Poster Boy

by Anne Tenino

  They nodded. Did they practice together or something? He shook it off. “About a year ago, one of the TAG brothers—that’s what we call each other, ’cause, you know, fraternity—never mind. Anyway, this dude, Brad Feller, he came out.”

  Wrinkled foreheads met that. “Came out of where?”

  “The closet. Okay, uh, like, he announced he’s gay.”

  “Ah, of course. We are familiar with the term.” The translator waved him on.

  “Just making sure,” he bit out, then he took a second to consciously relax his neck and jaw muscles. They were nearly vibrating with the effort of storing all his anxiety and anger. But he had to keep it somewhere, because he was trying not to let it out and jeopardize their position. Or Toby’s. “Anyway, so the fraternity wanted to make it clear they supported their gay members, even though at the time Brad was the only one everyone knew was gay. Sorta. I mean, pretty much everyone knew Collin was gay, I guess, but Collin didn’t know they knew until later.”

  The translator’s brow wrinkled up again. “Who is Collin?”

  As he went through the story, he began using his fingers to represent different people. Kyle was his pinky, Collin his ring finger, Collin’s uncle Monty his middle finger (fitting), Tank his index finger . . . soon he was going to have to start using his right hand also.

  “Arrêt,” the officer said, standing up. He dug in his pocket, pulling out coins. “Collin, Monty, Kyle, Brad, Tank,” he named each one as he set it down on the table.

  It made things a lot easier. He sailed right through the explanation of TAG voting for a new, inclusive membership policy, but then he started describing the fire and he had to introduce Eric, Ricky (at least they knew him personally, he supposed), and Sparky.

  The agent ran out of pocket change. But once they got to the bombing, neither he nor the translator cared. “Who bombed your TAG House? A rival Greek faction?”

  “No, no.” Jock waved his hands in the air, palms out, trying to get them to calm down. They’d gone from bemused interest back to alert status. “It was Sparky, because he was angry with Collin’s uncle Monty.” He moved the appropriate coins into position, opposite the pen cap that represented Sparky. “Well, Monty and the rest of the Alumni Association.”

  They all stopped, heads swiveling, searching the room for something to represent the new players. The officer ended up ripping the blank bottom half of a sheet of paper from his file and handing Jock the pen so he could write “alums” on it. Then he kept the pen, in case he needed it to represent someone else.

  “At which point of this story did you arrive?” the interpreter asked him.

  “Um, actually this all happened before I showed up.”

  Altogether, it took hours. Plus seven coins, the pen cap, the pen (Danny) and various smaller scraps of paper (the rest of the guys), and one of the interpreter’s earrings (Toby). The narrow windows set high in the wall of the room showed full daylight by the time he was done.

  “Thank you, Mr. Gervaise,” the interpreter said, nodding sharply as she stood.

  Jock stayed in his seat, gripping the edges with his fingers. “What happens now?”

  “The interviews of you and your companions will be reviewed by the judge, and she’ll make a decision about whether to continue this investigation.”

  “So, are we, like, still in custody? All of us?”

  She nodded expressionlessly, but then added, “Someone will bring you food when you’re back in your room.”

  “I’d rather see my boyfriend,” he said quickly. “Toby.”

  For the first time since she’d walked in, she looked mildly sympathetic. “I’m sorry, that’s not possible.”

  Jock squeezed his eyes shut a second, exhausted by the long night and the questions, but mostly by the disappointment that he couldn’t defend himself against. He didn’t know how to deal with not being able to do anything about this situation. How to deal with not being able to protect Toby. “Please.”

  The DCRI agent said something, and the interpreter told him, “We don’t have the authority to grant you that.”

  Jock hung his head. He couldn’t look at them, so he watched his fingers try to strangle each other. Even the ones with names. “When you guys broke down the door, we were in the middle of, um, a discussion. Like, I’d just told him something that really bothered him, and I didn’t have a chance to . . . apologize I guess. I just want to talk to him for a minute. I don’t even care if someone’s listening—” he swallowed the rest of his words. Fuckers were choking him anyway.

  “I’m sorry,” she repeated, voice much softer. For a fleeting second she laid fingers on Jock’s shoulder. “Someone will arrive to take you back in a moment.” Then he heard them both walk out of the room.

  He’d had a lot of low points in his life. Probably too many for his age. Defeats in major championship games, injuries, being outed to the team, the picture hitting the public. This was worse. The other times his default reaction had always been anger, because it was easy. Anger didn’t hurt like this, it wasn’t a gelatinous glob of shame and nausea that just sat, immovable, in his stomach—what did he even do with that? He couldn’t fight it off or digest it. It was like radioactive oatmeal or something. How long could he live with it eating at him?

  Shoes walked into his periphery, coming across the room at him. Jock steeled himself and started to look up, but his attention was arrested by the piece of paper and pen being set in front of him.

  “I will have to read whatever you write to your Toby.” It was the translator.

  Jock swallowed and glanced up, meeting her eye. “Thank you . . . um—”

  “Corinne.”

  He nodded. “Thanks, Corinne.”

  It took him a few minutes, because even when he’d said he’d be willing to let someone listen in on a conversation with Toby, he hadn’t actually thought they’d let him do it. He couldn’t go with anything too graphic, like, “I’ll let you fuck me,” even if he’d wanted to say that. That wasn’t the real issue anyway.

  So yeah, it took a while. But finally he had it.

  You’re the only shirt I’ll ever want to wear.

  Corinne frowned down at it. “This isn’t a code phrase?”

  “No, I swear.” Jock tried to look extra innocent, force some dew into his complexion.

  She tilted her head, inspecting it a few seconds longer. “Does this have something to do with coming out from your own closet?”

  Close enough. He nodded. “Yeah, it does.”

  “Bon. I’ll deliver it, I promise.”

  “Thank you,” he breathed.

  Toby was, not surprisingly, exhausted. But he couldn’t get comfortable in his little holding cell, even after he’d convinced them to turn off the light, and he was hungry. What passed for coffee and croissant in their prison made him horribly homesick for the gîte. And his little cabanon.

  And Jock. Toby never should have said that, about Jock’s issue destroying everything they had. It sounded so final, but if Jock wanted to try to work it out, Toby’d be there. He believed in his frat boy’s ability to overcome.

  But he’d left his frat boy thinking he didn’t.

  Fuck, they could at least give him a pillow to hold in here, but there was nothing. Nothing to cling to, unless he wanted to hug a half-eaten pastry.

  He lay there, watching the room get lighter as the sun came up, and thought about the situation he was in. If he knew how it would end up, would he do it again?

  Yes. All of it. Come to France, fall in love with Jock, support the fratbros in their illusions (for their emotional welfare). They may make him nuts, but he had an odd sort of affection for the boys now. Possibly it was because they’d forged bonds through proximity and diversity, but did that matter? Not really.

  Besides, if he hadn’t come, who would have in his place, and would he have been as nurturing as Toby? Unlikely.

  Of course, if he ended up incarcerated over this, his feelings on the matter might change. B
ut Officer Faustin had seemed confident that they would be freed soon, and Toby decided to have some faith in that. It was better than worrying.

  Besides, he had Jock to obsess over. Because however they ended up, he wouldn’t choose to undo what had happened between them. It was too special. Jock was too special, even with all his stereotypes and lack of experience. Toby’d been lucky to have him.

  I sound like I’m preparing to let him go. Toby squinted up at the ceiling, trying to decipher the odd feelings. He felt calm, and even a little serene—although very little—but overlaying it was that deep aching sadness that came from knowing that things were out of his hands. Jock either would or wouldn’t work through his issues, and Toby’s only choice was to stand by his man regardless of the cost to himself, or to give his man space and hope for the best, thereby retaining some of his own self-respect.

  The light fixture suddenly came on, blinding him. Toby jackknifed up, rubbing the spots out of his eyes. He put the pieces together when the electronic lock buzzed. Someone was coming in. To let him go? It was still early, and on a Saturday. But Faustin had sworn the judge would make a decision today, hadn’t he?

  When the door opened, a woman walked in, and for a second Toby thought that she might be the judge. The impression was reinforced when she handed him a piece of paper. Were these his release orders or something? But it was a single sheet, with a single handwritten line.

  “Mr. Gervaise requested that I give you this.” She smiled at him.

  “Mr. Gervaise?” Toby stared at her.

  She arched her eyebrows questioningly. “Your boyfriend?”

  “Oh, I mean, I know he’s my boyfriend, I just didn’t expect . . . anyone to let us pass notes, I guess.”

  The woman shook her head. “There will be no more note passing. Just this one. You will have to keep whatever you want to say to him to yourself until you’re free to go.”

  “Okay.” He nodded, still watching her.

  Her eyes flickered down to the note in his hands. “Are you going to read it?”

  “Um . . .” Was it weird that he felt shy about doing it in front of her?

  She tilted her chin. “I’ll leave you alone with it.” Then she turned, knocking softly on the door before someone buzzed her out.

  Toby stared after her. He’d really thought the French FBI would be less matchmakery and accommodating, and more militant and hard-nosed. Huh.

  Taking a deep breath, he finally read Jock’s note. One line. He hadn’t even signed his name.

  You’re the only shirt I’ll ever want to wear.

  “Oh baby.” Toby stroked the words with his fingertips. His frat boy did want to work it out.

  The end came not with a whimper, but with a bang as the door exiting the bowels of the DCRI and leading into the small lobby area slammed behind Toby. It had taken another five hours or so, but the judge had determined there was nothing to the charges, and they were free to go. In fact, according to Officer Faustin, they would be returned by the same officers who originally arrested them.

  Toby was far more interested in finding Jock and the bros than he was in his ride home at the moment. The small room he’d been shown to was full of people, and it took him a few seconds of concentrating before he began to recognize any of them. Danny was smiling, talking to Jules (very much not smiling) about something, hand clamped on his shoulder. Turbo was leaning against a wall, sulking. There were a couple of officers near him, guys in black with the white DCRI letters.

  Jock should have been easy to find in here. He was taller than everyone.

  The door behind Toby opened again, and before he’d fully turned to see who’d come through it, Jock had grabbed him. Pulling Toby around by his arm, then holding his face between his palms. Their eyes locked, like always, and Jock’s were so full of relief and fear and something else. “I love you,” he said. “I’m in love with you—”

  “Baby—” Toby’s own hitching breath stopped him from continuing.

  “I can’t lose you over this. I’ll let you—”

  Toby cupped his neck, pulling him forward into a kiss. Partly to shut him up, but mostly because Jock loved him. He pressed himself closer, stretching up and initiating full-on contact, trying to dissolve himself into his boyfriend. Become a warm fuzzy and melt into Jock’s heart. Or something ridiculous like that. Jock was everywhere, hands on Toby’s back, crushing them together, lifting Toby onto his toes and directing their kiss with his tongue until Toby was breathing through him. Cupping the back of Toby’s head, holding him right there even after ending the kiss.

  “I’m in love with you too,” Toby whispered against his cheek.

  A palm slapping him between the shoulder blades jolted them both, and then Danny’s voice shouted from too damn close, “Well, that was a lovers’ reunion scene if I ever saw one.”

  “Oh Christ.” Toby dropped his forehead to his boyfriend’s shoulder.

  “Danny, you’re ruining our moment. Get the fuck away,” Jock snapped.

  “Just thought you guys might want to put it on hold for now and continue this in private, later,” Danny said in the quietest voice Toby’d ever heard him use. “I know that’s how I’d want it to be with Monique.” He beamed at them.

  “That’s so . . . perceptive of you.”

  “Yeah,” Jock said, face screwed up in confusion. “Thanks.”

  “Don’t say I never did you a solid, dudes.”

  “I wouldn’t,” Toby promised.

  Danny grinned, then turned and addressed the room in general. “Well, it wouldn’t have been much of a trip to France if we hadn’t gained some intimate knowledge of their legal system.”

  “I hope he never becomes a tour guide,” Jock muttered.

  Danny did them another solid, too. The DCRI returned them to the gîte in fewer cars than they’d used to transport them to Marseille. Presumably because now they wouldn’t collude with each other in the furtherance of their beer agenda. The officers took them out to the parking lot and began divvying them up into three vehicles. That was when Danny whistled loudly and barked, “Clown car maneuver, men.”

  Toby and Jock ended up alone together in the backseat of their own ride. They hadn’t had a private moment together since Danny’d broken into their unprivate moment earlier. Toby was trying to decide if he was willing to have a serious discussion in the back of a spy car—he’d be stupid to think they weren’t bugged, right?—when Jock settled in on the other side of the bench seat from him, then pulled him close.

  “Um, they’ll probably want me to have a seatbelt on. It’s the law here, and they’re, you know, law enforcement.”

  “Wear the one for the middle seat if you have to, but you’re staying right next to me.” Jock stretched out his arm behind Toby’s neck, wrapping his hand over the ball of Toby’s shoulder.

  Toby couldn’t come up with a compelling reason to protest. He dug out the center seat’s lap belt instead. Jock didn’t say anything until they were moving, pulling out of the parking lot between the two other government vehicles in their caravan. Then he turned his head and buried his nose in Toby’s hair, kissing his temple.

  “Did you get any sleep?” He kept his voice low, adding to the intimacy already created by their closeness and the warmth and strength of his body.

  “No,” Toby murmured, tilting his head, laying it on Jock’s shoulder. “I couldn’t stop thinking. Did you?”

  “I fell asleep as soon as Corinne took that note to you.”

  “That was her name? She seemed nice.”

  “Yeah, she was the translator for my interview.”

  Toby snorted. “Interview.” He turned enough to rest his hand over Jock’s heart. “Thank you for the note.” He could feel Jock swallow.

  “Did you understand what I meant?”

  “Yeah.” He lifted his chin enough to kiss Jock’s neck. “We’re still going to have to talk about it.”

  “I know.” Jock wrapped his arm tighter, squeezing Toby to him
for a second. “And I know this isn’t the time, but I need to tell you I want to figure out this, you know, bottoming thing, and I want to do it with you. If you’re willing.”

  “I’m so willing.” Toby nodded, hair rubbing against Jock’s jaw, catching strands in his whiskers. “I wanna be your favorite shirt.” He had more to say, but a yawn interrupted him, and then he forgot.

  Jock kissed his hair. “They didn’t let you bring your glasses.”

  “I didn’t need them. I’m not driving.” Toby tried to blink the buildings zooming by outside back into focus. Too hard. He let them blur out again.

  “But you look so hot in them.”

  He smiled and wanted to lift his head for a kiss, but he was too tired, so he rolled forward to press his lips against Jock’s clavicle. “I don’t think they were concerned about that, or they wouldn’t have let me get dressed.”

  Jock kissed his forehead. “Go to sleep, babe.”

  “’Kay,” he mumbled, letting his eyelids shut, sinking into Jock’s heat.

  He slept the whole way back to the gîte, waking just as they were pulling into the driveway. He sat forward to stretch and look around with interest. As if something might have changed since they were taken into custody. “Was that just last night?”

  “That we were arrested? Yeah, it was.”

  “Weird.” He could tell by the position of the sun that it was late afternoon now. The cars stopped in front of Madame B’s house, and before Toby could direct their driver around back, Madame was flying through the front door, arms outstretched, calling out something to someone.

  Danny bolted out of the car next to them and ran toward her. They met, Danny picking her up and twirling her around and kissing her, in the middle of her herb-filled patio. It wasn’t quite a field of flowers, but the effect was the same.

  As Jock and Toby climbed out of their ride, Toby overheard Noah saying, “Whoa. Didn’t see that one coming.”