The Grand Ballast (7 page)

“
Bode,” Kilroy
whispered.

Bode opened his eyes and
gazed into Kilroy’s. That unreal blue—a color you’d have to go to
some forgotten place to find. A humanless, glacial landscape in the
far north. A pool in some long unvisited national park.

Kilroy’s lips pulled back
slightly. “I wish you could see what you look like.”

For once, Bode didn’t want
a reflection. Didn’t want to see himself looking lost,
anxious,
needing
.
He wasn’t some innocent. He’d lived a thousand lives onstage and he
knew why people did the things they did—why they hurt each other;
why they loved. Except where was his real world experience? He’d
never been anywhere but this town and the nearby city. He’d never
slept with anyone, or stolen or fought or needed something so badly
he could have broken his teeth on that desire. He had the sense now
of stepping out into air—of being in that fragment of the second
before the fall. He knew
nothing
—or, nothing that
mattered.

Kilroy kissed him. Bode
thrust his chest out, cheeks hollowing. His bones and muscles
seemed to thicken until his skin hurt from trying to contain them.
He kissed back, gently at first, and then with a fury that slammed
up against him, rattled him. How the
fuck
could people be so indifferent,
when there was
this
in the world?

He leaned backward,
spreading his knees wider. Kilroy wrapped an arm around his
shoulders and nuzzled his throat until his head tipped back. Kissed
his neck, tongue flicking against the skin, picking up beads of
sweat, teeth scraping gently just below his jaw. Bode’s breath
snagged as Kilroy’s tongue traced the edge of his ear. His balls
tightened and his thighs quivered, and he let his hand hover over
his groin. He wanted to touch himself; wanted Kilroy to touch him.
Hard, fast, until he was impaled and jerking on an unbearable
pleasure.

He sighed, and it was
nearly a sob.

Please, please. Give me
something real.

Kilroy unbuttoned Bode’s
shirt and slipped it off. Bode shivered and leaned in for another
kiss, but Kilroy turned away slightly and eased him instead into an
embrace, Bode’s forehead on Kilroy’s shoulder. “Feel that?” Kilroy
whispered, his fingertips moving lightly over Bode’s trembling
back, cool against the warmth of Bode’s skin. He chuckled softly.
“You’re burning.”

Bode stayed for a moment in
the safe darkness of Kilroy’s shirt. He was thirsty and had to
piss. He dug his fingers into Kilroy’s shoulders. “I need you.” The
words were something between a sigh and a whimper.

Kilroy kissed the top of
his head gently. Spread his hand against his naked back, making
large circles on the damp skin. “Are you a virgin?” he
whispered.

Bode pulled back to look at
him, irritated. “How is that any of your business?”

“
I’m only
curious.”

“
I’ve never had…” He
reached for a term that didn’t sound crass. “I’ve never…had
penetrative sex, if that’s what you mean.”

“‘
Penetrative sex.’” Kilroy
was staring at him with quiet, amused interest. “Are you afraid it
will hurt?”

Bode’s skin felt tight and
unfamiliar. “What makes you think I’d receive?”

“
Bodeee.” Kilroy grinned.
“So defensive.”

Why? Why did everyone think
he was such a prude? “I feel weird talking about things like
this.”

“
It’s all right.” Kilroy’s
thumb brushed his cheek. “I’m only thinking that I’d like to be
your first. And if you wanted to ‘receive,’ I could make it
beautiful for you.”

“
You’re a sweet talker,
huh?”

“
I’m a talker. I don’t know
about sweet.” Kilroy caught his wrists and pulled him close. He
slid his tongue between Bode’s lips. Bode’s gasp turned to a
moan.

Still holding Bode’s
wrists, Kilroy shifted so that his knuckles touched Bode’s chest.
Jolt after jolt went through Bode as Kilroy sucked his tongue and
circled his nipples with his thumbs. He pressed his groin against
Kilroy’s hip, pausing in mid kiss to let out a shuddering
breath.

Kilroy leaned back
slightly. “What do you think?”

Bode forced another laugh,
but his head was still buzzing, and the heat blooming through him
was almost painful. “Now?”

Kilroy spun him around.
Bode knelt up and braced his hands against the wall. Kilroy kneaded
the backs of his thighs, slid two fingers along Bode’s inseam. Bode
felt present in a way he hadn’t often been lately—his mind always
on the theater, on what he wanted to make happen on stage each
night. But in this moment, every sound and sensation was sharp.
Kilroy’s hand passed over his hip and around to his front, cupping
the bulge in the front of his jeans. Bode spent an unbearable
second trying not to gasp or moan—or move. Then he let out a
strange, shrill sound and pushed into Kilroy’s hand.

Kilroy popped the snap on
Bode’s jeans. Slowly dragged the zipper down. Bode curled his
fingers against the wall, the anticipation terrible. Kilroy eased
his jeans past his hips and down to his knees. Pressing his lips
once more to the back of Bode’s neck, he ran one hand over the back
of Bode’s briefs, pinching lightly.

Bode squeezed his legs
together, needing some escape from the sensation in order to retain
control. Kilroy tugged on the waistband of Bode’s underwear.
Nuzzled his way down Bode’s spine and kissed his tailbone, then
blew a light stream of air down his briefs. Bode clenched his ass
and rapped the wall with both fists.

“
Bode,” Kilroy whispered.
“Lie down.”

Kilroy eased him onto his
stomach on the floor, and Bode pillowed his cheek on his crossed
arms as Kilroy pulled his jeans and underwear all the way off.
Bode’s stomach contracted against the cold, gritty floorboards. He
kept his hips up slightly to avoid pressure on his cock.

“
Spread your legs.” Kilroy
gently scrubbed the back of Bode’s left thigh with his nails. “Let
me see.

Bode opened his legs.
Hesitated a moment, tense with apprehension and anticipation, then
arched his back a little more so that his ass stuck up. He felt so
tight right now he couldn’t imagine anything would fit inside him,
but he forced himself to keep breathing as Kilroy’s fingers drifted
up and down his inner thigh then teased the crease under his left
ass cheek.

Bode jumped.

“
Shh. Shh.” Kilroy sounded
amused.

“
Sorry,” Bode said into his
arms. He heard the sound of a bottle uncapped, and a second later
there was a cold drizzle between his legs. He flinched, leaning
slightly to the side.

“
Relax.”

“
Can you, um…” Heat poured
like liquid into Bode’s face. “Go slow? Please?”

“
Mm-hm. Bode, really. You
don’t need to worry.”

Despite Kilroy’s
reassurance, it did seem to be happening too fast. Kilroy’s weight
settled on top of him, and Kilroy was pushing so hard he sounded
breathless, using his hand to guide himself in. Bode gasped and
slapped the floor and tried to twist away. Kilroy gripped the back
of his neck with his free hand and said, “Stop that,” and Bode
flushed, horribly ashamed.

But then Kilroy’s touch
gentled, and Bode felt a pleasure building too rapidly, and he
bucked back against the pain, needing it in order to stay grounded.
Kilroy reached under him and finished him off, then pulled out and
came on Bode’s back. He grabbed Bode immediately after and flipped
him faceup. Bode lay there, breathing hard, his skin sticky, dirty,
flushed.

Kilroy smiled down at
him.

“
It helps to be a little
scared.” Kilroy said. “Doesn’t it?”

2.

MARBLES

Then.

“
I wonder how mothers
feel,” Kilroy said one evening. They were in Kilroy’s apartment, on
his leather sofa. There was a gap between them, and Bode wondered
if it was odd that after two months with Kilroy, he didn’t feel
comfortable scooting closer, leaning his head on Kilroy’s shoulder.
“They say people don’t fall in love anymore. But mothers throughout
all history have fallen in love with their children at first
glance. Surely that’s a love, a miracle too stubborn for
extinction.”

“
Maybe,” Bode agreed. The
conversation made him uneasy, but he was at a loss to explain
why.

“
Does your mother love
you?”

“
I think she
does.”

“
Would she die for
you?”

Bode had never given that
much thought. Was that really a mark of love? “Maybe when I was a
kid. If she had noticed I was in danger—which…I don’t know if she
would have—she’d have saved me. Probably.”

“
What does she do with her
time?”

“
She just sits and shoots
marbles. And my dad knits.”

Kilroy made a circle with
his finger on the cushion between them. “And do you love
yourself?”

Bode laughed. “What kind of
question is that?”

Kilroy’s gaze flicked up.
“I’m curious.”

Bode’s instinct was to say
yes. Yes, he loved himself too much. Young, foolish, and vain in an
enthusiastic, mostly forgivable way. He checked his reflection
every time he walked by it, but mostly he was interested in
alignment, in his muscles and the way they shifted under his
clothing. He was afraid of aging, of grace slipping away from him.
He wasn’t very clever, and he was easily rattled, but he’d
convinced himself he wanted adventure. Manageable adventure—the
kind that would allow him to look like a prince even in rough
winds. The kind that ended with him safe and brave-seeming, his
faults and near misses painted over.

But there were cracks in
his self-love. Days when he felt small and unimportant. Even when
people came up to him after a show to congratulate him and tell him
he’d done well, he feared they didn’t see him at all. The thin man
at a circus—he turned to the side and was nothing but a sliver like
a thumbnail. What a job that would be, to show the world how little
there was to you.

“
I don’t know,” he said
honestly.

Kilroy nodded. “I get
these…dreams. Visions. Ideas. I think about waking up the world.
But I haven’t tried in a while.”

“
What did you used to make?” Bode let the words out softly, not
sure if he truly wanted Kilroy to hear them or not. If he was ready
to know Kilroy as anything but a mystery.

“
Make?”

“
Like,
creative-wise?”

Kilroy’s mouth hung slightly open for a few
seconds before he spoke. “I don’t know that I ever created things.
I more often put things together.”

“What do you mean?”

“
I like to think my art is
people. I want to help people be who they wish to be. I like to
break apart their small comforts, so that they have no choice but
to be soul-driven.”

Bode smiled. “That sounds kind of
intense.”

Kilroy ducked his head, the way he had the
day he’d introduced himself in the lobby of the Little Comet. Bode
had thought then that the gesture was one of shyness, but now he
wasn’t sure what it meant. “I like to put together spectacles, but
I never cared to tell a story, or to guide audiences toward some
message or truth. That’s why I admire you.”

“
But you love simplicity.
Not spectacles.”

Kilroy didn’t lift his head. “That’s the
best thing about a spectacle. It hides something very simple at its
core.”

Bode wondered what spectacles Kilroy had put
together in the past. Where he had come from, what his parents were
like. Kilroy had encouraged Bode to talk so much about himself over
the past few weeks, but Bode hadn’t learned anything of note about
Kilroy.

“
Well don’t break apart my
comforts, okay?” Bode nudged him, grin broadening. “I like
them.”

Kilroy looked up and didn’t
smile. “I promise. In fact, I’d like to give you
more
comforts.”

“
Oh?” Bode leaned back and
clasped his hands primly on his knee. “I’m listening.”

“
I’d like you to live with
me.”

Bode got an
elbow-to-gut
whoof
of shock.

“
If your mother won’t
mind,” Kilroy added. He said nothing about Bode’s
father.

Bode stared at him,
excitement welling. “It’s not her life.”

Kilroy looked almost
sympathetic. “But she may need a companion.”

Bode imagined their home.
Decorating it. Having people over for a housewarming party—Garland
and Danielle, everyone from the Little Comet. His parents. They
would make a performance of their love, spill it on guests. “She
won’t…”

He’d almost said
she won’t care
. But he
hoped she would. He wanted her to take notice. He wanted to make
her alive. He wanted her to see
real
love, not the slack rope that
hung between her wrist and Bode’s father’s.