Man is a centaur,
a tangle of flesh and mind,
divine inspiration and dust.
Jav started to match his breathing to the rise and fall of Stef’s shoulders, trying to connect with the experience. He’d never meditated before. Not easy for someone whose mind was a continuous narrative of thoughts and images and ideas. Quieting the noise was challenging, but he managed to eject most of it as he read the words on Stef’s back, over and over.
Flesh and mind.
Divine inspiration and dust.
Finally, Stef leaned and blew out the candle burning on the altar. Reaching up to slide off the headphones, he looked back over his shoulder. Deep blue gaze, a scarred eyebrow, one dimple deepening as his smile stretched open. A curl of smoke around his head.
“Namaste, motherfucker.”
He was beautiful.
Jav smiled. “What’s up, Buddha?”
“I’m starving.”
“Me too.”
“I’m gonna make some eggs.”
“I need to jump in the shower.”
“Towels under the sink,” Stef said, heading out of the bedroom. “Make yourself at home.”
Jav turned on the water and opened the cabinet under the sink. Pulling out a towel, he upset a small wire basket. He crouched to clean up and his eyebrows wrinkled as he collected two Fleet enemas and a black rubber syringe. Plus a bottle of something called Swedish Colt Erotic Anal Douche.
He let out a slow, deliberate exhale. “I’ll take ‘Words that Aren’t Sexy in Combination’ for $200,” he said under his breath. He shut the cabinet and stepped into the shower, not feeling like himself anymore.
We’ll go slow, Stef said in his mind. Slow as you want.
Even at this early stage of the game he couldn’t imagine Stef trying to force him into anything.
And I’d deck his ass into next week if he did.
The macho thought rolled its eyes. Stef worked with sexual assault victims. CONSENT was tattooed on his conscience.
It was a small comfort.
“Find everything you need?” Stef said, as Jav emerged from the bathroom.
“Mm.” Jav got a mug and poured some coffee.
In his sweats and a Blues Traveler T-shirt, Stef was scruffy and tousled, a dish towel thrown over his shoulder. He dumped an entire bag of baby spinach into a skillet, letting it wilt down and shrink. He took a spatula and made four small holes in the mound of greens, then dropped a sliver of butter into each one. Tip of his tongue held in his teeth, he cracked four eggs on top. A pinch of salt sprinkled, the excess shook over his left shoulder. Four crunching grinds of the pepper mill.
“Looks good,” Jav said, his growling stomach trumping his messy thoughts.
“Lilia taught me this.” Stef tilted the skillet this way and that to distribute the egg whites. “I eat it like four times a week.” He put on Lilia’s accent. “Make you strong like bull.”
They took plates to the table, divided the paper and read over breakfast. Beneath the table, their feet touched.
“Something on your mind?” Stef said. He wore Clark Kent glasses to read and they had no business making him look that good.
“No,” Jav said. “Why?”
“You’re sighing a lot.” Stef turned sideways and put his feet on an empty chair. He went back to reading. Jav went on looking at him, finding tiny vulnerabilities juxtaposed against the big, solid frame of Stef’s body. Broad in his chest and shoulders, secure in his brazenly inked skin. Yet the fingers curled around his coffee mug were soft, fidgeting a little. Beneath the harsh, stern frames of his glasses, he was biting on a corner of his lower lip.
Unlike the Compass, Jav thought, the Finch’s mind went down fifteen flights of stairs into a warren of secret rooms and passageways. When Trueblood needed direction, he sent for the Compass. When the heart of Trueblood was troubled, he sent for the Finch.
“Stop staring at me,” Stef said.
Jav blinked. “I was writing.”
Stef glanced over. “Need a pencil?”
“No.”
Stef folded the paper and tossed it on the table. He ran a hand through his hair, then crossed his arms over his chest. “You have fun last night?” he asked.
“Hell yeah.”
“Then talk to me. What’s in your head this morning?”
“Truth?”
“Please.”
“I’m wondering how often you use that stuff under your sink.”
Stef’s brows came down. Then reversed direction and clarity shot up his face like a window shade. “Oh,” he said. “The stuff in the basket.”
“Yeah.”
“The Swedish shit was a gag gift from a friend with really bad taste. I’ve never used it, I just keep it under there as a conversation starter.” He freed a hand and gestured between them. “You can see it works well.”
Jav gathered plates and cups and took them to the sink, both for distraction and distance. “Don’t mean to put you on the spot.”
“It’s a fair question. Fairest answer is I use it if I know in advance I’m going to be on the bottom bunk.”
“Gotcha.”
“I’m going to go out on a limb and guess you’re a hair concerned about what I expect of you in the sack.”
“I did invite you into my tree house,” Jav said, putting away the eggs. “I didn’t say it was rational up there.”
“Stop cleaning up.”
“You’re the shrink. Don’t you know nervous busywork when you see it?”
Stef laughed and leaned his crossed arms on the table. “What’s your expectation?”
“Mine?”
“No, the guy standing behind you.”
“I don’t know. I mean, I watched some gay porn and—”
“Really?”
“Yeah. While I was on the road, I gave it a whirl.”
“And? Doesn’t do anything for you?”
“Oh it does, don’t get me wrong. But at a certain point it goes from sexy to worrisome.”
Stef held up a hand. “Time out. If you’re watching the hardcore flicks with men in masks fisting each other, I’ll tell you right now, it’s not my thing.”
“Dude, that shit is a train wreck.”
“I know. Horrifying, yet fascinating.”
“I saw some guy, I swear to God, his asshole was inside-out. How is that fun?”
“Rest easy, it’s nothing I’m into.”
“I didn’t think it was, but…”
“Can we get away from this visual and talk about what was sexy?”
“It’s all pretty sexy until one guy starts pounding the other’s ass. I mean, riding a guy hard and fast that way? All I can think is ouch.”
Stef nodded. “Did you find any clips that were slow and easy?”
“A few.”
“And?”
“Those were okay.”
“Only okay?”
Jav exhaled heavily. “Guys look so stupid when they’re fucking.”
Stef laughed.
“I don’t know why I don’t give it two seconds of thought when it’s a guy with a woman, but seeing two guys going at it? It’s like a turn-on and hilarious at the same time.”
“I get it.”
“Do you? Am I over-thinking this?”
“Nah. Well, yeah, a little. But it’s like a turn-on and hilarious at the same time.”
“Great.”
“Look, porn isn’t reality. Those guys are professionals and they’re catering to a certain audience.”
“I know. I’m just… I don’t know.”
“It’s a good conversation to have. We’re having it a little earlier than I expected but…” Stef cleared his throat and looked down, shredding a corner of the newspaper. “Personally, w
hen it comes to playing catcher, I can handle about five minutes. I don’t particularly like it hard and fast. I definitely don’t like it rough or violent or demeaning. I like it to a point and if no one’s gotten off by then, I move on to something else. That’s my back door resume. Not that you asked for it.”
“What about when you pitch?”
The color rose up in Stef’s face as his smile unfolded. “I can go about two minutes before I lose it. Honestly, Landes, I’m a lousy gay lay.”
“Shut up.”
“Telling you.” Still red-faced, still smiling, Stef drew a deep breath and raked fingers through his hair. His exhale was careful, as if over a pile of rare, valuable parchment fragments that could disintegrate at the merest disturbance.
“I know I act like an idiot,” Jav said.
You’re scared and playing the idiot card, Gloria reminded him. It’s not attractive.
“The truth is I’m nervous,” he said.
“We won’t do anything that makes you nervous.” Stef leaned back on two chair legs. “I think I know what you’re really asking. The answer is I don’t have criteria for what counts as sex and what doesn’t. In other words, it’s not your ass or nothing.”
Jav laughed then. “Good to know.”
“Was I off the mark?”
“No, no. You’re extremely perceptive.”
“As far as I’m concerned, we’ve had sex a few times now. Once there.” Stef pointed to the couch. “Over there.” He pointed to the wall by the front door. “And once in there.” His thumb flipped over his shoulder to the bedroom.
“It was twice in there,” Jav said. “Get it right.”
“Which was your favorite?”
“Well…” A fiery blush swept from Jav’s neck to his crown as a hundred memories put two hundred hands down his pants.
“Yeah, that was hot,” Stef said, grinning. “I even liked the sleeping part, which is kind of a thing.”
“Me too.”
The legs of the chair lowered with a thump. “I don’t want you to worry about who tops or bottoms. We’re a long way from there and like I said, it’s not criteria.”
Jav looked down at his heels, bumping against the cabinet doors. “I don’t really see myself bottoming.”
“Then you won’t. It’s cool.”
Jav glanced at him. “Is it?”
“Dude, come on. As far as partners go, I’m a pretty easy deal. I don’t have an agenda.”
“All right.”
“If we do nothing but kiss and rub against each other, I’ll be fine.”
“You will?”
“I think so.” Stef’s head tilted toward the bedroom. “We can go test the theory if you want.”
Wayne started taking the last ten minutes of training sessions to show Geno basic self-defense. He broke down the moves into logical chunks, demonstrating as both attacker and victim. In these short but effective tutorials, Geno learned to disarm attacks from the front, side and behind.
“Remember, this isn’t about being a hero,” Wayne said as he drilled. “I’m not showing you how to incapacitate anyone. Once you disarm and get yourself free, what do you do?”
“Run like hell,” Geno said.
“What do you not do?”
“Look back.”
“Good.”
Once Geno mastered defense on his feet, Wayne started showing him how to react if he were on the ground. Or, as Wayne called it, a mounted attack.
Then Geno got nervous and Mos completely lost his shit.
Wayne got down on his back in the soft mats. “You come on top of me first so I can show you.”
That’s not allowed, Mos yelled, his hair on fire.
Geno swallowed. Slowly he lowered himself to the mat and…mounted Wayne, a knee on either side of Wayne’s hips.
Not allowed not allowed not allowed.
“All right,” Wayne said, as if they were shooting the shit over beers. “When you’re pinned like this, the most important thing is to get your hips out from under. Your fight-or-flight instinct wants to go up, into and against the attack, right?” Wayne made a few half-hearted attempts to sit up, his hands pressing Geno’s chest. Geno nodded, disconcerted by the sheer, muscled mass of Wayne between his legs. How warm and powerful it felt. Like being on a horse.
At this egregious violation of the law, Mos erupted like a volcano, raining down fire and brimstone into Geno’s stomach.
Wayne lay down again. “Instead, you go against logic and send your energy backward by shrimping. You plant a foot hard in the ground and buck that same hip up. Watch.” He demonstrated. “Right foot down, push hard, right hip comes up.”
Geno wobbled now on the fulcrum of Wayne’s hip, nearly toppling off.
“See how you just went off balance?” Wayne said. “Already you’re in less control. Now I’m going to push hard as I can on that foot I planted.” He slid straight backward and free, his body folding like a book, elbows to extended knee. “See how my body curls when I slide out? That’s why we call it ‘shrimping.’ From here…”
Smooth as syrup, Wayne rolled onto his feet, crouched in a defensive position. “I’m ready to fight.”
His triumphant expression went serious, and one of his fisted hands unfolded to point at Geno’s face. “I fight. You, when you get back on your feet, will do what?”
“Run like hell,” Geno said, his voice shaking. He wondered how much adrenaline the human body could tolerate before it passed out.
Or exploded.
Wayne got down on the floor and motioned for Geno to mount him again. It was easier this time. His heart was still firing cannonballs, but Geno paid closer attention as Wayne demonstrated shrimping. “Ready to try it?”
“I think so,” Geno said, not at all ready.
Wayne put a hand on his shoulder. “Is this bringing things back to you?”
“Yeah. A little.”
The hand squeezed. “First time’s going to be the hardest. Your heart’s going to be right behind your teeth. But you’re gonna do this. Okay? You trust me?”
Geno nodded tightly, as if a bigger movement would break him in pieces. He got down on his back. Stared up at the ceiling beams as Wayne got on top of him.
Like that one guy was on top of him.
He didn’t uncuff Geno’s hands when he rolled Geno over. The cuffs clanged along the iron spindles as Geno’s wrists crossed over his head, the metal restraints digging even harder into his already-raw skin. The blood ran down his forearms and dripped off his elbows.
We don’t think about that, Mos said, sounding utterly defeated behind Geno’s eardrums. It happened to someone else.
At least now his hands were free, clenched tighter than locked cuffs as Wayne coached him.
“Don’t go up. Go backward,” Wayne said. “Plant your foot, same hip up. That’s it. Push.”
The mat squeaked as Geno slid out and away. His body curled like a shrimp. He lay still, listening to his heart pound behind his teeth.
“Here,” Wayne said. “Sit up.” A bottle of water was pressed into Geno’s hand. “Take a sip. You did great. Look at that, huh? You did it. You did great.”
Geno took a wobbling sip and wiped his chin on his arm.
“I told you the first time was the hardest.” Wayne thumped Geno’s back. “Now try again. Before you think about it too much.”
They tried again. It was easier. Then again. It was faster.
Wayne checked his watch. “This time, I want you to shrimp out, get on your feet, grab your bag and run like hell. Ready?”
Ten seconds later, Geno was at the door, a crowing accomplishment setting his bones on fire. He looked back to wave at Wayne.
“Jesus, what did I tell you not to do?” Wayne called, laughing.
Jav had prayed more in the last month
than in the entirety of his life. Prayers that started out with the best of grateful intentions, but quickly caved into neuroses.
Thank you, he’d think, present and mindful. This is going well and I’m grateful. It feels good. It feels easy.
It feels too easy.
It can’t be this easy.
This can’t possibly last. This is too good to last.
I’m just caviar.
He’s going to get his fill of this treat and then meet a three-balanced-meal kind of woman and it’ll be over.
I guess I’ll be all right with that.
No, I won’t, actually. I don’t want this to end.
God, don’t let this end.
“I can hear you thinking, you know,” Stef said. From the other end of the couch or across the room or on the other side of the bed, he looked at Jav. Looked up from his sketching or his laptop or his book. From any direction, any angle, Stef rested on Jav’s eyes the way a classic rock song always sounded good to your ears, even for the eight millionth time. You knew the words, you sang without thought, you air guitared or drummed on some available surface. Because you couldn’t not. Your ears heard and your soul obeyed.
Jav looked at Stef and goddammit, his soul started singing. Making up verses about Stef at work and at play. Resting or running. Eating, sleeping, shaving, showering. Anxious, brooding, worked-up, let down, excited, frustrated. Coming and going. And best of all, the bridge before the key change into the chorus—looking right back at Jav.
“Crying out loud, Landes, what?” he said.
“What?”
Stef’s smile broke apart laughing. “Stop looking at me.”
“No puedo dejar de verte,” Jav said, tackling him. Because he was a fucking hot mess and couldn’t keep his hands off the guy.
After their first weekend together, Stef threw out the stuff under his bathroom sink and declared no one was topping or bottoming in the foreseeable future. “Let’s just take it off the table,” he said. “It’s not a dealbreaker.”
Nervous, self-proclaimed idiocy soothed, Jav fell easily into bed and even more easily into himself.
So this is what it’s like.
This is what I’m like.
This was him, consumed and wrecked. Hearing the click of an apartment door closing in the mornings and thinking, When will I see you again? This was his work day filled with distraction, his attention span wandering off above the keyboard. Torrid moments tapping his shoulder and intense memories sitting in his lap, wanting to be pored over.
A Charm of Finches Page 23
