Deconstruction

by Kit Zheng

  Instead it betrayed him; he lost his footing again—what the hell was that, slick on the bottom of the puddle, algae?—stumbled and he felt something strike his forearm, felt a stinging burn, as if he’d scraped himself. His back met the ground, knocked the breath out of him and Mr. Deer lunged at him, face full of teeth. It was life or death for both of them. For Robbie, too, in a way. If Tomas died, there was a good chance Mr.

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  Deer would go back and take care of Robbie as well. As a doctor, it would probably be easy for him to get in and out before anyone was onto him. And Vic, what would he do?

  The knife sliced through the air toward his face and he turned, flinched—

  The shriek of metal meeting brick filled the alleyway, startling Mr. Deer above him; light filled the alleyway.

  It’s Vic, Tomas thought, even as he shoved Mr. Deer off him and into a plastic bin in the alley. It’s Vic—oh god, let it be Vic—

  * * * *

  Vic leapt out of the car, freeing his gun from his holster. “Stop!” he shouted. “Hands up where I can see them!”

  His voice energized Tomas as much as it terrified Mr. Deer. The two men spun and wrestled, Tomas trying to get the knife away, Mr. Deer trying to cut him with it. They ricocheted against the walls like some crazy pinball. Mr. Deer managed to get behind Tomas, tried to wrap an arm across his throat; Tomas rammed himself backward, crushing Mr. Deer against the side of the alley. Got a knife in the upper arm for his trouble and twisted away with a shout. Mr. Deer bolted. He was fast, came at Vic so fast that by the time Vic shouted, “Stop or I’ll fucking shoot!” he didn’t have time to shoot.

  Mr. Deer was almost past him.

  On pure instinct, Vic swung the gun like a club.

  Mr. Deer’s head connected squarely with the butt of Vic’s gun. He dropped like he’d been shot.

  Things simultaneously slowed down and sped up as Vic looked down into the face of his tormentor of so many weeks—months. For a moment, he was frozen, unable to react; and then Jon was next to him, Jon was shouting, “Stay down! Stay the fuck down, motherfucker!”

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  Vic found he could move again. He looked up, and there was Tomas, leaning against a side door, hand pressed to his mouth. There was red between his fingers and on his shoulder and forearm; Vic felt like shaking him, felt like hitting him and screaming and like kissing him and like fucking him. Instead he ran down the alleyway and grabbed for Tomas’ wrist and squeezed, hard, really fucking hard.

  “What the hell were you thinking?” he said, when he could finally speak.

  Tomas, big, beautiful, stupid, foolish Tomas, looked up at him, sheepish, and said from behind his bloody fingers, “That I love you.”

  Vic crushed him into a hug.

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  Chapter Eleven

  Tomas sat in the hospital room pressing a wad of gauze to his shoulder. Jon was leaning cross-armed near one corner of the room while Vic finished giving a statement to a uniformed officer. Vic had refused to talk to anyone until Tomas got some medical attention. Tomas smiled, watching him fondly, gratefully.

  The officer closed her pad, thanked Vic and Jon and gave Tomas a nod. She shut the door behind her as she left, and then it was just the three of them, and silence.

  Tomas reached out wordlessly to Vic, his fingertips brushing the sleeve of his lover’s leather jacket before falling away. He glanced over his shoulder at Jon. “Can you give us a minute?”

  Both Jon and Vic said at once, “Okay.”

  Tomas started to clarify, but Jon made a gesture of surrender. “Fuck it. I’m bored out of my skull sitting here anyway.” He didn’t hide his displeasure, yanking his jacket off the back of the doctor’s stool hard enough to send it spinning, slamming the door behind him.

  Vic let out an audible sigh of relief when Jon was out of the room. Tomas took a deep breath.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said. He’d been thinking about the words he wanted to say to Vic since the adrenaline rush had worn off. Set them out carefully, one after another, hoping they would come out right. “I’ve been an asshole. I’m going to quit, all of it, 104

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  everything that made you unhappy. The dancing, the hustling, this fucked-up thing with Jon. Anything you want me to. I just don’t want you to leave.” Vic shook his head. He moved a little away, so that Tomas couldn’t reach him without being obvious. Tomas felt tightness creep back under his breastbone. “That’s not what I want, Tommy. You can’t just pretend to be someone you’re not for me.” Vic’s expression darkened a little. “It doesn’t work that way.” Tomas swallowed. “I know,” he said softly. “But—”

  “There’s more than that, okay? Other things. You love me and I love you, but maybe that’s not enough. You love your job, and I hate it. I want to talk about stuff and you don’t. I want this to be— I want more, Tommy, and you don’t.”

  “That’s not true,” Tomas said. He clenched his teeth. The block returned, thick in his throat, backing up the things he had to say. His hands fisted at his sides.

  “Isn’t it?”

  “I want more, too.” Slowly. He licked his lips, worried the inside of his cheek.

  Eventually said, “I miss you.”

  Vic clenched and unclenched his teeth. He didn’t reply.

  “I’ll talk.” Tomas knew he sounded desperate, but he didn’t care. Somehow, he did talk. “Please, Vic. I don’t love my job. Not that much. It’s just—all I am. I don’t know anything else, it’s not— I don’t care about work, not more than you.” Vic crossed his arms over his chest. He scowled. “Being a fucking hooker is not all you are.”

  Tomas frowned.

  “You see?” Vic shook his head. “I don’t respect what you do and you want me to. I think you’re better than that and you don’t get why. My opinion isn’t going to change—

  neither is yours. This isn’t going to work.”

  Tomas took a deep breath, held it. Let it out in a long sigh. “Why can’t you just—”

  “Why can’t I just what? Come home to a fucking empty bed, worry all night that you’re lying in some gutter with your throat cut open? Think about how you’re being 105

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  fucked by some stranger or maybe not a stranger, I don’t know which is fucking worse

  —”

  “I’m sorry, Vic, I was wrong and—”

  “And now you’re safe because we’ve got the guy in jail and I should just come back and make myself cozy while you come home reeking of my fucking asshole coworker?”

  “I’m done with that. It was just money.”

  “It’s not just money, Tomas, not with him, not with that fucking prick Newman!

  I’ve seen you when you come home and—”

  “Vic.”

  Tomas said Vic’s name the way he felt—soft but firm, full of longing and hurt and a little anger. Stopped Vic short. Tomas scraped, fumbled for the words. He had to get them out; they were all he had.

  “I know,” he said, after a long pause, his voice softer, even, than usual. “I know I went overboard with Jon. It was just… Ahh, I don’t even know how to—” He struggled.

  All he had was the truth; he shoved it out, graceless, ugly. “I don’t care about him, Vic.

  It was about—he kept me from thinking. It was all so out of control. Everything, and I just— I couldn’t stop. Couldn’t make it right. So I just gave up. I let him take over.

  Stopped thinking. Because I could. Because I couldn’t let you see me like that.” He took a deep breath. “Doesn’t make it right. But. I thought it would just make you even more ashamed of me.”

  “Tommy, I’m not—”

  “You are, sometimes.” Tomas gave Vic a helpless smile. “And me. I’m more comfortable with a stranger knowing the shitty parts of me than someone I really care about. How screwed up is that, Vic? It’s really screwed up. I do
n’t want to be that way.” He laughed, bitterly. “I want to try. I want— I want you to try to live with those parts of me, and I’ll try to live with some parts of you I don’t get either. And maybe figure out how to meet in between. I think—that’s how it works, right?”

  “I know how it works,” Vic said quickly, sharper than usual, and Tomas knew he’d 106

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  struck a nerve. Wanted to take back what he said, but it was too late, wasn’t it? He’d fucked up. But he couldn’t let go. He reached for Vic’s hand, curled his fingers between Vic’s.

  “Then let’s just try.”

  Vic didn’t move his hand away, but he didn’t squeeze Tomas’ hand either.

  Eventually he said, “I’m not ashamed of you, Tomas, I never was. I don’t understand sometimes, is all.”

  They sat in the hospital room, silent, afraid to look at each other. Tomas finally stood, said, “Let’s go home.”

  Vic kept his eyes on the floor. His words were chosen carefully. “I can stay a few hours.”

  Tomas nodded.

  * * * *

  They exited the hospital room, Tomas’ fingers still holding Vic’s forearm. Jon was lingering by the doorway, and as they passed he rose. Started to fall in with them, joking, “Hey—Tommy, maybe you’ll make the next one a freebie for coming to your rescue, huh?” Vic tensed, turning with his hands balled into fists. Jon braced for a fight, but then Tomas was between them. His expression was calm, but not friendly.

  “Sorry, Jon,” Tomas said. “But thank you for helping me. I think you did more than you know.” He held out a hand, as cool as if they were concluding a business deal. Jon stared at it, realized what Tomas was saying. His eyes narrowed. He watched Tomas have to take back his hand, unacknowledged, waited for the shame, the apology, the hesitation.

  Tomas just shrugged.

  Something hot and bitter emerged in a snarl from Jon’s lips, “Well, fuck you, too!” 107

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  But Tomas and Vic had moved on. He watched them walking away, oblivious. Saw Tomas’ sweet smile as he turned his head, heard Vic’s small laugh. Fucking ingrates, he thought; reassured himself that sooner or later Tomas would be back, begging for it, and he would have a good time turning him away, rubbing it into Nimikos’ face.

  “You fucking assholes deserve each other,” he muttered. And for the first time since he’d been with Tomas, he felt impotent. He shoved his hands in his pockets and turned away, looking for another way out.

  * * * *

  Vic followed Tomas into the house as if he was a stranger. Their once comfortable silence was heavy with an unfamiliar tension. Tomas closed the door and turned the deadbolt automatically. He heard Vic swallow. He started to say, “Do you want something to drink?” but then Vic closed the distance between them. Kissed him, hard, open-mouthed, clutched him, fingers gripping and sliding over Tomas’ back. Tomas groaned, crushed Vic against him and held him close, a soft sigh escaping against Vic’s neck.

  They moved deeper into the house, still holding each other, kissing, touching, half stumbling in their haste. Vic laughed against Tomas’ lips when they bumped hard against the couch, blind in the dark.

  Vic fumbled two-handed with belt buckles and flies. His mouth pressed hot against Tomas’ ear; his hands turned Tomas deftly around, pressed him over the couch.

  Murmured, “Is this what you want?”

  Metal closed around Tomas’ wrist. Tomas had been hard since Vic had first touched him, but he became iron at the click of the cuffs locking.

  His face flushed, breath coming in sharp, staccato gasps. Heard the cuff jingle as Vic guided his arm behind his back, making the shallow wound on his forearm burn. Then his other wrist was trapped, too, and he was shaky, reeling, hard and turned on, heart 108

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  hammering in the silence. He started to turn, to see Vic’s face, but a hand pushed him down against the couch, kept him firmly there.

  The silence stretched into discomfort.

  Tomas felt vulnerable, foolish, horny. Naked ass in the air, cock trapped against the leather couch. Legs automatically spread, well-schooled, well-used. Not so long ago he would have known Vic was watching him, wanting him, desperate to fuck him. Maybe drawing it out, jacking off. But now…

  His leg twitched. He curled his fingers, tried to touch the hand on his back. “We can take it slow if you want,” he offered. Soothing voice, work-voice. Was afraid Vic was disgusted, was going to step back, was going to step away and leave forever. Leave him like that, helpless and desperate. That he’d done so much wrong that Vic didn’t even find him a good fuck anymore.

  He breathed into the couch cushion, leather getting damp and slick from his breath.

  Felt shame and more shame at the soreness in his head, his cheek, from being driven into the filthy bathroom wall.

  “Vic,” he said. Startled by how strangled and hungry it came out, desperate, raw.

  “Please.” Words teetered, tumbled. “Fuck me” was what he meant to say, but it came out, “Forgive me.”

  Heard Vic let out a long, shaky breath.

  “Jesus,” Vic said at last. “Jesus, Tommy. If you could see yourself…” The hand on his back moved. Tugged the chain between his cuffed hands, tickled his tailbone, slid down the crack of his ass. Pushed briefly against his tight hole, made his dick throb and ache. He groaned through his teeth, needily pushed back. But Vic moved away, Vic stepped back, left him arching, vulnerable.

  “Vic.” He was so close to begging. Heard the soft fall of clothing onto the hardwood floor, then something heavier on top of it. His wallet, he realized, when he heard the crinkle of a foil packet. But there was no sound of tearing; Vic had put it away.

  The floor creaked with Vic’s weight behind him.

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  He had time to register hands on his ass, spreading him wide, and then it was wet and slick and hot inside of him; Vic’s tongue taking no time to flirt or tease, just opening him up, lubricating him, tasting him. He groaned again and his hands became fists, straining against the cuffs, wanting to reach around and touch himself, wanting to brace himself so he could thrust back, wanting to pull himself open for Vic to explore. His legs spread and Vic’s hands slid down, squeezing his thighs, gripping the straining muscles. Vic made a wordless sound, lust-heavy, muffled by how deeply his face was buried against Tomas; Tomas moaned as his cock twitched hard, his balls drawn up tight with the need to come.

  “Oh fuck,” he gasped. “Touch me, Vic. Please…”

  Vic groaned hard and then he was gripping Tomas’ shoulder, drawing him back.

  Spinning him with a series of grips and passes that had to have been practiced on a dozen perps, so that at last Tomas was leaned back against the couch, standing, facing Vic.

  Tomas saw the heavy-dark look in Vic’s eyes and he wanted to fuck or be fucked so bad. Felt like he was trembling, tense, needed to touch Vic but he couldn’t; could only watch. Felt breathless, knowing that. Free falling. Vic’s skin was hot, eyes heavy, mouth slightly parted. Tomas wanted Vic’s mouth on his cock, wanted Vic’s cock in him, wanted to be in Vic.

  He started to take a step forward, but then Vic was in his space, crowding him back into the couch. Was growling, “Fuck you’re amazing,” before his mouth was over Tomas’ and his tongue was in Tomas again, exploring. Tomas pushed back, tasted Vic, wished he could clutch Vic’s face and pull him closer but Vic had him this time. Vic had him in hand, Vic had both their cocks in his double-handed grip and Vic was stroking them both, cock against cock, his fat, long shaft and Vic’s shorter, thicker one; he watched, vibrating with the need to touch, with being touched. With Vic’s rough fingers sliding his foreskin back and Vic’s cock head rubbing up against his, soft and smooth and slick with pre-cum. Vic began to thrust and Tomas moved with him, against him, 110

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  into the tight tunnel of his hand. They double fucked Vic’s grip
together, Vic’s forehead touching Tomas’, skin sweaty. Moving together, faster, moving as one, cock against cock rubbing tighter and…

  “Oh fuck!” Tomas didn’t know who had spoken or if they’d both spoken but he was coming, he was coming and Vic was coming and it was so slick and tight and good. In that moment there was nothing but him and Vic and how much he loved Vic and he collapsed against Vic’s shoulder, unable to catch himself but Vic was there, catching him. Clutching him, fingers hard against the back of his neck, stroking, soothing. Vic folded, brought them both to the ground, sighed into Tomas’ ear.

  The words came for Tomas with no effort, no thinking. “Love you.” Vic hugged him close.

  * * * *

  In the morning, Tomas made coffee, and didn’t ask Vic to stay. Knew Vic hadn’t meant to stay the night. Standing in the kitchen, watching Vic put his jacket on, Tomas kissed him and smiled. Vic smiled back with an undirected joy, something he hadn’t done for weeks. Soft, in almost a whisper, Vic said, “Maybe we can do this.”

  “I want to try.” Tomas meant it, meant it so much it hurt.

  Vic kissed him, touched his face. “Me, too.”

  Tomas hoped.

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  Epilogue

  Tomas stepped out onto the street, still slightly sweaty, the night air refreshing on his overheated skin. His photo was still on the club’s poster, but underneath someone had written, “Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays ONLY!” in an aggressive hand. The marker was already fading, weeks old.

  A dark sedan rolled up to the curb, police light on the dash flashing. The tinted window rolled down and a voice said, “No loitering, buddy. It’s a school night.” Tomas smiled. “I’m just waiting for my ride, Officer.”

  “You still can’t just hang around here.”

  “I’m not trying to make any trouble, Officer.”