Alluring Passion: A MM Contemporary Bundle

by Peter Styles

  As I lathered shampoo into my hair, I took a few minutes to think about why Gary could have been so concerned about me sleeping with someone else. It really wasn’t like him. Honestly, it just wasn’t an “us” thing. Neither of us had ever been jealous of each other’s partners or potential partners, few and far between though they may have been. Gary had slept with a few other guys, and even had a boyfriend or two before. I had never been in an actual relationship, but I wasn’t a complete slouch in the sex department either. Even when we’d been exclusive and unable to have sex, Gary had been totally cool with it. It seemed weird for him to start then.

  If I really thought about it though, I figured it came down to friend jealousy more than anything. That was something that both of us had plenty of experience in, after all.

  It wasn’t that we disliked the other hanging out with different people. Neither of us were quite that jealous or possessive. The real issue came with people we viewed as a potential threat. Gary hated the idea of me being closer to someone else than I was with him. He always had. To some extent, I agreed with that; I always had a small sinking feeling in my stomach when he would tell me that he’d hung out with somebody without me. We’d known each other since high school, and he was my oldest friend. He’d been the person who had convinced me to keep Zelgman’s Comics open after my dad retired and my parents moved to Florida. He was the one who helped me find therapists to work with, even though I’d stopped going after only a year. He was even the first friend I made after switching high schools. It was natural for me to not want anyone else to know him better than I did.

  But where I was afraid of being replaced by another friend, Gary was afraid of being replaced by another guy.

  It was weird, considering we’d both been extremely clear with each other on our romantic feelings toward one another, which were nonexistent. Gary was the one who helped me see that sexual attraction and romantic attraction weren’t the same things, and one didn’t even always have anything to do with the other. “We’re friends who are physically attracted to each other,” he finally said, after our third disaster of a date, when we’d tried to kiss and hold hands and talk about our feelings. “We don’t have to do all this shit. We can just do what we want.” Honestly, hearing that had been a massive relief. That kind of intimacy could be great, but it just wasn’t something Gary and I had. I was more comfortable sucking his dick than I was holding hands at the movie theater or paying for his dinner. It felt more honest, somehow. We would never have been happy in an actual relationship together. We just didn’t know how to support each other like that.

  Which is what made it even stranger when he got so bothered by me even joking about sleeping with someone else.

  I stood under the scalding water, my face upturned and letting myself get pummeled with heat. It felt good; I usually forgot how much tension I was always carrying in my body. I’d gotten so used to it that relaxing felt wrong.

  I started scrubbing my body, the cloth digging into my skin just a little more than necessary. It had nothing to do with the sex; I was just feeling strangely irritated, like something was crawling under my skin and I was hoping to get rid of it. It had been a while since I’d felt like that, and I couldn’t think of what could have set it off, but it may as well have been anything. I knew from a ton of experience that there didn’t always have to be a reason for me to feel like I wasn’t at home in my own skin.

  I didn’t hear the door open. I usually locked it behind me the same way I did with my front door, but I must have missed it that particular time. When the curtain pulled back, I flinched so violently that I would have fallen if one of Gary’s hands hadn’t darted out to grab me. “Jesus, Harris! Are you okay?”

  I wrenched my arm away from him, seeing red. In my mind, the water from the shower started running cold, and I could hear echoes of laughter all around the room and feel my face pressed up against small, cold tiles. I shook my head violently, forcing myself to blink it away until I was back in reality, where Gary was watching me with equal parts of guilt and worry on his face. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” I bellowed, huddled up in one corner of the bathtub. I tried to make up for my lack of physical intimidation with my voice and, from how Gary jumped, it seemed to work.

  “I’m sorry.” Gary held up both of his hands, his tone gentle and even. “I’m really sorry, Harris. It’s just me.”

  “I know who it is!” I snapped, still enraged. “I just don’t give a fuck! What made you think that sneaking up on me in here was a good idea?!”

  “I didn’t mean to.” Gary’s voice was maddeningly calm. It made me feel even crazier than I probably looked. “I’m so, so fucking sorry. I just thought you might want some company, and that maybe we could…” He drifted off, embarrassed by the fact that he’d thought he could get laid again.

  The idea of fucking him in the shower turned the axis of my entire world, and I felt sick. “No,” I said, hoarsely. “No, absolutely not.”

  “I know.” There was a pleading edge to his tone, which was good. It made me feel a little bit less furious. “I wasn’t thinking, and I forgot. It was stupid of me, and shitty, and I’m really sorry.”

  There was a moment of silence as I stood, covering myself as best I could and glaring at Gary, who was hanging his head in shame. I was so jealous of his ability to forget that it made me want to scream.

  Soon though, the rage melted away. It rarely lasted longer than the fear anyway and seeing the regret and pain in Gary’s eyes was almost as humiliating as the outburst. My muscles relaxed by a small degree. “It’s…” I took a deep breath. “It’s fine. Just don’t do that shit again, okay? It freaks me out.”

  “Of course. I know. I’m sorry.” When I dropped my gaze to the drain, he added, “Do you want me to leave?”

  I sighed. “No. I don’t want you to leave. It was a mistake.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I wasn’t, really, but I doubted I would feel much better if I was left alone, so I said, “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  “Okay. Cool.” Gary tapped his foot and bit at the inside of his cheek for a moment before adding, “I’ll cover dinner though.”

  “Yeah,” I said, shortly, “you’d fucking better.” But I still forced a small smile to let him know that things would be okay.

  After he left, I took a deep breath. I wish it was that easy to convince myself that it would be okay.

  Chapter Three

  By the time I left the bathroom, I was clean and clothed, and Gary was on my couch, watching the TV. “Hey,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at me. His voice was a little too loud, proving he was still feeling tentative.

  “Hey,” I said back. Before he could ask me anything, I added, “What are you watching?”

  “I was just flipping around.” He shot me a sly sideways glance. “I figured I’d wait until you were out here to start up Smallville.”

  “Fuck absolutely off.”

  He laughed. Equilibrium was restored.

  I grabbed a slice of pizza out of the box on the coffee table and sat down in the overstuffed chair. The distance between us wasn’t deliberate or calculated; it just felt natural. Now that all of the evening’s sexual activities had officially ended, we were back to just being friends, which meant no couch-cuddling; instead, we sat on other pieces of furniture like real men.

  Gary flipped past a ton of shopping networks, poorly-made adult cartoons and even a few telenovelas before he landed on the local news. “Holy shit,” he muttered.

  “What?” I asked, too busy picking the pepperoni off my pizza to notice.

  “Just listen.” He turned the volume up, and there was a blonde, pretty woman sitting behind a desk and speaking in the very particular, measured cadence of a small-town news anchor.

  “And our final story tonight,” she was saying, her pink, clearly-modified lips and stunningly white teeth forming carefully enunciated and clumsily delivered words, “involves a man that some people have started r
eferring to as a real-life Batman.”

  I stared. “No fucking way,” I whispered.

  “A man known only as the Shadow Hunter has been terrorizing the tri-city area for nearly a month now,” the on-screen Barbie doll explained, “but his target may surprise you. Unlike other criminals, this man has been hunting down the most nefarious members of our society, but that hasn’t made him any less wanted. The Shadow Hunter has been singlehandedly making the rounds through the tri-cities’ dark underbelly, sabotaging every criminal enterprise he has come across and even uncovering evidence and subduing crooks in an effort to help the police find and capture some of the most-wanted bad guys on the streets. However, the cops are saying that, while the Shadow Hunter may think he’s on the side of justice, he should stick to his day job.”

  The screen switched, showing a balding, sweaty-faced police officer speaking nervously into a microphone, his eyes flitting constantly to the camera filming him. “Oh shit, is that Aaron?” Gary asked.

  “Yeah, it is,” I muttered. I leaned forward to get a better look. The officer on the screen was a customer that usually came into the shop at least once a week. He was usually a pretty chipper, excitable guy, but there were deep purple circles under his beady eyes and he seemed to have aged. “I guess this is why we haven’t seen him for a while. He’s been too busy chasing a caped crusader and giving TV interviews.”

  “He’s become Commissioner Gordon,” Gary snorted.

  “Nah. I don’t think he’s smart enough to be Gordon. And that’s saying something, considering how long he’s gone without figuring out who Batman is.”

  “Officer Carson,” the disembodied voice of a man said, “you’ve had several encounters with the Shadow Hunter personally, yes?”

  “Yes,” Aaron said, his eyes still darting around to the camera. “But the Shadow Hunter is just what he apparently calls himself. That’s who some of his victims have referred to him as.”

  “So you do believe the criminals the Shadow Hunter has targeted are victims of a crime?”

  “Oh, geez,” Gary mumbled. “Not this old argument.” I hissed at him to be quiet.

  “Yes, we do,” Aaron replied, stiffly. He rolled his shoulders and glanced at the camera again. “Although we know he’s doing what he thinks is best, I and the other officers on the case want to make it clear that his behavior is not to be tolerated. The police are more than capable of taking care of this city on our own.”

  “But,” the man’s voice pressed, “isn’t it true that the Shadow Hunter has taken down many criminals and criminal organizations that the police haven’t been able to touch for one reason or another?”

  Aaron bristled. “Yes, technically,” he admitted, “but this isn’t the way to go about things. This isn’t the Wild West—this is the modern age, and we have laws and law enforcement in place for a reason. This man doesn’t have the extensive training or skill that we have, and that makes his interferences dangerous for him and for others. We know that he thinks he’s doing good out there, but he’s doing the right thing the wrong way, and that can’t be tolerated. We have a lot more manpower and a lot more knowledge about all of this than he does, and it’s only a matter of time before he gets himself or the people he’s trying to help into serious trouble.”

  “I see,” the reporter said, and I wondered if I was imagining the sarcastic edge to his voice. “Have you considered at all working with the Shadow Hunter?”

  “No,” Aaron said automatically, and Gary and I made an audible noise of disappointment. “By defying the law, he’s already proven that he can’t be trusted, and we need to make it clear that we do not, under any circumstances, approve of vigilantes taking the law into their own hands. We’re out there putting our lives on the line every day just to do our work, and the Shadow Hun—I mean, this man needs to let us do that.”

  The screen switched back to the anchor. “Police have asked the public to provide any information that they might have about the Shadow Hunter,” she said, and a police sketch showed up to her right. I almost laughed; the picture clearly could have been anyone. The image showed what appeared to be a man in an all-consuming black mask, goggles, a thick black suit made of spandex, heavy black boots, and a short cape. “He is reported as being a man with a deep voice of indeterminate race and eye color who stands at around six fot four inches and weighing about two hundred pounds. Anyone with any information is encouraged to call the anonymous crime-tip line.”

  Gary muted the program, shaking his head. “Wow. I can’t believe we have our own superhero.”

  “You’re sounding awfully impressed by a dude in a zentai suit,” I said.

  “Are you not?”

  I let out a tiny, noncommittal grunt. “Not really. I mean, I see big dudes all the time, and they don’t need to wear masks.”

  “If you’re thinking of Ronaldo and the other thugs around here,” Gary said spitefully, “I don’t think you can really call them superheroes. They’re not exactly out there fighting the good fight.”

  “Sure they are. They may not be doing it on the street, but the work they do here is important. If it wasn’t for them, the girls here could end up seriously hurt. I can’t tell you how many times they’ve taken care of danger around here. Whenever the panic buttons go off, they’re right there to take care of it.” I shrugged. “I appreciate what they do around here. It’s not like I could do it.”

  “Yeah, but they don’t always get it right,” Gary argued. He massaged one of his shoulders, and I knew he was thinking about the time Ronaldo half-threw him down the stairs after mistaking him for a Peeping Tom or some other variety of creep.

  “And you think this guy does?”

  “He seems to be doing alright so far.”

  I shook my head with a small smile. “You have way too much faith in people, you know that?”

  “So I’ve heard.” He grabbed a slice and took a bite. “But who knows? Maybe this guy actually is the hero we’ve been needing.”

  I thought back to the moment of overwhelming fear in the shower. “Nah,” I said, chewing at the pizza that had suddenly become rubbery in my mouth. “I don’t think those kinds of heroes exist.”

  Chapter Four

  I met Christy on the front porch not much later. She was getting ready for a run, tying her sneakers into tight knots. She tugged her headphones out of her ears and smiled when she saw me. “Hey, want to join me?”

  “Depends,” I said. “It’s been a long night.”

  This was true; it was one in the morning, and Gary had only left a few minutes beforehand. I could feel my bed calling me, cum-stained or not.

  “I won’t be long,” she assured me. “I just figured I’d get a run in now because the rest of my schedule is clear for the night. I hate waking up early just to work out.”

  “Yeah, you’re not wrong on that.” I bent down and double-tied my laces. “Let’s go. Maybe I’ll finally get the appeal of late-night runs.”

  We started off at a slow jog and quickly fell in pace with each other, our feet hitting the ground at the same time, our legs mirroring each other as we pounded the sidewalk with our sneakers. We were quiet for a few blocks, both of us taking in the slight bite of the cool night air and admiring the silence. It was nice to feel like we were the only people in the world. It felt safe.

  “So,” she finally asked, shooting me a smile, “how was Gary?”

  “Depends on what you mean. If you’re asking if I want to date him or not, the answer’s still no.”

  She pouted, which was impressive; it’s hard to pout when you’re regulating your breathing. “I don’t care about you dating Gary,” she said, defensively.

  “Don’t you? Because you sure like talking about him.”

  “It doesn’t matter to me if the two of you decide to date or not,” she argued. “I mean, if you want to, that’s just fine, but I don’t expect you to or anything. If you were going to date, I think it probably would have worked out when you tried in college.
It’s not like you guys have changed all that much since then.”

  “Yeah, true enough,” I said, “but then why do you always ask about him?”

  “Because I think you should be dating,” she said simply. “Not dating Gary, but dating someone. It’s been forever.”

  “It has not,” I groaned. It felt like we had this conversation every week; even when she didn’t say it directly, it was always buried in the subtext of our conversations. “Just last year, there was that guy from the convention.”

  “That doesn’t count.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you were just hooking up.” Christy picked up her pace, and I moved to stay in step with her. She and I were about the same height, and I wasn’t about to lose to her in a race, even if it was a one-sided one. “That’s not the same as dating. If it was, then I must have gone on five dates tonight.”

  “Five? Really?”

  “Yeah. What can I say?” She gave me a dazzling smile. “All the straight boys want me.”

  She didn’t have to remind me. I’d gone to high school with Christy, and I remembered the effect that her womanly curves had on guys then. Her sweet face and cherubic cheeks only enhanced the effect; she was like a walking definition of femininity. “Yeah, well,” I told her, “I don’t exactly have the same effect on gay guys. It’s not quite as easy for me to just go out and pick a guy. They have to actually like me, remember?”

  “I know how dating works. And I think you’d be great at it, if you actually tried.”

  “Maybe,” I acquiesced, although I wasn’t sure I agreed with her—not really, anyway. “But I don’t really want to date anyone.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because.” When she kept watching me, I sighed. “Look, when you date somebody, you’re agreeing to make them this big, central part of your life, and I don’t want that right now. I’m not sure if I’d actually ever want that, to be completely honest. It’s just not my thing, having a guy always hanging around my place and poking into my personal business.”