The Year of Spooky Dee

The Year of Spooky Dee

By A. Leigh Jones

3. Dan had slipped out of Nick's life years ago, all respectable and whatnot, a biotech big shot, no time for Nick and his rock star lifestyle and the occasional nights they spent together whenever their schedules happened to synch up. It was still weird, though, because Dan was dead now, like, really dead, and Nick was alive and that was never the way it was supposed to be.

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They'd been roommates their freshman year, back when Dan was still hijacking the University's chemistry equipment and mixing up his own little business, and Nick was cutting classes all over the place just trying get his band off the ground. Dan would joke about dying in some freak lab accident while Nick was out chasing groupies, and Nick would shake his head, grinning as he tuned his guitar. He knew Dan loved chemistry like Nick loved music, but he still thought his friend spent too much time in the lab and not enough time on his knees, his eyes half-closed and his mouth wide open, tongue darting out over those goddamn gorgeous lips.... Fuck, Nick thought, biting his own lip a little. It'd been months since he'd met with Dan's attorneys, and that was probably enough time, but Nick was pretty sure it was still creepy to be thinking about Dan now and popping wood, especially with some delivery guy standing right there, waiting for Nick to sign for the big ass crate he'd wheeled up to the door. Nick wasn't even sure he wanted to open the thing. "Happy Halloween," the delivery guy said, and Nick looked up, startled. He'd forgotten. "Yeah," Nick said, finally, pushing the hair out of his eyes. He really needed a fucking haircut, but touring was hell and he was tired, and really, what difference did it make? Except the guy was sort of cute, in the clean-cut, blue-eyed way nearly everyone in LA was sort of cute these days. Nick smirked a little, and the delivery guy handed him an envelope, heavier than it should have been, and Nick knew there were keys inside even before the guy tapped the lock on the crate and explained how the security coding worked. "Trick or treat, right?" The guy laughed, ducked his head and shoved his hands in his pockets. "You guys are awesome," he said, and Nick smiled his best lead singer smile, said "thanks, man", while the guy pressed on, "I'm not supposed to ask, but I have your CD in the truck, and if I, uhm, would you sign it?" "Yeah, sure," Nick said, fingering the keys through the glossy the envelope. The guy was gone and back before Nick registered he'd left, and Nick signed the CD and said thank you again, waved as the guy hopped his pert little ass up into the driver's seat and drove off, Nick's own voice streaming through the truck's open windows, guitar riff hanging in the air, bass jacked way up. Nick smiled to himself, watched him go. 1. It wasn't the first time Nick had sat in some attorney's office and had no damn idea what the suit across the table was actually saying. Hell, he had his own lawyers now, a team of them, tough as nails and completely unflappable and one of them was even sitting beside him right now, but, when Nick turned to him and said, "What the? Custody? It's a robot, right?" he looked almost as confused as Nick.

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"We'll say it's your new assistant or something, don't worry, we'll figure it out," his lawyer said, and the suit for Dan's estate said, "The robot is a 'he', not an 'it', the documents are quite specific," and Nick sighed, scratched at the tattoos that ran up his arm, under his shirtsleeve. The lawyers went back and forth, and Nick sighed, signed the papers they put in front of him. Nick thought about the last time he'd seen Dan, how he'd just appeared side stage at some shitty festival tour in the middle of nowhere, remembered how Dan's eyes lit up when he talked about his work late into the night. Nick remembered the feel of Dan's skin, the way he tasted in the morning, sleepy and bittersweet, his fingers in Nick's ass making him moan into the sheets, Nick's knees tucked up, dick hard and leaking between his thighs. Dan stayed with the tour for two weeks that summer, called it his last wild ride, and sometime around the four-day mark Nick had started to feel like himself again, Dan's hands in his pockets, Dan's mouth on his. He'd been like a lifeline then, an oasis, and if he maybe hadn't found a way to thank Dan properly in all this time, well, he could do this now. He could. 5. Tex reads music and speaks fluent Japanese. He likes comic books, video games, the linear flow of instruction manuals; it's the beat poets who teach him how to roll his eyes. He wants to learn how to surf, wants scars like Nick's on his shins, his thighs, his belly. Nick promises him they'll hit the beach when they get down south again. Nick's band takes it well - Tex's presence on the tour, in their lives. He's an easier secret to keep than some of their others, that's for sure. It helps that Tex was mostly quiet at first, settling in, feeling things out. Life on a tour bus is more complicated than it looks, the rhythm of it, the bickering, the banter. Nick's band are hardcore geeks, though, and having a robot of their own is pretty goddamn cool. That Nick hasn't been this easy to be around since before their first record dropped is both an added bonus and another secret they're happy to keep, possibly even from Nick himself. Officially, Tex is Nick's personal bodyguard, and it's not all that far from the truth. Tex guards Nick even when he sleeps; it's hard-coded into his programming, and he's damn good at what he does. Their security detail is relieved that Nick doesn't seemed to notice. Nick's been giving them all the slip for years. He sticks close to Tex without complaining about it, and together they wander through some flea market in San Antonio, the rest of the band scattering out for the day. Nick buys an old pair ruby cufflinks, a Texas Forever tee, half a dozen used books; Tex picks up a soft twang that never really goes away. It suits him, though, and after a while everyone forgets to razz him about it, forgets he ever sounded any other way. 6.

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When they're alone, Tex twists his fingers through Nick's dark hair, rubs his cheek against Nick's stubble. "I want," Tex says, and Nick swallows hard, nods his head. Tex licks under Nick's arms, noses the coarse hairs at his groin. Tex is smooth all over, pale golden skin Nick isn't sure he'll ever get enough of, warm in ways Nick would never understand, alive in every way that mattered from the moment Nick unpacked him from the shipping crate and followed Dan's instructions, sunshine streaming through the windows behind him, lighting Tex up inside. Tex's eyes are pine green when he's been online too long and lion brown when he's happy. Tex's eyes are stone gray when he thinks Nicks in danger, when Nick's fans get too close, when the cameras flash too bright, when the questions cut too deep and Nick tenses beside him, his mouth set in a hard line. Tex's eyes are hazel. "You're perfect exactly the way you are," Nick says, one hand cupped around Tex's bare scalp, the other wrapped around one hip, his thumb in the groove there, calluses dragging over silky skin. Nick fell in love with him about three seconds after Tex opened his eyes, although it took him a while longer to actually figure that out. 2. Dan's letter was mostly jumbled, paranoia and memories interspersed with basic operating instructions, a secret code Nick remembered from back in the day, a plea to Nick to keep the TX850S safe, to care for him, to protect him from anyone who might mean him harm. Dan was maybe a little crazy there at the end, Nick thought, but this was Dan's life's work, and a gift, and while it did sort of freak Nick the fuck out, it was also enormously thrilling. According to Dan's notes Tex was a bio-bot, a prototype that could think and learn and change, could feel in his own way, could want, could laugh. Nick wasn't sure how Tex worked, exactly, or even what Dan's intentions were, although he had a pretty good guess on that front, all things considered, but he knew for sure that Tex was no ordinary robot, was no ordinary anything at all. Tex was muscle and skin and a steady pulse. He had veins, and a heart, and a ticklish spot on the inside of his elbow, a tiny scar beneath his ribs where Dan's notes said his serial number was supposed to be permanently imprinted. Tex was programmed to protect, to adapt, to please. He was capable of so much more, though, and Dan's notes had been clear about that, too. Tex's memories of his life before Nick, assuming he had any, had been wiped clean before Dan packed him into that crate with various necessary documents and a brief dossier, the facts of which Tex was already well acquainted. It made Nick wonder if Dan's lab accident was maybe not so much of an accident after all, although there was nothing he could about that now. He didn't even know how long before Dan's death Tex had been readied for shipping, and Tex didn't seem to know either, which Nick supposed was for the best. 8.

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Nick spends endless hours in the studio; Tex is learning how to cook. "Make me a real boy," Tex murmurs, his voice breathy, shivery on Nick's skin. "Nick," he begs, "Nick, Nick," and Nick gasps, his knees pressed up against his shoulders, Tex's dick pulsing inside him, his hips twisting hard and slow. "I am," Nick promises later, and Tex's eyelashes flutter against his cheek, his heart beating its steady rhythm. They've been home for three weeks already, and Tex's skin glows in the soft light. Nick slots his fingers against Tex's ribs, presses his lips to Tex's forehead. "You already are." 4. Nick writes a dozen songs about technology and love and where the two meet (in the space between heartbeats) and shreds them all before anyone else sees them, before they leak, before his goddamn guitarist gets a hold of them and his band spends the rest of their lives laughing themselves hoarse at his expense. Nick hates to see his words go out like that, cross-cut and indecipherable, but truly, it's for the best. Tex eyes the shredder uncertainly, worries Nick's bottom lip with his teeth. Nick licks his way down Tex's throat, sucks at his collarbone, one hand low on Tex's back, snow falling outside their hotel window, all soft shadows and frozen light. He thinks they're in New York, but it could be Philadelphia; he lost track a few days ago. It's part of touring. It happens. Tex says, "We're in Detroit," and Nick hums thoughtfully, sucks a red mark into Tex's skin. It won't last. Tex wasn't built that way, he's as resistant to lovebites as he is the common cold, but he likes the attempts, the press of Nick's mouth on his throat, the shape of Nick's teeth against his hipbones, the drag of Nick's fingers behind his balls. "Fuck," Tex moans, "fuck, fuck," and Nick tries to remember if it's the first time he's heard Tex swear like this. Nick takes Tex's cock in his mouth and Tex twists his fingers in the sheets, Nick's dick flexing with every breathy curse. Nick knows even if it's not the first time, it won't be the last. Tex pays attention. "Fuck me," he moans, and Nick gives him points for context, presses his thumb against the soft pucker of Tex's hole. 9. Nick catches the tour crud late in August, his throat sore and his skin clammy, bottled water and Vitamin-C tablets scattered all over the bus. "I'll be fine," Nick says, and his band mates nod, they've all been there, will be there again soon enough. Nick sings his heart out on stage, hacks

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up his lungs between songs, pink-tinged and spongy. Maybe it's not their best show ever but Nick gave the fans everything he had, left it all out on stage, and he just can't do more than that. "I don't think I can get sick," Tex says, and he sounds so disappointed Nick laughs until the coughing takes him over and Tex pulls him close, strong arms holding him together. Tex breathes slow and easy, cool hands on Nick's skin and Nick's fever burning bright. Two nights later someone in the crowd throws a lighter up on stage, and then everyone else follows suit, and Tex flies off his post before Nick even realizes what's happening, his body shielding Nick from the projectiles. Nick's band doesn't miss a beat and Nick rasps into the mic, "Not cool!" The projectiles stop, just like that. "Thank you," he says to the crowd, squeezing Tex's arm, and the crowd erupts in high-pitched screams. Tex ducks his head and disappears back into the shadows, and Nick throws one hand over his heart and proclaims, "My hero," just as the band launches into a gritty cover, and this, this right here, is everything Nick loves about his life. 7. The tour rolls through the northwest and Tex is quieter every day, gray skies and endless rain, his palm pressed to the window, fingers spread wide. Nick kisses him until his lips ache, until Tex whines low in his throat, dick pressed against Nick's, dark and leaking at the tip. "Please," Tex whispers, and Nick fucks him hard, tongues his swollen hole until Tex pants and writhes, comes with Nick's hand wrapped around his dick and Nick's name in his throat, as human as anyone else. They leave the clouds behind somewhere in Montana, and Nick spreads Tex out in bright blue sunlight, sucks him hot and slow. 10. Nick wakes up before dawn on the thirty-first, loads their surfboards and wetsuits into the Jeep. Nick grew up surfing Huntington Beach, and he thinks Tex is ready now, as ready as he'll ever be. Tex's balance is unshakeable and his calculations lightning quick, but the ocean doesn't care about any of that. It doesn't care that he's special, that he's absolutely unique. Tex wipes out more often than not, comes up sputtering and laughing and shading his eyes, wiping his hands over his scalp and twisting in the water until his eyes find Nick again, sitting on his own board and smiling bright. They stop at the market on the way home, pick up a few things. In the frozen section Nick leans in close and kisses Tex on the lips, brushes sand from his bare shoulder. Tex laughs against his

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mouth and Nick, who couldn't stop the words even if he wanted to, says, "Christ, I'm so in love with you." Two little girls in princess costumes run by them, leaving a trail of giggles and glitter in their wake, and Tex kisses him again, says, "I'm so in love with you, too." It's been a year, and Nick's never been happier than he is right now. Tex has fine golden hairs all over his body that weren't there even a week ago, and Nick has more than enough material for another record, another two records, maybe, depending on studio time. "Trick or treat?" Tex asks, and Nick raises his eyebrow, says he'll wait until they get home for both. Tex presses him up against the tiles in the shower and kisses him breathless, hot water raining down on them. Tex's soapy hands are everywhere, everywhere at once. Tex mouths at his collarbone, bites at the tight peaks of his nipples, wraps one hand around Nick's cock and Nick's legs slide open, make room for Tex's muscled thigh. Nick rubs against him shamelessly and Tex moans, his mouth humming over the dark lines of Nick's tattoos, down his arms, his belly, leaving off to chase warm water down the groove of Nick's hip, suck softly at his balls. Tex drags him out of the shower and tumbles him onto the bed, and Nick complains for a minute before Tex licks up the underside of his cock. His mouth is hot in the cool air, his lips sinking over the head, and Nick can't remember what he thought was so great about the shower. His hips buck into Tex's palms, once, twice, and then Tex pulls him closer, encouraging him, and Nick doesn't need more of an invitation than that. He forces his eyes open, watches himself fuck into the plush heat of Tex's mouth. Tex swallows, gags a little and Nick pulls back, slides in slower this time, in and out, in and out, and Nick comes so hard his vision blurs out for a minute. He blinks, and Tex is kissing him with come-slick lips and working a second finger into his ass and Nick hears himself moaning Tex's name over and over, his voice raspy, his legs tangled in the sheets. Nick flips over, his ass in the air and his arms spread wide, his dick already hard again, slapping against his belly when Tex fucks him deep. It's so goddamn good, every thrust, Tex's hand running up his spine, pressing against the nape of his neck, fingers twisting in his hair. Tex pulls out when he comes and shoots on Nick's open hole before he pushes back in, his dick pulsing, and Nick comes again, hot and needy, thick white splotches falling on the sheets. He makes himself stay awake while Tex dozes, finds his flip-flops in the hallway, clean warmups in the laundry. The neighbor's cat had kittens while they were on tour, and Nick's just in time to take the last one home with him. Tex is still sprawled across their bed when Nick returns, one hand reaching for a patch of sunlight, palm open, fingers fluttering while he sleeps. Nick settles the kitten on Tex's chest, all black fur and big eyes, and she meows loudly, already making demands. Tex blinks at the kitten, looks up at Nick and back down again, his hand cupped around the kitten's tiny body, his instincts kicking in. The kitten flops over, bares her belly to Tex's perfect

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fingers. Nick kisses him carefully, breathes in the sweet scent of Tex and home, listens to their new kitten purr. "Happy Halloween," he murmurs, and Tex smiles wonderingly, scritches his pinky around the cat's whiskers, under her chin. Nick's thinking about naming her after Dan, somehow, just as Tex says her name is Spooky Dee. It's perfect. They'll be on the road again soon enough; there's always another tour, another show. Right now there's just this, though, just them, and Nick wouldn't change a thing.

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The Year of Spooky Dee Copyright © 2007 by A. Leigh Jones All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address Torquere Press, Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78680 Printed in the United States of America. Torquere Press, Inc.: Sips electronic edition / October 2007 Torquere Press eBooks are published by Torquere Press, Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78680

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