by Max Hudson
“Please.”
When Mark hopped down from the chair, his shirt got caught on the wood and jerked up to reveal his stomach—a chiseled and hairy stomach. Tristan's jaw dropped for a second, just a split second, until he realized he was gaping. Mark fixed his shirt and continued his journey to the camera where Tristan had already composed himself.
He cleared his throat. “Here, I think I like this one best.”
“Damn, all those snaps just for one?”
“I'm a perfectionist, remember? This is for the online copy and the paper copy. I want it to be just right.”
“And you're going to do this with all twenty-five employees?”
“There's only twenty-five?”
Mark guffawed. “You're silly.”
“So are you.”
Tristan was immobilized with prickling energy that washed over him in waves—hot and cold tantalizing tides that nearly knocked him over. But he couldn't move. It was quite a conundrum for such a moment. He was caught staring into Mark's eyes, the pools of darkness that were staring right back at him.
He cleared his throat a little louder than intended. “So, should we go for dinner now?”
“Dinner?” Mark was expressionless, caught up in the stare. “Yeah, dinner...sure.”
“What do you like?”
“Everything.”
“Chinese?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Should we go now?”
“I think so.”
Tristan's features lit up. “Excellent—it's a date.”
Chapter Five
Mark buzzed with anticipation as he scooted into a booth at the Chinese buffet up the street from Tristan's studio. It was only a five-minute walk, yet it had winded him, causing him to lean over the table as Tristan scooted in the booth across from him.
“Tired already?” Tristan teased. “I thought demons had excess energy.”
“Not today.”
“I hope the photo shoot didn't wear you out too much.”
“Actually, it worked up an appetite.” He winked. “So, how often do you come around here?”
“I like popping in twice a week. It's a buffet, after all, and I'm a hungry boy on a regular basis.”
“I bet. I don't think I would ever do a photo shoot on purpose now.”
Tristan looked sympathetic. “Aw, did I really wear you out that badly?”
“No, it's just...” Mark licked his lips. “It was just the lights, I think.”
“Oh, those babies can get hot.”
“They sure can.”
“I think I'm used to doing shoots by now. I've done so many that I've honestly lost count.”
“So, which do you like more: writing or photography?”
Tristan paused with his fingers poised on his lower lip. As he dragged them down to his chin, Mark stared, hypnotized. Tristan's lips parted with trance-like slowness as his voice echoed in the small booth. For Mark, the sound felt like deep, guttural vibrations. There were no discernible words there, merely transient sounds that bounced off his ears and disappeared.
When he finally realized what Tristan had said, he raised his eyebrows and hummed. “Can't choose?”
“I really can't. I love them both so much.”
“What about painting? Clay? Other mediums?”
“You're a curious cat.”
“Uh, demon. Get it right.” Mark winked and reached for his glass of water, holding it steadily in his hand as he raised it slowly to his lips. After a few sips, he set it down and folded his hands together. “I like mixing mediums together. Have you ever done that?”
“Oh, yes. I enjoy experimenting, but I don't think I could do it all the time.”
“What have you tried?”
“Well, I've done my share of scanning images into the copier and creating new images out of layers. I photograph those and incorporate them into other pieces of art. Sometimes, I paste them into paintings.”
“I love that concept. I will likely steal that idea, if that's okay.”
“It wasn't my idea originally, but thank you for being so considerate. You must be a demon of consent.”
Mark beamed. “I try.”
“So, shall we fill our plates?”
“Please.”
Mark waited for Tristan to rise and then followed him toward the rows of food waiting to be taken. As Mark perused one aisle, he watched Tristan out of his peripheral vision. Every motion was calculated and each move appeared to be perfectly executed. The man certainly was a perfectionist in more ways than one, and Mark found himself feeling even more attracted than their initial encounter.
When Mark reached the spring rolls, he piled a few on his plate and headed for the rice and noodles. He mounded enough white rice and noodles to fit into three stomachs and returned to the booth as if holding a pile of treasure. He lifted his fork and leaned over his plate, inhaling the delicious scent of peanut oil and fried food.
Tristan gaped at the plate in front of Mark. “Good Lord—are you feeding an entire legion of hell inside that meat-suit of yours? I mean, how are you going to do that?”
“Very carefully.”
With a grin, Mark circled his fork with noodles, scooped some rice on top, and decorated it with a few drops of soy sauce. He placed the entire concoction in his mouth and chewed happily while savoring the taste of all the flavors combined. He hummed with delight.
“You seem happy with your life choices,” Tristan joked. “But you have the body of a swimmer. How in the world do you do it?”
Mark carefully chewed and swallowed before replying, “Fast metabolism.”
“I'm a bit envious.”
“Careful—the other demons might hear you.”
“Oh, dear. Will they take advantage of my greedy and lustful nature?”
“If you're loud about it, absolutely.”
Tristan chuckled. “So, what else do you like to do?”
“Oh, I guess I...” Mark faded while peering at his plate. “I like to read. I honestly don't do much else besides art.”
“What? No breathing?”
Mark shook his head deliberately slow. “I don't need to breathe. I'm a sentient entity from the planet Norfax.”
“I've heard of that one, but I never thought demons inhabited it.”
“Hell is larger than you think. It spans across galaxies.”
Tristan smiled warmly as he reached for his soda. “I must admit you're appealing to my nerdy side right now.”
“You like science fiction?”
“God, I love it. I went to conventions as a kid and always dressed up as hardcore as I could go. My mother used to make my outfits until--” Tristan's eyes sank to his plate. “Well, I guess until she had cancer.”
“I'm so sorry to hear that.”
“Oh, don't worry about it. That was practically centuries ago.”
“Doesn't mean it doesn't still hurt.”
Tristan raised his gaze, half-smiling. “Thanks.”
“Of course.”
A silence settled over the table as Mark become engulfed in his food. His stomach had been growling since the shoot had started, one of the drawbacks of having such a fast metabolism. But it was silent now. The food was starting to settle in. When half his plate was cleared, he sat back and reached for his water, taking small sips.
Tristan nodded approvingly. “Well, I must say that's quite a skill to have.”
“It helps on certain occasions. I really don't eat as often as I should.”
“Why not?”
“I guess I just get lost in things: projects, paintings, designs, books, and whatever latest technology is out.”
“Ah, so that's where the nerdy science fiction inspiration comes from.”
Mark smiled. “Indeed.”
“What's your favorite sci-fi story?”
For a moment, Mark looked over Tristan's shoulder to study the world beyond the industrial-size window. Part of the glass was smudged near the bottom with small fing
er prints, undoubtedly the work of unobserved children. As he studied the details of each angle that produced a new set of prints, he sighed. “I couldn't say.”
“You daze out pretty good.”
“I do what?”
“Daze out. You seem like you go somewhere else entirely. Is there something going on up there? A demon convention or something?”
Mark guffawed. “You could say it's more like a discussion table.”
“Ah, how does that work?”
“Data from the outside world is received in written form, which transfers from my eyes up to my brain. There, the committee dedicated to regulating my responses determines whether or not there's enough information present to come up with a suitable answer.”
Tristan raised his eyebrows. “That's some intense, detailed happenings.”
“It can be a mess at times.”
“I'm sure. What do you do if you can't get the proper response?”
“That's tricky—when the committee can't agree, an arbiter comes in to deliver the correct results, or something worth value to contribute to the outside world.”
“And how much does that cost?”
“About a few minutes’ worth of my time.”
“You have an incredible way of functioning. Do you mind if I pick you apart a bit more?”
The question was accompanied by a pang in Mark's gut. There was nothing wrong with the inquiry, but he felt a prickling sensation on the backs of his hands as if he might be holding them too close to a hot stove. He was beginning to sweat. As he swallowed the newly formed lump in his throat, he reached again for his water.
Sharing is caring until it's personal, he reflected as he took a sip. But maybe I can scoot around it.
“Actually, I feel like I've spoken far too much. How about you tell me about you?”
Tristan blushed. “Oh, I'm not even that interesting.”
“Clive says you travel. Where's your favorite place?”
“I'd have to say Thailand or even India.”
Mark's mouth dropped open. “God, you've really been overseas?”
“Yes, I can't help myself. I love to explore other cultures and societies. I love seeing new things, having adventures, and diving into projects. I like to learn.”
“You're like a super computer.”
“A super computer with sentience, sure.”
Mark laughed. “And witty. I dig it.”
“Sometimes, I go overseas for news stories that I feel the people should know about.”
“That's rather noble.”
“I mean, we have such a limited view of the outside world, and it's a real shame when we can't see the place for what it is.”
“And what is it?”
“A glorious combination of current events, deadly diseases, and advancements. It's just...humanity. Everything is so deeply human that it resonates with me. I can't help but bring back a little piece.”
“What do you like bringing back?”
“Trinkets, gifts, and plenty of photographs. Enough to stock up an entire studio full of them.”
“That's intensely fascinating. I'll be honest—I've never left Texas. I don't think I've even left El Paso.”
Tristan chuckled. “Why in the world not? There's so much out there to explore.”
“Oh, I have plenty of reasons. I suppose most of them are rather lazy. I'm too comfortable in my own little bubble.”
“You're a creature of habit.”
“My God, you've found me out.” Mark winked. “So, I'd love to know something else.”
“Go for it.”
“When you asked me out—or when you made that deal, I should say—how did you think it would go?”
A warm smile spread over Tristan's lips as his eyes clouded slightly, reflecting the light from the restaurant. He blinked a few times and came back to the conversation with a response: “I wasn't sure.”
“But you were hoping.”
“Of course. Hope is the pinnacle of my existence.”
Mark gulped. Not mine. He offered a friendly grin. “I guess I ask because I'm...well, I'm not openly gay. I can't imagine you saw me somewhere online kissing another dude.”
“Oh, I would never spread those pictures around.”
“You have pictures?”
Tristan laughed playfully. “I promise I haven't used them for nefarious purposes.”
“God, you are really a treat.”
“So, to be more specific, I'd say I just got the vibe from you a little bit. I think it was when I walked in and looked at you.”
“I think that's where I got it, too, but I honestly wasn't entirely sure. I mean, I was hoping myself that you were gay enough.”
“Am I gay enough?”
“Well, that remains to be seen.”
Warmth suddenly overshadowed the original pang of anxiety that Mark held in his gut. He held his hand over his stomach, noticing the difference in his muscles. There was no real tension there. All the strange tickles of worry had been put to rest—for now, at least.
“This is oddly comfortable,” he whispered. “Do you think we could do it again?”
“Only if you think I'm gay enough for it to happen again.”
A grin took over Mark's lips. “Yes, please.”
“Would you mind if I set up our next date?”
“I wouldn't mind at all.”
“It'll be a surprise.”
Mark shifted his eyebrows. “Oh?”
“Do you like surprises?”
“Only on Thursdays.”
“Well, then, you're in luck. I think I can make that happen on Thursday.”
“That sounds amazing.”
Tristan grinned. “You're kind of amazing, so...consider it my pleasure.”
“Me? No way.” Mark retained his smile even though the warmth was now rapidly fading. He clutched his stomach tight, willing it back into existence if only for a moment so he could stick close to that healing heat. When it had nearly drained entirely, he felt the void starting to trickle in.
If you only knew me better, he thought. You might not consider me so amazing.
“Then, it's settled. We'll have a date on Thursday,” Tristan stated.
“You got it.”
Chapter Six
While a laptop gently hummed on top of a simple, modern queen bed, a printer rattled off in the corner of the room. The soft sounds of electronic pop echoed through a wireless speaker near the printer, seeming to add a strange and chaotic effect to the quick pump of the inkjets sliding over the blank page. One page after the other sprung from the printer and piled on the desk in slow succession.
Tristan plucked one of the glossy pages up and grinned. “Excellent.”
It was Mark and all of his beautiful features sitting neatly on a stool with the faded teal background acting as a halo around his body. Even though the background was relatively standard, it seemed to give Mark an ethereal glow and made his usually serious demeanor show as a calm glance.
His smile was divine, no matter how small and simple.
He hummed euphorically. “White balance is great. Subject is centered properly. He's perfect.”
While holding the fresh print, Tristan wandered to his bed and fiddled with his laptop. The printer went quiet behind him and allowed the electronic pop to come through clearer.
“I still need to print the rest to be filed with Clive.”
He clicked a few keys and scrolled over another picture, pressing the “print” button and causing the printer to come back to life. While the other pictures were pending print, he returned to Mark's portrait and touched the screen, tracing the outline of Mark's facial features.
His eyes lit up. “Gorgeous.”
After a few more seconds of reveling in his work—both in the fact that the picture was of high digital quality and that Mark made an excellent camera subject—he opened his email, composed a new one addressed to Clive, and started attaching all the pictures of each worker at the El Paso Wo
rd. Considering the size of the files, it was taking a while to load.
“Modern technology,” he huffed. “I can zip across the virtual world in two seconds by pressing a key, yet I can't load enough files in an email to send to my boss at 8:00 in the evening.” He turned to his snake sitting in its tank. “Wednesdays! Am I right, Freckles?”
The snake did nothing to regard Tristan's comment and kept perfectly still under the hot lamp, curled up tightly in a coil. Tristan lovingly crossed the room and opened up the mesh covering the top in order to reach inside and stroke his snake's head.
“I have to remember to pick up some live mice for you soon.”
The printer beeped.
Tristan popped across the room instantly and checked the buttons, looking for which light was blinking and why. The ink was nearly dried up. With an exasperated sigh, he walked back over to his laptop to check if he ordered any ink. His recent emails indicated that he had not.
“Great.”
As Tristan withdrew his hand from his laptop, Mark's picture shifted over the bed, barely making any sound on the cotton sheets. He lifted it again and held it to the light, squinting at every little tiny detail. It had only been a couple of days since their introduction and their improvised date, yet he felt a tide of emotion flee from a once-closed spot in his heart.
“Hmm...” He turned the picture around and around, getting a different angle each time it rotated. “I wonder who you really are.”
It wasn't that Tristan was suspicious—it was merely in his nature to be curious about each new person he encountered. Mark was fascinating in many ways, right down to the very nature of his functioning. The fact that he was open about the way his mind tinkered had piqued Tristan's interest and Tristan had wished that their date hadn't ended so soon.
Despite their unfamiliarity, Tristan felt more acquainted than ever, even with what little information he had available to him. He curiously peeked over the picture and eyed his laptop.
I could check, he considered. Chances are, he has a page somewhere.
He sat on his bed and pulled his laptop onto his lap, setting the picture down beside him. He clicked on a fresh page and typed in Mark's full name—or the name that was listed under the registry of employees—and pressed the “search” button.
A host of links appeared on the results page and Tristan scrolled meticulously through each one, trying to find something of interest. Although it wasn't like him to snoop into someone's business, his natural desire to explore had taken over and now he was hungry for knowledge. When he came across an exhibit link with Mark's name, he clicked on it and watched as the El Paso Museum of Modern Arts loaded quickly on the screen.