Fishy Queen (Drag Queen Beauty Pageant Book 2)

by Malachite Splinters

  He grinned at me with a light in his eyes so mischievous, he was like Puck himself.

  He pushed the shower curtain open.

  “Less suspicious,” he whispered, and lunged at me.

  His mouth was hot, open and his tongue questing.

  “If you hear anything,” he said, running his hands down my back, “turn around and face the faucets. I’ll go right into the next one.”

  He sealed his mouth over mine before I could reply, and his fingers tweaked my nipples as he pushed me against the tiles. My erection hit up against his abdomen at the same time as his touched my thigh and we both gasped.

  I pushed his shoulders and he sank to his knees and without a moment’s hesitation, clamped his mouth over my balls.

  I clapped my hand over my mouth as I sagged in ecstasy. No-one had done this to me in so long. I looked down and when I saw his pink and blue head and naked body kneeling in front of me, it ratcheted up my arousal like the puck racing up the high striker after a really big guy has a go with the mallet.

  He took hold of my dick and my fingers scrabbled for purchase on the tiles as his mouth closed over the head.

  “Ng—” I grunted, unable to keep totally silent as his tongue swirled like a car wash. “Nngg—”

  I tried not to, but then Anthony was in my mind and I wanted to touch him, I wanted to touch his skin and I wanted to get another noseful of that scent of his.

  His huge liquid eyes seemed to be staring at me and I remembered the dream from last night and I couldn’t do it any more.

  I reached my hands down, took firm hold of 80s’ wrists and jerked him to his feet. Confused, he looked at me with a question in his eyes. I raised his hands above his head and his expression went mischievous again and a little smirk formed on his lips.

  So I held his wrists in one hand and pushed them against the wall, and with the other hand I held his pink dick and used hard strokes to get him off as fast as possible.

  His mouth was open, panting hard, his head back against the tiles, and he came quickly, to my relief. I held my hand under the water and stepped away.

  He came toward me, looking at the boner I still had, but I shook my head.

  “Kinky,” he grinned and made another ugly face. “I like that.”

  He rinsed himself under my shower, stepped out and the next thing I heard was the shower next door being turned off and more whispery sounds as he, presumably, dried himself off and got dressed again. I heard his bare feet slapping on the tiles and then the sound of the door closing behind him.

  I turned the water off and stood there, dripping, feeling so bad I thought I might cry, but so disgusted at myself, I couldn’t even feel sorry for myself.

  And, inexorably, like how a phoenix keeps bursting back into goddamn flames all the goddamn time, the burning started up again and worked itself over my whole body.

  And I did wish I could go into the mirror, at that moment, because glass didn’t burn, and I was sure it wouldn’t be able to follow me there.

  The door was open a crack when I got to the top of the stairs at the end of the day.

  After the sex disaster, I had gone to work.

  For about an hour I had managed to forget everything but when I came back, it was all still there.

  80s had said bye to me very cheerfully when I left next time, and given me another wink and called after me, “Please do come next time, sir.” So obviously he didn’t see it as a disaster.

  It had been years since I’d had that kind of casual encounter. I thought it would make me feel better. Instead I felt a million times worse.

  And I was still horny.

  I stopped at the top of the stairs, wondering why the door was ajar. Then I remembered.

  Anthony was there.

  It was ridiculous I had forgotten, because he had texted me less than an hour ago to say he was still there. But right now, the thought of having to face Anthony was enough to curdle my stomach with nerves.

  As I pushed open the door, I realized that I was actually sweating. That was how nervous I was.

  I had never been nervous to see Anthony before.

  The very idea was laughable, like ordering milk and having a cow show up on your doorstep, jiggling its udders at you with its big teats flopping all over the place.

  “Hello?” I called out as I stepped inside.

  It felt strange having someone in my house. I didn’t tend to have a lot of people over. It felt even stranger that it was Anthony.

  “Hi—”

  I heard a faint reply and walked toward the bedrooms, closing the front door behind me. The light was on in the spare bedroom and the door was open. I could just see movement inside.

  As I got closer, the ball of nervousness in my stomach tightened and spread tentacles throughout my upper body so that I felt tense and stiff, like I couldn’t move my limbs or face normally.

  I felt my heart rate speeding up as well, and my mind flashed back to this morning in the studio and to my horror, my cheeks started burning again. And it spread and spread.

  And although my body was still walking forward, my mind was resisting, resisting so hard it felt like the two were going to be ripped apart.

  “Wow,” I said, leaning on the door jamb.

  The bed, which was unmade, just a bare mattress on the bed frame, was piled high with clothes and scattered shoes. A clattering, sliding pile of wood-and-metal coat hangers—the nice kind, not the cheap plastic ones—took up the end of the bed and threatened to slither onto the floor.

  Anthony turned, caught sight of me, and then went back to the garment he was hanging on the hanger, a white long-sleeved shirt, or maybe blouse was the better word. Whatever it was, it was flowy and feminine and very Anthony.

  “Do you have any more storage?” Anthony asked, turning to the small closet in the corner and putting away the blouse. I could see that it was almost full.

  “Maybe you didn't notice, but this isn’t exactly the Ritz,” I shot back, and then instantly wished I could take it back. My heart pounded fiercely and I suddenly felt as if fire ants were crawling over my skin.

  He turned, flipped his braids and gave me a sullen look. “I noticed,” he said, and I moved aside as he pushed past me.

  I turned off the light in the spare—now his—bedroom and followed him. “Will that be all for Sir this evening?” I continued, and as I looked at his retreating figure I felt the fire burning deep within me, so hot I could hardly stand it. “Or should I say Ma’am?”

  He had already reached the front door, which he opened, and he turned around and looked at me with big, wounded eyes. “How are you so much more butch than me?” He asked. “That’s what I’d like to know.”

  “I don’t have an explanation,” I moved my fingers in the air in one of my signature arms control moves. “It just comes naturally.”

  He shook his head, then, and I saw him biting his lip and looking at the floor. For the second time today it looked like he was on the verge of tears.

  What, Anthony crying again?

  That was front page news alright. Biggest story in tomorrow’s papers.

  I took Angel’s keys from the kitchen drawer which held spare change and batteries and random crap and held them out to him. He glanced at me, then darted forward and grabbed them, retreating to the door again, like he thought I was going to bite.

  “Thanks,” he muttered in the same sullen tone, slipping them into his pocket.

  “Well don’t kill yourself with the effort,” I returned, hating every word that was coming out of my mouth. “You’d better say nothing if that’s how you’re going to put it.”

  “I’m leaving,” he whispered, staring at me. “Okay?”

  “Just hold on a second,” I said. “There was one thing you didn’t bring up with DT today. I noticed. And since you haven’t brought it up on your own, I guess that task falls to me.”

  “What do you mean?” He looked confused.

  “You talked to Damaris,” I
said.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “Well?” I hung there, my arms outstretched.

  “Obviously I talked to Damaris,” he said. “Didn’t you figure that out when I walked into the club on Tuesday?”

  I nodded, making a motion with my hand for him to speed things up.

  “What?” He said, his eyes open wide. “What are you waiting for me to say?”

  I was stubborn. I could wait until his tiny brain got up the energy to figure it out.

  “Oh,” he said. “You didn’t know how much she told me. Did you?”

  I rolled my eyes. Wasn’t that obvious?

  “You thought she just told me the new girls were starting on Tuesday,” he said, a satisfied little smile growing on his lips. “You didn’t know she also told me about your scheme to discredit me in front of Duane Tyrone by lying to him about my reaction to the rehearsal times.” He crossed his arms casually. “I wonder what else you don’t know she told me.”

  He had backed up over the threshold so that he wasn’t actually in the apartment any more. The light on the landing reflected off the cornrows on his scalp.

  “You’re going to make me say it, huh?” I stuffed my hands into my back pockets to give them somewhere to be. “The auditions.”

  Anthony didn’t say anything, just raised one eyebrow and smirked.

  “So you’re just going to stand there?” I squeezed down with my hands and got handfuls of my jeans, I swore I was pulling so hard I could pull the pockets right off.

  “When I got your call on Monday afternoon, informing me I had been selected to represent Ellegrandé in the auditions this year, never for one second did I suspect you were lying to me.” He looked at his nails casually. “What an innocent I was. Damaris soon corrected my misapprehension. She told me,” he cleared his throat delicately. “That DT cancelled the auditions this year.”

  He stood there, looking at me.

  “So do you don’t want to audition?” I said belligerently. “You were singing a different song on Tuesday.”

  He held up one hand calmly. “Machyl, please,” he said. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Not long after you called, Damaris called. I felt so popular. And she told me… what she told me.” He smoothed his hand over his cornrows. “So when you so sweetly accosted me with compliments on Wednesday,” he shot a dark glance at me. “Informing me that DT wanted me to be the first whatever,” he raised an eyebrow. “I knew that it was so much unicorn shit.” He licked his lips slowly.

  He had played me.

  He had fully, and actually played me.

  “You believed me, didn’t you?” Anthony grinned. His face was so beautiful when he smiled. “You agreed to coach me and everything.”

  He didn’t mention the practice session that I had promised. That was supposed to have happened today after the rehearsal. I had remembered when I was at the office. That was why I had been so unproductive and only gotten an hour’s work done despite being there for four.

  I wasn’t irresponsible, once I committed to something I always went through with it, but I hadn’t been able to make myself pick up my phone and text him to say that we should reschedule.

  I just hadn’t been able to do it, and the longer it went undone, the worse I felt.

  I felt even worse now. I felt like my entire body was going to be consumed in a flash of flame, leaving behind only charred remains that would collapse into dust with the slightest breath of wind.

  “So, what,” I said. I felt angry, and it was being directed at him, and I hated him, but I hated myself even more. “Has it all just been a big joke? You didn’t really come back, you just acted like you were coming back so you could get revenge on me, and now you’re going to walk out the door and that’s it, good bye?”

  So he really was laughing to himself as he taunted me with his come-ons. The problem was that they shouldn’t have worked. They should never have worked.

  The whites of his eyes flashed in anger. “You think that’s what it was?” He tossed his head.

  “Why would I think anything else?” I spat. “You just told me you’ve been lying to me for the past week.”

  “You’ve been lying to me for the past week!” He leaned forward and practically screamed.

  “Be quiet!” I hissed

  The door was wide open and noise from the stairs and communal areas late at night caused issues and complaints.

  “No,” he said loudly.

  “Come inside then,” I said in a loud whisper, waving my arm and trying to get him inside.

  He wrinkled his nose at me in disgust. “No.” But his voice was quieter.

  “So, what are you saying?” I was closer to him now.

  “I’m saying,” he said. “I know you’ve been lying, and that DT isn’t holding any auditions.”

  “I’m working on that,” I said. “He’ll come around. I know he will. I still have a week and a day, give or take.”

  He paused, frowning slightly and looking me up and down. “I thought you said two weeks.”

  “It was two weeks. On Monday. Now it’s Saturday.”

  “So it’s the week after next?”

  I shook my head. I was getting confused, and it was making me embarrassed to be confused in front of him. “It’s not this Monday, it’s next Monday.”

  “That’s really soon!” Anthony squeaked, looking panicked all of a sudden. “And—” Anthony frowned. “Isn’t that when the new show debuts?”

  “Why DT wanted to cancel,” I pointed out. I looked at him more closely. “Did you actually want to audition, or was that just part of the joke?”

  He stuck out his chin. “I want to audition.”

  I looked him up and down in return, raising my eyebrows. “Okay then. So…”

  He watched me, not saying a word.

  “Are we going to work together on this?” I asked.

  He looked back at me with the big, dark eyes. No contact lenses. Just dark brown eyes that pinned me like I was stuck to a cork board.

  “I’ll think about it,” he said. “I need to consider if you actually deserve it.”

  And he flipped the end of the scarf he was wearing over his shoulder and walked briskly down the stairs, his back ramrod straight and his head held high.

  He paused halfway down and looked back up at me.

  “I’ll be back tomorrow at nine with more of my stuff,” he said. “We can talk then.”

  I closed the door and slid down it until I was on the floor, and I put my head in my hands and just stayed there, breathing in and out and looking at the floor.

  It was the exact same spot where I had hugged Angel’s knees and tried to stop him leaving.

  I considered taking another shower. But the thought made me feel even more unclean. So I had screwed up showering for myself. It was now sullied.

  How was I going to clean myself from now on?

  I lay there in bed and I didn’t know what to do with myself.I couldn’t think about the encounter with 80s today. I just couldn’t. He hadn’t done anything wrong. I had gotten turned off. And if I was honest with myself, I knew that beforehand.

  After Angel hung up the phone and I left the studio, I decided to do it, and I pushed out the voices that said it was a bad idea and I did it anyway and now I regretted it.

  Naked showering with a fit dancer should be fantasy fodder. But I just couldn’t do it.

  I was so horny, I could feel that I was half-hard again and I scrunched up my face, gripped hold of the bedsheets.

  I was so horny, I couldn’t jerk off any more. It did no good. It took the edge off for a short time, but then the feeling came back again.

  I wanted to have sex. I needed it.

  I felt like a man dying of raging thirst. I wanted to be fucked good, the bed banging against the wall so hard the neighbors thought it was a jackhammer drilling up there.

  I wanted to feel that exquisite feeling of my fingertips in someone’s hair, massaging their scalp while their head bo
bbed up and down on my cock.

  I forced myself to imagine that Angel was next to me, and I could just reach out and run my hands over the sculpted muscles of his chest and abdomen, run my tongue against the rough stubble of his jaw.

  But all I could hear was Angel telling me he almost cried thinking about sucking Angel’s dick.

  I didn’t want to think any more about Angel and César and everything that had happened between me and Angel for the last few months, and how everything had been bad, really not good, for a long time, and that somehow made it worse, what happened between Angel and César.

  Because I couldn’t stand up and shout and scream and blame César for ruining a perfect relationship.

  I mean, I could.

  But even I wouldn’t believe it.

  I had been lying to myself for so long about Angel and I, trying to pretend we were the perfect couple and nothing was wrong.

  For this to happen at the end of it was just like being backhanded. Because it should have been a terrible, awful betrayal.

  But seeing the two of them and the way they were with each other, it made my relationship with Angel look like nothing.

  I thought I should be grateful to be with someone like Angel. He was hot. He was masculine and strong and tall and he had the big dick and all of that.

  And he was gay.

  Like, actually gay.

  I thought I had scored the jackpot when Angel and I started sleeping together.

  What more could I ask for?

  He was like the perfect man.

  My nose and eyes started to ache, and then my throat, and I recognized the sting of unspent tears.

  And the burning returned, on my face, my chest, inside my core, hot and awful, and nothing I could do would get rid of it, and I gave in and cried.

  I curled in on myself and hugged a pillow to my chest and cried, and the more I cried, the more I hurt inside, until I felt like my heart was going to break.

  And I realized what the burning feeling was, which had started this morning and kept coming back all day.

  It was shame.

  Shame, because of how I had treated Anthony.

  It wasn’t an argument. I had been seething with resentment at him and I had gone off on him. I had been self-righteous, yes, but I had really been trying to hurt him.