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Doing It
“Lincoln, you have a sunburn.”
Lincoln Six Echo shrugs and a pout starts to form. “I can never remember to put that stuff on.”
“Sun block?”
“Yeah. She… Jordan used to remind me. Now I forget.” Lincoln looks up from his drawing and squints a bit. “You don’t need sun block, do you, being the colour you are?”
Laurent smiles. Lincoln can be refreshingly blunt. He realises that Lincoln has never had to think about things like skin colour before six months ago. There were no races, no countries, no borders. Most of the clones were white, but all races and ethnicities were represented in the population. There was no cultural separation between them because there was only one culture. Which was designed to be conformist and safe. And boring.
Lincoln must find America a very confusing place.
“I need it, but I don’t need as much. Not the way you do,” Laurent allows, “being as white as you are.”
“I’m not white,” Lincoln laughs. “I’m pink.” He gets up and looks in the mirror by the door. “I’m very pink,” he says, looking at his reflection’s nose.
“You should be more careful.”
“It’s not like I’ll go out a lot anyway. I just got carried away when I was drawing. But I don’t think I want to go out ever again. I like it here.” Lincoln gestures at his new living space. “This is much better than the Institute. I can stay away from people.”
Laurent had found Lincoln in the garden at the Institute two weeks before, sitting in the corner staring at the block wall. He’d been sitting outside, but he wasn’t out in the open.
The Institute had been hastily set up to house the surviving clones until other arrangements can be made. The clones have to be housed and protected. There are legal issues, moral implications. Groups have formed to protect the rights of the clones. Liberal do-gooders offer them homes and jobs. Other groups have formed to protest their existence. Some want them put into what would amount to concentration camps, and call them ‘unnatural and immoral’.
Laurent had looked into Lincoln’s situation and had been thrilled to discover that Tom Lincoln had not only been quite rich, but also without family. It had taken some persuasion on the part of Laurent, but it hadn’t been too difficult to have Tom’s assets transferred to his clone.
After all, Lincoln’s is the last case the government wants used as the test for clone rights. There are too many complications – Lincoln’s involvement in the revelation of illegal procedures, the manner in which Tom died, the fact that Tom Lincoln wasn’t very sympathetic.
If Lincoln’s case were to become publicized, Lincoln would become a hero; he’s young, attractive, athletic, and photogenic. The media would love him. And the world would see a rich, spoiled sponsor who had caused his own need for a clone with his reckless, hedonistic lifestyle, and who had not hesitated to turn his clone in to the authorities when he discovered Lincoln is not only not vegetative, but is an honest, intelligent, sentient and, beyond all that, compassionate and altruistic human being.
There is pressure, from very high up, to portray the sponsors in the best light possible, to make it seem that they are as much the victims in all this as the clones. It makes sense for all concerned to keep Lincoln’s situation as quiet as possible, and the best way to do that is to give him Tom’s assets and hope he’ll be happy to stay out of the limelight.
It would have been easier, the mercenary in Laurent used to think, to eliminate the clones outright. But that had proved to be impossible. The publicity began too soon – several crusading reporters joined a team of outraged physicians to document each and every clone, to ensure such genocide does not occur. Besides, the rest of Laurent, the part that is not a mercenary, wants the clones to survive. So now, most of the clones are the problem of the government and the courts.
There are cases against Merrick Enterprises, against the government, against the military. There are sponsors trying to get their money back, sponsors wanting ‘their’ organs, clones wanting damages, human rights organizations suing for justice, clones’ rights organizations suing for guaranteed incomes and compensation.
Lincoln doesn’t want any part of it. Every clone rights group in the nation has approached him; he’s told them all to go away. He didn’t want to see anyone when Laurent visited him at the Institute, especially not Laurent. He’d said as much when Laurent found him in the garden. He was smart enough to know that Laurent was seeking a percentage. After all, Merrick’s empire had come crashing down before Laurent got paid for his work. The entire operation had come out of Laurent’s pocket.
“Take it. Take all the money and leave me alone,” Lincoln had insisted. But Laurent doesn’t want him to waste away in an institution. He wants Lincoln to have a life, a real life. And even without Laurent’s share of Tom’s estate (a mere fifteen percent, they eventually decided, since it was Laurent’s persuasive abilities that had assured swift and absolute transfer of the funds to Lincoln) Lincoln has more than enough to live off however long a clone might live. It had been Laurent’s intention to leave Lincoln alone after the deal was settled, but he then found himself worrying about him.
Laurent looks around the space. It’s cold. Very modern. Very unlike Lincoln, who strikes Laurent as a warm, down-to-earth sort. Laurent has to be careful not to make those kinds of judgements too quickly, though, because Lincoln is not like others. He’s a clone. He hasn’t had the same experiences as others. What looks like generosity could be sheer naivety.
Lincoln has removed most of the pictures of Tom, the mementos and decorations, anything personal. He’s even thrown out all the clothes. He wears an Institute-issued track suit, not unlike the one he’d worn underground, but this one is red. Lincoln likes bright colours.
One picture remains, of Tom leaning against his motorbike, smiling broadly. Laurent looks at it and wonders why Lincoln would choose to keep that one picture on the wall.
“He looks happy, doesn’t he?” Lincoln says.
Laurent nods.
“I like to think I could be happy, some day. I don’t think it’ll happen, but just look at him. It’s from before he found out he was sick, before he started to worry about dying. He was carefree. Successful. Tom had everything he wanted.”
Laurent turns away from the picture to look at Lincoln’s sad face.
“Do you think I’ll ever have anything I want?” Lincoln asks solemnly.
Laurent looks around Lincoln’s home. “You have a nice, big, safe place to live. That’s more than most people have. You have money to live on. You have skills. Look at the drawing you just did. You have a gift.”
Lincoln looks down at the sketch of a motorbike. It has fins on the back and is streamlined for minimum friction and maximum speed. “But I don’t want money, and I don’t need this great big place to live. I want…” Lincoln’s voice trails off and he looks thoroughly miserable.
She’s been gone for almost two months.
“She’s with him, isn’t she? Her sponsor’s husband?” Lincoln asks.
Laurent nods. There’s no reason to lie about Jordan’s whereabouts, or his own knowledge of them.
“It’s so unfair. He’s rich and famous, you know. He’s a baseball player, and he can give her stuff I can’t.”
It’s true. Even though Lincoln is rich now, he can’t give Jordan everything she wants.
“And now she’s a mother. Just like that. It’s not fair. We could have had a baby but she didn’t want to wait. She wanted that baby right now. And he knows all about things. Life things. I can’t help it if I didn’t grow up here! She didn’t either, you know. I don’t know why she thinks she needs someone who knows so much about bad things, because from what I can see it’s pretty bad out here and I think I might have been happier being bored like I was before.”
Lincoln’s agitation has made him fidget. He’s tugged his hair until it stands on end, he’s crumpled the drawing he just finished, and he’s gesturing in a way that makes Laurent take a step back. Reflexes only. Laurent isn’t scared.
“And why are you here?” Lincoln demands suddenly. “Do you want more money? Is that all you care about?”
Laurent raises his hands and gestures for peace. “I don’t want more money, Lincoln. I came to visit you. I came to see how you’re settling in. If you need anything.” Lincoln has been living here for two weeks now, and he’s barely gone out, except for yesterday when he went to the beach for three hours and got that sunburn.
“I don’t need anything or anyone!” Lincoln all but stamps his foot petulantly.
Laurent is reminded that Lincoln, while biologically in his mid-thirties, is chronologically only three and a half years old. He’s educated – he did very well in his upgrading courses at the Institute, and he’s smart – but he hasn’t had the time to develop and learn things over time, from trial and error and experience, the way a real human does.
He is a real human, Laurent corrects himself. He is as real as Laurent. He’s just had a different upbringing. He’s young, yet physically grown. He’s almost the opposite of Laurent, who grew up very fast, and experienced things that made him old before he even hit puberty.
Lincoln screws up his face the way a small child does when told to eat his vegetables. “I miss Gandu and Jones and Mac,” he says. “I miss my friends. I don’t have any friends.” He tosses the crumpled drawing on the floor. “I miss Jordan.”
Anyone would, Laurent thinks.
“But I’m not sophisticated enough. I’m not a man of the world. Jordan doesn’t want me,” Lincoln pouts.
How could Lincoln hope to be a man of the world when he’s only known about it for six months? “You have things to learn, but you’ll learn them. Don’t worry.” Laurent feels for Lincoln. He really does.
He remembers when he was young and taken into a convent-run school. It was the first time he’d owned a pair of shoes that fit or used silverware or slept in a bed that was raised so high off the floor. The other boys made fun of him, called him a savage. The first night, he plotted his revenge. He knew lots of ways to maim and kill. Those boys didn’t know how to defend themselves. But his brother arrived, and two other boys from their village, and they decided to learn how to survive in this very different world.
“You have to learn to adapt to your new world,” Laurent says. “I know about it. I could help you.”
Lincoln looks confused, then suspicious. “Why would you do that? Do you need more money?”
Laurent shakes his head. “No, I already told you; I have enough money. I want to help because I understand. I grew up in a world apart too. It wasn’t as nice as the one you grew up in. I didn’t have a lot of food, and it was very violent.”
“But your world is still violent.”
“Yes, that’s true. But the violence was business, and it is in the past. I’m retired now. I’m looking for a new line of work. Maybe we could discover a new world together, you and I. Outcasts.”
Lincoln still does not look as if he trusts Laurent. And why should he? It was only luck that Laurent had killed his sponsor and not Lincoln.
“What do you want to learn?” Laurent asks patiently.
“Everything. How to be, you know, sophisticated.”
“Are you sure?” Laurent sort of likes Lincoln the way he is. He’s a breath of fresh air. He has no pretensions, no airs.
“Well, that’s what Jordan wants. I’m sure lots of people like that in a person.” Lincoln gets up and goes to the kitchen. “Are you thirsty? I’m thirsty. I want some of that stuff Mac used to drink but I still don’t know what it is. He had it in a little flask. I know it’s alcohol, and I tried a bunch of different drinks but I haven’t found the same one.”
Laurent pulls a flask from the inner pocket of his jacket. “You mean, a flask like this?”
Lincoln’s eyes light up. “Is that the same stuff?”
Laurent holds out the flask. “I’m not sure. Why don’t you try it?”
Lincoln’s eyes narrow and darken. “Is this a trick?”
Laurent maintains eye contact. He unscrews the lid and takes a sip. “No tricks. It’s just scotch.”
Lincoln takes the flask, maintaining the same eye contact, and sips. “Ooh. It’s like what Mac used to have, only better. Smoother.
Laurent grins. “It’s very good scotch.”
Lincoln takes another drink. “I like it.”
Laurent remembers that Lincoln is really just a kid. “And I think that’s enough.” He takes back the flask.
The pout returns.
“Have you eaten? We could go out and eat,” Laurent suggests, to distract Lincoln from the scotch.
“No. The last time I went to a restaurant, someone recognized me from a web site. There were people all over. I don’t want to go out.” Lincoln opens the fridge. “I have leftover food here. I call on the phone and people bring it to me. There’s rice and pizza and this thing with meatballs and this one is from an Indian restaurant…”
Laurent eyes the food suspiciously. “How long has that been in there?”
“They taught me about food handling at the Institute, Mr. Laurent. I know it doesn’t keep for long. If you want fresh food, I could order more.”
Laurent nods and watches Lincoln rifle through a sheaf of take out flyers. “I like Indian,” he says, so Lincoln orders dinner for two.
“You don’t have to call me ‘Mr.’, you know. We could be friends.”
Lincoln nods apprehensively. “You call your friends by their first name.”
“Yes.”
“But my first name was my sponsor’s last name.”
It must be confusing. Everything must be confusing and bewildering. Laurent is surprised Lincoln is functioning so well. Several of the clones have had breakdowns already and have had to be taken back to the Institute.
“Your name is Lincoln,” Laurent says firmly. “You are your own person. Do you understand that?”
Lincoln nods eagerly. “I want to.”
“Good. My name is Albert.”
“Al Bear?” Lincoln repeats. “I’ve never heard that name before.”
Laurent spells it and Lincoln sounds it out. “Al-burt. I like Al Bear better. Why do you say it like that?”
“It’s French.”
Lincoln looks even more confused. “France is in Europe.”
“I’m from the French part of Africa.”
“Do you miss it?”
What a question. Laurent can’t answer it. He flexes his hand, and the tight skin around the brand pulls with a satisfying ache. “Not really. Not anymore.”
Lincoln goes to the fridge and gets two cans of beer. “I got this with some food I ordered. Would you like one?” So they drink some beer and look at a drawings Lincoln did at the beach yesterday. There is a woman in a short dress in one picture.
“You like women?” Laurent asks casually, carefully.
“Uh-huh.” Lincoln sounds distracted. “I liked that one.”
The woman in the picture is young, and blond, and she looks a bit like Jordan Two Delta.
Actually, she looks a lot like Jordan Two Delta.
The food arrives quickly. Lincoln overpays for it and tells the happy deliveryman to keep the change. Laurent is going to have to teach him about proper tipping.
The food is good and they don’t talk while they eat. Lincoln enjoys the food very much.
“I can eat whatever I want, you know,” he says when he’s finished. “There’s no one to stop me here.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?”
Lincoln laughs. “You sound like one of the doctors! It’s okay. I know all about nutrition and exercise. There’s a gym downstairs. It’s small, but I can work out plenty. I like working out. It’s one thing they taught me that I don’t want to forget.”
Laurent mops up the last of a curry with some flat bread. “What do you want to forget?” he asks, knowing this is dangerous territory but also knowing Lincoln has to wrap his head around his new life somehow, and maybe the best way to do that is to acknowledge the old one fully.
“Proximity warnings,” Lincoln says.
“What?”
“Proximity. If you got too close to a female, they would give you a warning. Someone would come over and tell you to move apart. Or they would say it over a loudspeaker. You had to separate.”
Ouch. Laurent can understand why Lincoln would want to forget that. He knew sexuality was avoided in the clones’ training, but to hear details of it is different. Lincoln and the others had sexual feelings all along, but were thwarted before they could even figure out what they were attracted to.
Laurent asks the first thing that comes to his mind. “And what if you got too close to another man?”
Lincoln looks confused. “Close to… why would you do that?”
Oh, lord, Laurent thinks. He really hasn’t been paying much attention to all the social aspects of the world he’s now in.
“Well, if they were preventing sex, they would want to prevent it between two men as well as between a man and a woman.”
Lincoln scrunches up his nose. “Yeah, I think they did keep men from being too physical, but it didn’t happen as often.”
Laurent wonders if anyone has already started writing the definitive study of Merrick’s clones and homosexuality.
“You’re talking about gay people, aren’t you?” Lincoln says. “I know about that. They gave us classes at the Institute. They told us it was a lifestyle choice.”
“Really?” Laurent is genuinely surprised. From what he’d seen of the Institute, it looked pretty conservative. He would have thought they would have called it unnatural or deviant or something ridiculous like that.
“I don’t get it, though. How would you choose something like that? Do you just wake up one day and decide you’re gay?”
Laurent coughs. Chokes on his beer, actually. “Uh, no. Not one day. I think you would realize it over time.”
“How much time?”
‘That would depend on the person.” The conversation has taken a strange turn. Laurent doesn’t want to corrupt Lincoln, or have anyone from the Institute accuse him of corrupting Lincoln. But Lincoln’s asking. It would be rude not to answer.
“Would it take years, or just one night?” Lincoln asks as he starts to clean up the dinner remains.
Laurent can’t help hoping one night would do the trick, but it’s a crude and mercenary line of thought, so he tries to tamp it down.
“Because I’ve been thinking about that, you know. How do you know things like that? I always liked Jordan. She was my best friend. And when we…”
Laurent has to smile when he sees Lincoln blush.
“I really liked Jordan. But she doesn’t want me, and there are a lot of women around acting like they want me. And not just clones. Regular women too. I figure they want to be with someone different. Like a… what do they call it? A novelty.”
Clone groupies. Laurent can’t stand them. “No, I think they wanted to be with you because you’re a very attractive man.”
“But I don’t want them,” Lincoln goes on, oblivious to the fact that Laurent just told him he is very attractive. “I don’t want any woman except Jordan. I saw this woman on the beach and she looked like Jordan so I drew her and then she started talking to me and she invited me back to her place but I didn’t want to go.”
“Because she wasn’t Jordan.”
“Because I didn’t want to do anything with her. They taught us about doing it at the Institute, and the idea of doing it with that woman was… it wasn’t… I only ever wanted to do it with Jordan. But she left.”
Laurent outright chokes on his beer. “You never… but…”
“We didn’t know how to do it. We only knew about kissing and touching. We could figure that out for ourselves. But we didn’t think of, you know, doing it.”
Oh. My. God. Jesus save me, Laurent thinks. Lincoln is a perfectly formed, physically mature, beautiful virgin. And when he says ‘do it’, it makes Laurent feel naughty.
“So I was wondering if maybe I like men,” Lincoln says.
Laurent just stares.
“Albert?”
Laurent snaps back into the moment. “Oh, Lincoln. Well, I don’t know. Do you find men attractive?”
Lincoln looks away, out the window, and fiddles with a napkin. “Some of them. I suppose.”
Laurent can’t. He won’t. There is the issue of consent. Lincoln is like a child in a lot of ways. It would be like… but it wouldn’t, because Lincoln is fully grown and in the eyes of the law he’s an official adult, even if he is only three and a half years old, because he’s gone through the necessary testing to be deemed an adult and allowed to leave the Institute.
And he is, physically, fully formed. More than fully formed, as far as Laurent can tell. He’s beautifully formed. Laurent starts to think coming here was a bad idea. He’s going to wake up alone in his apartment with blue balls in the morning.
“No one would want me anyway. I’m not sophisticated.”
Oh, but there are men who would take advantage of you, Laurent thinks, and he says a silent prayer to NOT be one of them.
Lincoln is rubbing his fingertips over his wrist. He does that when he’s nervous, Laurent has noticed.
Laurent holds out his hand, palm up.
Lincoln’s eyes go impossibly big and blue. “You have a mark like mine. Not like mine, but… can I touch it.”
Laurent shrugs. It doesn’t hurt. Anymore. “Go ahead.”
Lincoln runs his fingers gently over the brand. Oh, so gently. Laurent has to fight to keep his fist from closing. Lincoln wants to know all the details, but Laurent doesn’t want to scare him, so he leaves out the gore and tells, in a vague way, about being treated as less than human.
“So you see,” Laurent concludes, “I had to learn to get alone in this harsh society, too. And everyone has to learn about getting along with others, and being attracted to others, and,” with a smile, “doing it.”
Lincoln nods. “Can you teach me?”
Laurent’s fist clenches automatically, and almost crushes Lincoln’s fingers. “I’m sorry,” he says and takes Lincoln’s hand gently in his. He raises the fingers to his lips and kisses them softly. “To be honest, Lincoln, I would like nothing more than to teach you. But only if you truly want me to.”
Lincoln thinks. His forehead gets lines in it and his eyes go very serious. It’s hard for Laurent to keep from tossing him on the table and beginning the lessons at the advanced level.
“Do you know how to do the thing with the tongue?” Lincoln asks eagerly.
“What thing with the tongue?”
Lincoln leans forward in his chair. Laurent slouches down a bit so Lincoln won’t have to crane his neck up awkwardly. Laurent stays perfectly still. He’s not sure exactly how much Lincoln actually knows or what he ever did with Jordan.
Lincoln presses his lips to Laurent’s very gently.
Laurent closes his eyes when he feels a soft, warm tongue sweep across his lips. He parts them, and Lincoln’s tongue enters his mouth shyly. Laurent flicks his tongue at the tip of Lincoln’s and savours Lincoln’s little whimper.
“You do know how to do the tongue thing,” Lincoln whispers against his mouth.
“And a whole lot more,” Laurent promises.
Lincoln sighs. “Can we do more of the tongue thing?”
Laurent opens his mouth and kisses Lincoln. Lincoln kisses back like he’s hungry. Laurent is loving it so much he doesn’t want to ever stop. He’s not surprised Lincoln and Jordan never got around to doing it when just kissing Lincoln is this good.
“Touching,” Lincoln murmurs when he comes up for air. “I like touching. Do men touch each other?”
Laurent nods. “Oh, yes, they touch each other. Would you like to move upstairs to the bedroom so we can be comfortable when we touch?”
On second thought, that might be a bad idea. If Lincoln gets scared and decides he doesn’t want to go any further, it will be harder to stop in bed than it would be if they kept going while sitting on the kitchen chairs. But Laurent wants to lie down and take his time and explore. If Lincoln will let him.
“That’s a good idea,” Lincoln says, rising to his feet and tugging on Laurent’s arm.
This honesty is mindnumbingly refreshing, Laurent thinks as he’s almost dragged up the stairs.
The bed is low and wide and has black sheets; how very Tom Lincoln. There are books in a pile on one side of the bed, about insects and physics and antique cars and the space program; how very Lincoln Six Echo. Lincoln moves the books to the floor and pulls Laurent down to the bed.
“What do we do first?” Lincoln asks, ever curious.
“I’m sure we have already started,” Laurent says, wanting to slow things down just a bit, give Lincoln the chance to stop things before they go too far.
“Do we take our clothes off?”
Laurent purses his lips to keep from screaming ‘God, yes!’.
“If you like,” he says, trying to sound neutral.
“You don’t sound like you want to do this very much,” Lincoln says, voice full of doubt.
“I do,” Laurent assures him. “But I want everything to be your choice.
“That wouldn’t be fair. You choose. Do you want me to take my clothes off?”
Laurent nods without even thinking.
Lincoln shucks his track suit without any shyness. But then, he’s got nothing to be shy about. He’s beautiful. Well-muscled, firm, well-proportioned. And well-hung, by the looks of the bulge in his plain white briefs.
“My turn to choose. I want you to take your clothes off too,” Lincoln says. His eyes are dancing. He had that planned all along, didn’t he?
Laurent suddenly remembers every scar and burn and flaw on his skin. He does as Lincoln asks, but it’s with reluctance. He’s been rejected. Not since he earned a shit load of money by being a professional badass, but before then, when he was poorer and less connected.
Lincoln looks concerned. “Did that hurt?” he asks bluntly, pointing to a bullet wound on Laurent’s thigh. “And that?” knife to the abdomen. “And that?” Rope burn down a long, lean forearm.
They all hurt. But Laurent doesn’t want to show off old war wounds. He’s down to a pair of black boxers. “Let’s keep these on for a while,” he says. It will be more comfortable for both of them.
Lincoln squirms a little, as if he’s finding his briefs restricting. “Okay. Where do we touch?”
“Anywhere we want.”
“You go first.”
Laurent takes a deep breath. He’s actually nervous. He’s scared he’ll scare Lincoln. He looks into Lincoln’s determined eyes.
There’s only one way Lincoln will find out if he likes men…
Laurent reaches out and touches Lincoln’s chest. He plays with the hair gently. He’s never touched chest hair quite like it before. It’s straight and long and soft.
Lincoln rubs his fingertips over the sparse, tightly curled hair on Laurent’s chest and smiles. “I like that,” he says. “Feels good.”
Laurent lets his hand flow down Lincoln’s stomach. The hair there is even softer.
Laurent’s belly is smooth and hairless. Lincoln strokes it, and leans forward for more of the tongue thing. Laurent is happy to oblige.
They move together quickly and are soon lying chest to chest on their sides. Lincoln is rubbing Laurent’s back, making appreciative noises when he feels muscle rippling.
“Men are different from women,” Lincoln says earnestly. He runs his hand up and down Laurent’s arm. “Harder.”
Laurent rocks his pelvis forward and Lincoln gasps. “Hard,” Laurent says.
“Can I touch it?” Lincoln asks, fingers tripping over Laurent’s hip.
“I would be most pleased if you did.”
Lincoln wriggles his hand under the waistband of Laurent’s boxers and clumsily touches. He’s never done this before, but he must know how to touch himself because his fingers wrap around Laurent and begin to move up and down the shaft. Laurent shifts his bottom leg forward and Lincoln straddles it, rubbing himself against the hard muscle.
It’s like being a teenager again, only there’s no danger of nuns discovering them.
“No proximity alarms here,” Laurent observes, trying to distance himself from his need to explode with a dry remark.
“Oh, no,” Lincoln says vehemently. “I can get as close as I want.” He’s pretty well humping Laurent’s leg now, and Laurent finds it charming and incredibly erotic. So much to teach. So much to learn. He grabs Lincoln’s ass and steadies his pace. Less erratic, a little more pressure. More tongue. He kisses Lincoln hard and Lincoln responds by tightening his hand and pumping faster.
Their tongues are touching when Lincoln comes with a desperate moan. Laurent puts his hand on top of Lincoln’s and keeps it moving until he reaches his peak as well. He hasn’t come in his pants since he was a kid, but there’s something refreshing about that too.
Lincoln goes limp against him, with his head resting on Laurent’s shoulder.
“Are you alright?” Laurent asks.
“I feel good,” Lincoln says. “I want to do that again. Do you?”
“If you wish it,” Laurent says.
“Will you teach me how to do it?”
Laurent thinks about all the possible ways he could do it with Lincoln. “There are a lot of ways.”
“Oh good. Because you don’t have a job right now, and I don’t need to have a job, so we have lots of time.”
Laurent laughs. “You’re very clever, Lincoln.”
“Not yet,” Lincoln says, “but I’m learning.”
Cookies
Lincoln Six Echo careful twists the top half of the cookie clockwise, while turning the bottom half counter-clockwise.
He thinks.
He’s pretty sure.
He hasn’t quite got that clockwise/counter-clockwise thing down pat. There was no analogue at the Facility. He’s learning about clocks with hands and faces. Dials that turn. To the right, that’s clockwise, that’s on. To the left is off, and it closes bottles too.
The world is full of new things, most of which are quite old, and quite common. Things any grown man should know about already. Something called vinyl records that people don’t use any more, but Tom’s collection is in a cupboard. Cars and motorbikes and boats and skateboards the kids ride along the boardwalk. He’ll learn about them eventually, but he still doesn’t go out much.
He’s learning about TV shows and sunburns and stones that get in your shoes, and all sorts of things he didn’t encounter until after he got out.
He’s really enjoying the cookies. There weren’t cookies like this at the Facility. He knows he shouldn’t eat too many, but it’s hard to resist sometimes. He’ll have to be careful not to overindulge. He exercised today though, so the cookies are okay.
He likes sweet things and he likes salty things and he likes a good, single-malt scotch. He likes a lot of what he tastes, but what he likes most is the taste of a kiss from Albert, who is sitting across the table from him, watching him open the cookies and lick the icing off.
Albert licks his lips, reminding Lincoln of how good they taste. But Albert just got here a few minutes ago, and Lincoln is pretty sure you’re not supposed to just jump into doing the tongue thing. He thinks you’re supposed to be social first. And he doesn’t even know if Albert wants to do the tongue thing with him again. They’ve only done it once, and Lincoln doesn’t want to seem presumptuous, even though he’d very much like to do it again.
Albert is very polite, as well. He noticed the glass of milk and the cookies on the table and said he’d already had dinner, but Lincoln could go ahead and finish his snack.
The icing is so sweet it almost feels cold on Lincoln’s tongue.
Albert makes a little rumbling sound. He’s staring at Lincoln’s tongue. He looks hungry.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like a cookie?” Lincoln asks politely.
Albert gets up, picks up the plate with the cookies on it and moves it over to the counter.
“Drink your milk,” he tells Lincoln.
Lincoln does.
Albert smiles. “From the first time I tried them, I’ve always liked milk and cookies,” he says, and leans down to do the tongue thing.
Lincoln twists and ends up lying on his back, on the table, with Albert curved over his body.
“They taste especially good on you,” Albert whispers and nips at Lincoln’s lower lip.
Okay, Lincoln thinks. This is better than cookies.
Gone
“So, I’m never going to see him again, because he’s dead. There is no more. He is no more.”
The story is sad enough; the anguish on Lincoln’s face as he talks about losing his friend Gandu is enough to break your heart.
Lincoln twists his hands together and makes the sort of face a child makes when they have to take bitter tasting medicine.
Lincoln has never looked so helpless. Or young. And Laurent has never doubted himself so much.
This is a child. He can’t even comprehend that death is a part of life. It’s unfair of Laurent to even consider going any further. He has already gone beyond what’s proper.
“A life can end at any moment,” Laurent says. “Everything comes to an end some time. Even friendship ends.”
“Oh, I know I’ll never see Jordan again,” Lincoln broods. “She’s gone too, but at least I know she’s happy. Gandu isn’t even here. He’s not only gone. He doesn’t exist.”
Perhaps he understands some things.
“Jordan’s gone, but I know she’s okay But I know Gandu’s not okay. Like, if you were to disappear, I would worry about you, but if I didn’t know you were really gone, like Gandu is gone, I would wonder where you were and hope you were okay”
Perhaps.
“But I don’t worry have to worry about you disappearing because you don’t do dangerous stuff anymore, right?”
Lincoln is looking at him with hope in his eyes. He doesn’t want Laurent to do anything dangerous. He wants Laurent to live forever and be there for Lincoln forever.
Laurent is a bastard. He’s led this kid on, and now the kid depends on him. He’s a total bastard. That’s what Laurent tells himself.
He’s going to turn his back on Lincoln, take his money and go make a new life. He’s going to walk out the door and cause Lincoln all kinds of heartbreak. He’s a complete shit and he hates himself.
He says that to himself as he’s getting up off the couch.
He says that to himself as he’s walking across the room.
He even says it to himself as he reaches for the handle of the door.
He stands in the doorway and looks at Lincoln. Lincoln has his fists clenched and the deep crease between his brows makes him look angry and confused, and young. So young and defenceless.
“Come inside,” Laurent says.
He can’t leave Lincoln out in the cold.
“You’re getting cold; come to bed with me; I’ll make you warm.”
Laurent can say whatever he wants to himself. Call himself whatever names he likes. Tell himself he’ll be gone in the morning every night, and wake up knowing he’s a bastard because he really shouldn’t be there.
But nothing is going to make him give up Lincoln. Nothing.
He wraps his arms around Lincoln and buries his nose in hair that’s soft and spiky at the same time.
He’s a bastard, all right. A lucky bastard.
Glow
Lincoln’s fingers creep up Laurent’s arm and Laurent shivers.
“Did that hurt?” Lincoln asks, ever curious.
“No.” Laurent tells the truth.
“It felt good?”
“It always feels good when you touch me.” Laurent savours this freedom to speak truthfully at all times.
“But you shivered. You shiver when you’re cold. Cold isn’t good.”
“No, but that was the good kind of shiver.”
Laurent never lies to Lincoln. It’s not that he can’t, he just really enjoys telling the truth.
“Do you feel the way I do?” Lincoln asks.
Laurent doesn’t answer, because he doesn’t understand the question.
“Inside,” Lincoln clarifies.
Laurent tries to puzzle out what Lincoln is asking about. He doesn’t feel anything inside.
No, that’s not true. He feels full. They’ve just eaten dinner, and for once Laurent ate everything that he wanted without worrying about protein and vitamins and fuelling his body. The fullness feels… comfortable. Not something to which Laurent is accustomed. He’s used to feeling slight hunger, to eating enough to maintain his muscle mass, but not enough to dull his senses.
His senses are pleasantly dulled, though. That could have something to do with the single-malt Lincoln handed him after dinner. Someday he really must teach the boy that ‘one finger’ means width, not height.
Lincoln is sitting next to him on the couch. He wearing black trousers and a dark red sweater, a very pleasant change from the tracksuit he kept wearing until Laurent took him shopping. The sweater is holding an electric charge, so Lincoln’s fingers on his skin gave him a slight jolt, but he doesn’t think that was what caused the shiver.
Lincoln makes him shiver.
He tried to leave, the night before, but he couldn’t. It would have been the right thing to do, but right doesn’t matter anymore. He’s tried to do right things all his life. He’s tried to serve the right cause, and then dedicate himself to the right principles, and then do the job right, and then do right for himself.
Now he wants to feel warm and full and less sharp.
And he wants Lincoln sitting next to him, because that’s what feels right now, even if it is fraught with difficulty.
“How do you feel inside, Lincoln?” Perhaps it would help if he knew what was going on in Lincoln’s mind.
Laurent can’t predict Lincoln the way he’s been able to predict every other lover he’s ever had. He’s always known, from the first moment, if he would end up in bed with someone. He’s always known when and how they wanted to be seduced. He’s always known that they would start demanding more. He’s always known when they, or Laurent, would walk out the door. And he’s usually known why.
He had no idea he would end up in bed with Lincoln. He didn’t even know he wanted it when he first came to Lincoln’s house, but they ended up in bed.
He had no idea Lincoln would want to be seduced. Or would want to seduce him. He’s still a little unclear about who seduced whom.
Lincoln is always demanding more, and it doesn’t bother Laurent in the least.
He’s hoping neither of them will ever want to walk out the door, but he can’t predict anything for sure.
“There’s a warm part in the middle of me and it feels like it’s glowing,” Lincoln says quietly, as if he’s telling a secret.
That’s a pretty accurate description.
“Do you have the same insides as me?”
“I feel that glow as well,” Laurent admits.
“No. I meant we look different on the outside. Are our insides the same?”
Laurent has been honest with Lincoln so far, except for the part about wanting to leave the night before, but that was all about Laurent and had nothing to do with Lincoln, so he’ll keep it to himself. He should be honest about this, but it might be confusing for Lincoln.
“If you’re talking about being the same in spite of skin colour, yes, we are exactly the same. We have the same structures, the same systems, the same blood… we were born with the same organs.”
Well, Lincoln wasn’t really ‘born’, was he? Hard to say.
“What do you mean, Albert?”
“It means I’m… missing something. Inside.”
“An organ?” Lincoln looks horrified.
Albert’s tempted to backpedal and make a joke about losing his heart to Lincoln, but he brought it up; he should see it through.
“A kidney. I only have one kidney. You have two.”
“Really?”
“Really. I lost it in an accident. A fight. War, really. It was punctured and they took it out. You’ve seen the scar.”
“Does it hurt?”
Lincoln often seems concerned about things hurting Laurent. He doesn’t seem to understand that it is very difficult to hurt Laurent. “Not for many years.” Over two decades. Seven times as long as Lincoln has existed. "I'm fine."
Lincoln stares at Laurent for a minute or so.
“If you had the money, would you have bought a clone?”
Laurent stares at the clone sitting next to him on the couch.
“If you didn’t know about us. If you thought we were, you know, vegetative.”
Would he?
Too much honesty might be a bad thing, after all.
“I don’t know. And I cannot say, because my judgement is clouded. You see, I do know about clones. All about clones. And all about one clone in particular.” Laurent puts his arm around Lincoln’s shoulder and pulls him close. “I know what he likes, and what his kisses taste like, and I would like some kisses right now.”
Lincoln complies happily, and Laurent is pleased to have so easily diverted him from the difficult subject. He’s not opposed to discussing the issue, but at this point it seems more productive, or at least more enjoyable, to kiss Lincoln.
He is even more pleased when the kisses deepen and become frantic and Lincoln slides over, onto Laurent’s lap, keeps kissing him, slides his hands inside Laurent’s shirt. Stops kissing to take a breath.
“I know what you like, too,” Lincoln says. “I know you like to be touched. I know you like it when I do this.”
He thumbs a nipple firmly.
Laurent’s head rolls back. “Yes,” he admits.
“And this.”
Lincoln sucks Laurent’s bottom lip into his mouth and nips at it lightly.
Laurent can only groan in response to that one.
“I know you’d like to go upstairs with me and get naked and have me lie on top of you.”
Laurent grabs Lincoln’s hips and presses their groins together. He does love it when Lincoln lies on top of him. Lincoln’s not a small man, but he’s still half a foot shorter than Laurent. When he tucks his head under Laurent’s chin their cocks line up perfectly.
“You want to know what I want?”
Lincoln nods eagerly.
“Everything you did and said, and even more.”
“More?” Lincoln asks, wide-eyed.
Laurent is really going to have to explain the details to Lincoln at some point. So far, all they do is kiss on the mouth and touch each other everywhere else. Almost everywhere else. Laurent is going to have to teach him about really doing it. He hopes Lincoln won’t be too shocked.
But not tonight. Laurent doesn’t want to do anything to disturb the warm glow in the middle of either of them.
Doing It Some More
Lincoln Six Echo looks in the mirror and wonders what Albert Laurent sees in him. He knows he’s not unattractive. He knows some people find him attractive, even though he can never trust their motivations. He can never trust anyone. He would like to know what exactly Albert’s motivations are; he wants to be comfortable trusting Albert.
For the past week, Albert has been visiting him every day. They have had dinner and gone for several walks together, and gone shopping together and watched movies together. And every night, Albert and Lincoln have ended up in bed together.
But they still haven’t done it. They’ve done a lot of touching, and a lot of what Lincoln has decided to call ‘handling’, and they’ve done lots and lots of the tongue thing. But they haven’t done it.
The sex education instructors hadn’t gone into any detail about what two men do together at the Institute. They had only said that two men, or two women, might be together, and that it was okay if people did that, but the most important things for the clones to understand were pregnancy and disease prevention. The rest was glossed over.
Finally, last night, Albert told him about what it entails for men. Albert did go into detail. He did not need to address the issue of pregnancy, but he did talk about disease prevention. He said he knew that Lincoln was pretty safe, but that he had gone to a private clinic to get some tests done, because while he’d thought everything was fine, he’d wanted to be sure, and now he was sure and everything was fine with him. And then he gave Lincoln the non-glossed over description of what men do.
It might not have been glossy, but there was a lot of lubricant involved, so Lincoln suspects it would be quite shiny.
And he’s thought about what Albert told him a lot, but he hasn’t worked up the nerve to touch himself there, or imagine what it would be like to have Albert inside him there, because they never said anything at all about that being part of doing it at the Institute, even though Albert assured him it feels good if it’s done right. He also assured Lincoln that he’ll know how to do it right, when the time comes. And that they should wait a bit and get to know each other really well before they do something like that. But he thought Lincoln should know what it involves, even if they’re not going to do it right away.
Lincoln thinks the Institute did a piss poor job of sex education.
Piss poor is Lincoln’s newest phrase. He heard it in a movie this afternoon and he thinks it’s a very effective slang term. And hilarious.
But it’s not hilarious enough to distract him from wondering what Albert is waiting for.
Why does he keep visiting Lincoln?
What is so wrong with Lincoln that Albert doesn’t want to do it with him?
Lincoln adjusts the black briefs he bought yesterday. They are the same as the white ones he usually wears, but they feel different for some reason. Albert suggested he try some other colour of underwear. Lincoln got a few new pairs and he’s tried them all on and looked at them and tried to understand why a different colour would make a difference, since they’ll be under the rest of his clothes anyway.
Except for when he’s alone upstairs in bed with Albert. Then he’s wearing only his underwear, or nothing at all.
They must feel different because of the way they’ll look to Albert.
Albert seems to like him in just his briefs, and naked, a lot, but it’s hard to tell. He sounds a bit strained sometimes, as if he’s not doing exactly what he wants to be doing and he’d like to do something else but he struggles not to.
Lincoln wishes he would just do it.
But when they do the tongue thing and Albert touches Lincoln there, and Lincoln touches back, then Albert sounds wonderful. He makes this very low sort of growling noise and he sighs and tells Lincoln he’s beautiful, in that wonderful voice with the accent that makes Lincoln think of places far away and warm all the time. “You are beautiful,” Albert says.
Lincoln stares at his reflection and doesn’t see it. He’s looked it up, on the internet and in books and magazines. He’s studied the male figure, the ideal male figure.
Lincoln looks in the mirror and sees average.
He’s of an average height and average build. He’s not overweight. He’s not underweight. He’s in quite good physical condition, but not in a conspicuous way. He doesn’t have bulging muscles or a remarkably lean, graceful physique. Just average.
His face looks, to him, average. Not spectacular. He doesn’t have those high, high cheekbones or really strong jaw that people seem to prefer. There is a cleft in his chin, and you don’t see that on the models, do you? And he doesn’t have the sort of mouth people would look at and wonder how it would feel on their skin. At least he doesn’t wonder. He thinks he’s average.
He’s got a few moles and freckles, and something they call a beauty mark, and these don’t make him hideous, but he’s not symmetrical and he’s not perfect. His skin is pink, peeling a bit on his nose where it was burnt a week ago, darker on his face than it is on his arms, darker on his arms than it is on his chest, darker on his chest than it is on his legs. So he doesn’t have that smooth, smooth skin like the people in the advertisements.
His eyes aren’t really blue or green, they’re sort of grey. Maybe they sometimes have a bit of colour to them, but really... average.
His hair isn’t brown or blond, it’s sort of both, and a little bit reddish as well, which makes it neither distinct nor distinctive. It is indistinct. Blurry, even. Sort of… average.
Albert, on the other hand, is tall. Quite tall. At least a half-foot taller than Lincoln. Maybe a bit more. Far above average height.
And Albert does not have an average build. Albert is brimming with muscles. His shoulders are very broad, his chest is thick and Lincoln loves to touch it and feel the hard muscles move under his hands. And Albert’s stomach ripples when he moves. Lincoln has peeked at Albert’s behind as well. He hasn’t touched it often, but every time he does it gives him a thrill. It’s spectacular. Just looking at it makes his stomach feel funny. Especially now that he knows more about two men doing it together.
Albert’s face is beautiful. The shape of it is something Lincoln can’t imagine ever getting tired of. His mouth makes Lincoln want to lick his lips. Albert’s lips. But he licks his own lips when he thinks about licking Albert’s lips.
Albert’s skin is smooth, except for where he has scars, but all his scars tell a story and when Albert gives in and tells a story it is sometimes sad, but the scar is always proof of how Albert is strong and can survive anything.
Lincoln wants to touch Albert’s skin all the time. He can’t describe the colour, because nothing comes close to its richness and beauty. He imagines there is a shell or a stone or something, somewhere, that is the same colour. Lincoln’s never seen it. Coffee beans come close, but they aren’t sumptuous enough.
Lincoln sometimes feels pale and sort of splotchy and, well, average, next to Albert.
Albert’s eyes are dark brown with a hint of gold. They seem magical to Lincoln. Actually, they are magical to Lincoln, because when Lincoln looks into them, he feels really beautiful.
Albert keeps his head shaved. But the little bit of hair on his chest and under his arms and down there is so dark it is black, although the morning after Albert stayed the night, and Lincoln woke up first and took the opportunity to examine Albert in more detail, he noticed a hint of red in the hair around Albert’s penis when the hair was drenched in sunlight. That was a bit of a surprise, since he’d assumed it was black, but it’s not only black, it’s black and brown and red. Whereas Lincoln’s hair isn’t even one colour, it’s bits of some colours and in Lincoln’s opinion his own mishmash of hair colours doesn’t even add up to one colour, Albert’s hair is maybe all of the colours of hair at once.
But Lincoln hadn’t had much time to think about it because Albert started to wake up then. And when Albert started to wake up, Lincoln got more interested in the penis than the hair around it.
Lincoln is not supposed to compare their penises. He read something about that being rude, to compare. Although everyone does compare them; he read that somewhere else.
Not having had much to compare with, since he only ever saw others fully clothed at the Facility, he was never aware that there were differences in penises. He figured he was average.
There are some places on the internet where the penises are so large, Lincoln’s looks small. But on other sites, the ones where the information is not about people having sex but about the medical aspects of the penis, he’s not even average. He’s bigger than average.
So maybe average depends on your basis for comparison.
Lincoln pushes the black briefs down his pale legs and stares at himself a bit more intimately. He doesn’t look wildly out of proportion or anything, but he does get quite big when he’s hard. And he’s quite hard from doing all that thinking about Albert, and Albert’s face and mouth and muscles and height and skin and penis.
Lincoln likes his own penis. He likes it when it’s soft or hard. It’s part of him and he doesn’t feel any shame about it, although he knows you’re not supposed to do anything with it in front of other people, and he doesn’t, except for what he does with Albert. He likes to touch it and make it feel good. He really likes it when Albert touches it and makes it feel even better.
And when he comes, he really likes it, because coming makes his whole body feel as good as his penis feels when it gets hard. All at once.
He holds his hard penis loosely and looks in the mirror. He can see what Albert sees in it. But the rest is… average.
Albert’s penis is not average either. But it’s different. It doesn’t have all its skin, the way Lincoln’s does. The skin was cut off. It’s something Lincoln only asked about once and it caused such a look of anguish on Albert’s face, Lincoln has not asked again, although he suspects that it has something to do with the nuns, who also put a couple of scars on Albert’s back. Lincoln does not like the nuns.
Albert’s penis is more sensitive than Lincoln’s, at the same time it is less sensitive. Lincoln has to handle it differently than he handles his own. He can slide the skin up and down his own penis, even when it's fully erect, and it feels really good. That’s not comfortable for Albert when he’s hard, so Lincoln has to pay attention.
He’s learning. Just like Albert promised him he would learn. He’s learning how to touch softly and gently, slowly increase the pressure until it makes Albert growl, to touch the incredibly smooth, stretched, dark pink skin of the head, and to use the slippery stuff that Albert brought on the second day he visited. He likes to practice, to slide his hand over and around to make Albert gasp.
He learned how when it’s hard like that, Albert stops calling it a penis the way Lincoln was taught to call it, and he calls it a ‘cock’.
Lincoln learned how to hold Albert’s cock at the base and spread the lubricant on the palm of his hand, and circle his palm on the head of Albert’s cock.
Albert growled when Lincoln did that to him. And when he did it back to Lincoln, Lincoln came all over Albert’s hands and moaned loudly. It felt really good.
He’s not surprised that he’s doing that to himself right now, as he stands in front of the mirror, naked. The solidity of the shaft feels good, and the rubbery head under his palm feels a bit silly but fantastic, and the rough skin of his palm rubbing against the head is wonderful.
When he starts to moan he looks up at his face. His eyes are half-open and his mouth is a little more than half open and he looks pretty good, for an average guy.
His stomach muscles ripple.
Maybe he’s not so average after all.
He closes his eyes and thinks about that time he was looking at Albert in the sunlight. He watched, mesmerized, as Albert’s penis got bigger and harder, and became a cock. Albert’s fingers crept over his scalp, stroked his hair, seemed to be pushing his head closer, but they stopped when Lincoln was so close he could almost taste Albert in the air.
Albert apologized. He said he hadn’t realised where he was, whom he was with. Then he remembered he was with Lincoln, and he stopped. And Lincoln was sorry he’d stopped, because he’d wanted to taste Albert on his tongue.
They had mentioned that, briefly, sex classes at the Institute. He wasn’t sure how it would work, to be honest, but they said that there was something called "fellatio", and that it meant “stimulation of the male genitals with the mouth”. Lincoln had assumed, at the time, they were talking about a woman using her mouth on a man. Most of the clones had been a bit disgusted by the idea.
At the time, Lincoln had been more interested in the other thing, the thing they called “cunnilingus”, but now his thoughts are thoroughly occupied with fellatio.
That’s something he wants to do.
He tries to imagine what he might do with Albert’s penis. He could kiss it. Maybe on the end. The satiny skin would feel good against his lips.
He could do the tongue thing, he supposes. He wriggles his finger around the head of his own cock and tries to imagine it’s a tongue. Yes, that would be good.
As he thinks more about it, Lincoln feels his mouth opening, almost automatically. Oh, yes, he could put the penis inside. He probably couldn’t fit it all. He could fit a soft penis, but a hard cock would be too big. But it would feel good to have his mouth full, and it would feel good for Albert.
He opens his eyes.
If he could do that to Albert, then Albert could do that to him.
Albert’s mouth, that warm wet tongue and those soft full lips, kissing his penis and licking him. Putting Lincoln’s cock inside.
Lincoln steps away from the mirror and tumbles back onto the bed. He can imagine Albert’s mouth on his cock now, hot and wet, surrounding his cock, warmer and wetter than the tunnel of his hand. He arches his back and snaps his hips up so he fucks into his tight fist harder.
Albert has been waiting for him to ask for this; he knows it and he feels stupid for not having thought of it earlier. But the stuff they taught at the Institute is so different from what Albert has taught him. It was interesting – titillating in an academic way - but when Albert teaches him, Lincoln’s not thinking about learning. He’s completely in the moment.
All he can think of is Albert’s mouth on his mouth, and tongue in his mouth, and Albert’s strong hands on his body. Albert likes to hold his behind and squeeze. His ass, Albert calls it when he tells Lincoln he has a great ass. Albert’s hand on his cock is always perfect. Better than Lincoln’s hand. Albert has big hands, with strong, talented fingers. Albert’s hands feel good all over him. On his cock, or his chest or his shoulders and arms and legs. He’s even massaged Lincoln’s feet, and that was so good Lincoln could feel it all the way to his cock.
Lincoln shuffles back so he’s completely on the bed and he’s feeling the sheets slide under his ass and his hand sliding over his cock, and his testicles, balls Albert calls them, starting to ache a bit, a delicious ache, because he’s getting ready to come, and he loves to come. The good feeling spreads from his cock all over, waves of good feeling all the way through his limbs to his fingers and toes.
He loves the clenching of his guts, like they are squeezing every last drop of pleasure out of him. He loves the way he loses track of his arms and legs when it’s happening. And he loves the warm, sated feeling deep inside when he stops moving. He’s not as fond of the wet, rapidly cooling puddle of semen on his belly, but he’s feeling to good to do anything about it just yet.
He lets out a long breath and lets every muscle he can control go limp and happy.
“You started without me.”
Lincoln looks up and there’s Albert in the doorway, almost hidden because the hallway behind him is dark, and he’s dressed from neck to toe in black, and he almost blends into the darkness but not quite.
Lincoln hates it when he does that. It startles and unbalances him. Sometimes he goes downstairs and Albert is sitting on the couch, in the shadows, obscured by the dark. Silently waiting for Lincoln.
Lincoln needs Tom Lincoln’s retinas to get in the door. This place has a security system worth tens, maybe hundreds, of thousands of dollars. But it can’t keep out Albert Laurent.
Actually, Lincoln loves that.
Nothing can keep Albert out of his house, or out of his life. He’s sincerely hoping this will last forever.
And it’s very sexy, the way Albert can do things like that, enter locked houses, and find information that is hidden from other people, and make things happen the way he wants them to, without anyone finding out. It’s like he’s very powerful. Or even magic, sometimes.
Albert is smiling now, and Lincoln is kicking himself for not thinking about Albert’s teeth when he was thinking about Albert and getting hard, because Albert has really beautiful, even, perfect teeth. He’s spent money to get damaged ones fixed, he told Lincoln. Lincoln thinks whoever did the work was a genius.
But the teeth don’t matter as much as the smile.
“Sorry, Al-bear,” Lincoln says, always careful to pronounce the name correctly. “Is it okay if I was thinking about you?”
Albert moves closer and smiles even more. “That makes me feel very good,” he says. “Can I ask what, specifically, you were thinking?”
Lincoln ponders the question. He doesn’t want to say everything he was thinking, what led up to him thinking so intimately about Albert. When he calls himself average, Albert gets upset. “I was thinking about how beautiful you are,” Lincoln says truthfully. “And I was trying to imagine doing the tongue thing on your penis.”
Albert gives one of those low laughs that make Lincoln shiver. “I was hoping that might occur to you,” he says easily. He’s been taking his clothes off, jacket and t-shirt and belt. He drops them all on the floor, like he doesn’t have time to put them away neatly. “And I would very much like to use my mouth on you.”
Lincoln makes a whimpering sound. Oh, that sounds so good. He tries to sit up to get at the fly of Laurent’s pants, but Laurent’s hands are on his shoulders, pushing him down on the bed.
“So, you won’t mind if I do this,” he says as he brushes his lips over Lincoln’s nipple, and then down.
Lincoln gasps. “Well, I, um… I just came.”
He can feel Laurent’s smile against his belly. “I know,” Laurent says. “I was watching. It was beautiful. That’s why I want to taste you.”
His tongue is hot on Lincoln’s skin. Lincoln’s fingers tighten on Laurent’s scalp and his stomach goes hard with tension and the tongue tickles and wets and cleans and licks and tastes. Laurent kisses the end of Lincoln’s flaccid penis.
“Do I get to do that with your penis now?”
Laurent groans and gets up to shed his pants. “It’s a cock, Lincoln.”
Albert is amused by Lincoln’s distinction between a penis and a cock. He claims to have never thought of it that way before, but now he is always careful to call it what it is.
And it is a cock, really hard and big. Lincoln is pleased because it must have got that way from looking at Lincoln touch himself, and licking the come off Lincoln’s belly.
“You don’t have to,” Laurent assures him. “You can just touch, if you like.”
Lincoln shakes his head. Laurent is always saying things like that - 'You don’t have to.' 'I want it to be your choice.' 'Only if you really want to.' It’s so sweet and comforting, Lincoln hasn’t decided against doing anything so far.
Plus, he really wants to. Laurent stands beside the bed and Lincoln moves to the edge, sitting with his legs on either side of Laurent’s legs. He looks for a moment at the cock, and then he licks it from bottom to top.
“Ah, Lincoln, that’s perfect,” Albert says. He’s always very encouraging. He never, ever criticizes Lincoln for being inexperienced and not a man of the world. Sometimes, Lincoln wonders if Albert is trying to keep Lincoln innocent and unworldly. Maybe that’s the reason they haven’t done it. Because Albert wants him unspoilt.
Lincoln tries to lick around the head, loving the satin skin, but the cock keeps moving away from his mouth. He has to grab the shaft to hold it still.
Lincoln opens his mouth wide.
“Just perfect.”
And discovers it is difficult to fit a cock in a mouth.
Lincoln isn’t very good at it at first. It’s awkward, and he’s worried about his teeth hurting Albert. He tries to keep his lips between the soft, sensitive skin of the cock and his sharp teeth. The head is bigger than it looks, bigger than it feels in his hand. It seems to fill his mouth. He moves his lips back and forth, trying to get used to it.
Albert moans softly. That’s a good sign. More reliable than words.
The taste is warm and a bit sharp. He likes it. A lot. He wants more.
He tries to take a bit more and the back of his mouth is filled with cock. He chokes, and Albert starts to move away, so Lincoln squeezes his cock gently, to show him that it was just a little gag, nothing harmful.
Lincoln moves his hand up the shaft and back down. Then he discovers that if he moves his hand up a bit, he can put as much of Albert’s cock as is comfortable in his mouth, and his hand will stop him from going any further, so he’ll never gag. Brilliant. He’s very pleased with himself, because now he can move his lips up and down without worrying about gagging.
And Albert seems to like that a lot. He’s running his fingers through Lincoln’s hair and moaning even more. And his thighs are shaking a bit.
It’s really not fair of Lincoln to expect Albert to remain standing. After all, Lincoln didn’t remain standing when he was handling himself and thinking about doing this to Albert, and Albert doing this to him. As soon as his knees got weak, he flopped down on the bed. He scoots back and pulls Albert onto the bed. Albert kneels on the edge first, then he holds out a hand and eases himself down on his side gently.
Albert rarely makes sudden moves around Lincoln. Lincoln knows he’s capable of moving very, very fast. They were walking on the beach and some kids were playing with a football and Albert leapt to catch a stray throw and tossed it back so fast, with his arm muscles gleaming in the sun, the kids cheered and asked him to show them how to do it that fast. Albert corrected the way one boy was holding the ball, and told the other one to move his wrist a different way and then he demonstrated. So fast. And graceful. Lincoln spent a long time touching those arm muscles, exploring their shape, when they got back to Lincoln’s house.
But Albert tries to move deliberately and carefully around Lincoln.
Lincoln faces Albert and shifts down so he’s staring at Albert’s cock again. And at his balls. They’re big and the skin is wrinkled and he thinks it might feel really good on his tongue and he’s pleased to discover he is right.
“Very curious, aren’t you?” Albert asks with a hint of a laugh.
Albert might be making fun of him. Lincoln can never tell.
“Is this okay? Am I doing it right?” he asks.
“Lincoln, come up here.”
Lincoln doesn’t want to - he wants to do more with his mouth on Albert’s cock - but Albert is holding out his hand in invitation and it really is wonderful to let himself be pulled up and to have Albert’s arms around him like that.
“I wasn’t teasing. I just want to make sure…”
“That I’m doing what I really want. I appreciated that, Albert, I really do. But I’m also a little… I don’t want to wait. I want to do it.”
Albert smiles sadly.
“You don’t want to do it?” Lincoln asks, almost scared of the answer. “With me?”
“Oh, I do, Lincoln. But once we do that, things will never be the same again.” He strokes Lincoln’s hair and a line appears between his brows. “You won’t be the same. So young, so innocent.”
“I’m not young. And I’m tired of being innocent! And I’m not innocent, anyway. I’ve seen lots of things. I… I’ve killed.”
Albert looks so serious it might break Lincoln’s heart.
“As have I,” Albert whispers. “I have seen so much more than you. Good and bad. But I have never enjoyed looking at anyone or anything as much as I enjoy looking at you. Lincoln, please. Believe that I am perfectly happy the way things are.”
Lincoln does not understand. “Why? Don’t you want me to learn?”
“Shhhh, Lincoln. You’ve learned too much already. I’ve taken enough from you. I want you to stay innocent for a little longer. Please. Indulge me.”
Lincoln has always suspected that Albert felt guilty for all the time he’d spent chasing Lincoln. For killing Tom. For doing his job. Lincoln could understand that. It hadn’t been a very nice job, sometimes. But if Albert had not been hired to do it, someone else would have, and things would have been no different for Lincoln and Jordan. And Albert more than made up for it when he switched sides and saved all those people. Lincoln tells Albert so.
Albert holds him close. “I don’t know if it is your innocence that allows you to forgive so easily, or your goodness. I think it is both. And I fear that if I take away your innocence, you will not forgive so easily. We have as long as we want, Lincoln. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going to disappear. I promise you that. There is no rush.”
“But I want to make you come now.”
Albert laughs, and it’s not the sad kind of laugh but the happy kind. The playful kind. “Well, yes, for that we can hurry. I am ready for that. Touch me. Touch me and let me kiss you.”
Albert’s mouth tastes funny, but then Lincoln remembers Albert licking his belly after he came on it. It must be the taste of Lincoln’s come. It’s bitter and something he doesn’t like or dislike, but it’s second-hand. Maybe he would like it better fresh.
He wriggles out of Albert’s arms and puts his mouth back on Albert’s cock. Albert does not try to stop him. Lincoln is free to do what he wants. What he wants is to give Albert pleasure with his mouth. And his hands. And his whole body, because Albert is curled over so he can rub Lincoln’s shoulders, and his belly is shuddering against the top of Lincoln’s head and Lincoln has one leg way up and Albert is rubbing his foot against it.
Albert’s abs are rock hard, and his balls are drawn up tight, and he’s growling. That’s what happens before Albert comes, so Lincoln tries to prepare himself for what is going to happen next. He works his lips around the swollen head and wriggles his tongue at the slit and the cock stiffens in his mouth. Lincoln squeezes his eyes tightly and holds his breath. Albert’s whole body stiffens, muscles straining. He’s shaking and Lincoln’s mouth is flooded with tangy heat. It seems like more, when it’s in his mouth, just like the cock seemed bigger in his mouth than in his hands. It’s not that much, though, and Lincoln manages to keep it in his mouth. Albert is panting and his cock is pulsing in Lincoln’s mouth, rhythmic but fading slowly. Lincolns can’t figure out how to swallow the come in his mouth while the cock is still in there as well.
The Institute really did do a piss poor job of the sex education. This is just the sort of thing they should teach, Lincoln thinks, or at least warn you about.
He pulls his mouth off Albert, closing it as he goes so he won’t spill any of the come. The taste fills him, and he likes it. There is a weird tickling sensation on the roof of his mouth, even after he swallows.
“That was good,” he says after he takes a gulp of air. “Oh, really good.”
Albert is still shuddering. He reaches for Lincoln, and for the first time ever his hands seem weak.
Lincoln rushes up the bed and holds Albert’s broad shoulders. Albert won’t look at him. He has his eyes closed.
“Albert, are you okay?”
He’s pulled into Albert’s arms again, and Albert’s hands are once more strong as they stretch over Lincoln’s skin, support his back, hold him close.
“Albert?”
“Shhh, Lincoln. Quiet. I need to…”
Lincoln is quiet. He makes his breathing go in time with Albert’s and they melt against each other in the middle of the bed.
Lincoln doesn’t think he did anything wrong, but now he understands that things will have to happen slowly. They’ll have to do it one step at a time. Not for him, but for Albert.
“This makes you remember things, doesn’t it?”
Albert strokes his back in answer.
“They didn’t let you be with another man where you come from, did they, Albert?”
Albert nods against his neck.
“Don’t be scared,” Lincoln whispers. “I won’t tell anyone.”
Albert presses his face hard against Lincoln’s neck and breathes deeply.
“And I’m not going to disappear, either.”
Albert opens his mouth and kisses Lincoln’s throat. “No, you’re not. You will always be who you are.”
“So, you don’t have to worry,” Lincoln adds. “Besides, I promise I won’t change too fast.”
Seconds
Albert sips his wine, licks his lips, and picks up his empty plate.
“May I have seconds?” he asks.
Lincoln is pleased. It is the first real meal he’s ever cooked, in his whole life, a simple pasta dish with tomatoes, balsamic vinegar and feta cheese. He fills the plate and is enormously gratified when Albert attacks it with relish.
Albert seems to enjoy his food more than he used to. Lincoln likes to think he asked for seconds because it is Lincoln who made the food.
What he doesn’t know is that Albert wants seconds because of Lincoln. Period.
Lincoln licks the ice cream cone, all the way around to catch the drips.
Albert’s eyes almost hurt from watching.
They’re on the beach, taking a walk after dinner. They are in public, and there are people around, and Lincoln obviously has no clue that it looks like he’s licking around the head of a cock when he does that.
“May I have another?”
“No!” Albert says harshly, immediately regretting it because he doesn’t want to alarm Lincoln. It’s just that he’s frustrated.
He simply could not take watching Lincoln fellate another ice cream cone. It would take too long.
Albert takes his time sucking Lincoln’s cock, a slow, not-quite-torturous pace that allow him plenty of time to study the texture of the skin under his tongue, the play of the foreskin under his lips, the taste of the moisture gathering inside the slit.
He let’s his fingers explore all they like – hair and skin and legs and balls and belly. He tastes and touches.
He enjoys this so much that even after Lincoln explodes in his mouth and he’s had a mouthful of delicious come, and Lincoln is sprawled across the bed panting and sighing, Albert still wants more.
Lincoln thinks, at first, that once you have had your orgasm, you are finished. It seems, at first, like an ending. There appears to be a finality to it. Albert even calls it “le petit mort’, and translates the phrase for Lincoln.
Plus, he can’t imagine needing or wanting more. When he has spent, he believes he is spent. And that’s fine, because he loves to sleep nestled against Albert.
Then he realizes that Albert has been taking it easy on him from the beginning.
Then Lincoln wants more.
And Albert is happy to give him seconds. And even thirds.
As Time Goes By
Hours
Lincoln has been at it for hours.
Laurent tries to watch dispassionately. He crosses his long legs and sips his tea.
Lincoln has become enamoured of tea. He has a dozen varieties of the stuff. This one is green plum tea, rather sweet with a mellow undertaste, rather like Lincoln himself.
Lincoln is focusing very hard. That means he is tugging at his hair and fiddling with his ear and twirling the pencil in his fingers and, when Laurent is really lucky, his tongue is showing, just peeking out between lips drawn tight with concentration.
Laurent could do this for…
Days
It’s been days of steady work. There is so much to learn and discover. Lincoln wasn’t taught any of this at the Institute. He’d had no idea what an internal combustion engine was. He started with a simple book, basics of the piston engine.
The exterior isn’t enough. Lincoln has to know how they work. Inside.
He’s learning about hover technology now.
Albert’s been watching him all this time. He goes off and does whatever it is Albert does, but he comes back and watches Lincoln.
Lincoln wishes he could absorb the information faster. At this rate, it could take…
Weeks
A normal person would have taken weeks to learn this much. Lincoln already knows more than Tom ever did. Laurent’s sure of it.
Lincoln is tweaking Tom’s designs, improving efficiency. The bikes even look better.
Lincoln looks better, too. More confident. He’s taken one of the bikes out a few times to try out different manoeuvres. The wind in his hair is an excellent look on Lincoln.
He’s not afraid to go out anymore. He’s no longer some freak, a clone meant to replace parts on the useful one. He is the one.
He’s learning fast, but it could take…
Months
Maybe Lincoln’s goals are too big. He wants to do in days what should take months. He doesn’t want to lose his focus, but he can’t keep going much longer. Stolen moments of sleep won’t sustain him forever. He wishes he could let it go, fall asleep and not dream of motorbikes.
Of course, the solution has been there all along, patiently waiting for him to grow weary of the task. Albert has brought him food and tea and made him rest once or twice, but has steadfastly not interrupted the work.
Why would anyone wait that long for him?
Years
In all his years, Laurent has never seen anything as sexy as Lincoln Six Echo learning everything there is to know about hover bikes in the space of a week. His hunger for knowledge is outrageously magnetic. His energy intoxicating.
But enough is enough.
In all the years to come, Lincoln Six Echo will never forget the achingly beautiful intensity of being laid out on the desk, papers and sketches fluttering in the air around him, as Albert Laurent’s mouth descends with deadly accuracy. It’s electrifying.
And it’s even better than the wind in his hair.
Work time is over.
On to 11-20 Island100
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