Chapter Text
It would’ve been nice to finally fall asleep after 3700 years of staying awake, but Dr. Xeno couldn't let himself rest quite yet.
After waking up from his stone shell, he stood up, naked as a newborn, and gazed around at the new world to take it all in. He briefly examined the fragments that cracked off of his skin. Thoughts and questions flooded his mind. Solutions followed them, racing a million miles a minute. He reined them in as if he were running his hands through the bluestem grasses of Houston, his hometown, and suddenly grasped their stems all at once to create one singular mass.
“Focus,” he ordered as he narrowed his mind and eyes.
His first priority was locating Stanley, his best and oldest friend, who had shielded him with his body before they were petrified. He turned to face him. It seemed their statues had been separated by shifts in the earth’s crust, but thankfully, he was no more than 15 feet away and appeared fully intact.
He took a step towards him and felt mud squish in between his toes. As he looked down, his eyes latched onto a stream. He followed it uphill to a small pond. The water rippled softly as he approached it and looked down at himself.
There he was, the same man with the slicked back white hair and jet black eyes, except now his forehead was marred by dark X-shaped lines that extended just past his cheekbones. He furrowed his brows and pursed his lips.
“Strange,” he thought. “My face…”
His eyes trailed up the stream. At the top of the hill, he spotted a cave where it appeared to eject from.
“... Is not important right now,” he concluded, and continued following the stream.
Inside the cave, he struck the ground with a sharp rock and smiled gently when found what he was looking for.
“Hmm. Ionized nitric mineral deposits,” he murmured to himself. “There’s nitric acid.”
He molded a few clay jars and placed them under the dripping stalactites. Satisfied with his work, he brushed off his hands and left the cave in search of other resources.
With that important discovery out of the way, he returned to Stanley. By the looks of it, his outer shell was cracking, slowly but surely. It gave him hope. His survival depended on him, of course.
Xeno inspected the breakages across his face. The stone really did capture his expression well - calm and composed, yet his brows were tightened the way they always did when he was distressed. Of course, his lips were parted in anticipation for a cigarette.
"I know you're in there," he said to the stone.
He waited for a moment, not truly expecting a response, but wishing there was one, anyway. He brushed lichen off his cheek with a small sigh.
"Come out soon."
Xeno turned away and tried not to linger near him. There was work to be done.
The night passed by quickly as he fashioned himself a simple covering made of vines, started a fire, and began purifying water. Adrenaline fueled his work, plus whatever minuscule amount of knowledge he’d gained from childhood camping trips with Stanley and his dad. He never lasted long on them, but Stan always made sure to keep him safe. He was sure this pattern would continue once his soldier was awake.
By morning, he was tired, but unwilling to sleep just yet, as Stanley’s statue showed increased signs of decay.
Xeno waited and watched as the stone shell cracked and finally gave way. It burst away from Stanley’s body in chunks. Thin fragments of stone clung to his joints where he knelt down.
“Hm,” Xeno smirked. “Morning.”
Stanley looked at him. He looked briefly shocked, but quickly shifted into neutral.
“I had a feeling you’d be up next, Stan,” Dr. Xeno spoke curtly. “Good.”
He knew it’d be difficult to get anything done without him around - damn near impossible given his lack of physical strength - and he certainly wasn’t going to leave him behind if he chose to travel.
“You’ve always been a dependable ally,” Xeno ended softly.
He averted his eyes from Stanley’s naked body, focusing on a patch of mud and grass. Eyes down, then to the side, then to the other side. Breathe in, breathe out. It was a ritual he was well-versed in by now.
Stan did a visual 180.
“Everyone’s petrified and covered in vegetation,” he took in silently.
“How long has it been?” he asked Xeno. “Since that day…”
“It must’ve been a few thousand years, at the very least,” he responded.
Stanley flinched and inhaled sharply.
Xeno gazed out at the statues below them. He rested a hand on his hip and leaned on one leg.
“There are no structures still standing,” he continued. “For the rebar to have worn away, the pH of the concrete would’ve had to have been-”
“-Yeah, yeah,” Stan cut him off, closing his eyes. “It’s been a while. You can stop now.”
Tendrils of embarrassment slowly unfurled in his gut and mixed with deliberately tempered fear as he realized just how vulnerable he was - how they both were.
His voice was smooth as ever, unnaturally calm, but Xeno recognized the tension in his temple that signaled concern.
Stanley reached into a nonexistent pocket for a smoke. When there was nothing there, his expression turned downcast.
“Really?” Xeno picked on him, like he always did, whenever he acted like a chainsmoker.
Stan grit his teeth.
“All of our clothes have disintegrated,” he explained with a hand motion. “Your smokes are a relic of the past.”
Stanley grumbled in frustration. His eyes locked onto the thin vines holding up Xeno’s brush skirt. They hung low on his hips, where shadows exposed his pelvic lines. He blinked the sight away and focused on the stem of a nearby plant.
“On the bright side, now you can stop inhaling toxic gas,” Xeno simpered.
The blond soldier casually picked a strand of the wheatgrass he'd been admiring and placed it between his lips.
“Well,” he said in a gravelly voice, “you do have a plan, don’t you?”
Xeno spoke about his plans, but Stanley’s focus waned as soon as he glided his fingers across his collarbone and wrapped his arm comfortably around his neck. He spoke in a low, gentle voice that dropped into a smooth whisper at the end of his speech.
Stan knew he was talking about world domination, and immediately accepted his proposal, but wished his heart would stop racing like it always had when he talked like that. It may have been millennia ago, but to him, they were just at a banquet, fully clothed, shouting amidst mayhem, scrambling like mice as the green wave coursed over and through them.
Now, they were completely alone, which was terrifying enough without the extra touchiness. It had always shocked him more than he’d like it to. He could handle the way his heart rate spiked whenever they got close, but bare skin-to-skin contact consistently stunned him speechless.
Xeno’s fingertips settled over his sternum, his palm over his heart.
“It’s just like taser training,” he compared. “Wherever the darts land hurts the most, but it makes the entire body freeze up and burn all at once. I just gotta breathe through it.”
Historically and currently, his best solution to this problem was to simply ignore it, breathe steadily, and hope for the best.
Xeno wasn’t shy when it came to physical touch. Despite preferring his solitude, he was quite welcoming to physical closeness, especially when his target was Stanley Snyder.
“His heart rate is so high. Mine, too. I’m so glad he’s here,” Xeno thought to himself as he spoke. “We can finally make this world our own.”
1999
“I brought a petri dish with some mold on it!” Xeno chirped as he proudly displayed his item for show-and-tell.
His fellow first-graders reacted with a mixture of awe and disgust. Stanley, who sat next to him, watched him as he swung around to show off to the circle of kids.
“Xeno!” the teacher decried with a disgusted grimace.
She hustled over from her seat and snatched the petri dish from his clutches.
“Hey!” Xeno cried out.
He watched as she flushed it out with water and soap under the sink.
“Oh, sweetie,” she attenuated, gently shaking her head. “You can’t bring bacteria in here, this is a classroom! We don’t wanna get anyone sick, do we?”
“It won’t get anyone sick. It’s just agar and penicillium!” Xeno defended himself. “See, you can tell by the green spots…” he trailed off as his specimen slid down the drain.
“Well, that’s very interesting, but we can’t be havin’ mold in this class. It’s unsanitary.”
She tapped the dish on the side of the sink to flick the water droplets off of it and then handed it back to Xeno with a flick of her wrist.
He took it with a scowl and put it back in his bag.
Stanley, the neighbor kid he’d become acquainted with recently, scooted closer to him.
“Sorry,” he whispered.
Xeno huffed.
“It’s fine. I’ve got more if you wanna see ‘em,” he whispered excitedly.
Stanley chuckled and left Xeno wondering if he actually wanted to see them.
“Your turn, Stanley!” the teacher chippered. “What did you bring for us?”
Stan perked up and pulled out his camo-patterned bag. He unzipped the big pouch and pulled out his item.
“I brought a gun!” he said with a toothy smile.
After Xeno debriefed his plan, they agreed to revive the others and make their way westward in order to produce alcohol from the Californian corn fields.
However, for right now, they needed the basics: food, shelter, and water. Once they’d fashioned shoes from plant fibers, Stanley, ever the workhorse, set off to polish his rusty bushcraft skills, while Xeno took a shot at catching game for dinner.
At first, Stan surveyed the northern lands, looking for good sheltering space. He found Xeno sunbathing on a rock, benightedly fishing with a pointed stick and attempting to snare game by a small river. There were a few good spots there, but nothing particularly enticing. Though it was difficult terrain, Xeno gave him clean cold water, so it was worth the trek.
Next, he decided to go the opposite direction - south - and test his luck there.
Stan found three solid oaks in a line near the cave that Xeno had called attention to and decided it was the perfect spot for a shelter. He used the thinner middle tree as the primary support for a football-shaped tent.
It didn’t take long to find a downed tree that he could strip of branches. He got to work snapping off what he could and carrying it back to the shelter. By the time the sun began to set, his shoulders and back were aching, his skin was reddened, and he was sweat-soaked from the heavy lifting, but the shelter was almost complete. Xeno hadn’t yet returned, so he kept working.
He took a different path into the woods than usual, hoping to find a sharp rock or something to carve with that was better than his current chunk of quartz. His senses led him towards a rushing stream, no doubt runoff from Xeno’s river. Suddenly, a sweet scent wafted down the breeze. Stanley perked up.
“Strawberries? There’s a northwestern wind, so it’s coming from there,” he determined, and picked up his pace, following the smell.
The scent hit him hard when he finally tracked down his target and knelt beside it. It was a rather strange-looking bush with spiky leaves and vaguely strawberry-shaped fruits.
His nose curled up from the intense fragrance, as if smelling raw mint. Clearly, the broken stems at the top of the plant were most egregious. They leaked a slippery substance like aloe vera.
“What kind of plant is this?” Stanley wondered, wishing Xeno were there to answer. “I’ve never seen it before.”
He brushed a finger along the broken stem. It was smooth and stiffened like straw. He snapped the broken end off with his thumbnail and replaced the worn-out wheatgrass in his mouth with it.
With little hesitation, he clamped his mouth shut and sucked in its flavor. The stem bled out a savory sweet liquid that reminded him of syrup, but it was so small that he barely got a drop. Even so, that amount made him hungry for more. He realized he’d skipped lunch to work. He hoped Xeno had caught something.
He plucked a leaf and chewed on it. It was sweet, but bitter once he spat it out. He decided against eating the fruit, since it was foreign and could be dangerous, but kept a thick stem between his teeth to suck on and lap at with his tongue.
When Stan had satisfied his curiosity with the plant, he began the walk back to base in hopes that Xeno was home, admiring their new shelter, and had brought dinner. However, within 30 seconds of standing up, he realized something was off. His insides felt warmer than they were a moment ago, like he’d drank hot chocolate and did ten jumping jacks. He recognized the sensation as it crept south and established a hearth there.
“Not the time,” he grumbled to himself, hoping that controlling his thoughts would force his quickly-growing hard-on back down.
He loosened the brush skirt that Xeno had made for him and looked underneath.
“Oh, god,” he grimaced. “Really? Right now?” he yelled at himself.
“Think of something else,” a voice in his head instructed. “Yeah!” he agreed. “Dead grandma. Dead grandma. Dead grandma. Fuck, why isn’t this working? Dead grandma always works.”
Despite his repeated attempts at control, within minutes, he was ten to midnight. He slowed down his walking pace to accommodate.
Soon after, his head began to pulsate. It felt like he was a teenager again, although now he was far more conscious of himself. He untied the brush skirt completely and steadied himself against a tree. Its bark scraped lines into his back, but he could barely feel it. He tried one more time to mentally control himself, but to no avail.
As the sun sank beneath the treeline, he curled into a ball and leaned his back against the tree trunk.
“Fuck,” he breathed out as he touched himself, his skin more sensitive than ever.
Every slow stroke made his insides leap.
As he adjusted to the heightened sensation, he draped his left forearm over his knees and bent over so his eyes rested in the soft muscle. He kept them closed as he quickened his right hand's pace.
It couldn't have been over a minute before a voice cut through the silence of the forest.
"Stanley!" Xeno called out from the north.
The soldier instantly snapped out of his haze and to attention. He gasped and stumbled to his feet, yanking his leaf skirt up over himself. He tucked his throbbing cock head into the waistband. It stood out too much, so he pulled the band up enough to cover it, but not without his ass cheeks hanging out. Curses flew through his mind like a swarm of beetles.
"Stan, are you there?" Xeno's voice was much closer than before.
Stanley's heart rate hit doubletime. He spotted the doctor in the distance and adjusted his coverings.
"I'm here," he replied, steeling his gaze, and met up with him just south of the shelter.
The sunset began to fade beneath the horizon. Stan was grateful for the blue darkness.
"Ah, good. I caught dinner."
Xeno held up a rainbow trout by its lip with a proud grin.
"Nice work," Stan commented genuinely.
He carefully watched the doctor for any signs of deviation from his baseline.
"Do you know how to cook fish?" Xeno asked.
“He seems normal. Thank god,” Stanley thought to himself. “It’s just me, then. I must be having some kind of reaction to something.”
"Of course," he replied coolly.
He desperately needed a cigarette. His head was pounding.
Xeno eyed him over.
"He's been working hard," he thought, noting Stan's flushed face and sweat-soaked skin.
"I started the fire. Join me when you can," Xeno invited, a slight grin affecting his voice.
Stan knew he'd picked up on something and cringed, but hid it perfectly.
"The shelter's done. I'll start cutting the fish," he replied with a straight face.
He walked past Xeno towards their camp, flipping the sharp quartz between his fingers.
The scientist followed a few feet behind.
After a good thirty seconds, Stan felt eyes on his backside. He suddenly remembered how he'd hiked his skirt up and instinctively moved to lower it and cover up, but doing that would reveal his prepuce, so he forced his hands to his sides and kept walking.
“Wow,” Xeno remarked mentally. “I should’ve made them shorter.”
He remained silent, but Stan knew he could see his bare ass peeking out from underneath the vines.
"Ugh, for fuck’s sake. I'll have to apologize to Xeno later. I shouldn't have touched it," he thought to himself. "Now it's even worse."
He glanced at it and sucked on the plant stem, wishing the taste could distract him. Every step he took sent a jolt through his core.
"Please go away," he mentally begged. “For fuck’s sake, I’m not a teenager anymore. This is embarrassing.”
They made their way into camp.
Xeno sat cross-legged in the shelter’s doorway and watched Stanley kneel at the fire, his leg strategically angled to block his view of his front.
Stan picked up the dulled quartz he'd been working with and started cutting at the trout. He made short work of its skin and bones. He poked at the fire so it could properly cook the meat. He staked two y-shaped branches in the dirt around the fire, skewered the fish meat on a pair of sticks, and set them in the crooks so they simmered above the flames.
"Elegant work, Stanley," Xeno commented, fluttering his lashes.
Stan flinched, but instinctively froze himself. Xeno was in much closer proximity than he'd thought - he could've bit off his ear if he wanted to. He had a habit of sneaking up on people, much to his amusement. Stanley casually blocked his leg in front of his crotch, but Xeno moved to sit by his side.
The scientist leaned forward on his knees and rotated the fish skewers.
As he did, Stanley readjusted himself so his dick was squeezed between his thighs, his legs splayed to his left at a 90 degree angle. It wasn't a perfect solution - if he moved around too much, he'd probably snap through the vine skirt from sheer momentum - but it had to do.
Xeno sat back and spread his legs like a half-folded butterfly. He tracked a floating spark with his ink-black eyes. When it faded, he stared up at the starry night sky.
Stan watched his lips part and press together. It was a welcome distraction. Looking at him was calming, even if this was the end of human civilization.
Xeno smiled bitterly.
"What's on your mind?" the soldier asked after Xeno was quiet for too long.
Xeno sighed and tore his gaze from the stars. He locked onto Stan, who blinked and raised his brow.
"Our entire world..."
He looked into the fire.
"All of the scientific progress humanity has made over the last million years, it's all..."
Stanley let out a breath. He kept quiet and let Xeno speak at a slower pace than his usual tempo.
“Everything, just…” he waved his hand, “...gone.”
Xeno blinked slowly to reduce the sting in his eyes.
“All of humanity… down to the very last infant. How much have we lost? My house in Texas has crumbled, I’m sure. The Johnson Space Center… huh, I would’ve liked to have seen my boss disintegrate. But… all my research was there… damn it. I miss my rockets. My shoes. My ties.”
“I can hardly conceptualize the sheer scale of it," he said, wonderment mixing with his grief. "Can you?”
Stan shook his head.
“No,” Xeno spoke softly as he caught the soldier’s eye. “No, you’re focused on what’s right in front of you.”
Stan nodded once. He was trained to focus on his material conditions. If he needed shoes, he would make them. If he needed a bed, he would make it. The past wasn’t important. What mattered was everything in front of him.
“I envy and admire that,” Xeno thought, but wouldn’t say.
Stanley understood.
They were silent for a few moments. They listened to the fire crackle and sizzle.
Stan watched the flames jump and twist while Xeno kept his eyes on the stars.
“I do wonder,” Stanley pondered in a low voice, “if anyone survived.”
“I doubt it,” Xeno replied immediately, crossing his legs.
He wasn’t entirely sure, but deep down, he hoped it was true. In that case, they could finally have the world to themselves, without barriers.
Stanley appreciated his bluntness. It made things easy. If he said there were no survivors, he was right. Still, he wished he’d had a chance to say goodbye. He knew that chance was long lost, though, even before the petrification beam had come and gone.
“That being said,” Xeno pronounced with a glance at the statues surrounding their camp, “it seems like those who remain conscious while petrified have a chance at reawakening. I assume our comrades will join us shortly.”
“Hmm,” Stan acknowledged, twisting his legs uncomfortably as a twang radiated through his core.
Watching Xeno for too long made the situation worse.
“He must be sore from all that hard work,” Xeno thought to himself. "I wonder if he's taking care of that."
He smirked.
“Once they’re de-petrified, we’ll put them to work. You’ve done enough already,” he commented.
Stanley smiled a bit, looking down at the ground.
In the moment he did, Xeno moved closer to him and clasped his hand on his shoulder. He repressed a soul-deep flinch.
“Hmm, I was right,” the scientist calculated. “You’re hypertonic.”
“Huh?”
“Let me help,” Xeno spoke softly, and shifted to sit behind him.
He placed his hands on his shoulders.
Stan blinked in surprise. His body tightened from shock.
“It’s okay, Xeno, I don’t need…” he started, but trailed off as he realized how painful the tightness in his neck and shoulders truly was.
“Maybe it would help with that, too,” he thought, still clamping his legs together for dear life. “Like at the chiropractor or sports therapy. Yeah, that was always relaxing.”
“Hmm?” Xeno inquired, slightly backing off in case Stan continued.
“Uh, never mind,” Stan replied. “Go ahead.”
Xeno hummed and got to work.
“And thank you,” he added in a whisper.
“Of course,” Xeno murmured as if it were unconscionable that he would’ve done anything else.
He started at his shoulders, where the muscles were tight but easy to handle. He pressed the pads of his fingers into the topmost muscles and felt the taut strings slowly relax.
Stanley tried to let his shoulders sink, but even with the extra pressure, he stayed tense deep down in his gut.
Xeno noticed, but deliberately moved on to his trapezius, rolling his knuckles down the sides of his spine.
Millenia ago, when they were in sixth grade, Stan taught him about the sports massage he got after football games. He’d come home with cupping bruises and tangerine-scented oils all over his back and legs.
Fascinated, Xeno delved into anatomical studies and quickly learned the tricks of the trade. Stanley became his model. He observed him lift, run, swim, jump, and perform many other exercises in pursuit of fitness. He was his Vitruvian man. He knew each muscle by heart.
As he continued to work into his skin, Stanley noticed his thoughts drifting away. When he was sober, his mind could be equated to a spherical dandelion puff - all organized in a perfect sphere. Now, his thoughts wafted away like fluffy pappus in the slow breeze, uncatchable and scattered far across the forest. It irked him.
“You’re tense,” Xeno noted. “Heh, I don’t blame you. I’m scared, too.”
“Not for the reason you think,” Stanley’s inner voice gulped.
Despite his stress, he appreciated Xeno’s honesty. It was rare for him to say how he was truly feeling, and that was fine, since he could read him like a book most times, but it didn’t hurt to hear it anyway. He liked the way his voice softened when he yielded his often-sharp tongue.
Xeno’s fingers traveled down and across his muscle fibers.
“This world is new and dangerous, but it’s ours. We can do with it whatever we like.”
He moved his thumbs in spirals down his ribcage. He squeezed his sides with his fingertips, massaging the obliques.
Stanley tried to relax, but his breathing got short as Xeno caressed his sides.
“I’m thinking about building a Haber-Bosch plant,” he stated calmly as he worked his fingers down the latissimus dorsi. “Clearly, niter deposits have some connection to the de-petrification process, but most importantly, the plant would convert atmospheric nitrogen, of which we have plenty, to ammonia, using a hydrogen reaction with iron metal as a catalyst.”
Normally, Stanley would tell him to zip it, but he was too physically stimulated to speak coherently. Besides, Xeno liked it when he just listened sometimes, so he kept his mouth shut. He rocked gently in time with his movements and watched the fire, hoping it would take away from the sweet pain between his legs.
“Now, iron isn’t too difficult to attain, but forging it will take some time.”
Xeno’s hands gyrated lower and lower, eventually reaching his lower back and hip bones, and suddenly Stanley tensed up again when he hit his glutes.
“!!!” was the most he could cogitate.
Xeno kept talking through it like he hadn’t noticed and forced himself to trail back up, slightly disheartened but accepting.
“We’ll also need high pressure and temperatures to drive the reaction. Lower temperatures result in slower reaction kinetics, obviously, so we’ll need high-strength containment vessels that can resist hydrogen embrittlement. Iron is the obvious solution, but what else? … Ah, yes, I remember…”
“Remember?” Stan slurred, his mind melting with his muscles.
“Potassium hydroxide,” Xeno murmured confidently.
He adjusted where he sat so that his wrists could rest on Stan’s shoulder blades as he worked his fingertips into his delts.
He felt his breath on his shoulder and held down a shiver. His abs absorbed the stress that should’ve been released from his back and stayed tense, furthering the tightness in his core, much to his dismay.
“Diatomic nitrogen has a triple bond, so catalysts like potassium hydroxide can accelerate the scission of those bonds.”
Amidst his chattering, Xeno softened his pressure as his eyes were drawn to the middle of Stanley’s back. He lost focus as he imagined resting his forehead on his skin. His speech quieted.
“He smells so good. Like salt and smoke,” he thought, picturing how he would press his nose into the crease of his spine, trail down and rest his lips upon - “Stop. Stop it.” he scolded, and refocused on working the muscles under his hands, this time with more vigor.
As Xeno momentarily paused, Stan flicked the stem in his mouth with his tongue. When the taste dissipated, he bit off the chewed on end and spit it into the fire. The freshened stem end leaked more sweet juices, which he sucked out with fervor.
In seconds, his head was throbbing again. It wasn't painful, but he felt hazy and slightly dizzy.
He grumbled and shielded his eyes from the firelight with his palm.
Xeno looked over at him.
“Am I making him uncomfortable?” Xeno questioned as he remarked the tension in his body.
He loosened up on his shoulders and stroked his fingers up and down his neck, gentle so he wouldn’t harm the lymph nodes or pull his hair.
Stan felt his cheeks get hot. His neck was sensitive, even more than usual. He bit his lip to keep himself quiet. It didn't work and a small chirp escaped him.
"Stan, are you alright?" Xeno sounded concerned, his lips too close to his ear for comfort.
"I'm fine," he pressed out, ignoring how Xeno’s proximity made his heart rate jump.
It felt like all of his blood was converging between his thighs. It was so powerful, it hurt. His flesh ached as it pulled taut.
Without thinking, he moved his ankles to free himself from the discomfort, and instantly realized his mistake when Xeno's breath shorted behind him. His stomach dropped.
His brush skirt had snapped clean in two.
"Oh," Xeno said, and cocked an eyebrow.
Stanley gasped and closed his legs, covering himself with clasped hands.
"I'm so sorry," he said hastily. “This has nothing to do with you. It just… happened.”
His voice cracked. He couldn’t look anywhere but at the ground. His insides twisted and curled as his head throbbed for too many reasons.
“I don’t know why…” he trailed off and shrank in on himself, covering up with the vines again.
“Nothing to do with…? Huh, that hurts,” Xeno reacted. “No, no, stop it. Act like a doctor, for fuck’s sake.”
He was quiet a little too long for Stan’s liking. Eventually, he looked back at him, and when he did, he was surprised to see him smirking, eyes lit up with sly curiosity.
“It’s alright, Stan,” Xeno said at last, chin in hand.
“I knew it was big,” he cheered in the back of his mind.
Stanley’s anxiety instantly diminished. He was too caught up in his own emotions to catch the lascivious twinge in Xeno’s expression.
“It’s perfectly natural,” Xeno continued, sounding like he was caught between performing civility and making a joke. “I can give you some space if that’s what you need.”
“Don’t leave me!” Stan mentally cried out.
“No!” he spoke too quickly.
He held himself back and took a breath.
“I think…” he exhaled tersely, “Something’s wrong with me. This doesn’t usually happen,” he said cautiously.
Xeno tilted his head and leaned towards him to examine him up close.
“What does that mean?” he asked in a low voice.
Something about his inflection made Stan’s stomach flip. He hoped to god Xeno didn’t see his dick twitch underneath his hands. He hated how his body reacted to him that way sometimes - a sudden swing in his tempo, a pulse of the heart - it made him want to cut out his insides and replace them with something else, something normal.
“I mean this is abnormal. I tried… taking care of it myself, but it didn’t work. I don’t know what could’ve-” he paused.
It suddenly hit him.
“It’s this plant,” he determined, and took the stem out of his mouth.
He showed it to Xeno, who instantly analyzed its structure and composition.
“I’ve never seen it before. Right after I took it, I felt, uhh…” he trailed off.
“Hm,” Xeno nodded understandingly, sparing him the awkwardness of finishing his thought.
Stan watched him examine the stem and its leaves in his palm. He reached out for it, but Stan drew it back.
“Don’t. It might affect you, too,” he said firmly.
Xeno backed off with a simple nod.
“So he’s gotten into some kind of aphrodisiac. Interesting. I wonder… would he let me…? I could…”
“Are you feeling ill?” he asked carefully, keeping his personal amatory preoccupations in the back of his mind.
“No,” he replied.
“How much of it did you ingest?” Xeno inquired.
“Plenty, it seems,” he answered for himself.
Stanley couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes lit up with a well-concealed grin as they made eye contact. He could hide behind professionalism, but he knew him too well to miss the twinkle in his eye. As always, he ignored the emotions that Xeno induced in him and answered.
“I chewed a leaf, but spit it out. I’ve had this for less than fifteen minutes.”
He pinched the stem between his fingers as if it were a cigarette.
“Hmm. I’ve never heard of a plant with this kind of effect. It’s possible we’re dealing with an entirely new mutation. If that’s the case, I’d love to get my hands on it!” Xeno exclaimed, looking giddy. “It’s possible - probable - I should say, that there are several entirely new plant and animal species, even if their traits are only slightly different from what we know. This specimen seems like quite the jump in the process, but if I can-”
“Drop the diagnosis, doc, I haven’t got all day,” Stan interrupted him with a hand signal.
Xeno caught on.
“Ah, but of course, we should take care of you first.”
“Take care of me, how?” Stan asked, nervous butterflies eating him up inside.
He looked over at Xeno, who was already locked onto him. A light blush spread across his cheeks, too. Stanley’s heart pounded in his chest as the scientist spoke.
“Well, if we assume the intended effect of this plant is aphrodisiacal, that is, to encourage mating, which would be quite the effective diversionary tact-”
“Xeno,” Stan sharply cut him off before he could continue.
“Ah-huh. Well, put simply, the best way to mitigate its effects would be, ahm” he cleared his throat awkwardly, “uh, in layman’s terms, um… to mate.”
Stanley gaped at him.
Xeno carefully avoided his gaze, pressing into appeasement mode. He was half-lying. There were other ways to go about this, probably, but what other chance would he get? He’d wanted this since... he didn't even know how long it had been. He had to hide his nervous excitement somehow. What better way than flamboyant nonchalance?
“It’s an easy detoxification process, and it should eliminate the drug from your system," he said as he motioned with his hands. "It’s not like there’s anyone else around to help, so I might as well do it.”
He gave him a quick shrug at the end.
Silence passed between them for a moment.
“Easy?!? In what world?!?” Stanley screamed to himself.
It was incredibly rare to see his stony friend expressing anything other than neutrality or controlled anger, so Dr. Xeno naturally enjoyed the sight of Stanley’s jawdropped face, but externally, he forced his expression to remain neutral and hid the fact that his hands were shaking.
“I can do this,” he repeated to himself.
His breath was far too shallow for his liking. He gulped and controlled himself.
Quickly, as though nothing had happened, Stan recovered himself. His insides felt like jello gone skydiving, but he remained steady on the outside. He stared at the fire, deep in thought.
“I’m alright with it if you are,” Xeno added breezily.
“What?!” a voice in his head squeaked.
Stanley blinked and turned to face him.
“Alright with… having sex? With each other?!?”
Xeno looked at him invitingly.
His stomach flipped.
“Oh, he does mean it. Fuck, this is bad. I really shouldn’t,” he thought to himself. “We’re best friends. We’re both men. This is wrong, this is wrong, I’m wrong. But…” he glanced downwards. “I need it. I need it so bad. I need to get back to normal. I can’t stay like this for long, it’s dangerous for both of us. I could lose consciousness or become poisoned if I’m left alone. It’s Xeno. I need it.”
For a moment, Stan let his gaze wander across the doctor’s thin body. His collarbones were so pronounced, they caught shadows from the fire. His chest and shoulders were lean, but svelte. Elegant, he’d say.
“I really, really need it,” he thought as his cock swelled beneath his palm.
He glanced down further, at Xeno’s brush skirt, but stopped when he noticed Xeno subtly curling in on himself.
“He’s nervous, too,” Stanley noticed, and felt an ounce of relief knowing he wasn’t alone. “I can do it. I can do this.”
“I’m alright with it,” he determined slowly. “If it’ll fix me.”
Xeno smiled, his smoky eyes glittering with titillation. He clenched his jaw tight to keep his expression in check. Mentally, he was pumping his fist at the same time he was doubling over with nervous butterflies.
“I’ll lead,” he spoke softly.
He got up from the ground and helped Stanley up by holding his forearm. Instead of dropping it, though, he clasped the soldier’s hand and led him into the darkened shelter.
Stan’s head spun as Xeno’s fingers slipped into his. He held tight.
“It’s just the chemicals,” he told himself when his heart rate skyrocketed. “They’re messing with my head.”
“I know it’s stupid - he’ll never want me like this - I’ve known it since we were kids - but I’ll take anything I can get,” Xeno thought.
2000
“Remember to say ‘thank you’ and push your chair in, okay?” Xeno’s dad reminded him for the hundredth time as they walked across the street to the neighbor’s house.
It was a small ranch-style home with beige siding and dusty dark green shutters. Clearly, Mr. Snyder cared very deeply about maintaining his lawn, since it was pale green in contrast to the dead plots surrounding it and neatly mowed like a baseball diamond.
“Uh-huh,” Xeno dragged out with a series of lazy nods.
That night, they were having dinner with the neighbors. Apparently, the Snyders had noticed how often Stanley played with Xeno, and vice versa, so their moms set up a dinner date. Unfortunately, Xeno’s mom had to work that night - another emergency call from the hospital - and so it was just Mr. Wingfield and his son, standing at the door.
Mr. Wingfield rang the doorbell and knocked on the door thrice. The owner’s wife, Stan’s mom, answered the door with a thin but welcoming smile and ushered them in.
Xeno kicked off his boots in the entryway and left his dad behind to pick them up as he scurried over to Stanley, who watched them enter from his seat in the kitchen.
He stood up from his chair and greeted them shyly.
“Let me show you around,” he said to Xeno, his demeanor instantly changing as he smiled at him.
They took off down a long hallway.
First, Stan opened the door on the right.
“Here’s the bathroom,” he led, and quickly moved on.
Xeno caught a glance of it, but knew its contents weren’t as important as simply knowing its location, so moved on without a second glance.
“This is my little brother’s room,” he said as he pointed to the shut door on his left. “He’s at granny and pappy’s right now.”
Xeno didn’t care, but nodded along. He noticed the unruly assortment of decorative crosses and framed photographs on the wall. He didn’t recognize anybody, but saw a cute one of Stanley as a toddler and smiled at it. His canty smile hadn’t changed at all.
He motioned to the door at the end of the hallway.
“That’s my parent’s room. No one’s allowed to go in there unless we’re bleeding or throwing up," Stanley said very seriously.
“Hmm,” Xeno acknowledged.
That was new to him - he’d always been allowed in his parent’s room. Oftentimes, he’d read his books on their bed, preferring its expansive size to his own. He didn’t think much of it until now. The Snyder family’s culture was entirely new and awfully fascinating to him.
“And this,” Stan spoke pridefully as he opened his door, “is my room.”
As Xeno walked inside, he spun on his heel to take it all in. His bed was made squarely with an orange and brown camo tie blanket. It contrasted the navy blue walls. The windows were dusty, but let in enough light to keep the room navigable even as the sun was setting. His closet door hung open, but Xeno didn’t care about that. His eyes were drawn to the shelves on the wall.
“Woah, who are these guys?” he asked, admiring the collection of little green soldiers and battle vehicles.
Stan approached them with a proud smile.
“My dad calls ‘em G.I. Joes, but I call ‘em different names. Like this one, he’s my favorite.”
Stanley showed him a handsome-looking dark blond soldier with a broad jaw, shoulders, and chest. He bent his arms around as he spoke.
“His name’s Gopher. I named him after the one we shot back on the farm.”
“He’s cool,” Xeno replied, not really understanding what Stan liked about him so much, but rolling with it. “Does he have a rifle like you and your dad?” he asked as he poked at the plastic weapons laid across the shelf.
“Not really, but he can hold one if he wants. He’s got a bowie knife and an AR-15, though!” Stan chippered.
Xeno held the arm opposite of the one Stanley was holding and fiddled with his plastic joints. They made eye contact and giggled.
“He’s got a tank, too, wanna see?”
"Yeah!"
They gradually removed each figurine and toy vehicle from the shelf and played with them on the brown carpeted floor. Stan showed him how to set up the plastic barriers that protected soldiers from enemy fire and Xeno listened while attaching a missile to a fighter jet by interlocking their plastic pieces.
“You may control the ground,” Xeno challenged as his forces (the communication unit) met an evenly skilled adversary (Stanley’s battle team), “but I,” he declared as he pulled out his fighter jet, “control the air!”
With a flick of his wrist, he revealed the missile-loaded jet fighter.
Stanley blinked in surprise, but quickly regained his footing.
“Heh, that’s nothing,” he mocked. “I have a fighter jet, too.”
“Not one equipped with a missile launcher.”
“No,” Stan nodded, “but…”
He twisted himself around and dug through a nearby bin.
“I have…”
He turned around.
“A machine gun!”
Xeno panicked at the sight of the nerf gun.
“You leave me no choice,” he answered.
He pulled the rubber band backwards and released it, launching the missile as Stanley fired at him.
The missile crashed into enemy territory as Xeno fell backwards, pretending he was wounded. It was all a fluke just to distract Stan as he kicked over the enemy comms tower and swiped away the barricaded forces.
“Ha ha ha!!!” he cheered maniacally. “I win!”
Stanley growled at him and jumped over the toys to pounce on Xeno. He pressed the tip of the nerf gun to his chest.
“I still beat you. You’re dead.”
Xeno smirked.
“Not quite. And I still have my communications tower.”
He tried to sit up to point at it, but Stan held him down.
They caught each other’s eyes and the battle ceased for a moment. There was a mutual understanding of something flourishing between them, but neither could name it. The moment passed.
Right when Stan was about to fire another nerf bullet into Xeno’s chest, his dad yelled for the kids to come get their dinner. They jumped up and scrambled to get their plates. Stanley’s mom had prepared a lovely dish of chicken fried steak, broccoli, and cauliflower that made the whole house smell less like cigarettes and more like a family restaurant.
Xeno’s dad sat at the long side of the table beside an empty plate where his wife should’ve been, and on the head and tail sat Stanley’s parents. The kids sat next to each other, parallel to Mr. Wingfield.
“Let’s say grace,” Stan’s dad said, and extended his hands out to his son and neighbor.
Xeno looked at his dad, nonverbally questioning what the phrase meant.
His dad shrugged a little and took his neighbor’s hand. He bowed his head and closed his eyes.
Stanley did the same, casually offering Xeno his open palm.
Xeno was taken aback. Weren’t displays of affection like holding hands forbidden?
When he hesitated, Stan opened his eyes and gave him a look.
Xeno realized he was the last person in the chain to link hands when everyone peered at him, and quickly took Mrs. Snyder’s hand and bowed his head. He shut his eyes and clutched Stanley’s hand tight.
“Heavenly Father, we come before you tonight to share this meal with our family and with our neighbors.”
When Stan’s dad started praying, he squeezed him for reassurance. Stanley squeezed back and he relaxed a bit.
“We ask for your grace to guide us and for your protection over each person at this table.”
Ever curious, Xeno gently opened his eyes to see what they were doing. His dad, right across from him, had bowed his head, and kept his eyes closed, but the lighthearted smirk on his face told Xeno that he wasn’t really buying into whatever ritual they were doing and more so just doing it out of politeness.
“Strengthen our bodies and spirits, O Lord, as we work hard each day to provide for our households. Let our labor be in service of you and your holy word.”
He looked at Stan’s mom, who had her eyes shut tight and appeared to be focused on her husband’s words. Last, he looked at Stan, who was looking at him.
Stanley was hungry and had originally opened his eyes just to gaze at the food on his plate, but once he noticed Xeno’s head swiveling around, he watched him instead. Once their eyes met, they giggled under their breath, and each felt a sense of relief knowing that they were safe together. They squeezed each other’s hands tight once again.
Stan’s dad sensed their movements and opened his eyes. He shot a glare at them both, causing Stanley’s smile to instantly die as he snapped his head back down and shut his eyes.
“And Lord, please help our children to be mindful of their hearts,” Stan’s father enunciated, “and to think only of you when at the dinner table.”
Xeno, on the other hand, kept his eyes open and maintained eye contact with Stan’s dad for as long as he was able to. Eventually, the worming fear in his gut got to him and he bowed his head, too. He squeezed Stanley’s hand tighter. He didn’t reciprocate.
“Make us grateful for this bounty and for this food. Bless our household and our neighbor…hood. In your name we pray, Amen.”
With that, everyone let go of their partner’s hands and looked up from the table. They began eating their dinner.
Xeno’s dad started the conversation with some comments about the food and how “quaint” the house was, but neither kid paid much attention. They were hungry and set to work demolishing their meals.
Stanley ate fast, mixing his chicken with his veggies in each bite so he could stomach them a little better.
Xeno hated broccoli and poked it to the side with a grimace so he could focus on the meat. Stan’s mom twitched at that, but Xeno didn’t notice.
Eventually, the adults roped them into socializing with them.
“So, how did you boys meet each other?” Xeno’s dad asked the pair as they shoveled food into their faces.
At the mention of their first meeting, Stanley flashed back to the moment he first saw Xeno - or, more accurately, first heard him.
There was an engine-like chugging noise outside his house, followed by clanking and muttering. The voice sounded soft, yet confident and smooth. It hooked him like a dog to a whistle. He looked out his window, expecting to see someone fixing their car or perhaps tinkering around in their garage, but to his surprise, in the middle of the empty quarry across the street, another young boy, white-haired, white-coated, and unabashedly confident, appeared to be toying with a massive rail gun.
His chest fluttered. It was a sensation he’d never experienced before, but he didn’t dislike it. He allowed the pull in his spirit to bring him to the quarry, where he watched him from a distance.
His first shot at his target - a pumpkin - missed.
By some incredible gift that his father claimed was genetic, Stanley knew exactly what he needed to do. He adjusted the firing angle and hit the pumpkin dead on.
Xeno talked about his inventions, his ambitions, and his love of science.
Stan chuckled and called him strange, but nonetheless, he shook his hand. They were each other’s firsts, in that regard. He still didn’t completely understand why he was so drawn to this boy, but if his parents were right about anything, it was probably God's divine will. That’s how it felt, anyway. That’s how it always felt.
Stanley answered his question.
“I saw him out my window and wanted to be his friend.”
It was a simplification of events and his feelings about the matter, which Stan didn’t appreciate, but it was necessary for this interaction.
“I was working on a rail gun and he helped me aim it,” Xeno added for his side of the story.
“Ah, so that’s why the sheriff knows you by name,” Xeno’s father said with a chuckle.
“Jesus,” Stan’s dad muttered under his breath as he pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Remember the third commandment, honey,” his wife uttered.
Her husband brushed her comment off with a wave of his hand.
“What have you two boys been learnin’ in class lately?” she asked, switching topics as she took a break from sipping her wine.
She was a curvy, short lady with lots of blonde hair just like Stanley’s. They had a similar face, too, though hers was more reddish.
“Nothing much,” Stanley answered her.
“Today we learned about multiplication!” Xeno added.
“Oh?” she hummed. “What are you multiplying?”
“Numbers,” Xeno answered condescendingly, but Stanley spoke over him.
“Just apples and stuff,” he replied.
“It’s super boring,” Xeno complained.
Stan twinged as his dad focused on Xeno. He was a stalwart, thick-necked man with a grown-out buzzcut and the voice of a policeman.
“Don’t matter if it’s boring, you still have to pay attention.”
Xeno shrugged, undeterred by his gruffness. He didn’t take well to authority.
“I already know how to multiply. I know dividing, too. I only pay attention when I need to.”
He took a bite of his chicken.
Mr. Snyder looked at Xeno’s dad with a mix of suspicion, exasperation, and indignance.
His dad simply shrugged and finished chewing.
“If he’s getting good grades, who am I to judge?”
“Oughta teach your boy some respect,” he said solemnly, a hint of distaste in his mouth.
Stanley kept his head down, so Xeno stayed quiet, too. He made sure to give his dad a challenging look, though.
“It’s a shame kids these days are so rambunctious,” Stan’s dad continued. “Diane and I make an effort to teach ‘em discipline early on. Stanley’s a good kid, always listens to his mum an’ his teachers.”
“You must be very proud,” Xeno’s dad commented with a nod.
Stan’s dad didn’t express anything of the sort, just kept talking like his subject wasn’t there.
“I’m hopin’ he’ll try out for the football team next year, ain’t that right, Stanley?”
His dad shook him by the shoulder.
“Yes, sir,” Stan nodded and took another bite of his food.
Xeno noticed something peculiar.
“I thought you didn’t like broccoli?” he pointed out, feeling a little betrayed.
He’d told him just days ago how much he hated it.
Stan froze.
“I do,” he lied as he looked him in the eyes.
Xeno didn’t catch on.
“No, you don’t! We both hate broccoli, why are you lying?”
“I’m not lying!” Stanley defended himself.
“He’s not lying, boy,” Stan’s dad jumped in. “He eats it all the time. It’s good for him. You should eat yours, too.”
He pointed his fork at his segregated plate.
“I hate broccoli,” Xeno stated profusely. “It’s gross and has a weird texture.”
“Well, then chew it and make a new texture,” Stan’s mom suggested, her voice barely hiding her impatience.
Xeno’s dad sighed as he watched the situation unfold.
“No, I don’t like broccoli and I never will,” his son continued. “And Stanley hates it, too, so you should stop feeding it to him.”
“No, it’s fine,” Stan said quietly as he spoke.
He kicked Xeno’s foot under the table in a pattern of three.
Xeno paused and hid the fact that Stan was communicating with him.
“I’m fine with it, really. We were just playing around the other day,” Stanley told his parents.
His mom narrowed her eyes on him, but soon lost focus and went back to her dinner.
“Hmm,” Stan’s dad let out triumphantly, as if he’d won anything.
Xeno would’ve huffed at him, but he held his tongue as Stanley rubbed up and down his ankle. Even through the tenseness at the table, his touch was soothing.
As the night went on, Xeno wished he could’ve eaten it for him. Instead, he watched him stomach it with each careful bite.
Their fathers got into a spat about politics, with their jobs making that conversation inevitable. Xeno’s dad was a political scientist and was painfully used to spontaneous debate, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed it, and Stan’s dad worked as a Marines HVAC technician on the local air base. He was rather temperamental, from what Xeno gathered.
Stan stayed quiet for much of the meal, only chiming in when he was spoken to directly.
His mom talked about her work as a nurse and how she met Xeno’s mom at the front desk. They became work friends, but Xeno got the sense that their relationship likely wouldn’t last long, based on how her husband shut down her attempt at conceiving another dinner together.
Eventually, the kids got to excuse themselves, and Stan walked Xeno into the backwoods with haste.
“I’m sorry for lying about the broccoli,” he said as soon as they were out of earshot.
“You do like it?” Xeno questioned and turned his head.
“No, I hate it. But I didn’t want my dad to get mad at me. Or you,” Stan added.
“So you just suck it up and eat it, then?”
“I can do it.”
Xeno crossed his arms.
“You shouldn’t have to.”
Stan didn’t nod or agree; he just smiled gently and let it go.
They walked side by side in silence for a little while until Stanley stopped them at a tree.
“Here,” he said.
He patted its bark.
“Come on, lemme show you something,” he said with a grin as he gripped the first camouflaged ladder stake.
Xeno didn’t even see the footholds stabbed into the tree, but followed them with his eyes to a small hunting stand near the top of the oak.
“Wow,” he whispered, and followed Stan’s lead.
“Wait,” Stanley cautioned before he got on. “You should go first. That way, if you fall, I can catch you.”
It was so simple and small, but for some reason, Xeno’s heart melted at the gesture.
“Okay,” he whispered with a smile, and climbed up the first few steps.
Soon, the ground got far away, and he got nervous, but with Stan just below him, his fear was palliated. He clambered onto the hunting stand. It was smaller than he expected.
Stan climbed up after him. Once he was in the nest, he grinned at Xeno and leaned against the tree bark.
Xeno smiled back.
“Pretty cool, huh?” Stan commented, flicking open a lollipop and sticking it in his mouth.
“Yeah!”
“Hey, the sun’s about to set.”
Stanley pointed at the horizon. Through the treetops, they could see the sun casting its final rays as it sank below the earth.
Xeno watched its heat shimmer across the atmosphere. He leaned his back against the tree, too, so his shoulder and arm connected with Stan’s.
His friend flinched, but then sank into his touch.
“The sky only looks blue during the daytime because blue wavelengths are shorter. As it goes down and the light goes through more layers of the atmosphere, the longer wavelengths of red and orange are less affected by particle scattering. It’s called Rayleigh scattering, if you were wondering.”
“I wasn’t, but thanks. That’s cool.”
“I can tell you more about it if you wa-”
“Nah, I’m good.” Stan cut him off. “I just wanna watch it with you,” he said with a smile.
Xeno’s heart did that thing again. It’d been doing that thing for a while, but this was the first time he consciously noticed its weight. It was like the pull between magnets, or an exothermic reaction between his ribs. He mentally staggered and had to look away for a moment to process.
“Oh,” he thought. “So that’s what true friendship feels like. I've seen it on Mr. Rogers. It’s so…”
He struggled to find the right word for it.
“Beautiful. Good. Wondrous. Yes, but… warm and breathtaking are also accurate descriptors. But not quite right… Ah.”
He’d found it.
“Elegant,” he said out loud.
“Hmm,” Stanley acknowledged, nodding in agreement. “It is.”
Xeno looked over at him. His eyes were fixated on the sunset. The sun’s dying light cast a soft glow over his face that Xeno wouldn’t soon forget. His heart swooped once again, causing his chest to ache in the best way.
Once he looked away and it faded, he laid his head back against the bark of the tree and tried to watch the sunset without contracting into his own gravity.
“Over time, an initial, relatively smooth distribution of matter,” Xeno thought to himself, “after sufficient accretion, may collapse to form pockets of higher density, such as black holes.”
He watched as the sun’s rays faded.
“I believe I am the black hole in this case.”
Stan’s finger brushed upon his.
His heart skittered.
“And that… is the matter.”
Soon, the sky became dark like a fresh bruise, and Stan started conversation once again.
“I didn’t think you could go that long without talking.”
Xeno snapped out of it.
“Ha! Don't underestimate me, Stan. It’s barely been five minutes. I once went silent for an entire week to test my vocal cords!”
“Oh, so you’ve been making up for lost time, then,” Stan teased.
Xeno pushed his shoulder and chuckled.
They slipped into easy chattering. When it faded, they listened comfortably to the sounds of the small forest. Then they started talking again, and the cycle repeated itself until their parents came looking for them.
By the time they were getting ready to go, Stan realized how badly he didn’t want to be alone again, and asked if he could sleep over at Xeno’s house.
Xeno’s dad said yes, of course, but Stan’s parents said no.
The adults said a hasty goodbye, but the kids dragged it out. There was a mutual understanding between them, like binary stars - pulled together by each other’s weight.
Eventually, Stan’s dad got fed up and pulled Stanley away by his arm.
Xeno’s dad followed suit, though was less handsy about it, and promptly waved goodbye.
They said another goodnight and just like that, they were torn apart.