Alluring Passion: A MM Contemporary Bundle

by Peter Styles

  “You let me poke into your personal business.”

  “Yeah, but you’re my friend,” I said. “You’re not going out of your way, expecting me to tell you every detail of my life. Once you start dating someone, they always want to know what you’re thinking and doing, and it drives me crazy. With Gary, he knows what I’m thinking and doing and, at the end of the day, he leaves, and I get to be by myself.”

  “I’m not telling you to hire a U-Haul, you doofus,” she said. “I’m just saying that you should give relationships a shot. I mean, I know you want one.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Sure you do. You always have. You used to tell me all the time that when you got out of school you wanted to get married and have a family and settle down. You said you wanted a normal life.”

  “That was before I accepted that normal had gone out of the window for me a long, long time ago,” I said.

  She stopped so abruptly that I had to skid into a turn just to look at her. She had her hands firmly planted on her wide hips and was glaring daggers at me. “And why’s that?” she asked. “What makes you think you’re not going to have a normal life with normal relationships?”

  I sighed. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Then explain what you actually did mean.”

  She was a cute girl, but Christy could look absolutely terrifying when she wanted to. It was the first time I fully appreciated why someone would spend a couple hundred bucks to get slapped around by her, which was her specialty; I had no doubt she was good at her job.

  “I just…” I shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m built for that. There’s too much to relationships, with all the feelings and the talking and all that. Any time I go on an actual date, it feels like whoever I’m with wants to be my therapist.”

  “And you’d know, because you went to therapy for one whole whopping year?”

  I rolled my eyes. “There’s just too much to explain in relationships. I don’t want to deal with it. Sex is easier.”

  “Sex with Gary is easier, you mean. Other than a couple of one-night stands, I’ve never seen you with anyone else,” she pointed out.

  “Yeah. I just didn’t like it that much, I guess. They never worked out.”

  “Because you never gave them the chance.” Christy started moving again, forcing me to follow her. “Gary is safe, sure, but you’re never going to really get anything from your relationship with him, you know? You deserve something nice. A guy who cares about your feelings and wants all that ooey gooey silly stuff. Whoever you’re with should want to buy you flowers and get together for Valentine’s Day. He should want to hold you when you’ve had a bad day and talk about the real stuff in your life! That’s what relationships are for.”

  “Maybe that’s not what I want,” I replied.

  “Everyone wants that,” she huffed. She picked up her pace and, though I groaned, I went from a jog to a run. “I know that’s what you want. If it wasn’t, you wouldn’t stay holed up in your little panic room all the time and avoid everybody.”

  “I don’t avoid everybody. I don’t avoid you!”

  “Congrats,” she said, “you have three whole friends! Good for you. But don’t you want something else? Something more?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Or maybe,” she suggested, “you don’t think you can have more. Or that you deserve more. Even though you do, because you’re a really great guy. You should have more than a guy who only ever wants to bang and talk about, like, Superman or whatever.”

  “Neither of us even read Superman,” I said. It was petulant, but it was the only thing I could think to say. I knew, really, that she wasn’t wrong. I had thought many times that it might be nice to have someone around who I could actually love and do all the “ooey gooey” stuff Christy talked about with, but it was too complicated. There was so much to get through just to get to that point. I didn’t know if it was worth it.

  Not only that, but she was right in saying that it was scary.

  I wasn’t about to tell her that though.

  “So how’s your love life?” I asked, trying to keep my voice casual, but it was a job and I’m sure she knew it. I saw a look of hurt flicker over her baby doll features, and I immediately felt guilty for saying it. “Sorry.”

  “It’s fine,” she lied, then picked up her pace, probably to punish me. “Guys are so weird about my job. I can’t seem to get past that with any of them. Once I tell them, they totally, like, freak out and leave. It’s like they can’t believe I want to go out with them. The last guy literally asked if him paying for dinner was enough for a hand job. Like, so gross. And another one kept checking to make sure his wallet was still there, like I was going to pickpocket it or whatever. It was pathetic.”

  “Jesus.” I felt even worse for asking. “They’re idiots. You’re a catch. They just don’t know how to deal with something out of the ordinary. A lot of people don’t.”

  “I know. That’s always been the problem.” Her breath was starting to quicken, and I couldn’t figure out if she had sighed or just took a particularly deep breath. “That’s always the problem for people like us.”

  I flinched at the words. I didn’t like her comparing us. It brought up way too many memories. “They’ll figure it out,” I said, but I wasn’t sure if even I believed it.

  “So they’ll figure it out for me, but not you?” She glanced at me. “Sounds like a line, Harris.”

  When I didn’t respond, I heard a sound from her that was definitely a sigh. “Look,” she said, “I love you, okay? And I’m just worried. You’re, like, my best friend, and I don’t want you to think that one shitty thing that happened to you has to rule your entire life. I know it feels like it does, sometimes, but it doesn’t define you or your future.”

  It would have been a lot easier to argue with her if I could just tell her that she didn’t understand. Unfortunately, she did—probably a hell of a lot better than I did, really. I knew she was right.

  But that wasn’t going to stop me from being petty. Very few things could. So I just picked up my pace, nearly at a sprint, and spent the rest of the run in silence.

  When we got back to the house, I was breathing a little hard, but neither of us had broken a sweat. We’d only run a few miles and, ever since I met Christy in high school, we’d been running together. She’d been on the track team and, even though the boys’ track coach had tried relentlessly to recruit me, I stuck to training alone with Christy. I had started to hate organized sports: I didn’t like having teammates, especially ones who knew I was gay, and I couldn’t stand being in a locker room. In the gym, I actually had special permission to change elsewhere because I was so adamant about not using changing rooms.

  “You know,” Christy said, pulling out her ponytail and shaking her blonde curls out over her shoulders, “you should really consider coming to that self-defense class.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “It’s self-defense for women, Christy. I’m not sure I’d be welcome.”

  “Of course you would! Everyone is welcome there,” she assured me. “You may not be in the norm, but no one would ever give you crap for being there or anything. Everyone needs to learn how to protect themselves, and it really helps with confidence.”

  “I’m not sure that learning how not to get my theoretical purse stolen in a room full of women who tend to be wary of men would help with my confidence.”

  She blinked, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. “Okay,” she said, “then what about martial arts? There’s some great classes where I go to. I take aikido, and I love it.”

  “Yeah, I know. Just not sure it’s my thing. I don’t like working out in groups.”

  A flicker of sympathy flashed over her features, but that was it. That’s part of what I loved about being around her; she never made a huge deal out of things. “Well, I know there are some instructors who do one-on-one work. There’s a jiu jitsu class I keep hearing amazing things about. Apparently, the
instructor is kind of a hard ass, but he’ll work with people on their own time. Maybe you should try it.”

  “Yeah,” I said, “maybe I should.”

  I didn’t have the heart to tell her how little I wanted to.

  Chapter Five

  “Can we please watch something else?” I begged. “This is getting ridiculous.”

  “Which part of this is ridiculous?” Leonard argued.

  Gary pointed at the TV. “Dude, Clark Kent is afraid of heights. It’s fucking stupid.”

  “It is not! They’re just setting it up for a grand reveal!”

  “Yeah, after ten goddamn seasons! It’s not like flying is even Superman’s most impressive power,” Gary said. “He already has fucking heat vision, for God’s sake. Don’t you think that’s a little more interesting than flying?”

  Leonard turned to me, looking frustrated. “Harris?”

  I sighed and ran a hand through my dark curls. “Leonard, if I agree with you, will you turn it off?”

  He frowned thoughtfully, rubbing at his neckbeard. “I’ll agree to watching one episode of the Adam West Batman before we turn it back on.”

  “How gracious of you to allow me to watch something I enjoy in my own store,” I said, rolling my eyes so hard they ached. “What a kind and benevolent soul you are.”

  “So, are you not going to do it?” Leonard asked.

  “No, I’m going to,” I said. I braced myself; agreeing with Leonard was always painful, especially when I meant it. “He’s actually right, Gary.”

  “Oh, come on!” Gary cried. He shot Leonard a glare when he started fist-pumping in celebration. “How? You don’t think it’s ridiculous?”

  “I think the whole thing where he’s afraid of heights is ridiculous,” I admitted, “but the reveal is actually pretty smart. Superman couldn’t fly for the first few years. He could just jump really high. He didn’t have heat vision either, but most people don’t realize that he wasn’t always able to fly. It’s kind of a fun nod to the whole thing.”

  “Thank you!” Leonard roared. “Thank you! See?” He gave Gary a hard shove, which Gary accepted with an eye roll.

  I hated seeing Leonard so happy. He may have been a poor loser, but he was an even worse winner. “That doesn’t make the whole show great. I mean, it’s totally unrealistic. They really expect me to believe that Lex Luthor is in love with a woman?”

  Gary laughed. Leonard’s celebration was cut short, and he gave me a look of pure disgust. “What are you talking about? Lex is straight.”

  “Yeah, okay. Sure,” I said. “Because all straight guys are completely obsessed with teenaged boys.”

  “He’s just skeptical,” Leonard said, defensively. “He’s keeping an eye on Clark.”

  “So he needs to know what Clark’s dick is doing at every hour of the day because he’s skeptical?” Gary asked.

  When I laughed, Leonard’s scowl deepened. “You guys have filthy minds.”

  “Don’t pull that card. I’ve seen your browser history,” I said. I pointed at the laptop on the desk. “By the way, when I ask you to watch the store for me, that’s not an open invitation to watch weird anime porn in my place of business. Now turn this off. I’m tired of watching Tom Welling pretend to be fifteen. I want to watch Burt Ward pretend to be fifteen.”

  The door to the shop opened as Leonard, grumbling, switched out the DVD for another one. Aaron walked in, looking exhausted. He half-dragged himself to the counter. “Hey, Aaron,” I said, then started looking through the long boxes on the far side of the counter, where all of the members’ comics were filed under their names. I pulled a thick stack out from behind the card labelled “Carson, Aaron.” “How’s it going, man? I saw you on TV the other night. That why you haven’t been in? Been busy fighting off the paparazzi?”

  Aaron looked unimpressed. He looked even worse in person than he had on TV. His face was pale, and he leaned over the counter, looking miserable. “I wish,” he grumbled, looking with distaste at the inches-thick pile of comics I had put down in front of him. “Could you take Batman off my pull list? I’ve had about enough of that shit to last me a lifetime.”

  “I’m guessing masked vigilantes are a lot more fun in theory than they are in practice,” Gary commented.

  “You have no idea. If it was up to me, we’d have a Shadow Hunter signal installed on the top of the station but, for some reason, my superiors aren’t into the idea.” Aaron ran a hand over his bald head. “The chief is going crazy over the whole thing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so angry.”

  “I’d think she’d be happy to have some help. I mean, at least the guys are being taken down, right?” I asked.

  “Not in her mind. Or in most people’s, honestly. A lot of good detectives have had their cases pulled out from under them. It makes us all look really bad. Something like this isn’t good for promotions, and it makes the public think we’re idiots.”

  I considered arguing, but I remembered all the jokes I had made about Gotham cops in the past and said, “Okay, fair enough.”

  “Besides,” he continued, “he only needs to fuck up one time, and it’ll be on us. Don’t get me wrong, people are loving him right now. Everybody wants to have their own personal Batman. But the second he fucks up, I just know everyone will be beating down our doors, asking why we didn’t do anything about him sooner. It’s a lose-lose for the department.”

  “But criminals are being caught,” Gary reiterated. “Shouldn’t you guys care more about that than you do about your reputations?”

  “Should,” Aaron agreed. “But should doesn’t really matter. It is what it is, and people will believe what they want to believe.”

  “But that sucks,” Gary said, frowning.

  “Somehow, I already knew that,” Aaron deadpanned.

  Aaron shuffled through his comics and removed everything Batman or Batman-adjacent before I rang him up. Even then, he winced at the bill. “Sheesh,” he mumbled. “I guess this is what I get for not coming in every week, huh?”

  “Yup.” I gave him an apologetic shrug. “It builds up. And that’s not including this week’s stuff.”

  “Shit! You’re right. Tomorrow’s new book day.” He shook his head and rubbed hard at his eyes. “I swear, I’ve been so busy I don’t even know what day it is half the time.”

  “Well, at least your pull list is a lot shorter,” I reminded him. “Batman can drain your wallet fast.”

  “No kidding.” Aaron took his bag of comics from me, glaring at it with resentment. It was an expression I recognized well. Comic book nerds were nearly as bad with their money as drug addicts; they felt like they absolutely had to have tons and tons of titles, and it was easy for them to get so invested that they couldn’t stop. I was lucky; I could take stuff home for much cheaper—as evidenced by the wall of long boxes that took up tons of room in my apartment—and I could read them as they came in before deciding if I wanted them. I tried to discourage that as much as I could, even with the provided reading area in the store. The chairs and table were more ornamental than anything, and, when they were used, it was usually for Magic: The Gathering or Heroclix tournaments. I sometimes felt a little bit like a drug dealer preying on crack addicts, but I couldn’t pretend the money didn’t ease that guilt.

  “Hey, Aaron,” Gary said, as the officer turned to leave. When Aaron glanced back at him, he asked, “Lex Luthor on Smallville. Do you think he’s gay or not?”

  “Oh, he definitely is,” Aaron said. “He makes bedroom eyes at Clark every single episode.”

  Gary let out a loud, victorious whoop while Leonard slunk down in his seat, looking even more irritable than usual.

  Not long after, a couple of guys in tracksuits walked in. They were buff and wore thick gold chains around their necks and reminded me a little bit of the bouncers at the brothel. I didn’t give it much thought though; nerds come in all shapes and sizes. It wasn’t unusual to see a guy with an eight-pack and wearing a football jersey com
e in to buy a stack of Walking Dead comics and start debates about how The Ultimates stacked up to other alternate universes. It also wasn’t unusual, unfortunately, for people to come in and wander around without ever actually buying anything. Comics got a lot more popular after Marvel movies started coming out—or at least, the idea of them got more popular. People liked to come in off the street and look around almost as a fun little experiment, taking in the kitschy décor, asking how much their old and undoubtedly poorly preserved issues of X-Men were worth, and watching Leonard and Gary argue like it was some kind of nature program. Comic book shops inspired a sort of consumer tourism, and I’d gotten used to watching people just sort of float around before leaving and spending their money elsewhere. It annoyed the hell out of me, but it wasn’t like I could just tell them to leave. Every once in a while, I managed to make a sale to some of them, and I didn’t want to gain myself a reputation as “that” store: the one where the guy behind the counter somehow thinks he’s superior to everyone else because he has a bunch of useless knowledge of comic book trivia saved up in his head and kicks out anyone that doesn’t measure up to his standards.

  So I gritted my teeth and watched them walk around. They flipped through several issues, which made me cringe—they were holding the books way too firmly and would undoubtedly leave a bunch of fingerprints and little divots in the pages—then they continued surveying the tiny room and looking at the wall of figures and statues behind me with mild interest. I paid them no attention other than asking if they needed help.

  At least, that is, until I heard a particular word.

  The two of them were huddled near the opposite end of the counter, looking at a comic that I had framed and hung up on the wall: Astonishing X-Men #51. The cover showed Northstar, the gay hero of the Canadian X-Men team Alpha Flight, holding the hands of his partner, Kyle. They were both wearing tuxes and were surrounded by their teammates and other heroes. It was the first gay wedding in comic book history; I hadn’t been able to resist proudly displaying it in the shop. I was openly gay, after all, and Northstar had been a huge inspiration to me ever since I was young. I may have told Christy that I didn’t want all the lovey-dovey relationship stuff that other people did, but that issue gave me a small sense of hope that I might end up having a real relationship one day. If an asshole like Northstar could do it—and find love in an interspecies relationship with a human, no less—I figured I might be able to as well.