Princes of the Universe

by Serene Franklin

  “You good?” Mac asked, suddenly next to me.

  I gave him a thumbs-up and a punchy smile, then he told me about the real-life Jean Grey he found by the bar, and I had to laugh.

  “You certainly do have a type,” I said to him.

  With a drink in hand, gesturing away, he said, “I am a man of many vices and redheaded women are at the top of that list.”

  “You’re going to have the whitest kids ever someday, rubito,” Axel quipped, eliciting laughter from anyone close enough to hear the remark. Maxim even cracked a smile.

  The night pulsed on and the group ventured out to the dance floor again and had returned when I finished my sixth drink—or maybe it was the seventh, I wasn’t really keeping score. Bryan checked in on me again while everyone else did shots. Once more, they left to go dance, but Mac grabbed my wrist and hauled me along with him, insisting that I had to dance for at least one song.

  My tongue felt heavy and didn’t work when I tried to voice my protestations. Surrounded by a swarm of moving people with my head a mess, I began to panic. I pulled back, overestimating the force the act required and tripped backward, bumping into a solid body. An apology tried to form on my tongue when I looked up into Bryan’s sage-green eyes. I felt his hot grip on my arms more than I saw him move to touch me and craved more of his heat. He pulled me against his chest and my hands instinctively clung to his waist.

  My eyes darted around to the people around us, and despite the fact that no one looked our way, I felt like they were all going to bury me. I tightened my grip on Bryan and shivered when his stubble brushed against my neck.

  “You’re okay, Elijah. Just close your eyes and focus on me and the music,” he said.

  My eyes fluttered closed and I gave all of my trust to him. One of his arms wrapped around my waist, holding me firm and close, while the other found purchase at my nape. Bryan’s fingers curled into my hair as he swayed us, slow and tentative at first, leisurely picking up the pace as my body melted against his.

  By the second song we moved as one; I couldn’t tell where I ended and he began, and it was intoxicating. The whole place smelled like alcohol and sweat, yet I thought I could smell Bryan’s sweetness when I nuzzled the junction of his neck and collarbone. I noticed how sweet he smelled after we started getting closer, whether it was through hugs or sitting next to him on the couch. I’d seen his body wash and it wasn’t from that. It was probably silly and all in my head, but he smelled like vanilla and lemons to me most of the time—even fresh out of the shower.

  With my face buried in his neck, I drowned in the scent—his scent. It seemed so much stronger that night than it ever had before, and I found myself wanting more.

  Does he taste as good as he smells?

  The thought was gone just as quickly as it had passed through my mind, but its echoes were louder than the relentless music. I lifted my head enough to brush my cheek against Bryan’s, relishing in the scrape from his beard. We were so close that our noses brushed, and I could feel his breath on my lips. My eyes were still closed, causing me to jump in surprise when he rubbed his cheek against mine, almost like he was nuzzling. No. It was exactly like that.

  I chanced opening my eyes and saw a look from Bryan I hadn’t seen before. It was almost pained. His forehead was creased and his mouth tight, and his eyes burned. He looked like a man waging a war within himself, but I wasn’t sure what that war was. He bit his bottom lip and flexed his hand on my lower back, and I thought he was going to kiss me. No one had ever looked at me the way he was, but I somehow knew what the look meant.

  I felt lightheaded, and it had nothing to do with the alcohol. Bryan’s tongue raked across his lips, and I groaned inadvertently, hoping the music drowned it out. He leaned back in, brushing our noses once more, and I held my breath. Time stood still while I ceased to exist, paralyzed in his arms. Then he squeezed my nape and sighed in a way that told me one side had prevailed in his war. He shook his head—more to himself than for me it seemed—and took a small step back from me.

  Even with his hands still on me, I felt his absence, and my stomach twisted; I felt like I was going to be sick. I abruptly excused myself and headed straight for the bathrooms. There was a line, but luckily it wasn’t long and within a couple of minutes I stood at a sink and splashed cold water on my face. I hadn’t noticed while we were dancing, but I was rock hard.

  I white-knuckled the edge of the sink and sank my head between my shoulders. It was too much. Everything was just too much, and I needed to go home. How long had I been this turned on? Oh God, what if Bryan noticed? And why? Why was I—

  I lifted my head, and all thoughts abruptly stopped when I met Bryan’s gaze in the mirror. He was leaning against the wall, working his jaw like he might have been contemplating speaking or grinding his teeth. I took a deep breath and turned around to face him, but he didn’t come to me. He dropped his eyes from mine and seemed unusually stiff and jerky, like he didn’t know what to do with himself. I recognized it immediately because it was my daily reality. I closed the distance between us and reached for him, faltering before I reached him. Determined to overcome whatever the hell was happening to me, I grabbed his arm and watched his shoulders relax.

  “I… I think I’m going to go home,” I said, not having to speak as loudly as before.

  Bryan lifted his head and replied with, “I’ll take you. You’ve had a lot to drink.”

  I wanted to tell him to stay and have fun with his friends; however, I just nodded and let him lead me out. He texted someone from the cab, but my eyes closed, and I drifted off before I could inquire.

  I woke up sweaty and in my bed with Prince curled up by my feet. My head was pounding harder than the music from the club and my mouth tasted of bile. I moved to check the time on my bedside alarm clock and froze when I noticed my arm was bare. I was wearing a T-shirt I hadn’t had on last night.

  Ugh. Last night—rather, five hours ago based on the time. I couldn’t remember getting home. I recall getting in a cab with Bryan after we… fuck. The events of the night flooded back all at once. I thought Bryan was going to kiss me, and I thought I wanted him to. The way he smelled and felt against me, so warm and comforting, stirred my dick to life again.

  I squeezed my balls and whimpered at how overly sensitive I was. I was transported back to dancing with Bryan and couldn’t think about anything other than how good he’d felt against me—how right he felt.

  “No, no, no.” I stood and dug through the discarded baseball costume on the floor in search of my phone. A flashing red light in my periphery caught my attention, and I found my phone on the damn nightstand next to the clock. I unlocked it and saw a few unread texts from Bryan from when he must have dropped me off.

  B: I took Prince out for a walk when we got in. You threw up when I was gone, which is why I changed your shirt

  B: I didn’t want to leave your door unlocked, but I thought I should go home, so I have your key. I can bring it by tomorrow for you

  B: We can talk then

  That’s it? I wanted to reply, but I didn’t know what to say. Thank you would have been a good start, but beyond that I was lost. I had one other person who could help me, and my fingers flew as I typed out a message to her. It was before seven in the morning, so I wasn’t expecting an immediate reply. I locked my phone, got a glass of water and some Advil, and got back in bed.

  “I don’t know what to do,” I said to Eve and Samir. I sat next to her on their couch, while Samir was in an adjacent chair. He’d offered to give us privacy when I arrived, but I wanted all the help I could possibly get. I’d already given them a quick rundown of the night’s events, although I left out the more embarrassing details. “That’s weird, right? I was really drunk and confused.”

  “Oh, pet. It’s not weird. Alcohol and close proximity are a dangerous combination for anyone,” Eve offered.

  “For a minute I even thought he was going to k-kiss me… and I… did nothing to stop him. He didn
’t kiss me, though.” I smiled bitterly and rubbed my palms together between my knees. “He pulled away, and I don’t know if I’m relieved or disappointed over it. I feel like I don’t know anything anymore. What if I was just drunk and imagined it all?”

  “Eli, if Bryan did want to kiss you, how do you feel about that now?” Samir asked evenly.

  “I… I don’t know.”

  Eve placed her hand over mine and gently squeezed. “Think about it—really think.”

  I was confused about a lot, mainly why I was feeling what I was, and where the feelings came from, but I knew the answer to the question Eve and Samir asked. “I… wanted him to kiss me. I think I still do. I don’t know why, but the idea”—I looked between them, feeling embarrassed—“excites me—in ways I’m not used to.”

  “Eli—”

  “I don’t understand what’s happening to me,” I scraped out, barely above a whisper. “What if he knows now and things are weird between us? Oh God, what if he doesn’t want to see me anymore?” My panic spiked, making my skin break out in sweat when my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out to see a text from Bryan, right on cue. “It’s him.”

  “What does it say?” Eve asked.

  “He’s checking to see how I’m feeling and if I want him to bring anything particular to eat.” Normal. He seemed normal, but you couldn’t ever really tell with a text.

  “I don’t think you have to worry about him not wantin’ ya. The best thing you can do is talk to him.”

  She was probably right. But we all knew I was shit at talking, especially if it meant things with Bryan could change.

  When I saw Bryan, I’d chickened out, and carried on as if last night hadn’t happened. Bryan brought over a double pepperoni pizza with green peppers on half, just how I liked it. He didn’t mention last night either and was unusually reserved and distant until we sat down to watch Point Break. He sat down first at the end of the couch where he always did, and I sat down next to him before I thought about whether I should.

  Second-guessing my every move sounded exhausting and it was exactly what I didn’t want, so I just kept my mouth shut and carried on as I normally would; I finished my pizza and leaned on his shoulder while we watched the movie—with Prince alternating between lying at our feet and in his lap.

  Things were completely normal with Bryan in the weeks following what I dubbed “the incident.” Kind of. He dropped the guarded act and behaved normally with me, though I wasn’t quite the same. I didn’t outwardly act any different, but I was more aware of Bryan, and specifically, how much my eyes followed him. The fucking inopportune boners kept springing up as well, making me feel like a hormonal teenager in every respect.

  Eve suggested I try to talk to Bryan about what was going on, and if I couldn’t, to try to process and sort it out for myself at the very least. I tried to—I really did—but I only came up with more questions. I was clearly attracted to Bryan. The erection I hid while watching him play baseball made it so I couldn’t try to deny that. But I wasn’t gay. I’d never felt an attraction to another man before in my life, and my one encounter all those years ago went a long way in solidifying that fact. Then I started getting aroused from seeing and even thinking about him.

  I had the joy of seeing Mac stark naked, wandering out of his room in search of breakfast, last week, and it did nothing for me. Yet when I pictured Bryan in such a state, I had to lock myself in the bathroom and will my traitorous dick to behave. It hadn’t even been that bad when I was a teen.

  An upside to the situation was that I found inspiration in Bryan. I dreamed about him in vivid colors and shapes and wanted to recreate the images if I could. I purchased four small canvases and spent my solitary evenings painting.

  My thoughts were a fucked-up mess, but everything I felt looked so clear in brushstrokes.

  Fourteen

  Bryan

  The next few weeks flew by as if all time were stuck in light speed—the past few months in general had. Summer was long gone, and the first snow was expected any day. The three-month anniversary for Eat Cake was two short weeks away, and I was informed by Mac that it was a huge deal and that we needed to “turn up.” I was indeed proud of myself and the business, but Mac truly did love any excuse to party, and that was fine by me.

  I was closing up after a busy Friday, trying to find some calm in the familiar task of cleaning my workspace. Between exceedingly early mornings, long days, shuffling my hobbies and commitments, and more trips to the bank than I’d had in my entire life—I was in need of some chill time.

  Then there was Eli.

  I’d almost ruined things on Halloween. Blaming the alcohol and the atmosphere would have been easy, but I wasn’t all that drunk, and I knew it was wrong. My resolve nearly shattered that night, and I worried that I’d shown him my hand and he wouldn’t like what he saw. I was so drunk with lust that I almost convinced myself that he wanted me in return. The poor guy was wasted, and I nearly kissed him—it was a fucking disaster.

  By some stroke of good fortune, he either didn’t remember what happened or he interpreted it for something other than what it was. I had every intention of apologizing and begging for forgiveness, but the subject was never broached. Eli treated me as if everything was status quo and showed no signs of pulling away from me. If anything, we’d slowly grown closer.

  This was the first Friday night in over a month that I wouldn’t be spending with him, either at my place or his. I missed him already at just the thought of not seeing him, but I was looking forward to a quiet evening alone. Friday night meant Mac would be out as well—he only really stayed in when Eli and I were over.

  The sound of the door opening out front made me utter a curse at myself for having forgotten to lock up after closing again. I dried my hands on my pants and headed out front, already apologizing and explaining that we were closed. The words stalled when I saw Mac there, holding a duffel.

  “Pack up; we’re going to the gym tonight.”

  “Dude, I’m tired,” I whined. I still kept up with my workouts, but I’d been slacking off this week and declining all of Mac’s invites.

  “Nuh-uh. That wasn’t a request. I brought you a change of clothes.”

  There was no use putting up a fight once Mac made up his mind about something, so I agreed and finished cleaning before we set off.

  My muscles ached in all the right ways as I lowered myself into the hot tub next to Mac. We’d worked with free weights and hit the rowers for some cardio, so I was ready to pass out after being lazy for a week. While working with the weights he’d asked me how the business was going. I gave him a quick rundown, essentially saying things were going better than expected, and that I was going to look into hiring two more people and opening on Sundays as well. Eli had mentioned that starting with Sunday would be a good idea. I pitched a few menu ideas to Mac, but he was noncommittal and demanded a taste test for breakfast.

  “I miss you,” I said to him after we both settled.

  Before the launch I’d been working part time while formulating my business plan and saw Mac for the majority of the day. Now that I had the bakery, I was usually up by five thirty and there by six to make everything fresh for our eight o’clock opening. Mac usually hibernated until ten or eleven unless he had a Skype meeting or needed to be present at the office for when the shit hit the fan. Not being around to make him breakfast and just hang out sucked.

  Then my time was divided even more between him and Eli, though the situation improved when Eli started coming over to our place. I loved spending time with them together and was thrilled that they got on so well.

  “I know, man. But isn’t this what growing up is like? You had to leave the nest sometime,” he teased.

  I snorted and splashed him like a mature adult. “Maybe I don’t wanna grow up.”

  “Nah. Being a Lost Boy wouldn’t suit you—and we both know I’d be Peter Pan, so that’s out. Growing up isn’t your problem, but Eli sure as fuck is.�
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  “Ouch. Straight to the point, huh?”

  “It’s like that,” he said with a sympathetic smile.

  “Did you see us? On your birthday, I mean.”

  Mac’s laugh echoed in the empty room. “Bry, everyone saw. Half of the damn club wanted in on that action.”

  I groaned and slid deeper into the water. “I fucked up and got carried away.”

  “I don’t know; it looked pretty fucking mutual to me.”

  “As much as he thinks he’s this prickly outsider, Eli thrives on contact. He’s very tactile when we’re alone, though never in a sexual way. He was drunk and in an unfamiliar place; it’s no surprise that he held on to me.”

  Mac sighed in frustration, sinking down with me. “You’re both hopelessly clueless—and not in a cute, endearing kind of way anymore. Now that shit is bordering on tragic. Okay, that’s a little hyperbolic, but damn, Bry.”

  “What do you want me to do? We’ve been over this. I can’t have him—and I won’t give him up, so don’t even suggest it,” I snapped.

  “Easy. Now that I’ve met him, I’d never suggest you give up. Quite the contrary actually. I’m frustrated that you’re so content to pine away and not fight for him.” Mac said it like it was the easiest thing in the world. He had a tendency to see things in black and white—in a fun versus boring kind of way.

  “Content? This isn’t what I wanted, but what other choice do I have? I—” I sighed and took a deep breath to calm down. Getting angry with Mac when he was only trying to help was a dick move, and I needed to stop. “I love him, Mac. I really fucking love him.” Saying it out loud was the last step in making it real. I’d known for months that I loved him—now it was real, and I felt even more fucked than before. I tried to say more, but my voice broke and my lips trembled with the effort.