by T. J. Klune
Otter roars with laughter and wraps his arms around another guy, the man’s handsome face on his shoulder, eyes closed until they open and find me, and the smile widens. Jordan. He looks exactly like I remember him, his blond hair falling in waves down onto his shoulders, the beard on his face dark and thick. He’s gotten bigger than the last time I saw him, almost as big as Otter, and I wonder if it’s still possible I could go through a growth spurt at the age of twenty-one. Jordan’s still got that chip in one of his front teeth, and I vaguely remember him telling me it was from a time he’d been hit in the face with a bat in high school where he was apparently hot shit until he’d busted out his knee while roller-skating. I remember making fun of him incessantly about being so cool as to admit that he went roller-skating. Then, like so many things, he’d disappeared from my life after my mom left, after Otter left. I almost let myself focus on that, but I shove it away. Now’s not the time to wallow in self-pity. I’m in a gay bar, after all.
Jordan says something to Otter as he lets him go, and Otter glances back at me, and his eyes are bright as they watch me, and he says something back to Jordan as he holds out his hand to me. I reach up and grab his fingers and am pulled forward. “Jordan, you remember Bear,” Otter says, the obvious pride in his voice causing my face to burn. “He’s mine now.”
Jordan ignores my outstretched hand and wraps me in the same tight grip that he’d given to Otter. I yelp as I’m lifted off my feet and spun around in circles, Jordan’s laughter echoing in my ears. After what seems like days (and I’m pretty sure I’ve spilled the last of the world’s Coke all over the drag queen behind us—oh, woe, the loss!) I’m set back down on my feet, and Jordan puts his hands on my shoulders and grins down at me. “How could I forget?” he says, his voice whiskey smooth. “So, Bear, you’re the one I’ve got to thank for finally bringing this idiot to his senses and making him come home?”
My face is probably the color of a stop sign by now. “Uh… I don’t know about that. I think there was a bunch of other stuff too.” I shrug.
Eloquent as always, Papa Bear, it laughs. Life of the party, you are.
Stop talking like Yoda! I snap at it.
But talking like this, I like. Try it, you should. Popular, it make you at the gay bar.
Otter grabs my hand again, entwining his fingers in my own. “He is,” Otter tells Jordan. “He just doesn’t like that much pressure put on him. That whole blush thing he’s doing right now? That’s because he’s embarrassed that we’re talking about him.”
I scowl. “Not helping.”
Jordan looks amused as he glances between us. “You know, Bear, I was surprised when Otter finally called me back and told me what was what.”
“Oh?”
“I was busy,” Otter mutters.
Jordan shrugs. “We didn’t think you swung that way. You know, back in the day. Otter here would just get this faraway look in his eyes anytime your name was mentioned, and it was sad to watch after a while.”
Now it’s Otter’s turn to blush. “Oh really?” I say gleefully, feeling a bit more like myself, the first since we’d walked into the bar. “Otter? Care to comment?”
Otter blushes harder and looks down at his feet. But I feel the squeeze of his hand against mine, and I can’t help but to laugh. “You love me,” I tease him.
He rolls his eyes. “Duh. Glad to see you think that’s funny.”
Jordan puts his arm around my shoulder and starts leading us away from the bar toward the back, where more people are sitting at tables and booths that line the walls. “It was always ‘Bear this’ and ‘Bear that’,” he says, loud enough to make sure Otter can hear him over the thumpthumpthump of some has-been pop star’s remixed latest cry for attention. “‘You guys will never believe what Bear said today.’ I’m glad you finally came to your senses and took pity on the poor guy. He’d have been lost without you.”
I don’t get a chance to reply as we come up to a table with a handful of guys. Some are vaguely recognizable. Others are strangers. One is my little brother’s fifth-grade teacher. Neat. I start to pull in on myself when Jordan says, “Gentlemen. Gentlemen! If I could have your attention, please! The prodigal son of Seafare has returned, and he’s brought his partner”—(oh, fuck me)—“who’s been the center of his world for as long as I’ve known him.” (Goddammit, Jordan!) “I give you Otter and Bear!”
The guys at the table immediately jump and start hollering so loudly it’s a wonder that anyone could actually still hear the music that’s being played. Immediately, I’m jostled and hugged, back-slapped and ass-grabbed, my hair ruffled, my cheek kissed, my ear whispered into, and I think someone said something to me in Spanish, but no one looks Latino, so I might just be making that up. Two seats appear as if by magic, and we’re thrust down into them, us on one side of the table and the other six on the other side. They grin at us.
I start to sweat.
“You okay?” Otter asks, as I’m sure he can feel how clammy my hand is.
I nod and reach over and chug half his beer.
He laughs at me and leans over to kiss my ear. “I got you,” he says.
“Awww,” our audience sighs.
Lame. Kind of.
Everyone starts talking at once, and I try to follow along with the conversation, but it’s almost impossible. Otter removes his hand from mine (probably because it’s dripping wet and gross) and sets it on my thigh, stopping my leg from bouncing up and down nervously. He leans forward and laughs at something someone says. People include me in the conversation, and I try and answer as best I can (read: as best as I can hear) and I take the time to scan the rest of them that I don’t quite remember/know. I suck at names, so there’s Muscles Magoo, who looks like his shirt will burst at any moment, his pecs giving serious consideration to crushing the table. There’s Guy With Glasses, who looks like he has a nervous twitch under his left eye, but then he glances at me and smiles, and I realize he seems okay. Captain Ass Muscles (David Trent) is doing his best to talk to a distracted Otter. I almost want to ask him how Ty’s doing in class just to get him to stop staring at my boyfriend like he’s the only thing on the menu. He probably doesn’t want to talk shop on a Friday night, but then I don’t want him eye-fucking Otter. Jordan is directly across from me, sitting next to a small man I’ve dubbed Mini Me, as he looks exactly like a smaller version of Jordan, and I try and remember if Jordan has a little brother or not. The last guy is Beer Me, four empty beer bottles in front of him, a glazed happy look on his face. I think I’ve met him before, only because I remember him being drunk then too.
But that all goes away when hands drop on my shoulders. I lean my head back, the effects of the half beer that I drank causing my skin to feel warm (I really need to work on my tolerance), to find a smiling face staring down at me.
Isaiah.
What’s he doing—
Oh, shit.
I almost fall back off my chair.
“Care Bear,” he says, grinning down at me, that wolfish smile in full force. “You look fucking gorgeous. Glad to see my clothes rock that tight little body of yours.” He leans on my shoulders to keep me from tipping over, the pressure of his hands digging into my skin. He’s wearing a black sleeveless shirt that’s entirely too small for him, but I think that might be the point because every muscle in his upper body looks like it’s straining to burst out through the fabric. His hair is wild and messy, like mine is, and his grip tightens even harder for a moment before I realize that the conversation at our table has stopped.
I look forward and see that everyone is staring at me (us?) and I immediately feel guilty, like I’ve done something wrong even though I can’t quite pinpoint what that could be. It’s only then that I realize my thigh is also in a vise grip, and I glance over at Otter to find him staring at me as well, except his eyes aren’t filled with gentle confusion like the rest of the table; no, his eyes are glittering dangerously, not quite yet black but growing dilated even as I watch. I try
to think back to any time that I could point out where Otter was put in a position to show his jealousy and possessiveness, but can only come to when I’d told him about Isaiah and that whole debacle. We’d never really been in a position for him to feel jealousy (me, on the other hand, got to contend with Jonah. Oh, and David, who’s sitting across from me, now staring at Isaiah with something akin to finding a hundred dollar bill covered in crack on the sidewalk—do you take it or leave it alone?). But whatever Otter’s feeling is pouring off of him in palpable waves, so much so that it’s raising the temperature in the room and causing me to sweat again.
“Isaiah,” I say in greeting, amazed that my voice comes out sounding somewhat normal. “Nice to see you.”
Isaiah laughs, and it comes out deep as it rumbles. “Oh, Bear. ‘Nice to see you’?” he mocks me. “That’s really all I get? I thought we meant more to each other than that. I mean, you were in my apartment, after all. With your ex-girlfriend, no less. God, that was a good day.”
“Bear,” Otter says, sounding like the last remnants of his control are about to snap. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”
I could think of at least seven hundred things I’d rather do, but I don’t think I should say that for fear of making the situation worse. If Otter and Isaiah don’t let up their holds on me, I’m going to be covered in bruises tomorrow. And even though I know I’m completely devoted to Otter, part of me thinks that sounds fucking hot. I am not a good person, it would seem.
“Isaiah, this is—”
“Oh, you don’t need to tell me,” Isaiah interrupts. He lets go of my shoulder as he turns to Otter. “Let me guess, you must be Walrus?”
I groan.
Otter stands, pulling himself to his full height, which is impressive by normal standards, but standing next to Isaiah (who’s the same height as me) makes it all the more intimidating. Isaiah might be buff, but he’s still a dwarf compared to my man. And that look on his face is not a happy one; if I didn’t know Otter and he was glowering at me like that, I’d probably be shitting myself silly.
But Isaiah doesn’t look scared or intimidated; as a matter of fact, he looks strangely amused and impressed. “Holy shit,” he breathes. “You’re a big fucker, aren’t you? I’m sure you’re… quite the handful.” He glances down at me. “Why didn’t you say he was a fucking gorgeous behemoth?”
“I did,” I say, scowling.
“No, Anna said that. You said he was neat.”
“He is neat. Like, super neat.”
Wow, it muses, don’t lay it on so thick. You won’t sound believable at all.
“He’s the neatest guy I know,” I add.
“So you’re the guy that kissed my boyfriend, huh?” Otter says without a single trace of irony, ignoring my extolling his virtues completely.
“Ohhhh,” our audience exhales. Guy With Glasses and Beer Me immediately start to whisper to each other, Muscles Magoo just flexes his arms, Jordan And Mini Me glare at Isaiah like he’s the Antichrist (which, to be fair, he just might be), and David Trent looks like he’s enjoying himself far too much, and I want to reach over and karate chop that smug expression off of his face, but two things stop me: a) he’s my little brother’s teacher, and Ty is mad at me enough already; and b) I don’t know karate. Well, I kinda do, only because I’ve seen Enter the Dragon, like, seventeen times. I’m sure I can be a quick study. If not, I can just keep practicing on David’s face until I get it right.
“A friendly peck among friends,” Isaiah reassures him. “He was looking a little sad that day, and I thought to myself, ‘Isaiah, old buddy, you gotta bring that smile back.’” He shrugs. “You gotta admit, Bear’s got a killer smile. I was just doing my duty for the world.”
Oh, Isaiah. Please, oh please, just shut your mouth.
“Are you for real?” Otter says incredulously, and I think that maybe I’m going to need to intervene in a moment because this is starting to get dangerously close to having two guys fight over me, and I think that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. In fact, a lot of my life seems ridiculous lately.
“Yes, Walrus. I am a real boy,” Isaiah smirks.
Otter’s had enough. I should have told Isaiah that while Otter might seem like the coolest cat in the room, there are certain things that can cause him to snap. Apparently the thought of Isaiah getting up on me is one of them. “Now you listen to me,” Otter says, his voice low and harsh. “You may be in the same classes as Bear, and for some reason that I don’t quite get, he seems to think of you as a friend. I’m not going to be that guy who tells the man he loves who he can and cannot hang out with. But do not mistake that for complacency. I swear on everything that I have, if you ever try to touch Bear again, I will end you. If you so much as look at him like you’re noticing him in ways you shouldn’t, I will make your life so much of a living hell that you’ll wish you’d never tried anything in the first place. I am not a man you fuck with, and I will do anything to protect what’s mine. You got me? Isaiah?” Then he leans down and cups my face in his hands, kissing me ferociously, his lips hot and harsh against mine, his teeth gnashing against my lips.
Be still, my beating heart.
Who says shit like that? Jesus fucking Christ, if I wasn’t already head over heels in love with him, I’d have fallen the rest of the way right now. All I want to do is take off my clothes and spread myself out on the table to let that big fucker take me six ways from Sunday while having a tattoo artist signing Otter’s name across my forehead.
Beer Me says what we’re all thinking: “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” The rest of the boys agree. Even Isaiah.
“I can see that now,” he says slowly, as if trying to pick out the right words and having a hard time doing so. “And not because I’m scared of you in the slightest. Although, I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone ever threaten to end me. You sure know how to get a guy all hot and bothered, Walrus.”
“That’s not my name,” Otter barks at him.
“Sorry. I meant to say Otter. Geez. Take it down a couple of notches, big guy. You made your point. Bear’s yours and you’re his, and you’ll maim and murder anyone who thinks otherwise. Who knew the caveman mentality was still a real thing?”
“Uh, Isaiah, it’s probably a good time not to say anything further,” I say. “Sit down, meet the guys, but for the love of all that’s holy, shut your trap for, like, six seconds.”
“I need another beer,” Otter mutters, stalking off toward the bar.
“I’ll go with you,” David says, obviously want to help. The bastard. I glare at his back as he trails after Otter. Isaiah notices this but says nothing.
“Did you really kiss Bear?” Jordan asks suspiciously, as Isaiah took a seat on my right.
Isaiah shrugs. “It’s not like it meant anything. We’re friends.”
Muscles Magoo laughs. “Then you obviously don’t know Otter.”
“I think we established that when I introduced myself to him,” Isaiah says dryly.
Jordan shakes his head. “What he means is, if you’d known Otter and his history with Bear, you’d have known that kissing Bear was the dumbest idea you’ve probably ever had.”
“Let me guess,” Isaiah says. “Long story?”
Beer Me shrugs, chugging down what looks like his seventh beer. “I never met Bear before today, and I don’t know Otter real well. But even I know you don’t fuck around with Bear. Otter’s like… like… like totally in love with the guy.” Beer Me shakes his head like he doesn’t get it. “To each their own, I guess.”
Gee, thanks, Beer Me.
“What he means is that Otter has been in love with Bear forever,” Jordan continues. “Now that he’s finally got him, he’s not letting go. Otter’s very… protective of those that he thinks are his. It might be slightly misguided, but it comes from a good place. And if there’s one person you do not want to fuck with, it’s Otter.”
“You don’t say,” Isaiah says, l
ooking so supremely bored that I want to smack him across the face. “And what about that guy that went with him to get a beer? The one that’s holding onto his elbow and laughing with him? Does he know this too?”
We all follow Isaiah’s line of sight and see David and Otter standing at the bar, David’s hand latched onto Otter’s arm, David leaning in and saying something that makes Otter laugh and shake his head. Otter’s shoulders lose their rigidness, and he doesn’t try to pull away from David’s grip.
“That’s my little brother’s teacher,” I grumble.
“Pot, meet kettle,” Isaiah says as he rubs his jaw. “He’s hot for your man, it seems like.”
“They’ve got history,” Beer Me stage-whispers.
“And David hasn’t really gotten over it,” Guy With Glasses says.
“Oh, please,” Mini Me scoffs. “It lasted, like, six months five years ago. David needs to grow up and move on.”
“Some people are hard to forget,” Muscles Magoo adds.
“Not that it matters,” Jordan says, glancing back at me. “Otter’s not stupid. Especially after that little show he just provided.” His eyes grow stern. “Did you kiss him back?” he asks me.
I shake my head.
“Bear maintained his innocence,” Isaiah says, patting me on the hand. “He’s a one-man kind of guy.” The others start talking among themselves, and he leans over and says for only me to hear, “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say as I glower at David, who’s now paying for Otter’s beer. They don’t seem to be walking back toward the table, obviously content to talk about memories past and how much they miss each other and how they just want to go fuck in the seedy back room.
“You want me to go run interference for you?” Isaiah asks. “David’s pretty hot, I gotta say. I wouldn’t mind helping you out with that one.”
“You’re so selfless.”
He grins. “Don’t I know it. This David guy causing you trouble?”
I shake my head. “I trust Otter. It’s the other guys I have a hard time with.”
“Well, if Walrus’s little fit is to be believed, you don’t have anything to worry about,” he says. “That man is obviously head over heels for you. It’s sickening, really.”
