Deconstruction Read online

  Kit Zheng

  Deconstruction

  Kit Zheng

  Aspen Mountain Press

  2

  Deconstruction

  Deconstruction

  Copyright (c) 2011 by Kit Zheng

  This e-Book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations within are from the author’s imagination and are not a resemblance to actual living or dead persons, businesses, or events. Any similarity is coincidental.

  Aspen Mountain Press

  18121-C E. Hampden Ave, Ste 221

  Aurora CO 80013

  www.AspenMountainPress.com

  First published by Aspen Mountain Press, May 2011

  www.AspenMountainPress.com

  This e-Book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction fines and/or imprisonment. The e-Book cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this e-Book can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the publisher.

  ISBN: 978-1-60168-413-4

  Published in the United States of America

  Editor: Jill Brown

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  Kit Zheng

  Chapter One

  Pounding bass followed Tomas like a heartbeat as he stepped out of the 11:30 Club and into the cool, night air. He was fresh off the stage, sweaty. His suggestively cut clothing was in a post-dance disarray, his breath settling down into a more normal rhythm. He could still feel the rhythm of the music in his blood, the eyes of the audience on his skin. The rumpled dollar bills at once sharp and soft pressed under the band of his G-string.

  It was a typical night for Tomas: four shows on stage, a handful of private dances and a nonstop series of professional flirtations. After his shift was over, he would work for a few more hours; one of the private dances had led to questions, to mutually beneficial arrangements, to promised future moments in hotel rooms. For Tomas it would be a car payment taken care of, one less bill to worry about. And after that, home

  —to his dog, his boyfriend Vic, his comfortably mortgaged brick bungalow. It was, for Tomas, everyday routine, routine he worked carefully to maintain.

  Except the club had felt too crowded tonight, the atmosphere a little stifling, the patrons too hands-on. So instead of working the room after his dance, Tomas stood in the alley. He wondered, not for the first time, if it might be nice to have a “normal” job, with normal hours, to settle down into a boring family life—gardening, raising children…monogamy.

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  A sound from the far end of the alley turned his head. In his exhaustion, his own face on the club’s promotional poster startled him before he recognized the curved blue eyes and the curled mouth as his own. He laughed at his own jumpiness. He was a big man; he could handle any trouble that came his way.

  “Finally losing it, huh?”

  One of the other dancers, Robbie, leaned halfway out of the door to the club. Tomas smiled sheepishly.

  “Just needed air.”

  “Yeah,” Robbie said, stepping out. “Kinda crazy in there tonight, isn’t it?” Tomas nodded.

  “Glad it’s not just me,” Robbie said. “Anyway, you should get back in there.

  Benny’s looking for you.” When Tomas sighed at the mention of Benny’s name, Robbie laughed. “Yeah. I know. C’mon, we’ve only got another hour.” Tomas nodded again. He loved his work, but every job had its lousy nights. This one would be over too, soon enough. He shook off his uneasy thoughts, and followed Robbie inside.

  * * * *

  Home at last, Tomas closed the door behind him as quietly as he could. The clock on the cable box showed 4:09. As he moved through the dark living room, a wet canine nose bumped into his leg insistently. He laughed and turned, returning the greeting with a soft river of not-quite baby talk, scrubbing Cam’s cheeks. He affectionately wrestled with the Great Dane for a few minutes, but was too tired to play for long.

  He made his way up the stairs and went quietly into the bedroom, greeted by Vic’s sleeping shape. Seduced by the promise of Vic’s body warm against his, he slipped between the covers. He curled against Vic’s sleeping back, leaned his mouth against the 5

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  knob where Vic’s spine met his neck. Breathed in—Vic smelled good, freshly showered, clean cotton shirt and shampoo and smell of water still clinging to his skin.

  Tomas’s body roused. It had been a while since they last fucked.

  Tomas blamed himself. He was picking up a lot of extra work so he was out later than usual. And Vic currently had a heavy caseload, so they usually missed each other.

  Tomas’ line of work didn’t really leave time for sit-down dinners and lazy, companionable weekends.

  Vic shifted under Tomas’ hands, regular breathing disrupted by a long snort and a sigh. Somewhat reluctantly, Tomas rolled onto his back and shoved his hands under the coolness of his pillow. He wanted to wake Vic up, wanted to fuck, but he didn’t want to be selfish.

  Tomas kicked off his pants and took himself in hand. But he was more tired than he’d thought, and eager strokes dwindled to slow, lazy pulls. He was slipping into dreams when strong fingers laced over his, upped the rhythm, jerked him back awake.

  A mouth on his shoulder, kissing his biceps. Rough cheek against his rib cage as a nose nuzzled toward his armpit. He laughed, coming fully conscious, shoving Vic back.

  “I smell,” he warned. “Ran most of the way home.”

  “I know.” Vic grinned, eyes still heavy with sleep, teeth bold. He inhaled up Tomas’

  side. “Lucky I like the way you stink.”

  Tomas snorted. He liked the way Vic smelled when he was worked up, too. He hooked an elbow behind Vic’s neck and guided him up for a kiss.

  “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “You were shaking the whole goddamn bed.”

  “Was not.”

  “You were,” Vic insisted. Now he was over Tomas, his weight pushing Tomas down into the mattress. “And the moaning—!”

  Tomas snorted.

  “I had to get up and put you out of my misery.”

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  Tomas’ eyes were unamused, but his mouth was trying to laugh. In answer, Vic leaned over the side of the mattress, felt among the pile of his clothes there. Came back with something in hand.

  “This oughtta solve our problems.” Vic let the handcuffs drop, dangling from his forefinger. Tomas batted his hand away.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Can’t jerk off with your hands behind your back. Too bad I don’t have a gag to go with it.”

  Tomas felt his face go hot, all the way to the tips of his ears. “I don’t let people tie me up.”

  Vic was polite enough to ignore his hard-on, but not polite enough to ignore other things. “Oh? I seem to recall—”

  Tomas groaned and swung a pillow at Vic’s head. Vic laughed and ducked, reflexes good as always. He caught Tomas’ wild swing and pulled his knuckles up to his lips.

  “Big man, it’s too easy to make you squirm.” He elbowed the fallen handcuffs off the bed. “Better?”

  Tomas just didn’t like to lose control, lose his head. Sometimes that was all he had, in his line of work. But he didn’t say that. He pulled Vic down and made him lose control instead.

  * * * *

  Later, lying in the pleasant aftermath, Vic said, “Couldn’t sleep. Just kept drifting off and waking up.” Tomas said nothing, simply listened. His head was pillowed by Vic’s arm.

  “Just work—this case. It’s a bad one, I mean.” Vic was a det
ective with the local police department. Tomas had a thing for cops and, while it was low on the reasons of why he loved Vic now, Vic’s job certainly helped him catch Tomas’ eye when they first 7

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  met. Vic turned his head to face Tomas. “Do you ever think about quitting? Going for the normal nine-to-five?”

  Tomas smiled, finding it funny that Vic had been thinking the same thing he had.

  “Doesn’t it…wear on you? All those guys. I mean, the idea’s hot but…” Tomas shrugged. He asked, “Do you want me to quit?”

  “Just like that?” Vic laughed. There was silence; Tomas knew Vic was considering it. “Tommy, I want you to be happy, that’s all.”

  “I’m happy,” Tomas said, and meant it. He rolled over, kissed Vic. “It’s almost five-thirty.”

  “Shit, really?” Vic groaned. Sat up, rubbed a hand through his dark hair. “Fuck.

  Well, never mind sleeping, then.”

  Tomas sat up as well. “Do you want some breakfast?”

  Vic frowned. He got up, rummaging through the closet for a decent shirt and slacks. Tomas slid out of bed, padded over, hardwood floor cold on his bare feet. He put his hand over Vic’s as Vic reached for an ugly grey turtleneck.

  “Get in the shower,” he murmured. He pulled a pair of dark slacks from the closet, and set them on the bed. Vic nodded at him gratefully and ducked into the bathroom.

  Tomas frowned at the shirts without seeing them. He was thinking about Vic’s question, about a “normal life.” They would probably both die of boredom, confined to normalcy. He wondered how often Vic thought about quitting, getting away from the dangers of being a cop, away from the strange hours, away from the constant showcase of the worst of humanity. He wondered if Vic was happy with his job, with his life, with Tomas.

  It had been a long time since he’d worried about that, a long, comfortable time.

  They had their share of spats, but mostly it was easy, so easy to be with Vic. Tomas trusted Vic entirely and was confident Vic felt the same. Maybe he was getting complacent. Idling. Maybe Vic was bored.

  Tomas shook his head. Exhaustion was messing with him. He picked a shirt off the 8

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  rack, a pale blue one that he hated but Vic loved, and set it on the bed.

  * * * *

  Though he never had to work before six p.m., Tomas always made sure he got out of bed by ten a.m. He enjoyed the quiet mornings to himself. Vic was always long gone by then, Tomas usually never registering his departure—Vic was not a particularly quiet man in the mornings, but Tomas slept like the dead when he finally slept. Nails tapping across hardwood and tile, Cam followed Tomas around as he put on coffee and made oatmeal, did his morning weights, showered and shaved. Around one, he usually made himself a sandwich and settled down with the paper or a magazine.

  But today, as he sat down with the News-Post, Cam suddenly leapt to his feet, tail wagging so hard his huge, tawny body wriggled as well. Tomas was getting up to investigate when the door opened and slammed. He and Cam shared a grin. Vic was home early.

  Sticking his head into the doorway between the living room and kitchen, he watched Vic take off his shoes. “Hey, babe,” he said. “They let you sneak out for lunch?”

  When Vic straightened, he wasn’t smiling. Tomas could tell it hadn’t been a good day. His smile slipped away, but the natural shape of his mouth wouldn’t let it disappear. Vic had mentioned it was irritating, sometimes—he always looked like he was laughing, squinted eyes and curling mouth, even when he was perfectly serious.

  Vic pushed past Tomas without even looking at him.

  “I’m really tired,” Vic said. “It’s been a fucked-up morning. I’m going to lie down.” Tomas let him go at first, knowing how Vic preferred to be by himself until all the poison was gone. They had been together three years, and both of them claimed they wouldn’t mind it going on three more years or maybe forever. But the strange unease that had settled over him earlier returned, gnawed at his usual wait-and-see tendencies.

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  Taking a deep breath, he climbed the stairs up to their bedroom.

  Vic was sitting on the bed, scowling at his hands.

  Starting conversations was not one of Tomas’ strong points. He had made a career out of getting paid to look good, to make men think of sex, and on occasion, to fuck them, not to talk with them. But this was Vic, his lover, not some trick. So he tried.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked. It sounded stupid as he said it, but it was the only thing he could think of.

  “No.” Vic’s voice was tight. He might have been looking at something in his hands, but it wasn’t visible to Tomas. Then his hands fell open, slid down to his sides. They were empty. His face was apologetic as he looked over. “No, but thanks. Sorry. It’s just work.”

  “Same case? The one…why you couldn’t sleep?”

  Vic nodded.

  Tomas moved close to Vic, wanting to touch, but not touching. Stood there, hands in pockets, with his eager-to-please expression and his complete loss for words.

  Fumbling, he came up with, “Do you have to go back to work today?” Vic looked at him, frustrated, almost-anger on his face. His thick, dark brows were knitted together. One hand left the bedspread and grabbed Tomas’ wrist, pulled him down and forward. Tomas had only time for a startled noise. Their kiss was almost a collision, bruising Tomas’ lips against his teeth, stubble rasping his mouth tender.

  Vic laughed, his angry expression easing away. “You don’t really want to hear about it, Tommy.”

  It wasn’t the truth, but Tomas let it go because he believed Vic meant he didn’t want to talk about it. Pulled Vic hard to him, chin resting on Vic’s head, and held him close.

  “I could order some—” He was going to say “lunch.” But Vic reached up and pulled him down into another kiss, open-mouthed and needy, his meaning clear.

  Physical comfort, Tomas understood. Was an expert at, in fact. He let the words fall 10

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  away, let his mouth and hands and body say what he could not.

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  Chapter Two

  Vic needed to go back to work, but instead, he sat on the bed next to Tomas, who had dozed off, and watched him sleep. Not for the first time and not for the last he wondered what he was doing with this man, this golden Nordic god who might easily have walked out of the pages of some gay men’s pulp magazine. It was easy, he thought, to understand why he cared about Tomas so much that it hurt; it was why Tomas might feel the same way about him that he didn’t get.

  He ached to shake Tomas awake, to say what he was desperate to say, to say what he’d come home to say. But he didn’t move and the words didn’t come and so he just sat and silently watched.

  His thoughts refused to leave that hustler he and his partner had pulled out of the dumpster, four days dead and unnoticed until that morning; or the young man found floating in the river a week and a half ago; or the two before that. None of them really looked like Tomas, but when Vic saw that last one, saw at first just blond hair matted with blood, he had a brief, terrifying vision of Tomas in his place, dead and fucked up and lying in a dumpster. Vic had rushed home as soon as he was able.

  Vic knew he was winding tighter and tighter. The case was going nowhere fast. He had felt for weeks like he was trapped in some sort of space-age goo, some movie slo-mo that kept him from moving fast enough to catch the pieces and hold them together.

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  Like a bad dream where you knew what you had to do, but the dream was doing all it could to keep you from doing it.

  And he and Tommy— He had been avoiding Tomas to a degree, making sure he was out before Tomas was up, coming home when he knew Tomas was gone. Which was stupid, because he didn’t want anything more than for Tomas to sit down, give him a hug, eat dinner with him, be there with him.

  But when he
was sick of trying to sort out the case in his head, he worried about them, him and Tommy. Nothing was wrong, nothing specific, not that he could put his finger on. If anything, they were going too well, too easily, coasting. And maybe nothing was wrong, but there were things about their relationship that weren’t right.

  That they were ignoring, letting go, letting slide. He’d started noticing that Tomas was out hours past the end of his shift a lot these days. And it had started bothering him to know that Tomas spent a lot of those hours fucking perfect strangers. More hours than he used to, it seemed like.

  When they’d first started getting serious, he had talked to his partner about it sometimes. Carl didn’t give him shit about being a “fag.” Carl was understanding about fucking other men, but he wasn’t so understanding about dating a hustler. “You don’t go steady with a hooker,” Carl had said, utterly perplexed by Vic’s choice. “You fuck a hooker for a night, you pay her, you get out. How can you deal with someone doing that to your one-and-only? You don’t. Nobody does. Not for long, anyway. Not even hookers with hearts of gold.”

  “Tomas is worth it. And I’ve had open relationships before.”

  “Before,” Carl repeated. “As in, ex-relationships. As in, now over.”

  “That wasn’t what ended them,” Vic had insisted. He’d been so sure that he could accept what Tomas did. If he’d had doubts, he’d stomped them, bricked them away, told himself they didn’t exist.

  Lately, bit by bit, he was becoming aware that they did exist, and they were festering.

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  Vic scowled. He got up, pulled on his jacket again. He had the case to worry about, never mind all these make-believe problems he’d dreamed up. Better to just keep thinking about the case. Safer that way.

  Though that wasn’t exactly a safe topic either, not with the easy way his mind substituted Tomas’ face for the victims’. He sighed.

  He was almost to the door when Tomas said sleepily, “Don’t go.” Turning, he saw Tomas shifting under the covers.