The Queen & the Homo Jock King (51 page)

Since I had a job to do that didn’t include having a hot man-leech stuck to my side, I shoved Darren away, making sure to not let my touch linger on his skin, even though I was pretty sure he moisturized and felt amazing. “Go stand against the wall with your subjects. I’m busy and I can’t have you distracting me.”

He turned off the glare and smirked at me. “And why am I distracting you?”

“It has nothing to do with your nipples,” I said, even though I meant to say something completely different.

“You say that, but I think you mean the opposite,” he said, and without any hint of shame whatsoever, rubbed his hands up his stomach to his chest
slooowly
. And just when I thought he couldn’t be any more of an asshole, he
tweaked his own fucking nipple
, a savage twist that caused his breath to hitch in his chest.

The squeak I made was a terrible thing.

I didn’t know what the fuck he thought he was doing, but if his plan was for me to simultaneously pop a boner and wish for his death, then he succeeded admirably. I turned away from him and grabbed Brian, dragging him toward my vanity. Darren was chuckling behind us, a heady sound that did nothing to help my current situation. I tried to think of gross things like Mike and dead goats, because I was going to have to tuck at some point in the near future. It almost worked.

Brian looked adorably confused as I shoved him down on a chair in front of the vanity. I switched on the vanity light and tried to regain my focus. I had a job to do, and no one, not even Darren Mayne and his Nipples of Doom, would distract me from it.

“Okay,” I said, clapping my hands together. “Time to make you look like a sexy geisha.”

Brian frowned. “I don’t know what that is. Well, I know what sexy is. But I don’t know the geisha part. Is that a Transformer? Are you making me a sexy Transformer?”

“No, Brian. I’m not making you a sexy Transformer.”

“Oh.” His face scrunched up. “That would have been cool.”

“Brian,” I said, struggling to maintain my composure. “Transformers aren’t sexy.”

“Bumblebee is,” he said.

“Brian,” I said, struggling to not slam his head into the vanity. “Transformers aren’t drag.”

“Right.” His eyes lit up and he grinned at me in the mirror. “My bad. What’s a geisha?”

“A geisha is a traditional Japanese female entertainer.”

“Oh,” he said. Then, “
Oh.
But. Like.”

“Spit it out.” Because we didn’t have
time
for this.

He looked around, making sure no one was listening in. Darren was watching us and his scowl deepened when Brian leaned in close. “Those are the chicks with the white faces?” he asked in a low voice.

“Right,” I said, patting him on the shoulder. “Good boy.”

“But. Isn’t that like… racist?”

“The geisha costume?” I asked, somewhat impressed that he would think that far ahead. “No, I don’t see how any different it would be than someone dressing up the same at Halloween. You’re not denouncing the culture by wearing the costume. We’re not mocking anyone.”

“Not that. The
whiteface
. That could be
racist
.”

“What,” I said flatly.

“It’s like blackface,” he said, sounding nervous. “You don’t do that because it’s a douchebag thing to do. But, like, what if
white
people get pissed off because I’m wearing
whiteface
?”

I looked toward the ceiling, praying to whatever deity was listening to give me strength. “Brian.”

“Yes, Helena,” he replied promptly like the good boy that he was.

“You’re white.”

“German,” he agreed. “And maybe some Finnish.”

“You can’t racially offend white people by having whiteface.”

“But black people get offended by blackface,” he said.

“Right, but… it’s not… you
can’t
—”

“And what about the Japanese? Won’t they get offended by whiteface?” Then he frowned. “But are they considered white? Or are they making fun of white people when they have whiteface? And how come black guys can do whiteface and make an entire movie out of it that’s terrible where they pretend to be women but when white people do blackface, it’s offensive and racist?”

“I’ll be honest,” I said. “I have no idea how to answer any of your questions. I’m just here to dress you up in drag.”

“Oh,” Brian said. “Maybe we could ask Corey?”

“Corey,” I repeated.

“He’s black,” Brian said. Then, “And Mexican, I think he said.”

“I promise you that whiteface makeup is probably the least offensive thing about the drag bachelor auction to save crack babies. You can trust me on that one.” In fact, this whole thing lacked any kind of moral direction, so I thought I’d be forgiven if anyone was offended by drag geisha.

“Crack babies?” Brian said. “That’s terrible. Why would anyone give them crack?”

I sighed. “Brian, I need to put on your makeup.”

“Right,” he said. “Okay, I’ve thought about it long and hard, and I am okay with this. If it’s for crack babies, then I don’t think white people will get angry with whiteface. Because it’s not about racism. It’s about babies addicted to crack.”

“Atta boy,” I said. “That’s a very mature and thoughtful decision.”

He grinned up at me.

I winked at him.

Darren glared at us.

“I shaved my balls,” Brian said, apropos of nothing. “That should probably help too.”

I almost dropped my makeup sponge. “No one is going to see your balls,” I reminded him. “Because we could get fined. Or shut down. Or arrested.”

“Better to be prepared for every eventuality,” he said.

“How nice.” I got to work.

It was when I was halfway done that Brian spoke again. I’d plucked his eyebrows and nose hairs, much to both our dismay. I was applying the white cream foundation when he said, “Darren really likes you.”

I stopped for a moment and took a breath. When I thought I wouldn’t do something stupid, I continued. “Is that right?”

“Yeah. He gets mad at me whenever I’m near you.”

“And what does that have to do with me?”

Brian looked at me as if I was stupid. Which, to be fair, I’d asked a stupid question. “He’s jealous. Not that there’s really anything to be jealous about.”

That should not have made me feel as good as it did. “Not your fault, baby doll. He’s just a butt hurt little boy sometimes.”

“No, I know,” he said. “But still. He’s a good guy.”

“Some of the time,” I said, spreading the cream on his forehead.

“You’re beautiful,” he said seriously. “As either Helena or Sandy.”

I rolled my eyes, but it did nothing to stop me from flushing. “Flattery now, hmm?”

“But I wouldn’t do anything with you again.”

“Not flattery, then.”

“Not because I wouldn’t want to,” he said. “If I ever decided to do a relationship, I’d want it to be with someone just like you.”

“That’s… that’s very sweet.”

“But not you specifically, because you and Darren belong to each other. You remind me of my parents.”

I made a face. “Not the best thing to say to someone you’ve fucked.”

He laughed. “Yeah, but it’s sort of true. And I mean because my mom and dad just fit together, you know? They bicker all the time, and they never seem to agree on anything, but I can’t ever see them with anyone else. They work, because that’s the way it’s supposed to be. It reminds me of you and Darren. You make sense, because you’re supposed to.”

“Sometimes things don’t always work.” I kept my voice even. “It’s not anyone’s fault. It doesn’t happen, no matter how hard you try.”

He shrugged. “Maybe. But then you have to ask yourself if you really tried at all, you know? One day, when I’m ready, I’m going to make sure I try my hardest. Because if you don’t give it your all, you might as well not be doing anything.”

“Wow,” I said. “You are like my own personal daily affirmation calendar. I hate it.”

“Lie.” He grinned at me. “You don’t hate anything about me. In fact, if I remember right, you actually think I’m… how did you put it…
a hot piece of ass, come on and fuck me harder, motherfucker
,
before I flip you and ride you like a bull in a china shop
.” And of course, when he said this last part, he raised his voice and did some weird effeminate accent that almost sounded like an Australian by way of Russia.

Everyone was staring at us.

Except for Darren.

Darren was staring
murderously
.

“Oh my god,” I said, horrified. “My dirty talk is terrible and makes absolutely no sense. Darren said it first, but you just confirmed it. My life is over.”

“To be fair,” Brian said, “we were both drunk and it sounded hot at the time.”

“That does
nothing
to help me,” I said. “How can you even look at me after I said that, much less have
sex
with me? What kind of masochist are you?”

“What did you and Darren dirty talk about?” he asked, just throwing that out there as if it didn’t have the force of a fucking grenade.

“I told him I wanted to put my spunk in his trunk,” I admitted.

“And you were sober?”

“Mostly.”

“Wow,” Brian said. “You really are terrible at it.”

“Shut the fuck up,” I grumbled, absolutely refusing to look over at Darren.

I FINISHED
with Brian about a half hour later and sent him down to Paul, Vince, and Kori to get into his geisha costume and wig. Paul had been my right-hand drag man for years and was one of the only people I trusted to know how to complete the costume, which is why I put him and the others in charge of dressing the homo jocks so we could focus on the makeup. The homo jocks were in various stages of makeup, some more intricate than others to go along with the costumes. I’d decided to leave the full drag costume idea to each of the individual queens assigned (except for Summer because Summer didn’t get to have ideas on her own as of yet). Sofonda was going with some kind of Xena/steampunk fusion. Crystal was going full-on Moulin Rouge, big hair and sexy colors. Georgia was going for two different decades of Cher. Summer had wanted to do something grandiose and ridiculous (“Gay
Star Wars
meets
Jennifer Lopez! In
space
!”), but was shot down in favor of something a bit more simplistic having to do with butterflies and unicorns and Lady Gaga. Or something. I tried not to think about it anymore because I probably would have torn my wig hair out before lighting her on fire.

And then there was Darren.

Trust me when I say I’d thought long and hard about what to do with Darren. There were so many ideas that I had, some sensual and absurd, others more of a traditional route. The idea of drag is playing with gender roles, and there was something erotic about the size and masculinity of Darren Mayne turned into something with a female bent to it. Drag queens didn’t always need to be slim or slender. Granted, it helped the illusion more, but it didn’t always have to be that way.

The other homo jocks had known what their roles were going to be before they sat down in the makeup chair because they’d been paired with queens that weren’t me.

Brian and Darren hadn’t known a thing.

Just the way I liked it.

But Brian was on his way downstairs knowing what he was walking into or, at the very least, having an idea. He’d grinned delightedly in the mirror at his reflection, lips red and face white, eyes smoky and dark. “It’s only a little racist,” he assured me.

Darren still didn’t know what I had planned for him.

It was going to be
amazing
.

I beckoned him with a finger. He pushed his way off the wall and stalked toward me, muscles tensing and flexing as he moved. His thighs were hairy and thick and I studiously avoided the image of them wrapped around my waist. He wasn’t going to make the prettiest drag queen there ever was, but if I could pull off what I’d planned, it’d be more epic than not.

I was probably doomed.

“Sit down,” I said.

He looked as if he was going to speak but, instead, shook his head and did what he was told. I dug through my makeup case, looking for the eyeliner and mascara I needed. His makeup wouldn’t be as complex as Brian’s, but I felt the need to take extra care of him. Brian seemed to be going with the flow on this whole thing. I didn’t know how far out of Darren’s comfort zone this was. Regardless of the confusion that was my feelings toward him, I didn’t want to make things awkward for him.

Well. Any more awkward.

Because when he heard what his costume was….

“You’ve been avoiding me.” He sounded grumpy.

“I’ve been busy,” I countered. “Drag bachelor auctions to save gay bars disguised as helping crack babies don’t plan themselves.”

“And I chose to be here,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“Sure,” I said. “You’ve made good choices. Mostly.”

“Really.” He sounded skeptical.

I shrugged. “You’ve gotten this far, haven’t you?”

He tried to catch my gaze. “With you, you mean.”

“No,” I said slowly. “Okay, not completely. I meant in the cosmic sense. You’re here. You’re alive. You’re healthy and wealthy and wise. Well, somewhat wise.”

He snorted. “That’s the first time anyone has ever said that to me.”

That startled me a bit. “That’s not okay.”

“I’m not asking for your pity,” he said. “Just a statement of fact.”

“And I’m not giving you my pity.” Even though I sort of was.

“So, avoidance,” he said, deflecting smoothly.

“Busy,” I insisted, and not wanting to get behind schedule, I pushed him back gently in the chair, his skin hot under my fingers. He went with little resistance, eyes never leaving my face. He arched his back a little, whether showing off or unconscious movement, I didn’t know. Regardless, it put his full body on display, the cut lines of his chest and stomach, the V of his waist, the trail of hair that disappeared into the black briefs. I pressed my leg in between his, wriggling it back and forth until he got the picture and spread his legs farther, allowing me to step between them and stand above him. Helena, that crazy fucking bitch, loved the position we were in. I was above him, towering and dominant. He was spread out below me, body pliant and willing. Waiting for me to do what I wanted with him, like he was my own personal fucktoy. To anyone watching us, they would have seen what amounted to ease and familiarity between two people who they thought to be together. But from the inside, between just him and me, there was a tenseness, a crackling that I didn’t know if I wanted any part of.