Cross Bones

by Editor Anne Regan

  At that moment, I heard a loud click from the front of the house. Startled, I jumped and immediately pulled my hand away and jammed it into the front pocket of my jeans. Oh, I would have worn the really tight ones today!

  “Kap! We’re home!” exclaimed a voice, accompanied by laughter in various pitches. Oh my God, I thought, I’m getting caught with a hard-on looking at gay porn when I’m here for a job interview! Maybe I’ll just pass out! I immediately put the DVD that I was holding (with my other, less mischievous, hand) back on the shelf, but not without disturbing the entire row, causing a couple of the cases to drop on the rug.

  “Hey, who are you?” asked the voice. I spun around and looked into the eyes of a teenage boy with bangs over his eyes, not unlike Justin Bieber, in a red T-shirt and striped hoodie. He was followed by four other boys—which included a startling pair of twins—all undeniably attractive. Was this a high school gathering, I wondered? Maybe the Warblers from Glee? I held both my arms down in front of me in a vain attempt to conceal my persistent hard-on.

  “Uh, hi, I’m Peter. Kap invited me here.”

  A tall and well-built man, perhaps in his early thirties and wearing a knitted stovetop hat, pushed his way to the front and extended his muscular arm covered in Maori tattoos. He had green eyes and a stunning smile.

  “Hi, I’m John. Welcome to our home.” I hesitated for a second before moving my right arm, then shook his hand. Oh, let them see, I thought. They’ll just think I’m really well-hung.

  “And I’m Nibs,” said the first boy with the Justin Bieber hairdo, breaking into a sly grin as he glanced at my crotch.

  “And I’m Tootles,” said another, sporting auburn shoulder-length hair and an orange kerchief around his neck, with a Southwestern twang. He was munching on a Clif Bar.

  “And these are the twins, Duke and Binky,” said a stunningly handsome boy with dark features, alarmingly long eyelashes, and a shock of black curls, indicating a pair of too-cute blond boys with identical features. “I’m Curly,” he added. As he smiled ear to ear, I had the unmistakable sensation that I had seen him before, but where?

  “And I’m Michael,” said a voice from behind the twins. A gorgeous and beefy man about the same age as John, with a closely cropped beard and carrying a tote bag, pushed his way to the front. “Nice to meet you.” He likewise extended his arm, also covered with tattoos, for a handshake.

  “Nice to meet all of you,” I replied, dazzled at the welcoming crowd made up of breathtakingly attractive males. I smiled at each one of them, certain I would cream in my pants if another extended his arm for a handshake.

  “I see you found our stash of DVDs,” said Tootles, giggling. The twins looked at each other, stifling their laughter.

  “Uh, yeah, I did,” I murmured, wishing Kap would return.

  “Was there one that caught your eye—more than the others?” asked Curly, quite innocently. I could feel my cock throb with both embarrassment and excitement.

  “How about this one?” asked Tootles, grabbing one of the DVDs lying on the rug. “It’s one of my favorites.” He handed it to me, still giggling.

  I took a glance and saw that it was the first one I had noticed. As I looked again at the pair of stunningly hot guys on the cover, I realized that the faces were exactly the same as two of the boys standing right in front of me—Tootles and Curly! I gasped.

  “Yep, that’s us, all right,” said Tootles. “Me and my favorite fuck buddy!”

  “Tootles!” declared Curly, gently taking the DVD from Tootles’s grasp. “Don’t embarrass our houseguest.”

  “Nothing to be embarrassed about,” sniffed Tootles. “It just shows he has good taste.”

  “But what about us?” asked one of the twins.

  “Or me?” asked Nibs, tossing back his bangs. “I have my own DVD.” He began combing through the shelf, humming the tune to the Bieber hit “Baby.”

  “Yeah, you all do,” interrupted John, putting his hand on Nib’s shoulder. “We can talk about all of this later.”

  “Sorry, you know how these young ’uns can get,” teased Michael, poking Tootles from behind. “Once they become porn stars, there’s just no stopping them.”

  “Porn stars? Did I hear ‘porn stars’?” I turned to see Kap, dressed in a striped blue and white shirt and a silver vest, entering the room. I was glad to see him wearing another pair of tight trousers, this time of navy linen. His hair was wet, and I could smell the woody scent of cologne on his face. His shirt was open to reveal a mass of dark chest hair along with his necklace.

  “Nobody here’s a porn star,” said one of the twins.

  “Oh, everybody here,” announced the other twin. “Even John and Michael.”

  “That was a long time ago,” said Michael, trying to sound nonchalant.

  “A long time ago,” agreed John, crossing his arms, exhibiting the blue and purple figure of a twisting sea serpent.

  “It wasn’t that long ago,” corrected Kap. “It was when Lost Boys Studio first started, after Never Neverland folded.”

  “Did you say ‘Lost Boys Studio’?” I asked. I recalled seeing that label on the DVDs I had looked at.

  “Yep, Lost Boys Studio,” replied Kap. “And these, I’m proud to say, are the Lost Boys, at least the current incarnation. Did they introduce themselves to you, Peter?”

  “We sure did,” exclaimed Tootles. “Although not in the way that we sometimes do!” He giggled, and the twins joined in.

  “Well, as you might have gathered by now, this is the home of Lost Boys Studio,” explained Kap. “We don’t do much of the shooting here—we do most of that in a South of Market warehouse that we rent from Falcon. But this is where we operate from. The office is upstairs. And the boys, as you can see, live here.”

  “Upstairs, downstairs, and every stairs,” interjected John, picking up a shirt and a pair of mismatched striped socks off the floor.

  “So we need someone to help me run the office,” said Kap. “I’m usually busy with the film director and the crew, and I need someone here on a daily basis to manage things, answer the phone, handle orders, be in charge of the website, that kind of thing. But don’t worry, you won’t have to manage the boys. That’s what John and Michael do.”

  “Aren’t we the lucky ones?” murmured Michael, picking up a pile of comics off the coffee table. He paused to look at the pieces on the game board and repositioned one of them, giving Nibs a smug glance.

  “But you’ll be able to watch some of the shoots, if you like,” added Kap.

  “And some of the filming, too!” interjected John, grinning. Curly let out a whoop.

  “Do you like gay porn, Peter?” asked Kap.

  Is this an interview question? I asked myself.

  “Well, I have the feeling I shouldn’t say no!” I asserted. Tootles gave a loud hoot, and everyone else laughed.

  “No, you can’t,” said Kap. “It’s part of the job.”

  “Well, yeah,” I said, “of course. Very much. Always. Whenever I can.”

  “Well, then,” he responded, clapping his hands together. “It’s settled.”

  “Don’t you have any other interview questions?” I asked. “Don’t you need to check my references?” Tootles looked glaringly at my crotch, then spun around to keep himself from exploding with laughter. Curly whispered into his ear, and Tootles nodded, covering his mouth.

  “Would you like me to call your former employers and tell them a gay porn company is considering you for a position?” Kap looked at me, squinting his eyes with mock seriousness.

  “I guess it would depend on the position!” declared John. “Top or bottom?”

  Kap gave out a hearty guffaw, and the Lost Boys began clapping with glee.

  “If I’m upstairs, I’m a top, and if I’m downstairs, then I’m a bottom,” I replied without missing a beat.

  “Then you’re hired,” declared Kap. “How about it, boys?” he asked, darting out of the room.

  Nibs and Cur
ly gave a loud shout, Tootles let out another hoot, and the twins cheered in unison. John tossed his hat into the air. Michael gave me an affectionate hug. What a motley crew, I thought. How wonderful!

  “Welcome, Peter,” said John, grasping my shoulder affectionately. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

  “Yeah,” agreed Michael. “Now our little group’s complete.”

  “Peter and the Lost Boys!” declared Kap, returning with a six-pack of bottled Blackbeard ale in one hand and a six-pack of Coke in the other. He handed me a chilled Blackbeard and one to John and Michael. The boys each got a Coke. Nibs let out a sigh as he popped open his can.

  “They’re all over eighteen but not yet twenty-one,” explained Kap, twisting the cap off his bottle. “We gotta watch what passes through their lips, you know.”

  “I have the feeling I’ll be watching that—a lot!” I exclaimed.

  “Just watch what you do with that bottle,” warned Tootles.

  “I’ll be watching that, too, Tootles,” I replied. “You can be sure of that!”

  Tootles squealed as the rest of the boys danced around me, cheering. A loud squawk came from Tink in the other room.

  “Okay, okay, how about a toast to our newest addition?” asked Kap, holding up his Blackbeard. Foam from the beer began to gurgle down the sides of the bottle. I was tempted to lick it off but refrained. Maybe later, I thought.

  “Oh, wait,” shouted Michael as he ran into the kitchen. He returned with two large bags of Pirate’s Booty corn puffs. “How can we celebrate finding our Peter without Pirate’s Booty?”

  How indeed? I wondered. How indeed?

  JUAN KENOBI is a writer and artist who, when not concocting improbable stories, likes to spend his spare time browsing through used bookstores, over-attended museums, and under-appreciated theaters. He likes British mysteries, looking at self-portraits by Schiele, and getting lost in Venice or the West Village—preferably in the spring or fall and while wearing comfortable shoes, usually made of suede, and toting an overstuffed messenger bag. Juan lives in San Francisco and is unrelentingly fond of his dog Keira and his partner Rik, who continually promises to go with him to Paris.

  IRISH RED

  M.J. O’SHEA

  Cutlass Island, 1713

  THE night was dark, sweltering, and heavy, air tangy with salt from a crashing sea and loud startling crackles every so often when lightning slapped the horizon. It was the kind of night that made men restless, mean, eager for a fight—something about the lightning, I always thought. I was on edge waiting for trouble to be washed in with the rain. Trouble always seemed to come when it stormed.

  I was standing behind the bar of my pub, The Dagger, pouring my fifteenth rum of the hour when it happened. The slotted door swished open, squeaky with rain-swollen hinges. He entered, and the room hushed with an unnatural quiet. I could hear the wind outside, the creaking of boats against their moorings, the rustling of trees and rats scurrying out of the rain, but like everyone else, my focus was on him, the tall, lean form that filled my doorway.

  He was a predator, deadly and unforgiving.

  I knew that much from the way the others scuttled out of his way like drunken cockroaches, leaning on door frames and barstools to make sure they weren’t caught in his path. A long sea coat, wet from the downpour, swinging at his knees, and boots, breeches, and a hat shoved over a cascade of waving deep-red hair hid everything but the generous curve of his mouth. It didn’t matter. I knew who he was.

  Irish Red O’Malley. Pirate king of the seas, captain of the Sargasso, a ruthless, cunning killer.

  I tried not to betray myself as I watched him approach my bar. He moved with quiet grace belying the ferocity that simmered just below his surface. There was no hint of discomfort in his face, despite the oppressive heat of a storming summer night. He pulled off his hat and placed it on the dark wood of my bar counter. His face was beautiful, young, at odds with all that he was.

  “What’ll it be, Cap’n?” I wanted to touch him, to reach out and trace my fingers over the sharp edges of his high Viking cheekbones. But to touch him was death, immediate, painful, and public.

  “Ale. Whichever barrel has the least rats.” His Irish brogue was thick, like he’d never left his homeland, and I'd forgotten to expect it. But his voice was deep and full of slow-moving molasses. It made the back of my neck erupt in pleasured chills.

  “Yes, sir.” It was nearly impossible to keep the tremble out of my voice. I felt it in my throat. With shaking hands I turned, his stare piercing my spine, and filled a cup with the best ale I had. “You on shore long, Cap’n?” I tried to sound polite, but I was digging for information. It wasn’t every day that the likes of O’Malley showed up at my humble doorstep.

  He grunted and slapped a palm full of coins on the counter. Gold. I coughed on a sharp breath and covered the coins with my hand before anyone else saw them and decided they needed to gut me for them.

  “Sir?”

  “For good service,” he grumbled. If I hadn’t looked up at that moment, I would’ve missed the hint of a smile.

  “Thank you.” I bowed my head and scraped the coins off the counter, putting them in my apron pocket. I’d get away as soon as I could and hide my unexpected treasure upstairs where it was less likely to be stolen.

  “You drinkin’ tonight?” he asked, taking a swill from his cup.

  I shook my head. “No. Never when there’s a storm.”

  “Expecting trouble, are you?”

  “Might already have it.” There was no way he could miss my smile. Luckily he smiled back. It was devastating. I tried not to be affected. Impossible.

  “I reckon you do.”

  He gave me a nod indicating that he’d like another. Since he’d just given me enough gold to pay for all the alcohol on the island, I didn’t see a problem with that. I’d have never denied him anyway. With another small nod, he stood and took himself to the cramped table in the corner where he could look out over the harbor.

  For the first time in long minutes, I took a full, deep breath.

  I WAS standing at my bedroom window, looking out at the wild, moonless night, loving the finally cool breeze against my face, when I felt his presence behind me. He’d come, just like I knew he would. I turned just as he was drawing his shirt over his head and watched, fascinated, as tendrils of dark red escaped from it to fall back over his bare shoulders.

  “You’re here,” I murmured and walked slowly, drawn by his power.

  “How could I stay away?” He reached for me, and I went to him without hesitation.

  Irish Red O’Malley; pirate, plunderer… the love of my life.

  I flung my arms around his shoulders and tangled my fingers in that fall of warm, dark red silk. He smiled, and I saw the face I’d known since we were boys—open and friendly, unchanged by years at sea.

  “Chris,” he whispered into my hair, raining kisses over my head and hugging me closer. I lifted my face from his shoulder and turned it, asking silently for a real kiss. He smiled again. “I wanted to kiss you desperately earlier, pull you over that counter and into my arms.”

  “I was trembling for wanting it so badly. Brian, please.” He obliged, nudging my face with his nose, nipping at my lower lip. “It’s been months, love. I need you,” I moaned quietly.

  “I need you too, Chris. It was too long this time.”

  Too long. It had felt like forever. “Remember at the orphanage back home, how you’d come into my bunk at night after the others were sleeping?”

  Brian smiled. “Yeah, I was the puny one back then. You’d hug me when I got scared.”

  “Sometimes I get scared when I’m here alone for too long.”

  He rubbed the pad of his thumb under my eye. “You should move to another island, maybe live in Kingston, or somewhere safer.”

  “By safer you mean somewhere they’d hang you on sight? I’ll never do it.”

  “I know.” Brian sighed. I lifted his heavy hair and blew on
the side of his neck, pleased at the shiver caused by my simple touch. I noticed a scar on his shoulder, pink and newly healed.

  “What’s happened to you this time?”

  He felt instinctively at the scar. “Nothing, my love.”

  “Hmm.” I didn’t believe him. He didn’t like for me to worry, but worry I did. I’d join him on his ship so I could keep an eye on him, but I didn’t have the stomach for sea travel. Besides, it would kill me to be that close and not actually be with him. Of course we could not.

  “Chris, can we please not ruin tonight?”

  “Is tonight all I have of you?” I didn’t want to push him, but I had to know.

  “Chris….”

  I tugged on his hair again, pulling him down to my face for a real kiss, long and deep. “Love you,” I whispered against his mouth.

  “Always have,” he whispered back.

  I felt his hands at my waistband, pushing and tugging, trying to get my bottoms out of his way. Yes…. I was thirsting for his touch. I did the same, pulled on laces until his bottoms were loose and falling to the floor. I needed all of him warm and rough and wrapped around me. I needed to remember how good it was.