For I Have Sinned: Bastian and Rob 1 (Southern Sin)

by Julia McBryant

  Bastian threw vases. He threw pots. He threw bowls and mugs. He drew stick figures and laughed at them.

  Rob made enormous clay messes.

  Together, they made weird mixed media things. A psychoanalyst would have a field day with them: pictures of nuns, sheet music, keys and doorways and strange birds. They weren’t beautiful, just weird. Bastian glued patterns of keys onto ripped-out pages of an old naturalist book. “This is more like art therapy than making something attractive.”

  “Eh.” Rob mostly agreed with him.

  “It’s kind of nice, though. I like gluing things together and cutting then out and just not caring very much.”

  “It is fairly peaceful, yeah.”

  “You can turn your brain off.”

  Rob kissed Bastian on the head. Poor thing. “Yeah. I suppose you can.”

  One night, after some packages had come that Bastian wouldn’t stop pestering him about, Rob laid out a brand-new tightly fitting white button-down, tight ripped jeans, and new motorcycle books. Rob already had on a tight black T-shirt and jeans that hugged his butt, plus his favorite Doc Martens. He had laid out Bastian’s black eyeliner and nail polish on the bathroom counter.

  “What’s all this for?” Bastian eyed it all.

  “I thought I might take you up to Baltimore for dinner.”

  “You mean it? For real?” Bastian sort of glowed.

  “I told you a long time ago I would take you out. I never did.”

  Bastian dressed, and they held hands out to Rob’s black SUV, which he’d bought to replace the Kia. “I made reservations at Cross Keys,” Rob said. “They’re supposed to have really good food.” He winced. “And I don’t think they’ll card you.”

  “Ouch, Daddy-O.” Bastian made a face. “Must you?”

  Rob slapped his ass and opened the car door for him. He valeted downtown, and a sour-looking doorman let them into a dark bar, all wood-paneling and a long, mirrored bar. They took a table in the back. The menu didn’t have prices.

  “We’ve never, like, been out on a real date. I mean, we’ve gone out to get dinner. But never on like, a date where we dressed up.” Bastian looked down when he spoke.

  “I guess this is our first date, then.” Rob smiled at Bastian. Bastian blinked. As if that gave him some kind of permission, he tentatively touched Rob’s cheek. His hair had grown into longer spikes that he messed up in the mornings, so he wore stubble all the time.

  “I like it like this.”

  Rob smiled again. “I’m glad.”

  “It feels good. When you kiss me.” He said the last part shyly, looking down.

  Rob petted his cheek. “You make the most adorable little twink.”

  They ordered drinks (bourbon) and food (steak). “There’s some great bars around here. Wish I could take you to them.”

  “You know I have a fake, Daddy-O.” Bastian grinned.

  Rob rolled his eyes. “Just what I fucking need.” He nuzzled Bastian’s ear. “You be sweet and well-behaved for me, sprite.”

  Bastian rolled his eyes. “As I drink my alcohol.”

  “Which no one carded you for, twink.” Rob nipped his ear. Bastian shivered a little. “Yeah, you liked that, baby brat.” He did it again, harder, and when the food came, he ate with his hand on Bastian’s thigh. “You know, I haven’t been out to a club in forever. You wanna go dance, baby boy?”

  Bastian smiled a little. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d really like that. We’ve never gotten to do anything like that.” His grin widened. “Can you dance?”

  Rob snorted. “Can you?”

  “Girls never complained.” Bastian smirked.

  “I haven’t done it in forever, but I used to be pretty good at it, yeah.”

  Rob took Bastian to the nicer gay club. He held his hand through the line, but when it came time to show their IDs, damn him, Bastian flashed his fake. They let him right through: South Carolina licenses all looked fake, anyway. “You perfect brat.” Rob had to talk right into Bastian’s ear so his boy heard over the music thrumming through them. “Do you know what’ll happen if I get caught with you using a fake ID here of all places? You’re going to get it when we get home.”

  “Do you promise, Daddy?” Bastian blinked innocently.

  “Oh, you’re going to be a brat while you think you can get away with it, aren’t you?” Rob nipped at his ear again. He pulled Bastian next to him at the bar and ordered himself a shot. Bastian got a Coke.

  “You love when I’m bad, Daddy.” Bastian’s normal tone worked as a whisper in here. “You know you love it. That’s your big secret, Daddy-O. You’d rather have me do things like this —” all cuddled up, no one could see, and he grabbed Rob’s hand and rested it on his hard cock “— than sit next to you with my eyes down, all quiet and good. Admit it. You’d rather have a boy who wrapped his arms around your neck and told you how much he wanted to suck your cock on his knees than one who sat nicely and asked about your day. Because Daddy, I really, really wanna suck your cock. Can I do it when we get home? I love to wrap my mouth around your head. I wanna lick it hard and then suck the whole thing while you come down my throat. I promise I’ll swallow every single bit and I won’t spill anything.”

  “You little baby slut.” Rob was standing stiff. Bastian looked down and smirked.

  “Or do you want me on my hands and knees, Daddy? We almost never do it like that. Or I can curl on the end of the bed, and you can stand up. You wanna fuck my tight ass from behind, while I beg for your cock, Daddy? I want your cock so bad right now. Will you dance with me and —”

  Rob yanked him out on the dance floor. He pulled Bastian close, a thigh between his boy’s. “Show me you can dance, little one, and shut your filthy mouth before I do decide you need spanked.”

  Oh God he could dance. Bastian pressed his chest tight to Rob, wrapped one arm around his neck, the other around his back, and began swiveling his hips so their cocks actually touched and rubbed. He wrapped both arms around Rob’s neck, stared into his eyes, and bucked up to him over and over. Bastian flipped around, yanked Rob close, and moved his hips with the beat, his ass grinding into Rob’s cock. When he flipped around and began kissing down Rob’s neck, then his shirt, Rob pulled him up.

  “You’re not going to pretend to suck my dick here!”

  “But I’m good at it.” Bastian sounded wounded.

  “You don’t need to leave room for the Holy Spirit, but your knees don’t need to hit the ground, either.”

  They danced for half the night. On the long drive back, Rob held Bastian’s hand. He fell asleep with his head against the window, and when they arrived home, Rob pulled Bastian’s clothes off without protest and cuddled him into bed. “Daddy, that was so good.” Bastian’s voice was thick with sleep.

  “I had fun too, sprite.”

  “You didn’t have to pretend or hide me. You don’t really here but kind of do. You held my hand like you were proud of me. I liked that. I liked that you wanted everyone to know I was yours.”

  Rob sighed. God, would he ever stop fucking up? “I always want everyone to know you’re mine, baby boy. Always. I’m your daddy and I love you. I want to take you out and hold your hand and be with you.”

  “Wanna be with you too, Daddy.” And after all the teasing and all the dancing, Bastian passed out cold.

  ****

  By the third week of July, they had found a pet-sitter and driven to Columbia to locate a house, a rambling bungalow in the Shandon neighborhood. The first week of August, they moved, thank God paying someone to do it this time, but with all the attendant hell of moving: the traveling, the packing, running to Target eight times to buy things they needed. Rob had decided to substitute teach. “You sure you’re okay not living in the dorms?” he asked Bastian over and over.

  Every time, he got the same answer. “Why would I want to do that when I could live with you?”

  Their first night in Columbia, Bastian insisted on hooking up the printer. He’d been surfing the web o
n a mobile hotspot for two hours — the internet wasn’t hooked up yet. Out came a black-and-white map of the Chesapeake. “That. Took me forever to find a good one. I want that. And I want it right here.” He held it up to his upper arm and frowned. “How the fuck am I supposed to shrink it, though?”

  Rob furrowed his brow. “You mean you want it tattooed on you?”

  Bastian nodded.

  “Why?”

  “It’s — it’s dumb. I don’t know. I can’t explain it. But it gave me back something.”

  “Hand it to me. Do you know where my drawing stuff is?”

  “In your bag.”

  “Go get it.”

  Bastian was never allowed to look at it: an unspoken rule. He’d respected it, thank God. But he came down the stairs flipping through the book, eyes wide. “Rob, these are good. Like really really really good.”

  Rob glared.

  “No, seriously.”

  “Just give it to me.” He took the sketchbook and eyed the map. “How big do you want it?” Bastian made a rough shape with his hands. Rob drew it for him and added both an intricate compass rose and his own initials, very small, at the bottom. Bastian watched in awe. “How’s that?”

  “You should be a tattoo artist.”

  Rob laughed in his face. “I don’t have any ink on me.”

  “If you got some, what would you get?”

  He chewed his lip. “A compass rose on my wrist. Because wherever I turned, and depending on how I turned my arm, the directions would change. Nothing stays stable. Everything is changing all the time.” He closed his eyes and pictured it, then smiled. “And on the other wrist, a sea serpent, and the words, ‘here be dragons.’ Because we always think there are dragons when we don’t know what’s out there. And sometimes there are and sometimes there aren’t.” He turned from Bastian and began drawing. They took shape under his pencil, line and shade. Bastian still stared.

  “You should.”

  “Should what?”

  “Get them. And become a tattoo artist.”

  “Sprite, I was just messing around. I don’t need ink and I don’t need to be a tattoo artist. That’s ridiculous.”

  “Come with me to get mine tomorrow. I picked a studio.”

  Rob sighed. “If you really want a tat, sprite.”

  ****

  They climbed the long, painted wooden staircase above a popular college bar and emerged into a studio with walls painted in every color and hung with pictures. Each artist seemed to have their own booth. Bastian signed all the forms. A guy named Anarchy Pete, covered in ink, pattered on and on before he even started the process. Rob held Bastian’s right hand while Anarchy Pete tattooed his left bicep. “It doesn’t really hurt? It just kind of feels weird? Like tiny bees maybe?”

  “Where’d you get this picture?” Anarchy Pete tipped his head at it.

  “My boyfriend drew it.”

  So simple. Just tossed off, like it was nothing. My boyfriend.

  Rob stared. “He means you, right?” Anarchy Pete looked up from Bastian. “Considering that you’re like, holding his hand?”

  “Yeah.” Rob blinked, shaking his head some.

  “This is really good. You design this yourself?”

  “Some of it. I mean, I needed to look at an actual map.”

  “He wants to be a tattoo artist but he’s too damn scared to do it.” Bastian’s arm rested on a high kind of padded stool covered in paper.

  “I don’t —”

  “If you’re serious, I’m looking for an apprentice right now. Bring a portfolio by. And we might could talk, if all your stuff is this good.”

  “This is nothing.” Bastian shook his head.“I only looked through his stuff once and it’s amazing.”

  “Bastian —”

  “Shut the fuck up, Rob.”

  He’d get his ass blistered for that when they got home.

  He did, too. Bastian’s ass was going to hurt for at least three days. “Worth it.” He winced. “God, that hurt so bad I’m not even hard. Seriously. Worth it if you take a portfolio over, and if you don’t I will. So. Worth it.”

  What the fuck. Being a priest was the path of least resistance. Might as well go in the opposite goddamn direction. The next afternoon, he told Bastian he was headed to Target, which Bastian was heartily sick of, and slipped over to the studio with his notebook as soon as the shop opened. Anarchy Pete took a long time flipping through it. “You’re fucking good. You’re really fucking good.” He paused. “I want an owl holding a snake. Now.”

  He walked off.

  What the fuck. Rob drew an owl holding a snake, all feathers and twists and turns, shade and shadow. Anarchy Pete returned twenty minutes later. “You want it?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You want a goddamn apprenticeship? You gotta get some ink, though. I can’t have a fucking apprentice without ink, that’s some bullshit right there. You’re shop bitch at first. It takes about two-three years and five thousand dollars in installments, then I guarantee you a place in the shop or if you don’t wanna stay, I help you find one, and I have connections all over the fucking city and state and into Georgia.” He paused. “What’d you do before this, and what’re you doing now?”

  Rob laughed his ass off. “I was goddamn Catholic priest.”

  “All right, Priest. We can work with that shit. That’s cool. And now?”

  “I’m a substitute teacher.”

  “Cool, cool, someone’s gotta teach the children. So what kind of ink you want? On the house, but not too complicated, I got a 5pm sleeve to work on.”

  “Right over my heart.” Rob sat down and sketched it out in elaborate script: Here be Dragons. “We can finish it up later with some coiled sea serpents.”

  “Aight. Lay the fuck down.” He went through the whole procedure, explaining what he was doing every step of the way. It didn’t really hurt, more like a strange kind of beesting, or an odd buzzing. “In here at least three days a week — Sunday to Thursday — and a weekend night, Friday or Saturday. You’re teaching, so get here after you finish.”

  Rob nodded. What the fuck: Catholic priest to tattoo artist. He’d always wanted to be an artist when he was a kid. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, his art would go with it. There was a strange comfort in it.

  “See ya tomorrow, Priest. We can draw up a contract. And you can get on being shop bitch. And don’t worry.” He gestured at his tattoo-covered body. “You’ll look like me soon enough.”

  Bastian was stretched out on the brown suede couch on his stomach, Ziggy curled on his back. Not like he’d be willingly sitting for a few days. They’d taken most of the furniture from the Maryland house, which Rob had reluctantly put up for sale. The dogs piled around him. “So what did Anarchy Pete say?” Bastian turned a page: Sandman. Bastian loved the Sandman comics.

  “How did you know I didn’t go to Target?”

  “Just knew.”

  Rob pulled up his shirt and showed Bastian his tat under the clear plastic steri-bandage. “I’m a goddamn apprentice to a fucking tattoo artist. You little deviant. Pushed me out of priesthood and into inking people for a living. You should get horns tattooed on your head.”

  “Little conspicuous, thanks.”

  “Maybe I’ll tattoo a forked tail on you.”

  Bastian smirked. “Fairies have neither horns nor forked tails. Wait til my mother hears I’m with my ex-priest, ex-English teacher, ex-swim coach who’s now becoming a tattoo artist. I just used the words ‘my boyfriend Rob.’ Maybe then she’ll raise herself out the financial world to give a shit. Somehow, though, I doubt it.” He paused. “I’m happy for you, Daddy. I really, really am.”

  “Hey.” Bastian had said it again. Rob had wanted to ask so much, and no time like the goddamn present. “Yesterday. At the tattoo parlor.”

  “Uh-huh, what about it?”

  “You called me your boyfriend.”

  Bastian snorted. “I’m not going to walk around telling people you’re my fu
cking daddy, now am I?”

  “Am I?”

  “Are you what? My daddy?” Bastian let out a heavy sigh. “We’ve been over this, Christ —”

  “No. Your boyfriend.”

  Bastian knit his eyebrows. “You’re Daddy. But, I mean, I guess you’re my boyfriend too. What else would you be?”

  “You just never said it. And — I mean — I guess I never thought you’d think of me that way. I didn’t — I don’t know.” Oh God his voice got thick. He reddened. But he never thought —

  “Are you crying?! Oh Christ, don’t fucking cry.” Bastian set the possum down and wrapped around him. “I love you.” He nuzzled into him. “I love you so much. I didn’t think you’d do it, you know? I’m so proud of you. I didn’t think you’d have the balls. But you did and I’m so proud.”

  For some reason those words, all of them, meant everything in the whole world.

  Rob rested his lips on Bastian’s forehead. “You always push me, kelpie. Fucking dragging me under, all the goddamn time.”

  Bastian smirked. “You like it that way.”

  “Goddammit if I don’t, baby boy.” Rob held him tighter.

  Bastian pulled his head down. “And you like me slutty too. Don’t you even try to lie. You like me bad, Daddy. You don’t want me to be good. You might want me to do my work and be happy and clean up after myself, but you don’t really want me to be that much of a good boy.”

  “Bastian.” Oh Christ.

  “You like when I talk like this. I’m getting hard just thinking about how much you like it, Daddy.” And oh God he was; Bastian’s cock rose against him. “How do you want me, Father? You want me on my knees right here in the living room? You know how much I love to suck your cock.” Bastian breathed hot in his ear. “Or you want me bent over the couch with my hands tied? You never did get out all that rope you bought. I don’t feel well. Maybe I need a doctor to examine me. Or have I been bad and not done my homework? I think I might need rubbed down. Or do you just need to examine my cock?”