by Lolly Walter
“What is it, dear one?” The man cupped Joe’s cheek. Devin wanted to do that biting-off-the-dick thing Joe had talked about on Thanksgiving.
“It’s just, I’m so grateful for what you’ve done. I’ve been mistreated all my life. There’s never been anyone like you. Thank you.” Joe leaned his body into the other man’s and planted a kiss on his cheek. When his lips left the man’s face, his body stayed pressed tight.
The man took a shaky breath, and Joe kissed him full on the mouth. When the man’s hands reached down and groped Joe’s ass, Devin averted his eyes.
He didn’t look at them again, not through the noises or the discarded clothes or the change of position or the loud, disgusting groan that signaled the man’s release.
As the man walked by, he slapped Devin’s face. The whirring of the dropper receded. Devin kept his eyes on the roof.
“Stand up, and I’ll free your hands.” Joe’s voice sounded normal again, normal and guarded.
Numb, Devin stood.
Nimble fingers freed Devin’s hands. He was certain they touched him as little as possible. He watched Joe’s feet move around the roof and followed them through the door and down the stairs. They exited the ConCen lobby and walked three blocks before Devin found his voice. It came out rough and garbled.
“Why?”
Joe didn’t answer.
Devin asked again, louder. “Why?”
When Joe still didn’t answer, Devin shoved him.
“Why do you think?” Joe snapped. “You weren’t going to do it. We can’t fail, Devin, so I stepped in.”
“Liar.”
They were looking at each other now, and Joe’s eyes flashed with the same anger he’d used to keep Victor in line. “Excuse me?”
“You. Are. A. Liar.” Devin said it through clenched teeth. His hands balled into fists in his pockets.
“Oh, that’s rich, coming from you. You lie to yourself every minute of the day.” Joe cocked his head. “So tell me, oh brilliant one, how did I lie, exactly?”
“You were fucking protecting me, you douchebag. You let that old asshole fuck you because you didn’t want me to have to suck his dick.” Anger swam through Devin, and he didn’t want to stop it.
“I did not.”
“You did.”
They strode in silence a few more steps before Joe stopped in the middle of the deserted, dusty street and exploded, his hands thrown wide.
“Fine. So what? I didn’t want you to have to do that, to whore yourself out. I was protecting you. I can’t believe I kept you from doing that and you’re mad at me for it!”
“I don’t need your protection! You’re supposed to be my partner, not my keeper.”
“I wanted to help you.” Joe started walking again, shielding his eyes. He stepped around a few fallen bricks. “Why is that a bad thing?”
Devin shook his head and fell in step beside him. “Because one, I don’t need your protection.” He ignored Joe’s scoff. “Two, shouldn’t we protect each other? I’ve been doing this with you for almost two weeks now. You take all the hard shit and I’m supposed to what? Watch you suffer because of me? I don’t want to do this job, Joe, but stop pretending like you don’t mind it.”
“I don’t mind it. And your second point cancels out your first.”
It was Devin’s turn to make a disbelieving noise. “Oh really? You like being a whore? Do you get your jollies by being used by perverts? Is it a gay thing?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what it is.” Joe punched Devin’s arm. His voice was still waspish, but the punch was delivered with more resignation than anger.
“Are you even gay?” God, was Devin really going to ask the question after he’d insinuated Joe liked being a whore? He’d been curious for a while now, especially since he’d realized how attracted he was to Joe, but this was awful timing.
“I don’t know.”
The frailty had returned to Joe’s voice, except this time it wasn’t fake. It made Devin mad again. Joe was supposed to have the goddamn answers.
“How can you not know?”
Joe shook his head and looked toward the top of a nearby skyscraper. Devin followed his gaze. The building must have been fifty stories tall, all lined with reflective glass, not a single pane broken. It was beautiful in its remoteness. How had people capable of such an achievement let the world fall apart?
“I’ve been used for sex since I was twelve. Boys, girls, men, women.” Joe shrugged. His eyes stayed on the building. “How am I supposed to know what I prefer, what I like, when all it’s ever been is a way to survive? You’re the only person I’ve ever wanted.”
The punch on the arm was nothing compared to that gut-punch. Devin doubled over from sheer shock.
“Joe, I—”
Joe waved him off without taking his eyes off the building. “Don’t. You’re not there, and I respect that. We’ll be equal partners. I’ll trust you enough to let you deal with the bad stuff. Let’s get back to the Flats before it gets too dark. The sun sets so early this time of year.”
Devin squatted on the road, but Joe didn’t stop or turn around. When he’d gotten two blocks ahead, Devin straightened and ran to catch up.
Five
Rain pelted his face as Joe slunk through the dripping undergrowth along the riverbank. Up ahead, he could make out Devin’s running shoes as his partner slithered along on his belly. He kept his steps as light as possible in the squelching mud and hoped the downpour drowned out the sound of his breathing.
He checked his timepiece. They were forty-five minutes along in this job. Part of him wanted to stand up and wave his hands and get shot so it could be over. Being so close to the bed of the old lake made him nervous. Not much wildlife existed in Austin these days, but what did, and most of it was either dangerous or creepy, lived along these banks.
Something whooshed past his ear and a stinging pain erupted on the back of his hand. A thin spiderweb of black ink spread over his knuckles.
“Devin,” he hissed. “We’ve been spotted. Get up and run.”
Devin turned, and his mud-caked face would have been comical if there wasn’t terror in his eyes. He scrambled, dragged his long body out of the muck, and shot hard toward the lake bed. Joe followed, zigging and zagging and giving no care to making noise.
Their client had paid big money for a hunt. Joe and Devin were the prey. The man wasn’t interested in sightseeing or the chase; he wanted to stalk and kill.
The gray sky, the relentless rain, and the riverbank, with its litter and dead brush, lent reality to the game. The man was using ink pellets, and the sting from them lingered. The effect of the whole was a make-your-skin-crawl imaginary danger.
“Shit!” Devin shouted from up ahead. “He got my ankle.”
Joe hurried forward and wrapped Devin’s arm around his shoulder, helping him walk. The client had specified they needed to act out their injuries.
“I’ve got you,” Joe said.
Devin half-ran, half let himself be dragged through the rain. God, he was heavy. This was a miserable enough run that Joe would almost prefer the guy who’d peed on him. He ducked behind the trunk of a huge old live oak that hadn’t completely succumbed to the effects of climate change. Tucking his feet up to his ass, he helped Devin do the same.
Lightning cracked overhead. Joe fought the urge to run.
“This is bullshit,” he whispered.
Despite the fear in his eyes, Devin’s mouth dropped open and formed a grin. He pointed an accusing finger at Joe. His singsong whisper carried. “Joesy’s got a pottymouth. Joesy’s got a pottymouth.”
“Shut up.” Joe nudged Devin’s shoulder, which shook with silent laughter.
“I love it. El ángel de la casa isn’t so fucking perfect after all. It’s hilarious.”
Joe scowled at the stupid nickname. He was no angel. “You’re a bad influence, p— big guy.”
He was slipping. He’d almost called Devin “papi,” and his A+ status would be
revoked if he spoke Spanish on the job. He hadn’t spoken any Spanish outside his head in years, not until Devin had come along. A month with the guy and Joe was getting moony-eyed and sloppy.
Ping. The razor-sharp whooshing sound was back. Before Joe could move, he heard it again. A splotch bloomed on his left calf.
“Time to move,” Joe said. “He’s closing in, and we’ll be done with this soon.” Devin made to stand, but Joe grabbed his hand. “Remember to act out your injuries.”
Devin rolled his eyes and nodded. They both stood. Joe dragged his lower left leg and hopped along like a kangaroo. Devin staggered and swore.
The client crashed through the plant carcasses behind them, not bothering to be quiet.
Echoes of shots danced around them as they swerved into the lake bed. The place smelled like death, and the mud was squishier here than it had been up on the shoreline. With each step, Joe’s shoes suctioned to the ground. When they got back to the Flats, they’d have to tie their shoes out the window and hope the rain washed them clean.
A shot hit Joe in the hip, and he dropped, happy for an excuse to quit trying to run. Refreshing rain fell on his face, and he welcomed the cool mud on his back. He heaved himself up on his elbows and made a show of trying to drag himself from his pursuer. Devin dropped to his knees about six feet to the right.
The sun wasn’t out, so what fell over Joe couldn’t technically be called a shadow, but he couldn’t think of another word for it. Their client hunter loomed over him, and Joe trained his eyes on a pair of black boots. The boots were attached to the longest legs Joe had ever seen, draped in sand-colored camouflage. Even in the unusual December heat, the immense man wore a heavy jacket. A long replica gun was perched against his shoulder. His hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and his face was painted to match his clothes. His eyes looked hard and cruel.
The client hadn’t wanted them to grovel, which was unusual. He’d wanted them to remain steely and defiant, so that’s what Joe gave him. He cocked his chin and spit at the man’s boots. The spit landed between them.
The man stared at the spot for a moment, then, quick and hard, hit Joe in the temple with the barrel of the gun.
Damn, that hurt. The man would lose his deposit for that. Blood, warm and sticky, trickled into Joe’s ear.
“Hey, you son of a bitch.” Devin. “You can’t—”
The man pulled the ink-shooting gun and shot Joe on the cheek. He fell back, mock-dead.
The gun discharged twice more. Devin grunted. The man laughed.
“What’s wrong, Blondie? Cat got you by the balls?” The man’s voice was higher than Joe had expected.
“You’re a sick bastard pervert. Just kill me and get it over with.”
Wow. Joe was impressed that Devin was sticking to the outline for behavior detailed in the client folder. Either that or Devin was angry. The second option was more plausible.
A zipper pealed, and Joe’s blood ran cold.
“Oh, I don’t think I’ll let you off that easy, vermin.”
Oh, God, please don’t let him hurt Devin. Please let him like doing it with dead things or want to pee on me or—
Devin gave a garbled cry at the same time as the man grunted.
To keep out the rain, Joe had closed his eyes when he “died.” Now he chanced opening them a sliver so he could see what was happening. He wished he hadn’t.
The man held Devin by the hair with one hand and, with the other, swaddled his exposed, erect penis. He let go for a second and forced Devin’s jaw open. Joe closed his eyes. Dead men didn’t cry.
As the noises to his right escalated, the man’s grunts and Devin’s unrestrained gagging, Joe had never been so close to running, running for real, leaving Austin. He hadn’t done it. Not the thousands of times he had to have sex, not when he saw men pretend to rape Bea, not the night Ebony’s first baby died and Victor beat him so badly he couldn’t walk for a week. Not when his stepmother used him as his father’s replacement. Not when his father had left.
But now, lying in the mud and listening to Devin’s pain and humiliation, Joe could do it. He could throw all his plans away, pull the little silver pistol from his pocket — cock, aim, fire — free Devin and run, be done with this horrible excuse for a life. Who cared if he found his father or disappointed his flatmates? He couldn’t stand the noises, Devin’s pain.
That was why he’d stay, though. Devin needed him, not only right now, but for as long as possible. And Joe didn’t have enough money to take Devin with him. Tears leaked from his eyes and mixed with the rain and the blood.
The man finished quickly. He came in a series of short grunts. Devin retched. The man laughed and fired two more shots. He zipped his pants. A pop followed by a retreating sizzle. An acrid smell joined the stench of death. A flare gun.
Joe lay in the mud and got his tears under control. This ordeal was over. Devin had asked to be treated like a partner, and Joe had agreed. What had happened was part of being on equal footing. What a lie. No partnership should involve someone being forced into sex.
The dropcraft came, fast and jerky in the storm, and Joe didn’t bother keeping his eyes closed. He watched the hateful client climb up a dangling rope ladder into the dropper and entertained fantasies of the man falling to his death. As soon as the dropper cleared a hundred yards, Joe rolled over on his side and crawled to Devin.
Spit and snot and semen covered Devin’s face. His eyes were closed. Joe pulled off his own shirt, found the cleanest part of it, and wiped and wiped until every trace of the hunter was gone. While he was doing that, Devin started to shiver, and when Joe rolled him away from the pool of vomit, Devin succumbed to huge, wracking sobs.
Joe dragged his partner, his friend, to the edge of the lake bed. He curled Devin’s head into his lap and stroked his hair and shoulders while he cried. A bit of the bank gave way and coated them in more mud. Joe traced patterns in it, leaves and raindrops and hearts along Devin’s skin.
Eventually, Devin’s tears slowed. He shuffled away and vomited again. He returned, head down, and placed his cheek on Joe’s chest.
“Let me hear your heartbeat. I’ll be okay. I just need to hear it.” Devin’s voice cracked, exhausted and broken.
“Anything for you, papi. Anything.”
***
Devin had lied to Joe once, the time he told him he hadn’t left the house, ever, until the day he walked down from the hills.
He had left twice before. Once to drag Tanner, shot and bleeding to death in their front yard, his stomach a mass of red with a hole in it, into the house. The second time, he had dragged Tanner out to bury him.
Here in the mud, listening to Joe’s heartbeat, pressed into his bare, muddy skin, warm and safe and alive, the memories came flooding back. It had taken Tanner three days to die, moaning and sweaty, then pale, soundless, and still. By the time Devin got the grave dug deep enough, Tanner was cold and stiff.
“What’s that thing called where stuff gets all stiff when it dies?”
Joe would know. He knew all kinds of shit Devin didn’t.
“Rigor mortis,” Joe murmured. His hand raked over and over through Devin’s hair.
Devin nodded. Of course Joe had known. “Don’t die on me, okay? I can do this job, just don’t die on me.”
“No, papi. No dying.”
Devin returned his attention to Joe’s heartbeat, each beat echoing the promise. They were out of place here, hearts beating on this piece of shit earth that smelled like decay, like Tanner’s flesh probably smelled, left in a hole in the ground behind a mansion.
“Tell me something happy. Something real,” Devin said.
He didn’t want to think about death anymore, or Tanner, or the horrible hunter who’d defiled his mouth when he’d never even had a real first kiss. Much better to listen to Joe’s heartbeat and his strong, soothing voice.
“This place” — Joe gestured around them — “used to be beautiful. It was a lake. A dammed-up
spot on the Colorado River. Tons of people lived in Austin, and they used the lake for enjoyment. They traveled around it on boats, and they jogged along its banks. There were restaurants right out on the water. My dad once told me they shot off fireworks, which are these colorful explosions in the sky, right behind where we’re sitting. Can you imagine a place filled with people laughing and eating and having fun? Doing stuff just because they felt like it?”
“Sounds like a fairy tale. Like something out of my mom’s books.” Devin tucked his head tighter under Joe’s chin. His arms circled Joe’s waist, and he loosened his hold so he didn’t squeeze Joe to death.
“You don’t remember your mom.” It wasn’t a question, and Devin found himself flattered that Joe hadn’t forgotten.
“Or my dad. Or my sister, either. They died when I was five. Tanner was twelve. Some kind of stomach flu.”
“My mom died the year I turned six. Probably the same thing as your family. My dad said it swept through the east side of town first. I don’t remember her, either. She was beautiful. We had some pictures of her.”
“I don’t doubt it.” Devin smoothed one of Joe’s curls between his fingers. Mud and rain slipped from the hair and trailed down his hand. “She made you.”
He was being too intimate, too tender. The hunter, being used and scared and out in the rain and lightning and mud — it was all making him too vulnerable, too bare. He wanted to kiss Joe, touch him, lay him down in the mud and cover his body, move against him, inside him. Devin pressed tight into Joe’s chest. He listened to five beats of Joe’s heart then moved his head. He straightened and sat against the bank, shoulder to shoulder with Joe.
“Tanner?”
“He died right before I came down from the hills.”
“I remember you telling me.”
Devin hadn’t wanted to talk about it. Still didn’t, but the words poured from him. “I loved him so much, Joe. He meant everything to me. He went out looking for stuff to trade and got shot in the stomach. He was never awake enough to tell me what had happened. He dragged himself back to our front yard, though. I saw him outside and pulled him in. God, blood was everywhere. I tried to stop the bleeding, fix it, but it kept coming no matter what I did. He moaned and cried and bled. All I could do was sit next to him and hold his hand while he died. I buried him in our back yard.”