Until You

by TJ Klune

  He turned around and shrugged, leaning against the counter. His biceps bunched up as he crossed his arms over his chest. I could see the outline of the bar through his nipple under his tank top. “I always think you look good.”

  “You just went outside and ran seventy-four miles before the sun was even up and now you have rosy skin and sweat stains and look like a Sean Cody frat-boy porno, and I look like I just rolled out of bed after being the centerpiece of a midget gang bang in the parking lot of an Arby’s. And not even the good Arby’s. I’m talking the one over on the south side that they found the dead body in and also discovered they were serving horse meat instead of beef. That Arby’s.”

  “Then I guess I like eating horse meat with dead bodies because I like the way you look in the mornings,” Vince said. “I pretty much like the way you look all the time.”

  “I haven’t brushed my teeth,” I said, “but I’m about to kiss the fuck out of you.”

  He opened his arms wide. “Bring it.”

  I didn’t even have time to feel embarrassed that I tripped over my own feet in my haste to get to him. And when he laughed as I knocked against him, I knew he wasn’t laughing at me, per se. Oh sure, he found me amusing, but it was never mean. When he laughed over something I did, it was always a warm sound, something that I could never get enough of hearing. He was still chuckling when I put my stank breath all over his face, Wheels barking happily at our feet. He was still sweaty, and it felt gross and awesome and he smelled so damn good. His arms were clasped loosely around my waist, and I cupped his face in my hands as I peppered him with kisses.

  “Good morning,” he murmured against my lips.

  “Hi,” I said, having one of those random moments when I realized that this wasn’t a dream, that this was my life. That he was here with me because he wanted to be, because he chose me over everyone else out there in the world. I still didn’t understand it, not completely; you couldn’t have years of issues with self-esteem and not be incredulous about certain things. But every day, I believed him more and more, which led to these moments, these moments when I felt like I was seeing him again for the first time, my traitorous heart tripping in my chest. I was afraid to open my mouth, and not just because of the stank breath. I was sure I’d blurt out all these feelings, and even though I knew he’d grin at me because of it, I didn’t want him to think I was crazy.

  Well. Too crazy.

  “Sleep good?” he asked, trailing his lips along my jaw.

  “Argh,” I said because words were hard when he was doing that and smelling like he did.

  “Cool. And I only did six miles this morning. Not seventy-four. I don’t think I’ve ever run seventy-four miles.”

  “Same things,” I grumbled. “You could have just stayed in bed with me and I would have licked your nuts or something. Exercising is terrible. No one likes to do that.” I rubbed my hands over the muscles he got from exercising and realized I was a big fat liar, because I liked it when he did it. And the results from it. And all his boy parts.

  Of course he saw right through me. “Really. So you don’t like how my thighs are all hairy and muscular.”

  I squeaked but covered it up with a manly sneeze. “Exercising doesn’t make your thighs hairy.”

  “Maybe. But they sure are strong.” He reached down and slid the hem of his basketball shorts up his legs. “Don’t you think?”

  I stared down between us, over the slope of my stomach, entranced by the sight of his muscular and oh-so-hairy thigh, just as it had been advertised. It was paler than the rest of his leg, but not by much, given that the shorts he usually wore while running were much, much shorter. Obscenely short. Boner-inducingly short. He looked like porn.

  “If you weren’t cooking bacon right now,” I told him seriously, “I’d ride that motherfucker for like a week.”

  “Bacon!” he yelped, shoving me away. “Holy shit, I forgot about the bacon.”

  “And the sexy died a tragic death,” I sighed. “If we were vegan, this wouldn’t have happened.”

  “They don’t eat things with faces,” Vince said. “When Corey’s friend Tyson told me that, I felt really bad about it. Because of the faces. But then I remembered I don’t eat the faces, and I felt a lot better about it.”

  “You don’t need to listen to him,” I said, opening the cabinet and pulling out the coffee mugs. “He’s a vegetarian. That means he obviously can’t be trusted. He’s been brainwashed by PETA and says stupid things like meat isn’t neat. I assure you, meat is very neat, especially when it goes in my mouth.”

  I turned around to see Vince smiling at me. “What?”

  He shrugged. “I just like it when you talk.”

  “Oh. Um. Thanks? I like it when you… exist.”

  He scooped the bacon off the stove onto two plates, which were loaded with eggs and buttered English muffins. He took them to the table while I poured the coffee, grimacing as I mixed in creamer and the unhealthy amount of sugar that he liked so much. I took my coffee black because I was a man.

  I handed him his mug as I sat next to him at the kitchen table. It was quieter than it normally was on a Saturday morning, and I realized it was because the radio he normally played in the mornings was turned off on the counter.

  “No music?” I asked.

  He shrugged, looking down at his plate. “I turned it off.”

  Which was… okay. Fine, but his shoulders were a little tense. “What happened?”

  He sighed. “Nothing big. Just… Dad stuff. They were talking about the possibility of more charges coming his way. I dunno. It bummed me out to hear, so I just turned it off.”

  Goddamn Andrew Taylor. I couldn’t wait for that asshole to be gone from our lives completely. He’d been arrested at the end of last year for tax fraud, money laundering, and a bunch of other shit, the biggest of which having been the misappropriation of funds he’d raised for charities. He hadn’t been jailed for long before he’d been out on bond. He’d been charged, but a case had to be built against him before a trial occurred. He’d initially refused to step down from his mayoral duties, but finally did so last month amid continued pressure from all sides. The deputy mayor had stepped in until a special election could be held, and Andrew Taylor had all but disappeared from public eye, no doubt holed up in one of his homes in Tucson.

  Darren had escaped the brunt of it, given that he was the bastard child resulting from an affair that the mayor had had decades before. Most people didn’t know about him.

  Vince hadn’t been so lucky. He’d been in the spotlight for a long while until their falling-out due to Vince refusing to remain in the closet as his father had demanded. Vince hadn’t cared about the publicity that came with being the son of a mayor of a midsized city. There’d been a few LGBTQ publications that had tried to reach out to Vince after he’d come out, but he’d turned them down, wanting to go to college and just live his life quietly.

  But then Andrew Taylor had come back into our lives via a nonsensical plot out of an eighties movie involving Sandy, Darren, and Jack It that I still didn’t quite understand but had no desire to know more of. Granted, Vince hadn’t exactly seen his father face-to-face since the day of his mother’s funeral, but the media didn’t know that. In the weeks that had followed Andrew Taylor’s arrest, reporters had tried to get a comment from Vince, even going as far as to camp outside our house for a couple of days. Which, unfortunately, led to a front-page photo of me looking slightly crazy-eyed out my front door as I demanded they leave Vince alone. It didn’t help that they’d described me in the article as Vince’s “portly roommate.” That hadn’t been one of my finest moments. I’d written a letter to the editor saying that I was his portly lover, but it had never been published. When I’d told Vince about it, he’d laughed so hard he’d almost fallen down, which, in the end, was worth it completely.

  But every now and then, Andrew Taylor would be held over us like he was right now. Vince was happy. I knew he was happy. But there
were moments like this where I knew he couldn’t help but think what if? What if his father hadn’t been a homophobic asshole? (Though, I wasn’t so much convinced of that as I was that Andrew Taylor was a Republican tool who went with whatever thought would get him the most votes.) What if his father had been involved in his life? What if his father could stand with him at his wedding? What if, what if, what if?

  “What did it say now?” I asked, treading carefully.

  “Nothing new,” he said. “Not really. Just more stuff coming out about his supposed charities. It goes back further than they thought.”

  “You okay?”

  He shrugged. “Yeah. Think so. I’ve had time to get used to it. It’s just weird hearing something new every now and then.”

  “Are we going to be stalked by paparazzi again?”

  I saw the smile quirk on his lips. “Nah. Don’t think this rates up high enough to be stalked.”

  “We’re getting married,” I said seriously. “Maybe we need to consider hiring security so the wedding isn’t crashed and then splashed all over the Tucson society pages. You know that everyone is going to be asking what I’m going to be wearing. I don’t want to see the disappointment when they hear it’s from the Spring 2016 JCPenney Big and Tall Collection.”

  That got him. He grinned wide and beautiful at me. “You dork. You know as well as I do that Sandy would never allow you to wear anything from JCPenney.”

  “He said it’s the physical embodiment of what he thinks drug addiction would look like. I still don’t quite understand what that means.”

  “I don’t understand what a lot of you say,” he said. “But I figure if it’s important, you’ll explain it to me.”

  And I said, “I got you, babe,” because my best friend was a drag queen, after all.

  Vince didn’t get it. But that was okay.

  He sat up straighter and dug in to his breakfast. “I feel better now,” he said through a mouthful of eggs.

  “Obviously,” I said with a grimace.

  “You figure out what Sandy is making you do tonight?”

  I shook my head. “I expect it to be aggravating. And intoxicating. And probably a whole bunch of other –ing words. Concerning? Terrifying. What about you?”

  “I think Darren was a little miffed when we said no strippers. But then I reminded him that I don’t like twinks like he does, so.”

  “He better not still like twinks,” I said with a scowl.

  “Not like that,” he said. “But aside from Sandy, you know his type. I think he wanted to go to Phoenix to go to Dick’s.”

  “Gross. Both the going-to-Phoenix part and the going-to-a-gay-strip-club part. There is nothing attractive about getting a lap dance. Unless you want me to put that dong in my mouth, you have no business flopping it in my face.”

  Vince looked amused. “You don’t mind my floppy dong in your face.”

  “That’s because I put it in my mouth.”

  “Right.”

  “Besides, you’re a chubby chaser. You wouldn’t like those skinny little bitches anyway.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I do like meat on them bones. More than a handful when I need it.”

  “I don’t know whether I’m offended or turned on.”

  “Second one. And I’m not a chubby chaser. I’m a Paul chaser.”

  “Ow, my heart.”

  “Just your heart?”

  “Why are you sitting back in the chair and rubbing your hand across your chest?” I asked, voice high-pitched.

  He shrugged, hand moving slowly down his chest to his stomach until his fingers rested just underneath the waistband of his shorts. “I’m wearing that jock strap you like,” he said lightly.

  “The red one?” I squeaked.

  “With the white straps.”

  “Holy sweat balls,” I breathed. “I want to put my face on your face.”

  He grinned wickedly. “You get to be the coach this time. I’m your star player who happens to get a leg cramp and needs you to help me work it out.”

  “What sport?”

  His face scrunched up as he thought. “Cricket.”

  “Cricket? I don’t think anyone actually plays cricket—oh what the hell. Good game, Taylor. I see you scored the field goal touchdown thing with the sticky wicket.”

  “Yeah, Coach. I did good. But ow! My leg hurts. It’s cramping.”

  “So much thigh,” I whispered. “I mean, yeah. That’s terrible. Here, let me rub one out—er, rub off on you. Goddammit. Fuck this. I am going to eat out your ass while you’re bent over this table and still wearing the jock strap. You game?”

  His shorts were already around his ankles and he was resting on his elbows on the table by the time I finished speaking.

  “I’m going to do so many bad things to you,” I growled.

  He grinned at me over his shoulder. “Bring it, Coach.”

  “I AM not wearing this,” I snapped at Helena as I stared at my reflection in the mirror. We were in my room, Helena next to me with her hands on her hips, looking absolutely phenomenal in complete Jessica Rabbit mode—sparkling red dress with oversized breasts, waist cinched tight accentuating killer curves. Her makeup was flawless, lips large and pouty, red wig that hung down in a wave over her right eye. The purple gloves were dangling from the hanger on the door, the spike heels sitting on the floor next to her bed. She told me she was experimenting with makeup and style in case she decided to pursue the Miss Gay America pageant. She was already Miss Gay Tucson, having won that one in early February, and had a good lock on Miss Gay Arizona that would happen in a few months in the hellhole known as Phoenix. She didn’t talk much about it, but I knew she was weighing her options. Darren had told her he had her back either way, but I could see he was hoping she’d go through with it. I didn’t think I’d ever seen anyone look more proud of her when she’d won Miss Gay Tucson than him. I didn’t get to see Darren like she did. He was still cool and aloof, but there were moments when that Homo Jock King mask slipped and I saw the fierce loyalty he had for both Sandy and Helena. They bickered a little too much for my taste, but I trusted Darren with Sandy’s heart, even if I thought he was still a dick.

  So Sandy looked wonderful. Corey did too: tight black slacks that showed off his slim figure, Salvatore Ferragamo dress shoes on his feet that’d been a gift from Sandy for his near 4.0 GPA last semester, and an olive dress shirt with the top few buttons opened up to his smooth chest. His hair was perfectly styled into a curly afro, the ringlets tight and colored lightly at the tips.

  And there I stood, wearing a sparkly tiara with a sash around my chest that read CAUTION: BRIDE TO BE, bookended by pictures of a gigantic, veiny black cock.

  “You’re not funny,” I said as I scowled at Helena.

  “Darling,” Helena purred, “I am hysterical.”

  “I’m not wearing this.”

  She slunk closer, hips rolling. “Really? You know what I think?”

  “I’ll be honest, I’m not sure I care what you think right now.”

  “Oooh,” Corey said, hands folded under his chin as his eyes flickered back and forth between us.

  “I think,” Helena said, “that you will wear this and be happy about it. Because I made this for you with my bare hands. My gorgeous and perfectly manicured bare hands. Do you know how hard it was for me to get those beautiful penises onto that thing? Nana had to show me how to iron those things on.”

  “You had my grandmother iron dicks onto my bachelor party sash,” I said, not even surprised anymore about the words that came out of my mouth.

  “She volunteered her services,” Helena said. “And since she survived Vietnam, I figure this is the best way to honor her.”

  “She wasn’t in Vietnam!”

  “Yes, but she was alive during that time. Ergo, she survived it. Have a heart, Paul. Your own grandmother just wants you to wear the black cocks. How can you say no to that?”

  “Oh my God,” I muttered.

  “It�
��s amazing,” she agreed. “Now, we’ll pregame here—oh just listen to me talking like a homo jock, can you imagine—and by pregame, I mean two shots apiece, and then our ride will be here to take us to our next destination.”

  “Which you won’t tell me a thing about.”

  “Of course not,” she said. “I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

  “And you won’t tell me where Vince is.”

  She leaned over and placed a sticky kiss on my cheek. “He’s in good hands, baby doll. You know I would never let Darren have anything… untoward happen to your fiancé. He knows what the consequences would be.”

  “For what it’s worth, Paul,” Corey said. “I think you look cute.”

  “Shut up, Corey,” I said. “Also, I really like your hair. It looks amazing.”

  “Thank you!” he said, preening. “It feels a lot lighter now, and it works when I need to be Kori.”

  I saw Helena’s gaze harden a little at that, and I’m sure mine did too. Whenever Corey was Kori, it was usually because she felt like it. Sometimes, though, we thought she slipped into Kori to protect herself from something that she didn’t want to talk about. We pushed, but barely, because she would clam up almost immediately. I wasn’t transgender, so I didn’t necessarily understand what being Kori meant to them. I think Sandy maybe got it a little better, given that she had a tendency to use Helena as a shield. But I didn’t think it was quite the same. Helena was a persona for Sandy. Corey was Kori was Corey. Being bigender was part of who they were, and I loved all their parts equally. All of us did, and anyone that gave them shit for anything would find a drag queen’s spiked heel up their urethra. This was 2016. There was absolutely no need for anyone to demean someone who was transgender. And if there were a need, if someone thought they could say something rude or transphobic, they would immediately find themselves on their back with a foot on their throats. You didn’t fuck with Corey. You didn’t fuck with Kori.