So These Rude Grumpy Arrogant Jerks Fall in Love and it’s Gross

by T.J. Land

Copyright 2018 T.J. Land

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

Cover Design by James, GoOnWrite.com

Graham Carver had killed four men. 

Graham Carver had been shot three times. 

Graham Carver had survived two wars. 

Graham Carver was wearing a bear costume. 

Specifically, Graham was dressed up like Buttons the Bear, cuddliest of all the Forest Friends. According to a poll he’d seen online last week, Buttons was the third most popular character at Polly Pirouette’s Paradise Park. 

Not that Graham particularly gave a shit. For some of his co-workers it was a big deal to know that the kids liked them best; they were the sort of people who got into this line of work because they genuinely enjoyed making children happy. For his part, Graham was here for three reasons. One, he needed to eat. Two, he fucking hated being indoors. Three, his cousin Greg had heard he needed a job and called in a few favours. 

Graham recalled being grateful to Greg at the time.

Now? Now Graham was standing in the midday sun, covered in thick fake fur and face paint, breathing in the sickly smell of cotton candy and counting the minutes until he could crawl home. It was a good thing Buttons the Bear was the loveable grump of the Forest Friends, because otherwise Graham’s current expression would have gotten him reprimanded for being out of character. That was a cardinal sin in the park. You were expected to stay in character even if a kid vomited on you, even if you tripped and broke your leg, even if you got a call telling you your mom had just croaked. On Graham’s first day, he’d been given a script describing what Buttons would say if an armed lunatic started roaming the grounds and mowing down tourists.

It was all a little creepy.

At the same time, there was a part of Graham that admired the way things worked around here. The rules. The military discipline. The steely-eyed commitment to maintaining the illusion of innocent whimsy. Graham had known professional killers who were less dedicated to their craft than Sally the Skunk up by the slippery slide was to hers. 

So while Graham wasn’t exactly proud of his job, he took it seriously. He understood his duties. Entertain the kids. Pose for pictures. Sometimes act out a short scene with another of the Forest Friends. He tended to each task efficiently and he’d been told last month that he was the best Buttons they’d had in years.

He was tired, sure. He was sweating. He was getting a headache, no question. None of it was going to stop him being the best damn Buttons he could be. Never let it be said that Graham Carver did not take his job seriously.

Which was why the sleazy guy was annoying him. 

The sleazy guy had been skulking by the entrance to Mumpy’s Magic Maze for the last hour. He didn’t have a kid in tow. Those two facts alone raised red flags. The maze was a popular spot for troublemakers, usually parents who got bored with all the kiddie shit and wanted to sneak off for a smoke or a screw. On more than one occasion, Graham had found teenagers selling drugs in there.

There was also the matter of the guy’s face. Graham didn’t like it. He didn’t know why, except that it kept drawing his attention. What sort of man had cheekbones that sharp? Eyelashes that long? It was creepy, that’s what it was.

As Graham watched, Sleazy casually glanced this way and that, sticking a finger in his ear and scratching out some wax. Then he reached into his pocket and took out a box of cigarettes. 

Bingo.

Buttons the Bear strolled over. Strolling didn’t come naturally to Graham. His mom had told him that even when he was ten his default gait had been a brisk stride. What did come naturally was Buttons’s voice; deep, rough, with a slight Midwestern accent. The only difference from Graham’s own voice was that Graham rarely added much in the way of inflection. 

“What you got there, partner?” Buttons said to Sleazy. 

That was what Buttons called everyone above the age of ten. Below the age of ten they were ‘little buddy’.

Sleazy narrowed his eyes and made no attempt to put the cigarettes away. “Mate, I’m not in the mood, alright? Piss off.”

Strong Australian accent. The sudden deep groove in Sleazy’s brow made him look meaner than a snake.

“Shucks, partner, you sound mighty down in the dumps. You want a hug?” asked Buttons, spreading his big furry arms wide, as per protocol. Allowing the other man to note that, underneath the fake fur, Graham’s biceps were the size of beer kegs.

Gratifyingly, Sleazy blinked at that, bravado visibly deflating. Good. Nothing more satisfying than emasculating a coward.

“How about we go watch the parade together? Gonna be red balloons today!” Buttons told him.

(There were red balloons every day, but the script was the script.)

The offer provoked a sneer from Sleazy, though at least the cigarettes were disappearing back into his pocket. “Saw it yesterday. Bit crap, if I’m honest.”

Christ, what an asshole.

Buttons loomed over the smaller man and wagged a finger. “Uh-oh! Someone said a naughty word!”

“Fucking hell, I s’pose I did,” said Sleazy, smirking up at him. Getting his nerve back. He’d probably worked out that Buttons wasn’t allowed to beat up guests. “You gonna wash my mouth with soap, eh?”

Buttons chortled while Graham contemplated wringing his neck. “Gosh, I’d never do that, partner. Might have to give you a spanking, though!”

Alright, so he’d gone off-script there. Worth it to see the look on Sleazy’s face.

A mom with two kids approached. Buttons gave Sleazy a wink before turning to greet them with a great big belly laugh. When he turned back, Sleazy had gone. 

He checked the maze twice to make sure he wasn’t lurking inside it before dismissing him from memory. The world was full of assholes. 

0

The petting zoo was Graham’s favourite place in the park. 

It was a day later, early morning, and Buttons was bringing his A-game. Showered, shaved, face paint applied with the precision of a rococo master. Waving, hitching up his overalls, doing bear growls for the older kids and giving cuddles to the younger ones.

He also liked to watch out for the shy kids who wanted to hold a bunny but were too nervous to ask. Whenever Graham spotted one, he’d pick up the nearest rabbit, kneel down and say, “Hey, little buddy. My pal here told me he wants to know your name.”

After a while, the snake guy arrived to do his usual show: ‘Reptiles are our friends’, ‘Meet Wriggles the Ball Python’, all that jazz. The kids instantly flocked around him, giving Buttons a break. He stretched and contemplated drinking some water – important to stay hydrated, this job was way more physically taxing than most people realised.

“Well, well, well.”

Graham stiffened.

Today, Sleazy was slurping a neon-green mint-flavoured milkshake from one of those huge cups shaped like Madame Caterpillar they sold at the gift shop (another mark against his character, because who the hell liked mint-flavoured anything?) He was also wearing a goofy Victor the Vulture Viking hat, with feathers and blunt plastic horns on either side.

“Hey there, partner!” said Buttons cheerily. Doing his job. He was a professional.

“G’day,” said Sleazy, taking another sip of revolting green slime and surveying the petting zoo. “Shouldn’t they have one of the other stuffed animals in here? Seems dodgy to me – a bear showing the kids how to pet rabbits and ducks. Sorta sick, really. When the poor blighters grow up and learn the truth, they’ll be traumatised for life.”

Graham Carver – who had killed four men, been shot three times, and survived two wars – stared out through five layers of face paint and met his opponent’s gaze.

All of a sudden, he was vividly reminded of the time he’d locked eyes with the third man he’d killed. He’d been on a covert mission in...a classified location. The mercenary had been his equal, a rival of sorts, and just before he’d lunged for Graham with a huge serrated knife there had been a frozen, electric moment when they both sized one another up in that dirty basement and each heard the other thinking that only one of them would walk away from this encounter. 

You wanna go, asshole? Okay. Let’s go. 

Standing up straighter, watching his silhouette grow broader, Buttons said, “Gee, partner, you got a point there. I sure am a bear, no doubt about it. But you don’t need to worry ‘bout me making a meal of these fine fuzzy critters. Fact of the matter is, the park keeps my belly nice and full. See…”

Buttons leaned down, pitching his voice so none of the children would overhear: “…whenever I come across a pesky li’l prick like you, I eat him.”

“Oi, no need to be like that. You lot are supposed to be kid-friendly, aren’t you? Besides,” Sleazy added, slyly, “I’m a paying guest. That means you gotta be nice to me.”

The words why you little rose up in the back of Graham’s throat. They always did when guests used their status to try to push him around. Before he could vocalise his outrage, the logic centre of his brain intervened. It pointed out that this interaction didn’t feel like the time that soccer mom had insulted him for half an hour because he wouldn’t let her kid jump a queue. This was different. This felt different.

Graham studied the other man’s eyes. They were bright, eager, like he was gearing himself up for Graham’s reply. 

Like he was having fun.

Huh. Okay.

Dropping Buttons’s voice entirely, Graham said, “Wrong. I don’t have to be nice to you. As a matter of fact, I’ve only been nice to three people in my life; my mother, my drill sergeant, and myself.”

Sleazy cocked his head. “Military man, then?”

Graham nodded. 

“Me too.”

“Is that right?”

This was stupid, Graham thought. He was out of character in the middle of the park with kids not ten feet away. His ass was grass if he got caught. 

“Yep. Royal Australian Navy. Name’s Simon, by the way,” he said, now leaning on the fence around the chicken enclosure.

“Graham.”

“You’re hot.” 

“What?”

“Must be hot in that costume. Standing around in the sun all day in a big furry suit.” 

“I was in Afghanistan. Sun doesn’t bother me.”

Simon held up his milkshake. “Wanna sip?”

“Got water.”

Chewing his lip, Simon glanced down at a tortoise nibbling on a cabbage leaf next to his foot. “What about later, then?” 

“Later...what?”

“A sip. A drink. After work, I mean. I know there’s no booze allowed in this bloody place but they do let you leave, right? They don’t chain you all up at night? There’s a decent-looking bar a few blocks away from the park. The Red Cactus – I think that’s what it’s called. Haven’t been there yet. We could check it out together, if you like.”

That was when it finally dawned on Graham that Simon was hitting on him. 

For a moment, he was too shocked to reply. He’d never had a guy hit on him before.

And who the hell wanted to flirt with someone dressed as a fucking blue bear? 

Was it a joke? 

Didn’t look like it. Tension was creeping into Simon’s shoulders and his overall stance made it seem like he was readying himself to bolt. 

Graham didn’t want him to do that. He might accidentally knock down a kid.

So Graham said, “Sure.”

Good lord, this guy could not keep his feelings off his face. He grinned, happy like Wiley Coyote about to chow down on the roadrunner and smug like he’d just singlehandedly landed a Lambo on the moon.

“T’rific!” said Simon. “I’ll bring some berries and nuts for you to munch on.”

Okay, Graham might be new to gay flirting but damned if he was going pass up an opportunity like that. 

“Don’t worry about the nuts,” he drawled, “mine are big enough for both of us.”

Hah! Down went Simon’s jaw. Victory was sweet.

See, asshole, you aren’t the only one who can throw a curveball. 

Then he noticed Simon glancing to the left. 

To the left and downwards.

And...yep, small child standing right there, blinking up at them. Probably wondering why Buttons was telling a guy about his nuts. Fuck. 

It occurred to Graham that there was a not-insignificant chance he’d just gotten his dumb ass fired. 

Then Simon knelt down in front of the boy and took off his goofy Viking hat. “G’day, kiddo. Let’s make a deal. I’ll let you have my nifty headgear and in exchange you don’t tell anyone what you just heard. How’s that sound?”

The kid accepted the hat and scampered off back to his friends. 

“Smooth. Thanks,” said Graham, grudgingly.

Simon shrugged. “My back-up plan was to threaten to strangle one of the bunnies if he didn’t keep his mouth shut.”

After muffling a cackle, Graham said, “Get out of here before you cost me my job, dickhead.”

Simon smirked. “See you at eight, Buttons.”

0

It was five minutes to eight.

Graham stood at the bar in clean jeans and a black turtleneck – smartest clothes he owned – wondering what the hell he was doing. Even though the bar was full of people his own age, he still felt old and out of place. 

Never mind the fact that he was, to the best of his knowledge, straight. He hadn’t been on a single date since leaving the army. He wasn’t sure he even remembered how to make small talk, much less spend an entire evening engaged in polite conversation. 

Shit, should he have brought flowers? His mom had taught him to always bring flowers to a first date. Was this even a date, though? After all, he wasn’t gay. Whatever Simon was after, Graham couldn’t give it to him. 

“Evening, Grumpy Bear.”

Graham turned around and realised that he was at least a little gay.

It wasn’t fair. The asshole had not dressed like that in the park. Hell, he hadn’t dressed like a man who was capable of dressing like that. Those smart, snug black pants. That spotless white V-neck shirt. That classy navy jacket emphasising his slender waist. Oh, but the clothes were only the start. His dark hair was washed and slicked back. Small sparkly earrings brought out the blue in his eyes. And was he wearing mascara?

“You look as happy as a pig given bacon for brekkie,” Simon announced, sliding into the nearest chair. “Somethin’ wrong?”

“No. Just not all that used to this,” Graham said, sitting down beside him. “You look nice.”

“Not really. I just don’t look quite as crap as I did when we met.”

“You didn’t look crap.”

Simon snorted. “I did and you know it. I saw you wondering who let the homeless crackhead in. Not blamin’ you. All those kiddies about, you’ve got to be on your guard.”

“So you’re not actually a homeless crackhead?”

“Oh, alright. Let’s get it all out the way,” Simon said with a sigh.

Then he sat up ramrod straight and offered Graham his hand. “Lieutenant Commander Simon Essex. Born in Canberra, thirty-six, unmarried, honourable discharge, double amputee, no pets, dragged along on holiday by his sister and her three brats – and having a pretty rotten time until I caught sight of you, darlin’. There we go, no more secrets.”

Eyebrows high, Graham took his hand and shook it firmly. “Nice to finally meet you, Simon. Mind if I buy you a drink?”

“Sure.”

Simon leaned on the bar as they waited for their drinks to arrive and stared at him expectantly. Graham stared back, unblinking. Waiting.

No surprises, Lieutenant Commander Chatterbox broke first. “Well? Come on, it’s your turn.”

“My turn?”

“Yeah! What’s your deal, mate? How old are you? Got kids? How many skeletons in your closet? Spill the beans.”

“The thing is,” said Graham, “just because you give everything away on the first date doesn’t mean I do.”

Simon blinked at him, then grinned. “You mean I’m gonna have to work to get into your metaphorical knickers?”

“Those and the real ones.”

Cackling, Simon threw back his drink.

Graham patted himself on the back. For a straight guy, he was pretty good at gay flirting.

“Alright, alright, fair enough,” said Simon. “Just tell me this, at least; what the hell’s a bloke like you doing in a blue bear costume? I mean, you’re bloody huge. Couldn’t you find work as a bouncer? Or a stripper?”

Shrugging, Graham said, “The truth is that my dad was brutally mauled to death by a bear when I was six. My therapist told me this job is the only way I’ll ever achieve catharsis.”

Simon nodded slowly. 

“That was a joke,” Graham clarified. 

Exhaling, Simon said, “Thank God.”

“I take it you’ve had drinks with some weird people.” 

“I’m from Straya, weird people’s the only kind we’ve got.” 

“To be honest,” said Graham, “I took the job because it’s easy. Shit, that sounded arrogant. Easy for me, I mean. I like being outdoors. I’d probably make more money as a bouncer or a bodyguard but after I got out of the army I just wanted to get away from violence. For now, being Buttons suits me. Not sure I want to do it forever. We’ll see. So, how come your sister brought you on holiday with her kids?”

Simon rolled his eyes. “Dear old Ethel thinks I need more fun in my life. See, she still lives in Straya and I’ve been here for two years. She told me she wanted to bring the kids over to meet their uncle and maybe also visit the park, which was when I made the bloody stupid mistake of telling her I’d never been to the park. The way she’d reacted – Christ, you’d think I’d admitted to being homeless and living on rats. I tried to tell her it’s not my thing, that I don’t like crowds and kids and bumper cars. She wouldn’t have it.”

After sipping his drink, Simon added, “All of which is a roundabout way of explaining why I was a complete prick to you earlier. Wasn’t in a terribly good mood.”

“No harm done. For my part, I’m sorry for threatening to spank you.”

“Oh, well,” said Simon, eyes sparkling with mischief, “that was actually the best part of my day, so no need to apologise.”

Graham felt his cheeks grow hot and pink.

Tentatively, Simon’s hand moved across the bar to settle next to his own, their fingertips touching.

After clearing his throat, Simon said, “Just to check; we’re both on the same page here, right? Funny thing is, I love to talk but I’m actually a bit shit at communicating. If I’m coming on too strong, you will tell me?”

“I’ve never been on a date with a man,” Graham said slowly.

“That…huh. Wouldn’t have guessed. Crikey. A first-timer. That’s a relief.”

“How come?”

Simon winked and said, “Now you won’t be able to tell what a lousy date I am ‘cause you’ll have no prior experience to put me into context. I was worried I’d have to work my ass off to impress you. Thanks, mate, you’ve taken the pressure right off.”

Graham threw his head back and laughed.

They shared another round of drinks before ordering huge, greasy burgers and tearing them apart while swopping banter and bad jokes with their mouths full. Then Simon glanced towards the TV in the corner, noticed something going with the football and squawked in indignation, and that was how Graham learned that they both rooted for the same team, and then it was another hour spent immersed in semi-drunken sports-related ramblings.

This wasn’t so bad. Hell, this was a blast. Gay dating wasn’t any more complicated than straight dating. Who knew?

“Bugger this, I need some fresh air,” Simon announced when the football was over.

They ended up wandering down the road towards the beach. There were several bustling restaurants along the shoreline as well as a guy selling hotdogs and milkshakes. To get to him, they had to climb a few stairs, and Graham noticed Simon leaning on the rail. Huh. Double amputee, he’d said. Was he having trouble with his prosthetics? Would asking be a dickhead thing to do?

“You okay?” said Graham, who’d proudly self-identified as a dickhead for most of his life.

“Yeah, yeah,” Simon grunted. “Stairs are always a pain in the arse.”

They bought milkshakes, chocolate for Graham and strawberry-bubblegum-cookie-flavoured for Simon.

Gross. He’s so gross.

“Haven’t had one of these since I was a kid,” Graham told his gross, gross date.

His gross, gross date that he really kinda liked, if he was being honest.

“Milkshakes? Yeah, I got into them when I left the navy,” said Simon, leaning against the bar separating them from the ocean, the wind tussling his hair. “Was a bit of a mess for a year or so. Depression, y’know? Stopped being able to do basic things like make food. Milkshakes were an easy way to fill my belly when I didn’t have the energy to do anything.”

After a moment’s silence, Graham said, “I was lucky. My mom took care of me when I left the army. I felt rotten about it at first – this sixty-five-year-old lady doing her grown-ass son’s laundry and cooking his food. But she was smart. Told me that just by living there I made her feel safer – it was a rough neighbourhood. She let me think I was useful. That helped a lot.”

Simon pulled earphones out of his pocket and connected them to his phone before offering one to Graham. When Graham plugged it into his ear, he was met with the sound of…

“Hey, I like this song!” he said.

Dumping his empty milkshake cup in the trash, Simon said, “Yeah, it’s not bad. Wanna dance?”

Graham glanced at his face to see if he was joking. Meeting his gaze, Simon spread his arms and tilted his headed questioningly.

“Not sure I know how,” Graham confessed.

“Ah, it’s easy. C’mon.”

Suddenly feeling the exact same way he’d felt when he’d stepped forward to let a five-star general pin a medal to his chest, Graham stepped forward into Simon’s arms.

“There we go,” Simon murmured, placing one hand on his waist and another on his shoulder. “Heh – you’ve got milkshake on your chin.”

Graham licked it off and watched Simon’s pupils dilate.

The song wasn’t perfect dancing music but it gave him something to focus on besides the nearness of another man’s body and, in doing so, kept his anxiety in check. Throughout his life, his most notable experience of close proximity to men had involved trying to kill them or trying to keep them from killing him.

Also, he could smell Simon’s shampoo. Mangoes. Nice. Really nice. He was warm, too. And he actually seemed to know what he was doing, gently guiding Graham through the steps without once looking at his shoes.

“Who taught you?” Graham asked.

A nostalgic smile flickered across Simon’s face. “My dad. He said there were three skills every man needed; how to throw a punch, how to do his taxes, and how to dance.”

Were they pressing closer together? He could feel Simon’s lean musculature through his clothes.

As the song ended, Simon’s hand moved from Graham’s shoulder to rest against his jaw. “Hey – thanks. I’ve had a lovely night.”

Were they going to kiss? Holy hell, was Graham actually about to be kissed by a guy?

Eyes heavy-lidded, Simon leaned in and purred, “So, handsome…you feel like letting me stick my dick in your arse?”

Graham’s brain did a record scratch.

Simon’s sultry smile abruptly changed to a shit-eating Cheshire-cat grin.

“Oh, you goddamn monster,” Graham said as he realised he’d been played.

“Your face!” Simon squealed, barely able to articulate the words through an epic giggle fit. “Oh my God, you looked like that poor terrified chicken from Moana, oh Jesus, the boggling eyes…”

“You bastard. You little shit.”

Locking both arms around Simon’s waist, Graham yanked him off the ground.

“Fuck! Help! I’m being attacked by a bear! Someone get a shotgun!” Simon bellowed, flailing madly.

“Know something? You talk too much,” said Graham, and kissed him.

Oh.

Oh, hell.

That had been an awesome idea.

Goddamn.

Simon drew back, panting. “Wanker, put me down right now. I can’t grope your arse from up here.”

“Who says you get to touch my ass? That’s a second date privilege.”

“Who says you’re getting a second date? Maybe I can’t stand you.”

“Maybe you can.”

They kissed again, slower this time. Graham gently set him down on the ground and sighed as he felt Simon’s fingers dig into his buttocks. His head was spinning. Fuck, he regretted every second of his life he’d spent doing anything that wasn’t this.

“Maybe I can,” Simon allowed. “Let’s say that I can. What sort of thing do bears like doing on a second date?”

Pushing through the pink fog that had settled over his brain, Graham considered various options. “Hmm. You hate the park, right? How about tomorrow night I show you something that’ll change your mind? After I get off work, obviously. I’m not taking you on a date in the costume.”

“Wouldn’t mind that so much,” Simon said, leering. “All that talk of eating me up earlier…got me a bit frisky, to be honest.”

Growling, Graham gave his ass a swat. “Focus, soldier. You like rollercoasters?”

“Dunno. Ain’t been on one since I was ten.”

Graham smirked. “Alright. Tomorrow, 9pm, in the park. I’ll meet you by the Demon.”

“That’s the red and black rollercoaster, yeah? The one with all the loops?”

“Yep. Wear clothes you wouldn’t mind throwing up on.”

Eyes narrowed, Simon said, “It’s like that, is it? Right, mate, you’re on. We’ll see who holds his dinner in.”

0

“I hate you, Graham,” Simon wailed as they approached the Demon’s crest, his knuckles white on the bar.

“C’mon, you gotta admit it’s a hell of a view,” said Graham, admiring the sea of lights surrounding the park. It was hard to tell where the electric ones ended and the stars began.

“This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. I regret everything. I regret being alive.”

“Don’t worry, honey, I’ll keep you safe.”

Simon’s reply was lost forever as screams broke out all around them and they plunged towards the ground.

Ten minutes later, Graham was on his knees by the ride’s exit, vomiting onto the grass while Simon patted his back and held his jacket.

“Aw, poor baby,” Simon cooed. “Got an upset tummy, do we?”

“Fuck off,” Graham rasped.

Snickering, Simon helped him stagger away from the puddle of puke and sit down on a clean patch of grass. “Was it really that bad? I thought it was t’rific. Never saw the appeal before but crikey, when it did that loopy bit I nearly jizzed my pants from excitement. Or maybe it was from listening to your charmingly effeminate shriek.”

After opening up a water bottle and thoroughly rinsing his mouth out, Graham said, “Sorry. Wasn’t expecting that.”

“Can I take it you’ve never been on a rollercoaster in your life?”

“I’ve canoed down rapids with five men shooting at me. I assumed it wouldn’t be much worse.”

It took Graham half an hour to feel like himself again. There was a nip in the air and Simon stayed huddled against his side to keep them both warm, rubbing gentle circles over Graham’s shoulder blades.

I’m really looking forward to cuddling in bed with you, Graham heard himself think.

“You’ve gone pink,” Simon noted. “Thought of somethin’ dirty?”

“Downright disgusting,” said Graham and kissed his cheek.

A red firework burst overhead.

Graham nodded at it. “See that? That means the midnight parade’s started.”

With a snort, Simon said, “If it’s as boring as the daytime parade...”

“No, no. Nothing like it. It’s actually pretty cool. One of those over-fifteens-only events. They’ve got guys juggling flaming swords and a contortionist.”

“Sounds more like my kinda thing.”

It really was a gorgeous night, despite the chill. The park’s gaudy cheap plastic parts vanished, replaced by a forest of fairy lights. The shrill cries of small children were gone and now the background noise was a mix of adults laughing and trumpets sounding as the parade drew near. The air smelt like pizza.

“I do see why you like it here,” said Simon. “New people every day, new rides every month or so. Lot more interesting than my job.”

“What d’you do?”

“Part-time office work. Keeps bread on the table. Although, to be honest, what I’m really focused on right now...”

Simon trailed off and the silence lingered.

“I didn’t think anything embarrassed you. Is it porn? It’s fine if it’s porn,” said Graham.

“I’m training for the Paralympics.”

“No kidding? That’s, what – two years away?”

“Yeah.”

“What sport?”

“Triathlon.”

“Why the hell would you be embarrassed about that?”

“Aargh, it’s...y’know. Whenever I tell someone about it, they get this stupefied look like I’ve just announced that I’m gonna climb a ladder into heaven and have tea with the Virgin fuckin’ Mary. Then they tell me how brave I am. At that point, I’m forced to detach one of my legs and use it to club them to death.”

Graham contemplated this before saying, “Would it help if I told you this only makes me even more disturbingly horny for you?”

“It would, actually,” Simon said, snuggling up against him.

The parade was almost in front of them, led by a group of silk-clad dancers with rainbow hair and sparkling body paint.

Quietly, Simon said, “If you feel like it, I’m staying in a nice hotel. Three floors away from my sister and her brats. Big bed, big bath, nice soft rug. Wouldn’t mind showing it off.”

Graham sighed, leaning into his touch. “Damn it. Almost forgot that you’re only here on vacation.”

“Well, like I said, I do actually live pretty close by. It’s about an hour’s drive to my apartment. Not that far. If you’re up for it.”

He was so different like this, flushed and vulnerable. The light from the jugglers’ flaming swords lit up his brown eyes and Graham wondered if…

“Fags,” someone muttered.

Instantly that sweetly vulnerable expression on Simon’s face vanished, replaced by something hard and tired. 

Glancing round, Graham spied the man who’d spoken, a blond guy in his early twenties with his arm around his girlfriend. 

“Prick,” Simon hissed, shaking his head in disgust.

Graham got to his feet. 

The blond guy took a step back, eyes widening. 

Graham took a step forward and was about to take several more when Simon caught his ankle and gave it a sharp yank. “Graham. No.”

Almost too angry to think straight, Graham met Simon’s gaze. “He needs to be taught a lesson.”

“Yeah, he does. And you, darling, need to not get caught beating up a guest. You need to not lose your job. And I need to get you back to my hotel and get your clothes off, which I can’t do if you’re in prison or in hospital. Sit down.”

Fuming, Graham sat.

The blond guy and his girlfriend slunk away.

After a while, Simon returned to his former position huddled against Graham’s side, and said, “Besides, I’ve got a better idea.”

“What?”

Simon whispered it into his ear.

“Damn,” said Graham in admiration. “That’s brilliant.”

Preening, Simon said, “What can I say? I’m a tactical mastermind. Now, how ‘bout some sex?”

0

Buttons threw his blue fuzzy arms wide open and bellowed, “Hey there, buddy!”

“Oh Christ, no,” the blond guy whispered as Buttons tackled him and administered the sixth crushing bear hug of the day.

The blond guy’s girlfriend lifted up her phone to take yet another photo. “Adam, lighten up. I told you, that’s Buttons the Bear. My sister loves him. She wants, like, a million pictures, so just hold still and let him hug you.”

“Why does he keep showing up wherever we go?” Adam whined. “It’s like he’s fucking stalking us!”

“Don’t be stupid. It’s probably not even the same one. Maybe there’s ten different Buttonses wandering around this place. Whatever, who cares? Quit bitching and smile like you’re having fun.”

“Hugs are super fun, buddy,” Buttons informed his victim, squeezing harder. “I like hugs even more than birthday cake.”

“Aaw, listen to him. So cute,” cooed the girlfriend, snapping another picture.

Buttons squeezed and squeezed until the blond guy gasped for air. Graham didn’t think he’d actually broken any ribs yet but he’d definitely left some wicked bruises. More importantly, he’d taught a grown man to fear the ritualistic humiliation of a fuzzy bear hug.

Simon’s right, he is a genius.

That thought prompted a series of vivid memories.

Bristles brushing against his chin. Taking his shirt off and feeling absurdly proud when Simon make an appreciative noise. Watching Simon remove and set aside his prosthetics before shuffling across the bed to lie on Graham’s chest. Their cocks grinding together while Simon kissed his neck.

Oops, those were definitely thoughts Graham shouldn’t be entertaining while dressed as a beloved children’s cartoon character and embracing another man.

“Have a great day, buddy,” Buttons said, releasing Adam from his clutches.

“Fag,” Adam said under his breath as he and his girlfriend turned to continue on their way down Tiffany’s Enchanted Garden Path.

They’d barely gone three paces before Simon stepped out from behind one of Tiffany’s Magic Singing Trees.

And walked right into them.

While carrying half a litre of green milkshake.

Which he spilled all over Adam’s shirt and pants.

“The fuck?” Adam screamed.

Simon looked appropriately apologetic. “Bugger, sorry ‘bout that. Didn’t see you, mate.”

“You son-of-a….”

“Adam!” his girlfriend shouted, seizing his arm. “He’s got no legs. I swear to God, if you beat up a disabled guy I will fucking leave you. I’m not kidding this time.”

Indeed, the shorts Simon had chosen to wear today did expose his prosthetics for all the world to see (and clung to his ass in a way Graham very much appreciated). Generally speaking, he’d told Graham, he preferred long trousers, but shorts were useful when he wanted to royally tick someone off in public without getting punched.

Spitting curses, Adam stomped into the bathroom to clean up.

“Sorry about him,” the girlfriend said to Simon, rolling her eyes.

He winked. “Not a problem, love. Though I will say I think you can do better.”

When both Adam and his girlfriend had gone, Graham strolled up to Simon and administered a hug, a proper soft cuddly one this time, whispering in his ear, “Hey there, sexy.”

Simon giggled. “Stop it, the fur’s tickling me. Listen, I’m off to take my sister and the rugrats to the airport. Should take me a couple of hours at most. Then I’m stopping by my hotel to pack up all my luggage; that’ll take maybe another half an hour.”

“So you’ll be at my place around eight?”

“With any luck, yeah. You sure you don’t mind?”

“You’ve asked me that so many times I’m starting to think you’re just fishing for compliments now. Do I mind my hot new boyfriend staying over for a week to teach me how anal sex works, let me stuff him full of pancakes and show him all my favourite horror movies? No, babe, that’s not something I mind at all.”

“Ain’t you sweet,” said Simon, flicking the tip of his nose. “You’re gonna get sick of me right quick, y’know.”

“Challenge accepted, asshole,” Graham replied, leaning in for a smooch.

“Um…”

They looked down. A small girl with a pink balloon was staring up at them.

“Not what it looks like, darling,” said Simon, quickly. “See, I had a bug on my face and good ol’ Buttons here was helping me get it off.”

Graham knelt down. “Hey there, partner. What’s your name?”

“Miranda,” she informed him.

“That’s a pretty name. Are you having a fun day, Miranda?”

An enthusiastic nod. “We had pizza and I saw Esther the Antelope. She’s my favourite.”

“Is she? That’s great! You wanna know who my favourite is?”

“Who?”

Graham gestured to Simon like he was a showgirl presenting a prize. “This guy! His name’s Simon and he’s my boyfriend. Isn’t he neat?”

“He’s got robot legs,” she observed. “Does he have rockets in his feet? Can he fly?”

Kneeling down beside Graham, Simon said, “I can indeed, miss. But I can’t do it here, ‘cause we’re not very far from the airport. If I tried flying here, I might smack into an airplane.”

She gasped, almost losing her grip on her balloon. “Oh no! Don’t fly, don’t fly, please! You can be my new favourite if you promise you won’t fly. Can I take a picture with you and Buttons?”

After the picture had been taken and she’d skipped away with a wave, Graham glanced at Simon. “Are you crying?”

“No. Shut up,” Simon said, sniffling. “D’you want kids? Crap, way too soon to ask that, ignore me.”

Quickly looking around to make sure there were no other onlookers, Graham dragged Simon in for a kiss. When he drew back, he said, “Yeah, I do want kids. Go take your sister to the airport. Pick up condoms on the way home.”

Simon blinked. “On the way to your home, you mean?”

“Uh…yeah. Yes. That was what I meant to say. Unless…I mean, if you…”

“Yes!” Simon blurted out. “Yes, fuck yes. Yes, I do.”

Graham took a deep breath. “Right. So, for the record, we just had the ‘do you want to move in with me’ conversation and the ‘shall we adopt children’ conversation in the span of less than one minute.”

Simon shrugged. “It’s not like we’ve done anything else properly so far, why start now? Hey, wanna get married?”

“…Yes.”

“Good. Let’s do that, then.”

The end

If you liked this story, you might like The Amateur: A Villainous Love Story.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MTKHRL6

Extract below:

“You know, boss, I don’t think our usual punishment is gonna be enough for this one,” said Red Velvet. “Something about his face tells me he’s the kind of brat who doesn’t learn his lesson quickly. What if we took him across town to the fish processing factory and dumped him in a vat of sardines?”

“Wait!” said Mister Valiant, getting up onto his knees. Suddenly his whole posture was different, all that bravado melted away. “Spare me and I’ll give you a blowjob.”

The wind blew some more papery debris down the street. From the block next door, the cooking show’s theme music wafted out the old lady’s window.

“Fucking what was that?” said Eel at last.

“I’ll give you all blowjobs,” Mister Valiant amended, turning his big, appealing eyes on Red. “Just don’t kill me. Or dump me in sardines.”

“Oh Jesus,” said Ares, taking a step back as his face screwed up in disgust. “You’re one of them, aren’t you? One of the freaks.”

The freaks were a problem they’d been dealing with for a few years now. As the town with the highest number of caped crooks and crusaders on the planet, Mercy City had begun attracting fetishists. These days they had their own convention, where they dressed up in pornographic versions of their favorite hero or villain’s costume. Every now and then, one of them went a step further, actually seeking out their crush and pretending to be a new foe for them to fight. Horny, stupid, selfish assholes all, in Red’s opinion.

“What? No,” said Mister Valiant, avoiding Ares’s gaze. “What’re you talking about? Who’s ‘them’?”

“Christ,” Red muttered, rubbing his face.

“Got to give him points for effort,” said Eel. “For a pervert, he makes a convincing hero.”

“I am a hero,” whined Mister Valiant.

Ares smacked his face. “For God’s sake, this isn’t a game, you moron. This isn’t…role play or some shit. This a job. A difficult job. People die doing what we do. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Besides, there are much simpler ways to get into Ares’s spandex, kid,” Eel pointed out. “He’s not exactly high-maintenance. Flowers, beer, maybe a movie. That’s all it takes. Now, if you want to fuck Red, that’s a different story. He only hooks up with other villains.”

“Eel, would you shut up? I’m trying to make a point here. Kid, what’s your real name?”

“Mister Valiant,” he said, sulky now.

“Okay, whatever. I don’t even care. Look, I know how kids like you think. You grow up in some nice safe suburb with a mommy and a daddy who buy you comic books. And when you see guys like us on the news you get it into your head that what we do is just like your comic book stories. You stop seeing us as people. We’re characters to you. How do you think we like it when we’re trying to go about our business and some horny brat comes prancing in acting like this is all one big porn shoot? You think any of us want to hook up with a person who disrespects us like that?”

Now the kid looked crest-fallen, even ashamed. “I didn’t…I wasn’t trying to be…”

“An asshole. Except you were an asshole.”

“I’m sorry,” Mister Valiant blurted out. His big eyes were getting wet. “Oh, jeez. I really messed this up. The truth is you guys are…you guys are my favorites. I’ve got all your action figures. I always wanted to…”

“Be a villain, right?” Ares sighed. “Yeah, and then you found out you weren’t talented enough – or maybe the market was saturated in your home town. So you thought you’d come to Mercy City and…”

“No, no. You don’t understand. I always wanted to be a hero. I am a hero. I’ve got a license and everything.”

Ares squinted at him. “You’ve got a thing for villains, but you want to be a hero? How the hell did you think you could make that work? What, you thought you could give us blowjobs and then arrest us?”

“No! I thought I could seduce you and…and maybe tempt you away from villainy with my innocence and noble heart. After a few dates, obviously.”

It wasn’t every day Red got to see what the boss looked like when he was one hundred percent flummoxed. By this point, Eel had nearly asphyxiated himself from laughter.

“If that’s true, you’re a goddamn idiot and you’ve wasted our time and your own,” said Red, flatly. “We’re not interested in being redeemed by your heroic dick.”

Penitent, Mister Valiant nodded. “I get that now. I’m really sorry for bothering you guys and for demeaning your profession. Maybe I could give you blowjobs to make up for it?”

*

You might also like Good as Gold: A Villainous Love Story.

https://www.amazon.com/Good-Gold-Villainous-Love-Story-ebook/dp/B01MQYYZV4

Extract below:

He was getting the hang of this whole ‘being human’ gig.

Usually, every day after leaving the diner he’d walk across to the park, find a secluded spot, and change into his Golden Ranger costume before flying home. Today, he switched things up. He stopped by a chemist and used the money he’d earned – earned! –to buy headache pills, bandages, and disinfectant, none of which he’d ever need. No matter; the internet had told him they were all essential features of a normal, responsible Earthling’s bathroom cabinet. Then he stopped by the hardware store and brought the tools and equipment to build himself a bathroom cabinet.

There was a girl in the street handing out pamphlets about the environment. He took one and spent half an hour listening to her arguments before accepting a sticker and donating the rest of his salary. It wasn’t like he’d need it for anything else.

Wait. No, he thought as he walked away. Humans don’t think that way. A human would need it for groceries or rent. Damn. I’ll need to try harder.

Heavy rain started on the way to the park. He was looking forward to flying home in it, before realizing that no human would want their clothes to get wet. They might get cold; they might get sick. A sensible human would find somewhere inside to wait until the rain stopped.

Luckily, he found a cozy bookstore nearby.

Browsing through the stacks, he found three books that he wanted to buy – a politician’s memoir, a graphic novel about pirates and a historical romance with a man on the cover whose face reminded him of Stu’s. When he remembered that he couldn’t buy them because he’d spent all his money he was pleased with the deep disappointment he felt. That’s how a human would feel. Humans can’t have everything they want whenever they want it.

He kept browsing, savoring the yearning every time he found a book he liked the look of. When he was over by the classics he bumped into someone.

“Sorry,” he said before he saw who it was.

“S’alright,” said the auburn-haired man, flashing him a gap-toothed smile that was somehow charming and chilly at once.

Light Brigade. What’s he doing here? What’s he up to? Play it cool, Noah.

He couldn’t see the disks hovering anywhere nearby. There was only the one hanging round his neck like an innocent pendant. He was wearing shorts and a loose shirt, both damp, as though he’d been jogging before it started to rain, and he had dozens of tattoos, shipwrecks, stars and Latin words taking up most of every limb.

“That’s a great story,” Noah blurted, gesturing to the copy of Peter Pan the supervillain was holding. “Is it for your kid? Or your nephew?”

Thanks to Tremendo’s research, he knew Lennox Gunnach didn’t have children. He asked because he wanted something to say. Of all his regulars, he’d always felt like he knew Light Brigade the least, even though he had as much factual information accrued on his file as Henry X and the Sash. He knew that unlike the other two he’d come from a country across the seas, on a whole different continent the Ranger had flown over a few times but had never visited properly. He knew that he was a plumber. But he’d always had trouble picturing Light Brigade as a civilian. Light Brigade was, to him, the distilled essence of supervillainy; he wore his costume as comfortably as other people wore their skin.

“No. It’s for me,” Len replied, scowling.

Had he said something wrong? “That’s cool. You read a lot of kid’s books?”

The scowl deepened. “I read a lot of books that people think’re for kiddies. And yourself? What d’you read?”

Noah was still holding the last book he’d wanted to buy; another romance, this one with a long-haired, shirtless man in a kilt on the cover, pawing at a buxom woman’s thigh: The Scottish Rogue’s Bride. “I don’t have a favorite genre yet. I picked this up because it looked like it might help me jerk off.”

Len blanched, then blushed. “Ah. Right. That’s as good a reason as any, I s’pose.”

Whoops. Humans don’t talk about sex-related things with people they’ve never met before. To change the subject, Noah said, “Peter Pan’s one of the first books I ever read in English. I always liked Captain Hook best.”

“Yeah? Wendy’s my favorite,” said Len, sliding the book back onto the shelf.

“You’re not buying it?”

“I’ve already got a copy. Besides, it’s way too expensive.”

“Yeah, this one’s too much for me too. I spent all my cash earlier,” Noah commiserated. For some reason it was important that he convince Len of how fiscally fallible he was. See, Len? I’m exactly like you. I get broke. I want things and can’t have them. I’m a normal guy.

“It’s not that much,” said Len, noting the novel’s price. “You want it?”

Wait, is he offering…?

“You don’t have to do that,” Noah said, as Len got out his wallet.

“It’s not a problem. I feel like it’s practically my national duty to facilitate this country’s obsession with hairy Scots.”

He started moving towards the counter, picking up a women’s fashion magazine as he went. Noah followed him, insisting, “You really don’t have to. It’s my own fault I don’t have enough money.”

Len grinned at him. It was warmer this time. “Tell you what, Wendy. I’ll pay for it and you lend it to me when you’re done.”

It was when Len had exited the store, leaving him alone with his newly purchased book, that Noah realized he hadn’t asked for his name or number.