Seven Deadly Queens (The FuBar Book 3)

by Jess Whitecroft

  “They are pretty, aren’t they?” said Bunny. “I can fit his whole fist in my mouth.”

  “Do not ask how he knows that,” Helena told Rose. “Because the answer is far worse than you can imagine.”

  Justin laughed and picked up one of the apples from the coffee table. “Are you done playing dress up, or can I go to bed now?”

  “No, you’re good, baby,” said Adam, brown cow eyes all full of smolder as they looked over Justin’s skinny figure. Helena took it all in, calculating. There was no way Justin was going to turn that down; Bunny and Ryan together were like Justin’s sexual Kryptonite, and if Bunny still had French fries on the brain…

  They carried on sewing, the coffee getting stronger and stronger as the night wore on. Rose stuck to peppermint tea, and in the end it was the lack of caffeine that took her out first. She turned quieter as the hours slid by, blinking over her needle, until eventually she put on her head on a pillow – just for a moment – and was out like a light, so quietly that nobody noticed until soft snores filled the room, and then they looked to see her passed out in the chair, wet lower lip shining in the glow from the reading lamp.

  “Jesus, look at that,” said Adam. “She even drools pretty.”

  “I know. I can’t wait to paint her. She’s going to be spectacular.”

  “And won’t Venus Envy just shit?” said Adam, getting up from the couch and nudging Rose. “Come on, Miss Rose. Time for bed.”

  Semi conscious, Rose shuffled off, rolled between the covers of Adam’s fur and satin bed and was out for the count before they even closed the door on her.

  “God, it’s almost half past five,” said Stephen, squinting at the next seam. “I can hardly see.”

  Adam dropped back on the sofa. “I know. We should probably crash, too,” he said, but he leaned forward and reached for his sewing basket. There was a slit in the lining fabric that Stephen knew all too well, having been directed there whenever he needed something to smoke or – on one all too memorable occasion – to flush whatever was in there down the toilet.

  “Oh, you’re not,” said Stephen.

  Adam pulled out a baggie and papers. “I totally am. You want to blaze one before bed?”

  “It’s good to see that your experience with the Pennsylvania Correctional System has taught you nothing.”

  “Please,” said Adam, already rolling one up. “Life lessons are for sitcoms. They’re not for drag queens.”

  Stephen had no idea what he meant by that, but it was okay. It was one of those things that often fell out of Bunny’s mouth in the small hours, some half-formed bit that hadn’t yet been batted back and forth enough times to know if it bounced or fell flat. Stephen leaned back against the couch cushions and closed his eyes, and sleep tugged at him almost immediately, dark and deep and irresistible. He thought of Hu, who was within reach now, fast asleep, warm in his bed, a tangle of slender limbs.

  “Do you remember last Christmas?” he said. A half empty bar and a pair of matching slutty Santa outfits.

  Adam sat back and exhaled. “I do. Me and you against the world, baby.” He passed the joint. Badly rolled. He’d never been any good at it.

  Stephen carefully took the precarious little chrysalis of papers and weed. It tasted stale, like it had been hanging out in the sewing box for a while, and the smoke tickled his throat. He resisted the urge to cough, and handed it back, wondering why he was bothering. When you were this tired, there was no need for drugs. If he stayed up much longer he’d get the giggles, and spectral flickerings in his peripheral vision.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask,” said Adam. “What’s going on with you and Justin lately?”

  “Oh. That. It…um…it escalated.”

  “What did?”

  “I challenged him to make a friend,” said Stephen. “One he doesn’t fuck.”

  Adam turned his head slightly against the back of the couch. His eyes looked huge, the smooth, drooping lids whole expanses unto themselves. He was good looking in a very peculiar way: every single feature seemed to be shouting for attention at once. Big brown eyes, aggressively aquiline nose, strong chin, full lips, big mouth, sharp cheekbones. That and a pair of mobile, expressive black eyebrows. Everything was too large and too mannish and shouldn’t have worked at all, but Bunny – with her big brown eyes, Virginia Woolf profile and lush lipped potty mouth – still managed to be one of the prettiest queens Helena had ever seen.

  “Ok-ay,” Adam said. “That’s a good challenge. That could be very healthy for him.”

  “Yeah, but…well. Like I say, there was an escalation. It started as a challenge and turned into a bet, and now I’ve got five hundred bucks riding on him not being able to keep his legs shut until New Year’s Day.”

  “Oh. So that’s what happened to my Christmas threesome?”

  “Sorry,” said Stephen.

  “You asshole.”

  “I’m sorry. I told you it got out of hand. Hey, you could always seduce him. I won’t stand in your way.”

  Adam narrowed an eye. “What do you want me to do? The Dance Of The Seven Veils?”

  “Can you?”

  “Nope,” said Adam, stifling another yawn. “Although I can remove a sock really slowly. Haven’t yet gathered the chutzpah to charge forty bucks a sock and call it burlesque, but I’m working on that.”

  “Well, can’t you just wave your ass in his general direction?”

  Adam swatted Stephen on the knee. “No. I’m not getting involved. And since when did you have such a competitive streak?”

  “Since always. Why do you think I’m always quizmaster on quiz nights? If you let me compete it gets ugly.”

  “No shit, Miss Helena. You need to have a word with your inner cutthroat pageant queen. Besides, I’m not waving my ass at anyone right now. It’s like Charlie And The Chocolate Factory back there.” Stephen stared, and Bunny scrambled to clarify. “You know that line about how nobody ever goes in, and nobody ever comes out? That’s my ass right now.”

  “Oh, thank God. I thought you were going somewhere far more disgusting with that.”

  “It’s disgusting enough, thank you very much. Can you actually die from not pooping?”

  “One word, Bunny. Vegetables. The only things keeping you from developing scurvy are the orange slices Justin uses to garnish your Amaretto Sours.”

  “Excuse you. An Amaretto Sour, properly mixed, also contains the juice of a whole fresh lemon.”

  “Stop it,” said Stephen. “It does not count towards your Five-A-Day. Stop trying to make that happen.”

  “I’m not trying to make anything happen. I’m just saying. The alcohol doesn’t cancel out the vitamin C.”

  “Whatever. I’m going to bed.”

  “Okay. Goodnight, sweetie.”

  Stephen went into the bathroom. He yawned hugely at his reflection in the mirror as he squirted toothpaste onto the tube, and the first touch of the brush on his gums was far more pleasurable than it had any right to be. The weed had sharpened the hypersensitivity that came with lack of sleep, and his bed – which had been looking pretty damn seductive as the night wore on – took on the impossible gleam of some pillowy El Dorado.

  There was still so much to do, but he couldn’t hold off sleep much longer. What a difference to last Christmas, when it had been just him and Bunny and Justin – two broke drag queens and a bartender. Bunny had been forced to cut Justin’s hours to make ends meet, and hanging over the whole holiday was the unspoken thought that none of them might be doing this next Christmas. That failure was very much an option, and that Adam might have sunk his inheritance on nothing.

  Desperation had set in. Helena had been thinking that maybe it was time to just bite the bullet and try – really try, this time – to get on Drag Race, because even though that was bound to end in rejection and disappointment, there was still that remote, outside chance that the Cinderella story might come true this time.

  Who was he kidding? He’d been Helen Heel
s back then, a poor little pageant loser who did a superb Grace Kelly and not much else. They were never going to crown Helen Heels the winner, no matter how pretty she was.

  But Helena Montana? Maybe. Helena wasn’t afraid to be goofy or cartoonish, or to out herself as the huge magic nerd she’d always been. Helena had taken charge when Bunny was behind bars, starting pub quizzes, burlesque nights and – most controversially – a Star Wars night on May fourth. And now look at them. They were busy. So busy there was barely time to sleep. There was still so much to do. Quiz night on Christmas Eve, Justin’s nails. Find time to deep condition his hair ahead of the shoot on Wednesday. Finish the dress.

  Stephen caught sight of his reflection, and gave himself a big, foamy green grin in the mirror. He could stand being this busy.

  He rinsed his mouth and crept into his darkened bedroom. Here. Here was the biggest, most beautiful, most magical difference of all, curled up in his sleep, breathing deeply in the dark. Stephen took off his clothes and slithered under the comforter. He moved slowly, so as not to wake Hu, but Hu sensed the extra weight on the mattress and stirred. “Hey.”

  “Hey yourself.”

  Hu was naked, his warm skin silky to the touch. Stephen spooned in, breathing in the smell of his hair. All that anxiety about fucking versus making love, about losing his inhibitions – God, that all seemed so stupid right now. All the hurt he’d had to rake up in the therapist’s office – this was the point. This was the healing he’d come for. This life. This love.

  Hu shifted, pushing his bare ass into Stephen’s lap. He reached between his legs, like he’d done a hundred times or more, and pulled Stephen’s dick between them, closing his thighs around it. Hu was more than half asleep, but he still knew how they fit together, and Stephen bit his lip hard, grateful tears flooding hot to his tired eyes.

  I will not cry. I will not cry.

  “You okay?” Hu murmured.

  Stephen kissed the back of his shoulder and snuggled in. “Yeah. I’m a lot better than okay.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Shh. Go back to sleep, baby. Go to sleep. I’m on top of the world right now.”

  9

  It was the night before Christmas, and if a mouse had been stirring anywhere in the house, it would have got the hell out of the way if it knew what was good for it. Justin, snarfing down a quick dinner of spaghetti and leftover red sauce, watched from the dining table as the chaos unfolded. Bunny – in a slutty Santa outfit – was waving one long leg in the air, trying to dry a quick nail polish repair job to her pantyhose. Helena, who was MCing the Christmas quiz, was in sexy librarian drag, all lip-gloss and cateye glasses. The Aniston was working overtime under her blouse.

  “Okay, where the fuck are my quiz cards? Rose, did you see my quiz cards?”

  “On top of the microwave,” said Luis, who was once again sewing and missing out on all the fun. Poor kid was probably counting down the hours until he turned twenty-one.

  “Is Tess downstairs?” said Bunny.

  “Yeah, she’s opening up,” said Justin, spotting Bunny’s platform stripper heels. “You have got to be kidding. You’re not seriously going to wear those heels behind the bar?”

  “What? Too much?”

  “Uh, that and you’re like nearly seven foot tall in them. Do you want to spend the whole night beaning yourself on the bar lamps?”

  Bunny abandoned the shoes and sighed. “Point. I don’t think my ankle will take it anyway.”

  “That still giving you shit?”

  “It comes and goes. It’s not been right since that time I slipped in all that red wine puke at Helena’s party.”

  “Say what?” said Helena, coming out of the kitchen with her cards clutched to her chest. “You talking about me?”

  Bunny – halfway in the bedroom in search of some more suitable shoes – stuck her blonde head out. “You know you’d have a lot fewer opportunities for paranoia if you didn’t lurk so much, don’t you?”

  “Whatever.”

  Justin got up from the table, but even he wasn’t getting a break tonight. “Hey,” Luis said. “Before you go, I need you. I want to check the neckline one more time.”

  “Ugh. I’m gonna get indigestion.”

  “We all are,” said Helena. “Got your apples?”

  “What apples?”

  “The ones we were using as your boobs.”

  “What? From the fruit bowl?” said Justin. “I ate ‘em.”

  Bunny groaned. “Justin, don’t eat your tits.”

  “Is that, like, another piece of drag scripture?”

  “It is now,” said Bunny. “Always enter a room purse first, if you’re not wearing nails you’re not doing drag, and under no circumstances chow down on your own tatas. This is why you have indigestion.”

  Justin attempted to escape to the kitchen, but Helena was already in there, staring into the fridge. “Oranges,” she said. “I could have sworn we had oranges.”

  “Got grapefruit,” said Bunny.

  “Eat me,” said Helena, making Bunny crack up.

  “Am I missing something?” asked Justin.

  “Other than tits?” said Helena, rummaging in the salad drawer. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure Miss Bucketmouth over here will catch you up later.”

  Bunny made gurgling noises and mimed chugging an enormous invisible cock. “You seen that lady on YouTube with the grapefruit and the dildo?”

  “The one where she sounds like a garbage disposal going down?”

  “Potatoes,” said Helena, triumphant. She held them up over her boobs, but they weren’t cutting it. One was smaller than the other, and the other one looked like Karl Malden’s nose.

  Justin turned. Luis – who had been lying in wait with the half finished red dress – pounced. Before he could fend off a further drag queen attack the dress was on him, knocking his Santa hat askew. Helena swooped in and slipped her hands under his arms, skimming over his ticklish spots and making him jump.

  “Hold still,” said Luis, clinging for dear life to a side seam. Helena, improvising, made fists and held them over Justin’s nipples.

  “Oh my,” said Bunny. “Merry Christmas, girls. I saw Mommy fisting Santa Claus.”

  Helena groaned. “Should have seen that one coming.”

  “That’s what he said.”

  Luis, who had been giggling the whole time, caught Justin’s eye and grinned.

  “You think I can get away with a kitten heel?” said Bunny, who was off again, looking for shoes.

  “You’re gonna be behind the bar, Bunny,” yelled Justin. “Nobody’s gonna be looking at your fucking feet.”

  “No, but on the off chance they do I don’t want to be caught wearing clown shoes.”

  Their voices faded as they headed towards the door. “Just get down the goddamn stairs already. Why is everything always a drama?”

  “…it is when you’re a fucking size eleven. I am constantly fighting my destiny of being a big bitch in a bad shoe…I don’t need that kind of pity…”

  Justin looked down at Luis, who was still pinning and fussing with seams, the end of his tongue caught between his teeth in concentration. Right now he was nothing more than a dressmaking machine, and yet he was so deep in his element that maybe he didn’t care about all the fun they were having without him. Maybe.

  “Hey…um…I gotta get downstairs,” said Justin.

  “Yeah. I know. One second.” Luis put a quick stitch in something over Justin’s hip, then patted him on the thigh. “Okay. You’re done. Arms up.”

  As it went over his head, the dress almost tugged Justin’s Santa hat all the way off. Luis reached up and adjusted it. “There. Much better.”

  “You gonna be okay?” said Justin.

  Luis shrugged. “I’ll be fine. I got a lot to do. And I asked for it, after all.”

  “You sure?”

  Luis gave him a very Bunny look, the one that said ‘This conversation is ending now before I fucking cry. Now fuck of
f.’ Great. The kid had been here five minutes and already he was taking lessons in emotional repression from Queen Panic Attack herself.

  Downstairs was already heaving, as people got their drinks in for the quiz. Sheila was at the bar, bony torso laced into a tartan corset. On her head was a complicated fascinator, made out of frosted red roses arranged around a snow globe. “Like it?” she said, wiggling her head and stirring the snow globe. “I call it the Citizen Kane.”

  “It’s very glamorous. Bloody Mary?”

  “Please. And two Peronis.” Sheila waggled her fascinator in the direction of company, two clean cut, crop-haired blond hotties in the Ryan mold. “Look what I found on Grindr. Aren’t I a lucky girl?”

  “Who are they?”

  “Trey and David,” said Sheila, with a filthy grin. “Or David and Trey. It’s hard to tell where one ends and the other begins sometimes.” The smile ratcheted up another notch in response to Justin’s raised eyebrow. “Oh yeah. Twins.”

  Justin moaned out loud. This was some bullshit. Why was everyone suddenly boning down all over the place when he wasn’t?

  “Aren’t they gorgeous?” said Sheila.

  “Uh,” said Justin, just as Bunny collided with him behind the bar.

  “Sliced limes?” said Bunny.

  “Thataway.”

  “Thanks.”

  The microphone crackled. Helena was up on the stage. “Good evening, Pittsburgh. Hope you’re having a jolly holly, festive time, and welcome to the very first FuBar Christmas Quiz.”

  Hu and Ryan were perched at the far end of the bar. “I am weirdly into the sexy librarian thing,” Justin heard Hu say as he went for ice.

  “What’s weird about it?” said Ryan. “You’re bisexual, right?”

  “I guess,” said Hu. “You know, I always meant to ask you…if you’re gay, how come you’re into Bunny as…well…Bunny?”

  “Oh, that’s easy,” said Ryan, giving Justin a smoldering look as he took a pull on his beer. “It turns out I’m a pervert who’s really into men in heels and lingerie.”