Stranger Things Have Happened: New York

by Willa Okati

  "Our eyes on him, yeah. And hey, you coffee hog, you threw your leavings away. I could have done with a cup."

  "Give you a kiss instead."

  "Deal."

  Their mouths and bodies come together, the most natural thing in the world. Rack's arms wind around Daniel's back. But even as he feels the warmth and smells the smoke, Daniel can't help thinking about Josh.

  A mystery, huh?

  He wonders what the answers are. Then, he wonders what the questions might be. One thing's for sure, though... Josh bears looking after.

  Tomorrow, though. Tonight is all for Rack, and Daniel plans on making sure they deliver on both their promises. "Let's go up to the room," he suggests, giving his hips a little shimmy. "I'll give you a private show of your own."

  "You're on, love."

  And Rack's right. He is so on.

  Chapter Four

  Daniel's first official day on the job doesn't exactly work out like he'd hoped, and this is how it all goes down.

  He's started his day right with a cup of good strong room-service coffee and an all-natural high-protein snack, God, whoever thought up the sixty-nine should be canonized, and he's ready to go. Rack's kissed him goodbye in front of his booth before eagerly turning to the first person in a long line of people who want to make an appointment.

  Daniel takes off for the designated meeting area. Most of the guys loosely gathering around an unfinished podium are older than him, but some of them have a tattoo or two and he spies a couple of piercings here and there. Looks good, so he figures they're all cool.

  That is, until he meets the first one who'll speak to him. The rest are kind of giving him funny glances and edging away.

  What?

  "Randy," a lean-built man with snaky green eyes greets him with a short, choppy handshake. "Heard a lot about your workshop. I have a place of my own, and one of my customers asked if I could build her a chair like the ones this Daniel guy makes."

  Daniel isn't sure whether or not Randy is just passing the time of day, or if he's pissed. Kinda hard to tell with these reptilian types. He tries a grin. "Hope you sold her something you came up with yourself."

  Randy shakes his head. "Nope. I took her directions and made one special to order." There's definitely something unpleasant about Randy's expression as he speaks. "She said it was almost like the real thing. Don't worry, though. I'll get better with practice."

  Okay, definitely feeling threatened now. "It wasn't... the sliding rocker, was it?" Daniel falters.

  Randy's face matches his eyes -- downright malicious. "Yep. I couldn't do the fancy trim on top like she wanted, but I'll get there."

  Threatened and intimidated, check. Or at least Daniel would be if he didn't have a Rack in his life who he knew would find a way to kick Randy's ass from there to eternity -- after Daniel got through with him. He forces a smile back. "Hope you learn fast, then. May the best man win."

  Randy snorts. "The best man ain't a damn fag trying to act like a male of the species."

  Then he turns his back and Daniel's left without anything much to say or do that doesn't involve jumping on Randy and pummeling him until he's too broken-down to cry "uncle". Fortunately, as a distraction from the simmering broth of anger, someone's bringing doughnuts to a small, roughly made table close at hand.

  As soon as they put the box down Daniel swipes a chocolate frosted and stuffs half of the sugary confection in his mouth at one go, chewing savagely. His throat closes on the swallow halfway down. Damn, but he's pissed.

  Still, Daniel can all but hear Rack's voice in his ear: "Never you mind him, pet. So word's gotten out that you're good at what you do. That's great news, that is. And he said it himself, he couldn't do the fancy trim. Only someone with a fine eye and a steady hand like yours can do the scrollwork up proper. Don't you worry a thing about his cheek." Pause. "All the same, do kick his ass when you get a chance, eh?"

  Sounds like a plan. Daniel takes a smaller bite from the other half of his doughnut. Another guy, this one smaller and wiry, comes up to snag a fresh glazed. He bites in and his eyes close in pleasure. "God, there is nothing like these when they're hot," he says. "Nice to meet you. I'm Carl."

  "Daniel." They share a slightly over-manly handshake, but Carl's face is open and friendly. "Good to meet you."

  "Yeah. You're with Rack, right?"

  "Er... yeah. But he's an artist. I'm a carpenter."

  "Right, right, we all are. Look at this here, though." Carl tilts his neck. Daniel winces. The tattoo on his nape is badly done and the lines are all blurred out. "I got this a few years back. It used to be a bitchin' bald eagle. You think Rack could fix it?"

  Daniel doesn't think laser removal will fix it, but he's not gonna sell Rack short. "Go by his booth later and see what he says," he offers after a few seconds. "I don't know, maybe something can be done."

  "Awesome. Thanks, man." Carl snags another glazed and wanders off.

  Left alone, Daniel shakes his head. Somehow, he doesn't think that working the tattoo tour is going to be all he expected if this is a reasonable core sample. They'll either want to get on his good side because of his connection to Rack, or hate him because he's a) gay and b) better than they are. As a third option, he's weird enough with all his ink and metal that they'll leave him alone. He's kind of rooting for door number three. This looks like a tough crowd.

  Well, okay, fine. He can do tough. Daniel squares his shoulders and stands with a deceptive looseness, his arms swinging by his sides. It's a position Rack's taught him for when he needs to be ready for a fight. You look innocent, but you can wind up in an instant to pop someone in the face. If you have to.

  "All right, you guys, all right!" A tall African-American man wearing an official tour shirt is shouting at the milling crowd of men in tool belts, trying to get their attention. "Listen up, all of you! Everyone gather around."

  Daniel gathers, trying to behave himself when Randy elbows him on the way to the growing circle. He can see the sneer on Randy's face as he looks at their leader. Probably racist, too. Lovely guy, this Randy. But he's just one man, and Daniel can deal.

  Carl elbows in by Daniel's side. "You think he -- Rack, I mean -- can do another piece of art on me? Maybe a matching eagle on my chest?"

  Daniel kind of doubts Carl's chest is broad enough for a real eagle, but he wants to pay attention to the guy in charge, so he gives Carl a nod and a smile, along with a gesture of "hey, quiet". Carl pipes down, but he's almost quivering with anticipation.

  Just remember that Rack's all mine, Daniel thinks. I don't care if you're gay, straight, or bent at right angles. He belongs to me, same as I belong to him.

  Their leader has gotten most of the guys' attention now, and he's holding up a clipboard. "Okay, men, get it together. I have your assignments for the day. Hey, hey, put your nametags on. Those have to be clearly displayed so people know who to yell at, right?"

  A chuckle goes up. The foreman's face eases into a rough smile. "So this is the deal. Time is money. Understood? You don't take your own sweet time on my watch. Work fast, work well, and then keep going, making sure no one in your section needs any help. These guys have a lot of heavy equipment, and they need your muscle. Got it? Good. Now, come up here and check the lists, then go, go, go. Clear?"

  Crystal. Daniel swallows down the last of his chocolaty doughnut and wipes his hands on his thick carpenter jeans -- dickies, they're called. Briefly, he remembers how Rack snickered when he found out that little bit of trivia. "Advertising the goods, eh?" he'd said, wiping tears from his eyes. "Dickies outside..."

  "Just one of those in here," Daniel had fired back, inviting Rack to take a closer look. Rack had gone down and him to make sure, and insisted on hunting for a duplicate. The process took the better part of an hour and involved unusual searching tools such as a tongue and ten fingers combing over Daniel's cock and balls.

  Then, Rack had blown him, and Daniel does mean blown, as in his brains shooting out via his coc
k. Well, after an hour's worth of foreplay, lying on the bed with the sheets twisted into knots in your hands, toes curling, who wouldn't have gone off like a rocket?

  He shakes off the memory and goes to check the foreman's clipboard. From what he can see, the convention center has been divided off into grids. Each man has a section to work on and to police, making sure that no tables fall apart or chairs collapse. This is all fine, except Daniel doesn't see his name on the list.

  The foreman, whose nametag declares him to be "Bill", gives Daniel a look. "Daniel, right?" he asks, giving him an up-and-down look of puzzlement. "Well, I can see why you wanted to be part of this tour," he says, shaking his head. "Any of that decoration get in the way of you doing your job?"

  Daniel bristles. "Never has before."

  "Good. Make sure it doesn't now." Bill checks his clipboard. "Okay, yeah. I need you and a couple of the other guys to see to the official stuff. First off, you finish this platform. They were supposed to have it done by last night, but the guys spent too much time talking and not enough working." He gives Daniel a "look". "I trust that won't be a problem with you?"

  Daniel wonders what happened to the guys who took too many breaks, and then decides he can probably guess. "Not a problem, sir."

  Bill frowns. "Knock it off with the 'sir' stuff. I'm just a guy like you." Again, the once-over. "Okay, maybe not exactly like you, but still. Work fast, work hard, work well. Do we have an understanding?"

  Daniel nods, straightening his shoulders. "Just point the way."

  "Don't have to." Bill steps back. "It's you, Carl, Roger, and Joey working on this thing. I want it done inside an hour. The plans are down on one end. Each of you takes a corner and works your way toward the middle. I want this thing solid and looking damn pretty by the time I come back to check on you. Got it?"

  "Yes, si-- Bill." Daniel hitches up his carpentry belt, gives his hammer a pat, and goes off to check the plans. He has the weirdest urge to salute, and figures he'd better set to work before his instincts get the better of him.

  The platform is an easy project as far as he can tell. It's just a wide, square base with pre-cut trim to be fastened on. Daniel checks the plans with a shrug, but he can tell without looking what he needs to do. Fix the thing so it can easily be taken apart and reassembled at the next convention. Build it sturdy and safe. Not a problem.

  He gets to work, ignoring Carl's excited murmurs over by the next corner. He's glad to note that Carl does know what he's doing, chatter-mouth aside, and soon the air is filled with the noise of banging hammers and portable drills.

  Daniel feels a sort of happiness blooming inside of his chest. He's here, he's with Rack, they're at a tattoo convention, he's going to get new ink and metal later, and right now he's doing what he loves, which he's damned good at. All that and chocolate frosted. Life could be no better. Assholes like Randy aren't even a fly in the ointment.

  With four men working on it, constructing the platform doesn't even take an hour, and Daniel's soon putting the final screw in and wondering what to do next. Bill's due to show up in about ten or fifteen, and he doesn't want to get caught slacking.

  So he just does what comes naturally. He suggests, jokingly so no one thinks he's being bossy, that they all go around in a circle and check to make sure the platform is secure.

  "Nah!" Carl says, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. "That'll hold. Why bother?"

  Daniel's pretty sure there's a no-smoking policy in the convention area -- in fact he knows it for sure, since Rack was bemoaning the rules earlier -- but on the other hand he's not too inclined to do Carl any favors. The guy might smother him like an eager puppy if he thinks Daniel's a buddy. If he doesn't already.

  The thought makes Daniel's head hurt, and he has a feeling that it'll only get worse. So he heads over to another coffee kiosk, fishes a dollar bill out of his pocket, and buys a small cup against Rack's pre-set rules. He can be a bear about the coffee.

  The vendor isn't as friendly as last night's -- guess her own caffeine hasn't kicked in or she's not pleased by the noise of construction driving off her customers -- and she's just about surly as she hands the coffee over. Daniel isn't in the best mood himself, though, so he sort of sympathizes.

  Taking his coffee back over to the stand with the doughnuts, he selects a jelly-filled next and bites in, careful not to spill the ruby contents over his T-shirt. He checks his watch. Ten minutes left in the hour. What the hell, then? Might as well take it easy. Ten minutes is a decent break.

  "Good -- good morning," a voice says behind him. Daniel yelps and turns around to see Josh there, a tour T-shirt on and a badge pinned to his chest. He's carrying his own clipboard with some neat check marks on it. "Sorry. I didn't...didn't mean to startle you."

  "Hey, Josh. It's okay." Daniel puts down his coffee and pats his chest. "This is my bad. I don't usually drink so much java, and it's got me a little twitchy."

  A small grin tugs at Josh's mouth. "I think I can relate."

  Daniel shares a look with Josh, one that carries multiple layers: empathy, fellow-feeling, and a sense of whatcha gonna do? He takes another bite of his doughnut, savoring the blast of sugar, and chews it slowly to better experience the taste and texture.

  Josh doesn't seem to be going anywhere, which raises an eyebrow for Daniel. "Got things to do?" he asks politely after he swallows. "Gofer business?"

  Josh nods. "Making sure this is finished is one of my jobs." Josh points to a line item on his board. "It looks like you guys are...are done?"

  "Yeah, completely." Daniel reaches around to put his hand on Josh's back without thinking. Josh flinches a little, but lets him leave it there after the first shiver. Daniel contemplates pulling back, but then decides it's probably best if Josh gets used to being touched. Bring him back into the real world a bit, away from the searing hot desert sands and down to earth in the nicely air-conditioned convention center. "Come on, I'll show you."

  To himself, he thinks that this'll be a way to check on how the other guys did. They're clustered in a knot, talking in low voices, and Daniel isn't sure what that means. Eh, well, let them talk. Josh is better company any day. "Start with this corner," he says, directing Josh to where he started working. "Go around clockwise and make sure it's sturdy. It shouldn't shake or creak or wobble. Got it?"

  Josh nods, and bends to his task. Daniel is slightly startled at himself when he notices, with Josh positioned like that, that Josh's ass is highly grabable. He mentally smacks his own hand and retreats, thinking about Rack's edible ass instead.

  He's backed up so far that he's within earshot of the three talking carpenters before he realizes what he's doing. They don't know he's there, though, which is why they're talking like this:

  "Yeah, I've heard of him. He does good work, but he isn't turning out as much as he used to."

  "Probably because he's turning over for that punk every chance he gets," one cracks. "Have you seen the two of them together? God, you couldn’t slide a credit card between them."

  "They could find room for a credit card. It's all about the money."

  "What, you think he pays this Rack guy for sex?"

  "I don't know, man. But have you ever seen two people so definitely not made for each other? Maybe he's the one who pays, or maybe it's the other way around."

  "Bet it's the other way around," Carl pipes up, his chuckle nasty. "I heard stories about Rack, right? He used to be the meanest, toughest bad-ass who ever did a tattoo, and now he's all lovey-dovey and nice."

  "So what does that mean?"

  "Means he's getting him some regular ass," Carl says, rocking his hips back and forth in a lewd motion. "He's queer as a two-penny flute. So is this other guy they've got working with us."

  "Damn fags. God, you could all but put a pretty pink bow in this guy's hair. Total girl."

  Daniel's frozen to the spot. He knows eavesdroppers never hear anything good, but he knows he couldn't step away if he wanted to. They're talking about him and
Rack, and they're putting both of them down.

  Time to open up a can of whoop-ass, in his opinion.

  But first, Carl is saying -- "Yeah, he's whipped, man. Both of them are. Bet Rack's too busy kissing his lover to even fix my tattoo. You watch them, when they get back together. Neither of them has the balls that it takes anymore, friends. They're too busy sucking on 'em to use them."

  "Don't have the balls?" Daniel flares. The three men jump guiltily and turn around to face Daniel, who's ablaze with a righteous kind of wrath. "I have a bigger, better dick than any of you, and as for balls? Well, what do you think about this?"

  His fingers and anger take over before his mind can step in with common sense. He's undoing the snap and zip on his jeans and pulling out his tattooed, pierced cock to show it off before he realizes that oops, maybe this isn't such a good idea in the workplace.