Coming Together: At Last, Volume One

by Alessia Brio, L. A. Banks, Lisabet Sarai

  "Let's go ladies,” Juan said soothingly, trying his best to get the women to settle down.

  Lori ducked around him and gestured to the women to follow her. She used a calm voice, but she was also female. They believed her, feared her little less than he. After all, a bunch of men had promised them hope and freedom and had instead locked them in a cargo container for days.

  The parade of women made their way up the stairs and out of the rear entrance of the diner. Lori led, and he became the caboose on this freedom train. Once he cleared the diner, he watched the women flocking to each other, hugging and some openly weeping.

  I have no idea what they're saying, but I have only one thing I must say.

  "Ladies, tonight is going to feel like Christmas."

  With that phrase spoken into the microphone, the spill of SWAT soldiers filled the narrow street and bustled through the rear door so silently, Juan almost felt sorry for the dozens of guests at Chen's birthday party—almost. This would be one bash they wouldn't forget, since they would all be spending it in jail.

  [Epilogue]

  Lori hid her smile as she slowly disrobed. She knew damn well Juan was watching her in the mirror as he pretended to be deeply involved in his baseball game. For one thing, he hated baseball. Another sign he was not playing the blaring television the least bit of attention was the tick in his jaw. Yeah, he was watching and waiting.

  "Well?” he growled impatiently, giving in all pretense of watching the game.

  "Well what?” Lori laughed to his obvious irritation.

  Today was her first day with her new partner. Juan had finally been accepted to SWAT, and seeing as how they were well and truly married now, it was a good thing. He had been going crazy waiting to see who the captain would pair her up with. She knew he was probably envisioning her being stuck with a pig like Williams or Travis, the resident playboy.

  Juan bounded out of the chair and was on her in a heartbeat. As soon as his strong arms wrapped around her, she melted into his embrace, moaning just a little. That distracted him like nothing else could. Trailing kisses down the side of her neck, he assisted with the disposal of her shirt, leaving her clad in only a red lace bra and a thin scrap that was supposed to be panties. She knew it drove him crazy seeing her slip on underwear like this every morning. He would spend a good deal of the day thinking what lay underneath her normal work clothes.

  "Damn, baby,” Juan groaned into her ear. “Do you have any idea how good you look in that?"

  "Why don't you tell me?” she saucily replied. “Or you can show me. Either way, you are damned easy to distract."

  Spinning her around, Juan placed a sharp smack against her luscious round bottom. It probably would have been taken for the warning it was meant to be if he didn't immediately follow it with soft caresses. Lori rubbed her front against him, concentrating on the growing bulge in his jeans.

  "Lori, if you don't tell me what I want to know, I am going to spank that ass but good."

  Lori thought about playing with him a little longer, but that would only delay her own pleasure. The man could get her so hot by a simple touch.

  "Jenkins is my new partner,” she murmured, rubbing her body against his like a cat. “Happy?"

  "Hell no!” Juan jumped back frowning at the woman who was now bent over from laughing so hard at his reaction.

  Okay, so he should chill a little bit, but damn it, he didn't want anyone panting after his woman, even if it was another woman.

  "Ask for a new partner, Lori. Tomorrow."

  "I will not,” Lori laughed, shrugging out of her bra and dangling it in front of his face. “How would that look? Like I was scared of a lesbian? What do you have against Jenkins anyway?"

  "I don't like the way she watches your ass. That's what I don't like!"

  Lori climbed to the middle of the bed and cupped her breasts as an offering. Watching Juan's eyes go bright with hunger as she licked her lips gave her a rush of heady power. She loved that she could turn him on so thoroughly. They were so good together.

  "Are you going to argue about Jenkins or are you going to come show me how much you missed me today?” she purred, pinching her nipples between her thumb and her forefinger.

  "This is not over,” Juan muttered, yet shed his clothes all the same. “You will ask for a different partner."

  They both knew she wouldn't.

  * * * *

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  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Proud Is the Dancer, Pride Is the Dance

  © Lee Benoit

  Feathers were not on Danny's list. Without consciously deciding to, he parked his overflowing shopping cart next to the mountain on the clearance table. Marabou, peacock, ostrich—you name it—they were there in a hopeless jumble, dyed every color of the rainbow.

  Danny didn't examine his motives, just gathered up as many plastic bags of feathers as he could and jammed them into his cart along with the rolls of foam, gauze, fabric remnants, hot glue sticks, and fabric paint. He paid for everything with the GLBT Community Center's check. Everything except the feathers. Those he paid for with crumpled bills from his pocket then headed for the bus stop.

  His teen group at the Center was thrilled with all the supplies, and Danny was feeling like a hero as he grappled the puffy bags of feathers up the narrow stairs to his tiny apartment.

  "Calyx! Calyx, open up!” Danny banged on the door with his knee. “I have something for you!"

  Nothing.

  Oh, crap, it's Thursday, Danny remembered. Calyx would be sleeping from his late shift the night before. Waking Calyx with loud noises was not something on Danny's list, either.

  * * * *

  Calyx flies out of bed before they can break down the door. Those Defensa gossips ratted him out. Again. His parents’ friends, neighbors since before the Revolution. He'd thought he'd be safe, that no one would care he was back, but they must remember who he is and where he's been—they think calling the uniforms will get them something, extra rations or a soft touch when the uniforms next darken their doors. If his heart weren't clawing its way up his throat, Calyx might laugh at their naïveté.

  I can't go through this again, he screams inside. He stumbles and swears, making for the door in spite of his fear, hoping maybe—if he goes quietly—they'll leave his family alone. Fully awake by the time he reaches to door, he yanks it open, placatory words vying for space in his mouth with pleas and curses.

  * * * *

  "Calyx, sorry!” Danny started to say as the door flew open to reveal a wild-eyed, half asleep, fully naked Calyx. “I forgot you'd be sleeping off your shift.” He cursed himself; his lover had the same wild look he had when he woke sweating and shuddering in the middle of the night. He hated being the one to put that look on Cal's face. Act normal, he reminded himself. “Give me a hand with these?"

  Without a word, Calyx took the bags from Danny and turned back into the apartment. Danny could see the sheen of sweat along his spine and knew it wasn't from the weight of the bags. They were full of feathers, after all, and weighed almost nothing for all their volume. It was fear-sweat, and Danny had put it there.

  "I'm sorry, Cal. I know you hate waking up suddenly."

  Calyx waved away his concern with that soft, sad smile of his. “No worries, mi amor. Old memories."

  Danny bit back his response, which would have been something along the lines of, “You're almost exactly my age. How old could your memories be?” Instead, he said, as brightly as he could, “Come see what I bought!"

  "Coffee first, Daniel."

  Danny loved to watch his lover make coffee. It was a ritual, like Japanese tea, or so he liked to think. Calyx had bought a modest aluminum cafetera in a venerable Italian grocery up on Federal Hill, and spent a portion of his tiny income each week on good beans from the gourmet roaster down the block, with whom he had developed a relationship like a drunk's to his favorite barkeep.

  Calyx ground t
he beans and measured cold water and sugar syrup into the base of the little machine before setting it on the gas burner. Droplets of water on the body of the cafetera hissed as they were vaporized by the flame. Calyx watched the little sizzles for a long moment, then turned to Danny.

  "Show me what treasures you have found, mi amor."

  Danny showed off all his costume making supplies, leaving the feathers for last. “Everyone at the center was really excited. Some of the folks from Herminio's studio are going to help us out. We're going to have the best float this year, I just know it."

  Calyx smiled quizzically. “Float? The parade is on water? And who is this Herminio?"

  Danny laughed and pushed closer. “Floats are scenes mounted on trucks for the parade. And Herminio runs the puppet studio on Washington Street. I've known him since junior high school. They do body-puppets, amazing costumes, stuff for the theater."

  "A close friend?” Calyx's eyes were narrow, and it took Danny a beat or two before he realized what Calyx was really asking.

  "We were closer, a long time ago.” It hurt a little to connect the dots—the unspoken injunction against discussing Cal's past had extended to Danny's, which included nothing more damning than a few parking tickets and a handful of abbreviated affairs. Calyx should have known that Herminio was once Danny's best friend, that he was a constant background note in Danny's psyche, and a regular participant in Danny's daily life. Each of them finding boyfriends around the same time had put a crimp in their socializing, but not in their friendship. Calyx should have known all that.

  Danny looked into Calyx's endless eyes. “You have nothing to worry about. Herminio's one of my best friends, but he's strictly a friend, you know?” As if Herminio, with his exotic tastes, would ever seek Danny as a lover. As if Danny himself would ever look at anybody else with Calyx waiting at home. That, he realized, was part of the problem: their work schedules didn't coincide all that often, and Calyx was always at home while Danny did his thing at the GLBT Community Center. He reached for the bags of feathers, hoping that was about to change.

  "I got something for you, too,” he said, feeling shy all of a sudden.

  Calyx cut off the gas and poured them each a small cup of impossibly dark espresso.

  With the weight of Calyx's dark eyes on him, Danny generally did one of two things. He melted, or he babbled.

  "I know you used to dance, and I never really saw any Cuban dancing, but I thought it might be like Mardi Gras or Carnaval—you know, like in Rio? So I got some feathers and satin and things and thought you could make a costume, come march in the parade with us."

  Today looked to be a babbling day. Danny looked at Calyx expectantly.

  "In Cuba, we seldom had such things.” Calyx's voice was distant, harsh. “I wouldn't know what to do with these.” He lifted a puffy packet of green and red feathers and let it drop back into the bag. “And I do not dance anymore."

  With another of those sad smiles, he set his demitasse on the counter by the sink and left the room.

  Danny took one step to follow, but froze when he heard the bedroom door click shut.

  * * * *

  "But I love to dance, abuelo,” says the boy.

  "Fah, any good Cuban boy loves to dance. But only maricones dance for pay."

  "Maestro Ruíz is the best. He says I could travel, go abroad. Please let me study with him.” It's the first thing the boy has ever asked for. He doesn't even ask for second helpings of supper.

  The old man shakes his head. “That might be the best thing for you, after all."

  The boy always remembers this conversation with mingled triumph and grief. The day he won his future, he also lost his past.

  * * * *

  Danny had laughed when Herminio told him Calyx was famous. But then Herminio showed Danny pictures of international tours by a Cuban company—"ballet-folk innovators” is what he called them—and he saw for himself. His moody, deliberate lover almost unrecognizable in mambo sleeves and a beatific grin in articles from Spanish and German papers. The young man in the stills from ballet and modern productions in Canada and Brazil, Mexico and Italy, more closely resembled the Calyx Danny knew—brooding and terribly, terribly sexy. His Calyx, a cultural ambassador? Danny could scarcely convince Cal to have supper with his friends; he certainly couldn't get him to teach dance down at the Center. And now, evidently, he wasn't even persuasive enough for Calyx to agree to march in a small-city Pride parade with a bunch of queer kids and his—let's face it—boring, nerdy boyfriend.

  "Ay, mi vida." Of all Cal's many endearments this one—my life—was Danny's favorite. Two arms reached around him in the patented Calyx full-body hug that was guaranteed to melt Danny right out of any funk. “I have disappointed you.” Hands flowed up and down Danny's chest and belly, Calyx's callused fingers catching on his T-shirt.

  Danny wasn't angry. He wasn't even disappointed. “I feel sad,” he admitted. “Don't you miss dancing?"

  "I'll dance with you,” he purred in Danny's ear. “In the bed. Take your clothes off and dance with me.” Even after almost a year together, the way he said ‘clo-thes’ with two distinct syllables made Danny's balls ache.

  He forgot all about his questions about dancing, and the past, and their future.

  And if Danny accidentally knocked the bags of feathers onto the floor in his haste to get to the bedroom, who could blame him?

  * * * *

  "Calyx, nene, this is a chance we may never get again. Say you'll stay with me."

  The other dancer is looking deep into his eyes, frowning.

  Calyx shakes his head. “No, Rafa, no. You know I can't."

  "But who will keep me warm in this frozen city?"

  Calyx laughs. “You've never had any trouble finding ... heat, my friend. But you shouldn't stay here. Cuba is your home. She needs you."

  The other man snorts. “Like a whore needs crabs. Cuba is sinking, Calyx. I couldn't get cooking oil for love or money last time we were home."

  "Only rats leave a sinking ship, Rafa, not..."

  "Not good little sailors?” His friend palms Calyx's head with rough affection. “Stand on the deck, nene, and you'll go down with your precious ship. You'll regret it."

  If he'd known how prophetic Rafa's words were, Calyx would have stayed in Toronto that bitter winter's morning.

  * * * *

  Undulating with Calyx inside him was the most complete Danny had ever felt, as if his lover's body joined with the little piece of Calyx's soul Danny carried around with him always. He wondered if Calyx felt the same way.

  "Mi amor, ay, mi vida," Calyx chanted as he rocked, those elastic hips of his showing Danny the edge with each shift, but never tipping him over.

  Danny's responses were inarticulate at best. He arched his back, canted his hips, reached over and over for bliss. He squeezed his muscles around Calyx's prick, over and over again, until they were both grunting indelicately, coming endlessly.

  "You killed me, mi amor,” Calyx sighed as he pulled out gently and rolled over.

  Boneless, Danny agreed with a breathy chuckle and wrapped his arms around his panting lover. He closed his eyes, just for a minute...

  ...and woke with a start. Late afternoon sun slanted through the window, gilding Calyx's dulce de leche skin. A glance at the clock confirmed Danny's fear.

  "Calyx. Cal? Wake up, I'm late."

  "Hmm? No, nene, it's early. Rest with me.” He snaked his arms around Danny's middle and sank deeper into the mattress.

  "No, Calyx. Please. You've gotta give me a ride. I'll never make it if I take the bus."

  Those molasses eyes gazed up at him for a long moment. “It's perfect, to sleep the afternoon with you. I could kidnap you, tie you up, and keep you here."

  "You'd never,” Danny said, smiling inside and out at Calyx's words. He loved it when Calyx teased. Loved it when he woke up slowly and happy instead of suddenly and terrified. Most days, Danny would have indulged his lover, grateful for a peacef
ul awakening, but he really was late for work. He played his trump card: machismo: “The ladies will be disappointed if I don't show up. I'm teaching them about small business loans today."

  With an exaggerated groan, Calyx levered himself up, rubbing idly at his smooth belly. “Bien, mi amor. I will take you to work. Shower first?” That last was said with such lascivious hope Danny had to laugh.

  "Separately, you tempting thing. I'll never get to work if I get wet with you.” Danny grabbed a clean shirt and headed down the short hall to their tiny bathroom.

  * * * *

  The second time the uniforms come for him, his fear nearly unmans him. When they detained him after Rafa defected, with questions and beatings and threats of worse, it had been bad. This is worse. He knows what to expect.

  They strip him, bind him, threaten him if he doesn't cooperate. But their definition of “cooperation” is as shifty as their eyes.

  Like an idiot, he tries. “Maestro Ruíz is not a dissident. He's a dance master, and I'm one of his principals. There is nothing more."

  The accusations they make are ludicrous. Each session with the interrogators brings a new insult. The maestro is spying, the maestro's foreign interviews are seditious, the maestro encourages his company to smuggle and to defect.

  "You, little dancing maricón, will end up in a camp. A place just for scum like you. No one will ever hear of you again. You will die there, and soon, if you do not cooperate."

  They want a confession. They want his condemnation of his mentor. What man would do this, would betray the one man who could see inside him, past the dancing maricón to beauty and blessedness?

  He realizes cooperation is not what they are really after. They will destroy him no matter what. His pride affronted, despair appears as the only alternative. Within him, a giddy recklessness rises, the urge to resist.