by BA Tortuga
He was, and he had to make himself stop after a while because he couldn’t spring wood at this shoot. This one had girls in it.
“Cal!”
Zoe interrupted him before he’d decided whether to hit Send. He didn’t.
“Zozo!” He and Zoe had done dozens of shoots together—they had great chemistry, and photographers dug it. They’d also become pretty tight in the last year or so, and he was happy to see her on his set. “What’s up, beautiful?”
“Are you on this shoot too?” Zoe hurried to him. “Why don’t they ever tell me?”
Calvin shrugged. They never told him in advance who he’d be working with either. “Don’t smudge me, girlfriend.”
She nodded and gave him a not-kiss. “How are you?”
“I’m good.” I’m great. I’m having the most amazing affair. I’ve lost my mind. “You?”
“Good. Busy. Hungry. Frozen.”
“Word.”
“What hotness are you wearing this time?”
He pushed away from the wall he’d been leaning on and opened his robe to show her his white trunks. “Shapewear, Zozo! Look at my ass!” He turned around, and she lifted up his robe.
“Oh my God.”
“Right?”
“They’re like a pushup bra for your tushie.”
They were. Right down to the whole lift and separate thing. Tucker would love them.
Calvin laughed. “You should have seen the ‘maximizers’ I had on this morning.” They reminded him of when his mom would stuff shoulder pads in her bra.
“As if you need maximizing.” Oh, Zoe was so good for his ego. She shook her head at him. “I think your trunks cover up less than mine for once.”
“Ah, but did you get a bra this time?” He already knew the answer.
Zoe snorted. “Yeah, right.”
“Oh, goodie! I get to touch your boobies again.”
“You just wish you had your own.”
“Sometimes. Not often, though.” He winked at her. They might be fun for a night now and then.
“Ms. Jones, Mr. McIntire.” The call was so formal.
“We’re up.”
Calvin was grateful it was all studio work today. It was freezing out again, and it had taken him a bit to get warm enough to parade around in underwear. On location, even indoors, could be sketchy this time of year.
He followed Zoe onto a green screen stage and dropped his robe into the hands of the intern he’d been assigned for the day. His name was Lee, and he was cute as anything—he was probably twenty, but it was hard to believe he was a day over fifteen.
“Lee. Phone.”
Lee smiled at him and took his phone, and Calvin gave him a wink. “Thank you, sweetheart.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. McIntire.” Lee ducked his head and scooted off set.
“That blush might be worth talking to, huh?” Zoe teased.
It was, but Calvin already had a date tonight. Or tomorrow night. Soon.
He stood still while the hair people and wardrobe people and camera people did their thing. Zoe did the same, looking lovely, half-naked and patient.
It was going to be a long day. He’d already done one set this morning. He’d taken a nap on his lunch break. Then there was this shoot, which Michael told him was for a round of internet advertising, and that would be followed by solo shots with a hundred wardrobe changes for a catalog.
He’d be so busy he wouldn’t have time to miss Tucker like he did right now.
THE BIRDS were watching him. Tucker crawled out of the bed and started painting again, the people with wings, the men with sharp beaks, the ravens with bare chests and tattoos. The long leather coats with feathers growing from the seams.
They were telling him about their plans, how they filled the streets, a sensual, sexual army with empty shiny black eyes and sharp, sharp beaks.
Tucker’s hands felt like shattered glass lived in his knuckles, crunching and clattering under his swollen skin. He stared down at them, the black paint splashed over them, the dye running along his skin and making feathers.
So many feathers.
He texted Calvin with trembling fingers.
Hope you’re well. Miss you so. Dream the good things.
He wasn’t sure if it was early or late or if the world was just dim.
The reply came back instantly. Just got up. Dinner? I’ll even eat.
Yes.
He didn’t know what to do for a second. Did he offer to go there? Have Calvin come here? Where was here compared to there? He needed a shower. He was stained, top to bottom. Feathers. “They’re not feathers. Stop it. Stop being crazy.”
Fuck, his voice was raw.
Need a shower first. Text me your addy. I know it’s cold but I need to get outside. Can we walk to dinner?
Sure. Me too. Showering. He sent the address, then headed to the bathroom with the shower stall thing that was a fancy showerhead and a drain in the floor. How much paint had gone down that drain? Were the pipes stained with a thousand paintings?
God, that would be horrifying and wonderful and sad.
Seemed like a good while before Calvin rang his bell, enough time to find clean jeans and comb his hair and make the bed, anyway. Maybe Calvin wouldn’t be completely horrified.
He’d had paint in his ears, in his beard, everywhere. He was damn near normal now.
He opened the door, eager to see his lover, his Calvin.
“Hey, Mr. New York Artist.” Calvin’s smile was warm. He stepped right inside, tugging his thick scarf down to loosen it, and lifted his chin up for a kiss. “I missed you.”
“I hear that. Yes.” Tucker leaned down, the kiss a little desperate, a little wild, a lot hungry.
Calvin whimpered lightly in answer and pressed into him, one hand cupping his jaw.
Sweet. Calvin tasted sweet, rich, necessary, and he drew his lover in, the sensation of their bodies rocking together pure heaven.
A second later, though, Calvin was suddenly heavy in Tucker’s arms, and he broke off the kiss, blinking like he was trying to get his bearings. “Whoo. Let’s go eat something, okay?”
“Yeah. Yes, sure. Sorry. Come on and we’ll find something wonderful.” He hadn’t gone outside since he’d come up, so he had no idea what was here, but there ought to be things. This was a city. Cities had things out the wazoo.
“We will.” Calvin got his feet under him and smiled. “Don’t forget where we left off, though. I liked that.” He tugged his scarf back up. “Did you get out for a new coat yet? It’s cold out there.”
“No worries.” He would be fine. Tucker grabbed his jacket and his gloves, his gimme cap. “Let’s go see what we see.”
Cold didn’t begin to describe it. Lord, he’d have to leave the water dripping tonight, he’d bet. Did folks do that in the city?
The chill seemed to give Calvin more energy. “Have you wandered around at all? There’s tons of choices. There are a couple of Italian places, sushi, a bunch of neat Irish pubs…. I don’t know what’s closest.” Calvin’s gloved hand took his.
“I haven’t left. I’ve been working. You choose whatever you’d like. I want to hear all about your shoot.”
“Okay. Then I want a hamburger.” They joined a group of people waiting on the corner to cross the street, and Calvin led him into the crowd when the light changed. “The shoot went well. It was long, and I’m pretty wiped. I got home around nine last night, and I slept all day.”
“That’s a ton of work, for sure.” Did that mean he shouldn’t offer to let Calvin spend the night or he should? They didn’t have to do anything. He could just hold Calvin, but maybe that was wrong.
“Ever been to Times Square?” Calvin looked at him. “If not, keep your eyes open when we turn the corner up here.”
“They’re open. Promise.” Even though what he wanted to look at was Calvin.
Another half a block and then Calvin was tugging him around the corner and right out into what seemed like the middle of the street. Up i
n front of them was the tall, narrow tower that Tucker had seen on TV on New Year’s Eve a couple of times, the crystal ball sparkling and reflecting all the light from below.
“I love all the screens and the electronic billboards. That’s the New York Times Building, by the way.”
“That’s stunning.” He couldn’t even imagine the amount of work to make that all function. Lord, there had to be a crew and a half.
“Yeah.” Calvin took his arm. “I love all the color, and the whole bright chaos of it.” Turned out they weren’t in the middle of the street really—the street was closed and people were coming and going, crisscrossing and weaving around one another like it was a sidewalk. “Come on, I’ll get you out of this crowd.”
“Okay. It’s busy. All the people.” Like birds. Flocking. “It’s pretty cool, really.”
He let Calvin steer him across to the far sidewalk, and from there they walked a couple more blocks up what he discovered was Broadway, after squinting at one of the street signs. It was chilly still, but the wind wasn’t quite as evil headed in this direction.
“Pub,” Calvin told him, pointing to a green awning jutting out from one of many gray buildings.
“Perfect. Burgers. Beer.” He held the door open for Calvin. He was going to feed Calvin and hope he got to hold his lover tonight.
“I’m so in. Oh, warm.” Calvin hurried inside.
A cute redhead ushered them right to a tall table and set menus down for them.
“I am starving.” Calvin opened his menu.
“I can imagine. You want a burger, you said.” He looked at the menu, the thought of Guinness stew actually working for him. Warm, filling, spicy—he was into it.
“Long shoots make me hungry. I’ll hit the gym tomorrow. Will you share fries with me?”
“Of course. There’s nothing about crunchy potatoes that I don’t love.”
That made ordering easy, and once their beers arrived, Calvin was smiling and chatty. “So my friend Zoe was at my second set on Monday and came back Tuesday for a group thing. Practically naked for the first, completely clothed for the second—that was new. We always have a blast together. She’s exactly my height, she has blonde hair that’s way down to her butt when she straightens it, and she’s totally shameless. We are all over each other in underwear shoots. Photographers love us.”
“I bet.” Tucker could appreciate shameless. It was a rare but wonderful quality in a person. “I imagine your job can be damn near impossible with someone you don’t like.”
He pondered the visual of Calvin and a long-haired girl, but he’d have to see her face; otherwise it came out with fangs, and that seemed mean, to demonize Calvin’s friend. A little fun, maybe, but tacky.
Huh. He’d have to explore that whole thought. Jealousy was a bitch of a master, and he didn’t intend to bring it to bed.
“It can be awkward, because this business is drowning in egos. But it’s not impossible. Usually people are at least respectful. If not, I just use the crappy energy to perform better. Pissed off is hot on camera. At the end of the day, I just want my paycheck.” Calvin sipped his beer. “Mmm. That’s good. I almost never drink beer.”
“Pissed off is hot on camera.” Okay, there were good thoughts there. Tucker painted a lot of fear and need, but not angry. He didn’t love that headspace. Still….
Focus, Tucker.
He smiled at Calvin, letting himself just be right here for a second. “So, it sounds like a good couple days of work. Congrats. Where will the pictures go?”
“Well, kind of all over the place. On Monday, I did a catalog shoot, so those will go to print. I also did some internet advertising stuff, which could end up anywhere online. Um…. Tuesday morning was all for Michael. He’s putting together a portfolio thing for a big Calvin Klein gig. That was really tiring, actually. He was really picky, and I don’t even get paid for that. And then Tuesday afternoon was print catalog stuff with a bunch of people, and that was fun. I was even mostly clothed for a lot of it.”
Calvin leaned back and let the server put a huge burger down on the table. There was more food on that plate than he’d seen Calvin eat since they met.
“Zoe and I modeled butt-lifters.” Calvin had to have timed that on purpose. The server put Tucker’s food down in front of him and hurried off without a word.
He grabbed his spoon. “What’s a butt-lifter do? I mean… obviously it’s a thing….”
“Well, like Zoe said, it’s like a pushup bra for your ass.” Calvin gave him a sly smile and stood. Tucker liked the bright blue top he was wearing; it was tight, like just about every top Calvin seemed to own. Calvin turned around, and he got a good view of Calvin’s backside in a dark pair of slim jeans. “Like this.”
“Mmm.” His fingers twitched, the curve of that sweet ass calling his name. “Pretty, pretty.”
He’d never known anyone in his whole life that thought more about undershorts than his Calvin.
“Thought you’d like those.” Calvin sat down again and slid the burger off its bun. “You can take them off me later if you like. Pass the ketchup?”
“Yessir.” He spooned up a bite of his stew and ate, enjoying the way it warmed him up. That was the ticket. “They suit you.”
He liked the sweet surprise of the lace ones, he thought, but more than that, he was enjoying the novelty of knowing someone that cared about what covered his tush.
“Thanks. I usually get a bunch of freebie swag on these gigs.” Tucker watched Calvin cut off a bite of the burger and stick it in his mouth, watched him pull the fork from between closed lips. His eyes closed as he chewed like he was tasting a little bit of heaven. “Oh. Mmm. So good.”
He grinned and nodded. That was good to see. People should enjoy what they paid for, and Lord knew that Calvin had to not eat a lot for his job.
Calvin’s next couple of bites were less deliberate, and all the chatter fell away. It was a good kind of quiet, and Tucker decided just to let him eat. Finally, Calvin put his fork down and picked at their basket of fries. “What do you like? The skinny crunchy ones or the fatter soft ones?”
“I’m easy. I don’t love the ‘natural’ cut ones with the peels still on. Those are odd.”
“Well, you’re in luck, then. Here.” Calvin held out a fry for him.
“Thank you, sir.” He munched it, finding it light and crispy, salty, and really, really good. He blinked and grinned, feeling a little like he’d been mostly asleep and was suddenly awake. “Those are good. Better than the stew.”
“Oh yeah?” Calvin fished around and found one, then took a bite. “Wow. They are good.” Calvin waved another one in front of him. “Yummy. So how’s the studio? Did you paint? Was it good?”
“I did. I painted birds.” The feathers were starting to get under my skin, which was a little weird, but they washed off. “There are some fascinating visuals from the table.”
“You’ll have to show me. The visuals from the table and the birds too. Will you show me those?”
He was pretty sure Calvin just swallowed down half a dozen fries. There was some nice color in those cheeks now too. Hard to tell if that was the food or the beer.
“Of course. Most of the birds are still rough. I have to spend time with each of them after the first rush to make them come to life.” He stole another fry, chewing meditatively while he tried to remember whether he’d slept in his bed yet, and if so, did the sheets need to be changed, and third, did he have a spare set of sheets.
“I don’t care if they are rough. I want to see your process, if that’s okay.” There was still over half of a burger left on Calvin’s plate, and they’d barely dented the fries, but Calvin leaned back in his chair and groaned. “God, I am so stuffed.”
“Yeah, they’re good portions.” He took one more french fry, snarfed it down. “Can I ask you to spend the night with me tonight?”
The sweet smile Calvin gave him was enough to answer his question, but as usual, Calvin had to play. “Sure, a
sk me.”
“Honey, I would love to spend the night with you. Please come back to the studio with me?”
Calvin nodded at him. “I need to be with you.”
“Same here.” It was like an ache. Not a pain, not anything bad—an ache that seemed to be made better with the promise of connection.
Calvin reached across the table and tangled their fingers, the expression on his face warm and open. “Two lies and one truth.”
“Two lies and one truth.” He thought a second, then offered, “My first comic book hero I drew was a purple yeti, I’m allergic to bees, and my closest friend in Austin is a bass player who’s apprenticing to a tattoo artist.”
He didn’t figure it would be difficult for Calvin, but the games were fun, especially now that he understood that the lies were in the details.
“Sneaky. I don’t have any hints to go on. And I could believe any of them.” Calvin squinted at him. “Well. I kind of feel like, after seeing you try to draw a still life at age two—completely insane, by the way—that a yeti might be a possibility, but not a purple one. And I don’t see an EpiPen in your pocket, so I’m going with the tattoo artist as the truth?”
Very good. Tucker grinned, stupidly pleased. “Got it in one. His name is Stu. He’s a good man. Gargor was bright pink, by the way, and I’m allergic to fire ant bites. I get terrible blisters, worse than normal ones.”
“Gargor?” Calvin giggled, the sound light, pleased. “A pink yeti. See, if you’d said pink I still would have said that was a lie. And it’s good to know you have some friends, tiger. You and your… and Marge make it sound like you’re a hermit.”
“I have guys from college. I see them sometimes.” He saw Stu play at SXSW last year, and Daniel had been there with his new wife, the blonde with a mole on her cheek. “Everyone is busy, and I live out of town.”
“Well, at least they’re someone to call. You know? And it seems like you’re pretty busy too. What do you call Marge? Your agent? Your… what? Aunt? You must use something more personal.”
“When I was a little boy, she was Gigi. I had a granny and a pappy, a mee-maw and a papaw and a Gigi.” It didn’t slip out very often—when he was really frightened, when he was trapped, when he needed someone to save him—but she always came when he called. Always.