Two Weeks Earlier...
Antoine Radson sat on the beat up couch in the basement of his ranch-style house. He considered the basement his den, his home theatre, a place to escape from the world. He stared at the empty end of the couch his housemate, Preston, had vacated mere moments before.
Antoine had intended to discuss some serious matters with Preston, however once the young man sat down across from him, Antoine realized he was at a loss for words. After a moment, Antoine recovered, and broached a topic different from the one he'd initially had in mind.
You want to go out more, see other people… Antoine had started, cautiously.
Preston gave a shrug and indicated that was rather true.
Okay, Prep, Antoine sighed. Here it is for ya: If you want to go out, go to clubs, dance, whatever you do, then go do it. And if you want to hang out and chat with other people while you're there, that's fine. But if you mean someone you want to do more than 'talk' with, well, I hope you'd have the decency to at least come home and tell me. And then, I'd want you to move out because…
Antoine had faltered for a moment, struggling with words.
Because I'm not cool having this sort of relationship with you if you're not equally committed to me; you know. So go out, have fun, but be honest with me. I'm not gonna keep you if that's not what you want, but I don't want you staying here if that's not where we are. Right?
Preston's brow had furrowed at the Antoine's remark, expression accepting, but there was a hurt look in his eyes. He got up, and patted Antoine on the shoulder as he left. You're a good friend, Antoine.
Yeah, that's what everyone says, Antoine replied morosely before returning to his game. Friend. What a heavy, and layered word that was.
One Week Earlier...
Preston Tucci threw on a well-cut leather jacket. He was going for a refined look: dark slacks, a turtleneck, the sleek looking jacket he'd had since college. The sort of leather jacket one could wear with business attire. Or, in this case, going-out attire.
Antoine was on the couch, staring at the TV.
"I'll be back later," Preston called out.
Antoine gave a grunt and nodded. The blue-haired man was remarkably taciturn on the topic of Preston's going out. It was, Preston hoped, something that would change in time. Last weekend, he'd declined the traditional after work get-together with Antoine and several of their co-workers in lieu of going to a bar downtown.
This weekend, he planned to do much the same. It was nice, he reflected as he made his way to the bus stop. The change of scenery was good. And Antoine? Well, he'd been positively moody lately, like he was keeping something secret. Preston knew Antoine wouldn't talk until he wanted to. There was no point in prying. It was easier to carry on with his own affairs.
The ride downtown wasn't so bad. There was one transfer where he picked up the downtown line, but other than that, it was an easy ride. Better than driving and trying to find a parking spot, he mused as he stared out the dark window.
Plateau City was built along the cliffs above the Hudson River. The downtown region had a central plaza known as Monument Park. The surrounding area with shops, restaurants, the Lowry art gallery? That was known as "downtown."
There was a bar that Preston used to frequent back during the so-called Dimas Era, the time when he'd served as a personal assistant to the former, and now deceased, CEO Thaddeus Dimas. An "all-inclusive" bar, with a steampunk theme.
After he became the new CEO, Preston had stopped going there. He'd also been working through some of his own personal demons. He hadn't gone out much at all during that time.
Preston got off the bus, crossed the street, and made his way down a familiar avenue along the edge of Monument Park to the bar. He paused at the familiar door, a feeling of trepidation rising up. What if someone from the nuclear plant recognizes me? he worried. Could I lose my job over this?
Screw it, he argued back at himself. The only way they'd see me is if they're here too.
With that, he stepped in.
The bar, known as J. Vernie's prided itself in being a safe space for all patrons. Whether it had originally been a gay bar with a steampunk theme, or a steampunk bar that became a gay hangout, Preston wasn't sure. He suspected the former. Steampunk hadn't become a popular genre until recently. The bar had been here for longer than that. The name itself, J. Vernie's, conjured up images in his mind of Jules Verne. Preston had a hunch that wasn't a coincidence.
He walked over to the bar and sat down. New bartenders. All new. He didn't recognize any of them. Preston ordered a martini, and turned in his chair to watch the scene.
A few familiar faces, a lot of new ones. That was to be expected. It had been a while. He recognized a broad shouldered man over by the pool tables. Ellis, or something like that. The guy was friendly, easy-going, and loved to play pool. Something about Ellis reminded Preston of Antoine.
Preston didn't want to think about Antoine.
He sipped his martini and looked at the cam-shafts that hung for decoration along the ceiling, at the artwork along the walls, the shifting colors of the tiles behind the bar. He was in no rush. It was nice to simply be out. Preston sipped his martini, and thought about life.
"You look like you could use another." A cheerful voice roused Preston from his personal musings.
Preston looked up. A man about his age was leaning on the stool next to him. He had a friendly, boyish face with high cheekbones, and light brown eyes. His shaggy, dirty blond hair curled about his ears. "Mind if I sit?" the man asked.
Preston smiled and gestured to the chair. "Please."
"Thanks." The man plopped down and raised a finger towards the bartender. "Hey, Jacky, I'll have another peach crush. And this guy here'll have another whatever it is he'd drinking."
"Just a martini."
"A martini for Mister Tucci then."
The bartender nodded.
Preston rested an elbow on the bar. "Well you have me at a disadvantage. Apparently you already know who I am."
The man laughed. "Anyone who read the society pages last year knows who you are. You did make the front page, after all."
"Not my choosing," Preston muttered into his drink. "Someone bribed the photographer."
"Do you know who it was?"
"Oh," Preston replied, "I have an idea."
"Well, give him a handshake for me. It's a beautiful picture of you." There was something genuinely appreciative in the blond man's mannerisms.
Preston smiled, and leaned back, straightening his shoulders. "I'm glad you think so." He twirled his drink thoughtfully. "So, are you going to tell me your name? Or am I going to have to guess?"
The blond gave a wink. "Which would you prefer?"
Preston chuckled. "How about you tell me."
"My name's Keith," the man replied extending a hand, long fingers tipped downward. A woman's offering. It was an awkward angle, palm angled down like that.
Preston took Keith's hand nonetheless, and gave it a shake. "Well, Keith, it's nice to meet you. I'm Preston… which you already knew," Preston added, mildly embarrassed. Of course Keith knew who he was.
"So what brings you here?" Keith asked, tilting his head in a flirtatious way.
Preston resisted the urge to look away shyly. He met Keith's eyes. "Oh, just getting out, seeing the sights. I used to come here, but then life got busy. Now that things are settling down, I think it's good to get back out a bit. So, since you already know what I do for a living, why don't you tell me a bit about yourself?"
Keith sipped his multi-colored drink, watching Preston over the lip of his glass. He set the drink down dabbed a napkin across his full lips.
"Me? Well, I finished my MBA in Economics last semester. I have a job working at the college library in the IT department. I've applied to a few investment firms. I'm hoping to get into the field as an investment banker. Stiff competition." He shrugged, then blushed unexpectedly.
Preston noticed. "What was that for?"
Keith raised his eyes, cheeks still flushed. "You're a good looking guy. I always blush when I talk to the handsome ones." He ran a hand over his face. "You probably think I'm making a fool of myself."
Preston shook his head. "No, no. Not at all. It's…" he paused, trying to think of the right word. Cute was the first word that came to mind; that wouldn't do. Not at this point at least. Preston wasn't sure where he wanted things to go. He wasn't in a rush for anything to go anywhere. "… Don't be embarrassed."
Keith only reddened further.
They talked, then. Preston found Keith easy to chat with. He found himself talking in a very abridged version about his trip down to Providence, how it felt great to get back on the dance floor, but none of the clubs in Plateau were quite his thing. He also expressed his concerns over public perception, how as a CEO he didn't feel like all of the city speculating on his sexuality.
"I don't think anyone would care," Keith admitted.
Preston gave a soft snort. "I'm not ready for that either way."
Keith ordered them another round of drinks, and rubbed his narrow hands together as if to warm them. "I think I know something that might be more your thing," Keith suggested. "You don't have to worry about anyone recognizing you. It's an underground club, discrete. Private. I can get you in though, if you'd like to go sometime."
"Music?" Preston asked.
"Dance, techno, jumpstyle. All DJs. Nothing label."
Preston nodded, thinking. "And attire?"
Keith grinned. "Pretty much anything you want. But be sure it's comfortable, because you're going to want to move." Keith gave Preston a sleepy blink. "I probably don't seem like the sort who would be into clubbing, but when you work over a desk all week, it's good to be able to unwind from time to time, get the body moving, forget about the daily grind for a while."
"I couldn't have said it better myself," Preston agreed.
"So here," Keith said, jotting a number on a napkin. "Call me, text, whatever. Let me know if you want to go next weekend. I'll tell you where to meet me, and hook you up."
Preston slipped Keith's number into his pocket. "Thank you."
"Any time, 'Mister Tucci,'" Keith laughed. "God, maybe it's just the rum talking, but I can't believe I'm talking to you right now. It's nice, real nice."
Preston felt his face warm, though whether it was from the alcohol or Keith's words he wasn't sure.
"I'm glad. I'm enjoying it too." Preston stood up at gave Keith's shoulder a squeeze.
"You'll call me?" Keith asked.
Preston nodded. "That place you mentioned? It sounds like fun. Unless something comes up that I can't get out of, consider it a yes."
He let go of Keith's shoulder, gave the man a handshake, and made his way back through the patrons to the door. He zipped up his jacket against the night wind, and glanced at his watch. It wasn't even eleven yet. It felt later than that. Must be the dark, Preston thought as he caught his ride back up town. He wondered briefly if Antoine was still awake. Probably not, Preston concluded. He decided he'd sleep in his own room that night.
Now.
Antoine hadn't met Preston's eyes as the younger man dressed and got ready. Keith told him the party didn't really start until after ten, but Preston needed to leave early. He was driving over the south end of town, where he'd meet Keith. From there, he'd follow Keith.
The man had discretely explained he couldn't give away the address, but he could let Preston follow him over. Or we can both take my car, Keith added.
Preston suggested they play it by ear.
Preston wasn't entirely sure what to wear. He opted for a slim fit grey tee-shirt and a pair of black jeans. As an added thought, he pulled his black Polo windbreaker out of the closet and slipped it on. The effect was slim, casual, but still within his comfort zone.
Through the whole process, Antoine said nothing, merely watched.
Preston put on an inexpensive watch and tightened the band. "I'll be back. I don't plan to stay out that late," he called from his bedroom. "I'll be back," he repeated.
Antoine, sitting in the living room gave a grunt of acknowledgement.
Preston walked through the dining room, grabbing his keys out of the bowl on the dresser as he went. He was halfway out the door when he heard Antoine say something. Preston turned, looking over his shoulder. "What was that, Antoine?"
"I said have fun, be safe," came the flat reply.
They both knew what Antoine hadn't said: Please don't hook up with anyone. It wasn't a topic either man wanted to discuss.
Preston flipped through the radio stations as he drove, before finally settling on 99.5FM; a station known in the Capital District as "The River." It played a mix of pop from the most recent decades. Preston felt a flutter in his chest, excitement, or perhaps anxiety. Maybe a little of both. Eager anticipation to be sure.
He wasn't sure where things were heading with Keith, if they were heading anywhere at all.
Preston was the quiet sort. He wasn't one for complex emotional relationships, but he'd had his share of casual encounters in the past. That wouldn't be happening tonight, he knew. Not without being honest with Antoine first. Antoine's approach seemed all backwards to Preston. In his own words, Antoine (wasn't interested in relationships!) had to know pretty much everything about a person before he could even consider having anything more with another person.
Well, Preston mused, he knows me better than anyone, and but yet he still doesn't… Preston sighed. No sense in thinking of that. Antoine had also described himself as hetero. Really, I should just take the hint, Preston thought.
Preston drummed his hands on the steering wheel in time to the beat. His mind still wasn't ready to let thoughts of Antoine go quite yet. He wondered what sort of relationships Antoine had even had in the past. Quite possibly none. Granted, Preston had never asked Antoine about his housemate's past relationships, but that was a question Preston wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer to. That, and, he reasoned, if I ask him, that gives him the right to turn around and ask me the same question. He wouldn't like my answers either. Some things weren't necessary to talk about. Really, it was none of Antoine's business anyhow.
There was a parkinglot up ahead, a lone car idling in the space. Preston drove up and pulled in next to Keith. He met Keith between the cars and the two men shook hands.
The first thing Preston noticed was that Keith's handshake had not improved.
The second was Keith's attire. The man wore a form-fitting hooded tank top under his jacket: black but lined with turquoise edging; and a pair of wide-legged jeans. A quick glance into the passenger side of his car revealed a leather collar with a leash-ring, a box of glowsticks, and a pair of arm-warmers.
Preston raised his eyebrows.
Keith gave a faint smirk. "I know, right?" He reached up and ran a hand along Preston's arm. "You look nice. Casual, comfortable." Keith nodded his head. He didn't remove his hand.
Preston smiled down at Keith. "Thank you," he said glibly. Smooth as always, Preston thought. Beside Keith, he felt confident and in control. The fact he was nearly six inches taller than Keith didn't hurt. The young man was probably five-foot-six. Preston's lanky frame could top six feet, though he usually hunched his shoulders. Especially after The Incident. Preston's thin form had gotten used to curling in on itself.
Something about standing next to Keith made Preston feel the urge to stand as straight as he could; the way he used to carry himself.
Keith ran his hand up and down Preston's arm. "So, are you going to follow me over, or do you want to ride with me?"
Preston nodded regally towards his car. "That seems like a rather premature invite. I'll take my car. For now."
"Absolutely," Keith replied. "I'll make sure you can keep up." He swung himself into his car. Preston climbed into the driver's seat of his Cadillac, fastened his seatbelt, and gave Keith a thumbs up.
He followed Keith through several roads down towards the warehouse districts. It was an area Preston rarely went. Cross-docks, massive cargo containers, shipping yards. Keith killed the lights to his car and cruised to a stop between a row of high stacked shipping cubes. Preston did likewise. "Is it safe to leave the cars here?" Preston asked, glancing back at his beloved CT6. Somewhere in the distance Preston heard the steady low pulse of a bass.
"Absolutely, but you'll probably want to leave your coat here." Keith replied, tossing his jacket into his car. "It gets pretty hot in there."
He fastened the collar around his neck. Preston noticed there was a tag circular dog dangling from the leash ring. It looked to him like a Yin Yang, but with three sections instead of two. He was going to ask Keith about it when a figure emerged out of the shadows. Reflexively, Preston took a step back.
"You know what this is?" the man asked, voice gruff.
Keith shouldered the box of glow sticks and nodded. "Walt sent me," he replied. "Sent this one too."
The bouncer, or security, or whatever he was rumbled something asked for ID which both men provided. Satisfied, he stepped aside.
"We keep this stuff pretty underground," Keith explained, catching Preston's perplexed expression. He led Preston to a warehouse at the end of the yard. There he passed between two bouncers. One a small but wiry man, the other a woman who looked like the probably wrestled bears in her spare time.
The noise was already near deafening from the outside. Preston noticed Keith had pulled out a pair of ear plugs. He offered a second set, which Preston gratefully accepted. With that, and a wide grin, Keith opened the door. Music hit Preston like a physical force. Keith grinned like a fox, grabbed his arm and pulled him inside.
Preston couldn't even begin to get a sense of the space. It was dark, except for the lights mounted along the walls and ceiling flashing down in time with the music and the illumination other people wore. Keith whirled around, glowstick clenched between his teeth. He dragged Preston forward, deeper into the middle of the room. Preston wondered vaguely where that box of glowsticks had gone.
The room was foggy, and at one end the DJs stood, presiding over the scene like rulers of the world. One of them, a full figured woman raised her hand, bellowing through her headmic in time to the beat. "Shout to all my happy people! Deejay Sliachu! Troy City! Represent yo all tonight." She gestured with both arms wide to the man next to her.
"In the beginning, there was house music. Then the great DJ said 'Let this house be progressive!'"
If it had been loud before, it was overpowering now. Preston could barely make out Keith's figure through the pulsating mass of humanity. He had been to dance clubs before, but nothing as intense as this. Time melted away. Bodies moved around him like smoke over water. It was easy to lose himself in the moment. Looking up, he realized Keith was nowhere in sight. A figure with an LED gas mask was standing in front of him, making some odd beckoning motion. Preston moved backwards, trying to put a few people between him and the gas man.
Preston felt a surge of anxiety. He stood up on his tiptoes, looking over the bouncing heads around him. In the corner, beneath one of the cannon lights a person with a horsehead mask had grabbed another figure. Preston didn't need to be gay to know what he was seeing.
Keith, Preston yelled, but he couldn't even hear his own voice. Bodies, hot and sweaty closed around him. Suddenly, things didn't seem so harmless. There was a sea of faces, masks, unrecognizable figures. No one even noticed him. Keith!, Preston screamed again.
He spun about, looking for an exit. He saw nothing. He was in a black world of sound, bass powerful enough to knock the air from his lungs. Deejay Sliachu was dropping a chant, throwing her arm down with each beat. Was the DJs' stage across from the door they'd come in? Preston couldn't even remember anymore. Everything was a blur…
Preston pulled his car into the garage of the ranch house he and Antoine shared near the edge of the city. Never had the pine barrens behind their house seemed so peaceful and welcoming. Preston staggered in through the laundry room that connected the garage with the rest of the house. He dropped his jacket on the table and was going to head to his room when a lamp beside the couch clicked on.
Antoine was sitting there, arms across his chest, expression dark. "It's four thirty in the morning."
"I said I'd be back late."
Antoine's scowl darkened. "Technically, if you ever came back at all you'd be 'back late.'"
Preston hung his head. "I don't want to argue with you right now." He sat down at the bar and began pulling off his shoes.
"Hey, Prep…" Antoine asked, voice tinged with concern, "you okay? C'mere. Sit down."
Preston hauled himself over and dropped onto the couch in the corner across from Antoine.
Antoine slid himself over and looked into Preston's face, blue eyes scanning him head to toe. "Dang, Preppy. You don't look like you went dancing. You look like you got hit by a party bus, then it decided to back up and run over you a few times for good measure. Seriously, are you okay?" He reached out a hand and ruffled Preston's short hair affectionately. He moved his fingers in the familiar soothing way for a moment, then recoiled.
"Preston, what the hell is in your hair?" he asked, regarding his hand with revulsion.
"Glow stick juice. Some guy was biting the tops off glowsticks and slinging them around. I got caught in the spray. It's mostly stopped glowing, I hope."
Antoine rubbed his fingers together. "Yeah… mostly."
Preston pushed himself up. "I'm exhausted. I'm going to go to bed Antoine."
"Are you taking a shower first?"
"No. Too tired."
Antoine shook his head. "Nah! Nuh-uh. You are not going to bed with that crap in your hair."
Preston shrugged. "Fine. I'll sleep in my room."
"Those are still my pillowcases," Antoine replied gruffly. He pushed himself up and put an arm around Preston's shoulder. "C'mon. I'll wash your hair in the sink."
Preston leaned into Antoine's familiar grasp. "You don't mind?"
"I've done it myself once or twice. Go pull that chair over," he said gesturing to one of the kitchen chairs. "I'll go get the shampoo and towels."
It took Antoine no time to set everything up. He rolled a towel into a tube and slid it under Preston's neck while he adjusted the water temperature. "Is that okay?"
"Prefect," Preston replied, feeling the warm liquid wash over his head. He watched Antoine squirt some shampoo into his palm and rub his hands together.
"Yeah… I pay attention to what you like," Antoine replied. "So, how bad was it?"
Preston closed his eyes, remembering. "It was fun at first, but then I realized I was in over my head. I couldn't find Keith anywhere, and there was no use even trying to yell for him. Let's see, what else?" Preston felt the tension melting away as Antoine's thick hands expertly massaged his scalp. "Well, there was this person in a horse head mask having sex with someone in a corner."
"Eww!"
Preston nodded slightly. "I think that's when I started realizing this wasn't the place for me. And then, while I was looking for Keith some guy, or maybe it was a girl I don't even know, comes up. She grabs me by the collar and starts kissing me, except then I realize she's trying to slip a pill into my mouth. I pushed her away. I don't know where the pill went. All I know is I didn't swallow it. I tried to find Keith to tell him I want to leave, but it was hopeless. I realized had gotten near an Exit so I let myself out, went to the car, texted Keith and came home."
Preston shuddered at the memory. "It was… uncomfortable to say the least. That thing with the pill, I felt…" he struggled for words. "I felt violated. Someone was invading my space and trying to take advantage of me. I have no idea was even in that pill, but I knew it wasn't a TicTac." Preston opened his eyes for a moment and looked up at Antoine before closing them again.
Antoine reached for the sprayer. He held it close to Preston's hair, cupping his free hand around the side of Preston's head to keep water from Preston's ears.
"That's scary."
"I know," Preston replied. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
Antoine's scent filled his nostrils. He felt Antoine lean over him. He could feel Antoine's breath, soft and cool against his cheek, then, ever so gently, the brush of Antoine's beard. Cool lips lightly touched his cheek, and lingered for a moment.
Preston debated turning his face to meet Antoine's but before he could thing further Antoine withdrew himself; and the moment was passed. A fluffy towel dropped onto his chest.
"I'll let you sit yourself up," Antoine announced, pulling the rolled towel out from under Preston's neck and wrapping it around his head. Preston pushed himself upright as Antoine massaged his hair with the second towel.
"Why did I need two?" Preston asked, looking at the towel in his lap.
"Gotta be prepared, you know?" Antoine replied, not breaking the motion.
Preston leaned forward and put his knees on his elbows.
Antoine slid around him, continued drying his hair.
"You know, Preppy, I'm glad you're okay. You don't want to fool around with club drugs, or any drugs for that matter. I worry about you, and I don't like worrying about anyone." He offered a hand, and Preston took it. Antoine pulled Preston to his feet. "I'd say I hate it when I worry about you, but I don't because I like looking out for you. I just don't like it when you do things that makes me extra-worry. That's not okay."
Antoine reached out an arm, and Preston collapsed into them. Antoine half-led, half-carried Preston to the bed room and laid out his sleepwear. Preston smiled weakly, grateful for the small kindness. He changed without a hint of reservation, then slid between the covers. Moments later, Antoine flopped down next to him.
A strong arm was around Preston's shoulder, pulling him close. Preston packed his back up against Antoine's chest, feeling the familiar weight of Antoine's bare arm around his body. "I wish you wouldn't leave," Antoine whispered against Preston's back.
"I'm not leaving."
"You might. Please don't?" Antoine's voice sounded oddly small, forlorn. His words stabbed into Preston's heart.
Preston wrapped his hand over Antoine's wrist. He realized he had no idea what to say. He knew what Antoine wanted to hear, he wasn't sure those words could be said yet. What had he, Preston Tucci always wanted when he thought of Antoine? Meet my family, be with me, love me… Yes, those were the words. Could he truly be happy with two out of three? Was there some way he could make his relationship with Antoine work despite the odds against it?
Five in the morning on a sleepless night was not the time to make life changing decisions. Preston tightened his grip on Antoine's wrist. I don't want to lose this, he thought silently. With that, he let go, and surrendered to sleep.