by Damon Suede
Trip said nothing as they sat down. His easy, buzzy connection with Silas made him feel stoned. He relished the chance to talk with someone who actually thought about all this crap as much as he did. Why had he never dated an artist before?
Because comics were still weirdly closeted. No: because of Cliff. He shrugged. “I guess…. Art is important, but importance is not.”
In the first few rows, the flirty Human Torch sat with the irritated Gleek, their heads tipped close like bitchy pigeons. Trip smiled, pleased that they’d sat far away. Gleek glanced back at them before he faced the screen. Trip could tell he wanted Silas to notice them and wave, but Silas didn’t seem to see either one.
Silas chuckled. “You have a gift. Not just your talent, or smarts, or luck, or—” He paused and closed his mouth, as if trying to slow his breathing. He poked Trip’s chest. “Looks. You, Mr. Spector, have the cultural DNA and magical zip code to weave beautiful bullshit, and you’re a fool to waste it.”
Jillian and Rina are gonna flip when they meet him. As soon as he had the thought, Trip wanted Silas to meet his friends. A real, live superhero.
“All I mean is that you shouldn’t postpone joy. It’s a trap.” Silas squeezed Trip’s knee. “Always be working on at least one thing you’d be jealous of. My dad always said he’d rather lose big than win small. You gotta gamble.”
Trip wanted to argue, but he enjoyed the sight of impassioned Silas arguing business while dressed as a barbarian too much to form a coherent thought. He relaxed in the seat and sighed.
Silas bumped his bare leg against Trip’s jeans. “Sorry.”
In his rush to explain, Trip stuttered and coughed. “N—don’t apologize! I never get to talk about this stuff, and I…. Well, just don’t apologize.” What a strange, terrific time.
“For real?” Silas grinned wide. “Good.” He sat back with a proud smile. “Most people think I’m a nutbag.”
Maybe this date would turn out better than the last. What did Silas expect? What would he want to do after? If only there were thought-bubbles he could read. Trip’s anxiety returned. Without thinking, he glanced down at the splayed thighs and saw the delicate tracery of one bluish vein that forked near the fur loincloth where Silas wasn’t as tan… pumping barbarian blood into his He-Man pelvis.
Jinkies.
The impossible fragility of the flesh and the pale tenderness of the inner thigh made Trip’s palms and scalp sweat. The seam had bunched up to reveal a lighter slice of Silas’s groin… not his balls, but the edge of the swell.
As Trip stared at that unlikely vein and the bulging slope, Silas spread his legs wider and hunched his pelvis forward on the seat. “Am I flashing my bedoobies?” His fingers grabbed at the edge of the fake fur.
Busted.
“Sorry!”
No irritation on Silas’s face in the least. He leaned over and confessed into Trip’s ear. “I wore a Speedo underneath so my Sword of Power didn’t flop out.”
“Good thinking.” Trip’s heart galloped in his chest. “It’s an awesome costume.”
“Yeah?” Again, his voice sounded oddly hesitant and dubious.
Trip snorted. “Duh.”
Silas didn’t laugh. He nudged closer to mutter under his breath. “I needed to get your attention.”
Would they go out to the bars with Silas all barbarianed? The thought of a room full of sleazy schmucks groping that solid body furrowed Trip’s forehead and set his pulse thumping in his throat.
Trip opened his mouth, but before he spoke, a high tenor squawked through the speakers.
“What’s up, squirrel-friends!” Down front, a willowy drag queen in owl-eyed horn-rims stood in front of the screen. “I’m Deanna Mince, superhosting for our Nerd Herd Pussy-tack-ular this evening.”
Hoots and howls.
Trip cackled, because everyone else had, but he’d never gotten the appeal of drag. Another thing that proved he was a bad queer. He loved the superhero in-jokes, but genderbending made him feel slow and excluded. Still, the crowd’s enthusiasm compelled him to join in with fake ha-has so Silas didn’t peg him as a freak.
Peering over her glasses, the drag queen shushed the crowd like a crazed librarian. “Hedda Lettuce is kryptonite green that she can’t be with us tonight, but she’s having a cat flap installed in her Fortress of Attitude.” She pressed her glossy talons into her pelvis bone and offered a sour puss. “Ho? No!” The crowd roared the word along with her, as if they knew their cue.
As casually as he could, Trip drew his inhaler from his pocket and took a quick huff. He swallowed bitter saliva as the theater dimmed to merciful blackness. The lights down front only left their seats in deeper shadow. Trip exhaled in relief.
The 1970s Wonder Woman TV theme music blared. While they roared at her, Deanna did some kind of mod cat ballet they seemed to love. Every so often she paused and the audience roared, “Ho? No!”
Without turning or asking permission, Silas reached and claimed Trip’s fingers, lacing them with his. When Trip looked over, he was just staring down front, smiling. “That uncomfortable?”
“No, sir.” Trip considered the dark auditorium. No one could see. He didn’t check, but Silas whuffed with pleasure and squeezed. So this is what a good date feels like.
In front of the screen, the cat ballet ended along with the tinny disco-era music. Deanna Mince spun rapidly in one spot as she gradually picked up speed. The audience hooted and stamped as she paddled herself around-around-around on one crimson high-heeled go-go boot.
Applause and catcalls.
While she spun, she ripped off her glasses, shook her big wig loose, and whipped the secretarial suit free to unveil a fringed, bedazzled bathing suit exactly nothing like Wonder Woman’s costume. She spun to a stop and planted her fists on her hips, sweaty and proud.
The audience went bonkers, whistling and clapping. And since Silas clapped, Trip did too, although he hated to give up Silas’s grip.
Thankfully Silas reclaimed it in the dark as the lanky Wonder Woman bellowed, “And now… with further doo-doo….”
Drumroll from the speakers. She shimmied, and her stars-’n’-stripes kept on shimmying after she stopped.
In the murky light, only Trip could see and touch Silas’s exposed skin. Movie’s not such a terrible idea after all.
“Starring Miss Doo-Lally-Berry and Sharon Stone-Cold-Bee-yatch… if you’re nasty!” Nasteh is how it sounded, and she held the word in a deranged hiss with her eyes bulging like spangled kabuki Lynda Carter. “Catwoman!”
The Nerd Herd went berserk as the lights faded to black and Trip held his polite barbarian’s rough hand.
6
“YOU gotta kidnap me, quick.”
Surprised, Trip nodded and rose, letting go of Silas’s hand. Up front, a sixty-foot Halle Berry had just scampered away and the screen gone black, from shame, probably.
They’d laughed so hard Trip’s ribs ached and his throat was raw. Catwoman sucked… supersonic sucked, as only a hundred million dollars crashing together to burn Oscar-winning careers to the ground can suck.
While the credits rolled, they scuttled speechless up the dark aisle ahead of the rest of the Nerd Herd. Silas held the door like a prom date. Why would he ditch his friends? Maybe he didn’t care about going to some bar after all. Oh. Trip blinked at the sudden glare and fought to keep the dopey smile off his face.
In the lobby proper, Silas slid into his wool peacoat, turning up the collar, the top half of him a sailor, the lower half still a gleaming hooligan in fur boots.
As Silas had promised, Randy ambushed them in the lobby to say hi. He was a shy craggy man in his forties with piercing blue eyes. He and his wife, Mary, shared molasses twangs and raunchy cackles. Randy asked for Trip’s autograph, but not on his foreskin. Shameless, Mary pulled her husband’s tight Alphalad shirt up to bare his hard pecs and asked Trip to sign in paint pen so that one of her husband’s pierced nipples could dot Trip’s I. They weren’t even gay, just
enthusiastic and frisky. Charmed by their sweetness, Trip promised he’d come back to the Nerd Herd.
He meant it.
Then Trip held open the door to Twenty-Third Street for his date. He prayed Silas wouldn’t try to take his hand out here, and somehow he knew not to. Trip wasn’t sure what happened next. He didn’t know how to ask, so he let the current drag him and trusted Silas would steer them in the right direction.
They strolled downtown in easy silence. Eighth Avenue was busy for a January Thursday, and guys stared at Silas’s naked skin. Hard for the lonesome barflies to miss a hot barbarian at moonrise. Silas didn’t pay any attention. When they hooked a right onto West Seventeenth, he bumped their shoulders together a little.
Pleased to sneak off together, Trip smiled, more than willing to skip the rest of the Nerd Herd’s night out. He hadn’t liked that snippy guy dressed as Gleek. And he wanted to keep the Human Torch’s paws far away from Silas. One thing he’d learned, Silas had dated a lot of men in this city. One had sat behind them with his new Punisher boyfriend, who’d looked about as delighted as Trip at the idea. At least three other exes floated around the Herd’s margin.
Whether two-year exes or two-hour exes, he didn’t know and didn’t want to. Silas had invited him tonight, leaving those losers stuck as a decorative, envious background.
“Here’s me.” Silas stopped in front of a poky building on West Seventeenth and climbed one step so that he stood a couple of inches taller, then shifted his weight foot to foot. He almost shone with contentment, the face of a farmer at an Impressionist picnic.
The streetlamp spilled sallow light over them; the glitter on Silas had rubbed off on Trip’s arm and jeans and left hand: borrowed sparkle. At the top of the four stairs, a dim front vestibule almost hid the door where the lamplight didn’t reach.
Trip had calmed down, away from the crowd and all the flirty fanboys. He’d stopped itching as well. He hadn’t realized the walk was so short. He snuck a peek at his watch. Was the date over at 10:20? He stepped closer. “You must be freezing.”
Silas nodded but didn’t climb up or down. He waited as if he’d asked Trip a casual question.
“I had a way better time than I expected.” Trip’s eyes went wide. “No! Wait…. Not with you, but with Catwoman. I get it, I think. The Nerd Herd deal.”
“Cool.” Silas glanced at the street, where a cab had slowed down. He looked oddly nervous. “So…?”
Trip had never struggled so much trying to read someone… but somehow had gotten addicted to the warm discombobulation. Fuck it. He backtracked to the steps. “Wait, I suck at being cool.” Take a risk. “I mean, we could just make a plan right this second.”
Silas laughed, but he didn’t come back. “Sure. Name the place.”
Trip stepped nearer, his stomach knotting. He scrabbled through the credible options. Gallery? Dancing? Fancy dinner? Bowling? Orgy? He had no idea what Silas expected, so he had no idea how to meet the expectations. How the hell was he supposed to come up with a killer date when he could barely survive one?
“Unless you don’t want. I mean, you don’t have to decide right now.” Silas shuffled on the steps. He didn’t seem impatient, more confused.
Trip swayed. Manhattan offered anything at all. Hell, he lived here; he could have anything delivered to his damn door. But with a cleft-chinned hero smiling at him like a gun at his head, he couldn’t muster any suggestion that didn’t sound dumb or tacky. “I do.”
A car drove by slowly, searching for a parking space. They watched until the cone of headlights reached the end of the snow-dusted block.
“Well….” Silas inhaled raggedly. “I want—”
Trip turned first, admiring Silas’s profile. “You want…?”
“You.” Silas swung the hazel gaze back, almost green in the amber light, and considered Trip’s waist, shoulder, chin, eyes. “I want you to come upstairs right now.”
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” Trip took a breath of that vanilla-and-ink smell he’d come to associate with Silas. “Right away.”
“Sorry.” Silas shook his head and crossed his arms. “Do-over.” He wiped his hands on his coat. “You make me so fucking nervous.”
“I do?” Maybe they weren’t so different.
“Everything.” Silas looked up at the cloudy night sky, then back. “Y’see? All I want is for you to come upstairs right this minute and help me take all this crap off so I can make you dessert and we can get into my bed.” Head shake. “Eventually. Eventually, y’understand? I want the next thing. But then, of course, I don’t want any of that because I don’t want just that. You, I mean. That is, all that would probably be a horrible mistake because it’s what I would do, not what I should do.”
Not a question. No script. Did Silas want an answer? He seemed happy and smelled delicious, but the cold had started Trip shivering—and he was wearing pants!
“You make me nervous too.”
“Sorry.” Silas frowned. “I don’t mean to.”
“Not in a bad way. I guess—” Trip took a step back. “Thank you for, I dunno, a super evening.” His bones buzzed with that strange calm.
“Super date.”
Trip grinned. “Date, yeah. I’m gonna… catch a….”
“Cab.” Now Silas mirrored his Joker’s grin. “Right.”
Before Trip questioned the impulse, before he stopped his feet or his hands, he closed the three yards between them, brought their mouths together, and… kept going, actually, so that instantly his arms were full of peacoat and barbarian.
“Tha—” Trip swallowed whatever Silas almost said when their mouths came together again. His coat gaped to let Trip take hold of him.
Trip’s momentum pushed Silas against the front door, so they kissed in a pocket of shadow created by the overhang. The harness pressed against Trip through his T-shirt.
“Gnnngh.” Silas wrapped those corded arms around Trip and rolled over him, shielding them from the street with his broad back, and pressed Trip’s spine against the cool metal door. The surface warmed quickly. They struggled to get at each other, tugging at clothes.
Silas crushed Trip under his brawn and scrubbed his shirt between them. He sucked and bit at Trip’s mouth, chin, and throat with a hunger that tore Trip open with spikes of heaven and involuntary shudders. Trapped against his inner thigh, his bulge strained against the denim.
Trip chuckled and bit back. Silas didn’t complain. Not so terrible after all.
Silas’s rough, clever fingers plucked at Trip’s nipples, and then he squirmed closer. Those huge arms enfolded Trip without permission or patience.
Silas gritted his teeth and groaned. “Mistake. I didn’t. I don’t.” Headshake. “I gotta—” His rigid cock held the fur waistband a little open. “Wait-wait. Slow down.” He took his own advice. Shoulder to elbow, he stroked Trip gently, reverently, but the crazed grappling stopped.
Trip stayed put, not wanting to break the spell. He counted his breaths.
Silas held Trip’s head lightly with one hand, pulled their faces together, and planted a kiss on him. No tongues, no slobbering. Just a firm, openmouthed kiss that blew out the back of Trip’s head. Ker-pow!
Abandoning his better judgment, Trip couldn’t help but kiss back, tilting his head to get closer and wrapping his wiry arm around all that brawn to pull it closer. His erection rubbed Silas’s bare abs through two layers of cotton. An answering ramrod tented the hairy He-Man briefs.
Silas retreated, dazed and lazy. “Wow. Okay.” He exhaled in a near laugh. “I’m trying to be a gentleman here.”
Trip gulped and nodded, but his tongue was too stunned to speak. He couldn’t get a handle on anything. Worse, he didn’t care. He had no map and he didn’t want one. If this was fucking up, he was all for it. He blinked. “Was that bad?”
Silas pulled away with deliberate slowness. “I promised—I’m gonna say good night.”
“Sorry… I suck at dating. Obviously.”
/>
“Who told you that? You’re making me stupid.” He held Trip’s shoulders gently but definitely. “I gotta get inside before I get dumber.” He still blocked them from any prying passers-by. “Jesus, Trip.”
Trip wedged himself against the door, completely in darkness, not wanting to leave, knowing he should. He couldn’t figure out what he was supposed to do or want or have.
Glitter streaks covered them. Thud-thud-thud. Heartbeats in the dark. They inhaled and exhaled raggedly.
The amber lamplight backlit Silas, shadowing his rugged face; the barbarian chest rose and fell, rose and fell, framed in the open navy coat. His hands chased Trip’s shivers tentatively, over his clothes; the calluses caught the cotton. “Better now.” He kissed Trip softly. “Sorry. I got carried away.”
“I jumped you, remember?” No script again.
“True.” Silas petted him with nitroglycerine patience: arms, ribs, ass, chest. “Fuck. Like a Cellini.”
Trip exhaled and tried to get ahold of his body. As always, Silas’s nearness drugged him and slowed time to a syrupy crawl. Trip’s eyes closed and his hands twitched involuntarily as the drowsy surrender stole over him.
Relentless and patient, Silas found his way back to Trip’s nipples, tugging gently but firmly on them with his scarred fingers and rucked the shirt over his pecs. “That hurt?”
Trip grunted and arched. “Nuh. Uh-uh. Feels—” He flinched when Silas pinched a little harder. “Ahhk!”
Silas whispered, “So sensitive.”
“I never noticed ’em before. When people pinched them, I mean.” What was happening to him? Trip felt terrified and triumphant at the same time. “Not sensitive, I guess.” He trembled.
“I think we’ll have to agree to disagree.” Silas licked one thumb and then the other and put them back to work. The wet scrape against his nipples sent a scatter of shocks through Trip’s nervous system.
“I…. Uhh.”