Archive of Our Own

Stede pinched his brow in annoyance. He’d known. He’d known the risks. Known he was moving into one of the especially conservative neighborhoods of mostly right-wing Orange County, an odd exception in this coastal area of famously liberal Southern California. But he’d figured his car was his private property, and he had a right to state his opinion, in the form of a bumper sticker. He had been wrong. As he’d worried, some asshat neighbor had tampered with the sticker, damaging his plastic bumper in the process. 

The sticker in question criticized the current president, because Nigel Badminton was, without a doubt, the sorriest, meanest, most idiotic president in U.S. history; and with his brother, Chauncey, as veep, the reign of awfulness threatened to last 16 straight years. Their legislative and judicial legacies could stretch long after. Stede feared for nothing less than the Constitutional rights of generations to come. In a tiny, perhaps meaningless stand against the fascist leaders, Stede had slapped “Impeach The Badminton Twins!” on his bumper. Just for added shits and giggles, the sticker’s background was rainbow. 

Well. Some time during the night—because Stede distinctly remembered smiling at the intact sticker as he shut his trunk after grabbing the groceries—some fucker in his condo complex had neatly sliced off the word “Impeach.” They’d clearly used a box cutter, because the plastic bumper now sported a huge gouge mark. So rude! And worse, now it looked as though he supported those assholes! 

“The Badminton Twins!” Stede muttered mock-cheerfully to himself, waving his hands in an irritated simulation of joy. He scowled as he continued past the car on his morning jog. He wasn’t a particularly materialistic person, except when it came to actual material—bit of a clotheshorse—so it wasn’t the damage to the car that rankled, so much as the disrespect and callousness. 

*****

Ed parked his motorcycle in front of his work truck in the assigned, covered parking space; dismounted; and grabbed his groceries from the storage well. He’d noticed the teal Prius in the spot next to his for a few days now, but hadn’t yet met its owner, his new neighbor. Technically, neighbor-adjacent. Their second-floor units weren’t connected, but sat catty-corner in close proximity to each other. He and the previous owner had tacitly agreed to ignore how the kitchens and balconies somewhat peeped in at each other. 

Curious about whom he definitely wouldn’t be watching fry eggs every morning, Ed checked out the car for clues. A pride flag hanging from the rear view mirror—nice—, a sticker “family” on the back windshield of a man, two kids, and, next to them, another man and a woman—surely an interesting story there—, an “I believe in Bigfoot!” license plate frame, and… a rainbow bumper sticker cheering on the fucking Badminton twins?!? Those fuckers were the worst thing to happen to this country in decades! Why… who… what self-respecting gay person… ?? Ed’s thoughts actually spluttered, he was so incensed. 

Alright. Ed wouldn’t normally do this kind of thing, but he was furious… he rooted around the toolkit inside his truck bed, pulling out painter’s tape and a Sharpie. He fashioned a wide surface upon which he wrote “FUCK” in big bold letters, then attached it to “The Badminton Twins!”, not registering the divot from the prior defacement. Stepping back, he smiled at his amendment: “FUCK The Badminton Twins!” Yes, very nice. The low-tack tape wouldn’t stick at all—he could already see it curling off in the slight morning breeze—but it gave Ed a momentary sense of mischievous satisfaction. 

As he stood grinning, a strawberry blond man came running through the parking lot. Ed took a moment to appreciate muscular, shapely legs and a broad, lean torso before continuing up to a red, panting face which looked both gorgeous and murderous. 

The man stopped next to Ed. “Something amusing about this car?” he huffed. 

“Just admiring the stickers.”

“You didn’t… ah… alter any of them, did you?” the man inquired with ominous calm. 

“‘Alter?’ Oh, I may have made a minor improvement,” Ed snickered. 

“That’s. MY. Car. You had no right,” the man ground out. As the two exchanged glares, Ed’s “FUCK” sticker peeled off entirely and blew away, unnoticed.

“All right, simmer down, mate, I didn’t do any long-term damage.” He turned to the car. “See? It’s fine!”

“It’s not ‘fine!’ There’s a scratch! And it was myyyy fucking sticker! It wasn’t your goddamn business to tamper with it!”

“Pffft, ‘scratch.’ Gimme a fucking br—oh, shit. The hell? That… that must’ve been there before.” There was no way Ed’s soft little stick-on caused that. 

“The car is only two weeks old, asshole,” the blond said flatly. He sighed. “Fuck this. I’m exhausted by you already. Look, I don’t care about a little scratch on my fender, but just be a big boy and leave other people’s shit alone in future, mmmmmkay?” Without waiting for a response, the blond turned and marched off. 

Jesus, what a bitch. Normally Ed loved a bitchy man, but this guy… ugh, must be a self-loathing gay, if he could support those chucklefucks. Not an auspicious introduction to the new neighbor. He hadn’t caught the asshole’s name, either. 

*****

Stede had finished his run five minutes ago, but he was so steamed that his heart rate remained high. He paced the living room. The jackhole who’d fucked up his bumper sticker—maybe a gardener or repairman in the complex? He’d been standing next to a standard-issue white work truck with toolboxes—hadn’t been the least bit regretful of his actions! Stede felt a dark impulse to track the man down, get his name, get him fired; but, really, no matter how irate he was, Stede didn’t want to cost some poor slob his job. He pushed down unwelcome thoughts about how devastatingly handsome the dickhead was. Nope, hadn’t even noticed. 

A quick shower calmed him down considerably, and he padded into the kitchen wearing just a towel around his hips. He started frying an Impossible burger in a small pan. Some movement in his peripheral vision made Stede look out the kitchen window, where he noticed a neighbor across the way in their own kitchen. Oh, that was weirdly intrusive. He was going to need curtains or blinds. Maybe even a slender cabinet, just blocking the window entirely. Ooh, then he’d gain pantry storage! 

He was gazing at the space in front of the window, not through the window, lost in his thoughts. Eventually, he realized the movement across the way had stopped, and his attention refocused on the other window. Fuuuuuuuuck. Bumper Sticker Asshole lived right across from him?? And, judging by the smirk on his face, seemed to think Stede had been staring at him? God, how mortifying. 

He turned back to his cooking, keenly aware he was wearing only a skimpy towel. Ah, well. It wasn’t much less than what he’d worn running, and this guy surely didn’t care what another man looked like. Stede gave no more thought or attention to his rotten neighbor. 

*****

Of course Ed had noticed how hot the new neighbor was… before it all went to shit and he turned out to be a Badminton fan. After that, he was so peeved by the whole interaction that the guy could’ve been naked and Ed wouldn’t have cared. But fifteen minutes later, considerably calmer and finally putting away his groceries, his guard was down. He hadn’t expected the sight of that handsome shithead, mostly naked, staring at him through their facing kitchen windows. He’d frowned and quickly turned away when Ed visibly confronted him, but he hadn’t bothered getting dressed, either. Oh-ho, interesting. 

Since Blond Jerkwad was so determinedly ignoring him, Ed took his own opportunity to ogle. The guy had beautiful, lean arms and wide shoulders, Ed grudgingly admitted. Small pecs, a slight swell to his tits, and pretty pink nipples that Ed kinda wanted to get his mouth on… ? A stomach that was flat but not overly muscular. Those strong runner’s legs… tiny white-boy ass… Mmmm, mmmm… the man may have embraced terrible politics, but he looked fucking delicious.

*****

Stede couldn’t say why he awoke in the middle of the night. Normally, he was blessed with full, easy, deep sleep. But tonight he had a buzzing in his brain, and a restless itching all over his body. Perhaps some herbal tea would help him settle back to sleep. As he reached for the kitchen’s light switch, he realized Bumper Sticker Asshole (he supposed he should find out the guy’s name) was already in his own kitchen, stirring something on the stove. Completely nude. 

Stede averted his gaze at once, but the image was imprinted in his memory: artfully lit in chiaroscuro by the sole bulb above his range, the man looked like a Renaissance painting. Silvering black curls tumbled over his shoulders. His tattooed body was perfectly proportioned, like Da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man. Stede considered his own physique gawky, all thin limbs and a blocky torso; but this man was solid yet lean throughout, with an inviting, small swell of tummy. His relaxed stance had shown off a gorgeous peach of an ass, and though his cock had been in shadow, the slight glimpse was tempting. Stede sighed and marveled that nature had put such a terrible personality in such a beautiful package. 

Right. Forget the tea. Definitely buying curtains tomorrow. Er, today, technically. 

*****

Motorcycling into his parking spot after a lovely day at Redondo Beach, Ed noticed the broken taillight of his truck—but no note—immediately. He pulled to the front and cut the engine, finding no note on the windshield, either. He growled with irritation. Replacing the busted part was no big deal, but how fucking inconsiderate! 

Though he tried to tamp the thought down, of course he suspected the culprit was Blond Jerkwad. Awfully convenient timing, hmm? Ed was still fuming as he stomped up the stairs to his unit, only to stub his toe on a rock placed in front of his door. What the fucking fuckety fuck?!?

Under the rock was a note, written on thick, robin’s egg-blue vellum. The scent of lavender wafted from it. Oh, that pretentious little shit, he thought, opening the note. 

Neighbor,

I am terribly sorry to have broken your turn signal cover glass, or plastic, I guess. [Heh, what were the chances this guy would be clueless about automotive parts?] Please come see me at unit 26, and I’d be happy to discuss paying for a mechanic to replace it. It was an accident, I assure you. I was dealing with a rather large, awkward package [snort] and dropped it taking it out of my own vehicle, which is, of course, parked next to yours. [Alright, mate, didn’t ask for your life story!]  

Regards,

#26

Okay, the note was pretty polite, especially given their previous meeting, but Ed’s throbbing toe kept his rage going as he hobbled back down his stairs and up the flight to Blond Jerkwad’s place. He pounded on the door. 

Blond Jerkwad yanked the door open, obviously annoyed at the din [ good ], but kept silent, given how wrong-footed he was in this situation. He glanced down at the note Ed held. “I truly am sorry about your car,” he said, looking as though the words were a sour lime in his mouth. 

“Suuuuure, mate. Got that out of your system? Little tit for tat?”

“It was an accident!” The blond scowled. “Look, just—get it fixed, and I’ll reimburse you for the mechanic’s fees. Check or cash, Venmo, whatever. We’re done here.”

“Pfft. It’s like a fifty dollar repair, and I can do it myself, Princess.”

The man was just barely shorter than Ed, but at the mockery, he drew himself up stiffly and stared down his nose at Ed. “Don’t. Fucking. Misgender me. Being gay doesn’t make me any less a man than you are. Just let me know the expenses, you ass.” With those words, the man slammed and locked his door. 

Okay, Ed did feel badly about that. He and his friends affectionately threw around gender-fuckery terms like “queen” and she/her pronouns, but he knew damn well it was a touchy subject for others. He genuinely hadn’t meant to be so insensitive, no matter how much he disliked this uptight shit. 

Much, much later that night, while stirring a pot of his self-created sleep aid, Insomnia Cocoa, Ed realized he’d not spotted any plastic debris near his car, and surmised the dickhead must have considerately swept it up. That knowledge increased his guilt and resentment just a wee bit more. He poured the cocoa into a cup and padded, naked, back to bed. 

*****

Stede was pretty sure he’d shut the door before Bumper Sticker Asshole could see the tears in his eyes. They were tears of frustration and fury, but all of Stede’s life, creeps like that had seen them only as weakness. He’d been shamed enough for ten lifetimes about his sensitivity, and wasn’t about to let a cruel new neighbor have the satisfaction. 

He’d felt chagrined about the damage to the car already. The added frustration of trying to haul his heavy, new IKEA cabinet—he’d been thrilled to find a perfect fit for the kitchen window niche—upstairs, only to find it more time-consuming than he’d expected to assemble, had left him in a funk that afternoon. The pounding fist at his door put him more in the mood to fight than to apologize. 

And then for that hateful man to dismiss his manhood so readily! It was his father’s “lily-livered little rich boy” all over again, or, indeed, the Badminton twins’ “baby Bonnet” jeers from prep school. Ugh, Bumper Sticker Asshole. Another vile homophobe Stede didn’t need in his life. 

A couple of days later, Stede stubbed his toe on a rock in front of his door—the same rock he’d used for his note to the neighbor. Touché, motherfucker, he thought. Beneath the rock was a receipt from AutoZone for a replacement tail light cover [Oh, that’s what they’re called!] for $53, as the asshole had predicted. He limped his way down and up to the other unit and knocked gently. 

It took several long seconds for the bearded brunet to answer, clad only in a red silk robe he’d clearly thrown on hastily. Jesus, was this guy just always nude? “Got your receipt. It’s only fair to compensate you for your time and trouble, too,” Stede launched right to the point without a greeting. He dug two crisp hundred-dollar bills from his wallet and offered them forward. 

“Cheers.” The man accepted the bills without looking at them. “I see you blocked that kitchen window,” the man sullenly offered. Was he… making conversation … ? 

“Yes, well, I wasn’t interested in the two a.m. exhibitionist show being forced upon me,” he answered snidely, if somewhat untruthfully. 

Bumper Sticker Asshole’s big brown eyes somehow, improbably, widened even further. Like a hot Bambi, Stede thought. The warm tan of his neighbor’s face turned distinctly red. He made a faintly teakettle-ish sound. And then it was his turn to slam and lock the door. Stede walked away with a chuckle, feeling he’d won that round. 

*****

Ed leaned against the door, certain his face was as red as his robe. He’d never been shy about his body, but he was appalled the new neighbor thought he’d been intentionally displaying himself. Ed didn’t need to beg for anyone’s attention, thank you. He just hadn’t wanted anyone’s attention recently, is all. Yeah. 

The next couple of days passed without incident. He and Blond Jerkwad ignored each other, if they happened to cross paths at all. 

On the third day, he arrived home from a long day of consulting for the earthquake retrofit of a freeway bridge. He was grumpy from having to deal with asshole city managers who somehow thought their positions granted them more expertise than his own doctorate in structural engineering conferred. Sweating in the hot sun, fielding stupid questions, was a form of torture for him. He’d had to shower off the grime of the day before he could even consider being amongst other humans. He went back out briefly for takeout Vietnamese, and just wanted to crash mindlessly on the couch for a few hours. 

As he got close to his unit, though, he found himself shuffling through masses of red petals that hadn’t been there when he had left fifteen minutes before. What the—? He looked around the courtyard for their source, but none of the landscape plants were even flowering at the moment. He stooped down, gathered a handful of the petals, inhaled deeply. Geranium. Like at his mum’s. He smiled at the memories of his youth they invoked. 

“What did you do?” a high, angry voice screeched behind him. Blond Jerkwad was halfway up the stairs to his own condo, head swiveling from Ed to newly-installed planters full of… mutilated geraniums. They had probably been really lovely, Ed thought; but now there were nothing but decapitated, straggly green stems and leaves in the various pots hanging from the railing and resting on the tiny entry porch. And there Ed was, grinning like a cartoon villain at the damage. Crap. 

“Wasn’t me, man,” he began, but the blond was so livid he didn’t seem to hear. He descended the stairs and got right up in Ed’s face. 

“Do you take some special pleasure in tormenting the gay guy?” he gritted. 

“Wha—why would—what?”

“These petty little hate crimes—microaggressions, attacking my politics, the gender shit—you’re a fucking homophobe.”

“Dude, I’M GAY!” Ed all but roared in his face, then simmered down to a sarcastic smirk. “Not exactly ‘hate criming’ my own tribe.”

“Oh, bullshit.” 

“D’you want to see my fucking porn search history?” 

“Don’t be vulgar.”

Phew, that was a relief, because the last two weeks had mostly been “blond dilf top” searches. 

“I mean, I don’t know how to prove we’re on the same side here, man.”

“That’s because we’re not!”

Ed grabbed the other man’s hand, told himself there was absolutely no zing from that contact, and dragged him up the stairs to his home. Two steps into the place, the clues were there: erotic Mapplethorpe prints, rainbow plant pots, pride magnets on the fridge… Ed wordlessly led the blond around, somehow forgetting to drop the hold on his hand. 

“Okay, fine. You’re gay. Got it. I still don’t understand why you tampered with my car. How you, as a gay man, can have such a thing about the Badmintons!”

“Pfft? Me? Mate, I don’t understand how you, as a gay man, can feel the way you do!”

“Well, for one thing, I knew them personally. At one point, we were prep school chums,” the blond replied. If Ed had known him better, he might have noted the sarcasm on the last word, but both men were still too angry to listen for nuance. 

“Aw, of course ya did. All you fancy white boys know each other,” he snarked. 

“Piss off. My point is, I know what they’re like, what their goals are: they’re going to influence laws and policy for decades beyond even a single term in office.”  

“Yippee!” Ed teased again. And, here, the blond failed to pick up on his sarcasm. 

“God, you disgust me.” The blond finally yanked his hand away and turned to the door, muttering almost inaudibly, “Ugh, so fucking handsome… “

“Wha’s’at? Feel like you’re kinda into this, blondie,” Ed taunted. 

He whirled back around. “I’m not into this. I’m not enjoying any of this. I don’t like who you are. Your—“ and here, he gestured vaguely at Ed’s entire presence—“outsides are goddamn gorgeous, but your personality is a bag of hot garbage.”

Ouch. There was the bitch, again. Well, if it was making the blond upset, Ed was going to keep it up. “So, what I’m hearing is: you’re hot for me.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Can think of a way to shut you up, Blondie.” 

Their anger was a crackling energy in the room, but once the blond glanced below Ed’s belt line, another tension filled the air, as well. Ed’s cock stirred with interest. After a long moment of them glaring at each other, Blond Jerkwad dropped his gaze to Ed’s crotch and refused to look back up. He exhaled angrily through his nose, almost a snort. “Open your fly.”

*****

Stede loved giving blowjobs. Turned out he even enjoyed giving them to someone he hated. The moment Bumper Sticker Asshole pulled out his half-hard, thick cock, Stede grabbed a sofa cushion and dropped to his knees like a penitent. He didn’t give a fuck, in that moment, to whom this beautiful cock was attached: he only knew he wanted it in his mouth so badly he was drooling. He felt a sharp ache of anticipation in his jaw. 

To his credit, the brunet didn’t seem the least concerned or suspicious that Stede would harm him. And his instinct was good: however much Stede hated the man’s thoughts and actions, he would never defile the tender trust inherent in sharing pleasure. And, oh, it would be a pleasure to get this beauty in his mouth.   

Stede took his time, licking from base to tip as he inhaled the man’s unique smell. It was spicy-clean, from a recent wash, with a layer of his musky, natural scent still underneath. Stede always liked to pause and appreciate this moment, but the brunet sounded impatient: “We’re not making love here, man. This is quick and dirty.”

“I don’t compromise on quality,” Stede sniped, still refusing to look up. He told himself that not looking into those beautiful eyes would make him forget whom he was with, but how could he fool himself when the man was now locked into his sense memories? His taste, his smell… his stupid, beautiful fucking face. 

At last, he took the thick cock fully into his mouth. Oh, bliss. Working it in further and further, he stopped with cock half down his throat, adjusting his breathing. The swallow made the man moan, and he moved as if to grip Stede’s head; but Stede slapped the hands away. Whether he’d intended caresses or a facefuck, Stede was in no mood to indulge him. He would control the speed and depth as he sucked, and he wanted no tenderness from this bastard. 

At the same time, however, he indulged himself in touching wherever he liked: the strong, round ass cheeks; the heavy balls; that soft swell of tummy below the man’s navel. Stede refrained from reaching up to pinch the brunet’s nipples, but he seemed to be doing that himself, anyway. 

Spit dripped down Stede’s chin as he deep-throated over and over, hand flying along the shaft that was exposed every time he pulled back. The rhythm soothed his anger, and he abandoned himself to pure sensation. He could feel the changes as the brunet grew close to coming—cock twitching, moans stuttering—and took him all the way down as the man spilled into his throat with a husky cry. 

After a moment to swallow it all and wipe his face, Stede stood and left before the man had even had a chance to gather himself. He went home, straight to the bedroom, and jerked off to the still-fresh memory of the encounter. 

*****

Wow. Ed had just experienced a stellar blowjob, and his eyes were still closed in orgasmic bliss when he felt a breeze on his cock and heard the front door click shut. What the fuck? He’d had every intention of reciprocating in some way, like a gentleman, but Blond Jerkwad hadn’t even given him the chance. He felt weirdly hurt about it. 

They had no run-ins the next day, which was fine by Ed. Excellent fellatio or no, he still didn’t like the stuck-up fucker. On the second day, he stubbed his toe on that stupid goddamn rock, which he most certainly did not call “our rock.” Another robin’s-egg envelope, again redolent of the blond’s hair… er, of lavender. 

Neighbor,

This afternoon, another neighbor marched her children out to apologize for damaging my gerania [prissy fucking plural declension, for fuck’s sake??]. They meant no harm, but were a little too thorough in their play. My deepest apologies for accusing you, and for what ensued. [“What ensued?” Too squeamish to write “blow job,” dillhole?]  

Sincerely,

#26

Well, that was that. He certainly didn’t regret the other night, but he still hadn’t liked Blond Jerkwad’s accusation; and Ed felt both mollified and further annoyed by the admission he’d jumped the gun. Growing up as a person of color, he’d had many “guilty until proven innocent” experiences, so it irked Ed to be repeating them with a neighbor. To be fair, though, none of this felt racially motivated, despite the ugliness the Badmintons gleefully fostered in their followers. 

Ed really should just let this go. But, in a weird way, this loathing was putting a pep in his step. It was invigorating to be riled up this often, the sensation like giving your body a good scrubbing with a loofah. It was fun to fuck with this guy, Ed admitted to himself. 

*****

Between the strangely hot hate blowjob and learning Bumper Sticker Asshole had been innocent of the geranium attack (as he’d stated), Stede didn’t know how he was ever going to look his neighbor in the eyes again. His beautiful, glowy, fucking bastard eyes. 

Unfortunately, he’d get an opportunity to find out very soon. A knock came to the door mere minutes after he’d left his apology note—which he’d thought was a decent gesture, actually—and he opened it to find his neighbor grinning smugly, holding the note. 

“I don’t know why I ever answer my door,” Stede muttered. “It’s never kids selling candy or cookies. It’s only solicitors and assholes.” 

The brunet man still just smiled serenely, gloating in his vindication. Stede began to squirm under the awkward weight of being stared at silently. 

“Do you need something?”

The brunet flicked his [fucking glorious, fuck shit] long, wavy hair over one shoulder, grinning even wider but saying nothing. 

“If you’re quite through, I have things to do. I can’t imagine you’re here expecting a rematch.”

Finally the other man spoke, still lackadaisical: “Nah, man, I don’t repeat mistakes.”

Ouch. It had seemed as though the man took pleasure in their not-tryst, but apparently not. Stede felt guilt at the possibility of pushing the man into something he hadn’t wanted or enjoyed. Oh, God. He wasn’t a Casanova, he was an idiot! Right now, Stede needed to be alone and shame-spiral. 

“I said I was sorry, and I meant it. Now, go suck eggs in hell.” With that, he shut the door. There was a pint of ice cream in the freezer, calling his name. 

*****

Aw, dammit. Ed just wanted a little fun at Mr. Prissy’s expense, and instead he’d made the man feel shitty. If the guy’d been even a bit sincere about a rematch, Ed would have run through that door, because, fuck, was he having fun. 

He ran into Blond Jerkwad the next evening, walking his trash to the dumpster as the Prius turned into its space. For no obvious reason, Ed’s trash bag broke, strewing coffee grounds, banana peels, and other random, embarrassing debris right behind the newly-parked car. Oh, jeez. Guy was probably going to accuse him of doing this on purpose, too. 

Instead, the blond snorted, murmured “Bag of hot garbage!” to himself, and laughed up the stairs to his place. Ed snarled with frustration. He walked the useless bag to the dumpster and turned to get clean-up supplies. Before he could, though, he saw his blond neighbor rushing back down with more bags, a dustpan set, and disposable gloves. This guy really must be a dad. Or a former Boy Scout. 

They worked together in silence for a couple of minutes. Ed cleared his throat. “See you took off that stupid bumper sticker.”

“Yes, ridiculous of me to dream I might have freedom of expression in this political era.” 

“You get off on feeling like a victim, mate?” 

“‘Victim?’” the blond sputtered. “Well, I’m certainly not an aggressor, if that’s how you’re trying to spin it.”

“Not spinning anything. Dishonesty is more your lot’s thing.”

“Interesting. Tell me, do you have any correct opinions?” 

Ed thought for a moment. “Taylor Swift is overrated.”

“Good God, you really are a monster,” the blond whispered. At Ed’s frown, the man shrugged and added, “What? I’m just a pumpkin spice latte, Ugg boots, ‘1989’-loving, basic bitch.” 

And, for the first time ever, they shared a hearty laugh. 

“Well, uh… thanks for the help with this.”

“I’d do it for any himbo in distress. Besides, don’t want to track my car through a mess like that.” Despite his declared indifference, he seemed slow to wrap up the task. Finally, there was nothing left to linger over. “Night-night, trashman.”

“Night-night, Swiftie.” Himbo. Ed chuckled. This fucking guy never saw an opportunity for a bitchy dig and just walked past, did he? 

*****

Stede was so damned horny. His last sexual experience had been the one-sided jaunt with his neighbor, and he really needed his itch scratched. That was the only reason he finally agreed to this date with Blake Rife. It definitely wasn’t because Blake was a dark-haired leather daddy (could you call someone a “daddy” if he was fifteen years younger?) with probable Pacific Islander heritage. Nah, Stede didn’t go for those traits at all. 

They’d been flirting at work for weeks, but Stede hadn’t really felt a great pull. The man was a darling—not at all what you’d expect of a 350-pound, muscle-bound man who looked as if he ate children rather than cared for them as a pediatric nurse—but kind of a dim bulb. They simply hadn’t much to talk about, little in common. 

Regardless, Blake, or Steak Knife, as he’d been dubbed in his teens (“Get it? Blake Rife/Steak Knife? It rhymes!” Yes, Stede had picked that up, thank you), kept mooning after Stede. Stede couldn’t imagine why; surely Steak Knife had plenty of fellows interested in his rugged good looks and astonishingly strong physique? Stede had made sure, when inviting him over, to be thoroughly candid with Steak Knife. He did not want to date; he was unlikely to ask to do this again; he was just looking for a fun night with a decent, trusted man to whom he was physically attracted. Steaky assured him he was comfortable with the terms of the arrangement. 

The night was going well: a light dinner, some hot kisses as they cleaned up, a courteous discussion of their sexual likes and dislikes. They took their wine out to the balcony to enjoy the cool evening air. 

And that’s where things went a bit shit. 

Bumper Sticker Asshole was already out on his balcony across the way, feet up, leisurely smoking a bowl. His [godfuckingdamnit stunning] eyes widened at what Stede knew was a somewhat comical difference between his own physique and Steak Knife’s. Almost a head taller and nearly twice his weight—albeit all muscle—Steak Knife looked as though he could snap Stede in half and use his femur bone as a toothpick. [Stede didn’t hate it.] His pectoral muscles were each larger than Stede’s entire skinny little butt. He saw it, he did. But his neighbor’s immediate and obvious amusement at their differences still stung. The man was pointing and laughing, for goodness’ sake! Stede frowned and tried to ignore the onlooker. 

Steak Knife was saying something about his dietary routine. Focus, Stede, focus. “I don’t usually eat pasta for dinner. I protein-load with chicken breast or fish, and plain veggies. But this was cool for a night off.”

Stede hummed encouragingly, ignoring his neighbor mock-flexing his muscles across the way. 

“Another good dinner is I can add protein powder to scrambled eggs. A lot of people take out the yolks, but there are good nutrients in there!”

“So true,” Stede murmured, still seeing the asinine shenanigans from the corner of his eye. Don’t laugh, don’t encourage him. “And do you add vegetables to that, as well?” 

“Oh, for sure! Maybe even make a double batch, so breakfast is just reheat and go. I’m usually up around six to lift.”

On the next balcony, some stupid faces had been added to the mix: actual stupid faces. The neighbor was making it clear he thought Steak Knife was just a brainless brute. Stede could hardly demand his date recite a Shakespeare sonnet from memory in order to refute the notion. 

“I’m up at five, myself, to run before it gets hot. Since we’re both early risers, shall we take this inside?” 

“Okay, doctor, but is that man bothering you?” his date asked, pointing straight across the way. He cracked his neck menacingly. 

“You’re a sweetheart to ask, but he’s nothing. Pay him no mind. Shall we?” Stede didn’t spare a glance backward as he hustled Steak Knife indoors. 

*****

Blond Jerkwad had called Ed a “himbo,” but seeing the fella his neighbor was entertaining, Ed wasn’t so sure it was the insult he’d assumed. Maybe he liked handsome dullards. That man-mountain looked as though he couldn’t count to eleven without removing his shoes, but his neighbor appeared not to mind at all. Didn’t hurt that the besotted fool was looking at the blond hungrily. [Ed kinda got it.] Poor blondie likely wouldn’t survive the night, Ed thought with a chuckle. 

He’d listened to their conversation—if you could call it that—with amusement. The blond couldn’t possibly find “protein bro” very interesting, but Ed supposed he wasn’t really there to provide intellectual stimulation. His suspicions were confirmed when, after an all-too-brief session of Ed mocking the behemoth, Blondie invited him into the boudoir. “ Fee, fie, fo, fum… I’ll grind his bones to make my bread.” Ed snorted to himself later, as he was getting in to his own empty, quiet bed. Not jealous. 

Not jealous at all. Gave no thought whatsoever to how beautiful that golden-haired dickfuck had looked in the sunset. Slept like a totally un-jealous baby. 

Sure, Ed had observed, in his daily insomnia bouts, that Blond Jerkwad—oooh, Doctor Blond Jerkwad, apparently—went for a run every morning. He’d just happened to notice, while sitting in his guest bedroom/office, which faced his neighbor’s stairs, is all. And, though Ed’s own schedule could be a bit all over the place, Dr. BJ’s (heh) was pretty consistent. So Ed miiiiiight have set himself up beside that window in the pre-dawn hours to check emails and play brain games. He had an actual tea to sip, and imaginary popcorn for the show. 

He foresaw spotting his neighbor staggering out, bruised and mussed, maybe missing a few teeth… not that the guy was into rough shit. Just, it looked as though his date would try to pet the bunny and end up breaking its neck, à la Lenny from “Of Mice and Men.” Snort. 

But the blond bounced lightly down the stairs in his running ensemble [tiny, tight; Lord, help me], looking no worse for wear. Slightly tamed bedhead, a few hickies, grinning broadly to himself. [All right, no one likes a showoff, mate… ] He bounded away, unlikely to be seen for… oh, usually 47 to 53 minutes. Ed set an alarm for 40, just to be safe. 

The runner returned carrying pastry bags that already bore a sheen of grease. Seemed atypical of the huge guy’s no-pleasure food regimen, Ed thought. Ten or fifteen minutes later (okay, thirteen, yes, yes, Ed had clocked it), the blond was half-shoving his guest out the door, one pastry bag looking tiny in the giant’s hands. The big man looked a little teary-eyed and, turning when he was two steps down so that his head was roughly level with Dr. BJ’s cute tits, faceplanted there morosely. He got a hug, lots of kisses to his shaved scalp, and some back rubs; and whatever his companion said mollified him, because he limped [LIMPED?] his way down the stairs with a smile on his face and a distinct hitch in his step. The last Ed saw of him was a broad grin as he wolfed down a croissant. 

Oh, ho, ho! Ed had completely misjudged how that situation would go down. Fascinating. 

*****

Stede had had a lousy, shitty, no-good day. Surgeries in the morning, frustrating follow-ups in the afternoon, and two weeks of Steak Knife continuing to ask Stede out again, which had culminated today in a difficult conversation about respecting boundaries. Stede was kicking himself for having sex with a coworker who got attached. He felt like a callous cad, though he would never have hurt Steaky intentionally. 

Then, when he’d finally left the hospital, the national news. President Badminton had been impeached, which should have been excellent news—but he’d also officially stated his intent to run for re-election, and initial polls showed a high approval rating within the Republican party. The announcement completely watered down the impact of the impeachment, and Stede was disgusted about it. 

So he was in a foul mood when, pulling into their parking spaces nearly in sync, he and Bumper Sticker Asshole found themselves walking home together. “Uh- doctorrrrr… “ the man crooned with an exaggerated flourish. 

“Yes. I am. A medical doctor. What’s so funny about that?”

“Bit silly to have your dates call you that, yeah? Or… oh, wait… was he not smart enough to remember your name?” The man popped a hand to his mouth, feigning surprise. God, what an irritatingly beautiful jerk.  

“He’s a colleague, so that’s mainly how he addresses me. And you sound like a bitter asshole.” 

The man frowned and quickly pivoted. “Think we’re all bitter today, what with the news about your old school mates.”

Stede accepted the subject change, though it was hardly one that would cool his temper. “This impeachment will change nothing! You’ll see, we’ll get another four years.” He scowled. 

“People don’t even care about tax evasion!”

“And who hasn’t hired a sex worker at an international treaty conference, billed it to their expenses, and fudged the story when confronted?” Stede added sarcastically. 

“This’s just the new normal, man. Presidents can profit from their time in office. That’s capitalism, baby.” 

By now, the two were snarling in each other’s face, standing under the hot evening sun in the courtyard between their units. Several balconies over, a nude man leaned over the railing to shout in a Scottish accent, “Can ye nae show some respect? Some of us are trying to bask in vitamin D!”

“Sorry, Buttons!” Stede called. 

“Oh, sure, you learn his name,” Bumper Sticker Asshole muttered. 

“Well, he’s been pleasant to me!”

“Could use some vitamin D myself,” the man continued, as if to himself, but the look up and down Stede’s body made it clear what he meant. 

“I thought you never repeated ‘mistakes,’” Stede said waspishly. 

“Could make a different mistake this time,” he replied lightly. 

“Ever heard the saying, ‘Never fuck a fascist?’” Stede spat. 

“I guess it’s just a day for exceptions,” the smug bastard answered. “So, are we doing this, or what, Sunshine?”

Stede sighed and jerked his head toward his unit. They ascended the stairs and Stede unlocked the door, gesturing his… guest? across the threshold. He had to admit that a good fuck would work off the irritation of the day, and his neighbor was definitely physically attractive, if personally abhorrent. Stede just hoped he’d be able to look himself in the mirror after this. 

“Wait here,” he said tersely once they’d entered. He went to his bedroom, dropped his bag, and gathered supplies. He returned to find his neighbor still in the same spot, but gazing curiously at his collection of vintage “Star Wars” toys. 

He thought he heard the brunet whisper, “Fuck off,” but he really couldn’t be sure what the man meant. His collections were usually more likely to draw derision than admiration, though. Whatever; they gave him joy. 

“Right. I want to be completely sure this is consensual.” At the brunet’s confused stare, Stede irritatedly added, “You referred to last time as a ‘mistake.’”

The man had the good grace to look embarrassed. “Ah, yeah, sorry. That was a dick move. I… ah… ahem. I had fun.”

“Oh, don’t suddenly start agreeing with me, or I might think you have a crush on me,” Stede joked, but the man didn’t respond, so it landed with a thud. He pressed on. “Now, you’re going to tell me exactly what you want, and we’re going to use the ‘traffic light’ system.” The man nodded in understanding. “And we should have a safe word, just in case.”

“How about doctor?” the man offered with a smirk. Such a fucking brat . 

“Sure you won’t want to call me that, get a little kinky?”

“Mate, I’ve got two doctorates of my own. It literally never comes up.”

“Yeah, right.”

“S’true. Not medical doctorates, but one’s in my field, structural engineering, and the other’s in sociology.”

“Wow! What was the focus of the sosh PhD?“ Stede remembered with shame his first impression that the man was a laborer (not that that wasn’t noble work in itself!), and decided he’d have a little talk with himself later about whether racism and classism were a part of that notion. 

“Etiquette of Pacific Island cultures,” the man replied with a casual shrug. 

“Oh, that must have been fascinating! It’s such a large geographical area, yet full of very small populations, which highly value good manners… “ Stede cut himself off. He was not going to turn this hate-fuck into a chit-chat. No. He deeply disliked this guy. “Surprised you’d be interested in good manners,” he concluded sharply. 

“Could probably get me to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ tonight, if you play your cards right,” the gorgeous jerk teased, bringing them back to the task at hand. 

“Alright, then, tell me what you want.”

“Want you to fuck me.”

“More specific.”

The brunet sighed irritably. “I want. Your cock. In my ass.” He even added some crude hand gestures for clarity. 

“Right. Turn around.” He spun the man toward the Louis XIV console table in the entryway. They looked at each other in the ornately-framed mirror above the table. “Keep your hands on the table.”

“Think I’m gonna pick your pocket, dickfuck?”

Stede narrowed his eyes and coolly replied, “You don’t have any reason to touch me. As you said last time, we’re not making love.”

Stede placed his hand at the V of the man’s t-shirt, right over a large bird tattoo. He ran his hand slowly down the man’s [firm, soft] abs, catching the hem of his shirt, and then up again to smooth over the furred belly itself. Oh, he loved this part of a man’s body—warm, sensitive, so much to explore in any direction. When his fingertips brushed over a nipple, the man sucked in a sharp breath. 

“Shirt off or on?” Stede asked. 

“Off.” The man removed his hands just to whip off his own shirt, then returned them to the table as instructed. His luminous brown eyes followed Stede’s in the mirror as Stede admired the tattoos on his back and chest. 

“Exquisite,” Stede murmured to himself. Gooseflesh rose where he rubbed softly over the man’s back and shoulders, but the brunet kept his hands in place. “Where shall I touch you?”

“My—ahem—my nipples,” the man answered in his deep, husky voice. “ Gently,” he added sternly. 

“Of course.” 

“Take off your shirt, too.” Huh. Stede’s eyebrows rose at that. He’d had no reason to think Bumper Sticker Asshole particularly wanted to look at him. He quickly unfastened and discarded his mallard blue button-down. The man ducked slightly so he could stare intently at Stede’s chest in the mirror. Well. 

Stede’s fingers softly circled and tugged the man’s rosy-brown nipples. Oh, he was delightfully responsive, dark eyes fluttering and rolling upward, breath catching. He dropped his head to one side, revealing a slender stretch of neck. Stede stroked it gently with a finger, catching his partner’s eyes in the mirror. 

“And what shall I do, here?” 

“Fuck, anything,” the man breathed. 

“Bites, marks?”

“Green fuckin’ light, man.”

Stede brought his hand back down to the man’s chest and pulled lightly on each nipple as he sank gentle teeth into that gorgeous neck. He sucked and nipped until a chain of bruises had blossomed. The man looked blissed out. Stede couldn’t wait to see how he looked when he was coming. 

“All right, pants off.”

“You do it,” the brunet insisted, his hands planted so firmly on the table that the knuckles flexed. Stubborn brat, Stede chuckled to himself. 

He quickly pulled down the button fly of the man’s black jeans, dragging them and the purple(!) briefs down to his ankles. The man kicked them all away. Stede took a moment to caress those strong, black-haired legs before rising. 

As Stede pulled on one rubber glove, the man snarked, “You’ll put your dick up my ass, but not your prissy fingers?”

“Oh, I’ll be putting these fingers all over you,” Stede explained calmly, “But I don’t want to stop to wash them after I’ve prepared you. So I wear the glove, take it off, and everything is clean enough for me to, say… tell you to suck on my fingers,” he concluded, placing his gloved middle and fore-fingers on the man’s beautiful, bowed upper lip. He raised a commanding eyebrow, and the man dutifully sucked them in, moaning a bit as he took them halfway to his throat. 

When Stede pulled them out, the brunet begrudgingly admitted, “Actually, pretty clever.” Stede pursed his lips to keep from smiling as he pumped the lube bottle. 

*****

Ed was glad Dr. BJ had simply taken the hint Ed wanted to get laid, and not made him beg or explain. He was so fucking angry about the Badminton impeachment-that-hardly-mattered, he’d needed to burn off the energy somehow. If that also involved an orgasm, all the better. 

But then the blond had insisted Ed ask for anything he wanted done to himself. It was embarrassing for him to make his desires so transparent—he’d always been more of a “what happens, happens” guy in bed. Unfortunately, that usually meant most partners skipped over the little touches Ed enjoyed, racing to the finish line. Being cared for, listened to, and attended to by a guy he despised was… strange. Good strange. 

The man huffed indignantly. “Ugh, even has a pretty little hole,” he muttered to himself. Ed snickered. Louder, the blond asked, “Are you ready for me to open you?”

“Mind sucking me off while you start?”

The blond didn’t even reply, just dropped lightly to one knee and gently bit an ass cheek before turning Ed around. Just to keep the game going, Ed continued to grip the [stunningly gaudy, he loved it] hall table.

A talented tongue laved at his balls while one lubed finger tickled his asshole. That finger roved up and down his crack as the man kitten-licked the head of his cock. The little teases were killing him softly. He couldn’t decide whether he wanted to ram his cock down the blond’s throat, push that exploring finger into himself, or just let the gentle touches go on for hours. The decision was taken away from him when his partner took the cock head into his mouth while slowly pushing his finger in to the first knuckle. Yep, yes, definitely the right move. Yes. 

Ed surrendered to the rhythm of the blond’s bobbing head and gently exploring finger, chasing bliss from both directions. By the time he had two fingers in his ass, occasionally brushing his prostate, Ed was worried this was going to end at a blowjob [an excellent blowjob, to be fair] and a fingering [fine, fantastic fingering, Ed happily thought], so he reluctantly pulled away from that hot, soft mouth. 

“Need you to fuck me,” he explained at the man’s questioning look. Ed found himself turned back around to the mirror, as the man continued to finger him. 

“I’m going to add a third finger, if you’re alright with that,” the man said while unbuckling and unzipping his pants somewhat awkwardly with his left hand. 

“I don’t need another, just fuck me, man,” Ed rasped. 

The man frowned at him in the mirror. “If we were different men in a different situation, I’d probably gladly plant a fist in your face. Fortunately, we don’t brawl, and we’re working off our anger like this. But I still don’t want to cause you any pain, or later discomfort.”

“‘Pain? Discomfort?’ Pfft, someone’s got an awfully high opinion of himse—“ Ed glanced past his own shoulder in the mirror, to the considerable bulge straining the blond’s bikini briefs. He turned his head more fully in a double-take, then twisted his body as much as possible—while still gripping the table—to get an even more thorough look. Fucking JACKPOT, Eddie.  

“All right, well, do what you gotta do,” he finished with feigned sullenness. It was all he could do not to high-five his own giddily grinning reflection. He settled for winking at the magnum XL-sized condom that was about to be put to good use. 

Fortunately, the blond was focusing fully on preparing Ed, and didn’t notice his little happy-dance shenanigans. “So, ah-ha-hah, what kind of doctor are you?”

“It’s boring,” Dr. BJ dismissed, attention still mostly on Ed’s asshole. 

“Got… mmmmm… nothing else to do, here, mate.”

With a sigh, the blond flicked his pretty hazel eyes up briefly to meet Ed’s. He looked back down again, detachedly replying, “Pediatric orthopedic surgeon. Hip dysplasia, limb differences, amputation and prosthetics, things like that.”

Ed focused on his own shining, cartoon-heart eyes in the mirror. He worked with kids with physical disabilities?? Jesus, that was fucking endearing. “Must be a lot of heartbreak.”

“Mmm, yes and no. An almost nonexistent death rate, thank goodness, but it’s causing them some pain or inconvenience as they recover. And we’re often changing a child’s life forever. Sometimes it gets easier, sometimes tougher.” Then the blond said, with what Ed had come to appreciate as his acerbic dismissiveness, “Is this really what you want to talk about, or should we fuck?”

Kinda both? Talk, then fuck? Talk while fucking? Fuck, then talk while cuddling? Those all seemed like the wrong answer for a hate fuck. Out loud, Ed replied, “Just here to get dicked down, so get on with it.” 

With a nod, the man dropped and kicked off his briefs, rolled a condom down his impressive beast of a cock, and lubed up. He removed the glove while turning it inside out, then lined himself up with Ed’s hole. “We go at your pace. You know what to say if you need a break, or if it’s not good for you, yes?”

“Yes.” Ed trusted this man, though. He wouldn’t want to take a road trip with the stuffy fucker, but he knew he was about to be treated well and respectfully. Eh, not too respectfully, he hoped. And, holy fuck , the moment that cock head pushed in, Ed was in heaven. The man slowly—so, so, so slowly—eased in and out to allow Ed to adjust. All Ed had to do was close his eyes, smile, and enjoy the leisurely stretch. 

Another reason for his smile was that Doctor BJ’s already high voice was rising in pleased whimpers as he pushed gently but continuously further. Ed should not have been into that squeaky sound, but it was doing something for him. He liked that the guy wasn’t putting on any falsely sexy tone to impress Ed, but was entrusting his authentic self to him. 

When the man was fully inside Ed, he opened his eyes. Brown and hazel eyes locked in the mirror, lustfully staring at each other. “Think you’re ready?” the blond asked. 

“Do it,” Ed challenged. A moment later, arms curled around his shoulders, shifting his body angle somewhat, and the blond began to pound into him. Ed held tightly to the table, the only thing tethering him to reality, as he got the railing of his dreams. He was dimly aware of the sounds of his partner panting, skin slapping, and his own teeth… chattering? Fuuuuuuck, he was blazing from getting his prostate nudged, just right, over and over. His eyes rolled back into his head so far that the world looked to be under a strobe light. 

And then, as promised, those hands started to wander. The pace barely changed as the blond returned to his nipples, twisting and pulling lightly. Ed didn’t think anything could distract him from the fucking, but he felt a spark jolt through his tits. Then the hands moved to his hair, gently pulling it aside for more bites and sucking along his neck. Who was gibbering? Was that his own voice making those nonsense sounds? Wait, seemed as though some words were mixing in…

“Do you?”

“Hmmm?”

“You’re not touching yourself. Do you want me to touch you?” the blond repeated. “Your cock?”

The full pillow princess treatment? Oooh. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound… ing. Snort. “Yeah, yeah, get me off.” 

It felt amazing that the same guy who was fucking him this hard could also delicately cup his balls and stroke his cock to fullness, but Doctor BJ seemed to be a great multitasker. Once Ed was completely hard, the blond lubed his hand and let it glide along his length. He quickly picked up the pace until Ed was crying out at every stroke, so close, so fucking close…

With a shake and a shout, Ed came, momentarily blind and deaf to everything around him. He came back to Earth, panting. That was… amazing. Life-changing. The blond had slowed and was staring at him with a sly, proud smirk. “Your turn,” Ed croaked. “Keep going.”

With a murmured, “Atta boy,” he ran his hands down Ed’s sweating sides, grabbed his hips, and resumed the frantic pace. Ed was relaxed and sated enough now to focus on the other man’s face: the open, panting mouth; skin flushed from forehead to chest; curls plastered to his forehead; and those hazel eyes, staring back at him, so intense. Fuuuuuck, he was beautiful. Ed squeezed tightly a few times, and the man came, biting just his upper teeth into Ed’s neck. Even playing rough, he was considerate and gentle. 

*****

Stede slowly caught his breath, trembling after one of the best fucks of his life. He didn’t know if their mutual distaste was part of it, but the energy he had with this man was wild . He closed his eyes and deeply inhaled his partner’s cologne: spices, wood, a little lemon, perhaps? 

When he opened his eyes again, the man was watching him with those lively, expressive eyes. Flashing a mischievous smile, he grabbed a tissue from the box on the table and swiped a streak of cum from the mirror. “Was driving me crazy,” he whispered with a wink. 

“You missed a spot,” Stede replied, indicating another on the mirror, “here. And here, here, here, and here,” he continued, pointing to splashes all over the wall and tabletop. They began laughing so hard that Stede slipped out, and they had to stop to clean themselves up. 

When they stepped away from the table, the brunet nearly crumpled to the ground. “Hey, hey, are you okay? Tell me what’s going on.”

“S’nothing, man, just… just a little dizzy, s’all.”

Stede slipped into Doctor Mode. He lifted the man in a bridal carry and set him gently on the couch. The man protested about being “all sweaty and naked,” but Stede waved that away. “I don’t care about my damned couch.” He tucked a few throw blankets over and around the brunet. Then he clicked on a nearby light and checked the man’s basic health signs. “Pupils dilated, pulse elevated, you feel a little warm… “

“Those are also symptoms of a vigorous fuck, mate.” 

“Hush.” Stede softly pinched the man’s hand, watching the skin fall back quickly. “Not dehydrated, but let’s play it safe. Water? Soda? Tea?” 

“Water’s great, but really, I’m fine… “ The man tried to rise, and Stede pushed him back to a lying-down position. “Oh, don’t suddenly start being nice to me, or I might think you have a crush on me,” the man called back Stede’s earlier joke—and, in a flash of insight, Stede knew precisely why he wasn’t laughing at it. 

Awww, fuck . He’d caught feelings for the bumper-sticker-slicing, snide, conservative… wait, come to think of it, had the man committed any other sins against Stede besides the bumper sticker thing? Huh . That… that was still a lousy thing to do. Oh, the “princess” thing. And, really, liking the Badmintons was an absolute dealbreaker. Right? 

Anyway, here the man was, feeling poorly on his couch, which was an unfortunate end to a rather glorious afternoon; but Stede didn’t exactly hate the situation. He quickly made them both bowls of miso soup—which he insisted was a good vegetarian option for restoring salts—once he learned his “patient” also preferred to eat meat as seldom as possible. Look at that! Something in common. 

Bowls of soup set aside, Stede settled into a recliner to read. His guest had fallen asleep mid-spoonful and was making cute buzzing noises that hardly counted as snores. Every page or so, he’d glance up to marvel at the man’s classical beauty. He didn’t even notice when his own eyes closed for the night. 

*****

For the record, Ed was absolutely not dizzy. But he wasn’t about to admit that the jerk had fucked him so thoroughly and perfectly that his legs stopped working. So he’d claimed dizziness, then felt so guilty about the blond’s solicitous care that he tried to dial it back immediately. Nope, Doctor DILF was relentless. By the time his host (also a vegetarian!) had put soup on, Ed surrendered. Clearly, the universe wanted him to be pampered today. 

They slurped in silence, the man keeping a watchful eye on him, until after-sex sleepiness overtook Ed. He awoke several hours later to find the man snoring loudly in the recliner, his book tumbled to the floor nearby. He tamped down the fond feelings in his heart, got dressed, and slipped silently out the door. 

And then Blond Jerkwad just fucked off for over a week. Ed didn’t see him for twelve days, to be exact. No sign of him. Worse still, during that time, all hell broke loose in the nation’s Capitol as BadHeads—the stupid name the president’s cult of followers had given themselves—swarmed D.C. According to the dozens of these idiots crowing to news reporters, the Badmintons had been signaling none-too-subtly that they wanted lawmakers to install them Constitutionally as co-presidents for life. And as crazy as that sounded, the twins truly had been dogwhistling about “an attack on this presidency” and the importance of “preserving our American authority.” 

So, like most of the nation, Ed had watched with horror as the president’s staunchest, dumbest supporters attempted to storm Congress and change the very political structure of the United States. Fortunately, plenty of systems functioned exactly as they should, and the kerfuffle was quelled almost as soon it had begun. Unfortunately, for that short time, it had actually, terrifyingly, seemed possible for them to succeed. 

There was so much tension and sadness, all  across the country, in the few days afterward. And, as always, Ed wondered how anyone could keep supporting this president and not question their own ethics. When his neighbor came shambling back home, looking uncharacteristically rumpled and exhausted, Ed was calmer than the day of the attack, but just barely. They bumped into each other in the courtyard between their homes. 

“Nice trip?” Ed sneered, nodding toward the rolling bag the bespectacled man (ooh, that was a new look—shut up, libido) dragged behind him. 

“Shittiest trip ever,” the blond snapped back. 

Hmmm. Interesting. “Where’d you go?”

“Well, it was supposed to be a three-day conference in Bethesda, Maryland, but things went a bit… sideways.”

Ed closed his eyes and winced internally. “Did you go to D.C.” His voice was so flat, it didn’t come out as a question. 

“Not that it’s your business; but, yes, some friends invited me to trail their rounds. There were a hellish few days, after that.”

“Fuuuuuuuuck,” Ed groaned. “You seriously telling me you were part of that ‘attack on the presidency’ shit?” 

“You heard about it??” the blond asked, looking startled. 

“Oh, I heard about it. The whole country heard all about it.” 

“My, God, my children will know!”

“Yeah, you should be fucking worried about them hearing about it. You should be ashamed to even look them in the eye.”

The blond scowled. “I’m already beating myself up, you don’t need to pile on.”

“I… mate, I’m out. This is just totally unforgivable. I can’t even look at you.” Ed walked up the stairs to his place without a backward glance. He’d started to tell himself they could maybe surmount these political differences and be friends [boyfriends], but there was no excusing that behavior. 

*****

Stede was lucky he overpacked for trips, because his three-day conference in Maryland turned into a nine-day ordeal. Well… no, it was perfectly lovely, until day six. 

At the conference, he’d run into a former intern and dear colleague, Dr. Oluwande Boodhari, who’d invited him to observe on rounds at his hospital. Oluwande worked in D.C. proper, living in Arlington with his partner, Dr. Jim Jimenez, and their new paramour, Dr. Rhanda Cheema (“R. Cheema… so I go by R-Chee. Archie. Call me Archie, mate!”). They’d put Stede up in their guest room, and the four of them enjoyed dinners and drinks each night after work. 

On the seventh day of the trip, Stede decided to enjoy some tourist time in the Capitol. He’d found himself standing outside the White House, saddened by the weirdly cult-like signs waved by the president’s fans, clustered near the barriers. They cheered loudly as the presidential motorcade left the grounds, and, evidently, Nigel decided he wanted to bask in their adoration a bit. A couple of Secret Service guards, then President Nigel Badminton himself, stepped out of the limousine. 

The crowd around him erupted in cheers, screams of devotion, and shouted blessings. Stede felt ill. All he could think of was Nigel’s past and present cruelty to anyone different, poor, homely, queer… he was horrible. This man was no messiah figure. Stede didn’t even realize he’d started yelling until about the third time he’d said, “FUCK YOU, NIGEL!”  

For variety, he switched up to, “You’re a piece of shit! Nobody who actually knows you can stand the sight of you! And some of us know what you did to that poor pig!” Oh, shit, that finally got Nigel’s attention. 

“Baby Bonnet?” he drawled, small eyes growing even tinier with recognition and anger. Then he snapped to his agents, “Arrest him!”

“Sir, there’s no law against… “

“Get him out of my sight! This is treason! An offense against my title!”

“Sir; would you like to get back in the vehic—“

“SEIZE HIM!” 

“Oh, uh… Okay, okay, yes, sir.” 

A plainclothes officer came up behind Stede and began reading him Miranda rights. Then his arms were wrenched behind him and he was cuffed. He was still struggling to comprehend how this was possible in the America he knew: granted, a very cozy and sheltered America—he was a well-off, cis, white man who’d presented as straight for decades, after all. The arresting officer gently ducked his head into a squad car. As they drove off, the officer asked Stede, “So what, exactly, did that shithead do to a pig?” 

Then Stede just… sat in jail… for a day and a half. No charges pressed, no lawyer calls (despite his demands), and, therefore, no arraignment or release. He was starting to think he’d just been forgotten. There was no drama, danger, or violence; just hours of tedium. He hardly even saw any personnel, which seemed odd. Stede supposed D.C. would have had a pretty large police force. 

What he didn’t know was that the BadHeads’ attempt to overrun Congress occurred the next morning after his arrest, and police were extremely occupied with tamping that down. As the cells around him started filling with screaming weirdos in “patriotic” gear (buffalo horns?), someone finally noticed the calm, normally-dressed man who’d been neglected for hours. “Steer Grommet?” an officer called out, looking at her clipboard. 

When no one else responded, Stede supposed that must mean him. “Ah, Stede. Bonnet. Yes.”

She ignored the correction. “Mr. Grommet, you’ve been here since Friday, correct?”

“Yes.”

“No charges filed, no citations issued. Arresting officer has no report. You’re free to go.”

An apology would’ve been nice; but, mostly, Stede wanted to get the fuck out of there. He texted his hosts once his phone was returned. By the time his taxi arrived at the trio’s home, they’d rushed back home to greet him. 

“We were so worried!” Jim said, atypical of their usual staid demeanor. 

“We checked the hospitals and jails,” Archie added. 

“Used all the alternate spellings we could think of: Steed-like-horse, Steve, Bonet… “ Oluwande said into his neck, unwilling to break the hug. 

“Ah, these folks were exceptionally creative spellers. ‘Steer Grommet,’ at your service.”

Olu giggled. “Ridiculous, man. Well, just glad you’re safe. Let’s get you cleaned up and rested, and on your way home.”

Stede caught the earliest and fastest flights, cost be damned, but still didn’t return to Orange County until nine days after he’d left. 

And then the beautiful fucking asshole neighbor had had the audacity to condemn him for a little insult to Nigel Badminton! One would think Stede had committed treason, with the way the man overreacted; but, as he caught up on the news he’d missed, and saw just how crazed the Badmintons’ supporters were, he supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised at the brunet’s fury. There seemed no limit to the devotion of these lunatics. So disappointing. 

Stede and his neighbor avoided each other for weeks. They’d still park simultaneously sometimes, or pass each other in the courtyard, but they simply pretended not to see the other. It was fine. It was how many neighbors were, these days. Impersonal. 

Nothing changed, really; but everything changed. Stede hadn’t realized how invigorating their squabbles were (not to mention the sex). He’d always been so irritated in the moment, but afterwards, his insides would be buzzing for hours. He’d wake up eager and energetic the morning after a tiff with the neighbor. Stede had made a few friends around the complex, but it still seemed as if the enemy whose name he didn’t even know somehow suited him best. 

Did he make his Luke Skywalker and Obi Wan Kenobi action figures fight, then kiss, before toppling them off his dining table? Absolutely. It would’ve been weird to use Luke and Darth Vader. 

*****

The gloomy weather fitted Ed’s mood. He’d had a dreary month or so. Specifically, six weeks and four days. He could neither shake his constant, buzzing anger at his traitorous blond neighbor, nor dismiss how sad he was not talking to him anymore. Or, more correctly, not fighting with him. Yep, that’s what they did. They fucked. Fought. FOUGHT. They fought. 

His engineering crew noticed he was surlier, which he waved away as general malaise and a lack of sleep (true). And they were very kind to bring him extra sweets and send him silly memes or thirst-trap TikToks. It all helped, but it didn’t alleviate the loneliness he felt at home. 

Ed didn’t have the right hair texture for Depression Breakup Bangs, so instead he shaved off his long beard. From nose to clavicles, he was suddenly cool and comfortable in the sticky June gloom. Why had he kept that damned beard again?? This was fucking liberating. 

He absolutely did not bring “their” message rock into his home, set it on his dining table, and ask it, “And how was your day, jerkwad?” over a lonely stir-fry for one. Nobody witnessed any such occurrence, so it never happened. 

*****

As summer approached, Stede came home to a fuchsia flyer taped to his door. At first, his heart sang, but he realized before he’d even climbed the stairs that Bumper Sticker Asshole would probably have used their message rock. He trudged up and pulled it down. 

LGBT+ BBQ!

The queers of Canyon View condo complex are taking over the community pool Saturday, July 1st, from 11:00 a.m. to ?? (Probably 10:00 p.m., when the pool closes; but also possibly when the cops bust it up.)

Some drinks and snacks provided, plus BYOB and Potluck!

We still have to dress to “community standards” (UGH), but don your gayest apparel! 

RSVP Lucius 714-555-8399. Text. Do NOT call. I’m into DILFs, not granddads. 

Oh, that sounded like fun! Lucius in unit 69 (nice) always seemed to be at the center of good times, though Stede hadn’t had a chance to socialize with him. The boy was a full generation younger, after all. And Stede presumed he was not the flavor of DILF Lucius enjoyed. 

Stede quickly texted, saying he’d bring a vegetarian dish, and added the event to his phone calendar. Lucius immediately replied, “K” with no punctuation. Stede was reminded why he really preferred dating fellows closer to his own age. Was a complete sentence asking so very much??

Of course, he assumed he’d run into his handsome nemesis there, but they’d done just fine avoiding each other so far, hadn’t they? 

*****

Ed supposed he might as well go to Lucius’ pool potluck party. At the very least, it was a day he knew he could spend in the pool while parents kept their kids away. Actually, he loved kids, which was the problem. There were many times he’d been swimming, minding his own business, when a child or two approached him to play swim tag or Marco Polo. Um, yes, please! He loved that shit!

But the moms usually had one of three reactions: glared at him suspiciously and snatched their children away like he was some sort of Pied Piper perv; made goo-goo eyes at him and started flirting for their next ex-husband (wrong tree, lady); or, as had happened on five occasions, they’d thought, “free babysitter” and paid no attention to their kids whatsoever. One had literally left the pool area! That was way more than he’d signed up for when he just wanted to swim a few laps. 

Ed’s mind briefly flashed on a memory of a framed photo of two dark blond children, resting on a fancy hall table, which Dr. BJ abruptly turned downward. As if the photograph would be traumatized by seeing the children’s father(? Uncle? He’d called them ‘my children.’ Must be their dad.) fucking Ed. Heh. Lunatic. As quickly as the thought made him smile, it also made him melancholy. 

Ah, well. He supposed he’d see Blond Jerkwad at the barbecue. He texted Lucius. Sighed when Lucius’ only response was an eggplant emoji. He would never understand Gen Yers. 

*****

Stede had already run that day, and worked eight hours, but he was still as twitchy as a cat’s tail. He went to the pool to swim laps, an exercise he’d added to his routine now that the weather was warm enough. His balcony was one of many in the complex that overlooked the pool, so he usually headed down when he noticed it wasn’t busy. Every time, he chuckled at the “straight” version of the barbecue flyer (on plain oatmeal-colored paper) Lucius had hung on the gates:

WARNING: Gay Day

The Canyon View condo complex pool has been reserved for the entire day of Saturday, July 1st, for a non-family-friendly event. 

Although we cannot force you not to use the facilities that day, we can assure you that the debauchery you will witness may cause you to question that decision, and many others in your life. 

Yours in Christ,

L. Spriggs-Black

Swimming didn’t dissipate much of Stede’s nervous energy. As he strolled back toward his home, trying to towel water out of his ears, he acknowledged that a good fuck was probably what he really needed, but the chances of that were pretty slim. He didn’t have any reliable local hookups these days. 

Sensing he was being watched, he looked up at Bumper Sticker Asshole’s balcony. Yep, there he was, smoking a joint, surveying the general landscape as if Stede were merely a slightly interesting feature of it. He’d shaved his big black(ish) beard! Ugh, why the fuck was he even more handsome with more face showing??  Why couldn’t he have, like, a receding chin? He was leaning on the railing, which also reminded Stede what an advantageous angle that was for his splendid ass. 

Stede paused right below the man. They stared at each other in silence, and Stede wondered whether they were both thinking of the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet. After a moment, the man raised his brows and tilted his head toward his home, an unspoken invitation for Stede to come up. Stede nodded once and headed for the other man’s stairs. 

*****

It’s not that Ed had forgotten about the blond’s pretty pink tits. How could he? But seeing them on display as he left the pool area, Ed suddenly felt hungry. Hungry, like when one had been working all day and hadn’t thought to eat; but, when the work was finished and a tempting smell wafted by, one suddenly realized they were STARVING. And Ed hadn’t “eaten” in two months. 

When the blond stopped beneath his balcony and boldly returned Ed’s stare (guess he wasn’t being as subtle as he’d thought), Ed recited to himself, “Wherefore art thou Romeo? … O, be some other name… “ Were it not for their own Montague/Capulet issues, he might have liked the guy. 

Screw it, Juliet didn’t die a virgin. Ed gestured for his neighbor to come up, and he hurried to comply. Ed was waiting at the door. He couldn’t find it in himself to keep up their usual taunting: he’d missed this man, despite hating what he stood for. And, judging by the other man’s kicked-puppy eyes, there was a chance this hate-fuck would be a sad-fuck. Ed’s dick didn’t seem to have a problem with any of that, though. 

They sat on the balcony furniture and shared the joint in silence. The blond’s curls dried in disarray, which was not only adorable but gave him an already-fucked look. Ed promised himself he’d mess them up further before the night was through. 

Once the joint was finished, they rose and walked to the bedroom. The blond’s swimsuit was dry by now, but he’d left the towel hanging on the balcony railing, so Ed reckoned he was overdressed for the occasion. He stripped down completely, aware of the appreciative audience watching. When they were both naked, the blond finally spoke, in his usual bossy tone (Ed didn’t hate it): “Tell me what you want to do.”

“Wanna suck your cock. What do you want?”

“Fuck me.”

“More specific.” Ed smirked at using the blond’s own words against him. 

“Insufferable… “ he muttered. “Put your engorged cock in my well-lubricated asshole, and gyrate with great vigor and enthusiasm,” the blond replied in a mockingly grave and pompous tone. Snicker. 

It occurred to Ed that they’d been standing during their previous two hookups. But now they had a perfectly good bed, and while that seemed like a strangely intimate change in style, he wanted to relax and enjoy his time with the other man. He sat, but the blond remained standing. Ed pulled him in and began sucking that magnificent cock. The stretch to his jaw was delicious, as was the challenge of taking his partner (sexual partner, he sternly corrected the voice in the head, not partner-partner) as deeply as he could. Their slurping and moans were the only sounds breaking the quiet. 

As usual, the blond couldn’t keep his hands to himself. He caressed Ed’s hair, his cheek; ran delicate fingers down his neck. The touch of his fingers grew firmer, more focused, and Ed realized the madman was treating him to a neck massage while receiving a blowjob. Ed chuckled to himself. This guy was certainly a giver. Speaking of which…

“C’mere.” Ed pulled a pillow to the middle of the bed and guided the blonde to lie down on his stomach. Ed began to gather supplies as his bedmate looked on approvingly: lube, condoms, glove… and turning on a wipe warmer that was supposed to be used for changing tables, but made post-sex cleanup very lazy-comfy. 

“Now who’s clever?” his partner smiled. Ed suddenly realized that this was the first time they were fucking without fighting immediately beforehand, and that the little digs the blond usually threw felt playful, not barbed, without that tension. 

Ed caressed one cute ass cheek. “Now who has a pretty little hole?” he quipped in return. 

There was a chuckle into the pillows, and then the blond propped his chin on his hands. “Well, what’s next?”

Ed had a strong, strange urge to kiss and cuddle; but, again, that had never been the dynamic, here. Neck nibbles were the closest he supposed were acceptable, so he dove down to the blond’s exposed earlobe, teeth as gentle as a breeze. He was rewarded with a sigh and a shiver. Lovely. He kissed and sucked down the broad back, noting how easily the fair, freckled skin purpled. When he got back to the lean buttocks, though, he opted for a couple of playful slaps. 

“Oi!” the blond objected light-heartedly. “Enough of the bongos. Get to fingering me.”

“Fuckin’ bossy,” Ed chuckled, gloving and lubing up. “Something like this, sir?” He went one knuckle deep. 

“Mmmm, there we are.” 

There was silence for some time as Ed slowly worked his fingers in. His neighbor whimpered appreciatively every time Ed quirked the fingers to rub his prostate. “How’re you feeling?” Ed asked. “Ready?”

At the nod, Ed removed his fingers, rolled on a condom, and lubed up his cock. Removing the glove (really, so much easier, he fleetingly thought), he held his cock near the tip and lined up to the hole. Oh, easing into that smooth, tight heat was fucking wonderful. Ed could have wept. Actually… with some surprise, he realized he was weeping… lightly, silently. He was pretty sure he wiped them dry without the blond noticing, because the other man had his eyes closed in bliss and was chanting in a whisper, “Little more, that’s it, little more… yes, keep going… little more… “

When he was fully inside, Ed draped himself lightly over the other man and took a moment to revel in their physical closeness. He rubbed a cheek gently over the blond curls, feeling a bit like a cat scent-marking. This is mine, purr, purr. He giggled. The other man hummed inquisitively, but Ed merely asked, “Ready for me to move?” 

“Sure thing, kitten,” the blond smirked. That was surely a coincidence, right? Right? Hmmm. Ed propped himself up more and began a gentle rhythm. He’d loved getting fucked vigorously by this man last time, but he was in a more tender mood tonight. As he gradually sped up, he guided the man’s hips higher until he was on all fours. The pillow that had been under him was wet from his dripping cock. Why was that so hot?  

The blond cried out with each stroke, and Ed knew he was hitting juuuuust the right pleasure spot. When the other man began working his own cock, Ed gently smacked away his hand and took over. “I’m gonna be the one who makes you come, yeah?”

“Uh huh,” his neighbor answered, barely using words at this point. Suddenly, Ed stopped, remembering he hadn’t gotten to the thing that started tonight’s fun: the blond’s tits. The man groaned and pouted at the pause. 

“On your back. This okay?” he asked, stroking the pretty pink nipples. Getting an enthusiastic nod, Ed dipped down, licking and sucking to his heart’s content. The other man writhed and gasped at the stimulation. He grabbed Ed’s hand and placed it on his neglected cock. Ed got the cue and began stroking as he lavished attention on that wide chest. 

By the time he’d had his fun with the tits, Ed’s cock had started to flag. The blond, always game, gently removed the condom and sucked and licked him back to full hardness. “Now, get back to fucking me. Please.”

“Still bossy—now bossy and polite,” Ed teased. He repeated the condom and lube routine, and quickly returned to the blond’s hot, eager hole. They’d stared at each other quite a bit during their foyer mirror sex, but it was much more intimate to be face-to-face. Ed watched every shifting expression on his neighbor’s face: his ruffled hair, the flush of his skin; drawing pleasure from the knowledge he’d made a mess of this man. He idly wondered how long the love bites (hickies, his rational inner voice corrected) would last. 

“Horrible, naked chin,” his partner said as he stroked it, though the fondness of his tone contradicted his words. 

“Hate it? Hate everything about me?” Ed teased, pace quickening to a blur of hips. 

“Mmhmmm,” the blond agreed. “Touch my cock, since you won’t let me do it.” They fell silent again, except for the sounds of moans and skin slapping skin. Ed’s orgasm sneaked up on him, and he suddenly came with a shout, panting through the comedown. 

He was still hard, for now, but too overstimulated to keep fucking the blond. “How do you wanna come?”

“Such a gentleman. Could I have that talented mouth again?”

“Fuck, yeah,” Ed responded, crawling down the bed to get back to that monster cock. He spent a blissful few minutes getting his throat filled until the blond came with a cry. 

They cleaned up with the warm wipes, discarding them on the floor. “Next time, we should bring the trash can over,” the blond yawned. He was snoring within minutes. 

“We? Next time?” Ed thought to himself, eyebrows raised. Chalk that one up to post-nut soppiness, he supposed. His blinking soon slowed until he’d joined the blond in sleep. 

*****

Stede woke around his usual hour, it seemed, judging by the light of the room. The… room… what room? Where was he?? He became aware of the warmth of his neighbor’s furry belly under his cheek at the same time he noted the general colorfulness of the space (couldn’t observe many details without his glasses, and he’d taken his contacts out for last night’s swim). Purple and teal jewel tones against cherry wood made the room look very… sensual. Of course the sexy bastard had a sexy room. 

Stede sat up, trying to disturb the sleeping beauty as little as possible. The brunet snuffled quietly but didn’t rouse. With a slight, delicious ache in his backside, Stede stood to get dressed, such as he could—there were only swim trunks, flip flops, and a cold towel on the balcony awaiting him. He shivered slightly as he pulled his condo key from the tiny pocket. Well, best done quickly… 

Slinging the towel over his shoulders, Stede hurried out of his neighbor’s home, down the stairs, and across the courtyard… where he almost bumped into Buttons, also nearly naked, with just a red potholder over his crotch. “Walk o’ shame hits different when ye’re severely underdressed, aye?” the man observed with a wink. 

Stede was burning with curiosity as to whom Buttons had been “visiting,” and the circumstances of his “clothing,” but was reluctant to answer any such queries himself. He swallowed his questions, bid the other man a cheery “Good day,” and continued the dash to his home. 

Ohhh, he somewhat understood why his neighbor had hurtfully called their first time a mistake. As much as he’d enjoyed the previous night, he felt shame that a man so personally offensive to his ideology could make him experience such pleasure. He imagined it was much the same for the brunet, though from the opposite perspective. He’d simply have to make sure they never slipped up again, that was all. 

A few days later, the damned Badmintons announced an initiative called “Return to Right,” which was described as a “traditional values approach to preventing child abuse,” but was actually a disgustingly anti-trans legislative proposition. No one giving it even a cursory read would be fooled: it described gender affirming care as “child sexual abuse” and overinflated stats on so-called “de-transitioners.” Stede read it all with a queasy feeling. He worried so much for these folks, who deserved dignity and care. 

As usual, Stede felt utterly helpless, but didn’t want to remain silent. The morning after the announcement, he wore his “Protect Trans Kids” t-shirt, in addition to the many LGBTQIA+ support pins on his work ID lanyard. His patients and their families, if they commented at all, responded positively to his “statement.”

Returning home from work, he encountered Bumper Sticker Asshole, wearing the exact same shirt. Fucking infuriating! To support those pieces of shit and wear such a shirt?? “You think you’re funny?” Stede half-shrieked, then was embarrassed by how loud and shrill his voice sounded. 

At the same time, the brunet scowled and asked, “Taking the piss? This is life-or-death shit, man. Those kids are at serious risk.”

“Yes, under the guise of ‘support’ and ‘care!’” Stede fumed. “Fuck the medical aspect; their very names are under threat!”

“It’s not difficult to address a child by their correct name and gender,” the man growled. 

Since he’d insulted Stede so long ago by calling him “Princess,” Stede already knew the man didn’t give a fuck about addressing people with the dignity they deserved. He just wanted a child to be forced into the gender role they’d been assigned at birth! 

“I just don’t see why it’s so important to impose your notions on them. You claim to protect children, but vote for officials and policies that hurt them,” Stede said, suddenly exhausted and sad. He didn’t even have the emotional energy to face this man’s bigotry… until the asshole brought up his kids. 

*****

If Ed had been angry about the insurrection in Washington, D.C., he was so livid about the Badmintons’ anti-trans proposition that he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Those hateful fuckers wouldn’t be happy until everyone who wasn’t cis, white, hetero, Christian, fertile, and able-bodied was living in fear. 

So, naturally, when he saw the Badmintons’ buddy, Blond Jerkwad, pretending he gave a shit about trans kids, Ed blew a gasket. The man was a medical professional! He knew what the new proposition meant, in no uncertain terms! He should know the stats on kids who did not receive gender-affirming care! Denying them that care was tantamount to saying they were wrong about their identities. 

But the man was spouting some horseshit about forcing LGBT beliefs on kids. No wonder he’d been so uptight when Ed teased him about being a princess. The guy obviously had fixed, rigid notions about gender. So fucking disappointing. Must have been required to wear that shirt for work. 

“I know we’re never gonna agree on this, but keep your sick ideas out of my face. I pity your poor kids, if they ever come to you about this.”

“Don’t you fucking worry about my kids! They have loving parents who will help them be who they’re meant to be!” 

Normally, this might be the time one or both of them started feeling horny; but, for a change, Ed could only think of getting away from this man and his hurtful ideology. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, man.” He stalked away to his home. 

He didn’t see his neighbor again until the day of the pool party. It almost seemed he’d altered his strict schedule slightly, because even their usual meeting occasions were blissfully jerkwad-free. 

But here the blond was, at the party, looking fucking yummy in aqua swim trunks and a crisp, white, completely-open button down shirt… just flaunting those tits to the world. Ed himself was wearing a black fishnet shirt that left even less to the imagination, over short, square trunks. He also noticed his neighbor was wearing the cute aviator-style sunglasses, but had to look away when caught staring.

They entered the clubhouse at the same time, trying to look as “not arriving together” as possible. Lucius’s husband, Pete, was directing people where to set up their potluck items. Both bringing a vegetarian item, the two were sent to the same table. 

As Ed set down his ice bath and filled it with thoum sauce, halal white sauce, and tahini sauce, the man glanced over and begrudgingly muttered, “I love falafel.”

“Yeah, well, hibiscus flower enchiladas sound amazing,” Ed replied with a scowl as the blond plugged in his warming dish. Ingredients notes, written on thick robin’s-egg blue stationery, gave Ed a pang of nostalgia. He tamped it down with reminders of how awful the man’s beliefs were. It didn’t matter how many pretty bows were wrapped around them. How many pretty, sexy, silly, just-Ed’s-style bows. 

Ed turned away, focusing on the other guests. Buttons, wearing the tiniest thong bikini allowable by law, was leering at John Feeney, who flirtatiously waved a red potholder at him. That was new. Frenchie and Izzy wore matching faux-leather booty shorts and harnesses, and… yep, had their hands in each other’s back pockets. Too fuckin’ cute. Outside, he could see Anne and Mary wearing matching khaki board shorts and Birkenstocks, with nothing else but band-aids over their nipples. Wild dames. Just seeing so many like-minded neighbors gathered gave Ed a sweet hit of queer euphoria. 

He chanced a glance at the Blond Jerkwad. The cute aviator sunglasses were, in fact, cute aviator prescription transitions glasses. Ed bit his thumb knuckle for how badly he wanted to fuck that DILFy dork. Shitty politics, shitty politics, shitty politics, his inner mantra resounded. The blond was staring, red-faced, at Buttons and John. What was his problem with those two? Weirdly prudish. 

*****

Stede really hoped Buttons’ tall, handsome suitor had washed that potholder since he’d last seen it [barely] covering Buttons’ tackle. Speaking of tackle, Bumper Sticker Asshole was wearing some short swim briefs that made Stede’s mouth water thinking of the fantastic package inside. The mesh shirt accentuated all the designs and curves on that beautiful torso: the tattoos, the muscles, the soft padding of his stomach. Stede sighed and discreetly shifted himself in his shorts. 

He knew a few of the people in the clubhouse, but Stede wanted to be sure to greet Pete’s husband and co-host, Lucius. Lucius was outside, regaling a group of horrified onlookers with his harrowing tale of survival after falling off a cruise ship. “They didn’t taste so bad when we had a fire to cook them,” he concluded, as his rapt audience shuddered. “Ah, Stedith! So glad you came!”

“Thank you for setting this up, Lucius! Everything looks fab!” The younger man preened as Stede praised the decorations, all of which seemed to be naughty bachelor/bachelorette party favors. “Tits, cocks, asses, and vulvae everywhere! Oh, I see you even have a themed prosthetic finger today! Very phallic! Uncircumcised, no less!”

“Aww, yeah. My sweet Pete carved it for me. He’s constantly whittling.” Lucius turned the wooden finger to and fro to admire the craftsmanship. “The throbbing vein is just a perfect touch.”

Just then, a blonde woman marched officiously toward the pool gate with her three children in tow, projecting her voice waspishly, “Come on, babies, they’re not allowed to keep us out!” 

Lucius whirled around in a fury, snarling, “I swear to Calypso, Ashley, if you bring the crotch-spawn in here, I will start describing exactly what I did with my tongue last night! With pantomime!” 

The woman quailed and turned her little party away. “Sorry, Brayden, Brinley, and Brighton!” Lucius called after them cheerily. “Still love you! It’s just an ‘adult swim’ day, which your mother knew perfectly well! She could have gone to the beach and taken you sea-ward!” 

Lucius rolled his eyes. “Now, where were we?”

Lucius introduced him to a lesbian couple in matching shorts. Just… shorts. Well, Stede supposed the nipple-concealing bandages matched; too. Oh! And the ugly sandals! How delightful! One was robustly built and loud—Mary—while the other, Anne, was slender and vixenish. Anne had a cunning, Mona Lisa smile which, for some reason, reminded him of Bumper Sticker Asshole. 

The three stood together chatting and eating, exchanging basic bios, before Mary abruptly excused herself to “go smoke out with my teach.” Was she a college student, perhaps? Well, brava for continuing education! 

When they were alone, Anne rounded on him predatorily. “Well, you wear fine things!” she observed, yanking his shirt halfway down his shoulders. “How have you not already made out with half the queers in this complex, luv?”

Stede tried to re-place his shirt with dignity. “I’ve really only done that with one fellow here. As it happens, we don’t care for each other.”

“Who wouldn’t care for you, you sly bunny?”

“Well, my ex-wife, for one.”

“Ex-wife? Interesting! Still like the ladies?” Anne inquired, hovering suggestively close to Stede without actually touching him. This whole conversation was making him decidedly uncomfortable. 

“Ah, no. Just men. Liberal men,” he added irrelevantly, because Anne hardly seemed to be listening at all as she inhaled his cologne. 

“Ooh, smell nice, too. Why liberal men?” 

“It’s important to me that we share values. The man I… dallied… with was an absolute creep. Churned my stomach with the things he believes.”

“Churning… stomach… “ Anne repeated faintly. Suddenly, she looked rather green around the gills. 

“Are you quite all right?”

Anne surveyed her plate. “Aww, Mary served me tofu. She knows I’m intolerant to soy products. That mad cow was trying to poison me! I love her so much.” And then she vomited nonchalantly into a trash can. 

“Perhaps… shall I just go and fetch her?”

“In a bit. Tell me more about this fella.”

*****

Ed and Mary had always loved hanging out and shooting the breeze. Back in his cigar days, they’d smoke for hours and debate theological constructs, though neither was religious. When weed became legal, their conversations took an even more celestial turn—afterlife experiences, extraterrestrial life… y’know, the important shit. 

“So what’ve you been up to, Eddie-boy?”

“Eh, uzsh… just work and sleep, it feels like. Not even that much sleep, if I’m honest,” he chuckled. 

“Oh? Who’s keeping you up nights?”

“Nah, ‘s not like that.”

“Shifty eyes. Be honest,” she teased. 

“Really! I was messing about with a guy, but that’s over.”

“Hmmm.”

Ed faked a coughing fit to change the subject. “Strong shit. Where’d you get it?”

“The dispensary on Knott. What’s his name, this guy?”

“Doesn’t matter. Not gonna see him again. He can’t stand me, and vice versa.”

At that moment, Anne came wobbling over, on the arm of none other than Blond Jerkwad. Fuck me, Ed thought.  

“Mary, you nasty bint, I enjoyed the tofu you sneaked onto my plate,” Anne smiled serenely. “This handsome doctor kindly tended to all of my… needs.” 

The blond objected to her innuendo-heavy tone. “I only walked her back to you. I didn’t realize you’d be here, sorry,” he added stiffly to Ed. 

Mary grinned in mischievous delight. “You two know each other?”

“A bit.”

“Just to say hello.”

But Mary was keen-eyed. “Let’s all get some more food, yeah?” Turning to her wife, she added, “No tofu this time, my lovely slut, promise.”

“Sure, I could eat some more, I mean… if he doesn’t mind me staying,” the blond said uncertainly.

“Oh, it’s ‘he’ now. Do whatever you want, I don’t care,” Ed muttered. 

“Surprised you can eat at all, since you said he makes you sick,” Anne teased the blond. 

Ed’s neighbor had the good sense to turn scarlet with embarrassment. “I never! I said his beliefs made my stomach churn!” Turning to Ed, he added, “ And I didn’t say it was you !” Then, back to Anne: “And I told you that in confidence !”

Anne shrugged with a “sorry, not sorry” grin. 

Mary, meanwhile, was refilling her plate. “Ooh, watch that one,” she murmured to Ed. “I always put bacon in my potato salad.”

When the blond moved to scoop some up, Ed tried to stop him: “That’s not vegetarian, hon.” Oh, fuck, “hon??” Where had that come from?  They were never endearments guys!  

“Did you mean to say that?” In his shock, the other man plopped the spoon onto his plate after all. “Oops. Damn.”

The two women were cackling together. “Oh, these two have definitely touched each other’s willies,” Anne gasped. 

“Called it!” Mary crowed. 

“You did, darling! You did!” 

“That’s private,” Ed growled, just as the blond muttered something about minding one’s own business. 

In the face of all that, the blond was fussing about the potato salad, of all things. “I really prefer not to eat meat, but it will quite literally go to waste if I don’t.”

“Just eat it. Not like you have principles, anyway, mate,” Ed taunted. 

“Fuck off. They’re different than yours, but I stand by my principles.” The blond dumped the plate in the trash and walked away. 

*****

Damn it. Stede was still hungry, but after his flounce-out, he didn’t feel he could return to the clubhouse with his dignity intact. Well, he’d wait until Bumper Sticker Asshole cleared out, and go back for some food. Or… maybe he should just leave. Only the thought of his appliances and utensils getting nicked kept him at the party. 

Lucius and Pete kept him entertained, at least, and far away from his annoying neighbor. When he explained that he was avoiding someone at the party because they kept having political arguments (eh, close enough to the truth), Lucius informed him that he and Pete were, in fact, a “purple” household.  “I love this man, but he really thinks the Republicans are looking out for his best interests,” Lucius said with an eye roll. 

“They’re gonna eliminate the estate tax!” Pete insisted. 

“Babe, your mother is so poor she has to live with your sister, and I know for a fact you only have $70 in savings.”

“Yeah, but when I hit it big… !”

“Sure, Jan.”

“And what do you do when you absolutely can’t agree on a topic?” Stede asked. 

“We stop talking and we fuck,” Pete shrugged matter-of-factly. 

“Hmmm, we were doing that, too, but we’d still fight again, over the next topic. And the fucker slashed a bumper sticker on my car!”

Pete suddenly went quiet and looked away. “Baaaaaaabe,” Lucius drawled, “Something you need to tell us?”

“Do you drive the teal Prius?” Pete asked with a grimace. “Sticker said ‘Impeach the Badmintons?’” 

“Pete! What the fuck, sweetie??”

“I just”—he reached into the breast pocket of his sleeveless shirt and pulled out a craft knife—“I always have this baby with me, and it just… it really pissed me off, man. Disrespectful to the office. Not cool, bro.”

Lucius sighed and covered his face with both hands. When he came up for air, he apologized to Stede on Pete’s behalf. Then he stuck his hand somewhere in Pete’s back pocket, eliciting a high-pitched yelp, and explained that Pete needed to apologize for damaging property. 

“Oh, sorry, Stede, I really didn’t even think about that. I just reacted viscerally.”

“Yeah, that was way visceral, all right,” Stede grumbled. “But then, if that was you… why has the other guy been such an asshole about this??”

“Which other guy, Stede?”

“Unit 22. Tall, dark, handsome? Curls, tattoos, leather, motorcycle, sensitive nipples?”

“Oh, Ed? ‘Sensitive nipples,’ reeeeeeeally??” Lucius grinned. 

“Ed? His name is Ed?”

“Yeah, Ed Teach. He builds freeways or something like that. He’s been fighting with you?”

“Yes! The man’s an absolute beast! He loves the Badmintons and seems like a Log Cabin Republican—anti-LGBTQ legislation and such.”

“Ed… Teach,” Lucius repeated slowly. “Donates to Planned Parenthood monthly, canvassed for Jackie Spanos’ presidential bid, volunteers in adult literacy classes, that Ed Teach?”

“… Does he?” Shit, that man sounded even more lefty than Stede himself. “And you’re sure it’s the same guy?”

Lucius pointed his dick-finger across the pool. “Is it that beautiful bastard in the see-through shirt?”

“Yes… excuse me,” and Stede turned away, feeling suddenly very dizzy. He called across the pool. “Ed! Ed!”

Bumper Stick—Ed, beautiful Ed—turned. “WHAT?” he roared. 

“Ed! I fucking hate the Badmintons!”

“Good call. Since when?”

“Since always! I thought you liked them!”

“Nah, man, fucking despise the cunts! So, wait… what’ve we been fighting about?”

Stede shrugged deliriously. “I don’t know!”

They each dove into their side of the pool, meeting below the surface, somewhere near the middle. Stede’s glasses were barely clinging to his hair, but he didn’t pay them any mind as he and Ed shared their very first kiss, underwater. They rose to the surface laughing and kissing. 

“Ugh, dramatic gays. I live for this shit,” Lucius murmured.

“And to think, I brought them together,” Pete bragged. 

“Sweetie, no. You’re sleeping on the couch for a week after that shit. We’re still fucking first, of course.”

Ed and Stede emerged from the pool holding hands. “I’m Stede, by the way.”

“Hi, Stede. Can I kiss you again?”

“Mm-hmm. Just so we’re clear, during the insurrection, I was in jail for yelling at Nigel Badminton,” Stede explained. Kiss. 

“And, to be equally clear, I wasn’t trying to hurt you when I said ‘Princess.’” Ed replied. Kiss. “My friends and I joke around with each other like that. It’s a queer ownership thing for us.” Kiss. 

“Oh, you sweet man. I’m so sorry for all the times I suspected you of mischief. I hope you’ll forgive me.” Kiss. 

“Would you like to go on a date?” Kiss.

“Oh, my god, yes. Will you tell me about your doctorate?” Kiss. 

“I would love to! Can we play with your action figures?”

“Only the ones that are already opened.” Kiss. 

“Sweetheart, I’m not a fucking monster.” Kiss. 

“Do you still harbor unkind opinions about Taylor Swift?”

“I mean, I don’t hate her. I just think she’s overrated. Some of those songs are pure rips from…” 

Stede stopped him with a kiss. “We’ll work it out in therapy,” he joked. Kiss.

They shut down the party, kissing, talking, and giggling in one shared chaise longue. They already knew they could fuck, but were delighted to find all the things they wanted to talk about: Ed’s chili recipe, and Stede’s kids’ hobbies, and whether charter schools were ruining public schools, and how bats were possibly the stinkiest creatures that were also indisputably cute, and… 

As it happened, their wedding the following year was one day after Congress certified democratic candidate “Susan” Zheng Yi Sao as the duly elected next president—the first female, and the first of Asian heritage—of the United States. Even Pete had voted for her.