by BA Tortuga
He texted Tucker, fingers only hesitating over the keyboard for a second.
Luv u2. OMW
K honey. Waiting on you.
He could almost see Tucker’s smile. It was nice having someone call him honey without the New York sarcasm. Tucker’s version was warm and affectionate and so… Tucker. He loved it.
The ride back uptown seemed longer than it should. But then again, he was so done that even a five-minute ride would have been five minutes too long. He tipped his driver and stepped out of the car and into a misty, chilly kind of rain that stung his face as he hurried into Tucker’s building.
The door was open and so were Tucker’s arms, and he didn’t have to wait for either.
He stepped in, as close as he could possibly get, and slid his arms around Tucker’s waist. His body fit against Tucker’s like the very last piece of a jigsaw puzzle. Just slid in and everything was right again.
“Hi,” he whispered into Tucker’s steady shoulder.
“Mmm. Hey, honey.” Tucker sounded so happy, so real, but it was those arms that held him like they could support him forever that did it for him.
He stepped away enough that he could see that face and look into Tucker’s eyes. He figured he looked as tired as he felt now that the makeup was off, but he didn’t think that mattered to Tucker. “Everything went great. But this feels better. Did you get a lot of work done?”
“I did. Lots of black-and-white work. It was peaceful. Good. Just a short series.”
“Wow, that must have been refreshing for you. You’re kind of a long-haul artist.” He lifted his chin to beg a kiss. “Kiss me, and then please tell me you saved me a bagel.”
He was hungry. In that “I would eat just about anything right now” way.
“I have a half dozen here. You can have whatever you’d like.”
“Mmm. Thank you. Kiss first. Just a little one.” Kiss, food, and nap. In order of priority.
“Yessir.” Tucker was laughing softly as he took Calvin’s lips, the kiss sweet and soft, just barely tickling.
He couldn’t help but giggle back at Tucker, the exhaustion making him silly. He took a couple of those lovely kisses, smiling against Tucker’s lips. “You found scissors.”
“I did. Just for you.” Tucker drew him over to the bed. “You want it with cream cheese or anything? The bagel, not the scissors.”
“Just a really light schmear, please. And you’re a nut.” He dumped his coat on the floor and stripped down to his T-shirt and briefs. “Hey, you got the paint out of the sheets.” He climbed up into the center of the bed and crossed his legs, watching Tucker putter around the studio.
“I did. Well, I bought new sheets, which is basically the same thing, right?” Tucker wore a pair of loose sweats that looked like they were made for that tight ass.
He had to remind himself he was tired. Then he had to remind his dick that he was tired. “Sure. It’s a valid plan B. It’s the same thing as, like, fucking up dinner and ordering a pizza.”
“Exactly.” Tucker brought him half a bagel on a paper plate. “Using my fine china.”
“I hate dishes. Oh my God, it smells so good.” Bread. God, bread always smelled so good. He picked up the bagel, took a bite of absolute heaven, and did a little happy food dance. “M-m-mmm.”
“You want water? Coffee? There’s Dr Pepper.”
“Water, please.” He’d scarfed down half the bagel already. Three or four more bites and he’d be done. It felt good in his stomach. Heavy and filling. It was the perfect “pre pass out for half a day or so” meal.
Tucker brought him a bottle, then sat with one arm wrapped around him, quiet and easy.
He took a couple of big swigs from the water bottle and then leaned into Tucker, feeling all the stress start to let him go. “You feel so good, tiger. I know you have work to do, but will you stay here until I’m asleep?”
“I’ve been wanting to nap with you for hours, honey. We’ll just lay our burdens down a little while.”
That sounded so romantic. The million little ways Tucker took care of him filled his bucket to overflowing. If he was half as comforting for Tucker, he’d be pretty damn proud of himself. He turned his head and kissed Tucker’s neck, then popped the last bite of bagel into his mouth.
Tomorrow, he’d decided on the way to his audition that morning. He’d ask what Tucker’s plans were tomorrow.
He took one last swig from his bottle and set it and the plate on the floor.
Tucker pulled him into the curve of his body, settling them both down into the sheets.
“Good night, Tucker.” The last thing he remembered thinking was how comfortable he was and how warm.
JESUS, HE needed to pee.
Calvin forced his eyes open and rolled over onto his back, stretching long and yawning. He needed to get up out of bed, but it was so warm under Tucker’s comforter, and the room was so dim. Must be… what? Really early morning or—a glance at his phone told him it was late afternoon. Oh, that was excellent. He might actually feel human in a bit.
He slipped out of bed and hurried to the bathroom where he heard the water running and poked his head in. “I’m coming in to pee!” he called and then went right in.
Tucker chuckled. “Morning, sleepyhead. You feelin’ better? You looked damn wore.”
“I don’t feel like I’m going to fall over, but I don’t think I’m actually awake yet. Can I make coffee?” He yawned again and peed for what seemed like forever.
“Whatever you want. I’ll be out in two shakes.”
“Fab.” He washed his hands and ducked out of the bathroom. It was starting to get dark, so he moved to the far wall where the light switches were and turned on some of those spots Tucker had all over. They were nice indirect lighting and didn’t make him squint.
He glanced curiously at a stack of paintings against the wall and went to flip through them. They were all really familiar, part of that captivating series of blackbirds, birdpeople, and subway tunnels that looked like black holes into nothing. The set that Tucker had been working on until a couple of weeks ago. So cool how they were all the same but all so different.
He really wanted coffee, so he headed to the kitchen next. It was a tiny efficiency, but it was clean and had all the basics. He opened the coffee can, took out a scoop, and then remembered that this kind of machine needed a filter.
He hunted around the counter but didn’t find one, so he started opening cabinets and looking around.
Tucker sure had a lot of cereal. Geez. And most of it wasn’t even actually real food. It was mostly sugar and a rainbow of artificial colors. Yuck.
He opened a tall cabinet next to the fridge, surprised to find a bunch of canvases inside. He figured maybe they were the ones Tucker was… what was the term Tucker had used? Like, the thing where you clean and recycle the canvas to be used again. He couldn’t remember that stupid word.
He pulled them out, frowning as he found them all painted, not clean and white and ready to go. He spread them out, finding five canvases covered with him—his face, his body.
With him? He didn’t understand. He picked one up, angling it to the light to see it better, his eyes tracing Tucker’s interpretation of the line from his ear, down around his shoulder. That wasn’t nearly as awful, though, as the look in his eyes, real enough to look right through him.
He dropped the painting back on the floor and stepped back from the group of them, rubbing his hands together like they’d lashed out and stung him. His heart was pounding again, but not in the wonderful way it usually did when Tucker was around. This was… something else.
Calvin had asked him not to. “You said you wouldn’t.”
“No, I didn’t. Those aren’t for you. They’re for me.” Tucker stood there, drying his hair with a towel. “I know you didn’t want to see them; that’s why I put them away.”
“Jesus.” He gasped, the way Tucker snuck up on him making him jump. “For you? I asked you not to do this, Tuck
er. What do you mean they’re for you? That’s so….”
Creepy. Obsessive.
“And then you hid them away? What the hell?”
Stalkerish. And kind of scary.
“You said you didn’t want to see them, so I made sure to put them up.” Tucker looked at him like he wasn’t making sense.
What? Is this a game?
“Come on, Tucker. Don’t be obtuse. I didn’t want to see them—I didn’t expect to see them because I didn’t want you to do them! I told you I didn’t like it. It’s… it makes me uncomfortable. Anxious.”
His eyes stung, and he marched away from all of it. He didn’t want to see them anymore. “You can’t do any more of these.”
“I paint what I paint, honey. You know that. I love you. I swear, no one will see them, but I have to paint.” Tucker carefully put the canvases back. “Did you get your coffee made?”
There was so much wrong with everything Tucker had just said that he didn’t even know where to start. “You don’t have to paint me, Tucker. What are you not understanding here? I don’t care if anyone sees them. I’m not one of your fucking demons. I’m standing right here, flesh and blood, and I’m telling you, I don’t like it. Don’t paint me anymore.”
Tucker winced, staring at the closed cabinet for a second, and then he took a deep breath. “I’m gonna get some clothes on.”
Calvin hurried over to him, getting in his way, stopping him with one hand on his chest. “Come on, tiger. Just promise me you won’t. It’s not that big a deal, is it?”
The paintings were a big deal to Calvin, though. Every one of them felt like Tucker was seeing things Calvin didn’t like, or didn’t even know about himself.
“Please just promise?”
“I can’t. It would be a lie.” Tucker looked still, empty maybe. “I don’t want to lie to you.”
Calvin searched Tucker’s eyes, watching the blue go a little dim. His heart sank into the pit of his stomach. “I don’t want to be lied to either.” He got out of Tucker’s way and went to find his jeans, not knowing at all what to do. He had no recourse, no leverage over a flat-out no.
Tucker loved him, he believed that, but the man’s priorities were clear. Tucker couldn’t promise him the only hard thing he’d ever asked for.
Tucker grabbed a pair of jeans, slid them on without a word, then slipped into an old sweatshirt that was covered in paint. “Do you want…? What can I do, honey? I don’t want to fight.”
You can make me a promise to stop stealing little bits of my soul and bringing them to life in all their ugly glory on your canvases.
He sighed and wiggled his feet into his sneakers. “I don’t either. Neither of us is winning. I guess neither of us can.”
He scooped up his coat off the floor and pulled it on. He couldn’t look into Tucker’s eyes again. Everything, everything hurt right now. “Let me know if you change your mind.”
The three steps it took him to get out the door were the heaviest of his whole life. He wasn’t sure he’d make it to the subway.
He made it down the flight of stairs, though, and turned back, looking up to see Tucker standing there in the window, watching him leave.
Watching him leave—and not trying to stop him.
Calvin paused at the curb and stuck his arm out, and a cab pulled right up. The ache in his chest was so painful he couldn’t get a deep breath and his hands were shaking, but he got in and he headed home.
TUCKER WATCHED Calvin leave and tried to remember how to breathe. He’d been so careful, but crazy showed, he guessed.
He couldn’t promise to be less than he was; he couldn’t. He didn’t know how.
Tucker pulled the paintings out, looking at the beloved curves, the beauty that…. Were they so awful? Was the way he saw Calvin so distasteful?
God. What was wrong with him? He threw the canvases, shattering them, first the ones of Calvin, then the rest, destroying them one after the other, until he couldn’t breathe, until all he could do was stare into the night that wasn’t black.
He couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t.
He grabbed his phone, pushing Marge’s name with one finger, leaving a bloody swipe. “Answer the phone. Answer me.”
“Tuck? Honey? It’s real early. What’s wrong?”
“I have to go home. Please. Please help me. I have to go home, right now.” He was losing his mind, and the demons…. It didn’t matter if they were real or not. They showed around the edges. He was losing it. He must be.
“Oh shit. Okay. I’ll call you a car. You go to the airport. I’ll get you on a flight, okay? What about…?”
“I couldn’t hide my crazy. I tried. Please, I need to go home. I need the lights to go off for a while.”
“Anything, son. You’re okay, right?”
“I need to go home. I love you.”
He hung up, and he grabbed the clothes he’d come with, his laptop and cords, and he headed downstairs to wait for his ride. As he waited, he shot off an email to Marge with instructions for what was left of what was his here.
It was time to go home where he belonged.
Chapter Fourteen
GO AWAY. Go away. I don’t want to talk to anyone. Let me sleep. Just leave me alone. I miss him.
How long had Timmy been knocking? Calvin sat up and stared at the door. Wait. Was Timmy knocking, or was that pounding in his head? He covered his ears and then uncovered them again. Fuck. It was both.
He felt hungover, but he hadn’t had a thing to drink. The only binge he’d been on was sleep and some hot, frustrated tears.
“Timmy,” he croaked. His throat felt like sandpaper. “Go away.”
“No. No way, Cal. You’re gonna starve or something.”
“I starve for a living.” Ow. He swallowed hard, or tried to. “Okay, fine. Bring me some water, then?”
“I can do that.” It seemed to just take a second before Timmy handed him a bottle. “It’s open. Be careful. What happened? Was he a fucker to you?”
He looked at Timmy, wondering what Timmy wanted him to say while he sipped the water slowly. He really didn’t want to bring it back up. “No? And yes, a little. I kind of wish I could just say yes. I mean, I don’t. And I do. It would be simpler.”
“Okay. Okay, do you need me to call out a hit on him?”
Fuck, he didn’t feel like smiling. But that was funny. “Cute.” He sipped his water again. “I don’t know how to explain it without you…. I just can’t explain it. It sounds petty, and it’s so not.”
“Hey, I’m on your side. He sucks. Whatever he did, it was wrong. Fuck him.” Okay, that was adorable.
“Timmy, you’re the best friend an idiot like me could ask for.” Because he’d picked this fight. However wrong he thought Tucker was, it wasn’t Tucker who’d started it. He squinted at Timmy. “What day is it?”
“Uh, Friday. You’ve been crashed out hard. A package came for you. Some mail. You want something to eat?”
“What have you got? What time is it?” Where was his phone? He didn’t really want to function today. But he’d basically been in bed since Wednesday. He didn’t feel like dealing with mail or packages. That was all too real-world for him right now.
“There’s some yogurt, half a pizza, uh… sandwich stuff, and a can of tomato soup.” Timmy grinned at him, eyebrows waggling. “Green and some olives.”
Oh. Perfect. The distraction of a movie and little dose of I don’t give a shit might be exactly what he needed today. “Pizza, olives, green, and Fifth Element.” And, like, four more bottles of water. Jesus, he was thirsty.
“I’m so totally in. I’ll warm up the pizza. You grab the bong.” Timmy came to him and hugged him, sort of awkwardly, but it was a hug, and he needed it.
He probably held on too long, but the solid touch stopped that feeling of freefall and put some ground under him again. “Thanks, Timmy.” He let Timmy go and gave him a wink. “Bong. On it.”
He should shower, but he just couldn’t d
eal with standing up that long. He slid out of bed with a sigh, realizing he was still wearing the same T-shirt he’d been wearing at Tucker’s.
“Gross.” He changed into clean everything, making sure it was all soft and comfy, and then dug the rainbow glass bong out of the back of the coat closet.
Chilling with Timmy was familiar and comforting, so he tried to get into it. Company was good, and he already knew that weed made him chatty. He’d tell Timmy what happened and be in a better state to listen.
“What kind of pizza is it?” He leaned in the doorway to the kitchen, letting the wall hold him up.
“Ham and pineapple. I was craving. Come on, Cal. Sit. Don’t drop the pipe.”
“Oh.” He looked at it. Yeah, that was probably a good idea. He set it on the coffee table. “Ham and pineapple? You are way too Cali sometimes.” He’d have a couple of bites, but it sounded vile.
“It’s good. I swear. You’ll like it.”
Right. Not in this lifetime or the next.
He plopped down on the sofa, surprised when Timmy put a piece of pepperoni in front of him. “Derp. I got a half and half.”
“I totally should have known you were messing with me, dude,” he teased, doing his best Timmy-the-surfer-boy impression, and picked up the pizza, hoping it would be okay in his completely empty stomach. It tasted amazing, and he let the spicy pepperoni sit on his tongue for a minute and make his mouth water. “Oh, yum.”
“It doth not suck, dude.” Timmy got the bowl filled and took a long drag, the water bubbling merrily away as he sucked.
“I bet that doesn’t either.” He took the lighter right out of Timmy’s fingers. “Hand that over.”
He covered the top of the bong with his palm as Timmy gave it to him and then set it over his mouth to breathe in what Timmy had left in the chamber. “Oh. Nice.” He lit the bowl again and took one more hit before handing it back, holding it in as long as he could manage.
“Mmm. It’s good to sleep with the supplier.”