Love Can't Conquer

by Kim Fielding

  While Qay dusted his apartment, he seriously considered getting rid of some of the little objects lying around—chucking them into the closet or maybe the trash bin outside. He picked up the nearest item, a rectangular tin box imprinted with the Union Jack. Judging by the interior smell, it had once held tea, but it had been empty when Qay found it on the sidewalk near his apartment shortly after moving to Portland. He liked the box. He’d never been to the UK and never would, but the box was a kitschy little reminder that an entire big world existed out there, somewhere. He set the box down.

  Next to it lay a piece of driftwood the length of his hand. It fit smoothly in his palm, a bit like a magic wand. He’d picked the wood up a few years ago on a windswept beach. It still smelled slightly of salt. He put that down too.

  He lifted a plastic toy—the genie from Disney’s Aladdin. The small figurine had likely once been a fast-food kid’s meal prize, and it was a little dingy. It had been on the floor of a hole-in-the-wall taco shop near LA. He found it exactly one month after he went clean. No, he couldn’t throw that away either.

  In the end, he cleaned under and around all his stuff but then set every piece back in place. He straightened the wobblier book piles, though, and threw away a couple of magazine pages that had faded during their stay on his walls. He replaced them with new ones: David Beckham in his white underwear, a Stetsoned cowboy selling overpriced jeans, a lush landscape of a waterfall cascading into a pool. The last one made him smile.

  Jeremy arrived shortly after one, his short blond hair glistening with water droplets. “It’s damp. Still up for a walk?”

  “I won’t melt.” Qay already had his boots on, so all he had to do was slip into his jacket. “Do I need anything else?”

  “Nope. This will be an urban hike.”

  And it was. In fact, the trail Jeremy chose in Forest Park was paved, which was probably best considering the weather. Even still, it was soon easy to forget they were within the boundaries of a large city. Mist hovered among the trees that surrounded them, and Qay felt as if they were trekking through a Tolkien novel. He was almost ready to believe that they would encounter an elf or a hobbit around the next bend. They didn’t, although they met a lean older guy with a gray beard and fancy waterproof gear.

  “Chief!” the man called when they neared one another. Jesus, did everyone in town know Jeremy?

  Jeremy smiled and gave the guy one of those one-armed hugs. “It’s great to see you, Len. It’s been a while. This is Qay.” He turned slightly. “Qay Hill, meet Len Coleman. He used to be a supervisor for the parks department.”

  Coleman gave Qay a friendly handshake. “Retired a couple years back, but as you can see, I never really left the parks.”

  “I can see why,” Qay said. “It’s a beautiful place.”

  “Is the Chief here trying to recruit you too?”

  Jeremy cut in. “Nope. Just showing my boyfriend around because he’s sort of new to town.”

  There was that word again, and Coleman’s grin didn’t fade. “The great outdoors is a good way to a man’s heart. Works up an appetite.” He winked.

  Jeremy blushed slightly, which was adorable. After a few minutes of chitchat, Coleman wished them well and set off in the direction from which they’d come. Qay and Jeremy walked in silence for a minute or two.

  “You really don’t give a crap who knows about me, do you?” Qay finally asked.

  “Why would I?”

  “I’m not the best catch.”

  Jeremy stopped suddenly and grabbed Qay’s shoulders. “For crap’s sake. Stop with the self-deprecation. You’re awesome. I thought you were hot shit back in high school, and now that you’ve grown into yourself? You’re smart and interesting and sexy as fuck.”

  “I come with baggage.”

  “Who doesn’t? Especially at our age. Anyone who hits his forties with nothing in his past to regret has done a piss-poor job of living. I mean, look at me! My recent regret showed up dead and is responsible for siccing a bad guy on my tail.”

  That didn’t make Qay feel much better, but he didn’t say so. Instead, he set his jaw. “Fine. No more criticizing myself.”

  “Good,” said Jeremy, who still held his shoulders. “Because I think we ought to be concentrating on a happy ending to our date.” He leaned in to kiss Qay—a lingering caress of lips upon lips.

  Qay was slightly breathless when they separated. “I warned you. If we ‘concentrate’ like that, the happy end’s going to come way too soon.”

  “There are no medals for sex endurance, Qay.”

  They held hands as they resumed the walk, their skin slightly clammy due to the moisture in the air. Jeremy occasionally paused to point out something interesting or to slap a name on flora or fauna, but mostly they enjoyed the sounds of the wintering forest.

  Both of them were chilled by the time they returned to the SUV. Jeremy cranked the heat, and as they waited for the windows to defog, he rested his hand on Qay’s thigh. That contact did more to warm Qay than the fan did.

  “Thanks for the walk, Jeremy. I liked it.”

  “There are over eighty miles of trail in Forest Park. When the weather improves, we can see them all. I’ll show you a few of my favorite spots.”

  When the weather improves. That was months away. Qay had had lovers before—men who spent a few nights or even a few weeks with him. But he was an addict and so were they, and the only future they’d thought about was their next fix. Most of them hadn’t been bad people. But Qay had been killing himself slowly, and so were they, and they all knew there would never be a spring together. And here was Jeremy, blithely assuming more and later and better. It was terrifying.

  “Qay?” Jeremy’s voice roused Qay from his brief reverie. “Why that name?”

  “Qayin is the Hebrew version of Cain.”

  “Yeah, you told me that. Why that name and not George or Tristan or Marcel?”

  Qay turned his head to look at him. “Marcel?”

  “Sure, why not? Or if you were going for Old Testament names, there’s always Jedidiah or Shem or Boaz.”

  “Seriously?”

  “My parents were big on Sunday School. I guess some of it stuck. You?”

  Qay shook his head. “They made me go for a while, but I never paid attention. I only remember the highlights. Apples, floods, Sodom and Gomorrah, stuff like that.”

  “Then why choose a biblical name, and a Hebrew one at that?”

  It was too hot in the SUV. When Qay reached over to turn down the fan, his hand shook. “I don’t want to talk about it. Can we go shopping now?”

  Surely Jeremy noticed that Qay’s voice was sharp and tight, the vowels clipped. But Jeremy didn’t comment on it. “Of course. I know just the place.” To Qay’s relief, he started the engine and turned up the radio, Aerosmith blaring as they pulled away.

  They ended up back on the east side in a cavernous store with a bare-beamed ceiling and huge murals on the walls. A big part of the space was occupied by goods for sale. Shelves, counters, and display cabinets contained every game imaginable, and many Qay hadn’t imagined at all. Board games, yes, but also video games, puzzles, cards, and complex systems of miniatures. The store also contained many tables, quite a few of them occupied by people gaming. There was even a food area with snacks and drinks.

  “My inner nerd loves this place,” Jeremy explained.

  “I didn’t know you had an inner nerd.”

  “Are you kidding? You knew me when I was fourteen. That little geek is still buried inside this bigger package.” He ran a hand down his impressive chest.

  “Oh, I knew that. I just figured your nerd was pretty much outer. Guys who spout Latin on a date? Nerds.” Qay grinned lasciviously. “Nerds are hot.”

  Jeremy waggled his eyebrows in return, then made a gesture that encompassed the whole store. “What do you think you want to bring?”

  Qay had played games in various institutions when he was younger. Endless droning games of check
ers and chess, Monopoly, Parcheesi, and Yahtzee. Better than twitching away in the corner or sinking into a drugged haze, but not by much. He’d played cards too; everything from Go Fish and War, to poker, blackjack, bridge, and hearts. And lots and lots of solitaire. “Cards?” he said hesitantly. Not that solitaire made a great holiday group activity.

  But Jeremy brightened. He led the way across the store to a stacked display of oblong boxes. “This,” he said decisively.

  Qay read the box. “Cards Against Humanity?”

  “Yep.” Then Jeremy briefly described how to play.

  It sounded fun, so Qay grabbed a box. “Sold. Let’s go.”

  Jeremy grinned brightly. “You seem eager, Qayin Hill.”

  Eager, petrified. Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference. “I think we’ve successfully completed phase two of date four. Now we just need dinner, and—”

  “Takeout. There’s great Thai just a few blocks from your place.”

  “Thai to go.”

  THE THAI place was just a block away from P-Town, and Jeremy couldn’t find a place to park.

  “We could just go to my place and walk,” Qay offered.

  “Nope. Got a better plan.” Jeremy pulled into the parking garage beneath the building where he lived. After turning off the engine, he looked at Qay. “I know you’re kind of in a hurry. Me too. But are you up for a brief detour? I can show you my loft-in-progress.”

  Oh. Qay wished very much that he could have seen the place before it was trashed, because then he would have gained a little more insight into Jeremy. A person’s living space said a lot about him. Like Qay’s basement, which was old and cheap and full of useless crap.

  “I’d love a preview,” he said.

  Jeremy took his hand to lead him up the three flights of stairs. There was nothing special about the stairwell, just concrete steps, bare white walls, and an unmarked door on each floor. When they reached the top floor, Jeremy hesitated a moment before undoing the lock.

  “Everything okay?” Qay asked.

  “Yeah. I had a couple of unpleasant surprises here lately. I guess the associations are bad. But then you know all about that, Mr. Psych Major.” He gave Qay a half grin before using his key.

  The first thing Qay noticed was the size of the apartment, easily three times the square footage of his basement place. He was willing to bet that during the day, the high ceilings and big windows kept it bright and airy. There were no furnishings yet, and the kitchen was still in shambles, but the white walls smelled of fresh paint, and the concrete floor was stained an attractive mottled brown.

  “Wow,” Qay said. “It looks high-end.”

  Jeremy shrugged. “I got a good deal when I bought it, and I had great insurance coverage. C’mon. I’ll show you the rest.”

  The bathroom was big enough to host a Roman orgy, with an oversized tub and a huge shower enclosure. The tile work wasn’t complete and the toilet was missing.

  “I miss my bathroom,” Jeremy said wistfully.

  The bedroom was large, but not as supersized as the bathroom. Right now it was nothing but bare floor and pristine walls. Jeremy stood in the middle, looking around carefully. “I bought a mattress set but not a headboard. And since I want the dresser to match, I don’t have that yet either. I guess I’d better make a decision soon. God, I hate shopping.”

  “What kind of gay man are you?”

  Jeremy walked up to him, grabbed his hand, and yanked him close. “A very butch one,” he rumbled.

  Qay stole the kiss before Jeremy could offer it, but Jeremy didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he pulled Qay impossibly closer and settled his hands over Qay’s ass. It was too bad that several layers of fabric—jacket, shirt, jeans, boxers—prohibited skin-on-skin contact, but those big palms felt good anyway. Qay worked his hands under the hem of Jeremy’s coat and gave his ass a squeeze. Fuck. Talk about buns of steel. If they were this glorious covered by denim, what would they be like bare?

  Qay had always enjoyed kissing. Oral fixation, maybe. But kisses didn’t usually make his entire body hot and tight, didn’t make all the anxieties and miseries and unmeetable needs temporarily recede, didn’t make him want to give in and give himself over. Until now.

  They broke apart, panting, lips tingling. “We better go. The floor would not be comfortable,” Jeremy said.

  Although he was nearly past caring about discomfort, Qay nodded. “Thai food. Thanks for the tour.”

  “Maybe when it’s ready and all the shit I ordered gets delivered, you can help me set things up.”

  “Do I look like the interior decorator kind of queer?”

  Jeremy laughed. “Man, we’re really letting our team down with our inadequate homosexuality.”

  “Let’s get naked in my bed and prove we can still be gay.”

  They took the steps at a run.

  THEY CARRIED their plastic bags—smelling of chilies and peanut sauce and cilantro—through the drizzle to Qay’s apartment, laughing like teenagers who’d just TP’d someone’s house. Qay’s hand shook with cold and excitement, making it difficult to turn the lock. Jeremy’s hot breath on his nape didn’t help matters.

  Once they were finally inside, Qay grabbed plates and cutlery while Jeremy arranged foam boxes on the table. Giddy with hormones, they had gone a little overboard ordering, and Qay would be eating leftovers until Thanksgiving. They heaped their plates with noodles and curry and rice, then sat on the couch to eat.

  “I don’t know if having a huge meal before sex is such a great idea,” Qay said doubtfully, although he didn’t stop shoveling food into his mouth.

  Jeremy pointed a fork at him. “We need it. Stamina.”

  Qay had eaten better since meeting Jeremy than he had in a long time. Maybe he should start worrying about getting more exercise. He walked a lot at work, and jittering burned a lot of calories, but he didn’t run or hang out at the gym like Jeremy did.

  For a few more minutes, Qay turned his attention to his pad gra prow. When he glanced up again, Jeremy was gazing at him with a bare hunger that had nothing to do with Thai food. “I like watching you eat,” Jeremy said, a slight hoarseness to his voice.

  “Why?”

  “Imagining other things you might do with that mouth. Wondering what you taste like.”

  Qay set his plate down. “I think we should clean up.” He hadn’t spied any roaches in this apartment, but he better not tempt fate by leaving food out. Besides, if he didn’t cool down a little, one touch of Jeremy’s hand would be enough to burn him to ashes.

  Jeremy helped him stick the leftovers into the fridge and rinse the dishes, then used his big body to trap Qay against the kitchen counter. “Appetizer,” he said before leaning down to drag his tongue slowly across Qay’s neck. If Qay hadn’t been pinned in place, his knees might have given out. “Shit,” he groaned.

  “Yeah.” Jeremy’s pupils had taken over most of the iris, and his gaze burned with an intensity rarely seen in the sober. A slight flush colored his cheeks.

  But then he moved back a step—almost a stagger—and ran fingers through his shorn hair. “Is it usually like this for you?”

  Qay shook his head. “Never.”

  “We… we ought to understand this, you and I. I know about hormones and neurotransmitters and what makes a body work. And your professors, they’ve taught you about the philosophy of what draws people together, right? And the psychology of attraction? So what’s this thing we have?”

  “I don’t know. Don’t have a name for it.” Oh yes he did, but believing that name would be stupid beyond all comprehension.

  “We hardly even knew each other back then, and Jesus—we’re not in Kansas anymore. Neither of us is the same person we were then.”

  Qay thought for a moment. “Maybe we are. Just a little, I mean. You have the bullied, nerdy kid still inside you, and I’m the sullen misfit.” His laugh jangled. “Maybe more than a little bit, in my case. And yeah, I’m more than Keith was. Less than him too. But h
e’s still here.” He’d never admitted that to himself, let alone said it out loud. The idea should have terrified him, but instead it was a relief. Like maybe he’d been regretting killing Keith off.

  “Maybe we don’t need to understand it,” Jeremy said after a pause. “’Cause it’s real, isn’t it?”

  “Unless I’m delusional again.”

  Jeremy started forward, but Qay stopped him with an outstretched arm, palm to Jeremy’s chest. “I’ve told you this, but you need to see it.” He began to unbutton his shirt. His hands shook so badly that the task was difficult, but when Jeremy reached forward to help, Qay batted his hand away.

  One advantage of living in Portland was that you could wear long sleeves year-round and rarely would the weather be hot enough for anyone to question it. Qay’s skin was a secret he kept to himself. He didn’t much like looking at it either.

  He finally got the shirt unfastened and let it drop to the floor. He pulled off his plain white T-shirt, then stood with arms spread, displaying himself. He knew what Jeremy must see: scrawny torso, pasty skin, a dusting of dark hair going gray. A few scars, most of them souvenirs of his landing in the Smoky Hill River. Badly drawn tattoos, each symbolizing something he’d thought was important while he was high or drunk or frenzied but none of them meaning anything to his sober, sane self. Small craters and puckered lines on the insides of his elbows and forearms.

  Jeremy didn’t wince or draw back, which was a small surprise. He worked his gaze slowly over the details of Qay’s bare upper body as if it were a crime scene he must analyze.

  “I’ve seen junkies before,” Jeremy said softly. “Interacted with lots of them when I was a cop, and I still do now that I’m a ranger. I know what track marks and prison tats look like, and I—”

  “So no need to look at me.” Qay crossed his arms on his chest and drew in his shoulders.