Alex rushed out of the bedroom, wide awake but clearly very confused. He found the speaker and turned it off right as Mariah was belting. Damián stopped his dance at the beep of the Bluetooth disconnecting, his arms falling to his side in disappointment.
“That was a gay bop,” Damián said. Then, he accused, “Homophobia.”
nothing says merry christmas like accusing your boyfriend of homophobia
Alex giggled and fell into Damian's chest. His eyes were half-lidded. His smile, sloppy.
"God, you're such a light weight." Damian rubbed his arm, pulling him in close. "Three glasses of wine and you're like this?"
"Dam?"
"Yes, baby?"
Damian was feeling the wine himself. His head was light. His cheeks were hot. The word "baby" slipped from his lips very liberally. Close to Alex on the couch, though, he felt so safe.
"I love you."
"Aw, I love you, too."
"No..." Alex sat up. He looked so cute. His face red and words slurring. "I really do."
Damian smiled. "Okay, baby. Come here."
He pulled Alex back down to his chest. Alex relaxed, body almost.
"I know you love me."
"How?" Alex asked.
"Mmm... the way you play with my hair when I'm falling asleep. And how you track my location on my phone. And how you make my coffee just the way I like."
Alex was a prefect boyfriend. He did everything without even needing to be asked. He just... knew Damian.
"You deserve all that," Alex said.
Damian held his breath.
Did he?
Did he really?
Alex buried his head into Damian's chest and wrapped an arm around Damian's waist.
"i'm tired of gay romance that's just two skinny, white boys"
nobody ends up dead in a bathtub, everyone keeps their organs features an interracial couple in their 30s with one being plus-sized
"no one writes about lesbians it's all about mlm"
neud has a lesbian pov character and even though she has a smaller role, she's going to be the main character of the sequel
"romance novels romanticize mental illness and push a narrative that a relationship can fix you"
Damián and Alex both struggle with mental illness and while companionship/emotional support is a significant healing tool for them, they don't fix each other
"romance novels have extraordinary characters. i want characters who are just some guy"
alex mccall is just a secretary in new york city making just enough money to live in a tiny apartment. he has no hobbies besides making fancy coffee for himself. but he is kind. he's just some guy.
"sex is always awkward in romance novels and couples are too chaste. it feels puritan."
damián is a sex worker and escort, and you see/hear about his appointments throughout the novel. alex is a 33-year-old virgin who just. wants to have sex. the plot is actually "these men are using puritanical views of sex to fuck with other people."
"romance novels aren't good, i want something serious"
neud literally won a pulitzer prize and handles serious topics. it just so happens to do it with romance
"romance novels have annoying, one-dimensional side characters"
neud has fairly 3d side characters with struggles like manipulative parents and failing college courses and struggling to make good friends in your 30s
"wait a minute--you're creating strawman arguments to support neud!!"
Yes I am!!! You should check out Nobody Ends Up Dead
Nobody Ends Up Dead in a Bathtub, Everyone Keeps Their Organs: Final Chapter
Summary: Alex is an ordinary, highly-introverted office worker. He clocks in and out and goes home to his little apartment he shares with his younger sister. He hasn’t dated in years by the time his co-workers set him up on a blind date.
The only issue is he and his date are not on the same page. At all.
While Alex thinks it’s a normal date, Damián is under the impression Alex is a client who paid to be there. No-so-quickly, they realize something is up. It’s all a prank. Damián is a sex worker Alex’s co-workers hired as a sick joke.
After reassuring that they’re both okay, Alex decides he wants revenge for both him and Damián. The plan is to use the stigma of sex work and start a 6-week, scandalous fake dating scheme with a big finale at the office Halloween party. Alex’s co-workers will be too horrified to try to prank him again. At least, that’s the plan.
You can also read this on AO3. If you want to read more adventures of the NEUD cast and see other works by me, you can subscribe to my Patreon for only $4! If you’ve enjoyed the story and want to support me in other ways, consider dropping me a message in my inbox or reblogging this post!
And thank you for reading this silly, little story. It means the world to me <3
Damián rolled over, stopping when he felt another body. He lifted his head and opened his eyes. Alex was sitting up next to him, scrolling through his phone with bedhead and alert eyes. When he saw Damián looking at him, he smiled.
“What time is it?” Damián asked.
There was a pound of gunk in his eyes, and his mouth was dry and fuzzy. He hadn’t slept so soundly in days. His brain was running slow, and his body refused to move any more than it had to turn his head toward Alex.
“10,” Alex said.
“Shouldn’t you be at work?”
“I called in sick. They can cope without me for a day.” Alex set his phone aside. “I thought maybe it’d be a good idea if I hung around today. Just in case we want to talk anymore. Or if you wanted a little company.”
The tables had never been turned like that before. It was always Damián providing the company. Not that he was complaining. It was nice. It was wonderful. He was glad Alex finally understood.
“I’d like that,” Damián said.
“Do you want breakfast?”
It was a loaded question. Damián pulled himself up, preparing to start his long explanation. Food was hard to stomach at the moment. He could eat some things but not others. Even if he felt like trying something, he might not eat all of it.
He had fasted so harshly the past few days. He didn’t know what he’d be able to eat or if he’d fall into a binge in front of Alex.
“We can do something small,” Alex said, not quite backtracking but offering a lifeline. “However much you want. Just maybe we should eat a little?”
“We can do a small home brunch,” Damián said, trying to sound casual.
“I’ve never done brunch before!”
“This is like a queer initiation. We’re doing at-home brunch.”
“Please be here for my first brunch.”
He liked the way Alex said “we.” “We” could eat a little. There was no pushing. There was no anger. It was just understanding, patience, and solidarity. The promise of making food into something more than just eating—a bigger bonding moment—eased some of the uneasy turning in Damián’s stomach.
Damián pulled himself up even though it was hours before he would have willingly gotten up on any other day. He pulled on a shirt, borrowed from Alex, that actually fit well. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he cataloged that information.
Eve was standing in the middle of the living room, dressed and with her school bag on her shoulders. She stared ahead. Leo sat in the kitchen with his phone pressed to his ear.
“What’s going on?” Alex whispered.
“I would love to,” Leo said. “My brother went out the other night, and what this student told me was he was at the bar, and then all of a sudden he wasn’t—he was, you know. He was acting different. Like he was really drunk. But he hadn’t been there all that long. The bartender said he had only served him a glass of wine. And then the man my brother was with was trying to get him out of the bar. He apparently left when some people confronted him and offered help.”
Damián’s heart sank. Alex’s hand came to rest, lightly, on his back. Damián could have easily inched forward to break off the contact, but he leaned into it.
Leo took a quiet, deep breath. He laid his free hand on the countertop.
“And someone else managed to call me from his phone,” he continued. “She was a nurse, apparently. And she told me where they were and what she thought had happened, and I met them down there. And he was—he wasn’t okay.”
He was quiet for a minute, allowing the man on the other side of the phone to speak. He closed his eyes. His chest was heaving in and out.
“No, it wasn’t that,” Leo said. “He was totally out of it, and the bartender said there was no way he could have gotten that drunk. And he was sober when he got there. I saw him right before he left.” And I’m sorry that there’s no proof. My brother just wants to move on. He doesn’t want to press charges, and he didn’t go to the police or anything right after. It’s really time-sensitive, you know. And now that we lost the opportunity to get proof—yes, sir. That’s exactly right.”
Leo listened for a few more seconds and then quickly pulled his phone away from his ear and turned on the speakerphone.
“—really am sorry that that happen to your brother. That doesn’t reflect our company, and we would never support someone who would do something like that.”
“But your employee did do it.”
“Right. Right. I did contact the bar late last night as soon as I received the email, and they did confirm what you told me, and I’ve been conducting a thorough investigation since. So, the only option moving forward is our company will be cutting ties with Mr. Trills.”
Leo punched the air. Eve relaxed a little in her stance. Damián felt a little something inside him settle and loosen.
“I mean, that’s unfortunate, but honestly, it’s a relief to hear after what my family has been through.”
And when Leo said it, he didn’t just look at Damián. He looked at Eve, too, and then with great reluctance, Alex.
“I hope you all find comfort in that decision, then. And thank you for being willing to talk about this.”
“Yeah. No problem. Thank you for listening.”
“Have a good day.”
“You too, Mr. Parkwood.” Leo hung up and slammed his phone down on the counter. “Fucking got ‘em.”
Eve jumped up and down, squealing and clapping her hands. It was the most emotion Damián had seen from the kid.
“You’re going to be late,” Leo told her, stern. “Go.”
“I’ll be back in a few hours!” she said. “Damián, we’re celebrating tonight!”
Damián watched her run from the apartment and slam the door behind her. Alex nudged him a little toward the counter and to the seat next to Leo.
Damián didn’t know what to do with his little victory. He was happy, of course, but he wished it hadn’t had to happen. He didn’t blink for a few seconds too long. He ground his teeth together, starting a little bit of a headache at his jaw and traveling up to his temple.
Alex put his hand on his back. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I’ll be fine.”
“Was that all good?” Leo asked.
Damián smiled and cupped his cheek. He pulled his hand back and lovingly slapped Leo’s face, making it split into a smile.
“You were wonderful,” Damián said. “You were perfect. Thank you for doing that.”
Leo shrugged and looked away.
“I’m going to order brunch for all of us.” Alex pulled out his phone from the pocket of his sweatpants. “Do you guys like French toast? I’m already thinking of a place.”
“Can I get pancakes?” Leo asked. “Please? If it’s an option.”
“Oh, you’re nice to him now that he’s getting you breakfast,” Damián said.
“I’m easily bought.”
As Alex placed their orders, Damián started to figure out how the coffee pot worked. Alex exclusively kept bougie, gourmet coffee in his cabinets. If Damián wanted anything fancier than a bag he could grab at a grocery store, he went to a coffee shop and had someone brew it for him. He always thought it was pointless to buy something expensive if he had no idea how to brew it. It was like picking up a Stradivarius after a few violin lessons.
But Alex had fancy contraptions on his counter. He knew how to roast coffee well. Damián stared at the bag and at the glass carafes tucked away in the corner.
Alex took the bag from his hands. “I got this.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“No, I’m just doing this for you. You can chill.”
Damián fell into the stool next to Leo. Without something to keep him busy, he didn’t know what to do.
“Don’t you have a class?” Damián asked.
“My prof let us have the day off to work on our capstones.”
“So, are you going to work on it?”
“Probably not. I’ll be honest.”
Alex poured three cups of amazing coffee that Leo “tainted” by adding sugar and milk. Damián wasn’t a huge fan of black coffee, but he didn’t want to insult Alex’s special blends by adding anything. Just like last time, he trusted Alex’s barista skills.
Alex took a test sip of Damián’s coffee to make sure it was cool enough to hand over. Again, Damián didn’t burn his lips or tongue.
Brunch came to the door just after 11, and they set it up at the limited counter space.
Over a mouthful of pancakes, Leo told them all about his capstone project. Alex, Damián could tell, was trying his best to understand. He asked questions, and Leo was actually polite and patient as he explained it all. Leo’s manners might have taken a dip over the past month but at least he wasn’t pretentious. Damián barely kept up with all the math jargon himself, but eventually, he let the conversation fade behind him.
Damián picked up the trash of the takeout bags and containers and tucked his barely-touched breakfast away in the fridge. Alex insisted he try again later. Even if it took all day, Damián promised himself he would try finishing the modest serving of French toast.
Eve called Leo to scream in his ear that her professor graded her test in front of her and that she had passed with a grade that wasn’t fantastic but that she could definitely pass the semester with.
It was the first time Damián had watched Leo be so excited for someone else. He was glowing. His little protege, he said, had done so well.
And sitting there, watching Leo congratulate Eve and Alex pour more coffee for all of them and hearing Eve’s excited squeals on the other end of the phone, he hoped that he would get to have many more mornings like that. And, by the way everyone was laughing, he was almost sure that there would be.
He believed, at his core, that he deserved a happy ending. And while he wasn’t sure what it was going to look like, he was fairly certain that he was getting a happy middle to lead up to it.
Paid members on my Patreon got to see the new chapter from the current draft of NEUD. It replaces the chapter where Eve cries to Damián over failing her math exam. This version, she tries crying to Alex and then cries to their mother--sort of (hopefully) setting up the sibs' relationship a bit more clearly than it was in the last draft of NEUD.
Here's an excerpt:
“Mom? She’s crying again. I don’t know what to do.”
Crying was an understatement. Eve was sitting on the floor, head thrown back, and letting out wails that broke the sound barrier.
“She said she failed her math midterm or something. I don’t know.”
Alex pressed his finger in his ear to block out the sounds of Eve’s sobs. Their neighbors were going to complain again as they often did once Eve started living there. If she wasn’t crying over school, she was blaring music. If she wasn’t blaring music, she was blasting a podcast host’s descriptions of brutal murders. The walls of the apartment were thin, she had yet to truly realize.
Growing up in the 90s, Alex had a good number of noise-making toys that, once their batteries ran low, became obnoxious. He shoved them under blankets and pillows or in the deepest corner of his closet until his mother replaced the batteries or decided to dump the toy in a Goodwill bin.
He wished he could do the same with Eve, but she was a breathing, living girl. Not a Ferbie.
“Let me talk to her,” their mother said, and Alex more than gladly passed his phone to Eve.
While Eve wailed into the phone, Alex escaped to his bedroom. The flimsy door didn’t sit well in the frame, and the sounds of Eve sobbing her explanation to their mother seeped in through the gaps.
When Alex’s parents asked if he would be willing to take Eve in while she was in school, he had agreed because he believed he would have a few years to prep. Eve was still in high school—only 16. But as it turned out, she was, in fact, 18 and was moving in in a few short months. A year later, Eve was still there. A pest.
But he hated thinking of her as a pest. He loved her. He supposed he had to, at least. People typically loved their siblings. It had to be in him somewhere.
This was published on Patreon back in April in the paid tier. If you want to read it there, you can now view it for free!
This short story is also on AO3.
----
“No, thank you. I’m watching what I eat.”
Diego set the serving spoon down but still narrowed his eyes at Damián. The tiramisu sat between them, innocent and rejected.
“This better be because you’re trying to consume less caffeine and not because you’re counting calories,” Diego said.
“I’m just trying to be mindful about what I’m putting in my body.”
“As a doctor—”
Damián playfully groaned. He grabbed Diego’s hand and kissed his knuckles.
Damián was a beautiful young man. His eyes were doe-like. His hair was curly and a bit shaggy. There were still lingering signs of youthfulness all over him. The gangliness of his limbs, the tightness of his entire body. He was at an age where maturing had done him all favors. Every year in your twenties, you get better. You get smarter. You shed the awkward remains of adolescence and blossom into a full adult.
Diego, on the other hand, felt like he was settling into a decline. He had feared that his 30s were going to be a free fall. That he was going to tumble down the bad side of aging quickly and hit middle age in a crumpled heap. But it was more like pausing at the top of a roller coaster. He knew what was going to happen. He just didn’t know when it would be or how fast it would go. All he knew was that he was holding his breath and fighting back a bite of nausea.
“I don’t need a lecture from a doctor,” Damián said.
“I was just going to say that as a doctor, I disapprove of most diets. You’re already thin, Marcus. You shouldn’t lose any weight.”
Damián tried looking cute. It came easy to him. All he had to was blink those eyes and pout those lips, and Diego was putty in his hands. He took a half-step closer to Damián and laid his hand in his curls. A lecture was still on the back of his tongue, but he didn’t want to kill the mood.
He was about to offer an invitation to the home office where Damián knew how to spread himself out for him, but the doorbell rang and interrupted the offer.
“I’ll be right back,” Diego said.
“Hurry. I might get lonely in here.”
He left Damián with a glass of wine and crossed the house. Before he reached the door, the bell rang again. And then again. And then again. Diego picked up a jog and wrenched open the front door.
His heart sank, and his shoulders fell.
“Sorry. He wanted to push the doorbell, and then he didn’t stop.”
“Hi, Daddy!”
Four-year-old Oliver bounced into the house with his little backpack strapped to him. Diego’s ex-husband stayed on the front stoop. He ran his hand through his hair, pushing it up and off his forehead. When he dropped his arm back to his side, a tuft of hair stayed standing upright.
“Ethan,” Diego began.
“I would have called, but I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry.” Ethan sounded almost breathless. “My mom’s in the hospital.”
Diego couldn’t be mad. He crossed his arms over his stomach. “What happened? Is she okay?”
“Kelly said she fell. Hurt her bad hip. I’m going over to see her right now, and I need you to take Oliver.”
Diego knew the right thing to do was say of course. Oliver was his boy. Cheryl was in the hospital. Ethan and Kelly needed to be with their mother. And despite the divorce, Diego still loved his ex-in-laws very dearly. It should have been easy to nod and wish Ethan the best.
But he hesitated and then asked, “How long do you think you’ll be there?”
“Diego, this really needs to be a moment when you say yes with no questions asked.”
“No. Of course. I just—I have company, and I don’t—”
Ethan sighed and pressed his fingers into his eyes. “He’s your child. This shouldn’t be a conversation.”
“Right. You’re right. Go see your mother. Tell her I gave her my best.”
Ethan finally nodded in approval.
“Um, Diego?”
Diego turned around. Damián had walked into the living room with Oliver, holding little Oliver’s jacket sleeve with the tips of his fingers. Oliver, with his free hand, munched on a garlic knot.
Damián knew that Oliver existed, but Diego never kept up pictures of him while Damián was around or ever mentioned his name or age. Damián knew that a child existed as a concept rather than as a physical, living, breathing being.
“Who does this belong to?” Damián asked. Ethan had walked in behind Diego. He stared at Damián, and Damián stared back. Diego felt ill.
“I can ask the same question,” Ethan said, gesturing to Damián who bristled at the comment. “This is ‘company?’”
“He’s a friend,” Diego lied.
“Friend. Sure. I’m sorry to interrupt your date, but I have to go. Ollie, I’m leaving now, okay?”
Oliver waved his hand that held the now-soggy garlic knot. “Bye, Daddy!”
“Be good tonight, okay?”
“Okay.”
Diego pressed his head to the door as he closed it behind Ethan. Great. The young escort he had been regularly hiring for a year had just met his family. His broken family. It was surely not going to get around that Diego was seeing young men post-divorce.
He pulled his head up and looked back at Damián and Oliver. Oliver still gnawed at his garlic knot, and Damián still held his sleeve with his fingertips.
“Why are you holding him like that?” Diego asked.
“Toddlers have a tendency to be sticky.”
“My Oliver is never sticky.”
“I don’t know, that garlic knot I gave him seems to be doing the trick.”
Diego loved Oliver dearly. More than anything in the world. He was the sweetest-looking little boy with dark, almost black eyes, and his thick brown hair.
“So,” Damián said, “was that your husband?”
“Ex-husband.”
“And when he made that comment about me being ‘company—‘”
“Don’t mind that. It has nothing to do with you. Anyone could be in this house, and he would be upset.”
Damián looked back down at Oliver. “And this is your son?”
“It is.” Diego bent down in front of Oliver. “Oliver, darling, did Daddy make you dinner before you came here?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want a little dessert then?”
“Yeah!”
Diego swatted Damián’s hand away and took Oliver’s backpack off of him. He set it aside and led Oliver to the kitchen. He sat him on a chair and cleared the space in front of him.
“If you want to leave, I understand,” Diego said to Damián.
He rummaged through the freezer and found a half-eaten carton of vanilla ice cream that was only partially freezer burnt.
Damián caught Oliver’s hand right before it reached for the tiramisu. Oliver giggled up at him like stopping a small child from getting a hold of caffeine was a silly game.
“Do you think your ex will be gone long?” Damián asked.
Oliver reached for a glass of wine with his other hand. Damián lifted him out of his chair and held him on his hip. Oliver wiggled, but Damián held on tight. It was as if he had experience.
“It’s hard to say,” Diego said.
“I heard him mention something about his mother.”
The ice cream was frozen solid. Diego tried chipping away at it with a spoon, but hardly any could be scraped off.
“His mother’s a bit frail,” he said. “She’s been in and out of nursing homes for the past year. His sister said that she fell, so I’m sure they’d keep her in the hospital overnight. At least. But I’m just not sure if Ethan will stay with her all night.”
Diego laid a pathetic bowl of ice cream on the table. Damián sat Oliver down in his chair. Oliver picked up his spoon, not seeming to care that it was only a pile of miserable, frozen chunks.
“You don’t have to stay,” Diego repeated. “I’ve already paid you. If you want, you can leave. We won’t worry about it.”
“Well, I’m trying to decide if it’s worth it. If your ex won’t be gone long, I might as well hang around so we can get to everything after—unless you want me to leave. I’d get it if you don’t want me around your kid.”
“Why wouldn’t I want you around Oliver?”
“I don’t know how many people would willingly let their kid hang around a sex worker.”
“Marcus, please. You know you’re not immoral.”
“I know that.”
But Damián was still, apparently, trying to peg Diego. He was still trying to decide if Diego could be trusted.
“You’re welcome to stay,” Diego said. “We can still eat the tiramisu. I’ll put Oliver to bed, and we can. Wait.”
God, it sounded awful. Sending his son to bed so he didn’t have to look after him. So he could count down the minutes until he could have sex.
Oliver slid off the chair and ran to the living room. The pathetic bowl of ice cream was almost untouched. He turned his backpack upside down and dumped out all of the contents. Pajamas (Ethan had prepared for him to stay overnight after all), a handful of tiny dinosaurs, and a single red firetruck.
Diego had bought that firetruck for him last Christmas, and he was momentarily relieved to see Oliver was still playing with it.
Damián watched him scatter out his toys and then held out his hand when Oliver ran up to him to pull him into the living room.
“Guess I’m staying,” Damián said over his shoulder.
Diego busied himself with cleaning up. He dumped the ice cream in the sink. He wrapped up the tiramisu and stuck it in the fridge. Plates went in the dishwasher. The wine was re-corked. A rag was wiped across every surface.
And when it was all done, Diego took a deep breath and braved a step into the living room.
Damián was on the floor, puppeting a dinosaur to pounce on top of the firetruck. Oliver was delighted with his playmate, pulling out another dinosaur to retaliate.
“I don’t know what we’re playing,” Damián said, “but I might be winning.”
“I’m winning,” Oliver said.
“Oh. I was wrong.” Damián held out a dinosaur to Diego. “But I think there’s room for three?”
Diego reached out to the spinosaurus. He wrapped his fingers around it. The hard plastic bit into his palm.
Damián smiled up at him. His eyes were bright and inviting. Oliver grabbed his hand.
“Play with us, Daddy!”
Diego couldn’t remember the last time he sat down next to Oliver, holding one of his toys. Ethan always did that. He always laid with Oliver when he cried through tummy time and always crawled around him with stuffed animals and wooden blocks.
“Say ‘please,’” Damián chided.
Oliver looked at Diego with perhaps the sweetest eyes on Earth and smiled. Quietly, he asked, “Please?”
“Of course, mijo. Tell me what I have to do. What are the rules?”
“There are no rules.”
Damián shrugged at Diego. “There aren’t any rules, I guess. But Oliver is winning.”
Oliver let out a mighty roar—as mighty as his tiny body could force out.
——————
“Oliver, what’s your favorite movie?”
There were few options to stream on Netflix. The animated movies section was definitely lacking in quality content. Or content overall.
“Mulan,” Oliver said.
“I love Mulan!” Damián said. “Do you think we can watch it on the TV right now?”
“It’s there somewhere,” Diego said.
He had dug around for it many times before. He wasn’t looking particularly looking forward to hearing the same music and the same jokes for the 100th time.
But Damián was more than willing to sit through a Disney movie, and Diego wanted to follow his lead.
“My brother loved Mulan when he was little,” Damián said. “My dad wasn’t super happy about him watching a movie like that, but I argued that she isn’t a princess. She’s a warrior. And that made him kind of okay with it.”
“I like the dragon,” Oliver said.
“Me too! Oh, here it is. Are you ready, Oliver?”
“Uh-huh.”
Damián pressed play and got up from the floor to join Diego on the couch. He rubbed his knees where they had been bent into the floor all evening. Damián was far too young to be complaining about his joints, but Diego knew he didn’t have very forgiving floors. It had been an oversight when he bought the townhouse. He hadn’t considered long play sessions with his son. In the end, though, it seemed Damián was the only one who was going to suffer. He was the only one who had put in the hours playing from down there.
The Disney castle appeared on screen with the iconic orchestra.
Damián pressed close into Diego’s side. And then, slow so Diego had time to object, rested his head on his shoulder. Diego put his arm around Damián and pulled him in closer. It was invitation enough for Damián to slide his arm around Deigo’s waist and curl up entirely against him.
It felt nice having the weight on him, sharing the warmth of their bodies. One of Damián’s loose curls tickled his nose. It smelled heavily of artificial fruit mixed with the chemicals of hair products.
Diego rubbed his thumb over Damián’s exposed arm where he had rolled up his sleeves to play with Oliver. Damián had scarce body hair. What was on his forearms was thin compared to the coarse hair Diego had from the back of his hands up.
When they fucked, Diego liked to pay close attention to Diego’s almost-bare chest, the dark patches that sprouted on his lower tummy and led to the well-trimmed but thick curls over his pubic bone.
“Is he wearing you out?” Diego asked.
There was a short, deep chuckle in Damián’s chest. “I’m okay. I have experience with my little brother when he was younger.”
“How old is he now?”
“Uh. Jeez.” Damián rubbed his face. “He must be 14 now? I think he just started high school.”
“You don’t know how old your brother is?”
Damián burrowed deeper into Diego’s side.
Oliver abandoned his toys to stand in front of them, missing out on the cuddling. Diego let go of Damián’s arm and held out his hand. Oliver climbed up on top of them and nestled in close between their laps.
For a moment, Diego thought they all felt like a family.
——————
Oliver had settled on Damián’s lap, pressed into his chest. Though his face was turned away from Diego, he could see the toddler was asleep. Diego ran the tips of his fingers through Oliver’s hair. He moved his hand down to Oliver’s back, pressing it flat against his pajamas.
Oliver was such a sweet kid, and Diego barely spent any time with him. And sure, now, when he was still so young, Oliver loved him. He cheered when Ethan dropped him off at his front door. But in just a few short years, Oliver would start to notice that Diego wasn’t nearly as good of a father as Ethan was.
He would realize how few diaper changes Diego had done, how many late nights he had spent at work rather than at home with his family. Oliver would catch on when Diego would struggle to remember his interests and surely show up late to soccer games or little league meets when Diego’s practice required just a few more hours of attention.
Diego loved Oliver. More than anything. But he was never meant to be a father.
“Do you want to put him to bed or something?” Damián asked. “He’s totally out.”
“No. Not yet.” Diego stood. “Excuse me for a second.”
He escaped to the kitchen and sat at the table with his head pressed into his hands. Ethan had been so excited to be a dad. It was all he talked about the year leading up to their adoption. And Diego had looked forward to it, too. A part of him felt good that he was appeasing some standard. A spouse and a child and a white picket fence. Oliver was like a box he could check. If he got a child, he would be happy because people with children in nuclear families were always happy.
Oliver came, and Diego doted on him for the first few weeks. His hands were tiny, and Diego loved holding them between his fingers. His face was scrunched up like a raisin. Diego dutifully dragged himself out of bed in the middle of the night when Oliver cried in his bassinet next to Ethan’s side of the bed.
But eventually, the novelty wore off. Diego went back to work quickly. He couldn’t neglect his patients for too long. The routine of everyday life returned, and Diego would bounce Oliver on his knee and try to encourage him to sit up on his own. But it was Ethan who was staying home with him, it was Ethan who was waking up now to stumble to the nursery in the dark while Diego slept through it.
Diego didn’t stop loving Oliver, but there were days he figured he could stay an extra hour at work. He could skip bath time or story time. He didn’t need to look at every picture Ethan sent him of Oliver at breakfast or playing with a toy he had played with every day for a month.
Diego and Ethan started arguing when Oliver was only six-months-old. They felt like they were drowning when Oliver was nine-months. Diego was served the divorce papers the week after Oliver’s first birthday only because he knew Ethan couldn’t stand to start the whole process before their child was one. They had to make it at least one year for a reason Diego could never understand.
It was civil and quick. Ethan asked for joint custody, and Diego accepted every other week with his son and a fair share of holidays. Diego insisted Ethan keep the house, but he asked for the antique bookcase from their living room. It held most of Diego’s books anyway, Ethan had said. His vintage medical books had always looked quite handsome on the shelves.
The night before he moved out, Diego held onto Ethan and cried for the first time since they were told the exhaustive adoption process had finally led them to a baby. Ethan had always been the more emotional of the two. He blubbered through their wedding vows. He Christened Oliver with his tears. But Diego couldn’t help it with the boxes and luggage sitting by the front door.
It felt worse than failure. It was a catastrophe. An Act of God that tore down everything around Diego, that Diego never would have known how to prepare for.
Ethan and Diego slept in the same bed one last time, their backs turned to each other. Oliver slept through the night for the first time that night.
And now his son was curled up with a stranger who was warmer to him than Diego ever was.
“Diego?”
Diego looked up.
Damián was so quiet. He padded into the kitchen without a sound. Poor thing was still in his tight outfit. Diego thought it was sexy when the night started, but now he could only think about how uncomfortable he must have been while running around the house with Oliver. Maybe Diego should have offered him something more comfortable to lounge in. But that would have felt far too intimate. Far too personal. Damián wasn’t a boyfriend. He was a hired escort Diego had grown a little too close to.
“Are you okay?” Damián asked.
“Fine.”
Diego leaned back in his chair. Damián stood at his side.
“Are you sure?” Damián asked.
Diego pressed his head into Damián’s middle. He savored the warmth radiating from under his shirt for a few seconds and then pulled away before it got too dangerous.
Damián took a seat next to him. “We can talk. If you need to.”
Diego looked at Damián—all big eyes and curly hair. Still so young. Basically a kid himself. He would have no idea what Diego could be going through.
“Marcus, why do I hire you?” Diego asked.
Damián sat stiff in his chair. “Because I’m good at what I do? I hope.”
“Yes—yes, you are. But why do I hire you? How old were you the first time we met?”
“I think I was 23.”
Diego sunk into his chair and covered his face with his hands and dragged them down to pull at his eyes and cheeks with his fingers. “Shit.”
“What?”
“You know how old I am? I’m 36, Damián.”
Damián flinched at his own name. Diego almost hated that he knew it, but Damián had told him one night after six months of seeing each other. He was trusting Diego with it, and Diego saved it for only the most special occasions when he wanted to tear down the wall between them. When he wanted to talk to the real Damián. The boy from the other side of town with three roommates and a new hobby of keeping plants. Not Marcus who only existed for a few hours a month.
Damián grabbed his sleeve tightly. “Are you saying you don’t want to see me anymore?”
“I—no. No, I’m not saying that.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“That I’m a bad father.”
Damián tilted his head. His lips parted, and Diego could see the little tips of his front teeth. Diego wondered if he bleached them. They were the perfect shade of white, and Diego wasn’t sure if that could ever be natural. The teeth themselves were real. Diego had already memorized where the bottom row slightly turned into each other like Damián had had braces in his youth but neglected to keep up with a retainer. It almost wasn’t noticeable, but Diego had seen it plenty of times when Damián’s mouth was wide open in a silent moan on the floor of his study.
“I don’t think I follow,” Damián said.
“I’m a bad father to Oliver. I can’t do anything right, and now my ex-husband thinks I’m seeing a man 12 years younger than me.”
Damián’s jaw clenched. The joint jutted out, widening his face. “I don’t know what I have to do with any of this.”
“You have nothing to do with any of it.” Diego leaned forward to take his hand. “I wasn’t trying to imply anything. It’s just—Ethan knows I’m a bad father, and I was about to turn away my own son away because I was concerned about fulfilling our—our transaction.”
“But you didn’t turn Oliver away.”
“That part doesn’t matter all that much.”
“I think it does. I think it matters a lot.” Damián leaned back in his chair, pulling his hand away from Diego. He tucked his arms over his chest and stared off at the tea towel draped over the handle of the oven. “I don’t know. My parents disowned me, so I think for me, the bar is set pretty low. But I think that stopping what you were doing so you could be there for your son means a lot.”
“I didn’t know your parents disowned you.”
Damián shrugged. “It’s not a big deal.”
“No, it is. I’m sorry they did that.”
“It’s whatever now.” Damián looked at him and smiled. “Now, I get to be a sad, little sex worker with baggage men get to fantasize about fixing.”
Diego held his breath for a moment. He looked Damián and his forced smile over.
“Do you think that that’s what I want?” He asked. “I don’t. I’d rather you be a happy, little sex worker with no baggage. I don’t want to fix you. I don’t want you to be broken.”
Diego didn’t want that sort of responsibility or to put in that sort of effort. He wanted Damián to be whole, like an already assembled table. Diego was never good at IKEA instructions.
He also didn’t want anyone to take advantage of Damián because they had savior complexes. He didn’t like the thought of other men mistreating Damián.
“It is what it is. This way, I at least get to appeal to people who love this kind of shit,” Damián said.
“Don’t—no, don’t do that.” Heat was rising in Diego’s cheeks. “Don’t book people who are going to look at you like that. You’re more than a tragic story for people to jack off to. Everyone has their shit.”
“Yeah, but some people’s shit can be a fetish.” Damián blinked a few times, quickly. “Anyway, let’s get back to you. Why do you think you’re a bad father?”
Diego didn’t want to continue that conversation, but he let Damián redirect him anyway.
“I always have been.”
Damián stood and stared down at Diego. He had a pouty look to him that drove Diego wild on most nights. But Diego had too many feelings stirring around right then to get aroused.
Diego slipped one hand on Damián’s narrow waist.
Damián moved forward, carefully. He sat on Diego’s lap and wrapped his arms around his neck.
“I don’t think you’re a bad father,” Damián said. “I think you’re doing all you can.”
Diego ran his hand over Damián’s hair and down his cheek and then kissed him. “You don’t know the whole story.”
“I don’t think I need to. You care enough about him that you’re worried you’re not a good father. I think that that’s proof you’re not that bad.”
Maybe Damián had a point, and it did soothe Diego’s nerves. He wasn’t a total deadbeat. He did really care about Oliver, and maybe that would be worth something, someday.
—————
Damián stayed in the kitchen when Ethan came back later that same night. Diego held Oliver in his arms, rubbing his back.
“He could have stayed with me overnight,” Diego said.
“He has a dentist appointment first thing in the morning. I know you wouldn’t be able to make it to that.”
There was a little edge to Ethan’s voice that Diego resented. But he was right. Diego’s schedule was packed full. He’d have to shuffle patients around to get to Oliver’s dentist across town—if Diego could even remember where it was. Or what the dentist’s name was.
“How’s Cheryl?” Diego asked.
Ethan stroked Oliver’s hair and brushed his knuckle against a rosy, round cheek.
“She’s okay,” Ethan said. “She’ll recover. Just a little bruising.”
“Really, Ethan, if you want to be with her, Oliver can sleep here.”
“No. No, I’d feel better if he were with me.”
Ethan slid an arm between Diego and Oliver. Without waking him, they moved him to Ethan’s arms.
“Goodnight,” Ethan said. “I’ll bring Oliver back around on Friday.”
“Ethan?”
Ethan looked back at Diego.
“I am trying,” Diego said. “Really. I am. I know I’ve never been the best dad—or a good one, even, maybe. But—“
Diego cut himself off before he embarrassed himself any further. Ethan’s face was twisted, sad.
“I’ve never said—I never want—I haven’t meant to make you feel like you’re a bad father,” Ethan said. He sighed deeply and closed his eyes. “I just wish you would step up a little more. I don’t know. I’d like it if you initiated things with us more. I’d like it if you tossed out an idea about what school we should get him into next year or if he should do gymnastics or soccer. Because right now, it’s just me trying to figure a thousand things out on my own.”
Diego hadn’t thought about all of it before. He knew that at some point Oliver would be in sports and in school, but he never really saw himself as being part of that process. In his mind, when he thought about the future, he just always thought of Oliver as doing things and being places, somehow magically manifesting there.
“Listen,” Ethan said. “If you want to do lunch or coffee or something sometime, let me know.”
“Maybe we can take Oliver out for a day?” Diego asked. He had always had dreams of going out on day trips with his little family before it was broken up. “We can take him to the beach or to the zoo.”
Ethan, softly, said, “I think that’d be nice. He’s never seen the beach before.”
Diego kissed Oliver on the top of the head and risked giving Ethan an awkward side-hug goodbye. He watched Ethan drive off down the dark street until he turned at a stop sign. He gently closed the door.
Damián was in the kitchen, re-opening the bottle of wine Diego had corked hours ago. He poured two glasses. Diego took his and then took Damián’s hand and led him to a chair. Damián took a seat on his lap as if they had done it every night for a year after sending their child off to his other daddy.
“Are they gone?” Damián asked.
“Yup.”
Damián laid his hand on Diego’s chest. “What do you want to do now?”
“If you want to go home, you can. It’s late, and you’ve done more than enough.”
Damián’s lips pouted out. “You don’t want me around any more?”
He was back to being cutesy, talking in that almost-baby voice. It was impressive how fast he could switch the act on and off. But maybe Diego would talk to Damián about the whiny tone later. Maybe it was time for him to request Damián act a bit older.
“It’s not that,” Diego said, voice gentle and calm. “I’m just saying it’s late, and I haven’t paid you to be with me this long. And Oliver must have exhausted you, you poor thing.”
Damián lifted his chin and looked to the ceiling. He didn’t look exhausted at all. “I technically didn’t fulfill your appointment request.”
Diego laid his hand on Damián’s hip. It was thin, Diego could hold it so easily with one hand. He couldn’t remember when he was so young and lanky. It felt like forever ago. He couldn’t see where he had boarded the roller coaster anymore.
“How about,” Diego said, “I pay you a little extra tonight, and we head to my office in a minute?”
It must have made Damián happy because he wiggled in Diego’s lap and pressed their faces together. Diego caught his lips for a few seconds and then let him go to jump down and run off to the bathroom to freshen up.
Diego leaned back in his chair and sipped his wine.
He thought about where he would have Damián lay that night, hands up so vulnerable while his head tilted back. He was eager to hear those sweet, little gasps that came from Damián’s mouth while he climaxed. Diego tried picturing it all as he walked to his office, trying to place the scene as it would happen right there on his loveseat.
