Seven Deadly Queens (The FuBar Book 3)

by Jess Whitecroft

  “We should have sex,” he said.

  Bunny sat down on the bed and blew out smoke. “Excuse me?”

  “Sex,” said Justin. “We should have it. You’re all knotted up and cranky and like you need to get banged, so let’s bang.”

  “Bang?”

  “Yeah. Bone. Pork. Fuck. Screw. Rollin’ over in the clover. Getting jiggy with it. Hiding the salami. Doing the mattress mambo…you know?”

  “Yes, I know,” said Bunny, handing the joint back. “Is there a reason you’ve turned into the world’s dirtiest thesaurus?”

  “It’s Christmas.”

  “Right. And that’s a reason why we should have sex? Every time your bell rings, a slutty angel gets his wings? I mean, what? What brought this on?”

  Justin moved closer, straddling Bunny’s lap like a stripper. “I don’t know. Mayonnaise. Or something.”

  “Mayonnaise?” said Bunny, looking up with those big brown eyes and turning Justin’s crank so hard it almost fell off. Bunny on the coffee table, whimpering around the riding crop between his teeth as Ryan pushed the buttplug into place. Hold still, Honeybunny, and watch me suck Justin’s cock. If you move you’re gonna get another spanking. Who knew a fucking schoolteacher could be such a goddamn freak?

  “I love you, Justin,” said Bunny, hooking his fingers into the waistband of Justin’s jeans. “Trying to follow your thought processes makes my life so much more interesting.”

  “I heard you put a jar of mayonnaise on your hair,” said Justin. “And Hu said that Ryan said it made his apartment smell like a sandwich, then my brain was like ‘sandwich’, and I automatically thought of the last time I had a sandwich.”

  “And French fries.” Bunny’s smile was pure filth. This was totally happening.

  “Always been one of my favorite combos.” Justin leaned forward, tipping Bunny back on the bed. He wriggled up on his knees like he was about to ride him. “Come on. The last time was Ryan’s birthday, and he’s a Libra.”

  Bunny frowned, although his hands slithered up under Justin’s t-shirt all the same. “Again, I might need a map for this one, Justin. How is his star sign relevant?”

  “He’s early October, not late. And that was the last time the three of us got down – for his birthday. And before that was August, for my birthday. Now, your birthday isn’t until April and I don’t think I can wait that long for another birthday threesome…”

  “No, you’re right. You’ll probably explode. So you want to extend the tradition to Christmas? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” said Justin, squirming as Bunny tweaked his nipple ring. The sensation made his spine go soft and wiggly and he drooped down onto the bed and buried his face in Bunny’s neck. They were both hard and grinding slowly, and it was extra naughty because Ryan wasn’t there and this was as far as it could go without him. Justin licked the inside of Bunny’s ear, making him shiver and arch, pushing that huge dick against Justin’s more modest package. “Fuck me.”

  “Okay,” said Bunny, scrambling for composure. “I’ll talk to Ryan about it.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes,” said Bunny, and slapped Justin on the thigh. “Now go open my bar, you little sex maniac. And stop getting me all squirrelly in the panties; you know full well I have to tuck my dick.”

  *

  Public transport was a horror at this time of year, even when you didn’t still smell like prison and had just spent an hour catching a sad Miss Rose up with all the things she was missing on the outside, like Justin creating the perfect Gin Fizz and Helena finally dating someone who didn’t tick way too many boxes on the Hare Checklist. Bunny gritted her teeth, sharpened her elbows and staggered back across town to the bar, where her newest hire – Tess Tosterone – was still attempting to nail the gentle art of mixing an Amaretto Sour.

  “It’s hideous out there. Like, New York levels of awful,” said Bunny. “I thought everyone did their Christmas shopping online these days, but obviously not in Pittsburgh.”

  Tess dropped a bunch of rocks into a old fashioned glass and took the cocktail shaker out of the fridge. At over three bills she had to squeeze through the hatch at the end of the bar, but she moved with a surprising grace considering her size. Her party trick – which she had promised not to do on Bunny’s stage – was a can-can routine incorporating death drops that would have been terrifying on a queen half her size. Somehow her knees still worked, but then she was only twenty-four.

  “Here you go, Mama,” she said, handing Bunny a much-needed Amaretto Sour. Orange rind and maraschino cherry answered present and correct. Tess was learning, which was why Bunny had hired her over Joy De Veve, a nitwit who Helena – in an uncharacteristically catty moment – had described as ‘the trick that warnings on bleach bottles keep missing.’

  Bunny sipped and sighed. Perfect. Just the right ratio of lemon to sugar to booze. “Oh, yes, Miss Mess – now this is an Amaretto Sour.”

  Tess sucked a breath through her teeth. She had a gap that gave her smile a good-natured, bawdy look. “Yeah. Um…I cheated.”

  “What?”

  “I had Justin mix that one up ahead of schedule. We suspected you’d need perfection after the prison, but I watched. I did. I took notice of every step.”

  “Hey, you got the garnish right. That’s progress.”

  “I’m trying,” said Tess. “I am.”

  “Oh, honey – it’s not your fault. We’re victims of our own success around these parts. When your bartender gets a reputation as some kind of alcoholic genius…” Bunny sat up on the banquette. “You have to live up to these things. Or down to them.”

  She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and startled at seeing Adam there. Prison time was Bunny time, because that was what Rose needed right now. She needed that snap and sashay and fuck-you, a thing that mere Adam couldn’t always deliver. Bunny Boyle had always been a creature borne of necessity, a way for Adam to exercise his meanest, darkest comedy instincts, because for some reason it was far more socially acceptable to be a stone cold cunt when you were dressed up as a woman. Whenever things were bleak, sad, painful or just plain ugly, that was when Bunny came out to play, turning everything into a punch line or a filthy retort.

  “How was the baby?” asked Tess.

  “The usual. Sad. Pale. Incarcerated.” Adam ruffled his hair. It needed cutting. The ends were a faded bubblegum pink that made him look like he was trying to make frosty tips happen again. “Still, at least she’s out of solitary.”

  “Solitary? Oh my God, what happened?”

  “Guy called her a faggot and she attempted to cave his head in with a lunch tray,” said Bunny, with something akin to maternal pride. “Apparently when she’d done you could make out his exact expression in the tray. Molded the thing to the shape of his ignorant goddamn head.”

  “Aw,” said Tess. “She takes after you.”

  “You gotta show strength in there,” said Bunny. “Otherwise they fucking eat you, and I don’t mean in the sexy way.”

  Tess fluttered and fanned. She had tiny, dainty little hands. “Ooo. Macho Bunny. That’s a hot new look on you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Speaking of violence, is Venus still alive?”

  “Yes, but she wishes she wasn’t.”

  “Why? What did you do to her?”

  Bunny got up and went in search of another maraschino cherry. “Nothing,” she said. “Didn’t have to.” Several months ago Venus Envy had accidentally let slip to Hu Chen that Helena had once experimented with piss play while doing molly with Justin. It hadn’t gone down well. “I merely mentioned the time Helena dropped a prosthetic toe in my Amaretto Sour and then sat back to let her ruminate.”

  “Ruminate?”

  “On the fact that Miss Helena may look like she’s made of rainbows and kittens, but under that Disney Princess exterior is a hardened Montana ice-queen who will absolutely fuck your shit up.” Bunny skewered a che
rry and chewed happily. “And the worst part? She takes her time. That’s what I said to Venus. ‘You’ll never see it coming,’ I said. ‘Me – I’m like a rattlesnake. Step on me and I’ll fucking bite you, but with Helena? She’s patient. She’s not even a snake. She’s more like a gas. Like carbon monoxide. She comes on slow and steady, and you won’t even know until it’s far too late, and you’ve suffered the kind of ugly, pointless drag death only reserved for the likes of Phi Phi O’Hara.’”

  Tess’s brown eyes were round as silver dollars. “You’re a mean queen, Miss Grinch.”

  The door opened, bringing with it a strong breath of winter and Sheila the Dealer, a lanky, Anglo-Indian purveyor of pills, potions and chemicals. Sheila – who dressed like what would happen if Vivienne Westwood had been offered the opportunity to design for Doctor Who – unwound an enormous red and black striped scarf and slipped a package out from under her safety pin covered pea coat.

  “Guess what I’ve got?”

  “Herpes?” said Bunny.

  “Nope.”

  “HPV?” said Tess.

  Sheila pulled open the wrapper. “The brand new Queens of Pittsburgh calendar.”

  When Sheila wasn’t hooking people up with substances, she photographed drag queens. “Baby New Year…” she said, flipping open the page.

  “Oh my God. I can’t believe you put Joy De Veve in a diaper.”

  “I think it’s adorable,” said Bunny. “Plays to her intellectual level. Who was February? Oh…Misty Meanors—”

  “—my funny valentine. I like her in red,” said Sheila, flipping the page. “And here’s Tess – our Mad March Hare.”

  Tess – a three hundred and fifty pound hare, sporting whiskers and packing an industrial strength sideeye – sat perched at a tea table, where the Mad Hatter appeared to have slid off his seat and partially out of shot, so that only his hat showed. There was no sign of the Dormouse, and maybe that was for the best.

  April was Venus Envy, who was trying – and failing - to look sultry in the rain. “April showers,” said Bunny. “Is that a yellow filter?”

  “It’s subtle,” said Sheila.

  “It’s pissy. I like it.”

  “I thought you were April, Bunny?” said Tess. “Isn’t that your birthday month?”

  “Yes, but Venus is also April and I couldn’t resist the urge to make her look like she was being peed on. I agreed to move to June.”

  “Excellent decision,” said Sheila, opening the page and revealing Bunny as Miss June, wearing nothing but a rainbow mohawk, body paint and glitter.

  Tess gasped. “Miss Bunny, you is naked.”

  “Please. You’re never naked in a lash like that,” said Sheila.

  “The glitter kept sticking to them,” said Bunny. “Do you remember? You should have seen the state of my bathroom afterwards, too. Rainbow paint all over the shower curtain and down the sides of the tub. It was like a gay remake of Psycho. Turn the page already – everyone’s seen more than enough of my ass.”

  Helena was Miss July, tipping a slutty salute in a stars and stripes bikini top and a pair of low-slung Daisy Dukes that tested the limit of tuck technology. “Ooh, she’s so pretty,” cooed Tess, and there was no getting away from it; Helena painted disgustingly pretty every damn time, and knew how to artfully arrange her red pigtails to hide her square jaw.

  It was at that moment that Helena – or rather, Stephen – came in, all boy in big boots, plaid shirt and a construction helmet. “Hey you,” said Bunny. “You seen this yet? My little Fourth of July firecrotch.”

  Stephen squinted at Helena’s Daisy Dukes. “Excuse you. I shaved.”

  “Just as well, honey. If those low riders were any lower we’d all be looking at your amber waves right now.”

  Sheila double taked, looking from boy to girl and back again. “Jesus,” he said, blatantly checking out Stephen. “When did you become such total fucking trade?”

  “I’m in love,” said Stephen. “It does wonders for the complexion. Can I see June? And please tell me you didn’t get her dick in shot.” He took a moment to admire the picture. “God, you’re good.”

  “Thanks,” said Sheila. “Actually I’ve got another little project lined up, if you’re interested.”

  “Always,” said Bunny. “What is it this time?”

  Sheila grinned. “Seven Deadly Queens. Big Instagram shoot. Each one representing a deadly sin.”

  “Oh, and you want me to be Lust?” said Tess, blinking innocently. “Or Pride? No…wait. I wonder who you’d want me to be?”

  “Darling, it’s no shade, but you are…”

  “Fat,” said Tess, owning it. “I know. Is there cake? This is the important part.”

  “Duh,” said Sheila. “There can be no true Gluttony without cake.”

  Tess nodded. “From your lips to God’s ear, honey.”

  “What about Envy?” said Bunny. “I daresay Miss Piss has already snagged that slot.”

  “Afraid so. So far I have Joy down for Greed, but I’m looking for Wrath and Sloth.”

  “What about Lust?” said Tess.

  “Too many offers. I have so many lusts,” said Sheila, just as Justin came in.

  “Justin, your timing is incredible,” said Bunny, laughing. “Is there a slut signal that summons you or something? Like, a giant erect penis projected against the sky.”

  “Oh, we have got to get one of those,” said Stephen.

  “I’m serious,” said Sheila. “I’m swimming in potential Lusts. That’s why I came to you guys. I can always count on you to be creative.”

  “I’ll take Sloth,” said Stephen, glancing at his phone. “I think I can do something sexy with it.”

  “I don’t doubt it.” Sheila swiveled on the bar stool and turned to Bunny. “And you, Miss Bunny. Will you be my Wrath?”

  “Aw. You thought of me. How sweet.”

  Sheila took Bunny’s hand and kissed it. “Darling, who else can do it the way you can?”

  Bunny giggled, turning coquettish. “Will there be axes? And screaming?”

  “Anything you desire. I’ll bring the props, you bring the white hot, unfocused rage.”

  “Oh, shit,” said Stephen, eyes on his phone.

  “What’s up?” Bunny sidled down the bar towards him, leaving Sheila to leaf through the calendar with Tess and Justin.

  “Hu.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “Yeah,” said Stephen, thumbs at work. “Sounds like we’ve had another plumbing malfunction at the apartment. Oh my God, I told him not to try to hook up the bidet just yet.” He stared into the phone and groaned. Bunny caught a glimpse of a photo of what looked like an indoor fountain. “I am never going to have time for dinner.”

  “Is that supposed to do that?”

  “Of course not.”

  “I was gonna say. It looks like Old Faithful. You boys are going to have the cleanest butt holes in Pittsburgh.”

  “Ugh. So much for my reservation at L’arancia,” said Stephen. “I’ll have to cancel. Oh, unless you want it?”

  “Dinner?” It wasn’t the worst idea Adam had ever heard. “Hmm. That could work. You know, Ryan’s always trying to take me to dinner, but we always end up naked.” He caught Justin’s eye and waved down the bar. “Justin? Honey? – can you handle things tonight?”

  “Sure,” said Justin. “You going out?”

  “To dinner. I’m kind of hungry, now that you mention it.”

  If Ryan had been here, it would have been his cue to point out that Adam had eaten nothing but junk food and cocktail garnishes all day, but right now there was only Justin, who bared his teeth in a wolfish, chip-fronted grin so lecherous you could have hung a red light over it and put it in an Amsterdam display window. “Yeah, me too,” he said. “Got a powerful lust for French fries lately. Wonder what’s up with that?”

  Adam tried to remember exactly how or when ‘French fries’ had become the code word for ‘eyewateringly dirty threesomes,’ but as
usual his head was suddenly full of thrashing and moaning, and how the bruises hadn’t faded for days and how Ryan couldn’t stop admiring them. Licking them. Touching them. Coming all over them.

  “Bunny?” said Stephen. “Why did he say French fries like that?” He lowered his voice. “Is that a safe word?”

  “No,” said Adam, flustered. “The safe word is ketchup, by the way. If you ever hear me screaming ketchup then come running, because something has gone terribly wrong.”

  Stephen stared, his phone burring into life once more. “Wait, you actually have a safe word? I was kidding. Holy shit – what are you guys into?”

  “So many things.”

  Stephen answered the phone. Even from a foot away Adam could hear rushing water in the background. “It’s not stopping!” said Hu’s voice, raised over what sounded like a scene from Titanic.

  “So find the mains switch,” said Stephen, grabbing a tube of silicone sealant. “Honey, don’t panic…I’ll be right there…it’s probably downstairs. Try not to drown, okay?” He planted a quick kiss on the side of Adam’s mouth. “Reservation’s in my name. Seven o’clock.”

  “Bye, baby. Good luck.”

  “Gonna need it,” said Stephen, already halfway out the door.

  2

  Ryan was in heaven.

  It helped that the restaurant owner’s daughter played the harp, and that right now she was plucking out a celestial sounding rendition of God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen. And it helped that he’d been drinking champagne, but most of all – the most heavenly thing – was being here with Adam.

  They had never dated in college. Ryan had been too much of a jock in those days and Adam too sexually voracious to have much time for romance. The romance had crept in slowly, sneaking into the space between their breaths while they lay sweaty and tangled in a narrow dorm bed, until one night all Adam had had to do was yawn and nudge his thigh higher between Ryan’s for Ryan’s heart to puddle like butter in a microwave. Ryan remembered lying there looking at him, the words ready on his tongue – I’m in love with you – but then Adam had made that face like he was holding in a fart and said, “God, I hope I can sit down tomorrow. Your dick is incredible.”