Power Bottom

by Jeremy Jenkins

  For a long time, I’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  A singular, cruel sensation swirled within me:

  I knew it.

  We finished the rest of the reading, and I insisted on paying her, but she refused. So instead, I bought a bouquet of orange lilies for Adam and a tarot deck. I had an inkling that I could use the designs on the cards for inspiration in my classes; this semester, the professors were hammering down on themed work.

  When I left the shop and stepped out into the alley, I felt settled but uneasy at the same time. Though surprisingly, my anxiety monster stayed asleep.

  I pulled out my phone, and relief flooded through me when I saw a text from Adam saying he was all right.

  That made one of us.

  Adam

  I stepped through the threshold of our cozy Brooklyn brownstone at the end of my workday, completely exhausted.

  "Adam!" Luke cried, peeling down the hallway and rushing into my arms.

  I wrapped my arms around him, feeling the warmth and love flood through my body. "Luke!"

  Closing my tree-trunk-thick arms around his slim form, I whisked him off his feet and spun him in a circle.

  We were laughing and sharing the sparkly joy of being together, scattering it through the apartment like sprinkling seeds of wildflowers.

  "I'm so happy to see you," I said as I put him down.

  "I'm happy to see you, babe!" he said, planting a gentle kiss on my cheek.

  I sniffed the air, the wonderfully savory smell of Luke's cooking wafting into my nostrils. "What have you been up to?"

  "Oh, that?" he asked, gesturing to the kitchen. "That's a chicken casserole dish I've wanted to try. And I thought you'd be cold from being outside all day arresting bad guys."

  I smiled a little, my beard shifting its shape. "Well, we didn't make any arrests today."

  Suddenly my mind was awash with images of poking around that factory near the river with my new partner, Claire. Something about it was stressful.

  The whole time we were out there, I could feel a tingling at the base of my skull. Something wasn't right.

  "So, tell me about your day!" Luke said as I followed him into the kitchen.

  "Well, Claire and I had to go poke around this creepy factory," I said, thinking of the haunted-looking mechanical space with the tall ceilings, filled with tanks and mechanical equipment.

  "Ooh, what was that like?" Luke asked as he set the food on the table.

  "It was… it was an adventure," I finished lamely. I didn't want to burden Luke with all of the details. How afraid I felt. How I had a new partner, one that I didn't wholly trust yet. How, at any time, anything could go wrong.

  And then Luke would be alone.

  "I was worried," he said, his sculpted blond eyebrows coming together with concern.

  "There's no need to be worried," I lied as I wrapped my sausage-like fingers around the serving spoon. "We've got things handled."

  He looked relieved, but then I noticed the dimple in the side of his mouth that appeared whenever he didn't believe me.

  "I heard some ambulances today," he said.

  I paused my scooping and fixed my eyes on him. Did he have another anxiety attack? It had been almost a month since his last one. We were setting a record for how long he'd gone without one, and if he'd gotten one today, that would put us right back at 0.

  "I had one," he admitted, observing my face for my reaction. A shadow crossed through his beautiful blue eyes.

  "Oh, Luke! I'm so sorry!" I said, setting the serving spoon down with a clatter and rushing to the other side of the table. "That must have been awful."

  "It was," he said, melting into my hug. "But… you're okay now. That's what matters."

  "Do you want to talk about it at all?" I asked, pulling a chair next to him.

  He picked at his chunk of chicken delicately with his fork. "I was… I was worried about you, that's all."

  Worried? There was a happy feeling that took root in my gut. Being worried about felt nice, but I didn't want Luke to feel the pain of being the worry-er.

  I felt the temptation to soothe him; tell him there was nothing to worry about, but I knew better. Saying that would have invalidated his feelings. So instead, I chose empathy.

  "I'm sure it was scary to hear the sirens."

  He nodded sadly. "It means shit's going sideways somewhere nearby," he said, separating some vegetables away from his chicken. "It could easily be for you."

  I didn't know what to say to that, exactly. So I told Luke the truth.

  "You're right. It could. But that doesn't mean it is."

  I watched his face digest the words, and my heart broke a little for the helplessness that came across his features.

  "But the sirens are just the noises of the city. There's nothing we can do about them…"

  Just then, the sound of a siren wailed outside the window.

  Luke twitched. "I'm just afraid that since we moved here, and you're on more… intense cases now, the chances of you getting hurt are way higher, too."

  "That's true," I agreed, the memory of the dark, grunge-y factory coming to the forefront of my mind. We had been looking for a serial killer today, but there was no way in hell I was going to let Luke know about that.

  "I don't know… I know it's your job and everything, and you love it, I just couldn't bear the thought of losing you," Luke said, his piercing blue eyes going all shiny.

  I felt my heart break for him, then wrapped him in another hug. Again, I wanted to take away his pain. But it wasn't like I could just quit the force — this was my career; my passion. I loved keeping the community safe.

  I loved being the hero.

  He pulled out of the hug. "I'm sorry — I shouldn't let my worry ruin dinner."

  "Nonsense. I love hearing everything that's on your mind," I said, reaching across the table and pulling my bowl to this side. It ground against the wood, catching on the grains.

  "Well…" Luke said, setting his fork down. "I feel kind of guilty about that, too."

  My face fell. "What do you mean?"

  "I mean… I don't want to put the burden of all of my worries on you. I worry about your job, and you love your job, so it must seem like I'm pressuring you to quit."

  He fixed his sky blue eyes on me, and I felt the truth of his words needle my heart like ice arrows. I did feel guilty for doing what I loved. But only because it made Luke worry, and I never wanted to cause Luke any pain.

  I wanted to protect him. But I also needed to protect the community.

  "I was thinking… maybe I can try therapy again," Luke said softly.

  I blinked, then a smile took over my face. "Really? You'd want to try?"

  I remembered Luke telling me about his experience with terrible therapists in the past — one of them kept talking about themselves the whole time, and the other kept trying to "get to the root" of why he was gay. When he saw his regular doctor, all he did was give Luke a potent prescription for Xanax. He tried one of the pills, and said he didn't like how they made him feel like a "loose noodle."

  "I think this city has better therapists than our small town," he said carefully. "And yes, I'd like to give it a shot. The role of being my therapist shouldn't fall onto you. You have enough stress. And I also want my anxiety attacks to stop."

  I marveled at how mature my partner was. Here, right in front of me, was my dream man. He was slim, blonde, beautiful, delicate... Not to mention the perfect submissive in the bedroom. And here he was, conscious of not only his feelings, but also my feelings to his feelings.

  It was too much for any one man to keep track of. But, I didn't have to remind myself, Luke was more than a man.

  He was an angel.

  I felt a rush of gratitude flow through me to my fingertips, lingering on the weight of the engagement ring on my left hand.

  Yep, I was one lucky son of a bitch.

  We finished our meal, discussing how our days went. I was feeling
especially close to Luke, so I held his hand with my left while I balanced food on a fork in my right. He told me all about his day — the projects he was working on in his color theory class, the drama with the other fashion design students, and the ideas he had for an upcoming practice runway show.

  "I'm still trying to find my brand, as Professor King put it," Luke said with a slump of his shoulders. "So I asked her, 'What if my brand is just being fabulous?'"

  I cackled, nearly spitting out my food.

  Luke made a flicking motion with his head as if he had sassy long hair that he was trying to sweep out of his face. "Naturally, she didn't seem to think that was a brand. She said I had to be more specific."

  "Do you have any ideas?" I asked, the conversation with Luke wringing the stress out of my day like squeezing water out of a washcloth.

  "Well, there's something else in my day that I wanted to talk to you about," Luke admitted. "I had a tarot reading."

  I was lucky that I wasn't chewing a piece of chicken because I laughed so hard that it filled the brownstone with my booming voice.

  Luke recoiled a bit, unsmiling.

  I hushed myself.

  "I don't believe in any of that stuff either," he said quickly.

  Then he launched into the story about how he had an anxiety attack on the sidewalk, ducked into an alley, and how this strange Russian woman was kind to him. Then how she invited him into her shop for tea and gave him a tarot reading.

  "That's how I got those," he said, gesturing to the center of the table where a bouquet of orange tiger lilies was poofing out like a pom-pom.

  I shoveled another helping of chicken casserole into my bowl, listening as Luke told me the ominous message the tarot reader had given him.

  "You think it's Kirk," I guessed.

  He nodded, and I noticed he was fumbling with his fingers, plucking at the cuticles.

  "You have nothing to worry about," I assured him, holding his hand steady. "We put Kirk away for having a gun in his dorm, remember?"

  Luke nodded, but something was hiding in his expression that led me to believe that he didn't quite buy it.

  "You'll never see him again," I urged, irritated that this gypsy had planted a seed of fear in my already anxious partner. "It's impossible."

  "Nothing is impossible," Luke argued. "I have the proof right here; you're too impossibly good to be true."

  A smile cracked open my serious expression. "Thanks, babe, that's very sweet of you, but remember that people like this make their living from the unknowns."

  Luke poked at his chicken sadly.

  I noticed he hadn't been eating as much lately.

  "Hey," I said, setting my fork on the side of my bowl. "Are you happy here? Here in New York?"

  Luke nodded graciously. "Oh, oh, yes. I never want to go back to our small town. At least, as long as I have you."

  Happiness shimmered in my body. Being needed by Luke — that was all I needed. And I couldn't deny that the excitement of my job — the nature of being needed and helping an entire community of people — was a nice perk too. Back in our small town, my job simpler. It was mostly about keeping the meth heads away from local businesses, and the teenage degenerates out of trouble.

  "Do you like living here?" Luke asked, his eyes full of questions.

  I could look into those pulsing black pupils and watch as the question chipped away at his foundation. The attack he had earlier today must have shaken his confidence loose.

  "Yes. Very much so."

  There was a pause, then I continued. "I don't think I ever would have left that town if you hadn't come along."

  Luke smiled weakly. "Sometimes I feel bad that I took you away from your family."

  "I want them to be your family, too," I evaded. "Besides, they can visit. Jake and your mom are coming in a few weeks anyway."

  "Oh! That's right!" Luke said, his eyes darting to his phone where our shared calendar was. "I forgot all about that!"

  "It's a lot to keep track of," I said, patting him reassuringly on the knee. "To be honest, I forgot all about it until just now."

  Luke giggled, and the sound was like music to my ears.

  That was the telltale sign that I'd soothed Luke; a stake in the ground marking that his anxiety was as far away as it could be.

  "So…" Luke started, his face turning serious as he cut off a piece of chicken. "Did you still want to go to that… that thing this weekend?"

  "Oh, you mean the munch?" I asked.

  "Yeah," Luke said, popping a dainty piece of chicken into his mouth. "Why are they called munches, anyway?"

  I shrugged. "I dunno. But if you want to back out at this point, I understand."

  "No, I want to see what it's like," Luke said with resolve. "And I miss the lake house's playroom…"

  I scraped the last bits of casserole into a pile on my fork, then popped it into my mouth. "I miss it too. When we go to the munch this weekend, I'll figure out how to get the right stuff so we can make our playroom here epic."

  We were still settling into our brownstone and hadn't fully customized it to our liking. There was a secret room in the basement just like I'd had in my old place, that had a mattress on the floor and most of the toys I'd brought with me from my lake house. We had fun in there from time to time.

  But I wanted more. I wanted to make a complete fantasy room of pleasure that I could use to satisfy every single one of Luke's fantasies — and my own. And for that, I needed custom equipment.

  Online research could only get us so far. We were at the point where we needed to be involved in the community to get anything custom.

  "What do you think about telling other people what we're into?" Luke asked, his eyes filling with worry.

  "I'm not too worried about it," I said, though I felt an uneasy tightness in my gut.

  He set his fork down again. "What if we run into someone we know there? What if they find out? Oh my God, what if one of my classmates is there?!"

  I chuckled, attempting to soothe him. "That just means that they're into it too."

  "Well… well, I…" Luke stuttered.

  "I could go alone," I said stoically.

  "No, I want to come with you. What if you meet some gorgeous little sub bottom there that's prettier than me? I cannot allow that to happen," he joked with a bulbous pout.

  But I knew there was a core fear hiding in his words, so I soothed him. "You know that's not possible. No one can compare to you."

  "Well, what if you meet someone who wants to join, and then we form a thruple, and then you fall in love with him instead of me?!"

  "Luke, that's the anxiety talking. Nothing is going to happen. I'm a one-man kind of guy, and you are my one man," I reassured him, grazing my thumb over his engagement ring.

  His shoulders relaxed, and I felt my own doing the same.

  Then he sat up straight, fully alert. "Oh God… what if my mother finds out about what we do?!"

  "How would she do that?" I asked. "The basement room is hidden. We can just tell her that's where another tenant lives.

  "She'll get curious," he said, staring at a point just above my eyebrow.

  I could see every worst-case-scenario unfolding behind his eyes.

  "Doesn't mean we have to indulge her curiosity," I said.

  Wow, that anxiety attack he had today dragged him down further than I thought. He hadn't been this anxious since the week we met.

  "S-sorry," he stuttered, trembling. "I don't know what's gotten into me. It's like something was uncorked earlier."

  I rested one of my large hands on his delicate shoulder. "Don't worry, Luke. No matter what happens, I'll be here for you. No matter how your anxiety tries to take you down, I'll be here to help you reason with it. I'm solid, remember?"

  A smile finally fluttered across his face that reached his eyes. "Solid."

  When we first moved to New York, all the brand new stimuli and setting new routines caused a lot of stress for both of us. So we'd used that
word — solid — to let each other know that we were there for one another.

  We were each other's foundations, as reliable and robust as granite.

  Which was why it caused a seed of worry to take root in my mind as I watched the earthquakes of anxiety open up fissures in that foundation.

  "Hey, everything will be all right," I said. "Come on, how about after you're done eating we go have some fun."

  The shadow of lust flashed through Luke's blue eyes. "I'm done eating."

  "Perfect," I growled, wrapping his delicate hand in mine.

  I led him down the stairs, excitement tingling in the air. We tromped down to the bottom level of the brownstone, the ancient stairs creaking underfoot.

  The cold air leaking in from the front door tingled on my face, but we moved past it. There was no need to keep the door locked when it was just Luke and me here, so I turned the knob and pressed my way through.

  Inside was a dingy little playroom that I'd set up the first month we were here. It was akin to an unfinished basement, but it got the job done.

  All the furniture from my old playroom was here, including the bed — which I still needed time to assemble, so we had to make do with a mattress on the floor. The dresser filled with ropes and toys was pushed up against a wall crookedly, some of the black silk hanging like vines from the top drawer. The trunk at the foot of the bed contained some of the things I used to stash in the lake house closet. Other than that, the rest of our toys were still in storage from the move.

  Restraints were still wrapped around the mattress from the last time we played.

  As soon as we entered the room, Luke was in character. His eyes went down, and he whirled around to face me.

  We were chest to chest. I could feel my heart begin to race as the feeling of having control shot through my body.

  When I opened my mouth to speak, my voice came out all low and dangerous.

  "You've been a naughty boy. Are you ready for your punishment?"