Disclaimer: I always thought this was a little inane, cause of course I'm
not Kevin Smith. . . If I were, this would be a movie you'd be watching,
not a story you'd be reading. . . But alas, I shall. Characters
property of whoever owns them, but most of all the ever-brilliant Kevin
Smith, King of Dialogue. I hope I did him justice!
Third in the series: Sound of Silence Screaming in my Ears, Out of the Frying Pan, then this one.
~*~
The thing about Banky is that he's so damn passionate. He's passionate about everything. About Holden, about love, about loyalty, about friendship, about trueness to one's self, but he's also just as passionate about comics, movies, and dick and fart jokes. It's almost a little like that saying "the boy who cried wolf." He'll argue just as fervently, just as ardently, about whether or not Archie is fucking Mr. Weatherbee as he will about Peace in the Middle East.
His tenacity, as I like to refer to it, has made it difficult for people to tell whether or not he truly feels this strongly about everything, or whether he just likes to argue. While this is true in some instances, that's not the Banky Edwards I know, and I know him quite well. The one cardinal rule I've learned to help me gauge Banky's stance on a subject is to concentrate not on what he says, but on what he doesn't say. The more viscerally Banky feels about something, the less he'll say. The more he talks about it, the less he feels. It sounds backwards, sure, but if you think about it, it makes sense. At least, for Banky it makes sense.
He's built his life around not letting people in. He curses like a sailor, is always bitching about one thing or another, and never offers up anything personal about himself. He comes across as a bitter angry man, disgruntled by the world as a whole, and on some levels he is. Mostly though, in more ways than one, he's afraid of getting hurt. If he doesn't put his heart out, open and exposed, it's impossible for someone to pick it up and rip it apart. I understand where he's coming from, I really do. I'm just the type of guy that's too in love with love to do that. If you don't put your heart out there, no one can tear it up, sure: No one can pick it up either, and it's always been worth it to me. I've seen love, and I want it.
The problem is that the only man Banky ever truly let in is the same one that picked his heart up and ran over it with a steamroller. Holden didn't mean to mind you, please believe me on that. I was angry with him for a while for what he did to Banky. I didn't know what exactly had happened, not until Banky told me, but I knew Holden had done something stupid. Holden always did something stupid. Soon after it happened though, he came to me and I looked in his eyes and saw that not only had he broken Banky's heart, but his own. Perhaps even to a greater degree cause he lost the girl that night too.
I knew it would happen. Call me a fucking prophet, but I knew this day would come. I met them, about five years ago, at the New York Comicon during my first year as the white-hating militant Hooper X. Holden was open, friendly, and talkative. Banky stood there and stared at me, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Banky was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. I guess he thought I'd attack them, what with me being a white- hating militant and all. I was afraid after they found out I was gay they wouldn't want me around anymore, but they took it surprisingly well. After, that is, Banky's initial shock followed by the screamed "you're a fucking faggot?!"
It didn't take long for me to figure out Banky was gay. My gaydar is in stellar shape, after all. It took even less time for me to figure out he was in love with Holden. Hell, I might have gone for him then if I'd thought I stood a chance, but it was clear beyond a shadow of a doubt that his heart belonged to the terminally clueless Holden. I think that's pretty much when I fell for him. Once I was able to see past the bullshit front he put up I found that he was a decent guy with a heart of gold, though covered by armor and steel it was. His heart belonged to Holden though, and I knew I had no chance. Hell, Banky didn't even realize he was gay, who was I to him?
Then Alyssa came, and I knew it was coming. I knew the precarious line Banky had been walking was getting harder to stand on. One of two things was going to happen: Banky was going to further repress his feelings so much so that I was afraid he'd retreat inside himself to never be heard from, or he was going to blurt it out to Holden. Neither one would be good, but I hoped it would be the latter.
And then Holden drank the retard juice. The day after it happened Banky came by my house to tell me he was leaving. I asked him why, but I already knew. His eyes always gave him away. The sadness permeated the air, hanging like a dark heavy cloud. It was almost enough to make me cry for him. He said it was time to move on. That he couldn't face him right now. He didn't clarify who "him" was, but I knew, and I'm pretty sure he knew I knew.
The next four months were pure hell. Thank God I've lived the lie of Hooper X long enough to know how to act, cause that's what I had to do, act. Act like the rock they needed me to be. Alyssa, crying on my shoulder for having lost him. Holden, weeping and broken, worried sick about Banky. Worrying that he was dead, that he would kill himself. Worrying that he'd never see him again. Making Holden eat when I knew he wasn't. Making Alyssa realize she was still whole, that she could move on. The whole time missing Banky, worried about him myself. Telling Holden that of course Banky wouldn't kill himself, and then having nightmares depicting just that. By the time I saw him again I was at my wit's end.
I thought I was dreaming when I saw him walk out of the coffee shop, a bag in one hand and a coffee in another. I thought I'd certainly gone insane over the past four months, to be seeing him on the street in New York like that. He turned to hold the door open for the person going in after him and I knew in that instant that it was him. When the person didn't thank him he let out a string of expletives so long and loud sailors would have cringed. It was so beautiful I almost wept. Banky was there, he was okay, and he was still cursing up a storm. Same old Banky.
Before I'd even decided if it was best to let him go on living in oblivion or yanking him back to reality, to his home, I was calling his name. He turned and smiled at me and finally everything felt okay again. I could stop worrying, and I could tell Holden he was alright. He tried to escape from me several times, and I was afraid he might bolt right there, but I just tried my best to be the sassy faggot he knew me to be and it worked. I made him laugh, and he let me back in.
I think I half lived in New York over the next few months. Making sure he was okay, trying to help him heal himself. Trying to give him some semblance of self-confidence again. If it was possible I fell even more in love with him over that time. Seeing him vulnerable, and willing to be that in front of me, moved me in ways I didn't know were possible. He let me hold him when he was crying and I knew I was gone.
Even as vulnerable and devastated as he was, Banky wasn't the type to respond to soothing voices and kind words. You had to kick the shit out of him to get him to listen to you. I told him the things he needed to hear, and they weren't always easy for him to hear, or for me to say.
I don't know when the turning point was but when he cut his hair back to it's original length I knew we'd reached it. It wasn't going to be all roses and flowers, mind you, but at least we'd turned one of the many corners. Maybe he'd looked in the mirror and finally said, "I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and gosh darn it, people like me." Maybe some hot young thing had hit on him. Maybe he'd gotten laid, who knows. The point is that one day I looked at him and the darkness in his eyes had eased up. He was easier to talk to, easier to make laugh, easier to be with period.
Being home wasn't easy though. When I got home from New York that first time I'd seen him again and told Holden he went ballistic. He'd picked up his car keys like he was going to drive there right then and there. It broke my heart to not be able to tell him where he was, but I'd given Banky my word. Every weekend I'd go to Banky's and when I'd get back Holden would be there, looking at me like a sad puppy. Begging me for details. "You don't have to tell me where he is, just tell me what he's doing. How is he? How does he look? Is he okay? Will he ever be able to forgive me?" I'd answer the other questions, but the last one I never could answer. I couldn't tell the future, I'm not a fucking sage. I'm just a black gay man from Red Bank, New Jersey.
It was difficult for me to be with Banky, not because of how angry he could get or how depressed he was. Don't get me wrong, it was hard for me to bite back angry retorts and nasty comebacks, and frequently his depression would seep into me and bog me down. What I'm talking about though was the slow progression of my feelings towards him. I'd always been attracted to him, albeit inexplicably. Why should I like him, he's nasty, a gay-basher, and always angry. I guess I liked the challenge, I don't know. Something about him made me feel feisty, and how I do love being a feisty girl. But seeing him through this shoved that crush into overdrive, into down right love.
That night, and I'll always refer to it as "that night," when I'd walked into his apartment and found those comic pages lying around, I knew something had happened inside himself. Something had finally clicked in him and he was all right. He says it was me, he says I saved him. I didn't though, I didn't save him. He saved himself. All I did was sit by and throw him the life preserve when he got in the deep water. It was all up to him whether or not he'd take it.
Sometimes I wonder if that's why we're together now. I wonder if he feels obligated. I wonder if his feelings of gratitude were transposed into feelings of love, because he was confused. I tried like hell to resist him that night, but I just couldn't. I'd spent too many years imagining what it would be like. I'd pined for him far too long to be gentlemanly. My pining for him was nothing like his for Holden's, but still, my chivalry didn't stand a chance when offered a taste of what I'd longed for for five years.
He was so sexy lying there on his bed, biting his lip and looking up at me uncertainly. I was his first, you see. The first man he'd kissed, truly kissed. The first man he'd let touch him in any way other than in friendship. The first man he'd allowed below the belt, so to speak. The first time he came it was in my mouth, and I don't know if it was the euphoria speaking or Banky, but he was professing his love for me. I wanted to say them back, but he was pulling me up to him, kissing me so recklessly that the words flew from my mouth.
Fighting is not the only thing Banky does without abandon. He also kisses with enough passion to take your breath away for minutes at a time. His hands are made of pure silk and fit perfectly around me as he begins to return the favor. His eyes never break away, he never even blinks I don't think. He keeps saying he loves me, mumbling it into my neck, into my mouth, saying it as he brings me to my orgasm. We didn't fuck the first night, I don't think he was ready for that.
Him saying he loved me hurt so much because I didn't know if he meant it. Some men just say that in the heat of the moment. I didn't know if Banky was that kind of man, but most of all, I was worried his feelings of love were fleeting. I was worried that I was a proximity infatuation, and that his feelings would soon fade.
The first time I realized he meant it was months after that first time. He continued to say them during sex, but never under any other circumstances. It was after the Comicon in Boston, where he unleashed Baby Dave. I decided it was time to test him, for himself just as much for me. I told Holden we'd be there, that he should come. I told him Banky wouldn't know he was coming, but that I felt he was finally ready to see him. It was hard to do, and I was scared beyond words at what would happen. We'd been pretty happy the past few months, but he'd never been faced with his former love until that day. I was terrified that he'd go back to him, or at the very least, realize he didn't love me.
After the comicon was over we went out to dinner, me, Holden, and him. Banky couldn't stop smiling, and I had myself convinced he would leave me that night or soon there after. He was smiling at Holden, laughing, joking around. He was the same Banky he'd always been before the shit happened. When we were done with dinner Holden invited Banky to a bar, to "talk," just the two of them. Banky had looked at me and shrugged, I assume asking me if I minded. I wanted to scream no, it wasn't okay. I wanted to shove Holden, knock him in his jaw. Banky is mine, you whore, you can't have him. But I didn't, I let them go. I felt like I was watching him walk out of my life.
He got home around 2 that morning. . .
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Banky opened the door quietly, stepping through it and shutting it behind him. Smiling to himself he walked over to the couch where Hooper was asleep in front of the TV. Instead of waking him he sat down by his feet and flipped the channel to TNT, where an old Burt Reynolds movie, Smokey and the Bandit, was playing.
Hooper woke up at a particularly loud laugh that came out when the car chase began. He looked at the TV and saw Burt Reynolds smirking face and laughed to himself. Banky had always been a little bit in love with him. "Hey," he said, reaching out and taking Banky's hand.
Banky smiled and squeezed his hand, turning the volume down on the TV. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up."
Hooper sat up, rubbing at his eyes, yawning. "What time is it?"
Banky shrugged, looking back at the TV, drawn back into the movie. "Fucked if I know," he said.
"Time flies when you're with Holden," Hooper said quietly, frowning and looking down in his lap as he repositioned himself into a sitting position.
"What?"
Hooper shook his head. "Nothing."
Banky looked at him, having heard him perfectly clear. "Bullshit, nothing."
Hooper sighed. "Let's just get this over with, okay?"
Banky looked at him, pinching his expressive eyebrows together. "Get what fucking over with?"
"Save me the 'it's not you, it's me' shit, Banky. Let's just say it was nice while it lasted," Hooper said, standing and starting to walk past Banky, hoping he would last until the bathroom before the tears started.
Banky's hand flew out, catching Hooper by the arm. "Woah, sit the fuck down, Hoop," he spat out, angry. "What the fuck are you talking about, nice while it lasted?"
"Look, I don't want to drag this out. I'll just get my shit and go. . . "
"Wait a god damned minute," Banky yelled, standing up and blocking Hooper's path to the bedroom. "What just happened?"
"Look, you love him. I always knew that. I deluded myself into thinking you loved me too and. . . "
"What's got you so fucking upset? I don't get this!"
Hooper sighed, walking back over to the couch. "I'm saving you the pain of breaking up with me, Banky."
Banky turned to face Hooper, anger written all over his face. "What the fuck man?! Saving me the pain?! What the fuck are you talking about?! I have no fucking intention of breaking up with you!"
Hooper looked up at Banky, shaking his head. "Honey, cut the bullshit."
"YOU cut the bullshit!" Banky angrily walked away, only to come back and sit down next to Hooper. "Hoop, just tell me, flat out. . . are you unhappy with me? Are you looking for an excuse to get out of this?"
Hooper covered his face, wiping at his tears, cursing himself. "I'm happy, but I know you're not."
"You don't know SHIT, Hoop!" Banky reached out and grabbed Hooper's hand, yanking it away from his face. "This is about Holden, right?"
Hooper laughed. "Who else?"
Banky shook his head, calming down a little bit. "You think I'm still in love with him? You think that because I saw him tonight I'm going to leave you and be with him?"
Hooper nodded. "It's what you've dreamed of. Who am I to deny you your dream?"
Banky was silent for a few moments, collecting himself. He took a deep breath and let it out in a puff. "Hooper," he started.
"Don't. You don't have to explain. I saw it coming," Hooper said, standing up again.
Banky stood up quickly, blocking Hooper's path again. "Hold the fuck on. You think that after a year, after the hardest year of my life, I can go back to what was? You think that after four months of being with you I'm going to just fucking drop you the instant I see him again?!" He shook his head. "Christ, Hooper, I love you! Don't you fucking SEE THAT?!"
Hooper looked at him for a long moment, tears falling down his face. "You. . . You love me?"
Banky smiled slowly, nodding. "Yes, you fucking cock-knocker."
Hooper laughed, shaking his head. "When you say that it's just so damn sexy."
Banky shrugged, smile widening. "Now will you stop saying this bullshit about leaving me? You can't leave me, I won't allow you to."
Hooper looked at him, determined to make sure he was wrong. "And if Holden comes back, and tells you he loves you, tells you he wants to be with. . ."
"Look, Hoop," Banky said, taking Hooper's hands in his. "I can't say I don't love him anymore. I always will. I have for 20 years." He leaned forward, an inch away from Hooper's face. "But that doesn't mean I love you less. That doesn't mean I want to lose you."
"But if he says he's ready to be with you. . ."
Banky's hands reached up, wiping at Hooper's tears. "I'll tell him he's too fucking late. He's missed that fucking trolley. I'm with you now."
Hooper finally smiled, leaning forward and kissing him. "I love you, Banky Edwards."
Banky smiled at him, playfully raising his eyebrows. "You fucking well better." He leaned forward, gently pulling Hooper's face towards him, kissing him slowly. He raised back and leaned his forehead to Hooper's. "I love you, I'm sorry I never said it before, but I do. This is the happiest I've been in my life, Hoop, and it's because of you. I will never leave you, not even for Holden fucking McNeil."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Holden had sold him the rights to Bluntman and Chronic that night. He knew Banky had always wanted to do something more with it, and Holden wasn't in that place anymore. Apparently he'd been approached by Miramax to do a movie, and he'd directed them to Banky. Now that Banky had the rights to Bluntman and Chronic that movie might actually happen. I can't say I want it to, I think Miramax will fuck it up, just like they do most of the "from comic to movie" films. But if it makes Banky happy, fuck it.
I can't say I never worry about it anymore. I can't say I never wonder "what if." What if Holden does decide he wants Banky. What if Banky decides he wants to pursue Holden. He's getting to be an old pro at the whole "gay" thing. The boy can make me come just by looking at me sometimes. He does things to me that make me crazy, and they make me not ever want to be sane again. I love him so much it hurts.
He's still the same guy though. He still does the dick and fag jokes, but I would be sad if that ever changed. It was part of the reason I'd fallen for him in the first place. His utter lack of respect and tact was for some reason what drew me to him. Endeared me to him I guess. Maybe it was because I knew he didn't mean it. Maybe it was because he was actually damn funny. Maybe I'm a glutton for punishment, who knows, but he's got me. He's got all of me.
If only I could stop waiting for the other fucking shoe to drop.
Third in the series: Sound of Silence Screaming in my Ears, Out of the Frying Pan, then this one.
~*~
The thing about Banky is that he's so damn passionate. He's passionate about everything. About Holden, about love, about loyalty, about friendship, about trueness to one's self, but he's also just as passionate about comics, movies, and dick and fart jokes. It's almost a little like that saying "the boy who cried wolf." He'll argue just as fervently, just as ardently, about whether or not Archie is fucking Mr. Weatherbee as he will about Peace in the Middle East.
His tenacity, as I like to refer to it, has made it difficult for people to tell whether or not he truly feels this strongly about everything, or whether he just likes to argue. While this is true in some instances, that's not the Banky Edwards I know, and I know him quite well. The one cardinal rule I've learned to help me gauge Banky's stance on a subject is to concentrate not on what he says, but on what he doesn't say. The more viscerally Banky feels about something, the less he'll say. The more he talks about it, the less he feels. It sounds backwards, sure, but if you think about it, it makes sense. At least, for Banky it makes sense.
He's built his life around not letting people in. He curses like a sailor, is always bitching about one thing or another, and never offers up anything personal about himself. He comes across as a bitter angry man, disgruntled by the world as a whole, and on some levels he is. Mostly though, in more ways than one, he's afraid of getting hurt. If he doesn't put his heart out, open and exposed, it's impossible for someone to pick it up and rip it apart. I understand where he's coming from, I really do. I'm just the type of guy that's too in love with love to do that. If you don't put your heart out there, no one can tear it up, sure: No one can pick it up either, and it's always been worth it to me. I've seen love, and I want it.
The problem is that the only man Banky ever truly let in is the same one that picked his heart up and ran over it with a steamroller. Holden didn't mean to mind you, please believe me on that. I was angry with him for a while for what he did to Banky. I didn't know what exactly had happened, not until Banky told me, but I knew Holden had done something stupid. Holden always did something stupid. Soon after it happened though, he came to me and I looked in his eyes and saw that not only had he broken Banky's heart, but his own. Perhaps even to a greater degree cause he lost the girl that night too.
I knew it would happen. Call me a fucking prophet, but I knew this day would come. I met them, about five years ago, at the New York Comicon during my first year as the white-hating militant Hooper X. Holden was open, friendly, and talkative. Banky stood there and stared at me, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Banky was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. I guess he thought I'd attack them, what with me being a white- hating militant and all. I was afraid after they found out I was gay they wouldn't want me around anymore, but they took it surprisingly well. After, that is, Banky's initial shock followed by the screamed "you're a fucking faggot?!"
It didn't take long for me to figure out Banky was gay. My gaydar is in stellar shape, after all. It took even less time for me to figure out he was in love with Holden. Hell, I might have gone for him then if I'd thought I stood a chance, but it was clear beyond a shadow of a doubt that his heart belonged to the terminally clueless Holden. I think that's pretty much when I fell for him. Once I was able to see past the bullshit front he put up I found that he was a decent guy with a heart of gold, though covered by armor and steel it was. His heart belonged to Holden though, and I knew I had no chance. Hell, Banky didn't even realize he was gay, who was I to him?
Then Alyssa came, and I knew it was coming. I knew the precarious line Banky had been walking was getting harder to stand on. One of two things was going to happen: Banky was going to further repress his feelings so much so that I was afraid he'd retreat inside himself to never be heard from, or he was going to blurt it out to Holden. Neither one would be good, but I hoped it would be the latter.
And then Holden drank the retard juice. The day after it happened Banky came by my house to tell me he was leaving. I asked him why, but I already knew. His eyes always gave him away. The sadness permeated the air, hanging like a dark heavy cloud. It was almost enough to make me cry for him. He said it was time to move on. That he couldn't face him right now. He didn't clarify who "him" was, but I knew, and I'm pretty sure he knew I knew.
The next four months were pure hell. Thank God I've lived the lie of Hooper X long enough to know how to act, cause that's what I had to do, act. Act like the rock they needed me to be. Alyssa, crying on my shoulder for having lost him. Holden, weeping and broken, worried sick about Banky. Worrying that he was dead, that he would kill himself. Worrying that he'd never see him again. Making Holden eat when I knew he wasn't. Making Alyssa realize she was still whole, that she could move on. The whole time missing Banky, worried about him myself. Telling Holden that of course Banky wouldn't kill himself, and then having nightmares depicting just that. By the time I saw him again I was at my wit's end.
I thought I was dreaming when I saw him walk out of the coffee shop, a bag in one hand and a coffee in another. I thought I'd certainly gone insane over the past four months, to be seeing him on the street in New York like that. He turned to hold the door open for the person going in after him and I knew in that instant that it was him. When the person didn't thank him he let out a string of expletives so long and loud sailors would have cringed. It was so beautiful I almost wept. Banky was there, he was okay, and he was still cursing up a storm. Same old Banky.
Before I'd even decided if it was best to let him go on living in oblivion or yanking him back to reality, to his home, I was calling his name. He turned and smiled at me and finally everything felt okay again. I could stop worrying, and I could tell Holden he was alright. He tried to escape from me several times, and I was afraid he might bolt right there, but I just tried my best to be the sassy faggot he knew me to be and it worked. I made him laugh, and he let me back in.
I think I half lived in New York over the next few months. Making sure he was okay, trying to help him heal himself. Trying to give him some semblance of self-confidence again. If it was possible I fell even more in love with him over that time. Seeing him vulnerable, and willing to be that in front of me, moved me in ways I didn't know were possible. He let me hold him when he was crying and I knew I was gone.
Even as vulnerable and devastated as he was, Banky wasn't the type to respond to soothing voices and kind words. You had to kick the shit out of him to get him to listen to you. I told him the things he needed to hear, and they weren't always easy for him to hear, or for me to say.
I don't know when the turning point was but when he cut his hair back to it's original length I knew we'd reached it. It wasn't going to be all roses and flowers, mind you, but at least we'd turned one of the many corners. Maybe he'd looked in the mirror and finally said, "I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and gosh darn it, people like me." Maybe some hot young thing had hit on him. Maybe he'd gotten laid, who knows. The point is that one day I looked at him and the darkness in his eyes had eased up. He was easier to talk to, easier to make laugh, easier to be with period.
Being home wasn't easy though. When I got home from New York that first time I'd seen him again and told Holden he went ballistic. He'd picked up his car keys like he was going to drive there right then and there. It broke my heart to not be able to tell him where he was, but I'd given Banky my word. Every weekend I'd go to Banky's and when I'd get back Holden would be there, looking at me like a sad puppy. Begging me for details. "You don't have to tell me where he is, just tell me what he's doing. How is he? How does he look? Is he okay? Will he ever be able to forgive me?" I'd answer the other questions, but the last one I never could answer. I couldn't tell the future, I'm not a fucking sage. I'm just a black gay man from Red Bank, New Jersey.
It was difficult for me to be with Banky, not because of how angry he could get or how depressed he was. Don't get me wrong, it was hard for me to bite back angry retorts and nasty comebacks, and frequently his depression would seep into me and bog me down. What I'm talking about though was the slow progression of my feelings towards him. I'd always been attracted to him, albeit inexplicably. Why should I like him, he's nasty, a gay-basher, and always angry. I guess I liked the challenge, I don't know. Something about him made me feel feisty, and how I do love being a feisty girl. But seeing him through this shoved that crush into overdrive, into down right love.
That night, and I'll always refer to it as "that night," when I'd walked into his apartment and found those comic pages lying around, I knew something had happened inside himself. Something had finally clicked in him and he was all right. He says it was me, he says I saved him. I didn't though, I didn't save him. He saved himself. All I did was sit by and throw him the life preserve when he got in the deep water. It was all up to him whether or not he'd take it.
Sometimes I wonder if that's why we're together now. I wonder if he feels obligated. I wonder if his feelings of gratitude were transposed into feelings of love, because he was confused. I tried like hell to resist him that night, but I just couldn't. I'd spent too many years imagining what it would be like. I'd pined for him far too long to be gentlemanly. My pining for him was nothing like his for Holden's, but still, my chivalry didn't stand a chance when offered a taste of what I'd longed for for five years.
He was so sexy lying there on his bed, biting his lip and looking up at me uncertainly. I was his first, you see. The first man he'd kissed, truly kissed. The first man he'd let touch him in any way other than in friendship. The first man he'd allowed below the belt, so to speak. The first time he came it was in my mouth, and I don't know if it was the euphoria speaking or Banky, but he was professing his love for me. I wanted to say them back, but he was pulling me up to him, kissing me so recklessly that the words flew from my mouth.
Fighting is not the only thing Banky does without abandon. He also kisses with enough passion to take your breath away for minutes at a time. His hands are made of pure silk and fit perfectly around me as he begins to return the favor. His eyes never break away, he never even blinks I don't think. He keeps saying he loves me, mumbling it into my neck, into my mouth, saying it as he brings me to my orgasm. We didn't fuck the first night, I don't think he was ready for that.
Him saying he loved me hurt so much because I didn't know if he meant it. Some men just say that in the heat of the moment. I didn't know if Banky was that kind of man, but most of all, I was worried his feelings of love were fleeting. I was worried that I was a proximity infatuation, and that his feelings would soon fade.
The first time I realized he meant it was months after that first time. He continued to say them during sex, but never under any other circumstances. It was after the Comicon in Boston, where he unleashed Baby Dave. I decided it was time to test him, for himself just as much for me. I told Holden we'd be there, that he should come. I told him Banky wouldn't know he was coming, but that I felt he was finally ready to see him. It was hard to do, and I was scared beyond words at what would happen. We'd been pretty happy the past few months, but he'd never been faced with his former love until that day. I was terrified that he'd go back to him, or at the very least, realize he didn't love me.
After the comicon was over we went out to dinner, me, Holden, and him. Banky couldn't stop smiling, and I had myself convinced he would leave me that night or soon there after. He was smiling at Holden, laughing, joking around. He was the same Banky he'd always been before the shit happened. When we were done with dinner Holden invited Banky to a bar, to "talk," just the two of them. Banky had looked at me and shrugged, I assume asking me if I minded. I wanted to scream no, it wasn't okay. I wanted to shove Holden, knock him in his jaw. Banky is mine, you whore, you can't have him. But I didn't, I let them go. I felt like I was watching him walk out of my life.
He got home around 2 that morning. . .
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Banky opened the door quietly, stepping through it and shutting it behind him. Smiling to himself he walked over to the couch where Hooper was asleep in front of the TV. Instead of waking him he sat down by his feet and flipped the channel to TNT, where an old Burt Reynolds movie, Smokey and the Bandit, was playing.
Hooper woke up at a particularly loud laugh that came out when the car chase began. He looked at the TV and saw Burt Reynolds smirking face and laughed to himself. Banky had always been a little bit in love with him. "Hey," he said, reaching out and taking Banky's hand.
Banky smiled and squeezed his hand, turning the volume down on the TV. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up."
Hooper sat up, rubbing at his eyes, yawning. "What time is it?"
Banky shrugged, looking back at the TV, drawn back into the movie. "Fucked if I know," he said.
"Time flies when you're with Holden," Hooper said quietly, frowning and looking down in his lap as he repositioned himself into a sitting position.
"What?"
Hooper shook his head. "Nothing."
Banky looked at him, having heard him perfectly clear. "Bullshit, nothing."
Hooper sighed. "Let's just get this over with, okay?"
Banky looked at him, pinching his expressive eyebrows together. "Get what fucking over with?"
"Save me the 'it's not you, it's me' shit, Banky. Let's just say it was nice while it lasted," Hooper said, standing and starting to walk past Banky, hoping he would last until the bathroom before the tears started.
Banky's hand flew out, catching Hooper by the arm. "Woah, sit the fuck down, Hoop," he spat out, angry. "What the fuck are you talking about, nice while it lasted?"
"Look, I don't want to drag this out. I'll just get my shit and go. . . "
"Wait a god damned minute," Banky yelled, standing up and blocking Hooper's path to the bedroom. "What just happened?"
"Look, you love him. I always knew that. I deluded myself into thinking you loved me too and. . . "
"What's got you so fucking upset? I don't get this!"
Hooper sighed, walking back over to the couch. "I'm saving you the pain of breaking up with me, Banky."
Banky turned to face Hooper, anger written all over his face. "What the fuck man?! Saving me the pain?! What the fuck are you talking about?! I have no fucking intention of breaking up with you!"
Hooper looked up at Banky, shaking his head. "Honey, cut the bullshit."
"YOU cut the bullshit!" Banky angrily walked away, only to come back and sit down next to Hooper. "Hoop, just tell me, flat out. . . are you unhappy with me? Are you looking for an excuse to get out of this?"
Hooper covered his face, wiping at his tears, cursing himself. "I'm happy, but I know you're not."
"You don't know SHIT, Hoop!" Banky reached out and grabbed Hooper's hand, yanking it away from his face. "This is about Holden, right?"
Hooper laughed. "Who else?"
Banky shook his head, calming down a little bit. "You think I'm still in love with him? You think that because I saw him tonight I'm going to leave you and be with him?"
Hooper nodded. "It's what you've dreamed of. Who am I to deny you your dream?"
Banky was silent for a few moments, collecting himself. He took a deep breath and let it out in a puff. "Hooper," he started.
"Don't. You don't have to explain. I saw it coming," Hooper said, standing up again.
Banky stood up quickly, blocking Hooper's path again. "Hold the fuck on. You think that after a year, after the hardest year of my life, I can go back to what was? You think that after four months of being with you I'm going to just fucking drop you the instant I see him again?!" He shook his head. "Christ, Hooper, I love you! Don't you fucking SEE THAT?!"
Hooper looked at him for a long moment, tears falling down his face. "You. . . You love me?"
Banky smiled slowly, nodding. "Yes, you fucking cock-knocker."
Hooper laughed, shaking his head. "When you say that it's just so damn sexy."
Banky shrugged, smile widening. "Now will you stop saying this bullshit about leaving me? You can't leave me, I won't allow you to."
Hooper looked at him, determined to make sure he was wrong. "And if Holden comes back, and tells you he loves you, tells you he wants to be with. . ."
"Look, Hoop," Banky said, taking Hooper's hands in his. "I can't say I don't love him anymore. I always will. I have for 20 years." He leaned forward, an inch away from Hooper's face. "But that doesn't mean I love you less. That doesn't mean I want to lose you."
"But if he says he's ready to be with you. . ."
Banky's hands reached up, wiping at Hooper's tears. "I'll tell him he's too fucking late. He's missed that fucking trolley. I'm with you now."
Hooper finally smiled, leaning forward and kissing him. "I love you, Banky Edwards."
Banky smiled at him, playfully raising his eyebrows. "You fucking well better." He leaned forward, gently pulling Hooper's face towards him, kissing him slowly. He raised back and leaned his forehead to Hooper's. "I love you, I'm sorry I never said it before, but I do. This is the happiest I've been in my life, Hoop, and it's because of you. I will never leave you, not even for Holden fucking McNeil."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Holden had sold him the rights to Bluntman and Chronic that night. He knew Banky had always wanted to do something more with it, and Holden wasn't in that place anymore. Apparently he'd been approached by Miramax to do a movie, and he'd directed them to Banky. Now that Banky had the rights to Bluntman and Chronic that movie might actually happen. I can't say I want it to, I think Miramax will fuck it up, just like they do most of the "from comic to movie" films. But if it makes Banky happy, fuck it.
I can't say I never worry about it anymore. I can't say I never wonder "what if." What if Holden does decide he wants Banky. What if Banky decides he wants to pursue Holden. He's getting to be an old pro at the whole "gay" thing. The boy can make me come just by looking at me sometimes. He does things to me that make me crazy, and they make me not ever want to be sane again. I love him so much it hurts.
He's still the same guy though. He still does the dick and fag jokes, but I would be sad if that ever changed. It was part of the reason I'd fallen for him in the first place. His utter lack of respect and tact was for some reason what drew me to him. Endeared me to him I guess. Maybe it was because I knew he didn't mean it. Maybe it was because he was actually damn funny. Maybe I'm a glutton for punishment, who knows, but he's got me. He's got all of me.
If only I could stop waiting for the other fucking shoe to drop.