prone body.

Quinton stirred awake and opened his eyes as Wesley looked over his body trying to figure out how badly he was injured.  Wesley pulled out his cell phone and fumbled to dial 911.

“Yes!  Please…we need an ambulance. It’s Quinton. He’s had a wreck on his motorcycle. Highway 8 at the Miller farm…yes…yes, yes…please hurry.”

“Wesley…calm down. I’m not hurt that bad” Quinton mumbled, reaching up to touch Wesley’s arm to get his attention. “I think I’m just cut up some. I hit the barb wire and…”

Quinton fell silent and Wesley used his cell phone light to look at his body. There were two bad cuts, one across the stomach and one along an arm, both bleeding. Blood was everywhere and Wesley was afraid Quinton could bleed out before the ambulance arrived. He was freaking out.

Without thinking of the repercussions, Wesley lifted Quinton, hugged him tightly and begged his body to do what it had been refusing for years. UP! UP! His feet left the ground and soon he was hovering over the ditch, going higher and higher, then he looked toward the small town knowing it did not have a hospital. He turned ninety degrees facing east, toward Greenville. The place with the nearest hospital and flew, fast, the wind whipping his shirt along his back as he stayed clear of the trees.

Wesley was in the waiting area, his parents sitting next to him with a sheriff and two guys from the ambulance crew. He had been so relieved earlier when the doctor said Quinton was not seriously hurt, the cuts looking worse than they were, but now he faced questioning. His Jeep sat at the scene, engine running. The Sheriff arrived, then the ambulance, finding neither Quinton nor Wesley. They had called each one’s parents and tried to figure out how the two boys got to the hospital so quick. Less than ten minutes per the phone records.

“Did someone pick you up and bring you?” the sheriff asked, and Wesley knew in hindsight that he should have lied, but he hadn’t. He told the truth.

“No, no one brought us here.”

“But how did you get here? And so fast.”

“Wesley, how did you get Quinton here so fast?” his father asked, everyone confused and concerned.

“I flew” Wesley whispered.

“What did you say?” the sheriff asked, not sure he heard right.

Wesley stood up, and the sheriff and ambulance crew stepped back, not sure what Wesley was up to.

Up Wesley thought, knowing he could easily fly now. His feet rose above the floor till he was above everyone’s head. A tray crashed to the floor and there were gasps from the corridor that passed the waiting area alcove.

“What the hell” the sheriff stammered, stepping back further.

“Wesley?” his parents said in unison as he floated back to the floor.

“I flew Quinton here” said Wesley, defiantly.

Wesley was in his room, his parents gone into town. It had been two days since Quinton’s wreck and the incident at the hospital. The sheriff and ambulance crew had agreed with his parents to keep it a secret, for they all assumed no one would believe it anyway. But Wesley knew far too many had seen him hovering in the waiting room and sooner or later someone would tell, and eventually it would get to someone who questioned it. Someone who liked conspiracy theories, believed in supernatural events or thought the government was doing experiments that were fantastical. It didn’t matter that their pursuits were silly, this one time they would be proved right, and Wesley sensed how dangerous that could be.

He heard a car pull around to the back and he thought it must be his parents, returning early, probably forgetting a cell phone or some grocery list. He lay still waiting to hear them come in but heard a knock at the back door. Climbing out of bed, not bothering to put on a shirt, he ambled out in just gym shorts, unconcerned about his appearance. He wondered if it could be someone his dad worked with or maybe it was one of his mom’s friends coming over to gossip. Down the stair and through the kitchen he walked up the back door and saw the outline of someone through the curtain and knew immediately it wasn’t someone for his parents. He’d recognize the silhouette anywhere.

“Quinton?”

“Wesley…can I come in?”

“Sure, come on in” Wesley replied stepping back, realizing how he had been blocking the door.

“Your parents are gone?”

“Yes.”

“Hey look, can we sit down and talk?”

“You’re not scared to be around me?”

“What? No…no. I’m not,” Quinton replied as he led the way up the stair and to Wesley’s room.

It surprised Wesley, for he assumed Quinton would want to stay in the family room or go back outside on the screen porch, but not to his room. He followed him, keeping back a few feet.  Quinton sat in his chair and he moved to his bed, easing down on it. He felt trapped in his room. Quinton too close.

“Wesley, I’m sorry about…well, freaking out and…”

“What do you want, Quinton?” Wesley interrupted him, not sure he wanted to relive all the drama of the kiss, then the ostracizing then coming out.

“Okay, I get it. The other night, when you found me. Wesley…you flew us to the hospital.”

“What? NO! You must be mixing up things. That’s crazy.” Wesley knew no one should know of him flying except those that he had confessed at the hospital. And he had made them promise not to say anything to Quinton.

“Wesley, it’s crazy, I know. I know it is not supposed to be possible…but I know what I saw. You were holding me and rising upward out of the ditch, then flying to the hospital. I saw the trees below us. Below us…Wesley, you flew.”

“Does that make any sense, what you’re say?”

“No, it doesn’t, and I’ve thought about it for the last two days till I’m making myself crazy. But I know what I saw.”

“Look…just thank me for getting you to the hospital then go home. You obviously don’t want to be around me, so…”

“Wesley,” Quinton whispered, and the low pained tone made Wesley stop, more so than if Quinton had yelled.  Hands shaking, unable to look at Wesley, Quinton began to talk. “Can we back up for a minute. Go back to the other issue between us?”

“Yeah, sure, what do you want to say?”

Quinton hesitated and Wesley waited, unwilling to say anything, letting the silence build.

“Okay, let’s start with the kiss…”

“Oh, Quinton, no…”

“Yes, I have to. Listen, I’m sorry I freaked out. But it really scared me. You see, I had this image of myself, of who I was and where I was going in life and how everything was going to be this perfect scenario that everyone wanted for me. Then…well, we began to hang out and I found myself wanting to be with you more than I wanted to be with anyone else. I began to consider our friendship in other ways. I imagined us in ways that I tried to suppress. I like girls, really, I do, but…I like you, too. And when you kissed me, it all became so real, no longer some imaginings I made up.”

“Quinton…”

“Let me finish. Wesley, I have been miserable since that day. Refusing to have anything to do with you. I miss the days we just hung out and I miss you. I don’t know why…does that make me bi-sexual on some level, that I think of you in that way?”

“I don’t know, but even if you have some feelings and didn’t want to pursue them, you should have just told me.”

“I know, and it’s not that I don’t want to pursue them.”

“What?”

“Look…can we start over. Just hang out for a while and…” Quinton fell silent.

Wesley felt like this was an opportunity to set things right, both for Quinton and for himself. He fell back on his bed and stared up at the ceiling, wondering how far to go.

“Quinton?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you keep a secret…really keep one. Tell no one.”

“Sure.”

Wesley closed his eyes, calmed his mind and thought the word, made it real, a movement of his own body and he floated upward, off the bed until he was three feet above it.

“Holy shit…you can do it. You really can fly. I knew it.”

Wesley floated back down, settling on the bed, and before he knew it, Quinton was on top of him holding him down.

“You bastard, how long?”

“I started when I was twelve but lost the ability for a while. I didn’t get it fully back until that night.”

“My wreck made you able to fly again?”

“Yes.”

“Take me up”, said Quinton as he lay on Wesley and hugged him. “Let me see what it’s like. I don’t remember the other night very well.”

“Hold on” said Wesley, his heart racing with the feel of Quinton against his chest. He wrapped his arms around him and watched the excitement in Quinton’s face. Wide eyed, waiting for him to take them up. He thought the word, up, and felt their weight leave the bed. They rose, one foot, two, then three. He moved around the room, slowly, careful not to hit anything. He eased through the door and along the hall. Wesley gasped as he went out over the stair, then down till on the first floor. He flew around the first floor, going room to room, savoring the way Quinton clung to him, the feel against his bare chest, even if Quinton was fully dressed.

Then Wesley went back to the stair, floated over it, up to the second floor, down the hall back to his room. He hovered over his bed for a few seconds, long seconds he didn’t want to end, then he settled down on his bed, feeling the full weight of Quinton on his body. Then he felt lips touch his own.

Quinton pulled back and looked down at Wesley.

“My parents might be back soon,” Wesley whispered.

“Then we’ll have to hurry,” Quinton whispered in reply, and he leaned down, kissing Wesley again as he ran his hands up the bare sides of Wesley’s body.

They tore at their clothes, struggled to get Quinton’s jeans off, until they were naked, body pressed to body. They were rough, hurried, an urgency pent up for far too long. Wesley pushed Quinton to his back and slid downward, kissing the hollow spot below his neck, down the sternum and over to the right nipple. He tongued its hard nub, pressed lips around it and sucked, then he nipped it making Quinton cry out. He continued moving downward as a hand played in his hair. He kissed the undulating stomach, making it move faster, then he raked his nose through pubic hair and tongued the base of Quinton’s cock. He moved along the thick, rock-hard length and closed his lips around the head. The hand in his hair grasped it and pushed him down till nearly choking.

“Fuck…Wesley…don’t stop” Quinton uttered breathlessly.

Wesley worked the hard cock, moving his head up and down, at times slow, painfully slow and other times, so fast the sound of his wet lips popping off the head at times was loud enough to hear. He tongued the head, bore into the slit making Quinton shudder. He stroked his own cock to keep up his arousal, this want and need. He would do anything for Quinton, and he took the head in his mouth and pushed down till his nose was pressed into the abdomen.

Quinton grabbed at the bed, tight fist clinging to it, as he pushed up with his hips. All he could sense was Wesley’s lips, the way they slid down his cock and back up. Over and over, the feel of them made him grow more aroused. His cock so hard it ached for release.

Wesley held the head in his mouth and stroked the shaft. He sucked and tongued on the head as his hand moved faster and faster. He knew Quinton was close and he wanted him to come. He wanted Quinton to fill his mouth. Quinton cried out, tried to say something, then bucked up hard. Wesley felt the head flare out wide then fill his mouth with cum.

Quinton fell still, breathing hard, as Wesley rolled over and began to masturbate. He assumed Quinton was be too timid to do anything for him. It was their first time and he wasn’t going to push it. He wanted Quinton to be comfortable in their sex. But Quinton moved on the bed, knocked his hand away as he slipped down next to him.

Wesley watched wide eyed as Quinton held up his cock, studying it, looking at it as if he’d never seen one before, then moved to it, kissing the head then slipped it in his mouth and pushed down.

“OH…fuck,” Wesley exclaimed as his cock disappeared in Quinton’s mouth. He watched the head bob up and down while feeling lips move on it. There was the rub along the shaft and the hot, wet enveloping of it. Tongue dragged with delicious friction along the shaft and swirled around the head making him shudder.

Quinton moved over one leg, down between them and Wesley felt the warm body rubbing his legs, the hands that rubbed each thigh, over his stomach, one over his chest, all while his cock was being manipulated, taking into the mouth, over and over, until he was bucking upward.

“Quinton…I’m going to…” Wesley exclaimed, unable to finish as he filled Quinton’s mouth.

Quinton moved up next to him and they kissed.

A car pulls around the house.

“Shit…get dressed,” Wesley exclaims as he pulls on his boxers then gym shorts. “I’ll go down and tell them you’re in the bathroom.”

So, it began. Their clandestine meetings. The next Monday, Quinton stopped Wesley in the parking lot after school, luring him into a trip into town later. Wesley raced home, changed out of his clothes and into a pair of shorts and a tank top. He told his mom he was meeting Quinton in town and headed back out. Quinton was in front of the shopping center on Perimeter Road and hopped in the Jeep when Wesley pulled up beside him. They rode around town, cruised through the drive-thru at the burger joint on W. Garden Street for drinks, then rode out to the west side of town, to the abandoned mill factory building. The one with the roof caving in and weeds and trees growing up through the parking lot. There was a parking lot in back, away from prying eyes and Wesley parked at its back side under the shade of an oak tree.

Leaning over the console they kissed, while running hands over the other. Quinton tugged on Wesley’s tank top, who sat up, letting him remove it. Wesley groped Quinton, felt the hardening cock within while a hand roamed over his bare chest and stomach.

“Let’s get out,” Quinton whispered.

Standing on the passenger side, they stripped, tossing their clothes inside the Jeep, knowing if someone should drive up there would be no way to get dressed in time. It excited them, the daringness of it, their nakedness. Wesley leaned against the front fender while Quinton pushed up against him. Their hard cocks pressed together as hands rubbed backs, then ass cheeks. Quinton pulled Wesley away from the Jeep and slipped fingers down between the cheeks. He raked them along the cleft then pushed till rubbing Wesley’s hole.

“Oh…yeah…” Wesley whispered as Quinton began to toy with his hole, fingering the opening till he was shivering. When a finger breached the tight opening and sank into him, he clung to Quinton, urging him to do it.

Quinton soon had two, then three fingers inside Wesley, working him open, loosening the tightness. Wesley laid his forehead on the fender and pushed back. “Fuck me…put it in me,” he pleaded.

Quinton stepped back and rubbed his leaking cock along Wesley’s ass till it was wet while Wesley held his cheeks apart. Then he pushed against the tight opening, feeling his cock squeeze through it. He kept pushing, slowly, sinking inch after inch into Wesley till his cock had disappeared and his abdomen was pressed against Wesley’s ass.

“Oh…fuck…” Wesley stammered.

Holding the narrow waist, Quinton began to fuck, tugged his cock outward then pushed back in, over and over and over. As he worked his hips, his pace increased until the sound of their bodies smacking together was as loud as Wesley’s moans and grunts. It spurned him onward, pushed him to fuck even harder. He couldn’t get enough of it, the way it felt to piston his cock inside Wesley.

Wesley felt his hands grow sweaty where they bore down on the fender. He rocked in rhythm with Wesley’s fuck, the steady movement back and forth as cock bore into his depths. It seemed Quinton was going to impossible depths, pushing into the center of his being.

“Fuck…Wesley…I can’t hold back…”

“Do it…give it to me…” Wesley replied as he felt hands tighten on his waist and Quinton’s pace grow erratic, the jamming of hips against his ass. “Fuck me” he pleaded as Quinton leaned over his back and kissed his shoulder then nipped at it as hips shoved up tight to his ass and jerked with release.

Quinton pulled back and looked at Wesley’s sweaty back and wondered about the way Wesley had enjoyed their sex as much as he had, maybe even more. He saw Wesley’s right arm moving and knew he was masturbating, trying to get off himself.

“Wesley, stop…don’t come yet” Quinton whispered as he reached out and touched his shoulder.

Wesley turned around, cock rock hard and sticking straight out. It was wet and a drop from the slit drooled down toward the ground. Quinton moved up to Wesley and kissed him as he reached for his cock. He felt its girth fill his hand and soon was wet as he slowly stroked Wesley. He kissed around to the right ear. “Do me; I want to try.”

As the boys traded places, unbeknownst to them a drone hovered over the old mill, its camera focused on them. The camera lens moved to improve its focus while it hovered in place.

Quinton leaned on the fender as Wesley had done and spread his ass cheeks, opening himself for Wesley, offering himself for their mutual pleasure. Wesley fingered him, one, two, then three fingers, stretching him open. As fingers twisted and pushed inward, Quinton relaxed to their manipulation, feeling his arousal return, his cock flex and begin to harden once again. The fingers slipped free and he felt empty, an odd sensation that defied what he had thought before. He now desired what he had feared. He wanted Wesley to penetrate him, to push cock into his hole. He wanted to be fucked.

Wesley eased into Quinton, pushed inch after inch into him till hips pressed against ass, then he began to fuck. He was so aroused he didn’t know how long he’d last, but he didn’t care, for he knew it wouldn’t be their last time. He fucked slowly to allow Quinton to relax to it, then he fucked harder, hips smacking against ass. Fingers raked over his thighs urging him on, and he held tightly to Quinton’s waist and fucked to the point of exhaustion, his exertion making his body tighten, every muscle visible, and his skin shine wetly. And he kept fucking till it was too late to slow down. He cried out, rubbed his nose up the slick skin of Quinton’s back, right along the spine as he hammered his hips against him, ejaculating with every forward thrust.

The drone watched, every moment of the boy’s fuck, and when Wesley stepped back and Quinton turned to him, the two of them coming together to kiss, it backed out of sight. It flew down the road, for nearly a mile, to where a black Mercedes Sprinter van sat in a parking lot of an abandoned service station. The drone flew low over it and when the back doors swung open it was retrieved by those inside.

“Let’s go, this may be our best opportunity to take the boy” came the command from the back and the driver started the van and pulled out, heading toward the old mill.

Dressed and climbing back into the Jeep, they heard tires screeching then the unmistakable sound of metal on metal. A wreck occurred somewhere in front of the mill, probably someone making a left turn into the bait shop across the road. They heard a horn blaring, then muted voices of people yelling bouncing around the building.

“That sounded bad,” said Quinton standing on the footrest by the open door, as if he could see the wreck.

“Get in, we need to go.”

“How are you going to get out? Are we just going to drive by the accident out front?”

“Hell no. There is another entrance that went into the old neighborhood.”

“Really? How do you know that?”

“A great aunt worked in the mill years ago and she lived back there” Wesley replied pointing into the trees, knowing there was an old residential neighborhood built in the late forties and early fifties just the other side of them. My grandmother talked of walking with her to the entrance then riding her bike back home.”

Wesley eased the Jeep along the parking lot, cutting over old, broken curbs till he found the old entrance, blocked with a pile of dirt in the middle of it.

“I guess your Jeep is going to come in handy.”

“Yep” Wesley replied as he shifted into four-wheel drive and eased over the pile of dirt and into the old neighborhood.

A truck had turned in front of another, trying to get into the bait shop. The other truck hit the rear fender, spinning it off the road and into the ditch. The other truck, front heavily damaged, slid down the road and stopped sideways, blocking both lanes. Traffic piled up. Heading from town was a pulpwood truck, a couple of sedans, an SUV, and more. Amongst the line of stopped cars sat a Mercedes Sprinter van. The frustration emanated from it as it inched forward, then tried to go on the shoulder, eventually realizing it was too narrow, with too many signs to allow them the maneuver.

Wesley pulled out the next morning to go to school, having to wait on a van, one he assumed was a delivery van, for it looked like the ones he saw in town. His father pulled up behind him, heading to work, and together they pulled out on the road. He thought he was going to catch up with the van, for it was driving at a slow pace, but as he and his dad approached, it sped up, pulling away until out of sight.

Wesley went through his school day, Quinton with him before first bell, then sitting by him when they had class together and during lunch. Others noticed the difference in their relationship, how it seemed closer than before, before the rift that separated them for a while. Only Rebecca and Susan knew for sure what was going on, and they swore to secrecy, knowing there could be repercussions if they told.

At the end of the school day, everyone leaving either by bus, picked up by a parent, or their own vehicle, Quinton followed Wesley out to his Jeep.

“Hey, you want to study together?  I don’t get that last science lecture,” Quinton asked as Wesley climbed into his Jeep.

“Sure, when do you want to come over?”

“How about now? I’ll call mom and let her know on the way.”

“Okay.”

Quinton followed Wesley out of the school parking lot onto the side street that ran by the school, accessing all the secondary parking lots, the gym and football stadium. They drove up to the intersection with the main road, where a general store sat. Wesley, in looking in both directions, noticed Mrs. Williams’ Buick was in front of the store and on the other side one of those delivery vans. He pulled out, turning right, and headed home, and in the rearview mirror he saw Quinton following him.

They didn’t notice the van pull out, nor how it followed them at a distance. Wesley was too focused on the road ahead and the old Mustang behind him. They drove down to Carson Bridge Road and headed to his home.

Wesley walked in, followed by Quinton finding his mother with her small pad of paper used for her lists. She was standing at the pantry cabinets, doors open as he looked from shelf to shelf, making notes.

“Mom, Quinton and I are going to study in my room.”

“Okay…” his mom whispered, before turning, finally realizing what Wesley had said. “Oh, Quinton; sorry I wasn’t paying attention. You boys want anything to drink?”

“Maybe later” Quinton replied as Wesley shook his head, the two of them disappearing into the hall. Their footsteps could be heard climbing the stair, then going down the hall. A door closed and Wesley’ mother resumed her survey of the pantry, then the refrigerator, making out a full list of items they needed.

Wesley went to his chest of drawers as Quinton laid across his bed, science textbook in hand. He pulled out a pair of gym shorts, tossing them on his chair.

“What are you doing?” Quinton asked.

“Changing into something more comfortable.”

“You got another pair?”

“Yes,” Wesley replied, pulling the drawer out again, pulling out another pair. “Here,” as he tossed them at Quinton, the shorts landing on his head.

They stripped out jeans and shirts and pulled on the shorts, then lay side by side on his bed. As Wesley explained their last lecture, going through the chapter, their legs brushed together, hips bumped, and arms rubbed against each other. It was distracting and comforting, this contact between them.

“Repeat that…yes that part,” said Quinton pointing at a section he didn’t understand.

“Focus, and stop playing footsies,” Wesley chuckled as he pushed Quinton’s foot away with his own.

“Each neutron is electrically neutral and consist of one up quark and two down quarks….”

The door swung open and Wesley’s mother stepped in. “Hey boys, I’m going to town to run by the hardware store then the grocery store. I thought about getting a pizza to bring back. Quinton will you still be here?”

“If it’s okay?”

“Of course. I’ll be back around six thirty, so you boys get your homework done and we’ll eat then.”

As soon as he was gone, Quinton ran his foot along Wesley’s leg, toes wiggling to increase the sensation.

“Quinton…stop,” Wesley giggled, then pushed his foot away. “We’ve only got 3 more pages. Let’s finish first.”

“Then?”

“Then we can do whatever you want.”

Quinton listened to Wesley read the last pages, explaining the various aspects as he went. When Wesley closed the book and dropped it down on the floor, Quinton moved over him, slid up his back, kissed shoulders, neck, then around the left ear. “You’re not going to stop me now, are you?”

“Nnoooo,” Wesley breathed out as Quinton pushed against his ass.

Hands trailed down bare sides, slipped between their bodies and pushed down on Wesley’s shorts. Wesley raised his ass and let his boxers and shorts slide down his thighs. Quinton lay back on top and he felt the hardening cock press against his ass, and he couldn’t stop himself from imagining it inside him. He wanted it, and pushed upward increasing the pressure on it. He worked his legs till his shorts and boxers were around his ankles and Quinton used one foot to push them off, letting them drop on the floor.

“Fuck me” Wesley uttered as Quinton undulated against him. The push against his ass, the lips touching his neck and around the ear, and the hands that moved along his sides. Touches almost ticklish and he reached back and pushed down on Quinton’s shorts, wanting him naked too.

Quinton rose onto his knees and worked his shorts and briefs off, his cock flopping out free, hard as rock. He scooted up to the prone body, straddled the thighs and pushed his cock down to its target. “Take me…take me…” he uttered as he penetrated Wesley and eased into his hole, inch after inch. He pushed inward until his cock had disappeared from sight.

Leaning over, resting on his hands, Quinton began to fuck, to work his cock through the tight opening, savoring the way it griped him. Wesley kissed his wrist and held to each one desperately while pushing upward to take every inch. The bed began to rock as Quinton fucked faster, harder, driving cock into the depths of Wesley’s hole.

“Oh…fuck me,” Wesley uttered then moaned as the room filled with the sound of their sex.

Quinton fucked fast, then slow, then fast again. His body showed its exertion, with muscle flexed tightly along his stomach, and skin glistening wetly. “Fuck…Wesley…” he exclaimed as he hammered his cock inside Wesley’s hole.

Quinton slowed again, trying to hold out longer and Wesley looked over his shoulder. “Let me roll over.”

Wesley on his back, legs resting on Quinton’s shoulders, watched Quinton move over him. He folded over, ass spread wide, upturned for the penetration he craved. Cock touched his opening, then sank through it. Quinton bore into his depths, all the way, bouncing abdomen off ass. The bed squeaked and rocked, and he couldn’t hold back, grunting with every penetrating push inward.

Wesley took his cock in hand and stroked himself to full arousal. He felt everything. The cock that piston inside his hole, the body that pushed at the back of his legs, smacked against his ass and the stomach that brushed his hand while stroking his cock. He threw his head back closing his eyes, focusing every sense on Quinton fucking him. He felt so aroused, so alive, he couldn’t hold back. Release surged through him, made him gasp for air, then shudder and jerk as Quinton kept fucking. He came hard, cum hitting him in the face, under the chin then ropes along his chest. He tasted it as some trickled into his mouth. Begging Quinton to cum, he ran his hands along the slick back and sides Quinton’s body. The skin was hot to the touch, with rivulets of sweat cascading down it.

Quinton leaned down, kissed Wesley with the most passion so far. Rough, almost desperate in the way he pressed his lips to Wesley’s. He held Wesley down, arms pinned to the bed as his hips pumped cock deeply inside of him. He reared up, cried out, guttural, almost pained, as he jammed his hips against Wesley and shook with his release.

When Wesley’s mom arrived back home, the two boys went out to help her bring in the bags that filled the back of her SUV. His father pulled in shortly after they got the last of the bags inside where his mother was putting away everything. Pizza was set out on the dining table and they sat around it, pulling one slice then another until each was sated. It was nearly eight o’clock by the time they finished and had the kitchen cleaned up. His parents sat in the family room for it was the time for their favorite television program of the night.

“Let’s go riding around” Wesley whispered to Quinton, “maybe go into town or just cruise around the countryside.”

“Stir crazy?”

“A bit, yes.”

“Okay.”

Wesley eased to the edge of the sofa as the beginning credits rolled. “We’re going to ride to town and knock around for a little while. Okay?”

“Sure…just be back before eleven. You have school tomorrow and…”

“I know. Thanks.”

The Jeep was still open, doors and top stored in the garage. They climbed in, Quinton wearing the clothes from school and Quinton in a t-shirt and jeans. Out on the road, Wesley didn’t head toward town, but in the opposite direction.

“Where are we going?” asked Quinton.

“Nowhere really. I just want to ride around. It’s such a nice night, the air still warm but beginning to cool. It just feels good.”

“Yeah, it does” Quinton replied as he set one foot on the step outside the body on the step.

Wesley turned up the radio when one of his favorite songs came on. Motoring down the narrow country road, they talked about school, what they were doing after graduation for the summer and favorite songs they hoped would be played soon. Wesley watched the road in front but didn’t notice the headlights in the distance behind him. The headlights that kept pace, always about three quarters of a mile back, disappearing out of sight when they dropped down an incline or went through a curve. They were in a section of the road with pine on each side, coming around a sweeping right hand turn when headlights appeared in front of them. Wesley knew immediately something was off, for the headlights were sitting in the middle of the road, not moving.

“This is weird,” Wesley uttered as Quinton sat up. Glancing in the mirror when lights hit him in the eyes, he saw headlights coming up fast behind them. “Shit, this isn’t right.”

“What? What is it?”

“Ahead the road is blocked, and someone is coming up fast behind us.”

“You think they’re after us?”

“Not us…me.”

Wesley slowed, then stopped about 150 feet back from the van blocking the road, its outline now visible. Men with guns stood on either side of it, six in all. The vehicle behind them came up and stopped angled across the road, and Wesley saw it was another of the vans. It hit him suddenly, the vans he had seen around the community the last few days and how none had markings.

“Shit. Listen, ease out and move to the front right between the headlights,” said Wesley as he flipped on the high beams.

“What are you going to do?”

“WE are getting out of here.”

Wesley moved to the front and stood in front of Quinton. “What do you want?” he yelled at the men.

“We need you to come with us” one of them yelled back, beginning to approach.

“When he’s about thirty feet we’ll grab a hold of each other and fly” Wesley whispered to Quinton wanting the man to partially block them from the others. He glanced back and saw the men behind them were standing at the other van, not approaching. The man came closer and closer, his gun first aimed at them, then angled down, assuming they were complying with his order. When he was about thirty feet away, Wesley uttered loud enough for Quinton to hear him, “Now!”

Quinton bear hugged Wesley who was already leaving the ground. They soared upward rapidly, far faster than the men anticipated. They could hear them yelling as they cleared the treetops and headed north, out over them where the vans couldn’t go.

“Don’t shoot! We need him alive.”

“He can fly with someone else!  FUCK!”

“Go, go, go, get in the van…let’s go.”

“Goddamn it, get that fucking drone air born.”

Wesley didn’t know where he was heading, he just flew as fast as he dared with Quinton holding on to him. Over the pine stand, all the way over to the next highway till they were hovering over Mr. Davis’ pasture.

“What now?” Quinton asked.

“I’m thinking…” Wesley replied as they slowly spun in place, hovering a hundred feet above the ground. “I can only think of one place to go.”

“Where?”

“The sheriff’s. I’m taking you back to my house. You’ll get my parents and meet me there,” said Wesley as he spun till facing back west toward his home and he began to fly, fast, so fast, it scared Quinton, who closed his eyes.

Wesley dropped Quinton down in the backyard after making sure the coast was clear, then lifted off fast, faster than before and was gone. Quinton ran inside and within minutes they were running back out, loaded up in Wesley’s mom’s SUV, his father behind the wheel. They hit the highway, heading toward town knowing the sheriff lived on the east side, in one of the neighborhoods there.

Sheriff Grimes was in the kitchen, pouring another bourbon, the ice cube rattling in the glass. He was tired after a long day and just wanted to relax in front the television until he was tired enough to fall asleep. He’d been rattled by Wesley and had lain awake at night wondering if he should make the call. It was shaping up like before and he was determined not to let that happen. He eased down in his recliner, feet up and looked over at Helen who was doing another of her puzzles. It amazed him how fast she could sort the pieces and soon have the image beginning to come together. He had never had the patience.

A comedy came on that he enjoyed enough to not change the channel, and he sipped his drink as the opening credits rolled.

The first scene was starting when a loud knock came from the back door. It surprised the two of them and Sheriff Grimes lowered the footrest and peered around toward the back door at the silhouette visible through the curtain. “Who in the hell?” he mumbled for he had not heard a car pull around back.

“Who is that?” Helen asked.

“I’m going to find out” Sheriff Grimes replied getting to his feet and crossing the kitchen to get to the back door. “Yes?” he called out at the door, not recognizing the silhouette.

“Sheriff Grimes? It’s Wesley. I need your help.”

There it was: his nightmare standing at the door. Flashbacks to New Mexico and the Ava girl. How everything went sideways when John and he tried to protect her and in the end the girl was killed and John and he separated, sent to different areas of the country. Now he saw it could happen again. Wesley was no immigrant, but the fact he was special in his own way made that a moot point. Door unlocked, he swung it open. “Get inside. Are you alone?”

“Yes, but my parents are supposed to be on the way.”

“Okay, what happened?”

“…then I just came here because…I didn’t know any other option,” said Wesley, following silent, waiting to see the Sheriff’s response.

Sheriff Grimes took a deep breath, rubbed his face, then looked over at his wife standing nearby with a look of disbelief.

“Helen, I need to you pack a bag, quickly, and go to your friend’s place. This is the situation we discussed. Can you do that?”

She looked confused at first, then grew serious, nodding her head. “Yes, Rob, I can do it.” She hurried from the room.

Sheriff Grimes turned to Wesley seeing the surprised look. He smiled, not from humor but one of being resolved to the situation they were in. “Follow me,” he said as he headed to his office in the front of the house.

Sheriff Grimes moved around his desk as Wesley came in and stood opposite. He waved for him to sit as he pulled out his cell phone and scrolled through contacts until he found the one he wanted, hitting the dial button. It rang four times.

“Robert?”

“Hey, John, it’s been a long time.”

“Yes, it has. I would ask why the call, but something tells me I’m about to find out something I don’t want to hear.”

“It’s another case…MX25 case.”

“What?! No, Robert, please tell me…”

“Sorry, John. It’s like New Mexico or will be if you don’t help. You still…”

“You know the answer to that.”

“So, can you help?”

“Of course. Is the subject like Ava?”

“I’d say it is a more interesting case.”

“Don’t say anything else. Give me ten minutes, and I’ll call you back.” 

The connection ended and Sheriff Grimes leaned back, looking over at Wesley. “I assume your parents should be arriving in a few minutes.”

“I hope so.”

It was just a couple of minutes, minutes that felt like an eternity to Wesley, but through the open blinds he recognized his mother’s SUV pulling down the drive.

“It’s them,” said Wesley, jumping up.

Sheriff Grimes and Wesley were at the back steps when his parents and Quinton came hurrying up. Wesley was bound up in a long hug by both of his parents, then they turned to Sheriff Grimes.

“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do first,” Sheriff Grimes said as he held up a small remote aiming it at the garage across the drive. It was a three-car garage and the third door went up revealing an empty bay. “Put your vehicle in the garage and let’s get inside. We should hear back from my contact soon.”

With the SUV put away, they made their way inside. Helen came out of the bedroom, hurried, rolling a suitcase.

“You got what you need?” Sheriff Grimes asked.

“I think so.”

“Okay, get going and don’t stop until you get there.”

Sheriff Grimes kissed his wife and handed the keys and purse to her that were on the counter. They watched her hurry across the drive and to the first garage door which was going up. She raced to the Mustang sitting inside it, putting her suitcase in the trunk. The tires barked as she backed out, then spun in the gravel as she sped away with the garage door lowering in her wake.

Sheriff Grimes breathed a sigh of relief, then headed to his office. “Follow me, folks. It’s going to be a long night.”

Sheriff Grimes moved around his desk as Wesley’s parents took the two chairs, leaving Quinton and him to stand behind them. The room had just settled in a silence that was deceiving, a false façade to the underlying tension that filled the room, when the Sheriff’s cell phone rang.

“John.”

“Robert, I’ve got arrangements set up. Is there anything we’re missing?”

“The Quinton boy. His parents are going to be worried and may…”

“Text me their information and we’ll get someone over there.”

“Good.”

“How many do we need to transport?”

“Five, including myself.”

“And Helen?”

“Taken care of.”

“Of course. Should have known you had a plan. To speed things up and get you out of there quicker we’re going to meet halfway. Do you remember the airfield in Union County?”

“The old training field? Is it still active?”

“Yes. How quick can you get there?”

“Lights flashing or keeping a low profile?”

“Lights flashing.”

“Twenty minutes or so.”

“Go,” and the call ended.

The Dodge Charger was humming with speed, lights flashing, as Sheriff Grimes drove down Highway 252, heading north to Union County. They were headed to the old Clarkson AF Training Field that was supposedly abandoned after the Vietnam War. It was isolated in a remote area of the county, surrounded by pine that would never be logged.

Sheriff Grimes kept the Charger in the middle of the road, going as fast as he dared. They came to Highway 32 which forked off 252 in the old mill village area, and the sheriff slowed enough to make the slight turn, accelerating quickly back to speed.

Twenty minutes later he was on Clarkson Road that ran past the entrance to the airfield. He drove by it making everyone look around than back to him.

“They don’t want anyone to know the field is still in use, so there is another entrance,” Sheriff Grimes replied to the questioning looks. He turned on a dirt lane, one that cut through the pine, and he drove for over a mile before slowing again. He turned into a narrow lane that looked like a service road with signs about a cell tower and no trespassing. Easing along the lane, after a couple of turns they passed the cell tower and keep driving along till they came to a high security fence with a gate. A keypad was just outside it, angled out for a driver to reach. The sheriff pulled up a text message, one from John with a passcode in it. After punching it in, the gates swung open.

It was a short drive and the trees gave way to a large open area, with a runway and taxiing lanes. To one side sat three metal buildings, all still in use. As the sheriff pulled up to the first building a garage door rolled upward and two men dressed in black stood at each side.

“John sent us here” Sheriff Grimes told the one on his side as he pulled into the bay.

“We’re expecting you,” came the reply as the man motioned them to pull on in.

Car parked and everyone standing in a loose circle, Sheriff Grimes moved up to the man who looked in charge.

“So, what’s the plan?”

“The S-92 is in Virginia on a mission, so they’re sending down two of the tilts.”

“Do you know what John has in mind?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, I guess we wait and see what John has in mind.” Sheriff Grimes took a slow breath to calm himself, feeling secure in his old partner’s hands. John would play things close to the chest, with a plan to end this situation as quickly as possible. John wasn’t one to play hero or cowboy. He put things in place to bring quick closure, and with as little of the fireworks possible, that too many of the others loved.

It was just a few minutes when two aircrafts flew over, low, just above the tree line. They watched as the aircrafts made an odd maneuver, one an aircraft couldn’t do, coming to a stop midair then eased down on the ground.

“It’s Ospreys,” Quinton uttered as the propellers, now angled upward, slowed.

“No, those are AugustaWestlands,” one of the men replied. “It’s better. Has a pressurized cabin.”

“Oh,” Quinton replied, then looked over at Wesley, “it has a pressurized cabin,” he repeated.

“Okay, let’s go” the leader yelled, pushing open a man door. “You folks take the one on the right and my guys will take the one on the left.”

With everyone on board, the propellers roared back up to speed. There was a slight rocking then the aircraft lifted off. As they headed over the trees, the propellers rotating down, and the aircraft gathered speed. They climbed and continued to gain speed till up in the dark sky, passing through the occasional cloud. A man that was already on board brought two headsets back to the Sheriff and Wesley.

“It’s the Colonel.”

Sheriff Grimes put a headset on and motioned for Wesley to do the same and the two of them heard a man’s voice asking if they could hear him.

“Yes, John, loud and clear.”

“Okay, now that you’re safe, I need to know what we’re dealing with on the ground. Give it to me.”

“Wesley, tell John about the van and what happened,” said Sheriff Grimes.

As Wesley was finishing telling of the stop in the road, he grew wide eyed, suddenly remembering something. “My Jeep! It’s sitting in the middle of the highway.”

“Okay, we’ll get a tow truck to go get it and put it away. Now back to the vans. You sure they were Mercedes Sprinters?”

“Yes. And they were out of state vans.”

“How do you know that?”

“Their tags were different. Mostly green but with white across the top.”

“Colorado plates…that’s good…good. And they were black? Not some other dark color?”

“I remember seeing one around for a couple of days and it has to be one of the same ones, right?”

“No doubt they were following you for a while. We’re going to act quickly, catch them trying to mop up their operations or if they are bad at their jobs, trying to salvage it. That’ll make our job easier.”

“John?” Sheriff Grimes asked.

“Yes, Robert.”

“You don’t think it’s one of the other agencies, do you? Some of our people doing this?”

“After New Mexico that stopped. This is private, and if I had to guess, run by Roger Samuels.”

“He went private?”

“After being shit canned, he had no choice and he was always unscrupulous.”

“Do you know where his operation is located?”

“Every warehouse, office, training field, even where he keeps his mistress. This won’t take long if I’m right, and as soon as we get those guys on the ground, we’ll have that information very quickly.”

“Will I be able to go home?” Wesley asked, suddenly worried every aspect of his life was about to be upended.

“Let’s see how the operation goes first. Robert, I’ll see you soon,” said John, abruptly ending the call.

It seemed they were flying for a long time, but Wesley glanced at his watch and saw they had been in the air for less than two hours when the aircraft began to descend. Lights of a city came into view but Wesley and Quinton, sitting facing each other, couldn’t make out which city by the lights alone. There were no landmarks they recognized from the air. They saw the airport off in the distance and was surprised they didn’t go toward it. Instead they flew past the city and back out over the countryside as they descended. The aircraft flew a circular pattern then began to tilt the rotors. The nose came back up and the aircraft settled on the ground. Nearby the other aircraft landed too.

Lead by John’s men, everyone was brought to a low metal building and ushered inside. They passed through a small lounge and down a corridor. Near the end, they were led into a large conference room where three men stood to one side and another, older, dressed in a white dress shirt, collar open, sat at the head of the large table.

“John,” Sheriff Grimes said as he came into the room.

“Robert. It’s good to see you.”

“You too. So where do we stand?”

“My men have found our targets and we have them in custody…”

“Already?” Wesley interrupted, then realizing what he had done, blushing red, “sorry” he added.

Sheriff Grimes and John smiled. “This isn’t a movie where we’re going to have a shoot out, or some chase” said John, “and you’ll be pleased to know you Jeep is safely stowed away.”

“Was it Roger?” Sheriff Grimes asked.

John nodded his head, looking grime for a second, then he leaned back, hands together as if in prayer. “We’re going to have his whole operation taken down before the end of the day. Now, if you will humor me for a minute. I have just put into operation something that has cost a bundle and for something I have no idea the exact details.” Leaning forward, John looked at Wesley, as if he was seeing him for the first time. “What is your ability that brought my old partner out of retirement.”

“I’m not coming back…this is a one-time thing,” Sheriff Grimes interjected.

“Right, Robert, whatever you say. So, Wesley, can you show or tell me?”

Sheriff Grimes nodded at Wesley, who pushed his chair back and stood. He went to an open area of the room and stood for still for a moment, looking at John, seeing his expression knowing he’d see it change, no matter how stoic he seemed. He didn’t play it up, didn’t hold out his arms or close his eyes. He just rose. One foot, then two, rising till he was hovering above everyone.

“Holy shit,” one the men uttered while the others stood with mouths open. John’s eyes widen but he held his composure. 

Wesley then moved around the room, slowly, gracefully, till at the far end where he stopped. He hovered in place, eyeing the place he would land. Then he showed them how fast he could move. In a blink of an eye he as standing by table next to John.

“Fuck…me…” of the men uttered.

John looked up at Wesley shaking his head, then slowly beginning to laugh till he leaned back laughing out loud. “Damn, I knew it had to be something big for Robert to say it was bigger than Ava, but…damn. How? Do you have any idea how you are able to fly?”

“None.”

“Well, we’ve got some work to do.”

“John?” Sheriff Grimes asked, looking worried.

“Relax Robert, we’re not going to do anything to Wesley, but we have to figure out how to protect him. Right?”

“Right?”

“So, while we do our jobs you folks will get some much-needed rest. I know it’s been a long night. Ricardo, can you show them to the rooms we’ve prepared, and if anyone feels like eating, there is food in the lounge area.”

One of the men stepped forward and opened the door to the corridor. “If you folks will follow me.”

As everyone headed toward Ricardo, John stood up and called to them one more time. “This should be over soon. I promise.”

They were led to a lounge with rooms connected to it that had beds arranged in each one. Wesley’s parents went into the first room, Sheriff Grimes in the last one and Wesley and Quinton went into one separate from the others and closed the door. There were two beds, one on each side. Wesley sat on one bed while Quinton paced back and forth in the small space between them.

“Quinton. Quinton! Sit down; you’re making me crazy.”

“Sorry. I’m just too wound up. A few hours ago we were riding around in your Jeep. And now…”

“Sit down,” Wesley repeated.

Quinton moved next to Wesley and sat next to him in lieu of the other bed. “We have been attacked, sped off into the night to some airfield that everyone thinks is abandoned. We were airlifted out by tiltrotor planes to here…wherever the fuck here is.”

“I know.”

“I need to calm down but…”

Wesley reached out and pulled Quinton down on the bed beside him. He snuggled up against Quinton, held him tightly in his arms feeling the anxiety and fear slowly ebbed away until Quinton was no longer squirming in his arms.

“How long do you think they’ll leave us alone?” Quinton asked.

“I don’t know. Why?”

A hand moved over Wesley’s chest, upward till it held his chin, feeling the sparse beard trying to come in. Quinton moved to Wesley and kissed him.

“Quinton…this isn’t a good idea,” Wesley whispered, their lips barely apart.

“I don’t care. After last night…” Quinton whispered, not finishing, unable to do so.

Quinton moved on top of Wesley. He ran his hands over him, renewing this familiarity with the body he had come to realize he loved, and feared losing. He clung to Wesley desperately, as they kissed. He reached between them, slipping his hand down Wesley’s jeans, along the undulating stomach till his fingers grazed through public hair and over cock quickly growing hard, despite Wesley’s protestations.

Quinton wanted Wesley, now more than ever before. He considered it a need, something he had to have as he toyed with Wesley’s cock till it was hard, filling his hand with its girth. He slipped his hand free and moved to Wesley’s side. He kissed his neck, tongued the ear while working the jeans open. Then he struggled to push them down. He pushed jeans and boxers till mid-thigh and moved to the cock angled up hard. He took it in his mouth. The flared head slid slickly over his tongue as he pushed forward taking as much as he could, the head blocking his throat.  Then he began to suck it, to work his mouth along the length of it until Wesley was breathing hard and pushing upward with his hips. And while he worked his mouth on Wesley, he undid his own jeans, worked everything down to his ankles and began to masturbate, increasing his own aroused state.

“OOhhhh,” Wesley cried out, despite himself, and lifted his head to watch Quinton on his cock.

Quinton released Wesley and moved down next to him on his stomach. “Please Wesley, do me…please.”

Wesley was too aroused to be cautious, and he moved over Quinton. He rubbed his cock along the space between the spread ass cheeks till it was wet then he pushed through the tight opening and eased into Quinton’s depths. He shuddered at the feel of his cock gripped tightly around the base as he held it in the soft heat of Quinton’s hole.

“Fuck me” Quinton whispered, and Wesley began to fuck, slowly, trying not to make too much noise. The bed squeaked with their movement and when Wesley couldn’t hold back, increasing his pace, it squeaked loudly and began to rock beneath them. It reflected Wesley’s pace, one growing faster and faster. The bed began to tap the wall, steadily, with every push inward. Quinton held tight to the metal tube frame at the head and pushed up, increasing his own pleasure. He was so hard he didn’t know if he could hold out or if he would come on the bed.

It was reckless, a sex devoid of what others might think. Quinton had pushed Wesley and now Wesley couldn’t hold back. He fucked harder, driven by a frantic need. An urgency he couldn’t control. The bed squeaked beneath them as he drove into Quinton’s depths. Over and over and over, till his release increased, built to the point he was unaware of everything around him, except for Quinton. The one person who understood this aspect of him. This sexual nature of his person. He shoved inward, hips pressed tightly to Quinton’s ass and came, shuddering with release.

Wesley eased out of Quinton and off of him. “Sit up against the wall” he exclaimed, sounding desperate, desiring more from Quinton.

Quinton sat up and leaned against the wall, sideways on the bed. His cock stood up hard, leaking till it drooled down the sides. Wesley pushed his jeans and boxers to his ankles and straddled Quinton. He moved over him and down on the wet cock, feeling it touch him. It rubbed over his opening as he rocked his hips. Then he bore down with his weight, so desperate he didn’t know if he could stand it. The cock breached his tight opening and he shuddered with the pain of it as he eased down, taking inch after inch. He moved roughly on Quinton, as if someone just rescued, desperate for the contact of another. He moved up and back down, over and over, till the bed rocked and squeaked beneath them. His still hard cock dragged wetly up Quinton’s chest as he rode his cock. Quinton took him in hand and stroked him, increasing his arousal. He was breathing hard and beginning to sweat. It trickled down his face.

Quinton pushed him to stop and he watched with great impatience as Quinton removed his shirt. He knew why; Quinton wanted to feel cock against his bare skin. Hands came to Wesley’s waist and he began to move. Up and down, his pace quickly increasing. He rode Quinton, feeling the fullness of penetration and the increase in hardness of his own cock, as Quinton stroked it. Thighs strained and his entire body flush with his exertions. The feel of his cock rubbing against Quinton’s chest made him shudder, and realize he was on the brink of coming again.

“Fuck” he uttered, trying to control his voice, as he felt the surge through his body, the imminent release that made his cock swell thicker. He jerked, then shoved forward pushing his cock through Quinton’s hand and painted his chin and chest with cum. He shook with every release till hands held his thighs and Quinton was pushing upward, fucking him roughly, shaking with his own release.

They used a pillar case from the other bed to wipe cum off, suddenly worried what would be said. They could smell it in the room. It seemed twice as strong as normal.

“Don’t think of it and hopefully mom and dad won’t come in here. Let’s try to get some rest,” said Wesley, fastening his jeans back into place as Quinton pulled his shirt back on.

They lay on the bed together, and Quinton snuggled up to Wesley’s chest who held him, embraced in a tight hug. They lay awake for what seemed like a long time but eventually, gradually, sleep overtook them.

Three loud raps to the door stirred Wesley and Quinton awake.

“You boys awake? We’ve got food out here” Sheriff Grimes called through the door.

“Okay” Wesley called out letting Quinton move out of his arms and stand. He slid across the bed and climbed to his feet too, following Quinton out the door. Ricardo was standing by their door, smiling, shaking his head.

“How long have you been standing here?” Wesley whispered.

“Long enough,” Ricardo whispered back, winking at Wesley.

Wesley blushed, feeling his face warm with embarrassment, as he moved toward the table. He followed Quinton to the seats at one end where food lay spread out. Someone had made a trip to a fast food place, for fried chicken, green beans, coleslaw, mac and cheese and mashed potatoes were spread out in the middle of the table. A stack of paper plates, plastic utensils and napkins were at the end of the table where Sheriff Grimes sat. He passed some each way, to Wesley and Quinton on one side and Wesley’s parents on the other.

“Let’s eat. I’m starving despite everything,” Sheriff Grimes uttered as he forked a piece of chicken.

As they ate, Wesley noticed his mother watching them. She would look at Quinton, then over at him making him divert his eyes. They were finished, sipping the last of their drinks when he saw her sit up straighter and he knew he was about to find out what she was thinking.

“I think you boys shouldn’t be sleeping in the same room anymore.”

Ricardo stifled a laugh and Wesley’s father and Sheriff Grimes looked at the boys then at her. Wesley blushed red, redder than before, opening his mouth to respond, not finding the words.

“I think it’s a little late for that, don’t you agree?” Sheriff Grimes said. The table was quiet, longer than normal, everyone watching Wesley’s mother, waiting for her response. She sighed, then shook her head.

“Probably.”

No one had moved when John strolled in, looking refreshed in clean clothes and a folder in one hand.

“Okay folks, let’s talk.”

Everyone slid back up to the table as John sat down next to Wesley. He looked from Wesley to Quinton to Sheriff Grimes and across to Wesley’s parents.  A deep breath and he opened the folder.

“Wesley, you graduate in a month, correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you have plans for the summer?”

“No, not really.”

“Good, so no one will be suspicious if your plans change. Quinton what about you?”

“Me?”

“I’m afraid you’re in this too.”

“No real plans. Just a vacation with my parents to go to the beach for a week.”

“Which beach?”

“Pensacola.”

“Oh, that is good. We can keep a watch on you. We have resources in place and the barrier island’s limited access points, well, let’s not get into the details. Here, write down when and where you’ll be staying and anything else that might help.”

“What is going to happen to Wesley?” Wesley’s mother asked.

“Nothing. We’re not going to do some kidnapping like in a movie and haul him away. You’re going to continue with your lives, with some precautions, of course. Where are you going to college?” looking at Wesley.

“I’m set to go to State.”

“Major?”

“Nursing…a doctor seemed too much and…”

“That is what our records show…good…good,” John replied more to himself than to anyone else.

“You already know all this,” said Wesley.

“Yes, but I want to make sure we have the most up to date information. Now for the plan. We want you to change colleges. Go to one with more research.”

“Like Duke, where I’m going,” Quinton cut in, pleased with himself to be able to say something.

“Yes, like Duke. In fact, that would be perfect. We know someone there and…well never mind that, but with you boys in a relationship and…”

“What? How?” Wesley uttered.

“Wesley, that part is obvious,” John replied looking at Wesley, then leaning over to look around him to Quinton. “Or are we wrong?”

“No, you’re not wrong,” Quinton whispered.

“You both know what you’re up against, you now know what to do in an emergency and going to Duke will let you do the research into why you can fly. You won’t be locked up in some lab and experimented on, but you can use the time in college to do your own research and report to us what you find.”

“I’ll test myself? I’ll be responsible for finding my own answers?”

“With the help of a very abled professor; yes. And you’ll get your degree in nursing, although you may want to consider something more in the research side of medicine, if I may be so bold.”

Wesley nodded his head, thinking about the implications of John’s offer.

“How will you get it set up? Duke is really hard to get in and it’s way too expensive…”

“You question my capabilities after last night?” John replied, laughing for the first time. “To give you some peace of mind, I want to update you. We have raided the offices and other properties of Roger Samuels. We have arrested him and all 48…no make that 49 employees of one Red Shield Protection Services. We’re going through their records to see what else up Roger has been up to. Therefore, in thirty minutes your ride back home will be fueled up ready to go. We’ll take you to Robert’s place and let you go. Jack, the phones?” John pointed toward a box on the other end of the table. “There is a phone for each of you. It is to be your daily phone from now on. It’s the one to carry, at all times, and if something comes up, anything, you’re to dial 199. Got it?”

“Yes,” a couple of them replied, the others nodding their heads.

“Hey, how can you land those tiltrotors at Sheriff Grimes’ place?” Wesley asked.

“Well, Wesley, you’re not going back in them; too conspicuous during the day, and secondly, ole Robert here has a landing field behind his house. It seems he wanted to be prepared.”

Robert shakes his head, then looks at John, “I’m not coming back.”

“So, you’ve said. One last thing, and I don’t think this needs to be said, but I’ll feel better doing so. Not a word about this to anyone. Not one word. Am I clear?”

“Yes,” Wesley and Quinton replied the loudest, as if it was the most obvious thing.

They came out to find the tiltrotors gone, and in their place a large Sikorsky S-76C. It was a bronze color, trimmed in black. The back door was being held open for them as the pilots went through the preflight checklist. Once seated and buckled in, the blades above began to rotate, faster and faster, till they were a blur. Then the helicopter rose from the ground, its nose tilted forward, and it moved across the open airstrip gaining altitude until it was in the sky heading south.

6 Months Later

The band played for over an hour longer than anticipated. When the lights finally came up, the crowd slowly made their way to the exit, their conversations growing louder and louder. Wesley took Quinton by the hand and led him toward the exit, as they followed their friends out. It was the first night out all of them had been able to enjoy in a couple of weeks, each overloaded with their studies for assignments and exams.

“We’ll see in you in class” Thomas said to Wesley, as he led Emily and Nancy down the sidewalk in the opposite direction. Charles fell in beside them, heading toward small parking lot up the street.

“I think that is the best concert I’ve seen in a long time,” said Charles.

“I agree,” Quinton replied, “hey, are you going to see the Skids play next weekend?”

“OH, hell yeah. I wouldn’t miss them for anything. You guys going?”

“Maybe…depends on if I get my project done this week or if I have to work on it over the weekend.”

“And I have some research to do that I’ve neglected for the last week,” Wesley added.

Charlies knew the two of them had hard subjects, classes he could never pass. The medical research Wesley did on campus was intimidating, and there was Quinton’s studies in the Environment program. He didn’t understand it but sensed there was some correlation to their studies, some shared basis to their studies. His studies in Business seemed so tame compared to the things his two friends were always talking about, their research, the classes they took and those seminars that someone told him didn’t really exist. He knew better, for his friends had taken them. He assumed his friend got the seminar names wrong, thus the confusion.

But he was always disappointed when they couldn’t hang out with him. He adored them, their openness about their relationship, their jovial natures, like something that freaked others out seemed to not bother them at all, as if they had endured far worse. He came out to them a week after classes started and eventually to their other friends as the semester progressed. It was Quinton who set him up with the blind date last month, Rayford, who was also in Environmental studies. Rayford went to visit his parents this weekend for it was his younger sister’s birthday, otherwise he would have been with them.

“Hey guys I’m parked on this end. I’ll see you later. Maybe dinner one evening next week?” said Charlies as he cut off the sidewalk and into the parking lot.

“Okay, give us a call” said Wesley as he led Quinton down the sidewalk to the other end where his Jeep sat.

“That was a lot of fun” said Quinton as he buckled up.

“It was…glad we came” replied Wesley as he started the Jeep.

Wesley drove them across town, out to the small apartment building that had been built just last summer. It had puzzled their friends how they managed to pull it off. Freshman were supposed to live on campus, and the apartment building didn’t seem to have any other students in it. To their friends it as only a bunch of guys who had weird hours at some unknown job. They knew their friend’s hunches were right, that the apartment building wasn’t what it seemed. It was built by the agency and a full lab was in the basement and in the attic, a room the two of them were not allowed, the agency’s field office responsible for keeping an eye on them. The other five apartments were field agents, one they had met last spring. Ricardo, always with the goofy grin, was across the hall and their main point of contact. Even now, Wesley knew one was following them back home, the lights of the Tahoe now recognizable to him no matter where they were.

The apartment building sat on the corner, with drives connecting to both streets and it sat high above the road, a retaining wall holding back the natural rise that existed, letting the sidewalk remain at the level of the roads. Wesley pulled in and soon the Tahoe pulled in behind them.

Wesley led Quinton up the stair to their second-floor unit, one that faced the street giving them a view of the campus one block over, still partially lit up even at this late hour. Inside they grabbed a glass of water, milled around the living room, Wesley looking out while Quinton lay on the sofa watching him.

“What are you thinking?” Quinton asked.

“How our lives are not normal and yet…”

“They feel normal to us?”

“Yes.”

Wesley closed the heavy curtains blocking out the streetlights leaving the living room dark, only the light from the small kitchen illuminating the room. He hovered above the floor and rotated around facing Quinton.

“What are you doing?” Quinton asked, smiling.

Wesley floated over horizontal and moved to Quinton. He moved very slowly, deliberately taking his time. He unbuttoned his shirt and let is slipped off his shoulders, down each arm and drop to the floor. He undid his jeans and pushed everything down till they slipped from his legs to the floor. He was naked and soon over Quinton. Quinton giggled and pulled his t-shirt off, worked his jeans and boxers down till he was naked too. Wesley hovered just within reach and touched his chest, fingers grazing up along the sternum. He floated down and as his fingers held Quinton by the chin, he brought their lips together.

“You just going to float above me, teasing me all night?”

“No; I couldn’t endure it either” Wesley replied as he floated down till resting on top of Quinton.

The warmth between them increased their arousal. Cocks grew long and hard, rubbing against each other as hands moved along bare torsos. They kissed, lips against lips, then along necks around ears and along shoulders. Quintons raised his knees, whispering in Wesley’s ear, “fuck me.”

Wesley entered Quinton, eased into him, slowly, gently. He began to fuck, easing outward and back in so slow he felt every inch tugged through Quinton’s tight opening. But neither could hold out long, never could, and soon Quinton was begging Wesley to fuck him harder, faster and the pace of their fuck increased until their bodies grew hot against each other. Undulating, sweating, skin hot and slick to the touch, they moved against each other. Wesley pushed into Quinton’s depths, ground his hips against him, pushed to the point of release by their connection; one inside the other.

Wesley came, crying out with the release of it. Then he hugged Quinton and floated upward. He carried him to their bedroom, hovered over it while spinning around until he was on bottom. As he floated down, he whispered, “do me.”

Quinton eased into Wesley and began to fuck. He was as unhurried as Wesley had been earlier. There was no need. No one would walk in on them. No one was expecting them. No one would try to deny them this pleasure. They had all the time they needed, and Quinton moved inside Wesley accordingly.

Quinton had learned to pace himself, to control his impulse to increase his pace quickly, for he wanted it to last. To last a long time. He pushed into Wesley over and over, so slowly he felt every inch of his cock squeeze through the tightness. He made Wesley squirm and move with him. He made him cling to his body, fingers digging into his flesh. There were guttural cries, pleadings and pledges of honor, love and desire. In the end they were reduced to sweaty bodies, exerting to the point of exhaustion, pushing to the point of release.

They lay on the bed, legs intertwined and arms around each other, as they settled into a calm state after such exertion. Fingers twirled in hair, traced the shape of faces, or along the lines in the neck, or across shoulders.

“I can’t sleep. Not yet. Get dressed,” Wesley exclaimed, hoping off the bed and going to the closet.

“Are you serious? Tonight? It’s getting cold” Quinton replied, following Wesley into the walk-in closet.

“Wear a coat.”

“Wear a coat” Quinton repeated sarcastically.

“Come on, it’ll be fun.”

“It’ll be a riot if the guys catch us.”

“It’s the middle of the night. And we’ll be quiet. Now come on.”

They dressed and went to the living room to sit, so they could put on their shoes. At the door, Wesley quietly unlocked it then eased it open as Quinton zipped up his jacket.

“I don’t understand why it doesn’t bother you.”

“What?”

The weather. Whether it is cold or hot, you don’t seem to be bothered by it. Has your research turned up anything to explain any of this?”

“There are a few things I’ve told you about already, but nothing that can explain my ability nor the way I adjust to the weather.”

Wesley peered out, looking left then right. “Come on, the coast is clear.”

They eased down the stair, out the rear door and to the back of the parking lot. There was an empty lot behind them, one that had been destined for redevelopment until a new group bought it then sat on it. The same group that built the apartment, thus making everyone expect another apartment building. For Wesley, its barren state was perfect. It was ringed by trees, shrubs and weeds that formed a perimeter better than any fence. He led Quinton into an open area and turned his back to him. Quinton climbed on his back with arms around his neck.

“You ready?” Wesley asked.

“Yep.”

Wesley lifted off, rose quickly into the air until they were above the lights of the town, up into the darkness of the night. Then he flew toward the open countryside.

It was after four in the morning when Wesley sat down in the lot. Quinton stepped back and tried to catch his breath, for Wesley had flown back faster than before. It scared and exhilarated him, and he laughed while trying to calm his breathing.

“We need to get back. Mike starts his shift at five” said Wesley, taking Quinton by the hand and pulling him toward the gap in the woods where they could get back to their parking lot. They scanned the building, then raced across the parking lot, through the door and up the stair. The building was quiet, and Wesley unlocked their door and eased it open. Quinton went in and Wesley followed him and once the door was closed, they giggled like young boys. Flying made them giddy, and they would be this way for some time. Wesley went into the kitchen for a drink while Quinton went into the living room, intent on opening the curtains so they could look out at the college in the last of the night.

Quinton was halfway across the room, when he froze.

“Wesley.”

“Yeah, what is it?”

The lamp came on by the sofa and Wesley looked up to see Robert Grimes sitting on their sofa with Quinton standing across from him, looking from one to the other.

“Shit” Wesley uttered.

“Shit? Is that the best thing you can say? Where in the hell were you? No, don’t answer that for I know. You were flying around like a goddamn mockingbird or a crow.  A crow…that’s it. Mischievous and prone to getting into trouble.”

“Look, it’s in the middle of the night and…”

“I know what fucking time it is. I’ve been here for forty-five minutes waiting on your asses to show back up.”

“Oh…I see.”

“NO, fuck you do not. Jesus…” Robert mumbled, running a hand down his face in frustration. “Okay, we’ve not lost a lot of time. Pack a suitcase and get ready to go; you too,” Robert exclaimed looking at Quinton. “We need someone to help keep him in line.”

“Get ready to go? Go where?”

“There is a situation in Alaska, a place near Juneau. Hoonah, I think. We’re taking off in an hour, so get going.”

“We’re going into the field with you guys?”

“This time, yes. Don’t let it go to your heads. Now go.”

They arrived at the airport driving around to the executive entry and pulled around to a hanger, at the far end. A jet sat on the tarmac. It was bigger than the boys expected. It was nearly a hundred feet long with two jet engines at its tail. Within minutes they were on board in one of the wide armchairs, buckled in. The jet taxied to the runway, pushed the engines to spool up and jetted down the runway. It lifted off into the dark sky, circled around and headed northwest. It would be a none stop flight for this jet, one that would cruise to an altitude of over 40,000 feet before leveling off. In six hours, they would be Juneau, and on their first mission for the agency.