Archenemy [brinary&Hideki] (Private)

[-Hideki-]

Joshua Weißenburg

Gender: Male

Age: 40 years

Height: 1,90m

Hair colour: blond

Eye colour: blue

Occupation: Business owner

Sexual orientation: homosexual

Biography:

Joshua grew up poor in one of the most rundown parts of the city. Seeing that other kids and families had better living conditions than him, he became ambitious to make it out of the district and work himself up to the top and to never be poor again coming to other conclusions than his parents whom he couldn’t help but to think had done something wrong. And he did it!

With his ambition he managed to become one of the most important and influential businessmen in the city and the whole region, with thousands of people working for him.

But this is not where his ambitions ends, he has plans and there are people who aren’t as business friendly as him who are currently blocking his path.

Being a member of the largest conservative political party he then decides to run for mayor of the city and to put his political ideas out there for the people to vote for or against hoping to influence politics and to start a promising political career. And it seems like everything is going in his favour.

 

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Despite having a proper air conditioning in his house his whole body was hot, sweaty and trembling now. The deep moan he had let out when he had reached climax was still echoing in the room as he was panting heavily, his hair messily falling into his face, whilst looking into the satisfied and gloving face of the man under him. He pulled out and rolled off of the man, took a deep breath and rested his blond head on the cold pillow. As he had hoped he didn’t feel that stressed out anymore but unfortunately having sex didn’t clear his mind that was starting to overflow with thoughts regarding his campaign and the election again only seconds after he had ejaculated and his heart beat had not even calmed down again just yet.

 

His advisors had told him that he should rest and that he shouldn’t be that stressed about it because all was going perfectly well, but even though he was leading in all polls, it was still one and a half months until Election Day. And this time period was more than enough to change the outcome. He wouldn’t be worried if people voted in an hour, he was sure to win then, however he couldn’t say what would happen in a month and a half especially not since there were so many people who had hated him from day one despite the popularity he had gained.

The left and many different media platforms loathed him with such a passion that they were much too keen on seeing him fail and lose. They wanted to shred him into tiny pieces and acted like bloodhounds that were after his head.

 

Soon after he had started running for mayor of the city he had realised that he actually didn’t like campaigning because it seemed that people didn’t focus on the subject, politics and his ideas, but on him as a person. And he was not someone for self-dramatisation, an actor or a man of the word. He was a man of actions, solutions and numbers, not very entertaining at all.

But as much as he hated campaigning he also wanted to win this election, no, he needed to win this election. If he wasn’t the winner at the end of the day, he would have thrown a lot of his money into the rubbish bin and even worse, it would be the first time for him to not reach his goal by only working hard enough for it what would be like a stain of piss on what he lived by and what he wholeheartedly believed in. That if you gave it your everything that life would reward you for it and that everyone could do it and all those complaining where merely lazy, whiny sissies who needed to get a grip on themselves man up and take themselves to higher places if they were unhappy.

 

Much to the contrary to what his opponents pictured and tried to sell him to the people as, he hadn’t been born with a golden spoon in his mouth but he had worked his arse off to get to where he was now and he couldn’t really understand why the left treated him as some kind of monster that, if elected, would initiate the end of the world or at least their city.

Where they got that idea from he didn’t know! His main focus was the economy and jobs and that was what he had talked about the most at the beginning, until the people had asked him other questions and wanted to talk about other subjects as well. A popular one was traditional family values. People wanted him to protect old family values and he didn’t have much to say or to credit himself for in this regards. Hence he skillfully derailed the conversation and led the focus on literally protecting families, meaning law and order, safety and fighting crime in the city, which he was actually concerned about and what got him more potential voters and made him the favourite candidate of the policemen in the big city, keeping illegal immigrants out of the city and getting those that were already there out again in cooperation with the governor, preventing another mosque from being built in their city, controlling and observing the one mosque’s activities that was already there, anti-terror measures and being against political correctness and censorship, calling feminism cancerous to western societies which were the best most valuable and best societies and all of that. And they celebrated him for those stands of his thus easily forgot about the initial question concerning traditional family values, marriage and gender roles.

 

Part of why he was so worried and stressed out on this day was that he had gotten an invitation of some concerned mothers of a private school for the other day who were part of an activist group creatively called “concerned mothers”, a group worried about their children being morally corrupted by the government, the media, the teachers, basically everyone and everything, where he probably wouldn’t get away with leading the conversation to protecting the citizens from criminals, terrorist Muslims and investing into better equipment for the police and training more new policemen and installing surveillance cameras at public places . They would want to talk family values and issues surrounding the family in general and he was very aware of the fact that if he did talk about that what he actually wouldn’t have had much of a problem with, the journalists would focus on his private life and get the public hooked on that calling him a hypocrite. It wasn’t like Joshua didn’t agree that the nuclear family was the fundament society was built on or that he didn’t want to strengthen the family and didn’t think that ideally mothers should stay at home for their kids and that people should get more kids in the first place, he also was in favour of traditions it was just that he didn’t have a family or a traditional life of his own. No housewife, no kids, nothing. He was a single man and also gay and his parents had gotten divorced long ago when he had been a teenager. His mother was a socialist who always said she loved him and was proud of him but she would never in a trillion years give him her vote and his father normally refused to vote out of principle, saying that each and every candidate, whether it was in a national or communal election, insulted his intelligence. He was considering to make an exception for his son but wasn’t sure just yet.

 

The only one from his family who would definitely vote for him and had helped with his campaign from the start had been his five years younger sister Jacqueline, a single mother of three sons from three different fathers whom he had given a job in one of his businesses and therefore saved from unemployment, because she had no husband to support her so that she could stay at home and look after the kids and no one wanted to hire a single mother of three children. He also paid for her kid’s education and the nanny. And while he could take insults against himself with a smile, she couldn’t take the insults against her brother and they had once had to hold her back to keep her from punching a journalist. While he loved his family deeply, he knew they weren’t your storybook family and should rather be kept out of the spotlight and also out of the crossfire.

 

Joshua took his pack of cigarettes starting to smoke, grey clouds filling the luxurious bedroom of his. He inhaled the smoke letting it out of his nose without opening his mouth. With a tired look in his pale blue eyes he examined the other man - his eyes travelling over the strong shoulders and back, down to his hot arse that he had just been pounding more than just once - who was starting to get dressed again apparently not bothering about the cum dripping down his thigh today, just wanting to leave as quick as possible. He could see the guilty look on that guy’s face that he always had after they had fucked like rabbits and he could understand why. Surely he would feel like shit too if he was a father and a husband and had just betrayed his family with another man. They had done it three times before this night already and as into him and eager and aroused as the dude had always been as guilty and miserable he had looked afterwards. This police officer was the perfect candidate for him though because he was just as interested in keeping it a secret as Josh was and there were absolutely no feelings and not much talking involved, just chemistry and desire between them.

 

When his eyes drifted off to the window his heart skipped more than just one beat, the hairs on his neck were standing straight and it felt like someone had just hit him into his stomach with a baseball bat. There was a young man with a camera in front of his window. It took him a few seconds to realise that this was the same left-winger who had written one article after the other to slander him since months. This was not good, this was incredibly fatal actually.

 

He jumped out of his bed and dressed himself in the black trousers of his suit, slipping into his crocodile leather shoes and some white shirt that was flying around and got one of his guns out of his ebony bed stand, unlocking and loading it. “Hurry up and leave! Use the backdoor.” He ordered the man who was about to get dressed properly and looked messy and sweaty. Now the miserable policeman who had been deep in his thoughts and beating himself up over what he had done again and how he was unable to just stop hooking up with guys realised that Joshua wasn’t lying in bed anymore. “What the hell happened? What are you doing with the gun?” He stuttered and Josh’s expression turned darker:”Someone broke into my property and probably took some photos, so if you don’t want your family to see your face all over the newspapers and the internet tomorrow leave. Also, don’t contact me for at least two months.” He repeated himself and then left the bedroom, storming right outside.

 

He was furious. There was hate burning in his guts. This guy had gone too far. This was a new low. Why couldn’t they challenge and attack his ideas and not him as a person a single time? Just once! Surely if his ideas were this terrible it must have been incredibly simple to destroy his political views. Why would they aim for destroying everything in his life that he had worked so hard for to achieve? Solely because they didn’t like his political opinion he was very much entitled to have? If this would be revealed to the public he would be screwed. He had never told anyone that he was gay, so no one, with the exception of his sister who had once caught him kissing another guy when he had been in high school, knew. She had held her word; she had told nobody and never ever talked about it again and he was thankful for that.

 

“Shit!” he cursed and walked faster. When he left the house the wind cooled down his body temperature a bit but he still smelled like sex, there was no doubt about that and he knew it and it made him uncomfortable. He wouldn’t let this little rat destroy his life. What kind of person was that anyway, always trying to claim the moral high ground, trying to seem morally and ethically superior than him and then being okay with doing something like that to destroy someone else whose opinions they disagreed with? This spineless man was on his private property, he had broken in, Joshua would get this camera at all costs, no matter the price or what he had to do to stop this from going viral. God, what was he even thinking there! He was obviously starting to panic right now; he needed to calm himself, somehow.

 

When he arrived in front of the window where the invader was, he was surprised and couldn’t believe what he was seeing. This idiot stood there like he was daydreaming and staring through the window in disbelief with an open mouth but he obviously hadn’t even realised no one was inside of the room anymore. “What are you doing on my private property?” he asked in his deep bass voice, pointing his gun at the man’s head and reaching the other hand out for him to hand over the camera, his face torn in anger, the silver light of the moon creating a play of light and shadow on his face. “Tell me, what you saw? I also want the photos you just took of me on my ground, at my home, my property!” He spat the cigarette out of his mouth and on the ground and demonstratively trampled on it. From afar he heard the gate and he knew that the policeman had left, what was a little relief at least, he didn’t want to see this man losing everything because of that little shit with the camera.

[brinary]

Christopher "Kris" Rosario

 

>L'homme

>Recently 33

>1.8 m (5'9'')

>Dark Brown hair (dyed blonde)

>Light green eyes

>He's average height, average build in appearances; toned stomach and muscle built that he likes to keep under wraps

 

Current occupation: freelance journalist, published writer, and a potential professor

 

BG:

 

Krish was ferried across an entirely different world with his mother and two sisters. The grueling journey from Guatemala to Mexico consisted of hopping trains and getting out of trouble. But, finally, it leads to the border and into the United States. They have proof of relations-- their father who has been working over ten years in the mines in the South.

 

Although they started out on rocky terrain, at least his family stayed together. His mother worked hard as a seamstress, housekeeper, and babysitter. One sister followed in her footsteps as a nanny while the elder took a job of prostitution to help pay the family's bills. Krish was the only one who found time to enter the public school system. His English was terrible, he had a barely functioning knowledge of government, and was working through several undiagnosed problems-- but he worked his ass off.

 

Years of juggling odd jobs and schoolwork rewarded him well. Krish graduated top 10 percent in his senior class; the head of the debate team, leading them through three nation-wide victories, winner of his county's writing contest, and his town's well-known face for organizing GOTV campaigns. He got through all levels of school, ascended through his college system, and became a full-fledged writer.

 

Nomadic and quick, Krish has always been good at following his nose into heaps of trouble and taking on personal journalism ventures led to similar results. But it hasn't gotten him killed yet!

 

 

 

---

 

 

His Mother texted him earlier today that his tia had read her tea leaves; she said his future was going to take a sharp turn. And he said he hoped so.

 

Kris had taken up the lengthy task of chronicling why the world was bullshit and how the elections were a crock of shit, why the candidates for the conservative party didn't make sense, and how people could rally against the tide. But it's frustrating to sit and watch people vote for someone inane. Which the town was doing. After being a political force in his town for so many years and pushing for change, even helping make those changes, some stupid asshole was asshole-ing his way around and charming the shit out of everyone while he was doing it.

 

People pushed for him to keep going. Doing all of this work was exhausting him in every way imaginable but he had to keep going-- the stress wasn't even just his mentality anymore. It was more. It was the scrutiny from his town, from even national news outlets who were following the progress of the elections through his coverage. His position in the town had been hard won and he intended for those that supported him to be satisfied by what he was doing. Careful investigations were his forte. Thorough investigations even more so. But his insulting entries seemed to be his most popular, and the ones that got around the news circuit quicker than anything else.

 

Being mean was fun for a little. Having a career where people expected rudeness and ire was irritating.

 

Joshua vexed him because he didn't seem to understand the game he was playing at. He didn't treat it as a strategy. He said things and made estimations and had plans that were half worked through. And on paper that sounded fine. It didn't sound irritating at all. It sounded like something good, it sounded like something people would want-- and want him they did! But it didn't sit right with Kris at all.

 

Mayoral candidate Joshua Weißenburg may have had some years on him, but he didn't fool the writer for a moment. Something was happening behind doors because not enough was going on about him in the news. Reports strictly spoke of his background and of his campaign trail. There hadn't been any hiccups, there hadn't been any damnable actions, fuck-ups. Footage from his speeches were cut-and-dry. And Kris had sat through all of them. Boy, were they dry.

 

He hadn't even been planning on covering the elections, not this intently. Kris was thinking of moving upstate to work at the colleges. Already a digital media contributor and editor for an online magazine, the same people offered him a position at their on-site job. Yet he stayed to appeal to the masses. He blamed it on an unending loyalty complex. And also past trauma related to leaving things behind. Almost all of his issues could be linked back to some past trauma.

 

But this Joshua guy...

 

Kris had been thinking about it about two weeks ago after writing up another script for a video-essay his colleague was planning on publishing. Several projects were open on his computer but the one that was bothering him happened to be about the popular candidate. In all arenas, Kris found him to be as misinformed as the usual conservative politician in the city. Joshua had bashed immigrants, showed himself to be tight about Islamic presence, and free at the mouth about women's issues and matters of "political correctness" (which Kris saw as basic human decency.) Listening to the older man speak at rallies, at conferences, over the internet during livestreams or from recordings, Krsh didn't see him as particularly new. The same tired ideals were reused with similar rhetoric, those old recycled, misconstrued outlooks. He could probably recite what Joshua would say next- and often times, got it right. Old. Tired. Worn out. Beer bottle in hand and curried rice in his lap, the writer would just eat dinner and listen with tired eyes to someone's shitty words. So perhaps that was what set off the alarm bells. On that long list that chronicled the Weinburg campaign, and all those topics covered, there were particular topics that were missing.

 

Not glossed over.

 

Missing.

 

Kris wasn't someone who could easily lose focus. His investment went deep and his interests, once piqued, were a fire that burned slow. It lingered in his system. And his nose knew when something was up. That evening he'd sneezed several times and written down a plan of action.

 

All his contacts gave him information. No one knew anything new. It took more digging before he finally got a lead. Someone said that they knew Weinburg had frequent meetings with the police department in his own home. Now that sounded good. He wondered if he was working intimately with the police and knew about their shady tactics, the horror stories from truly innocent figures who were subjugated by the scrutiny of the law. There had been a time where the police force wasn't always so corrupted and morally ambiguous. But that time was gone, apparently.

 

Armed with an old journalistic pass, a satchel, and a comfortable outfit, Kris waited for the day that he'd get the okay. That day was actually in the evening and his 'okay' was in the form of a text from an unknown number telling him to get going.

 

Outdoors was cool and dewy from sprinklers. Freshly shaved, the slight breeze felt like someone blowing gently against his chin. It was tickling him but his mind was elsewhere. His long journey from childhood prepared him well; Kris had gotten all too much practice scaling large structures alike to push himself into uncomfortable nooks and stay suspended. Very still, hidden, trying to keep himself as bundled up as possible as he peered into every window of the large property. Who needed something this nice? It made climbing and taking pictures a bit annoying. Only annoying though. It was far from difficult.

 

This was a big break. In cahoots with the police department's criminal underbelly, huh? The flawless mayoral candidate Joshua Weinburg, with his feigned ignorance, with his recycled lines, might have proved Kris wrong. He wasn't just a regular kind of annoying that Kris disagreed with. He would be a legitimately bad person.

 

And then Kris could write his big expose, and then he could move and become a professor, or a writer, or just a regular hermit who tended to a sweet garden and fed stray cats, and leave the bullshit behind him. Brilliant.

 

He'd just raised his camera a bit- a tiny movement. It was a small Canon set to burst mode. When Kris had lowered his hands to observe the meeting, it was a different kind of intimate than he'd been led to believe. It shell-shocked him. It floored his entire existence. The technology bled the video into a smooth and short video, with playable sound, of popular conservative candidate Weinburg fucking a notable police officer. Kris had to see it for his own eyes he just had to.

 

"Holy shit." His whisper went unheard as the two men inside fucked like absolute animals. It was one of the most lewd things he'd ever watched. That list of lewd things wasn't very long so that wasn't a great comparison but this kind of sex was the stuff of fiction. This entire situation was a fantasy come true.

 

'He looks amazing for 40,' Kris found himself thinking, staying longer and longer than intended. That evening's events played out in front of his very eyes. He even used his personal camera to take pictures after his Canon had taken a substantial amount. Zooming in and editing would be necessary. Closer supervision. Rewatches. Purely for information's sake. Perhaps it was thinking about all of the information he'd been absorbing that led to his microsleep. Kris had perfected it. Once you become very still and very stiff, you keep your eyes just slightly open, as your mind shuts down or wanders off to other delights. And there were tons of delights.

 

The door closing hard somewhere in the distance made the writer twitch but his position didn't move. He was lost and only came to with the harshness in Joshua's voice.

 

Kris stared blankly at the man with wide eyes behind his horn-rimmed glasses.

 

Dressed in black tennis shoes, a windbreaker, and cotton pants and sweatpants, Kris looked like he'd just gotten back from a night-time jog. Being outside for hours in the wind rubbed his cheeks to a redder state and being caught made it spread sharply . A quick assessment of danger: Joshua had five inches on him, seemed four inches wider, had a gun, and was in a really bad mood. His arms were long. He had long legs, too. Even if he wasn't athletic , the man could probably catch him by sheer chance. They could fight but Kris would surely get arrested. He could run and get shot, but he'd still probably get arrested. Dying a martyr for his cause wouldn't be worth it because the information would be obtained and wiped clean.

 

He was stuck.

 

With his jaw squared hard, Kris said nothing as he shoved the camera into Joshua's outstretched hand. His eyes were narrowed and pupil's blown in the darkness, the green of his eyes glinting brightly in contrast to the dark that was surrounding him. There was so much that could be said but his rational brain warned him of danger. Although he wondered if his death would hurt the man's campaign.

 

Giving him a once-over and remembering the following he'd amassed, Kris decided that his death could probably only lead to Weinburg being venerated as some hero against journalism.

 

Finally breaking his silence, he broke through his tight expression. "Are you going to shoot?" His inflection was neutral and gave away no fear or guilt. It was bland and just as stiff as Kris was- and had been. Although that specific stiffness had flagged long ago. Kris was thankful for that at least. Having an erection in this situation would've been... something.

[-Hideki-]

Joshua Weißenburg’s eyebrows narrowed and his face looked like an angry grimace as he gazed down at this bloody journalist who was just standing there staring at him with frog green eyes as if he wasn’t a reprehensible, criminal subject who had violated the blond male’s right to privacy, as if he had done nothing wrong and what he had been doing on his property had just been completely fine and morale. And the businessman could feel the rage boil over inside of him and he felt the finger on the trigger of the gun itch and realised how much he would have loved to pull the trigger and shoot this guy in this very moment. Josh knew how to shoot a gun; he had been in the Army for years to be able to go to college. But never, never once before in his entire forty years had he felt the desire to actually shoot someone, to take a life, but this guy, this guy had made him get to that point with this action just now! It was humiliating to think that this man with his stupid dyed hair not only had broken into his private home but also had watched him having sex, had recorded it on his camera and wanted to expose his moments of intimacy to the world, to damage him in a deeply personal, incredibly private way that a person could never fully recover from not caring whom else’s life this would also fuck over, apparently just accepting that as collateral damage.

 

And now this man was sitting there, apparently not thinking about handing over that camera, just looking at him as if he was innocent, as if he was actually a bloody hero for what he had been doing and it enraged him to the point his carotid was sticking out and his muscles were constricting, adrenaline rushing through his veins. Oh how just if would feel in this situation if he only moved his finger and a shining piece of metal would enter through the other’s forehead, crush the bones and go right through this brain that was so full of bullshit and morale corruption. Then the other’s arm moved and he felt a cold object getting put into his reached out pale hand. He closed his fingers around the camera holding it tight and his blue eyes wandered over it, reading the label ‘Canon’ on it. It was definitely a professional camera. His sister had one of those too back from the days when she had not been a mother and had worked as a hair and make-up artist. She had used it to take pictures of her models and clients with it. And of her poor dog she had named Tinkerbelle and that she had dressed up even though it was male. Well, at least she didn’t do that to her sons.

 

A new wave of anger overcame him when the journalist then watched him over as if he was the one who wasn’t supposed to be there, as if he was the shady person and he felt his hands tighten around the gun and the camera to the point the shade of their colour changed. What an arrogant, entitled little prick! Not to mention the cognitive dissonance all those SJW, left-wing assheads were suffering from. Their double standards, their authoritarianism, he hated all of that! And this specimen was the worst kind! Much worse and much more dangerous than some fat, screeching, blue haired feminist twat shouting insults after him and advocating to outlaw his speeches. Well, that had at least been somewhat funny. Especially when a friend of his who had a TV show on the conservative channel had made fun about that sea-cow for about twenty minutes straight. This however he couldn’t laugh about at all. There was nothing funny about that situation and what this man had done. Nothing at all! It was just despiteful.

 

Suddenly the journalist seemed to find his speech back and the wind howling through the night as well as the eagle owl living in the large tree in the yard got drown out by the voice of the man who had just done this to Joshua. There was no regret, no guilt in his voice when he spoke. He didn’t get an explanation either. No justification. Not a single word about what the man had just done. But what did he expect? That journalist’s had a conscience? A spine? That they were able to self-reflect? Ridiculous! All that concerned this jerk was whether he would shoot or not. A condemning snort came from the aspiring politician who wasn’t even a professional politician but just some businessman who used the same attempt to get further in politics which he had used to work himself up to the point he was now, using his elbows and throwing punches before one got punched himself. “I definitely should! And the law would be on my side.” he answered his voice cold making it clear how much he loathed the other at this point.

 

“But it depends.” He added his eyes sharp glaring at the younger man who seemed completely unregenerated, even confident about what he had done. And it baffled him. Not in an impressed way but in a way he just couldn’t understand why such people thought that they were in the right when doing something like that. What he did in his bedroom between his sheets was his private matter alone. It was nothing that was of public interest or that the public, the government or anyone really had a right to know about. It was between him and the man he had had sex with. And he wanted both the government and the bloody media to stay the fuck out of his bedroom. And disagreeing with someone’s political opinion didn’t make the person a fair game. This journalist had the right to disagree with him, he could even hate him if it made him happy, he could write down his unfavourable opinions of him, insult him, call him an ox, whatever, but this, this was not his right! “Are you aware that what two consenting adults do in their bedroom, what I do in my bedroom and with whom I do it is none of your business, or anyone’s business and not of public interest? And would you agree with that?” he asked because he wanted to hear at least something about this from that arsehole, his voice losing nothing of its coldness, the gun still pointed at his head, but he sounded a little calmer at least.

[brinary]

What a prick. Look. He even had a crocodile leather shoes. Who wore crocodile leather shoes as house shoes? That doesn't make any sense. And dress pants, a wrinkled white shirt. He looked well kept for having ran out of his house like a lunatic to chase down a reporter. That's pretty admirable. Either the mayoral candidate was the kind of person who didn't frequently dress casually, or this tryst had breached the line from business to casual quite literally. All he could do is make quick deductions from the information presented to him and remain very still. People that held guns that tightly and that confidently were some of the worst kinds of people to deal with. They weren't only angry but well-trained. There wasn't a finger trembling over the safety, but a firm and stiff grip. It was anger and knowledge rolled into one. Kris sometimes wondered at his luck. He did go out looking for trouble but often time it was being in the perimeter of said trouble, not really running into it. He found that oftentimes, trouble ran to him! Life was filled with deja-vus.

 

Kris didn't have a lot of fear of guns. He knew how to work them and knew how to identify people who knew how to work them. The way Weibenburg was postured didn't say police training. The gun was leveled almost too casually and no thought was given to the magazine or reloading. It was indeed an aim to kill. And someone that actually had that kind of training on them and enough anger wasn't someone to be trifled with for all too long.

 

He'd stared down the barrels of scarier guns wielded by more threatening people. His memory was like a phantom and he could feel the scalding heat of the muzzle pressed into his throat, trying not to swallow to ensure that his weak Adam's apple didn't push it around. In that situation he remained just as stoic as he was now and clammed up hard to avoid anything provoking an antagonistic response.

 

The man's attention was briefly caught up by the camera. He could run but probably wouldn't make it far before getting shot. Something in him made him stay still, whispered patience into his bones and he kept observing. What a pale man. Even more pale in the moonlight. Although there was a rush of heat around his ears and neck, he could see it, the anger. A rageful man with purple and blue seen so easily in his pale hands... Must have been hard to have one's veins out all the time. Someone who didn't know what they were doing could still kill you easily if you just had your veins shows like that. Carefully and in increments, Joshua let his weight shift to the leg closest to the bushes. He could see through sweat-dampened bangs the elder's eyes moving across in a twitchy path. Body language: caught in memory, making associations, still present but attention elsewhere.

 

Army man must have been trained to keep his arm's weight balanced so well. That gun never flagged. And he'd pay his respects there-- just not say them aloud.

 

Kris could see the new anger come in with the man's knuckles constricting and bulging against his skin. It looked like paper-- the writer felt a dizzying comedic thought tickle a laugh deep in his gut but he didn't let it show. Only remembered some stupid incident in junior high watching a kid get punched through his essay. Not that this wasn't exactly a funny situation. He couldn't think of a better beginning to a story, the cold-open to a spiteful journalist getting caught like a mouse in the lion's den, with a standoff of epic proportions. Information versus Death. It'd be the end of both of them in very different ways. He dared to wonder how his death would be reported and felt guilty at being caught in such an undesirable position. Outlets would go crazy.

 

Illegal Immigrant Past: Notable Hack-Journalist Stupid Man Christopher Rosario Killed Dead by Some Guy--- Probably Totally Deserved It!

 

They'd launch into stories about his sisters. They'd haw and sneer at his Mother and confuse his Father, mock their poor English, deny them legal resolution. The writer knew almost certainly his parents would be too caught up in grief to even consider it. Knowing his mother... she'd probably pray instead of do anything adverse to begin with. Try to make people know that he was a good person. Shanie was an EMT. While she was working to resuscitate a poor victim of gang-violence, would she even know about her dead brother? Would she hear it while she returned home on her radio? And Tessa- after messing with some John would she know? Maybe in the lap of a lover after dinner, would they be watching the TV and see a report on it?

 

Who would call him?

 

Who would cry?

 

Would he be truly mourned or his death masqueraded, twisted to be used for something else? Kris didn't know if he wanted to die here. But he was certainly prepared to.

 

Like right now, the world was testing him: did Joshua have to say the law would be on his side? No. It was obvious. Stating something obvious was stupid... But suddenly he was launched back into debate class and news interviews as questions were launched his way.

 

Eyebrows raised then settling back down in a neutral line, the reporter answered as mildly as possible. "Of course it wouldn't be anyone's business." And that was true. "I came based on information you were knowledgeable about dirty dealings with the police force," he answered transparently. "I didn't know that the dirty dealings were something else. But you're taking multiple stances and rallying hundreds who support you based on the image they have of you. Lying by omission is still lying. And you're lying."

 

Still no chances for him to run. Kris let his arms rest at his sides although losing none of his stiffness. "You have the camera and you have me caught. I'm sure the police department will come quickly and you'll gain more support for putting some foot-stomping leftist in their place." Ugh, this was so stupid. Krish would certainly lose his job offer over being a professor now! But moving upstate and becoming a hermit would still be an option and wasn't that the truest dream? Basking in solitude after being labeled an outcast by your industry? Maybe Krish could make enough money off his picture and works being used and referenced over the course of the news cycle-- he had already paid off his parent's mortgage so they could live with him on the piece of land he acquired!

 

It'd be a nice cottage. With cacti. And those stray cats. And bird feeders... He couldn't have a man at his side in front of his parents. They still didn't know that part- no one did- but maybe he could strike up a loving and compassionate star-crossed romance with a milkman four decades his senior.

Such dreams and hopes softened his stance slightly and a far-away look was caught in his eyes for a brief moment as he stared at Joshua. Lips parted just slightly thinned back out as he pressed them tight together and he observed the other with a neutral expression once more.

 

Yeah, or he could be shot dead and die.

 

No milkman or stray cats. How sad.

[-Hideki-]

There he had gotten it, a word, a response, a stand, something in regards to this situation but it didn’t propitiate him at all, it only made him more furious, made the urge to kick this piece of shit’s teeth out before he gave him a head shot more prevalent as he defended his crime in a preposterous, outrageous way basically insisting that his doings and his new intent – as he had claimed he had broken into his property to discover something else – was rightful and just. He didn’t pull the trigger though, nor did he yell or started to act out. “First of all, our city police is not involved in any dirty deals and you imbecile should rather pay respect to those who risk their lives to protect the citizens of this city, even your sorry arse. Second of all, it’s extremely ironic that the man who made a carrier out of lying and being a disgrace to this nation and whose writings consist of nothing but blatant obvious lies to discredit decent citizens is accusing someone else of lying because this person simply thinks that sex should always be a private matter between two people and not dragged into the public.” Joshua commented a dry laugh following. “But what else than cognitive dissonance does one have to expect from a member of the mendacious press.” He hissed.

 

It was certainly not the first time Weißenburg had made it known what he thought about a huge part of the media outlets and about journalists. He wasn’t fond of them and he didn’t care to hide it. Nor did he make a secret out of the fact that he found that they were constantly lying. Especially when they wrote something about him that was not exactly in his favour.

The accusations they made were widely ignored by him as he usually brushed them off stating that they had made up a nice fictional story again there and that they could sell that in Hollywood but that it definitely wasn’t true or when he wasn’t in such a good mood he repeated the word ‘lies’ when asked about the accusations. So he had done when journalists had accused him of having founded his charity organisations as pretence to transfer money and to hide it from the taxation office. Until he had visited his mother who had given him the disappointed look and had scolded him for acting childish and that she had raised him better. And while he usually disregarded every single critic of his he couldn’t disregard his mother that easily because she was his mother and what man wanted to be a disappointment to his mother. Hence the next time he had been asked he had referred to what his charity organisation had already done and how much money it had brought to good courses not allowing any follow up questions, or rather allowing them but ignoring them and walking away.

 

Then there had been this one time where some thug who had called himself a journalist and activist had sprayed ‘Down with Joshua WeiSSenburg’ all over his company during the night, replacing the German letter ‘ß’ in his name with ‘SS’ to express that the thug thought that he was a fascist what had made it from the guys underground newspaper into the national news. When asked about the incident he had said that this was another example of how criminal the journalists in their nation were, not respecting private property, that they were not to be trusted and that people like those certainly didn’t care about the truth or a fair discourse. He had also pointed at the double standards stating that they praised themselves for being against ethical and racial bigotry but that they themselves acted bigoted and attacked him due to his German last name and ancestors.

 

His blue eyes had gotten narrower and they were basically just slits now. “Wanting to keep your sex life out of the election has nothing to do with lying. And it’s obviously not my fault if people’s image of me doesn’t match up reality. I put out my political ideas and my standpoints out for the people to vote for if they want the same change for our city I want. I have gathered my following because people like my ideas and agree with me. Because they want me to implement what I promise them and I will as I stand behind and truly believe in what I say. I am not a liar. What I do in my bedroom is a completely different matter and nothing that my followers need to know, nor what they care about as this is about politics and not about me as a private person. They are voting for a mayor, not a husband or lover.” He made that very clear.

 

Of course his voters voted for him for his ideas. And his sexual orientation didn’t change this. If he was gay, well then he was, it didn’t change his politics hence not his following. Or so he told himself although deep down he knew that this would not be the case. He’d certainly lose some of them in whose eyes he’d only be an immoral, disgusting degenerate then and he didn’t like to think about this. He didn’t like to think that many of his followers would see him differently, in a bad light, if they knew that he was like this. He had not chosen to be like this, he just was, nothing he could do about it. He had always looked at men. He had fallen in love and crushed on another guy for the first time in high-school. And hot men to this day made his dick hard. It was just how it was, he had had to accept this about himself and come to terms with it. Otherwise he’d now be as miserable as the policeman he had just fucked.

 

He did however have some followers whom he wasn’t too proud or fond of too but who just supported him and were unpleasantly vocal about their support too. One of those people was Ryan Stephenson, founder of a movement called ‘new right’ who was basically a nazi although he denied that. Joshua had not known who that bloke had been until some annoying journalist had asked him about what he had to say about the fact that Ryan, who lived in their city, had publically announced his support. Completely unprepared he had said he had never heard of the guy and didn’t know him so he had looked him up later that day and had looked at a clean and boring looking guy who had screamed ‘closeted bottom’ into his face much more than it was obvious that he himself was gay. What the man had said though had made him cringe rather hard. He had never wanted anything to do with those type of people, with those kind of mindsets, he had never wanted their support, much less their public support. Hence he had distanced himself from him the other day stating that he had nothing in common with Ryan Stephenson, that he disagreed completely and fundamentally with his worldview and that he wanted to have nothing to do with this movement and didn’t want nor need their support. Well, that had only been followed by Ryan twisting his words in his mouth, saying that what Joshua had meant clearly had just been pointing out that there were certain differences but also a lot of similarities, saying that he needed to act as if he didn’t want anything to do with his movement because of the media, stating that he would still vote for him and he still had his support smiling into the camera showing his teeth. And when he had seen that in his office he had shouted at his computer screen: “I don’t want your support you bloody wanker!” right in the moment his secretary had just stepped inside, making him blush as she had seen him yelling at his computer screen, having her smiling at him awkwardly asking him if he was stressed and if he wanted her to make him a tea.

 

Aside from those followers he had not even wanted in the first place, the others would not care about this or would they? There was a heavy feeling mixing in with the anger and that was that it was true that there would be people who would care, who would feel betrayed and lied to and wouldn’t ever want to vote for a man who was like him. And deep inside he also knew that he was not only trying to protect his privacy, his dignity, his name, his business, his life from the exposure of a sex video but that he also wanted to protect his place in the poll, his win, his fresh political career, from the reveal of his gayness that would harm if not destroy it.

 

The voice of the younger male got him out of his thoughts and he realised that he still had had the gun pointed at him and he kept it aimed at him. What the other said now made him laugh dryly. “Putting a leftist in his place?” he repeated. “Do you think I care to take people into their places whose opinions I find to be retarded?” he asked. “I don’t, that’s what you people do.” The blond stated. “I am not at war against simply everyone who holds political opinions to my left, I am at war against criminals, terrorist and those who want to take our freedoms away.” The man said holding his blond head high. “However I indeed could call the police to get you arrested, you’re right about that. But I also could shoot you and could call them to carry you away in a body bag while dropping a hint to ICE to check on your family and your friends.” He informed him his mouth showing a smirk now. Surely, Marcus Aurelius had said that the best revenge was to not be like your enemy but he was far too angry for that right now. “Yes, my advisors did a background check after your hateful tirades and slander against me. And it seems like you have always had criminal energy, from the day you illegally invaded our nation by crossing the border to today where you illegally broke into my private property. You really have no respect for the law or borders or boundaries.” He added.

 

Letting his eyes remain on the shorter man and the gun still in place he got out his phone - that he had not put out of his pocket before the policeman had hastily pulled down his pants whilst lustfully kissing him - holding it up into the air. “It’s on you to decide whether you want me to make use of this wonderful gun right here and call my friend from ICE to get your criminal family deported back to the shithole they crawled out of or I call the nice gentlemen from our city police who will give you a free ride into a nice prison cell you belong in.” the blond man said in a fake joyful way. “All you have to do is to apologise to me and to tell me exactly why it has been disgusting, reprehensible and criminal and plain wrong what you have done tonight and admit what a disgrace you are while I record it.” Weißenburg said wanting to humiliate the other as much as possible in return for how he had humiliated him.

 

There was silence following and he was just staring at him waiting for him to make a decision when he could hear sirens from afar. And soon there were bright lights to see and the sound of squeaking rubber from car wheels in front of his property. A second later three armed figures jumped out of the car, followed by one with a megaphone. Surprise was written all over the blond male’s pale face when the policemen stormed his property. “Put away the machine gun, right now! Hands behind your head and down on the ground! You in the windbreaker! I won’t repeat it again!” an officer said gun pointed at the journalist just as the guns of his two colleagues, making a total of four guns pointed at the journalist before Weißenburg let his sink in confusion. “Machine gun?” he thought out loud. No one had a machine gun. That journalist hadn’t had a gun at all and his own gun was not a machine gun.

 

Next thing he knew was the three officers taking care of his invader, searching for a machine gun, while one of them shouted his rights into the man’s ears while handcuffing him, much too fast to understand anything if one didn’t actually know ones rights. The officer with the megaphone was approaching him, smiling widely. “I knew you had everything under control.” He said. It was a tall broad man with light brown hair, a strong jaw and grey eyes. “Officer Brix!” Weißenburg exclaimed and the both of them hugged each other. Joshua knew Brix because of Brix’s brother. His brother and he had been in the Army together and they also had been lovers. And as such Joshua had spent time at the other’s house during vacation and they had often been out and about together with Brix. They had never told the man that they had been together but the other had figured that out for himself and he had never cared nor let them know that he knew. “Why are you here?” he wanted to know. “Chief Morrison called. Told us that a violent criminal with a machine gun had broken into your property and that he had noticed that when he had left your house after you had finished talking about the investment! And that he didn’t have his gun here and thought it would be better if he called.” The man informed him. Josh blinked his blue eyes. “There is no machine gun.” He clarified. “Just a camera.” He raised the camera. Brix raised an eyebrow sceptically and then he turned around to the three officers who were trying to get the whereabouts of the machine gun out of the journalist. “Guys! Guys!!! There is no machine gum.” He said casually and then returned to the conversation with Joshua as that was much more interesting to him to talk to an old friend than that idiotic little journalist.

 

“My brother returns from an overseas assignment next week. He asked about you. You should call him.” The officer told the businessman. “Sure will.” He agreed and Brix gave him a friendly punch to his shoulder, smiling broadly. “How is your wife?” Josh asked and Brix sighed. “Very pregnant! She’s crazy moody, I tell you. It’s even worse at nights so I try to get as much nightshifts as I can so that I won’t have to bear with that. Poor thing, she can’t do anything about it though, it’s her pregnant women hormones making her irrational and insane, that’s normal.” He said and Josh nodded knowingly saying “Ja.” before Brix turned to his men, moving his head into the direction of the car and the men started dragging the journalist from Joshua’s property. “Did he threaten you with violence or murder? Did he steal something?”the policeman asked and Weißenburg decided to stay with the truth. “No.” he answered. “He violated my privacy and stalked me.” The blond stated and Brix nodded. “Well, they are steadily getting more lunatic and much bolder those fuckwits.” He shook his head and waved good night, following along, then turning around again. “And the Chief wants you to call him. He sounded worried. No wonder when he thought you were threatened with a machine gun.” The man stated and Joshua stared after them and somehow he couldn’t get rid of the feeling that this little wannabe reporter wouldn’t get a prison sentence and that he would certainly hear from and see that little bastard again. He also couldn’t get rid of the feeling that something was still of and he had not banned the danger even when he looked at the Canon in his hand to reassure himself.

[brinary]

BLEUGH!

 

Engaging with this guy was a total nightmare. Now he'd have to take a brow beating for sure. This reminded him of what it had been like learning English. There were so many new words and phrases to say and all of them came out wrong. He remembered, vividly, as Joshua began to talk about the city police, a kid in his 7th grade class punching him square in the face. Kris had asked him "what's up with your big mother" and was rewarded with the swift blow. It knocked his senses askew. If you wanted someone to be more sensible, or to learn from their wrongdoings, why not just tell them? Knocking someone's senses is only furthering an issue without actually mending it. There were a lot of new things Kris didn't understand fully. But he was a fast learner. And he worked hard to understand. There were a lot of people in his day that punched him. They knocked him around and pinched him fiercely and stepped on his wrists and kicked him in the back. But it was for the sake of learning new information and cataloguing these findings. Some people responded strongly to being called a bastard if their foot-soaking Baptist parents had fucked like rabbits out of wedlock. Other people had different feelings on being called "white trash" versus "trailer trash." People didn't like being called ghetto, because the "ghetto is a place, not a race, and not my face" while being partial towards the term "projectic."

 

He was in the business of information, that Christopher, and he always had a way of finding things out.

 

Getting involved in politics was due to his need for information. After a particular Government and Economics class, Kris took the lessons to their word and began to explore with a fervor the makeup of his new country.

 

People tried to discredit Kris by saying he was anti-America. To move to some other power if he hated the States so much. But that was grossly untrue. Christopher loved the United States, ever since he was a child, and has always been grateful for being within its borders. It helped his mother and father, he and his siblings. His sister's spasms and seizures were treated in America. They got health insurance after years and were able to get check-ups and dental appointments-- he got his first pair of glasses because he was an American! There were places for people like his sister, treatment centers to wean children off of drugs, to wipe away bad habits, to help the mind grow.

 

There were so many books for him to delight in. There were so many sights to see. There was so much freedom and disgusting transparency. Being a scathing critic was his American dream. Living in a place ran to the ground by political corruption, freedom writers and voices in underbellies were squanched and tortured with clinical glee. It was why they had to leave-- his Mother's ties to a rebellion effort were only through family, but they were still ties. The news circulated that her brother had gone missing from his apartment by the mountains and shortly afterward, Kris's life was pulled up high and ran across a continent. It ran in Kris, that blood. The need to rebel, to critique and pick a part. A deadly passion. Even now it was rushing in his ears, the pounding of his heartbeat at those blue eyes narrowed at him.

 

How many times had he had a gun pointed at him for wanting to know? For daring to try? And in many cases, he was indefensible-- and Kris knew that, relished in it, even.

 

It was in these particular instances the man got to thinking about his masochistic streak. It'd been decades since he'd last cut but the denial had shoved him into a much more gratifying game. This looking for trouble. Kris could sit and listen to someone insult his intelligence for hours, eyes closed and delighted. He could scrape his knees and ankles and pierce his hands scrambling through an abandoned suburb to write an essay exposing the city's health policies after a black mold issue was connected to an entire area that, instead of gaining assistance, was mowed down and its people forced into government housing with no repayment. He could take it all. Pain wasn't "nothing" to him but one of the biggest Something's in his realm. It was third to Truth.

 

So maybe this was him officially at his most masochistic. His eyelids threatened to lower at the first two big words lobbed at him: 'retarded,' 'you people.' It was like a life on repeat. Threats to expose his family. To put him in a body bag. If he was shameless, he would have closed his eyes fully and made a happy noise to all of it, but years of the same thing had gotten stale, y'know? Criminal energy. That was a bit new, but smelled faintly of eugenics, which inclined Kris towards it- because who doesn't love a good taste of eugenics rhetoric- but also... Eugenics. He remained standing where he was instead. When Weibenburg reached into his pocket, the blonde wanted to ask if the man was going to bring a knife into this, too, but it happened to be a phone instead. And a desire for blackmail and humiliation. The tables have turned in-deed.

 

There was a tracker on his phone and a friend ready to be deployed if need be. He had to tell himself that sometimes. That his family, if things went quickly enough, would be alright. Among the many things Kris refused, apologizing for being himself wasn't one of them. That was the job of others.

 

His death-related thoughts were cut short with a familiar noise. Police sirens! The reporter visibly pouted and grumbled, "Oh, boo" before he took a position he'd seen a thousand times. Without his glasses to aid him in seeing anything so far away, things were a rush of lights and haze and noise. But the reporter never lost his composure and got to his knees with a deferential tilt to his head. With his head bowed and hands up, cat green eyes alighted back on the older man as he was hassled and groped. Christopher Rosario had a squeaky clean criminal record although he knew the inside of holding and the actual police office very well. Bailing friends from cells happened less times than the amount of visits he'd paid to the HQ, doing community service back in high school, thanking specific officers long-since retired for saving his sister, and fawning over a crush he had when he was 18 on a young trainee who only knew Kris as "the guy that brings the empanadas!"

 

His Miranda Rights were echoing in his head still as saliva was spewed in his face and dotting his ears and cheeks about a machine gun. Great. Wow. So original. Some police officer calls to accuse him of having a machine gun. Who the fuck even gets a machine gun, just casually has a machine gun, much less carry it around, to... what, kill one single person? Two people? Being roughed around still didn't bother him. It took him back to the great days of old. Except with less fondling and not as much fear of catching disease if a knife pricked too deep. Those had been scarier. Way scarier. On his knees and getting harassed by cops wasn't the equivalent to those trials and tribulations.

 

Christopher Rosario was okay. Kris, was okay. He was going to be fine.

 

 

Christopher Rosario was out of jail within 37 hours with a swollen eye, cut lip, broken phone, and shoes that had been urinated in. Walking out of holding felt alright and he had a date for court carefully folded in his back pocket. As he ducked into a mid-range Sedan, the man closed his eye and looked out at the waking world.

 

"You're fucking stupid. They're going to have you all over the place-- I bet a bunch of people already have been told!" His sister was growling lowly at him with her lips turned into an awful sneer. "How could you be so fucking! stupid! Pendejo muchicano! STUPID!" Each new yell came with a blow to Kris's head, which he feebly flinched away from but more or less accepted. Shanie stared at him and then started the car. "You're going to be out of a job. You could have risked everything, are you crazy? Mama, Papa, even Tessie could have been caught up in your stupid schemes."

 

He sat back as she drove and let her chew him out. "Crass brazen donkey;" "did all that piss from the bleach go into your brain, too!?;" "wanna-be white-boy wild;" "just as bad as the others;" "do you want to end up like tio Chinaseuh!? Do you!?"

 

She kicked him out of her car a few miles from his apartment and he walked the rest in his holey socks. His first experience in a cell had been miserable. Who he was and how'd he gotten there afforded him an extra hour in handcuffs and a face slam to the table over interrogation at some point. Shoved into a pat-down room, two officers probed him uncomfortably, their fingers jabbing against his thighs and hips pressing close as he was roughly positioned and told to hold still. The only other things he had were his phone- which had thankfully died somewhere along the evens- a three pieces of stick gum. Each cop took one then tore the last in half to share.

 

Kris would fix his stale-breath after he cooked himself a meal. He hadn't eaten at all in almost a full 24! His stomach was painful, urine acid yellow once he finally used the restroom, and head felt like cotton. But he got toast on and put eggs to boil as he opened his laptop. E-mails stormed in, a magnificent flurry, pings and dings one after the next as the blonde went around his apartment looking for a charger cord. He ignored most of the letters of termination, disassociation, awe, and fascination as he connected his dead phone. Through a horribly cracked screen, the charging notification was still present. And though it said his phone wouldn't be operational until it reached 20% or more, the writer didn't need to do anything on it at the moment.

 

Instead he went to his files and accessed his phone's database. Gallery > Camera had nothing.

 

KR.G.9. > Phone > File Access > DCIM > Last Saved. 

[ 34 Results. ]

 

After putting butter on his toast and putting his eggs in a bowl, brewing a much needed cup of tea, and taking a hot shower, he let his computer process the last saved and chronicle them in order. Sitting down and feeling hot yolk spill across soft bread when he bit down was a casual activity. It felt luxurious and extra triumphant. Especially as the .vid file played on his screen, muffled noises through a condensed window syncing up perfectly with two figures clearly seen.

 

He whistled low and dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. "Gotcha, bitch."

 

Almost surely Mr. Weibenburg had filed an order of protection against him. Or maybe he didn't-- need to preserve an image. But this was good evidence. It saddened Kris that sexuality had to be dragged indiscriminately to get the candidate's supporters to think about their vote but it would be sensational. Downloading the information to a thumbdrive, back-up disc, and SD card, the man considered some options. Calls were monitored by the company so giving the Weibenburg business a ring-a-ding wouldn't make sense. He didn't want trouble with security guards, nor did he want to publish an article so willy-nilly. Even dropping a few of the pictures anonymously online wasn't as far as he could go.

 

Armed with evidence, back up evidence, and a warranty plan, Kris instead went to turn his phone in for a repair. It'd wipe the system clean. And while that was being done, he decided to go for a stroll in the town's central quarter! It was a nice day for a stroll. Many of the big businesses were here. Even Weibenburg's big, shiny structure. All those stories up, he was sure the man was sitting in his chair and rehearsing for some campaign. He spotted some of the interns making coffee and lunch runs for the office. But Kris continued his walk and settled in the park across from everything, sitting near the biker and jogger trail to feed birds and read an article published by some new up-and-coming reporter.

 

Some kid. She was cool, he supposed, but a textbook case of denied privilege. Of course there were disadvantages that she had but a school paid for, private education, the money that apparently got her out of jail a LOT-- damn, this girl has been in jail a ton of times. Her politics were stupid and reading the rest of her few articles made Kris feel weird about people grouping him in so strongly with the Left. But some puzzle pieces were put into place. Like, she was the one who must have baited him with that fucking information to try to get him out of the picture because here was her big, lame, lazy article detailing Weibenburg's "shady dealings" with the police department.

 

It contained just enough jargon and enough compelling information that Kris knew to be true, from cherry-picked analytics to things the man has actually said and done, that the writer knew this thing was going to blow up. Already had blown up seeing as how her social networks had suddenly skyrocketed in followers and her article was trending.

 

As he sat in the park, feeding animals and looking at e-mails, a new one went into depth about the new article and asked his opinion. As that new development made its rounds around the circuit, Kris continued to feed animals and toy with how he was going to handle the Joshua situation.

 

* Breaking News!! Acclaimed Author and Journalist Kris Rosario's Departure from the Left? His Commentary on Susan Lenn Walken's Breakout Article!*

 

[excerpt from breaking story] "... But some people do not seem to agree or desire to uplift Ms. Walken's newest article. In a written answer to his opinion on the piece, journalist Kris Rosario is quoted saying such:

 

"It's a cup of some truths stirred in with well-crafted distractions, three litres more than that one cup. There are other things to concern ourselves with than with what Ms. Walken quotes as a "social and moral wrong." Referring to several paragraphs where Susan Lenn Walken narrates mayoral candidate and businessman, Joshua Weibenburg being caught throwing away a sugar cookie at a police cookout, Kris quotes:

 

"It's a sugar cookie, Susan. People are dying. Instead of interviewing the homeless for your stinkpiece on why they don't like Weibenburg, there are alternative routes, like donating to their homes or investing in initiatives to counter general "criminal sweep-ups" that will only disenfranchise them more," finishing with the crass final sentence, "Give me a [redacted] blank."

 

Unlike Mr. Rosario, many others have lifted their voices in support..."

[-Hideki-]

An exhausted, annoyed, half relieved sigh escaped him when he had stepped back inside of his house again closing the door behind himself. And had he been overtaken by rage and a thousand thoughts rushing through his mind only a moment before his head felt now completely empty. He leaned onto the cold wall before he went into the living room. It was a large place that reminded a bit of a luxurious hunting lodge although it wasn’t one. There was a massive leather sofa, an armchair, the fur of a bear lying between the old fireplace and the sofa, a moose head over the fireplace and heavy, massive, expensive wooden furniture that had a natural, almost wild kind of luxury about it. Not to forget the bar. Joshua threw himself onto the sofa looking up at the ceiling for a moment, listening to his own breath, the adrenaline level in his body decreasing. After a few minutes he grabbed the phone and called Peter Morrison.

 

The policeman was picking up immediately not even saying ‘Hello’ but just starting to talk:”What happened? Have you gotten the camera? Is he arrested?” he wanted to know and Weißenburg let out a deep breath. “I have got the camera.” he stated but his face that the other wasn’t able to see didn’t look convinced, not convinced that their privacy was secure. But when he heard how the man at the other end let out a gasp of relief he couldn’t bring himself to addressing his concerns. Maybe nothing would happen after all? Maybe they actually were fine now. The officer said something but the businessman wasn’t listening. Cutting him off the blond asked out of the blue as if it had just come to his mind again. “Why did you tell them the little shit had a machine gun?” he was eager to know and Morrison coughed. “Well, my colleagues would certainly not have been there that fast if I had told them the man had a camera would they?” the four years older male let him know and that was very true. Thinking about this Joshua started to chuckle. “They almost shot the guy!”he said, silence on the other end. “I nearly shot him as well.” he stated the chuckle turning into a weird, joyless laugh. “Why are you laughing? I don’t find any of that funny Joshua.” The man commented. “No, I don’t either. It really isn’t funny.” The man agreed still laughing. “I’m sorry, give me a minute and I’ll be serious again.” The blond promised and when he was able to get a hold of himself after he had unfittingly busted out in laughter he said:”I was never fond of aiming at people. Not even in the Army. I never shot light-heartedly.” And with that he started to tell the other how much this journalist had enraged him and how much he had actually desired to shoot him and how this made him feel now, what was followed by the other telling him that he wasn’t at home but at the gym, why he was never able to go home afterwards, that he always went to the gym trying to exhaust himself enough to go home then unable to bring himself to go anyway ending up in a bar only returning home at dawn when his wife was already at work. Speaking about his misery, about his guilt, about all of what had been obvious but never talked about. They had not really talked in general for a good reason and now they had and quite intensely and intimately as well. That definitely wasn’t good.

 

After the phone call he sat up and looked at the gun that lay next to the camera on the coffee table and he started to spin it around there, then he aimed it at the moose head, just to lay it back down there again and to head into the kitchen where he was warming up the remains of the goulash and spätzle his sister had made for him the other day returning into the living room with the dinner and a bottle of beer, throwing himself down onto the sofa again turning some music on. Having eaten he leaned back taking another sip of the beer, his eyes falling onto the camera. He took it up and pressed power searching for the pictures and the video the other had made. And he found it much too fast and too quickly. He stopped breathing and his heart stopped beating for a second when his eyes first landed on his naked self and there was a growing lump in his throat the more he was watching of this. His blue eyes saw their pale figures intermingling with each other, his hard throbbing dick buried into Morrison’s arse thrusting into him as if there was no tomorrow, the other man’s legs spread and up in the air somewhere, their lewd, pleasured faces, their feverish kisses, the strings of saliva that attached their mouths afterwards, the sweat on their bodies, the moans, the panting, the growling, his balls slapping against the other man’s arse, skin clashing against skin. Josh couldn’t watch it anymore and he threw the camera away his face a deep shade of red, torn in anger and embarrassment. He had never known how he looked like when he was fucking and he had not wanted to know. This was awful! He let his hand run over his face, he shifted on the sofa and changed how he sat and laid nervously and restlessly many times until he fell asleep.

 

 

 

 

Awaking the next morning, the sun shining right into his face through the huge window, he frowned, placing his arm over his eyes to shield them from the sun. And in the first moment there was no thought about the other night, no thought about that journalist prick, the sex video, or the fact that this could go viral as soon as that jerk got access to a computer. No. Nothing of that. He just thought that he didn’t want to get up. And was thinking that his breath smelled like beer and the food from the other night and maybe he should get up if only to brush his teeth. And then his schedule forced itself back into his mind and he remembered the ‘concerned mothers’ he had to visit this afternoon. Upon that all the mess came back to him. Picture by picture, moment by moment, word by word! And the calm in him was wiped away by a storm of discomfort and nervousness. Which he suppressed by telling himself that he had the bloody camera and that this wanker was rotting in a cell and if he got out until his hearing at court he would certainly be smart enough to keep still. Or wouldn’t he? He probably wouldn’t. He was a criminal idiot after all.

 

Having taken a long and relaxing shower before shaving and showering in aftershave lotion again he left his house dressed in a marine blue suit and a light blue tie that had a similar colour his eyes had and headed into his garage driving his white SUV with the label ‘Jeep’ glistering in the sun from his property and into the city. He had the music pretty loud and wasn’t exactly driving considerate as he had always found speed limits on large, decently built streets to be nonsense and killing his vibe and fun while driving. Instead of heading right to his sister as it had been planned for that day he parked his car in front of a security company, the same that he had hired to protect his businesses. He went into the building rushing through the entrance hall, ignoring the receptionist as he knew where and to whom he wanted to go. When he arrived at the floor there were quite some people standing in line waiting to get access to the man’s office. And there he had thought if he went early enough he would be the first and wouldn’t have to wait. It pissed him off. His time was valuable and he didn’t want nor had enough of it to spare standing in a bloody line. Looking at the line displeased he decided to just pass it and he walked past the line, pulling the guy who stood in front of the door back, who was just about to protest when Weißenburg had already entered the office and the door was falling shut into his face.

 

Entering the room a bald, buff man in a black suit was looking up to him from behind his desk looking a little confused. “Joshua. What are you doing here? My office isn’t yet opened.” He said with his Dutch accent but the businessman ignored that and was already sitting on the chair opposite to the man leaving the other to look at him questioningly. The blond leaned forward and slammed his fist onto the desk so that a few pieces of paper on it got messed up and the coffee in the man’s cup was making waves. “Someone broke into my property last night Hector!” Josh told him and the man raised a reddish-brown eyebrow and he curled his thin lips. “We can make certain that this won’t happen again. I’m just going to see what we have already done to secure your home.” He started and was turning to his computer screen his large hands the size of a bloody cooking top that would have crushed Weißenburg’s with ease grabbed the mouse that wasn’t to see under them anymore. But the blond didn’t let him finish and cut him off. “I want you to built a wall around my property and I want spring guns installed on it, those bloody surveillance cameras aren’t enough obviously.” He demanded and the boss of the security company turned back to him looking into the blue eyes. “We could build a wall around your property but you can’t have spring guns installed on it….” He informed him and Josh frowned. “Why not! I want to keep myself protected from criminal elements! I have the money so I should be allowed to buy everything I want with it and I want spring guns!” he insisted and Hector the calm giant took a deep breath. “I understand that having someone break into your private home was a shock and that you are feeling violated but we shouldn’t rush things and result to extreme measures. I also don’t think that allowing people to install spring guns onto their properties would make anything safer.” He said and Josh sighed, running his hand over his face. “You’re probably right.” He said at least a little calmer now.

Hector smiled at him and turned back to his computer screen before the bass voice of the politician to be sounded again. “What about a castle ditch in combination with the wall then?” the blond asked and Hector scratched his bald head. “We could also do that, we could turn your home into a fort if you wanted to but before we rebuilt the Berlin wall in front of your house, let’s check what else there is I’d suggest.” The Dutchman with two citizenships said thinking that he could look now but Joshua spoke again. “The Germans would sure be better off if they had rebuilt the wall around their borders and wouldn’t have voted for an irrational, overly emotional old criminal hag and wouldn’t have let all those terrorists inside of their country. Now they are fucked.” He told the other man who looked at him blinking. “Of course….” Hector said not convinced by that reasoning, actually he thought the other man was talking nonsense that was too extreme right now but he wouldn’t say that because the client was king and Weißenburg was a good client of his, meaning he left a lot of money in his pockets.

 

Back in his car Hector had been able to talk him out of his impulse to take extreme protective measures to secure himself and had sold him their newest security system and had also recommended guard dogs which he would also buy soon. Much more satisfied and eased inside because he had done something – he wouldn’t have been able to bear it to do nothing after that – he drove into the direction of his sister’s apartment. Since she lived in the city centre it didn’t take long to get there but even longer to find a parking space and after fifteen minutes of searching for a parking space he was so angry that he parked his car on a disabled parking space feeling guilty for doing that but telling himself that chances that a disabled person would want to park there now were minimal so he left his car there and walked towards the building his sister lived in, getting looked after by a lady who had seen him parking there shaking her head dismissively and he pulled up his shoulders stoically walking straight ahead until he rang the doorbell of his sister’s.

 

His younger sister Jacqueline was beaming at him ever so brightly she greeted him at the door. She had the same blond coloured hair he had but it was long enough to go down towards her arse. She had a straight bang, fire red lipstick, professional make up and was dressed in a leo printed petticoat and a tight, black blouse that was fitting it. The mother of three belonged to the rockabilly scene and her whole wardrobe as well as her apartment was inspired by the 50ies and 60ies and in-between the on point decoration there were toys, DvDs and other stuff from her three sons flying around. The two older ones were in school now while the youngest was in kindergarten so she had had the apartment all to herself before her brother had shown up.

Josh was pulled into a tight hug and she pressed her coloured lips onto his cheeks leaving a bright red mark on his white skin and he screwed up his nose wiping it away while he entered the small apartment what made her laugh. “Can I offer you something to drink or to eat?” she asked. He nodded since he had not eaten anything for breakfast. “If you have made some breakfast I wouldn’t say no. Otherwise you don’t have to bother yourself.” He said. “You are so humble.” She said and walked to the open floor kitchen, placing a blueberry muffin in front of his nose followed by a large pot of hot chocolate because her brother hated coffee and she had always made it for him when they had been little so she just loved to make it for him.

 

When she was sure that the blond was seated on the leo printed sofa and had something to eat she was grabbing a cup of coffee for herself and went over to him on her way too high heels, swaying her hips, sitting down on the checkerboard patterned armchair, crossing her legs. And when Weißenburg started to eat it didn’t take long and Jacqueline’s Old English Bulldog ‘Tinkerbelle’ was walking over to him, letting itself fall onto the ground in front of him, persistently staring at him. It was wearing the same leo printed petticoat his sister was wearing and he couldn’t help but to feel sorry for that dog. “Here you go old chap!” he said handing the dog a piece of the muffin. Maybe the dog would be lucky enough that his sister would stop dressing him up in matching clothes to hers when she finally found a man. Or one of her kids would develop an allergy and Joshua would get to adopt him. The first thing he would do was giving him another name, a male name for a male dog, he had never called that dog by the name Tinkerbelle, it would have felt like insulting the poor thing further than the clothing already did.

 

Had he just thought about his sister finding a man the woman started to speak about the subject of dating right away, unfortunately it didn’t sound too well. “You know that cute car mechanic I was seeing for the last month?” she wanted to know if her brother remembered and damn did he remember. When he had seen that guy he had almost drooled staring at his body, his biceps and that arse, the guy had been quite something to look at. “Barely.” He said though feeling like he shouldn’t have looked at the man his sister was dating like this and he certainly shouldn’t have fapped with his image on his mind. “We were out again in that nice restaurant on Saturday and it was a splendid evening and everything had seemed so fitting and perfect and I felt like I had known him for so much longer. Then he asked me if I wouldn’t want to show him my place this time and I said that I would love to but that we couldn’t just go there because of my three kids.” The blond lady told his brother. “And do you know what this jerk did?” she asked him and Josh shook his head saying “No.” while thinking ‘But I can imagine it.’

“He looked at me as if I had just revealed being a monster. After staring at me wordlessly he stood and said that being with a mother was not what he had imagined this to be, not what he wanted and was looking for and that it was a waste of his time and I should have told him right away and not made him believe I was actually dating material. And he was that angry, I thought he would punch me.” The woman said and it was certain that she felt hurt. “And then there was that smug flat arsed and chested bitch of a waitress who had been luring over him the whole time smiling that self-satisfied at me, mocking me when she brought me the bill, stupid cunt.” Josh’s sister ranted and then sighed, sounding more sad than angry now.

 

“Why do no men want children anymore?” she complained and Josh raised an eyebrow. “They do want children. But they don’t want to raise other men’s children, understandably so. Especially not three kids from three different fathers.” The blond told her although it wasn’t what she had wanted to hear. “What does it matter who their fathers are, my kids are lovely.” Jacqueline said and Joshua chuckled. “They certainly are. And they are, well, like a rainbow flag too.” He stated. “The first one is white, the second one is like half-Chinese or something and what is the third again?” he wanted to know. “Indian. Half-Indian.” She answered “Right Indian. I always forget. And what will the fourth one be? Let’s see what’s missing. Pacific islander or native American!” he teased his sister and the woman grabbed a pillow that actually belonged on the sofa but that her kids had thrown around in the living room and threw it right at the businessman’s head. “Shut up!” she hissed. “My kids are great and if someone doesn’t want them to be a part of his life it’s his loss. One of my sons is even participating in a national maths contest and he has won a science competition for kids.” She told him proudly. “Let me guess which one, the Chinese one!” Joshua joked getting another pillow thrown right at his head. “Idiot! No Jonas likes sports more. Brian is the one.” She let him know and he laughed. “You have a Chinese and an Indian kid and the white kid wins the maths prizes. That’s fucking hilarious.” He laughed and this time he was taking a bite of the muffing when the next pillow hit him harder and he almost choked on his food. “You are unbelievable.” She scolded. “It was a joke. You know I love your kids.” The blond said wheezing due to the piece of muffing in his throat. “That was not funny.” Jacqueline found looking at him like their mother when she was disappointed. “I never said it was a good joke.”

 

Then she sighed as if it was a hopeless cause anyway, as if her brother just suffered from a severe case of childish idiotism sometimes that wasn’t treatable. So she focussed on something else looking at the man critically. “Do you really want to go to that meeting with those mothers with your hair looking like that?” she asked and he got confused asking himself why she was even asking. “Of course. It’s always like that.” he answered and she sighed again. “That’s the problem. It should never look like this. And you definitely shouldn’t go like this.” The stylish lady said, rose from her seat and stepped over to him starting to mess up his hair even more by observing, pulling and playing around with it. “For a gay guy you are incredibly unfashionable and bad at styling your hair.” She remarked looking at his hair as if it was offending her in her honour as a professional hair and make-up artist. And hearing another person announcing him being gay made him tense up and he got uncomfortable especially considering the other night. “Don’t say that like this.” He protested. “What, that you are unfashionable but it’s true.” His sister repeated and he shook his head. “Not that.” the man commented and she rolled her eyes. “Really? But you are also gay!” she insisted and he got even more tense. “I know. But you don’t have to shove it under everyone’s nose now.” He objected and she rolled her eyes so hard this time that he feared the blue eyes would stay stuck like that. “Whose nose? Tinkerbelle’s?” she asked him, finding him ridiculous. “You know I never spoke about it to anyone, because you are such an idiot.” She added. “And now hold still, I get my scissors, you’ll get a haircut. I won’t let you go to this meeting looking like that.”

 

It felt like an eternity in hell – and he hoped that this one would count to pay for his sins – in which his sister was working on his head with different types scissors, cutting his hair and shaving parts of it really short. After that he had to endure her washing his hair, combing it, drying it and then styling it back as if it was not his bloody hair but something that had to be made an artwork out of. Finally he got presented a mirror when the woman melodically told him that she was finished. “And what do you say. Aren’t you handsome now?” she asked him and he looked at himself. He did look good, better than before but he also kinda looked weird like that he thought. “Doesn’t look like me.” He said and she shook her head. “Now you look like this. It’s you and none of those ladies at the meeting will be able to resist your charm now. You’re gorgeous.” She said and she was pulling his cheeks like she had always done, even when they had been kids and he had always hated that. His sister leaned down towards the dog. “Isn’t he a gorgeous handsome fellow with really great looking hair that every woman would want to marry now?” she asked the dog and the bulldog was walking closer towards them waggling his tail. “You see, Tinkerbelle agrees.” She stated. “He is gay too by the way, just like you Josh. Last time we went for a walk I couldn’t get him away from that other male dog’s arse you know.” His sister said laying her finger onto her lips in a musing manner. And had Joshua drunken something he would have spat it right out again. He looked at the woman awkwardly while she was patting the dog, certain that this was no sign that her dog was gay but he decided to not say so and rather comment:” Apparently he’s into drag as well.” pointing at the petticoat, making Jacqueline giggle.

 

When the time had come for them to leave to drive to the private school where his meeting with the group ‘concerned mothers’ was supposed to take place he felt his stomach rebelling against going there. He didn’t want to. He wasn’t in the mood to listen to those concerns and to offer his understanding. He also was much less fond of the idea to talk about issues that would get anyone or anything to focus on his private life after what had happened last night. And when he walked towards his car with his sister who walked arm in arm with him and had Tinkerbelle on the leash next to her it felt more like he was letting the woman drag him with her than he was actually making an effort to get to the car. His dark thoughts and the fatigue he felt when it came to this was wiped away by his sister screaming at him and punching him onto his shoulder. “You are unbelievable. How could you do that?” she yelled pointing at the parking space for the disabled her brother had parked his SUV on. “I searched for fifteen minutes okay, give me a break.” He said but she was not happy about this at all. “Gosh, you are certainly an idiot sometimes so maybe that counts as mentally handicapped.” She hissed and opened the door of the car, putting Tinkerbelle onto the backseat before taking place on the passenger seat. “Autsch.” The blond exclaimed heading onto the other side of the car, getting inside. He turned around to the dog sceptically. “If he poops or pisses into my car I swear to god I’m gonna kill you Jacqueline.” He threatened and she just shrugged. “He won’t, he is a good boy. Unlike a certain someone.” She remarked sharply making him sigh. “There was no other parking space god damn it!”

 

Entering the halls of the private school he was looking around closely. Now that he sometimes got invitations to those schools, looking at them from the inside he compared them to the public school with the men who had searched for guns on the entrance he had went to in the most run down part the city had to offer. They were so neat and clean and nice and had such a different atmosphere to them and he couldn’t really imagine that mother’s whose kids could go to such a safe and nice school could have much to be concerned about when it came to the safety of their kids but that was not the case. They were very concerned. Alright, most of their concerns were about young girls dressing up like prostitutes, music videos, smutty and dumb TV shows, society being too promiscuous, that their kids shouldn’t have sex before marriage and that school shouldn’t teach them about sex, that Jesus needed to stay in the curriculums of public schools, that they wanted the teachers to say Merry Christmas and not happy holidays to the children and to teach traditional family values and gender roles in school instead of informing them about some creepy deviants inspiring them to become like this; that no one should tell their kids that if they wanted to that they could be and identify as a giant red, two headed dragon-unicorn hybrid and things like this. It wasn’t hard to answer to those with clear stances, he just let the punch at those ‘deviants’ aside as he was one of those ‘deviants’ himself and the more of that other stuff he heard the more secure he got, apparently to early though.

 

The bomb exploded when he was sitting down with the small group of mother’s drinking tea and eating cake and one of them who told him about some illegal immigrant having hit on her daughter and that she had been terrified for the life of her daughter and that she wanted the government to make sure to keep them away from their children or rapes and murders of innocent young girls like in Europe would happen in their nation too before she asked him if he had children himself and how he coped with the constant fear of their children not being safe anymore. And there he had had to say that he was childless but he tried to derail the focus again referring to his nephews and that he was certainly worried in what kind of environment they had to grow up in and that he wanted to make their streets safer for them as well and that he was running for mayor for a better future for their kids and everyone in their city. The mother who had asked had been satisfied with this but another one had gotten curious why a handsome fellow like him didn’t have a family and she asked him if his wife or girlfriend was infertile or something. He found the situation more than uncomfortable but he smiled telling them that he simply was too busy with his work, that he didn’t have much time for dating and that being successful in business and a good provider coming home to their lover in the evening wasn’t enough anymore, that people wanted more action and more time spend together and more attention in a relationship and that this was the reason he was a single man, because he was so damn hard working, focussed on his career and nothing else. And the women believed it. Starting to rant about how feminism had ruined everything and that most women couldn’t even value a decent man anymore, that all those people only were about the sex and self-fulfilment nowadays, that it was the fault of all the wrong idols and the smut in the media and on the internet, saying that the internet should be banned because it led to moral decay. And they were also quite keen and eager to tell him that they’d marry such a handsome, impressive man like him right away if they had not been married. That there were still good and decent women out there and that he’d find her soon hopefully. And the way they looked at his body, undressing him with their eyes and how they were describing him and talking about him made him guess that most of them were incredibly sexually frustrated and wanted nothing more than what they condemned. However his stomach was rebelling again and on his mind the stupid shit this little twat of a journalist had said about lying by omission also being lying was playing over and over again. As he was telling himself that he had never said something about the gender the partner he couldn’t get had and that they had on their own assumed he had been talking about women. Sure he had not corrected them but he had not lied. Well, at least not lied about being busy and not having much time to date. If he wouldn’t be able to find a partner being a busy man he didn’t know, because he hadn’t tried a relationship in a very long time. And if he did the biggest obstacle would certainly be him being closeted and not many guys being up for dating a closet case anyway.

 

After he had taken photos with the women who were mostly around his age for the group’s websites and their personal social media sites he could finally leave again and he didn’t care about the praise his sister had for him, telling him what a splendid job he had done, that they had loved him and certainly had wanted him as well as she had predicted. It was evening again already and he had just wanted this whole damn day to finally come to an end. As his stomach had rumbled they had gone into a restaurant to eat something and it couldn’t have felt more awkward. The only people present had been couples and he and his sister had been sitting in the middle of that, Tinkerbelle snoring under the table. And to top it all the waiter had mistaken them for a couple too what had felt incredibly weird. It however had gotten even weirder when a guy with a bunch of roses had entered the location and asked Josh if he wanted to buy some roses for his beautiful lover. It had made him cringe in disgust and he had yelled at the guy:”We are not a couple!” Jacqueline had just laughed though. “I am his sister.” She had said. “But I like flowers too.” She had added and he had gotten the hint, grumbled and looked at the guy as if he had wanted to murder him. “Fine. Give her the stupid flowers already.” He had said pulling them out of the dudes hand, pressing money into it and handing all the flowers towards his sister whose eyes had shone at the giant floral bouquet. Leaving Josh mad and the flower guy a hundred bucks richer, that certainly was his lucky day.

 

 

 

Back at home he headed straight for the shower and his bed then. He didn’t do anything on that day anymore and he just wanted to sleep and forget the meeting, the stupid restaurant and especially that bastard of a lying journalist accusing him of lying. But he couldn’t really fall asleep nor stop thinking, hence it was tiredly and with a bad mood that he sat in his office the next morning staring into his cup of tea and onto his computer screen where he was calculating something for his businesses. While he got notifications from his advisors about what was said about him in the news and all of that stuff. And every time he got such a notification his heart started to race like crazy and his hands became all sweaty because he was expecting to see his naked figure and his pleasured face all over his screen and the mere idea alone was horrifying.

 

It made it difficult for him to concentrate on his work and to not get distracted. So he searched for guard-dogs to do something else when the door to his office was opened without a knock. A short, slim figure dressed in mint coloured tight jeans and a loose shirt, pearls wrapped around his neck and his wrists was appearing in his office, his wavy brown hair in place and huge sun glasses on his nose. “Hey darling!” the man said and looked at him rather surprised. “Terry? What the hell are you doing here?” he asked not any less surprised shaking his head. Terry Wilcox was a moderator of his own TV show on national television. He worked for a conservative channel and had published a few books and he was so obviously gay that Tinkerbelle’s petticoat seemed rather straight against him. One time his mother had gotten to meet him and she had described the moderator as an obnoxious idiot with an evil mouth who made a living out of being a bitch and mocking and insulting people on his dumb show. And Josh had not been able to say anything against it, he certainly was all that but it was also hilarious how serious people took someone like him and that they actually got offended by what he said. The man sighed dramatically. “It’s our jogging time; don’t say you have forgotten me like this. Normally you have already changed your clothes and wine about me having to get ready.” He said doing something weird with his hands, he always did weird stuff with his hands, why did he do weird stuff with his hands, Josh wouldn’t even be able to do it if he tried.

 

“It’s that day of the week again.” He commented and it apparently was. Once in a week they went jogging and in winter ice skating since they had met at a banquet of his political party the year before and Terry had picked on someone else’s weight what had let Josh to pick on the moderators weight what had made Terry challenge him to a run . “Yes.” Terry said getting something out of his bag. “Look what I have bought!” he said showing him shorts that were short and probably also tight enough that they could have been boxer briefs, or swimming pants. “You are not planning on going outside jogging with me in those do you.” He wanted to know and Terry threw himself onto the chair opposite of him. “Of course, they are fabulous.” He told him and Josh let his head sink and sighed. “You had a bad day?” the other man asked. “Yes.” Weißenburg said. Terry crossed his legs and clicked his tongue. “I know what will cheer you up in no time.” He said and Joshua got curious. “Talking about my show tonight.” He revealed and Weißenburg wasn’t exactly interested. “Alright.” He agreed though. “Have you heard about that SJW chick Lenn Walken who has written an article whining about you having thrown away a cookie like a big old spoiled cry babdy!?” he wanted to know and Joshua sighed. “Yes. I don’t care. It’s ridiculous anyway.” The blond stated and Wilcox nodded. “Certainly but she is pure gold for my show.” The man said. “I will talk a little about how the left are spoilt little brats with no real problems, I will then talk about how our soldiers are killed by Muslims, how there are terror attacks all over the western world, that women are raped by Islamists but this little shit only cares about saving the cookies. And after that I will state that she apparently likes cookies too much when one looks at her figure. And I will continue to talk about why she only has cookies to love though, because no man would want a woman who looks like Godzilla or King Kong. I’m not sure which one yet. What do you think is better? Calling her King Kong or Godzilla?” he wanted to know and Josh shrugged. “Depends. If you are asking what will cause less outrage Godzilla. If you want to know what will provoke and trigger people more, King Kong.” He answered and rose from his seat. “I’ll change.” He then said because he didn’t care to talk about that stupid show or that ridiculous chick anymore, Terry nodding. “King Kong it is then.” He said typing some notes up because he had gotten another idea he found rather brilliant right now.

 

While Joshua Weißenburg was dressed in professional, black jogging clothing Terry Wilcox was actually wearing short panties and some weirdly changed muscle shirt and he looked incredibly embarrassing. But somehow Josh thought that this stereotypical behaviour as well as his way to dress himself was part of his marketing strategy. There was nothing actually real about Terry and although they were friends in a way, kinda, something similar maybe, he wouldn’t trust him with anything important or attest him a good character. He was entertaining in his own way though, he gave him that. Somehow he was really glad that he had shown up to go out and jog though because this apparently had been what he needed. And he got to put all the energy of his anger and foul mood into running and that was what he was doing, running, sprinting through the park. Terry was rather far behind him trying to close up to him, already completely out of breath. “Hey now, wait for me! We wanted to go jogging, not sprinting. What is up with you today! Not that I mind staring at your arse.” He called after him, panting hard, sweat soaking the odd kind of a muscle shirt he was wearing.

 

Josh didn’t think about running slower or stopping though, as he ran and sweat was running down from his forehead, his heart pounding hard in his chest, he felt how the thoughts were vanished from his mind and the nervousness about whether he would be degraded and publically humiliated in the next couple of days disappeared and he was feeling better than he had in his office. If running was what he had to do to clear his mind than he’d run until he collapsed. However it never came to this. When his blue eyes caught a man who looked rather familiar sitting on a bench feeding animals and doing something on his phone it was like a punch into his face. That bloody journalist was free again and he was sitting right there feeding pigeons, those flying rats. The imagery made him stop abruptly, so abruptly that he had to ram his shoes into the ground to be able to stop his running at this speed, his face looking cold and displeased as his blue eyes pierced through the man on the bench who certainly was up to no good again.

 

Not having seen the sudden pause coming Terry Wilcox who wasn’t even looking anymore, had his eyes pressed close, was gasping like crazy just trying to force his body to keep running crashed right into Joshua’ s back, bouncing off and landing his arse in the tight pants on the ground. “Oh dear!” he cursed looking at the dirty all over him, not attempting to get up though, gasping, holding his sides and bending over. Weißenburg still stared at the man with his dyed blond hair who was staring on a wracked looking phone. Actually his face looked just as wracked. “What are you doing? Huh? Who is that?” Terry asked. “Just a criminal journalist who broke into my property.” He said, his eyes narrowing and the corner of his mouth twitching in anger. Terry apparently had enough breath gathered to look at the man closer and say something insulting, which meant he was fine and didn’t need an ambulance. “Hah, do you see how his face looks like? Apparently his daddy has given him a good beating for being a low-life waste of space. I think he even looks better with a swollen face than normally.” Wilcox commented but Josh ignored him and moved into the direction of the bench. “Oi, where are you going! Can you at least get me up from the ground!” he shouted after him but was ignored.

 

The shadow his body produced was laying itself over the man who was sitting there and he only stopped when he stood right before him. “I see they have let you go until your court hearing.” The blond man commented. “What a mistake. Someone like you shouldn’t be running free.” He stated, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

[brinary]

"Hey Terry. ... No, I haven't had any time to process my soon-to-be nationwide embarrassment. When it happens, I'll be sure to let your news outlet bash me first, okay? Goodbye!"

 

He smiled pleasantly to himself and hung up on his thirtieth call that afternoon. The pigeons were used to his presence. They'd taken quite the shine to him, as well as the ducks. Kris made sure to feed them bits and pieces of crumbs that wouldn't swell inside their stomachs or create massive constipation. No, the birds still needed to shit. They would rain shit across this entire district, from expensive sports cars to even 400 dollar woven panama hats. He admired them so. The true rebels in such towns plagued by never-ending struggle. Even his own thoughts were making him giggle, but it was true! Ravens and pigeons-- the true disruptors. His idols...

 

Kris talked to his Mother about the events of the past night and morning. She cries on the phone as pigeons peck at his legs and her tears make him get emotional, too. It's hard trying to laugh through it because it's that fear in her heart, that once someone ends up in a jail cell, they'll never get out. Not in one piece. But it takes so many assurances. She, at some point, begins to sob in earnest with shaking shudders and the wheezing breath, shingles shaking her windpipe with quickly building mucus.

 

"Mama-- Mom, Mommy, Mommy, you have to calm down, please!" he begged in Spanish and his heart hurt so bad. It felt like it was constricting so hard. All of these emotions were plaguing him like nothing before and he tried to wipe off the tears that had accidentally fallen onto the phone, but it only resulted in his mother's screaming sobs echoing out once the phone got put on speaker. He fumbled to put it back on a regular setting and spent half an hour more dealing with the fallout of his actions. It's been an ache in his eyes and throat but slowly it ended.

 

Next was his Father, whose few words spoke greater volumes than Kris felt he was ever capable in all his years of writing.

 

Yes, there was money for moving.

 

Yes, he had taken care of the property.

 

Yes, he was still in good relations with the connections and no, he wouldn't spend money frivolously.

 

No, he wasn't angry. Just disappointed.

 

No. He didn't know where Tessa was.

 

When he called Tessa, her phone was disconnected, and he tried other rehabilitation agencies. They didn't have anyone with his sister's name presently in their system. And so she would learn without any word from him, only the news. After trying to find his sister, Kris checked his bank account and knew he had enough for a big move. Kris had never kept many possessions. Thrifty and reclusive by nature made for a good getaway. Many people expected a boisterous and spirited extrovert but a hermit was his way, through and through.

Kris briefly stood to take a stroll and check on the raccoons and some fungi cultures. All seemed to be going well for them. As he walked, the man idly spoke to one of his associates with a new scoop on the dealings of their favorite mayoral candidate. Rashi Skylar was on a rampage as she spoke about the man's meeting with the Concerned Mothers group.

 

"More like whores who spread their legs and regret it, then push their crummy ideologies on--"

 

"Chiiilll with the insults, compadre," the writer hummed. "I'm sure some people in the group are actually just regular 'concerned mothers,' you know?"

 

She scoffed over the phone. "Yeah and I wear bindis on my head and love the Beatles. I don't know why you cosign some of their behaviours. You're caping for them hard."

 

Kris rolled his eyes. "No one's 'caping,' Rashi. I'm not defending them as a whole-- everyone knows they're a conservative group that's nervous around and outraged by a helluva lot. I just don't want to condemn everyone."

 

"You're the one who said the people who support you are the ones who make you. If someone's willfully surrounding themselves with or notices they're attracting literal garbage, doesn't that say something about them?"Her counter wasn't unexpected and there were arguments Kris could incite with multiple paths depending on his response. For now, he just shrugged and smiled to himself.

 

"Got me there."

 

"Thought so. ANYways," and then the conversation proceeded until Rashi had to go back into the news room to collect all the details together. They were doing more research, more campaign slaughtering, which Kris was in favour of but also kind of... Well, he didn't know where he stood anymore. The information on his thumbdrive weighed heavy in his pocket. Kris had made a career off of following a lead as much as possible, badgering people and putting his life on the line, for information and knowledge and justice. But... Was exposing someone really worth it? Even if it was some slimy businessman with nice pectoral muscles?

 

His mind wandered again to having the gun pointed on him, how tight with anger Weibenburg had been. Lost in the memory, the blonde returned to his bench and resumed feeding the birds who welcomed him with jumps and cooing. His phone buzzed with news about Susan's report being covered by one Sarah Bastion, a former videogame and media critic turned... Kris didn't really know, actually? He just knew she was kind of lame. There was a good person underneath those snide words but she was just pretty lame. He cleared the notification and resumed playing on his phone as birds idly ate. It was right back to square one in fact. Idly thinking about a future without a reputation. Desiring an iced tea. Wondering about what that Joshua Weibenburg was up to.

 

Just as soon as those thoughts began, a shadow came over him and several birds scattered away at the intrusion.

 

Kris stared up at the tall man blandly then looked over at his friend, that Wilcox clown, and couldn't stop a small smile from twitching up on his lips at the ridiculous getup he was wearing. Plumped from being pummeled and freshly treated, white teeth showed through the little opening. A contrast to the cut right down the middle that turned pink- then red- at being pulled even slightly.

 

What a pair. Someone so flamboyant, he'd be a barbecue pit, and the other, a closeted freak in the sheets.

 

Kris sighed and looked back up at Joshua. "Yeah, I am pretty garbage," he agreed and settled back, looking tired still but with much more emotion in his tone. "I think it's a good day outside for garbage. The sun isn't too high in the sky. I won't start stinking up the world until a few hours on, don't you think?" He wrinkled his nose to add effect. "Anyways... Those officers? Did it for themselves. I look really ugly, like a garish wart, especially with dried blood on me-- those sights, they're terrors for the mind. I was released so they could save themselves from my absolutely rotten core."

 

Kris ducked as a pigeon flew off behind him then winced at the strain it caused on his still aching body. "Mmm. Well, sorry my cystic presence has disrupted your life and everything. Jogs are meant to be enjoyed. But your footsteps were really fast, sounded like a sprint." He ripped some bread up after adding the last part in quickly, then fed himself instead of the few birds who stuck around, although it seemed they were more taken with Kris than the food. " Maybe if the police get called," he mused after swallowing a mouthful carefully, "you can say this bread is a grenade, and they'll come running, and maybe I'll get shot, and bleed out, and die, and nourish the earth like the rotten little fungus I am." By the end of his sentence he was chuckling to himself and wiped a tear from his eye. His sleep deprivation was making him prone to giggles but there was that man in front of him.

 

Look at him. So cocksure, with his tense shoulders, that frown. Even a tailored jogging suit. It fit him well. Even when he got older, Kris couldn't imagine him balding or getting hair plugs. He didn't look like he'd get jowls no matter how many bad habits he developed. Joshua was a personal Adonis for many. He was lucky he was hot- they say looks don't play a part in votes but he'd done research and proved otherwise. It mattered a lot.

 

Again the images were a harsh overlay-- Joshua's angry gaze replaced instead with the sweating, panting man he'd watched with held breath. The officer underneath him. Kris wondered if good looks were a double-edged sword now'a'days. Weibenburg did look too good for 40. Like those men in vintage porn videos who would fuck their male coworkers. A little more stubble and he could even be a leather daddy. The thumbdrive felt like a hot coal in his pocket, burning against his leg with the knowledge it contained, the backup disc-- everything. But Kris relished in a secret. He relished in knowing more than someone else.

 

He didn't know if he wanted to make Joshua squirm just yet. In fact, he wasn't quite sure how to get to that point without completely holding himself up as a criminal.

 

But a martyr must be punished for their cause.

And Kris does like him his pain.

 

Smiling again, he felt his lip finally rip and become fully red along the cut that was split right down his bottom lip, looking pleasant, reserved, and casual even as the stinging pain rippled in his mind.

[-Hideki-]

That bloody journalist with his bratty behaviour whose remarks were much too cocky for his own good just had a way to make him aggressive and rage inside. Well, Josh had always had a temper but he usually wasn’t easy to really anger deeply. But that guy, this Christopher Rosino, or Roshio or Rasoni…. he hadn’t remembered his last name right, made his blood boil in his veins and not in the pleasurable way. When he looked at that cheeky face when he made such comments and talked to him like that he wanted to grab him, press him down and spank him and show him his place until all the nonsense was cleared from the guys mind and he’d show respect to him. The blond businessman certainly was no one whom one just disrespected like that and he wasn’t used to people doing so. It was something that in those amounts he had only started to experience since he ran for mayor. “You must think you’re smart huh! But you act like a cheeky brat whose parents were to incompetent to raise it right.” he hissed, his hand forming a fist as he heard the man go on about how he was garbage in such a sarcastic way.

 

The other didn’t seem to change his approach in the slightest, continuing to say that the policemen had released him for their own good because he was too ugly to look at. Being made fun of like this didn’t sit well with Weißenburg but at the same time he looked at that Christopher more closely automatically when the topic of his looks came up. He actually wasn’t ugly. Good, his hair was poorly and unprofessionally dyed in a way that would make his sister cry over the tortured hair and he’d probably look better with his natural hair colour to begin with but other than that he was a decent looking young man. His physique looked as if he hid a wiry and lean body under those fabrics and those green eyes – if one ignored the shadiness and the deviousness in them – had an intense green colour that was unusual and hence had something mysterious to them. His face was symmetric, he had a nicely shaped jaw and the freckles on his cheekbones and nose were quite cute he realised. Joshua had always liked freckles somehow and he asked himself whether the guys face was the only part of his skin that was freckled. As he noticed what he was thinking about and that his blue eyes were checking that guy out now he wanted to hit himself in the face for doing so. This was a criminal media rat nothing more! And rats disseminated diseases. So one had to either stay away from them or kill them off for one’s own good.

 

Every positive thoughts the conservative candidate may have gotten about that jerk were gone when he opened his mouth to speak again and commented on having disrupted his jog, leaving a remark about how fast he was running. He crunched his white teeth and his pale face went red from anger. The way things were going his colour had changed that drastically more often in those few days than in an entire year, kinda like a chameleon to its environment he changed to the different stages of enragement. This lying bastard had fucked with his life on purpose, he definitely wasn’t sorry about that. He had broken into his property, he had crossed all boundaries that were to be crossed and it also was his fault that he was running as if he was a clueless, idiotic character in a stupid 80ies horror movie and a killer with a fucking machete was running after him just to get rid of his nervousness and what the threat of being publically humiliated and having millions of people see him in a moment of such great intimacy did to his mind. It was actually quite fitting since the number one rule in those horror movies was who had sex got killed. He wondered if the people who had made those movies had all had trouble getting laid.

 

It was Terry’s voice that brought him out of his thoughts about horror movies “It definitely was a fucking sprint.” He was still panting. “My heart!” he wined and Josh threw a glance back. “What are you doing on the ground Terry! Are you a pussy! Get up already! My grandmother is fitter than you!” he barked at him sounding a little like an instructor in the Army and turned back to the man on the bench who had just stuck some bread into his mouth and was chewing now. And even though he had not swallowed it down he started speaking. Really poor manners that guy, the blond thought! What he said was worse than the green eyed man speaking with his mouth still full though And he listened to the other portraying himself as the victim in a mocking way. Saying that he could call the police, tell them he had a grenade and that they might come and shoot him dead. “Typical.” He laughed disdainfully, looking down on the other. “There it is! The professional victim mentality! Even if you are the perpetrator you are still all poor little victims who have been treated really unfairly and have done nothing wrong, buhu.” He mocked him back. “Cry me a river. Or not, you might get a boner from it.” The businessman snorted. “You really do think that you are the victim in this and that you are the one treated unjust and unfairly don’t you?” he couldn’t really believe how people could have lost touch with reality that badly. “Let me tell you something, if you break the law and commit a crime and you get shot while committing the crime and violating the rights of other people, it’s your own damn fault. If you would respect and obey the law, you would have no problem with the police at all and you wouldn’t risk getting shot.” The blond stated. “You but no one else, not I, not the police, not society have brought yourself into that situation yesterday and you knew the risk but were willing to take it to violate my rights and do me severe harm. And frankly you would have deserved to be shot. But I am still glad I didn’t shoot you.” The businessman said, his face looking harsh and his eyes cold and merciless. “So if you want no trouble with the police, just don’t commit any crime! It’s that simple!”

 

While he was looking at the other his muscles tense and his face stern and unforgiving, unyielding, he felt a sweaty hand support itself on his shoulder and he could see Terry next to himself who had actually made it up from the ground. He looked completely k.o. and he was holding himself up on the taller man’s shoulder one of his hands clinging onto his chest. The blond looked him over. “Do you need an oxygen tent? For someone picking on other people’s health and physique all the time you are way too sloppy,” he couldn’t stop himself from saying but Wilcox’s feet hurt way too much for him to say anything, he was just holding himself up, his hand wandering off, running over the strong chest of the blond. Weißenburg’s eyebrows and mouth twitched dangerously. “Stop that!” he yelled right into Terry’s ear and the man jumped back. “Sorry.” He mumbled. “I have just thought how jealous I am of the women who get to be held by you, wrapping their arms around that strong neck of yours while towered by that body…” his mind had apparently strayed off elsewhere. “Stop that too!” he barked at him again. Joshua had heard the guy say something like that on TV about him but he had thought it had been a joke, shock value, something to gain attention with and cause some new waves of outrage over what he dared to say out loud but he apparently actually found him attractive. The same couldn’t be said vice versa though.

 

When he turned his attention back to the man whose last name he had not memorised he could see a smug smile on his face as he looked at him. His lip had busted and was coloured blood red. And it was obvious that he was planning something criminal again. He could smell it, sense it, feel it, that criminal energy and that sadistic pleasure the other felt while thinking about harming someone else and he wanted to hit that face hard another time and get that upper lip to bust too. “You haven’t learned anything have you?” he asked, pressing out the words between his clenched jaw. “Criminals never do. They never learn nor see what they have done wrong. Their criminal mind never ceases to be a criminal mind and they always harbour that criminal energy, the same way as a tiger can’t get rid of its stripes.” Josh said nodding as if he was a scholar and what he had said was profound knowledge and he was passing on pure wisdom right there.

 

Terry blinked. “If you ask me that guy has no energy at all. He looks wracked, tired of life and he definitely should sue his hairdresser.” The man stated screwing up his nose at the way the man looked like. “Bullshit! He is plotting the next crime right there! Look into those eyes of his! I can identify a criminal when I see one. I grew up in a bad neighbourhood!” Josh confidentially said. “You can? Really?” Wilcox thought and mused for a moment. Then a light seemed to have gone on in his head. “If that’s so you should make a TV show out of it. We could call it, ‘Who can identify the criminal’. Then you can compete against someone from the audience, we always put one criminal up next to a bunch of normal, decent citizens and you guys have to say who the criminal is! And if they beat you and identify more criminals correctly they get 10.000 bucks. That would be grant! What do you think?” Terry was totally digging it.

“It’s cynic.” Weißenburg said not thrilled. “And I am not participating in any dumb TV shows. How often do I have to tell you that.” he added. “But you’d look so great on TV.” Wilcox found and then sighed. “Anyway, I should make that suggestion and bring that forward. It’s a great idea and I think people would watch it too. And they could learn something about profiling and patterns when it comes to identifying criminals so our citizens would actually benefit and learn something for self-protection and life.” Terry told him totally enthusiastic about that idea of his.

 

The obnoxious voice of Terry was cut off by another voice that was still quite far away. “Mister Weischenburg!” someone called and Weißenburg raised an eyebrow questioningly. “My name is pronounced Weiszenburg god damn it!” he murmured to himself since after forty years that had started to annoy him although he wouldn’t admit that it had started to annoy him when they called him all kinds of names. However the mild annoyance he felt because of the name was nothing compared to what he felt when he turned around and saw Ryan Stephenson walking his dog about two hundred meters away from them clearly keen to approach him. “Crap! Not that wanker!” he exclaimed and Terry turned around. “Isn’t that Ryan Stephenson from the New Right?” he asked. “Yes, that’s the problem. I don’t want to talk to this lunatic and I don’t want to be seen near him either.” The blond stated. But Ryan came closer. And if he stood there and talked to him in a park and someone took a photo…. Not good. Definitely not good! He hated that guilty by association mentality and he didn’t found it fair that just because that arsehole liked him and wanted to announce his support some people were putting him onto the same level as that little wannabe Hitler. However the world was unfair and just because he found the concept of guilty by association wrong and ridiculous it didn’t make it end and it would happen anyway. Hence without further ado Weißenburg moved, placed one foot onto the back rest of the bench and jumped over the parks high fence from there down into some bushes, leaving some scratches on his skin but at least Ryan wouldn’t see him and no one could take a photo of him next to that guy.

 

Peeking through the leaves and branches he saw how Terry was frustratingly trying to get over the fence yelling after him that he couldn’t just leave him there like that but when Stephenson was nearly there he decided that he didn’t have a chance to get over there anyway and he just placed himself onto the bench next to the journalist, crossing his legs, placing his arms on his thighs and his head onto his hands.

 

As Ryan Stephenson arrived at the bench he looked around a little confused, his ashen coloured hair not moving one millimetre as he turned his head. He could have sworn he had seen Weißenburg around that bench talking to someone. Maybe he had not heard him call or hadn’t seen him and had left? But he wasn’t in front of him anymore nor on the meadow to the left and to the right there was the fence. Had he been mistaken after all? His hazel eyes went to the bench but all he saw there was some disgusting stain of the earth who probably took drugs and had been in a gang fight recently the way his face looked like and some degenerate. When the degenerate raised his hand and moved his fingers in a weird way to wave at someone he screwed up his nose. “Yikes!” he expressed and turned his head away walking past the bench quickly now. Weißenburg certainly wasn’t here, he had probably been mistaken.

 

He had so quickly looked away from the man who was dressed in a way that insulted his eyes that he had not been able to identify Terry Wilcox. If he had he would have used that opportunity to show him his place. Stephenson couldn’t stand Wilcox and even more than Wilcox himself he hated those libtard-beta-cucks who were associating that stupid faggot with his glorious movement. As if someone like that would belong to his movement. Some deviant! He surly wouldn’t want people like that in his ethno state and he also wouldn’t want someone like that near his kid and his wife. His wife! His pretty little wife he couldn’t get it up for without taking Viagra. It was an unsolved mystery to Ryan Stephenson. He had no problem getting his cock up when he was wanking so it couldn’t be a physical problem. It even stood proudly when he watched those videos of marching soldiers from the Third Reich while dreaming of becoming the glorious leader of the thousand-year-US-American-ethno-state. He blamed it on the powerful marching music and the idea of his ideal future making him a little too excited, it definitely couldn’t be those soldier’s athletic bodies he was looking at. He was certainly not gay in the same way that he was certainly not a neo-nazi.

 

When Ryan was finally out of sight Josh left the bushes and climbed over the fence again, jumped down and proficiently rolled himself off on the ground before standing up again and getting branches and leaves from the bush out of his hair and from his clothing. “I can’t stand that guy! He is just as bad as the radical left.” He hissed. “And he doesn’t understand that I am not his friend and don’t want anything to do with him! I told so publically. He still said he supports me! If he really wanted to support me he should much rather say he hated me and would never vote for me. That would do me much more of a favour!” he ranted and Terry sighed, shrugged and then rose from the bench. “Nothing you can do about it.” He just said.

[brinary]

A dig at his parents, how original. For a man that looked as angry as the blonde did, he sure did have uninspired insults. Was it well-known that angry people had bad insults? Sure. But on the flipside, the vitriol was the only thing really needed to convey the levels of anger and disgust. And perhaps he did get a little hint to the depths Joshua's disgust could go but it was still a lame dig. Kris's continued easy smile conveyed as much. It wasn't entirely untrue, the insult. His parents hadn't raised him right. It was difficult to raise anyone right in the area he lived in. Some social cues just went unmentioned and certain practices alien to "regular" folk were built into Kris. Of course people meant other things when they insulted his parents- especially how they handled family affairs- but it was still funny to note the truths in such sticky matters. Laughter was important in these situations. Mendacity festered often after the first year of being spat at and receiving insulting messages. Even back then, it wasn't the words so much that made him shocked but the thrill in being sent something full of such intense emotion- even if some were feigned, faked, or just the same person pretending to be different people. That wore off after a year and a few months. This nice, solid, face-to-face confrontation was good, though. And actually had a surprise in it because he was actually positive that Joshua Weibenburg was checking him out. Even with the bad relationship between them, Kris could feel himself warm under the man's unnoticed gaze.

 

Negative it was but it was still attention from someone hot, esteemed, and older. With the life Kris has led, he's almost never had time for romantic quests and remained tight around openly sexual advances. Positivity towards his work was fine. He could handle that. But positive attention turned towards his body still made him want to duck his head and splash water on his face. It was embarrassing. The day's heat had pinked his cheeks a little anyways. He was thankful for that, in the case that he actually had blushed. It did comfort him greatly that Joshua seemed to be having a much harder time controlling his color. The man was switching between shades as if he was picking out colors for a house. That movie scene came to mind, of the chameleon monster snarling and testing his technique in front of various backdrops. Randal, it was Randal! But Joshua wasn't as slimy as Randal. Just a prick with a complex and money. At least Randal had the courtesy of being a cute nerd with glasses when he was just a young man in college. Kris wondered what Joshua looked like with cute glasses on as he watched the Terry character come running up.

 

Definitely an odd relationship but Kris liked being a bystander to the nonsense. If they dropped their respective political lives and toured together as a comedy duo, the writer imagined they'd rake in maaassssiiiivee cash. After getting such a punishing talking to, The blonde pulled his foot up to gently encourage a pigeon from hopping off his foot and to the bench, then taking off, before he simply shook his head. "I don't think any of the things you just said," he replied calmly and his voice took a soothing lilt to it as he spoke through a sigh. " 'twas a joke." Why would he feel like the victim? He obviously did something wrong. He voiced his thoughts unwittingly in a quiet snort and rolled his eyes up to the sky, half-speaking to himself in a fast manner. "As if I don't know who the legal system works and as if it wasn't someone in the police who said I said a mini-gun like wow, my fault for making a joke about something already so patented ridiculous, guess I'll stick to my dayjob, no comedy for me." Like. What a fucking loser! He couldn't make any joke EVER, it was like that on all sides of the political spectrum. No one liked his jokes and everytime it launched whomever was around him, or responding to him, on a TIRADE about something adjacent in its relatedness to the joke's topic... But still so far off. He wondered how people like Terry did it, as said man got up close and personal with the blonde man. Terry was a flamboyant mess who insulted people with no remorse. Insult comedy was difficult for Kris to understand because the way he communicated with people was based on insults. People getting paid for being mean? That sounds stupid! But here it was. And Terry seemed pretty alright at it. Maybe that was the ticket, being incredibly gay and hilariously (subjective) mean. Say a few things to get people around your political spectrum in stitches and there it is. Success.

 

But yet no one liked Kris's simple jokes. Lame.

 

No time for that though. Comedy was unfolding before his very eyes and as he watched, the younger man tilted forward then back as he swung his legs up in an elegant motion, crossing them over and underneath him as he sat and nibbled at bread, enjoying the show. Oh my God this was hilarious. It took everything for Kris not to giggle, and even more not snort, but remain smiling. Apparently that could be an extra piece of whatever-news, too. Terry Wilcox Will Coax His Cock Up to the Idea of Joshua Weibenburg. The article's title needed editing but the pun. The pun was too good to pass up. It wouldn't have ever gotten published a few years ago but with the political climates they were living in? Kris imagined he could make a pretty penny off of the header alone. Sad, but true. Observing the two men, the writer decided they wouldn't make a cute couple. Opposites attract can only stretch so far and their personalities seem totally opposed to one another's. As a comedy duo? THEY were the ones who needed to quit their dayjobs and just have a show following them around and recording their lives and interactions with one another. It'd be trashy but Kris would tune in once or twice to watch that trash! When eyes turned back to him, his eyebrows lifted in his first show of confusion at the businessman's pointed words.

 

Lips making a tiny 'o' he couldn't take the next slew of interactions and cracked. "KKKKchhhheeheh." He snorted behind his hand (it was SUCH a juvenile noise) and chuckled. "Oh fuck," he giggled and tried to stop. "ow, oh my-- ahhhh, oh, you two are a hoot." He rubbed his face with gentle fingers at the pain wracking his pulled wounds and then rubbed his bruised side, the point irritated with the short burst of laughter. But then it got even MORE ridiculous oh my fucking god, Christopher Rosario was there to almost witness a literal driveby fan orgasm over meeting their idol as Ryan-goddamn-motherfucking-Stephenson called out like. What!? Christopher put both of his hands on his cheeks and smiled like this was heaven, trying to stop himself from laughing again as he sighed deeply. "Oohhhhh this is toooo muuuuch." AND THEN

 

AND THEN

 

AND. THEN.

 

Joshua Weibenburg vaulted over the fucking fence. Pigeons scattered slightly and a squirrel almost immediately jumped off the fence, too, to the same trees below.

 

Boneless from the euphoria of it all, Kris merely sank into his seat and weakly laughed and hissed his pain and chortled at the ridiculousness of it all. Fuck. This... This was godsend. He was meant to be in this situation surrounded by people who he couldn't stand and seeing how they respond to one another and he was so grateful to whatever spirits had it out for him because truly--- a blessed scene. Poor Terry couldn't even get over the fence this was too good. Embracing the inanity, Kris offered Wilcox a granola bar zipped up in a plastic baggy as means of comfort. Because what the fuck else could he do. It was the only thing he could do that wouldn't result in him laying on the floor howling with laughter.

 

Ohfuc oh fuck Ryan cam over with his dog looking for Joshua and saw Terry and saidYIKESatTERRY. HE SAID, QUOTE, "YIKES!" END QUOTE, AND WALKED AWAY WITH HIS CUTE DOG. OH. OHHHHH.

 

"HHHHHHHaahhaah, wha-- HHHHH, hahahwhatthefuck! What the fuck! I'm living in a fantasy this is so insane!" Kris finally broke out with a wheeze, laughing and holding his chest as giggles continued to wrack his body past his initial outburst. As he stood, the man shook his head with tears making his eyes glitter. "You guys enjoy the rest of your jog of whatever, I'm gonna... Ah, my goodness. Oh, phew." He dabbed at his tears while still giggling and shook his head. "I'm gonna embrace life. That was so absurd and funny. This could be a sketch on television and I wouldn't even be surprised, that was so absolutely crazy." His accent was shaken loose with causality and unadulterated, sheer joy.

 

With one final big breath and sigh, the younger man stood up and gathered his things, in such better spirits than he had been before. And it was all thanks to people who hated him! The only thing that could top this if it Joshua choked him right now while Terry and Ryan whooped and cheered him on while wearing old 90s jeans.

 

"Are you two going to continue jog-running? Maybe run into another wacky character along the way?" He was grinning openly now, not even smug but genuinely cheerful and buoyant in his happiness. "Maybe you both attract them, or this park is just a magnet for political players to run into one another," Kris said amicably, putting his phone and thumbdrive into his bag casually as well as a jumble of headphones before zipping it closed. In this hot sun, having such delicate information close to his sweating thigh wasn't a risk he wanted to take.

[-Hideki-]

The conservatives candidate of choice stared at the other with one raised light-blond eyebrow in disbelief, repeating “A joke?”, while his brain hardly tried to find a connection between the word ‘joke’ and the face of the man he had categorised under ‘SJW twat’ and ‘criminal’. It failed to find it. “I didn’t knew an SJW could make a joke.” He remarked. “Aren’t you the ones constantly nagging about banning jokes, comedy and movies and restricting it?” It was a rhetorical question, of course they were. “I mean, your little sissy friends started a riot and set this guy’s car on fire, throwing in windows of a building, throwing around rubbish bins and all that jazz because of his bad jokes.” Weißenburg reminded pointing at Terry. “Hey!” the man protested when his jokes had gotten called bad. To be fair though it had not been like they had just set shit on fire out of the blue, it had had a prehistory. When Wilcox had spoken a young freshman girl who had written a blog and uploaded videos on the internet calling herself a feminist and an activist had disturbed him in order to confront him, call him out and start a debate. What she had gotten from Terry was insults; she could have seen that coming though because that was what he did. So the man had turned to the conservative union who had invited him, had pointed his finger onto the girls face and had said. “Look at that beard shadow folks. That person claims to be a feminist woman but it’s certainly a dude. A dude who hates men so much that he dresses up and pretends to be a chick! I mean that beard is probably thicker than mine. And to be honest, me in drag looks a lot more like a woman than him. He isn’t a good looking man either. But at least he need not to worry, if he graduates with his useless gender- and woman studies degree he can still get a job as the main attraction on the ghost train or the freak show. Are those still allowed?” That girl had run away crying while the camera had been pointed at her. Turned out the girl had suffered from Hirsutism (when Terry had been told afterwards he had looked like a pig into a clockwork and said ‘A what?’) and had been constantly bullied during high-school to the point she had been clinically depressed and she had turned to that feminist crap to find friends but after that moment with Wilcox in her college the bullying had started again and she had tried to kill herself. It hadn’t helped that Terry had been incredibly unapologetic about it on TV and even in private and an emotional video of the mother of the girl recorded from hospital where her daughter had been able to be revived had gone through the liberal media outlets. Even Joshua had felt sorry for the girl even though he had found her ideas to be horseshit and he had told Terry that he probably should not bully unstable teenaged college freshmen and just pick on adults but Wilcox had said that if they got into politics they needed to be prepared to play the game. And after that the riot had happened and Terry’s car had lit a few trees on fire with it and it had been a bloody mess because the radicals had used radical means, even threatening Wilcox life.

 

“Your victim complex is something you guys usually take incredibly seriously as well.” the man continued studying the younger man’s face again as if he had found something new about it. “Apparently you are a special specimen though, with the ability of self-irony. I give you that.” the blond acknowledged. This didn’t sit well with Terry and the man snorted. “Tsss, that wasn’t even funny. Leftists aren’t funny. They are hysterical and notoriously offended about everything.” But he was ignored once more, it seemed to be a habit of Weißenburg to ignore the man whenever he thought it wasn’t worth a reply and that was often the case.

 

 

After he had gotten every leave and branch out of his hair and looked relatively clean and normal again, aside from the scratch on his cheek and hands and he had finished his rant about Stephenson he heard laughter from the bench and when he turned his gaze to Christopher the guy was nearly rolling from the bench the way he was laughing. It wouldn’t have surprised him had he pissed himself at how uncontrollably he laughed. Weißenburg’s eyes narrowed, one eyebrow raised again as he watched the man exclaiming that he thought he lived in a fantasy. “Are you on a psychedelic trip or what is so funny?!” he asked and turned to Terry. “Did that jerk throw in some drugs? Have you seen anything?” the man wanted to know hoping the other would say he had seen him owning and taking illegal substance so that he could stop him from walking away, calling the cops to arrest him again. And even though they apparently weren’t so strict when it came to lunatic journalists breaking into people’s properties at night they definitely were strict when it came to illegal drugs. “No.” Wilcox said and Joshua cursed internally.

 

The younger man however didn’t seem to get a hold of himself when he told them that they should enjoy their jog and that he was going to embrace life. It was an odd turn of events that much was for sure and somehow he didn’t like that this guy was so happy all of a sudden because he didn’t trust him. His blue eyes stayed on him when he stood from the bench and gathered his stuff. His face turned dark again when that imbecile asked if they would continue to keep running and that they might run into another wacky character, asking if that park was just a magnet for political players to run into each other. “If it was you vultures would be the first to know wouldn’t you!” he commented and then something came into his mind. “You probably knew didn’t you? It was a trap! You have probably stalked not only me but Ryan Stephenson too. So you knew that this is Terry and my jog day and that we would be here and you have also found out that Ryan was planning on walking his dog here today somehow. It’s all been set up by you. You wanted to take a picture of me talking to that wanker to defame me again as you always do with your lies.” The blond sounded a little paranoid even the whole thing having something of a conspiracy theory.

 

His eyes went wide when he saw the guy’s phone and thumbdrive that he was putting away and he had to fight the urge to jump the guy, press him to the ground and twist his arm to the point he’d drop both the phone and the thumbdrive but he wasn’t allowed to do that obviously so he didn’t. But somehow he got the feeling that he had taken pictures or a video with that phone too and was about to head to his workplace with the material to humiliate him on that thumbdrive. The thought made adrenaline rush through his veins again and his body tensed up another time and it irritated him that he had to let that guy be on his way.

 

Being as irritated about that and as tense as he was he had to find an outlet for that and when Terry was staring at the granola he had been given by the journalist asking himself if he could eat something that was full of carbs or if he couldn’t it was the perfect opportunity to tease him. “You shouldn’t eat that.” he said pulling it out of his hand. “What? Why?” Wilcox asked as he had just been in favour of eating that because he was hungry. “If you do I’ll have to insult you the whole way! You always say that we should insult fat people more to shame them so that they lose weight and aren’t a pain in the arse of health insurances.” Josh remarked and Terry looked displeased. “But I am not fat, give it back to me.” He demanded. “It’s prophylactic. Like when I go to the dentist every three month to let him check if everything is alright and let him clean my teeth professionally and all that to prevent caries.” He said opening the granola taking a bite of it. “That’s not fair, why are you eating it!” he protested. “I’m in a much better shape than you, I can eat it.” He said and started to run again. “We’re not running again are we? I have enough already!” Wilcox said. “Of course we are. Just into the other direction, I don’t want to run into Ryan Stephenson again.” The blond informed him and increased the speed again.

 

 

 

Since he had continued a sprint through the park for quite some time and Terry had almost collapsed the man had sworn he’d never go for a jog with him anymore what had made Josh laugh as he knew he would stand in his office a week from now again. The businessman had been glad that he had let a shower be built into the bathroom of his office so that he had been able to take a shower before he had gone back to his work. After the run he had at least been concentrated enough to get something done even if not the most since the memory of the journalist and the thumbdrive he had carried with him was haunting his mind. And what bugged him the most other than the threat of degradation and public humiliation itself was the fact that he felt like he was doomed to sit there and couldn’t do anything. Not doing anything was the worst and he was not good at it. Hence he left his office earlier that day and did something he had not done in years and what he had not thought he’d do.

 

An hour later he sat on a dark green chesterfield sofa in a living room that looked much more like a library with all the books stored in it. All the books that had once stood in his house and while he was sitting there waiting for Ilay to return into the living room with some tea for them he thought that it had probably been a bad idea to have come there in the first place. Only having seen that man had ripped old wounds open and it felt like he was bleeding out while he was sitting there and when the man returned smiling at him his stupid heart pounded as if it wanted to break out of his chest. He wouldn’t have thought that this would still happen after six years. But nothing seemed to have changed. He looked at his ex who looked like the combination of bloody model and some clumsy nerd with his glasses on and he was melting like fucking wax. No guy had ever been able to get him into such a state before that cute bastard and never afterwards. And even after he had rammed a bloody dagger into his heart by dumping him after six years of being together what had been six years ago now this still happened to him. How pathetic. How dumb.

 

Ilay was a lean man, much shorter than he was and he had the face of an actor and chestnut coloured, wavy, short hair, his eyes were chocolate brown but his skin was about as pale as Joshua’s. The man was dressed in a black suit and inhaling his scent alone only made it worse for the blond, his hormones running wild, while he had actually come to get some legal advice from him. His lawyers were specialised in business and economical rights but his ex in criminal justice and he hoped that he could tell him what to do now. “Before something happens there is not much you can do unfortunately.” He said. “You could go to the police and tell them about the material and give them a hint where you think he stores it but you’d have to tell them what happened and they’d have to check the data carrier for the evidence to convict him, hence would see it and it would certainly reach the public even if they wouldn’t see the video.” The man who sat next to him told him as his brown eyes looked into his blue ones and it was definitely not what he had wanted to hear. “What I’d advise you to do you probably won’t like!” Ilay added with a smile but there was melancholy in it. Weißenburg raised an eyebrow and looked at him. “And what would that be?” he asked sceptically. “To be faster than them!” the brunette man said.

 

“Pardon?” Josh asked and the lawyer sighed. “I am telling you to publically announce that you are gay before they can reveal anything. If you do the video is basically worthless. Well, they could humiliate you with it by showing you having sex to the public but the costs and risks would be too high in comparison to the gain and the reveal. Because there wouldn’t be a reveal, it would just be an illegal shot sex tape and an obscene act to publish it.” He explained what he meant well knowing that Joshua probably wouldn’t do so. This had been the reason he had left him even though he had loved him dearly. It wasn’t like Ilay hadn’t been patient, he had. They had been in love and Josh had fallen for that man that badly that he had thought that if something like the love of one’s life actually existed it had been him. But after a while in their relationship Ilay had started to express the wish for the other to publically claim him, to leave the closet and to stand for their relationship. Joshua had ignored that. That subject had been the only thing they had constantly fought over and at one point after he had denied that they had been a couple again the handsome man had started to cry and yell at the blond saying he couldn’t bear the hiding, the dumb secrets and the lies anymore, he didn’t want to live like that and if he couldn’t admit being gay and was ashamed of being who he was and of being in love with him to the point he had to deny their relationship what had always been like getting stabbed in the chest for him, he would leave him. And Joshua had refused to come out of the closet, he had just been unable to psychologically and emotionally and although he had tried to stop the other man from leaving Ilay had broken up with him for good. That had also been where he had decided that he didn’t care to search for a relationship or love anymore because they’d all end up the same way, in hurt and misery anyway and that no guy wanted to be with someone who was closeted in a serious, committed, long term relationship anyway.

 

“I’m not doing that. Why would I do what I am trying to prevent!? It’s ridiculous.” The businessman protested and Ilay smiled as he had expected just that. “Because this way you’ll at least stay in control and you make yourself less susceptible to blackmail.” He started his answer. “I’m not saying make a big deal out of it. I am saying let it slip through casually, make a joke about yourself being a gay guy, use it as an advantage maybe, integrate it into a speech, make it light-heartedly, in a likeable way.” The man described and Weißenburg looked stern. “I am not going to crack jokes about myself being gay. I’m not going to do their work for them and defeat myself.” He stated and his ex sighed, rolling his eyes before he laid his hand on Josh’s arm what electrified the blond’s skin immediately, sparks forming in his stomach. “You look at it the wrong way. You won’t be defeating yourself. What you’d be actually doing would be stealing those people their ammunition before they can shoot you. Humour works as a rescue net and it is a bridge. If you joke about it, don’t make it a big deal and present it in a natural way a huge chunk of your voters who would be upset otherwise wouldn’t be and wouldn’t mind then. And you’d also be checkmating the media and that journalist.” The man explained further.

 

“Are you using humour in court? And as if you’d know anything about the bloody media, you’ve never had to deal with them.” Weißenburg said crossing his arms because the idea of coming out publically scared the shit out of him even more than a normal coming out had and everyone would know what he was and he didn’t want that. Ilay playfully laid his head back into his neck a little and held it high. “Please, according to your new best friend Ryan Stephenson I own the media okay.” He commented jokingly and Josh yelled at him:”I am not friends with fucking Ryan Stephenson.” Ilay got taken a back and laughed, scratching the back of his head. “It was a joke. I know you’re not.” The man let him know and Joshua let his hands run over his face and buried it in them for a moment. “Sorry. It’s just, that this Ryan Stephenson thing annoys the shit out of me.” The brunette laid his hand onto the other’s neck and gently massaged it. “I can imagine.” He said knowing it was much less about the left associating him with this guy but about the whole situation Weißenburg was going through. “And to get back to your question: Yes, I do use humour in court sometimes.”

 

The blond businessman lifted his head again turning to the other looking into his warm eyes. “Could you be my lawyer if that all blows up into my face?” he asked him and there was a gloomy expression on the shorter man’s face although his lips still smiled “No. I’m afraid I can’t sorry.” He told him and there was shock on Josh’s face. “Why not? I pay you. My money is as good as every…..” he started to speak but was cut off. “It’s not that. I wouldn’t take money from you anyway.” The brunette let him know. “It’s just….. I kinda sold my law office and I am now a public defender.” He spoke incredibly fast and grinned extremely widely as an attempt to distract as he knew the other would not be happy to hear that. And he had been right. Joshua spat out a fountain of tea as he heard that and he turned around in a way that moved his whole body. “Say what?” he asked completely baffled. “Are you nuts?” the blond then asked. “Who the hell would do that? Sell an incredibly well going business to be a fucking public defender and earn like what a third or a fourth of what you got before?” Weißenburg’s businessman heart was almost offended about that. “It wasn’t about the money, it was more of a decision of conscience.” He informed him. “The numbers and money fetish has always been more of your kink. That’s probably why you’re so successful in business.” Ilay said adding a complement to it because the other loved praise, he knew, he had lived with him for six years after all. “True. You were always terrible with money.” The blond nodded. “How can you even survive without me.” He added and Ilay laughed amused. “It was difficult in the beginning.” He said and it was true, it had been difficult for him to leave the other in general.

 

“I can give you the card of the lawyer who has bought my law office though. He is even a much better lawyer than me. You should give him a call and say I recommended him to you.” His ex said. “No. I don’t want him.” Weißenburg said. and Ilay was confused. “Why not?” he wanted to know. “I want you as my lawyer, you are the best, no one is better.” The conservative candidate said and the lawyer blushed to his ears. “That’s not true. I am not that good of a lawyer, really not, many are better than I am. “ he stuttered and the sexual tension, that intense chemistry that had always been between them and that still was between them and had been filling the room was getting explosive and the brunette’s head looked like it would bust right there, making Weißenburg grin as he stared at the other’s lips who was ever so tempted looking at his as well. It was when Josh leaned over, the air seemed to burn and their lips were almost touching that it threw Ilay out of the hypnosis this all had put him into and before they kissed he shoved his hand between their lips in shock, pressing it against the blond’s face. “Stop! We can’t do that. I am engaged!”he screamed out and it was like thirty stabs in his chest again when he heard that.

 

“I see. I can feel the engagement ring pressed into my face, it’s uncomfortable but congratulations.” He spoke muffled down by the hand over his mouth, his chest clenching so tightly that he felt like he couldn’t breathe. Ilay didn’t even think about putting the hand away or that it still was in the other man’s face because he was so shocked by the realisation of what had almost happened and he was glad that he had stopped it from happening and he felt how his mind was clearing again. “Thanks. I met him three years ago. He is really sweat and charming. He loves pets and he owns an ice café. He is Italian, I love his accent. A really romantic guy! He proposed to me publically and everyone cheered for us and then he kissed me right there. It was like in a movie, I never thought something like that would ever happen to me.” His ex lionised that man and it would probably had hurt less if he had taken a fucking pan and had smacked it against his head with full power over and over again until leaving him to rot and die. “Great.” He was glad that his voice was still muffled down or else one would have heard the pain and the dripping sarcasm out of it. “Can you please get your hand out of my face now.” he asked and then the man realised that. “Oh, I’m sorry.” He apologised and put his hand away. “Someone even recorded it and it was put up on the internet, do you want to see the video? Let me search for it real quick.” he offered, taking his phone searching for the video and Weißenburg closed his blue eyes. “No!” He objected clearly. “I don’t want to see this.” He stated and rose from his seat leaving Ilay questioning. “I’d like the card from that lawyer you told me about now.” the blond said and Ilay nodded and gave it to him. “Thanks for your time. “ Joshua said heading towards the door the other following. “It’s no problem. It was nice to see you again after such a long time. Maybe we could meet up and you can get to know my fiancé?” he suggested and Weißenburg’s hand clenched into a fist. “No.” he objected again and this time the other was a little perplexed at this vehement, final reaction. Even people who weren’t interested in seeing him again usually said that if they had time they’d try to make it happen. It would never happen but it was at least polite. “Why not?” he wanted to know and Josh snorted, turning around. “Do you really want to make me say it?” he shook his head in disbelief. “Because it fucking hurts! I am a real person god damn it!” he told him and Ilay realised it now and wanted to apologise but the other was gone already, slamming the door close behind himself.

 

He got it alright. He got that the other now had a man who was totally vocal about their love and who was romantic and all those things Ilay had always wanted and he had not been but why tell him like that. It had been cruel and he felt more awful than before he had made that stupid decision to drop by his ex’s place. Who dropped by their ex’s place for legal advice anyway? Maybe his sister was right and he was dumb sometimes! Weißenburg looked down at the card. ‘Viktor Fairbanks – Lawyer’ was to read on the card and he sighed letting it disappear in his pocket. He felt sick, and angry and frustrated and it seemed like his life was currently testing him, throwing all kinds of shit right into his face.

And even though he had returned home afterwards he wasn’t able to sleep. He just had his ex with his fiancé on his mind and how he got to fuck Ilay’s tight hole and suck his gorgeous dick now and the other would only moan in pleasure for that bloke now – he had been stupid enough to search for that video and look at it, he had no idea why he had done so – and that bloody journalist, his laughter, his smug face, how he got a laugh out of fucking with his life and trying to destroy him wasn’t leaving his thoughts either. And all that enraged him more and he needed to relieve some stress and aggression way too badly. And the whole thing with Ilay had made him want to ravage some tight arse, to fuck some guy into oblivion, to let all of his rage out on a hot trembling body, to show that he didn’t need his hole, that he could have all the fucking holes he wanted. Knowing that he shouldn’t call Morrison though and that masturbation wouldn’t be nearly enough to deal with that rage, he found himself on the attic.

 

Dressed in old clothes he had put there, camouflage pants back from his military days, a white muscle shit, a leather jacket, a black beanie to cover the blond hair and huge, pitch black sun glasses on his nose he was driving to the club. He was dressed like he had last dressed twenty years ago or so and that also had been about when he had been in such a club the last time, just that he was a bloody middle aged man and felt ridiculous looking like that. But no one would identify him this way and that was most important and the reason why he was dressed like that in the first place. He didn’t plan on staying in that club for long anyway. He’d search for someone to fuck, then fuck his brains out and be gone again, that simple.

 

When he entered the club though and was looking around himself it was different than he had remembered it from back then. The music was shit and the whole thing was full of snotnosed brats in their twenties and he wasn’t into snotnosed brats in their twenties. Feeling like this would be a massive failure again he dropped himself at the bar ordering a whisky from another brat who was the bartender whose flirting he ignored. He just stared into the liquid, let it circle around before drinking it. He didn’t remember that gay club having been that full of brats back then, at least he had not had the feeling that it had been a kindergarten when he had gone there. He had actually had fun there. Now everything was just shit. The music, the lights that annoyed him and those stupid kids who thought the world belonged to them and he wasn’t attracted to any of them. The place frustrated him. He had always found something to fuck back in the days in the rare occasions he had wanted or needed to and now all he saw were those young people under thirty and those few over thirty he could see between all those others weren’t his type. When he thought about it, the place probably had always been shit. He had just not realised it because he had been one of the brats himself and had thought he’d been so cool with those stupid clothes, the same dumb clothes he had gotten from the attic, except for the camouflage pants those were from the military. The man ordered another drink and planned on leaving after that. It didn’t make much sense to stay there; there was no one he was interested in anyway. But when a guy who was certainly not even twenty-one was approaching him, leaning next to him at the bar, hitting on him calling him a daddy, saying he was into older guys and wouldn’t mind a handsome looking sugar daddy he cringed and lost his shit. “Piss off you stupid brat! It’s already past your bedtime and I am sure you aren’t allowed to hang out here anyway.” He yelled at him, part of him feeling insulted and the guy called him and insane old man and disappeared. That did it for him and he threw the whisky down and rose from the seat immediately ready to leave.

[brinary]

They seemed so confused. He was amused at that. He guess it couldn’t be helped after a certain point— all they’d been exposed to was, of course, a more radical side of the leftist side. But there was such an environment of extremes in this age. Anyone even slightly to the left might be grouped as a pummeling, raving radical at this point. Kris thought about their genuine confusion and their stubborn existence with his head tilted just slightly. It’d make a good essay or a good documentary. Looking at the behaviors of these men and women, on both sides, all sides, and how they viewed one another. Was his jesting really that new and strange to Joshua? As the older man sized him up again, he decided to pocket that idea— it really would be an interesting study. Being called a ‘special specimen’ and all; did many others feel the same, or were the people in the thick of the political world the only ones who were surprised when someone did away with their assumptions? Something in his heart felt incredibly full though and Kris could smack himself for being that affected by that kind of… That kind of compliment, if it could be called a compliment. He reasoned that if he could change just someone’s opinion a FRACTION, it was a victory for having a more reasonable world. Where they could all just talk and have spirited, amicable debates. But there was a shiftier part of him that knew he liked any kind of praise, as minuscule as it was, and that part of him was… a Lame. Kris didn’t have to dwell on much for long with the activity that took place in a wild flurry. Especially by the end of it all! Any worries about his prior warmth at Joshua’s attention was wiped away with his bought of laughter.

 

What made him crack up even more was Joshua’s obvious indignation. Awe, poor thing. Even as the man launched conspiracy theories after him, Kris continued to giggle and sigh dreamily, shaking his head. “I’m not paparazzi and I’m probably on a banned caller list for that fuckass, anyways,” he managed to snark between his laughs. “If I had any kind of plan, it would have involved getting a hold of that dog to give it a few pats and then let Ryan Bitchenson go on his merry way to practice whatever frog march he wants to honour.” With his bag slung over his shoulder, he gave Joshua a final look. Licking his lips, he slowly opened his mouth, “You know…” he started then finished with a chuckle. “You’re really odd.” He sounded pleasantly befuddled. His lip was definitely beginning to bleed again, pebbling slightly after he finished the sentence and he dabbed at it with a finger. Grinning, he offered the both of them a final wave goodbye and went down the path towards the park exit. His retreating figure procured some napkins from the side pocket of his backpack to tend for his lip as he went.

 

Gosh, such a pair of oddballs!


Kris went about his day doing criminal activities. Immediately after leaving the park, he sat down at a mom-and-pop diner to enjoy the delights of what right-wingers fed exploitative leftists like him: hashbrowns, some scrambled eggs, and a fruit platter with a nice Oolong. He left those right-wingers to their days after leaving a tip and saying goodbye to their grandkid, Nelson, before continuing to carry out nefarious deeds. Like returning to his apartment and paying the bills. Once those were mailed off, well— Kris didn’t know what to do with himself. The man cleaned up. Did laundry. Took another shower out of boredom. Organized his small “office area” in the living room, hair still wet as a towel wrapped around it soaked up moisture. He watered small potted plants, answered e-mails. In the end, he ended up on his back and thinking stupid thoughts as the Planet Earth series played on his TV.

 

Upheaval was never his strong suit. An immigrant he might have been but America was his home now. He didn’t want to leave his home again. Moving stressed him out once he finally allowed himself to sit and think about it on a spiritual and emotional basis. And the spiritual and emotional basis is that he wanted to live to an old age with someone who lived him in a house or apartment he’s owned for over two decades. Not start over in his 30s after fleeing from a political mess. Ugh, he really was becoming his uncle. Tears came unbidden as he thought about his choices. Expose a man, get coverage, get exiled. Keep the information to himself, risk someone else finding out, watching as information explodes and eyes still point at him. Unexplainably move, telling no one and leaving much behind— his family really would get hounded in that case. They might assume he’s a terrorist. This city had been his life. This town, this county, he’d spent so much of his life in and poured so much back into it with love and fervor. Many of the people who loved him back were gone now. Moved away. Dead. There were a few friends and of course his family. News associates and fellow writers hardy counted as real friends and he suspected they didn’t even like him that much.

 

No one to remember him fondly. No one he lived with, who he’d have to explain the situation to.

 

“Ugh.” He rubbed his hands up and down his face with a disgusted expression and roughly swiped his tears away, shaking his head. “Stupid. Stupid stupid—“ Kris’s phone decided to sound off at that moment and he answered it without sparing it much of a glance.

 

“Hello, this is—“

 

“Krissy! Let’s go out tonight.”

 

The blonde stared up at the ceiling then let out a long sigh. “Haye, I really—“

 

“If you don’t accompany me I’ll get drunk and just get swept up by some strange old man who’ll molest my agile and flexible bo-ddd-yy,” the man on the other end sing-songed. “Also I’m outside of your complex right now heading inside to the stairs so I’m gonna dress you.”

 

The phone call ended with a click and Kris was left staring at the ceiling. His impending doom arrived at the door within several minutes. Haye was an incredibly tall man with cherry red hair, unkempt stubble, and a chipped tooth. His eyelids were heavily framed with thick eyelashes and he looked perpetually excited or seductive. “Let’s get started! You’re already showered, perfect.”

 

“I’d rather not go clubbing tonight, Haye, honestly!” He tried to argue but the other man ignored him and made his way to Kris’s room to raid the closet. “Haaaayyyeee, I’m going through a looooottttt right noooowwwwww,” he practically whined.

 

Kris walked into his room and watched clothes being placed on his bed, shoes getting paired up with them, and the other man’s signature smirk made him frown. “Don’t tell me—“

 

“Yeah, bro, your sister totally spilled the beans. Look at you Mr. Criminal! Mr. Menace to Society! Peeking on that German whatsitwhoever, town's favorite Joshua, much less.” His friend snickering at his turmoil, Kris wordlessly sank onto his bed and pouted as he pulled a sheet over him. “No falling asleep!” The other man chided as he continued with the outfit selection.

 

This went on for some time and they had a back-and-forth about why Kris didn’t have to go, shouldn’t have to go, then the resulting counter-attack. In the end of it all, well. Kris was the designed driver due to his steadfast stomach, refusal “to be any fun,” and totally dry sex life. Which Haye loved to remind him about. At almost every chance, he really loved to drive that point home. Bar hops started early around 9, then the club events would be later on in the evening. It gave Kris downtime to wonder about how Haye had decided to stay his friend through college, and reflect on how different their lives were. One of his closest friends, Haye was in so many ways opposite of Kris. From his political beliefs to his lifestyle and parentage, he was made of “different stuff.” They’d been paired as roommates for freshman year and immediately seemed to get along- even with all their spirited arguments. But they’d stuck together for so long that a lot of their arguments were recycled from years and years ago. They’d skip straight to the point of who’s owing who dinner.

 

Time had changed Kris very little. He felt the same in almost all ways, just older, with less acne, with better English, and more problems. Haye did a complete 180, a former Bible-pounding jock into a calmer Christian who shuddered at his Catholic background, freely expressing his sexuality and enjoying life as a pottery maker and owner of a corporate powerhouse in furniture and architecture. He even led the city's plan for reworking the old city quarter into the new, business ladder place it is now. But his pottery had been his strongest passion ever since he knew him. And he was really good at it, too... Kris was staring at one of the many plant vessels Haye had made him then caught himself staring and wondered at the time.

 

His mind came back in pieces. Haye was cooking up a quick meal for them both before they hit back beers. His phone had rung several times. The blonde was hard-pressed to remember when he’d actually moved himself from the bedroom to the couch, but here he was, balled up with a pillow hugged close to him. Staring at a potted plant.

 

“What do you think Weibenburg is up to right now?”

 

Haye laughed and looked away briefly to give Kris a crooked smile. “I don’t know. Carly said he left the office a while ago.”

 

Kris hummed then slowly relaxed against the sofa cushions. “You see him often, right?”

 

“What, Joshua? Yeah, of course. He’s at the golf meets and the dinners, the fundraisers sometimes, too. He was probably there to witness me lose the damn hair bet.” Haye pulled on a cherry strand with a broad grin. “Which continues to backfire on everyone because this color looks good on me. Right?”

 

“Yeah, it’s a good color for a demon.” Haye barked a laugh at Kris’s blunt statement and came over with the pan still steaming, and a paper plate. Setting it down in front of Kris, he poured out some vegetable and taco meat medley mixed in with fried rice. “Enjoy, asshole,” his friend said and walked away with a self-satisfied grin. Probably because he knew his cooking was pretty good. And by cooking, Kris would have to define it as ‘this one singular dish he just so happen to do really well’ because regularly he wouldn’t trust the red-head with boiling a pot for pasta.

 

The two ate quietly for some time with only one offhand remark about how Kris either needed to rebleach his hair and dye it, or just go with a regular dye job so when his roots grew out, he didn’t look perpetually dirty. Kris said ‘fuck you’ through a mouthful.

 

“So.” Looking up, the blonde raised a questioning eyebrow at the red-head’s smirk as he continued to speak. “Why’d you ask about Joshua? Got a crush, there? I hear people who hate each other really are just destined for a life of romance.”

 

Kris made a face. “Sounds like it’d turn abusive real fast. No, I just wanted to know. I ran into him today— or well, he came running up to me today. I was at the park and feeding the animals and shit and he came running up with Wilcox close behind in this really ridiculous like, booty short tank top number—“ “no way” “No, for real!” Kris drank from a water bottle on his coffee table as he continued, laughing. “They came running up and Joshua’s all ‘oh look it’s the filthy criminal I see you’re still on the streets being a nasty trash journalist’ and I was like, “ah, tu saaabes, bro, nice to seeee you recognize my filth and disgusting personality did you know I, too, hate me? We can bond over a shared hatred- of me—“ “Kris you’re so stupid” “and I made this joke about how the. Okay, wait, so check this.

 

“The police get called and think I have a minigun. Stupid, right? I had a camera. But I make a joke about maybe getting the police called so they can mistake my white bread for a grenade or some shit and gun me down” “bro, gross” “and Joshua goes on this tangent about victim complexes and obeying the law and getting what I deserve if I go against the law and blah blah and I was like, “my dude, bro, perf I didn’t even go off like that, I was making a joke” and he was SO confused, so confused I was joking around. Like neither he nor the Terry guy understood that I was just fucking around, they were baffled at the concept that I could joke around.” Haye was laughing by this point but motioned for him to continue through it.

 

“So, I don’t know, Joshua said I was— I don’t even know. I think he rebranded me or shifted me over a little to a different category because of it?”

 

“Oh wow, he’s moved, you’re so special and extraordinary.”

 

“Shut up. Anyways so out of nowhere fucking Ryan Stephenson comes running up!? Like literally calls out to Joshua and Joshua FREAKS he’s like, ‘oh fuck that fucking asshole he thinks we’re friends I do nOT want to be seen with him’ and flails a bit before VAULTING over the fence— you know the fence behind the bench right so he— he vaults over it to hide in the BUSHES. Oh my god, and get this so Secondson—“ they’re both shaking with laughs now, “Richy Secondson comes running up looking for him and Terry Wilcox sits down next to me looking so defeated, but the fuckin asshole comes running up with his dog, SEES Terry in all his flamboyant goodness and — he goes “Yikes!!” And RUNS AWAY I WAS DYYYIIIINNG.” The two howled together for a good while, Haye grabbing Kris’s arm as they reached for each other and holding it tight as he screamed out a laugh.

 

After about five minutes of the laughter dying down, looking at each other then bursting into tears again, Kris finally finishes the scene with an aching body and face and lip. “So yeah, after he leaves, the fuckin’ uh… the two of them are like so confused why I’m laughing so hard and then Joshua says some conspiracy paranoia stuff like I set the meeting up or whatever to defame him—“

 

“He has good point to.”

 

“Shut up. Anyways I was so confused! I was so confused, I called him odd and walked away.”

 

“And is that why you’re asking about him?”

 

“I just want to know if he’s as weird as he was when I saw him.”

 

“Not at all. Maybe you bring out the freak in him.”

 

Kris snorted. “I think he wants to kill me real bad. Not an assassination, but with his bare hands, or at least a weapon he happens to own. I think he hates me.”

 

“Don’t you hate him, too?” Hayes queried then said ‘oh’ as Kris shrugged and shook his head.

 

“I don’t hate him.” Kris scrapped the last of his plate clean with another thoughtful look. “There’s other people, bigger forces, in this world right now that are far worse than Joshua. Does that mean I think he’s a pleasant man? No, but… I don’t hate him. He just has radically different ideas than me and that’s okay. I mean, we get along great.”

 

“Yeah but that’s before all of your journalism stuff. You’ve made a name for yourself as a lefty writer and shit who makes docu-series about illegal immigration and has length articles about… politics and pigeons. I don’t know if we’d exactly mesh if that’s all I knew about you, and I had the same encounter with you that Joshua did.”

 

And that, Kris could understand and agree with.

 

Apparently it hadn’t been long at all, only about the end of the afternoon until Haye hauled Kris to the local hairdresser and made him get a color rinse. Which was stupid but whatever. He didn’t need to exploit the fact that the blonde only shopped for pharmacy dye but he did, with great glee. Kris had to reapply every night, which was why his blonde hair had been in such shambles after the stint in holding. But now he was getting a wash and a dye job. It ended up being a chestnut color and the hairdresser had agreed with Haye’s stupid artistic liberties and ‘enhanced his natural texture.’

 

Which meant it was curly and actually brushed and… he didn’t know if he liked it.

 

“Dude, you look so cute. See what happens when you actually treat yourself to the luxuries of life?” A few minutes after they returned to Kris’s apartment, Haye was getting down into a tight t-shirt and a loose leather jacket, paired with some worn jeans and metal-tipped boots. He made Kris get dressed into actually respectable clothes that Kris owned, just so happened not wearing them ever. It felt ridiculous to wear such a get-up out and about but he’d deal with it. A tight turtleneck on and some checkered blue pants, he frowned at himself in the mirror, especially at the shitty new hair. The former blonde pouted. It made his freckles look even more freckle-y.

 

“Shut up.”

 

Off to the bars. Which were hopped by the two of them, Haye having a good rapport with almost everyone there. He charmed several young women, didn’t have to pay for two of his drinks, and ate nasty peanuts before rounding Kris up and heading to the next one down the street. Hanging out felt foreign for Kris now. What with the self-isolation and annoying job and new criminality. Especially having something so precious as the hard-drive, now hidden in his apartment in a place he’d already forgotten about. But… a devil may care attitude felt refreshing in such a dismal time. Haye was fun and made good jokes and was tall, and big, and boisterous, and everyone liked him. And Kris liked that everyone liked him. Seeing his friend be the center of attention in the room was a hobby they’d picked up in freshman year. Haye respected that, even with all of Kris’s accolades, and his debate background, and his journalism… Kris didn’t even like the spotlight that much.

 

Their journey continued. It was on their third exit that Haye whooped suddenly and brought the former-blonde in and close to him. Kris flustered then squinted as the light of a phone was nearly shoved into his face and read the text there.

 

 

“Fucking sweet! I get to show off the gams at work!” Haye wiggled his eyebrows while Kris glowered up at him and was hauled off swiftly.

 

“I thought you would hang out with that woman from the bar.”

 

“which.”

 

“… Alright, then.”

 

Haye’s interest, or lack thereof, was made explicitly clear and the two men hailed a cab to the nightclub. Since Haye’s friend was working there, the bouncer made an exception and they duck past the ropes (Christopher ducked under them, Haye just walked on through once they were finally lowered enough.) The inside of the gay club was as gaudy and nightmarishly “pumping” as it ever was. Kris only ever went when Haye demanded he did but… Well, it never seemed to change. And personally the nightclub scene wasn’t his jam. He preferred bars and watching Haye win people over than watching Haye grind on the dance floor, sweaty and drunk. But they went up to the booth instead. The pounding bass and electro was muted up here and Nee, the DJ, greeted them with a lazy grin. “Hey you two. Glad you made it— they say it’s gonna rain in an hour or two.”

 

Haye and Nee greeted each other with a kiss often, and Kris was left to awkwardly hug him, even though he could feel his two friends looking at each other hotly. “So uh,” the writer began, hastening to break the thickening air. “How’s everything going?”

 

“Alright per us. Same requests, same faces, same twinks looking to get stuffed, and barely legals. You know how it goes.”

 

“I mean, I don’t really—“

 

“Kris, wanna go grab us some drinks?” Haye interrupted, sitting down on the couch behind the master controls and spreading out. Kris knew what that meant. It meant discounted drinks, or free ones, at the cost of clearing the room out as his friends rutted. Great. He fell for it. Again. Never go to a club Nee is DJing at IF Haye has ingested more than five tequila shots and over two glasses of whiskey.

 

So he saw himself out. Eyes averted and lips set, Kris looked out over the writhing crowd under the flashing lights. Dressed in his turtleneck and tight pants and dress shoes, embarrassment coiled deep in his gut, shame and anger. This was so stupid. The best thing Haye could dress him in was this and he probably still stuck out. At least it guaranteed no one would try anything with him. They hardly ever did, which he wasn’t gonna lie, was a good thing. The man went towards the bar and sat down a few seats down from another man in what looked like military fatigues and a leather jacket not unlike Haye’s. He was probably as big as him, too. Probably a little shorter. But he was there by himself and nursing a drink. It wouldn’t be long before someone came flocking to him, though. But his attention went to the bartender and he smiled wanely. “Hi, can I have a screwdriver? Just a simple one, rocks, please.” This was a new ‘tender than the last one but looked just as sympathetic. Kris could only assume everyone saw him as pathetic and ill-fit for the club. Which he couldn’t blame them for. As he waited, the writer glanced around, taking in the sights.

 

People were grinding and rutting against one another on the dancefloor, men pushing up on one another and shamelessly groping, touching, rubbing. Everyone seemed incredibly fit or plainly attractive. He could spot some of the older men by their beards, and a few women sprinkled throughout as they danced with their friends, not minding the looks they got at “invading” a space. It seemed fun to let loose like that. Slowly, Kris’s gaze swept over the scene before returning to the bar again and settling on that man. Except that when he looked, almost on the beat a young kid leaned himself against the bar and was slicking up the older patron. It was a surprise just because of how fast it happened- a flash before his very eyes- but it wasn’t surprising at all. If anything, it was incredibly timely. Kris was wondering when someone would finally sit themselves down and try at it. Although… well, the man in fatigues didn’t seem very entertained by much.


Sunglasses, a hat, definitely on the DL. Probably ashamed. His heart hurt for him, just a little, and that couldn’t be helped on Kris’s part. Whatever drove a man to come to a place like this in search of companionship, sex, whatever, and they were that undercover, it couldn’t be anything making them happy. Or they wouldn’t have to hide. Kris was only a liar by omission. His parents had never asked, neither had his siblings, and barely any friends. So sitting here, he could casually say, “Oh. Well didn’t you know? I guess I didn’t tell you, huh.” But that man…

 

That man was yelling.

 

Kris watched in mute awe as the young buck left with a huff, posture immediately aggressive as the older man had risen. The brunette could tell he would have flashed a drink on the stranger if he had one on him. But he didn’t. Instead, the young kid left and Kris looked up at the stranger before turning his head away as to not make it so obvious of his staring.

 

The bartender gave him his drink then and he drank it as he hastily stood. Christopher could tell when someone wanted to get the hell out of dodge; the least he could do was offer his services. “Hey. Uh— hi,” he started lamely as he approached the other but still stood a respectful distance away. “I come here with a friend sometime, so I know… that there’s a back exit they opened up, it used to be a separate room but they converted it to a big back exit sort of lobby. So if you want to get out without anyone else bothering you, I recommend there!” He had to raise his voice over the new wave of pounding music, shuffling closer to the stranger so the man could hear him before giving him a strained smile and sitting back down.

 

To make his directions more clearly, he pointed towards the back of the nightclub, indicated a left with his finger than one more straight line to signify an exit before giving the guy a thumb’s up.

[-Hideki-]

He still couldn’t believe that shamelessness of that stupid brat. His mommy was probably worried about where he was right now and that kid who had probably shown a fake ID at the door to even get into the club was hitting on a man his parents age in search for a ‘sugar daddy’. In that moment he couldn’t help but to understand the ‘Concerned Mothers’ group who advocated for banning the internet on the internet to a certain degree. Not only that he felt as if someone had emptied a bucket full of dung over his head having been called a daddy and the mere suggestion that he could have any interest in fucking some sixteen or seventeen years old boy. Was there a worst insult? He couldn’t think of one. But when he was good to go, slamming the empty glass back onto the bar he could feel eyes peering at him. Some dude was staring at him. Staring at him closely! If whoever it was would call him a daddy again he might not be able to control himself anymore. Weißenburg could only take so much shit for one day and the amount of shit he could take this day was already more than reached.

 

When he was about to leave the guy who had previously stared at him actually spoke to him using the eloquent chat-up line “Hey.Uh-hi,” and the blond man who hid his light hair under the black hat turned around to the man. He had to look twice as he thought his eyes were fooling him right there. Before him stood that journalist again! The same frigging one who had violated his privacy and was out to destroy his life! The same one who had acted as if he had been on drugs in the park at morning and had then called him odd! Right, HE was the odd one out of the two of them! Even though he had done something about the unprofessionally dyed blond hair it was clearly that Christopher. And for a moment he panicked and wanted to turn around again immediately so that he couldn’t identify him somehow and could take a photo of him in disguise sneaking around in gay clubs but instead his pale face turned into ghost mode and got so white that if one had placed him naked in front of a white wall he would have been invisible.

 

Wait a second, what was that guy even doing in the gay club, sitting around like that, jolly, no care in the fucking world while Joshua felt like shit because of what he had done. If he was here that meant the fucker was gay as well. The anger he felt was overwhelming, it was raging inside of him like a bloody tsunami ready to destroy everything. This arsehole was fucking gay himself. Why then? Why would he then want to use Josh’s sexual orientation in particular to ruin him? Why was he blackmailing him for being the same he was? He couldn’t gasp it. He wanted to humiliate him with the fact that he fucked men but was fucking – or probably more likely fucked by – men himself. It didn’t make any sense to him. How much did he have to hate him and want to see him fall to use this so that the media and the public would figuratively rip off his head, spit and trample on it and break the life of a gay policeman who had nothing to do with politics while doing so for this as well. Why did he want the businessman being homosexual to be used as a negative publically? It wouldn’t exactly be a win for gay men if someone was ripped apart for being gay publically. This guy was actually much worse of a hypocrite than he had thought.

 

However as much as he would have liked to yell that into his face, to go on a rant and put all of what he was thinking about that little shit out of his system for good he had to control his anger. Because if he said anything negative or into that direction he would reveal his identity and the other could use his nightly visit to that dull place to piss on his leg as well.

So when Christopher, actually in a rather friendly way, told him that he came to that place with friends rather often and that he knew of another exit, describing the way to him, he put on a fake smile and leaned back at the bar for a moment. “I see. So they got rid of that room. Probably for the better.” He remarked in his bass voice with a laugh, smoothly crossing his arms in front of his stomach. To make conversation with the guy would be the most normal and least suspicious thing to do in that situation after all. “I haven’t been to that place for twenty years or so. Just wanted to see how it is now. Seems to be pretty much the same old game, just that I haven’t remembered it to be this dull and full of toddlers.” Josh told him and then stood straight again. He made a step towards the other and brought himself to lay his hand on his shoulder. The grip of his hand was strong and firm when he gave the man two pats on the shoulder before he said. “Thanks for the info.” while in his guts there was a wolf fletching its teeth wanting to jump at the journalist’s throat.

 

When Joshua leaned down a little though, close towards Rosario’s ear and spoke directly into it:”You look hot. I’m sure you find whatever cock you’re searching for tomight.”, with a playful smirk on his lips it wasn’t fake or a lie, he actually meant it, he found him hot. He was neatly dressed but not in a boring way, his freckles stood out more and he was a sucker for cute guys with freckles and now that his hair had been taken care of and wasn’t bad fake blond anymore it looked good as well. The chestnut colour of it could have reminded him of Ilay but for that the other looked much too different than his ex, the hair itself already was different. Ilay’s hair was wavy whereas Christopher’s hair was now outright curly. His ex’s hair had only been curly when it had been wet and Josh had loved it while the other had hated it and he had blushed like a tomato whenever the blond had decided to mess with his wet hair or wrap the curls around his finger, or sneak into the shower after him to fool around with it what had always startled him and made him jump. Weißenburg had no idea what that journalist had even done to that wild hair that it had not been curly before. Maybe he had one of those flat irons that women used or how his sister called it the ‘hot guillotine for your hair’ as she always tried to keep the women whom she still cut and styled their hair at her home from using that. They usually just lashed out at her though telling her that she wasn’t allowed an opinion with naturally straight hair, so they ignored her professional advice and then after a year or two of straightening their hair every fucking day came crying to her because their hair was destroyed and looked like literal garbage. Joshua and his sister had incredibly straight hair with a fine and silky texture that generally didn’t do much other than hanging out on their head.

 

The businessman went past the other leaving a cloud of expensive perfume behind, raising a hand to say goodbye, turning his head back to get a look at the man’s arse in those tight pants because he had just been curious if he had a sexy arse too. He had indeed. It was a manly butt, not those voluminous bubble butts that he didn’t find pleasing at all because he found them too terribly feminine and yet it also wasn’t just flat - like his own arse - that wasn’t all too erotic to him either. It was just a really hot arse but the person this arse belonged to was an arse too and that arse probably either wanted to blackmail him or just publically humiliating him right away and that was definitely not sexy. Josh could have been thinking about arses and even philosophies about them for a couple of hours but he would rather leave before the other would somehow catch onto something that would let him know that he wasn’t a complete stranger who had checked out his backdoor and would have kinda liked to give it a slap just now after all.

 

Following the instructions he got out of the club and walked the streets of the district that was basically ruled by the LGBT community. It was like China town just with LGBT people. Like LGBT-town or something. And somehow he felt like people were staring at him what might not even have been true but was probably caused by the paranoia of someone identifying him as the conservative candidate for the office of mayor. And when someone bounced into him, apologised and wanted to start a conversation he said ‘No English’ in a really shitty attempt to imitate Hectors Dutch accent. He had not driven into the district hence he had to walk all through it until he got to his SUV which he had parked in front of a fish market. Letting himself sink into the seat he leaned back into it taking a deep breath rubbing his hands over his face under the sunglasses. This whole thing had been a major fail. He had not been able to get rid of any tension, aggression or frustration, he had just been insulted by a kid, run into the person he had wanted to see the least and had lusted over that very bloke’s arse, what was a) insane and b)just made him crave to fuck even more badly. But he obviously couldn’t just register on a bloody hook-up side and he didn’t want to either. Terry had unbidden and out of the blue shown his hook-up profile to him once and it had seemed ridiculous. The guy had had a profile with a headless picture of his and a written list of whom he didn’t like and didn’t want but there was nowhere to read whom he actually wanted and what he did find desirable and hot. He had thrown the phone into Wilcox lap again and said “I don’t get you young people and the way you try to get in contact with people and to get laid.” Wilcox had told him he didn’t get it because he was straight but he wasn’t straight and he still didn’t get it. He had never once wasted a thought on hook-up apps anymore!

 

It made him mad though, that he was probably only left to fuck his hand while this stupid Italian ice- cream salesman was between his ex’s legs. But this fucker was not in the closet, he was romantic and he had a fucking accent. Fuck accents! Whatever happened to speaking proper English? Wasn’t that attractive? No? This stupid jerk didn’t try proper pronunciation and Ilay’s sweet cock went up for him? This was bullshit! When his grandfather had immigrated to the US with his family in the early 1930ies because he had found that rising fascism stunk like a hell of a lot of shit – he had not been able to possibly imagine what large amount of shit though - and that he wouldn’t want to live in a country ruled by an incestuous psychotic freak with a silly moustache who had advocated for frigging world domination plans he had tried hard to assimilate and to not stick out negatively or in any way at all in the US. And whenever his wife and later his father had not spoken English at home his grandpa had slammed his fist onto the table and had said ‘We speak English in this house’ and ‘We speak English in this house’ was his signature to this day, it’d probably be written on his grave someday ‘We speak English in the netherworld!’ with a picture of him slamming his hand onto the table. He had also tried badly to camouflage his accent what had been hilarious because he had not spoken accent free trying but had kinda invented a completely new accent that had sounded incredibly odd but had not been recognisable. His grandfather had also wanted to change their family name from ‘Weißenburg’ into ‘Whitenburg’ what was the translation of the name in the early 1940ies but his grandmother had not allowed it saying that they would not spend money they didn’t have for something unimportant as to change their family name into ‘Whitenburg’ so Weißenburg it had stayed and Josh had had to explain every civil servant in some stupid government building how to transcript ‘ß’. So maybe changing it into Whitenburg would have been a practical investment.

 

And aside from the accent there was bloody romance! Because that stupid guy was romantic! He had watched a few retarded Hollywood movies and was playing prince charming now! Pshaw! Joshua wasn’t the most romantic! So? Who needed fucking cliché romance right? What were they fucking wenches? And besides, Ilay’s new guy didn’t even reach 1,80m in height. He slammed his hand onto the horn and the loud sound rang through the empty, dark street and echoed back to him. If he could have cried he felt like he would have but he was incapable of it and always just got incredibly angry and needed an outlet for his aggression or he ended up punching shit into bits and pieces or doing dumb things. Stupid Ilay! Damn Christopher, dumb leftist journalist little shit with a way too nice arse! Fuck them all!

 

But instead of starting the engine and leaving the bloody fish market behind he was texting, he was texting stupid Ilay.

- ‘At least tell me that your mother hates your new guy as much as she hated me.’

He typed. Stared at what he had typed. Found it pathetic. Hoped the other had not seen it and wanted to delete it again but he already got a reply.

- ‘She does. I’m still the disgrace of the family and my brother is still her perfect little treasure.

Somehow that made him feel a little better but not too much better. He wanted to ask if that fucker was with him now but he didn’t because if the other said yes he would fling his phone through the window of the car and he loved his car.

It was silly actually that someone like Ilay was considered rebellious and the disgrace of the family. But for the man’s mother that was pretty much the case. It had all started with Ilay getting kicked out of two religious private residential schools she had sent him to. The first one he had been kicked out of had kicked him out because he had looked at male models in underwear and the catalogue had been found. It had not even mattered whether the underwear models had been male or female, had it been women he would have been kicked out as well, just because it was too much nudity in that catalogue and everyone knew nudity was evil. And the second one his mother had gotten him into by using all connections she had had and begging he had gotten kicked out of because his roommate and he had fondled each other. Then he had had to go to a normal public school and his mother had already been incredibly displeased by that and ashamed and insulted by her son just having the audacity to be gay. However she had known she couldn’t do much about it and only had had the options to either disown him or accept that he was like that, so the orthodox lady had actually accepted how he was although not exactly happily and next thing she knew her son always brought men she had found terrible and everything wrong with. Their grades in school, their college majors, later their jobs, they had had the wrong believes and she had also not liked their faces either. Hence she had kind of started to think of Ilay as a complete failure and disgrace.

 

When he had finally put out his phone and had driven away he had not driven home but had actually driven past Morrison’s house for at least four times. Then he had left the car and walked past it for three times, before he stood in front of the door ringing the bell. The policeman opened up the door, the short, mouse grey hair of his undone, in sweatpants and with grey eyes that looked confused. “Who are you and what do you want?” he asked narrowed eyebrows as he looked him up and down, finding that he looked really suspicious. Had he seen him on the streets he had controlled him. It would have been even more suspicious had he worn a black hoodie. “It’s me.” Joshua said taking off his sunglasses and now he didn’t look surprised but shocked. “What are you doing here! Are you nuts! And how do you even look.” He automatically started to whisper now. “I want you!” the blond man said stepping in, making the other step back slamming the door close behind himself. “We can’t do that. Not here! Not now! I told you to never come here. My wife is at her sisters for a few days and I have to look after the kids. Tory is up in her room with her boyfriend and I have to check on her that they won’t do something naughty I have promised my wife. Tory’s twin sister could come back home every minute from the birthday party of one of her friends from her ballet’s club and my youngest is sleeping on the sofa in front of the TV.” He told him and instead of going Weißenburg placed his sunglasses onto a cupboard and got closer to the other. “Great, so everyone is busy.” He said trying to press his lips onto the officer’s. “What is wrong with you!”he said. “Ilay will marry a stupid jerk with an accent and I am horny for your arse, isn’t that obvious.” The businessman asked groping the policeman’s arse and then his dick making the man gasp. “Stop, not here, my son sleeps on the sofa in the living room you moron.” He hissed in a muffled down voice. “Then we’ll go into the bedroom!” Weißenburg said pushing the other into the direction where the bedroom was, locking the door behind them.

 

Even though Morrison still objected and pretended that he wanted him to leave that changed when he felt the blond’s crotch rubbing up against his and his tongue was on a safari in his mouth. It wasn’t difficult for the businessman to set the policeman’s body on fire and the other was taking the hat from the blond man’s hair embracing the kiss before they were hastily undressing each other. There was no objection just pleasured moans coming out of Morrison’s mouth when his upper body was laying flat on the bed and his spread hairy arse was up in the air Joshua’s tongue buried in the hole that he was spreading open with the fingers of his right hand, moving in there like a snake, while the left hand was squeezing and torturing the other’s balls and cock, being rather rough to him what only got that man more aroused and his dick was starting to drip pre-cum onto the bed-sheets of the bed he slept in with his lady wife while his hole was rimmed and his balls tortured by another man. And Joshua who had been horny before was getting rock hard doing that and making the strong masculine man let out his pleasured voice, his hips automatically moving to meet his tongue.

 

The blond couldn’t bear it for long though and gave a stroke to his own hard dick that was throbbing and craving to be buried into the other’s insides and the impatience and the aggression, all of that that had built in Weißenburg made him ram his thick veiny thing into the other man all at ones and the policeman wheezed, his face torn in pain before the other moved vigorously, pounding the man into the sheets, driven by aggression and the pleasure the tightness and the stronger getting grip of the other’s arsehole caused him. For someone who had not wanted to fuck in that house because his children were present the man moaned and groaned lowly and loudly and it only enthralled Joshua whose body was consumed by the pleasure and who was thrusting against the other man’s prostate in pure ecstasy more as it was amazingly hot to hear that and to see that sight of the other. The man’s arsehole devoured his dick, choked it and it felt like he was melting in the tight hot insides, his body glistering with sweat while he was penetrating him hard and the man’s hips rocked under him, the other’s hands clawing into the sheets. And something odd happened along the way. On his mind Peter Morrison turned into Ilay first and then into that bloody journalist. And having the image of a blushing, drooling left wing journalist on his mind who was moaning and whose body was arching under him while he destroyed his arse he was getting more aggressive, pressing Morrison’s face into the pillow hammering into him like a maniac and the man was moaning like crazy, drooling on the pillow, his eyes rolling and he could feel that the officer was about to cum when that muscle was nearly crushing his poor cock what made Josh bathe in pleasure but the blond was kind of unable to stop ravaging that damn arse of the policeman even though the other had already stained the sheets with his seeds.

 

He was still thrusting in hard, tumbling on the edge to orgasm while the other was groaning half pleasured half pained from the overstimulation he got but he came again, sperm shooting out of his cock uncontrollably due to the pain and the intensity of that all to the point Morrison couldn’t take it anymore and he felt like an accident would happen would that continue. “Stop!” he cried. But irregular hard thrusts were hitting his prostate again and again while Josh’s muscles were constricting and pleasure streaming through him consuming his body and mind, getting close to orgasm as he bucked into the other, his face twisting. “Fuck, stop it!” the other said again but it was kinda too late, Joshua filled the other’s arsehole up with his sperm while growling deeply in pleasure and Morrison’s cock was still dripping out cum. “Shit! Pull out you moron!” he shouted and Weißenburg who was trying to catch some breath looked confused and got pushed away, his cock slipping out of the other man’s arse who was trying to stand up right away as fast as possible, a pained whine being to hear as he moved to the bathroom next to the bedroom on wobbling, weak legs taking a piss.

 

After Joshua had been able to clear his head a little and had caught his breath he felt somewhat bad about that and actually went out of the way to change the whole bed sheets and everything right away when he suddenly heard sobbing from the bathroom. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do now. Should he leave him and pretend he had not heard that to not embarrass him or should he comfort him. He had no idea but he decided to at least say something but pretend the other wasn’t crying. The blond man stepped into the bathroom and saw the other standing there leaning on the wall. “I should have pulled it out, I’m terribly sorry and I take full responsibly for everything.” He stated and Morrison started to laugh while he was still sobbing. “Fuck. For what do you want to take responsibility? That I betray my wife with men? That I let you fuck me in our marriage bed and stain it while I am supposed to take care of my kids? That I am a disgusting freak who got the orgasm of a life time because he got mercilessly ravaged by a raging guy who has bottled up too much aggression destroying my prostate?” he asked and somehow he got the notion that the man was not crying because he had not stopped and that he wasn’t mad about him but only about himself for having enjoyed that to the fullest. The blond didn’t know what to say. “You can’t take responsibility for me being a disgrace as a husband and a father! For doing that to my wife! For being scum living in hell! Every second of my life being fucking hell!” he screamed at him now and Weißenburg didn’t know what to say. Even though he was in the closet he couldn’t relate. He didn’t feel guilty for having sex with men and he enjoyed it quite a lot. He wrapped his arms around the buff man though. “So does it feel like hell when I do that?” he asked letting his hands run over the man’s torso teasing his nipples kissing his neck. “No and that’s the problem. It feels like a piece of heaven and then I fall back into the nightmare my life is every time and I have to look into the eyes of my wife, tell her that I love her knowing that it’s a lie.” He responded and Josh turned his face around kissing him again to shut him up and get him to stop bashing himself, what ended up in them fucking in the shower and Josh lifting the heavier man’s body up while fucking him, what he shouldn’t have done because his back hurt terribly afterwards. They didn’t even stop there and the fresh bed sheets got stained with sperm and sweat again before both of them just lay motionless on the bed. Josh’s back killing him and Peter’s arse hurting like crazy.

 

Their exhausted, satisfied faces stared at the ceiling when a knock on the door was to hear. “Dad! Dad!” his youngest kid said rattling on the locked door. “Why is the door closed!” the small kid almost started crying right away. “I had a nightmare !” it sobbed, panicking as the door was still locked and his dad didn’t say a word. That door was never locked after all. “It’s all good. I’ll be right there, wait a second okay,” he said and stood up from the bed the way he walked being incredibly funny and he had to bite his lip when he was getting dressed becaue he felt like his arse had been torn apart. “What are you doing! Get out of the bed immediately!” Morrison hissed at Josh. “I would but I can’t. I think I have an extruded disc….” The blond answered grinning widely with an awkward face. “You have not!” Peter said and even if the businessman had he had not, because he just couldn’t now, he needed to get out immediately and Morrison threw his clothing into his face. “I have not an extruded disc, got it….” Weißenburg said and tried to move pain shooting through his body like pleasure had before. But it probably wasn’t an extruded disc after all it was fucking painful regardless though. He stood and he had just been able to get on his pants, really slowly, when Morrison opened the window while his five years old son was crying ‘Dad!’ again pulling at the door, kicking the door. “What are you doing at the window?” Josh asked stepping into his boots. “You will get out that way.” Peter informed him. “You gotta be kidding me. I’m not climbing down there.” He protested. “You will. I am not going to let my son see a man walking out of the bedroom. You have been in the Army that is not a problem for you.” The policeman said coldly and Joshua sighed. “But my back…” he reminded. “Your back is fine.” The other just said, pressed the other clothes, the shirt and the jacket, into Weißenburg’s arms and pushed him slightly so that he’d get out of the window, closing it right behind him before he opened the door and smiled at his child. When his son asked him whether there had been someone in there because he had heard a man’s voice he told him that it had been the TV but he had turned off the TV now.

 

Joshua was feeling like a teenaged boy who had sneaked into the room of his girlfriend against her father’s will and had to climb out of the window when he was sitting on the rain shelter of Morrison’s house, his back hurting, with a naked chest and his shirt and jacket in his arms. He put on both his shirt and his jacket while still on the rain shelter and he kinda felt like his life was a giant fucking joke. He was sitting on Peter Morrison’s bloody rain shelter because the other was too afraid of letting him walk out through the door like a normal person after he had agreed to have sex with him in his house. It was ridiculous, it was stupid and he felt like an idiot with a hurting back now and Morrison could fuck his own arse from now on because he wouldn’t do it anymore. And what was worse than all of it, he had imagined to pound that stupid journalist into the sheets and he had cum imagining that. It was embarrassing. He sat on the rain shelter for a while before he jumped down and because his back hurt so much he couldn’t roll off probably and cried out in pain. “Fuck this!” he cursed, punching into the grass he had fallen into and when the light went on in one room and a teenaged girl and a teenaged boy looked out of the window seeing him laying on the ground he could hear them running around in the room opening the door shouting:“Daddy, there is a strange man in Army pants in the garden!” in a fearful voice. He got up from the ground and ran – as good as he could since now his knees and his ankles hurt too – to the car just wanting to go home already and he would definitely not try anything during the remaining hours of that day anymore.

 

Josh called in sick the other day doing nothing else than seeing the doctor who gave him an injection into his back to kill the pain. The rest of the day he was sitting at home reading books he had wanted to read since years but hadn’t found time to and watching movies. The day after that he couldn’t call in sick though although he would have liked to because that was the day on which the governor would come to his home for dinner that evening. The governor had supported him as a candidate from the start and he had invited himself over for dinner at Josh’s place for that day together with a partyman from Washington. He wouldn’t have thought that the higher ups would even care about that communal election but they did as the city was apparently big and important enough and he was getting support from them too what was definitely an ego boost. Hosting both of those men before he would hold a public speech in the city centre together with them one day after the opposition held their speech was difficult though especially since the governor had said he didn’t want to eat some restaurant or convenience food, he loved homemade food and would be happy to get served that. Well if Weißenburg would cook something the governor would have probably been hospitalised so he had asked his mum for help on a family event who had said she would never cook for that fear mongering, gun-waving, imperialistic swine in a trillion years but he had been saved by his stepmother and his sister who would cook the food for the governor.

 

Hence Joshua Weißenburg who was now dressed in a suit and a tie like usually and looked like a respectable man of high status again was standing in the grocery gourmet store with his stepmother know running around with a list she had written although he had given up on putting anything into the caddy because Nisha checked everything he had put there and decided he had not made the right choice and replaced it with another piece. Calmly telling him that he had a lot to learn and he already did everything wrong when it came to picking the groceries.

Nisha was a thin, petite, thai woman with long pitch-black hair, black eyes and tanned skin. She wore a loose, long bright coloured dress as she was walking through the store. He knew that the people thought his father’s wife was his girlfriend or wife when they looked at them because she was about the same age as he was, only three years older. After the divorce of his mother and father when he had been fourteen, back when he had been eighteen, his father had invested his saved money in a vacation because he had felt he had needed it then and he had returned four weeks later with Nisha who had been twenty-one at that time. His mother had raged about his father and how he could have gotten a girlfriend that young and she had thought that she had been a whore too. But Nisha had not been a whore, she had been a cook before she had been degraded to a waitress in a restaurant near the beach in Thailand where she had met Joshua’s father.

 

However while his mother had had to acknowledge that his father had not spend money on whores and that his new girlfriend wasn’t one either she had found something else out about her that had caused her distress too. And that had just busted out of her on Chirstmas Eve several months after they had met her the first time they had always spend with both their parents. At the dinner table his mother had stared at the friendly, calm woman from Thailand the whole time, seeming incredibly tense and she had made it to the dessert before she had looked at her ex-husband with rage in her eyes and had asked him:”Are you gay!” What had confused all of them and Nisha had dropped the spoon into her bowl. Josh’s father had not said a word but his mother had continued. “Did our relationship not work out because you are gay, attracted to men and I didn’t have a dick like her?” she had bluntly asked, and a tear had run out of the dark eyes of the woman from Thailand and his father had yelled at his mother that he was definitely not gay and that he would never have anything with a man and that she should stop insulting him and his mother had shouted back at them, while his sister had stood to comfort crying Nisha and Josh had sat there, stared in disbelief at the absurdity of it all and had thought ‘Merry Christmas!’ to himself.

 

It had taken about an hour until his father had been able to convince his angry mother that he was not gay, telling her he had not known this about Nisha when he had met her, he had thought she had lady parts but since he had fallen for her he much to his own surprise hadn’t cared all too much about that and had stayed with her regardless and he wouldn’t leave her so she should get used to her. The crying Buddhist Thai woman had apologised about fife-hundred times, for what no one had known because his mother had started the turmoil, not her but at the end it had been okay again and Nisha who was just generally calm and nice to basically everyone had went up to his mother and had expressed that she hoped that they could get along and be friends one day what his mother had just hissed at back then but nowadays they got along perfectly fine, especially since his mother had found a new man. His mother had even been to the wedding of her ex-husband with Nisha. When she had had a minute with Josh and Jacqueline she had told them that she knew she wasn’t their mother and that she wouldn’t attempt to replace their mother but that she had always wanted to be a mum and she couldn’t and that she would be glad if they’d like her and accept her as their stepmother. They hadn’t had a problem with her so they had agreed and had called her their stepmother regardless of her being close to their age and the black haired lady always smiled brightly when she heard them speak about her as their stepmother. She just generally liked being called a mother and what was even greater for her was that Jacquline’s kids called her grandmother without the additional ‘step’ before it.

 

So his family was just fine and she had always made his father incredibly happy. She had even inspired him and the two of them had opened a business, a small restaurant and it had actually brought his father out of poverty after all those years. And the business was going well too. They lived a quite, normal, almost boring life and he was genuinely happy for them but he also feared that some journalist like that nasty Christopher would dig too deep in his life again and find out what his mother somehow had figured out – he still asked himself if she had stalked Nisha or something – and the headlines would say ‘Joshua Weißenburg’s stepmother has a penis’ and his father’s and Nisha’s nice, quite life and business would be destroyed by it. It would be horrible and he didn’t want this to happen to his father. He loved his family and he also had no problem with how Nisha was. It wasn’t like she was hurting someone or disturbing anyone, she was actually incredibly homely and traditional, much more traditional than his mother or he for that matter. But he knew that there were a lot of people who had a problem with people like her and he was kinda feeling protective about the woman.

 

“What else we need?” she asked with a professional expression on her face and Joshua looked at the list he held in his hands. “Meat. Deer and boar is on the list. And the wine.” He told her and she nodded. “You get the wine, there is not much you can do wrong there. I take care of the meat.” She said and went to the meat counter. He heard a whistle and then an obnoxious voice he knew all too well behind himself and he turned around. “Now I finally get to see your girl. I don’t know why you’re hiding her.” Terry Wilcox said and he really didn’t want Terry near his stepmother. “She is not my girlfriend, she is my stepmother.” He clarified and looked at the other with a glare stating ‘Say a mean word to her and I’m gonna rip you into pieces.’ “I didn’t know your stepmother was Chinese. And that young. But if your father looks as hot as you I can imagine that his age doesn’t matter.” Wilcox said and Josh was searching for the insult and not finding it. “She is Thai and no, my father doesn’t look like I do.” He told him and Terry just wanted to say something when Nisha came back over with the meat. “I have the meat. Do you have the wine?” she asked and he shook his head. Terry stepped forward and reached out his hand to her starting to introduce himself but she was just looking at him with her dark eyes. “I know who you are and I don’t like you.” She said. “I don’t know who hurt you but even though your life must have been difficult you shouldn’t go around and make other people miserable you know. Being mean to people doesn’t make the world a nicer place to live in. When you are out to hurt people who have not done anything to you, you are not a productive member of society or doing something of value, you are just being … the English language has a nice word for that, what was the word again…. Right, cunt. You are a massive cunt and your bad karma stinks up this whole shop.” She said right into his face and he looked at the tiny woman completely baffled. “I’m going to get the wine.” She sang and smiled at Josh happily walking to get the wine.

 

Joshua was trying to hold onto himself but he was laughing. He had never heard Nisha who was a Buddhist and was even nice to spiders and flies being unfriendly to someone or expressing she didn’t like someone much less using words like ‘cunt’. And it didn’t help when Terry spoke. “Wow, your stepmother really can’t stand me huh….” Because it just made him laugh more. “I don’t find your stepmother calling me a massive cunt to be that funny. What have I even done to her?” he asked and Joshua just kept on laughing. “She is a Buddhist. She is never mean to anyone…. But you.” He said and he didn’t know why he found it that hilarious but he was still laughing. “Apparently Buddhists don’t like your show.” He added and when Nisha came back with the wine putting it into the caddy she pushed Josh a little with her to the checkstand. “Let’s go now. Your little friend has a lot of soul searching to do and a lot of bad karma to cleanse. We can only hope the best for him or he’ll be reborn as a dung beetle.” She spoke totally serious about it and Weißenburg busted out into laughter again. “That was not a joke Josh, you don’t need to laugh at your friend’s misery that is really bad karma too and you don’t want to be a dung beetle either don’t you.”

 

When they were outside the shop and Joshua carried all the bags and was walking arm in arm with his stepmother he felt the lady patting his arm looking at him seriously. “I am really worried Joshua, I think you have made the wrong type of friends. This Terry Wilcox is not a good influence for you. You should search for other friends.” The black haired woman said in a motherly tone of voice. “I don’t want you to go down the wrong path and ruin your future.” She added and he felt like a boy in school. “I’m a forty years old man.” He said. “It doesn’t matter how old you get I’ll always be worried about you.” Nisha said pulling his cheek, much like his mother. Why did all the women in his life had to pull his cheeks all the fucking time? He hated that cheek pulling. But his sister did it, his mother did it and his stepmother who was about the same age as he did it too. “It also concerns me that you haven’t brought a girl home to me and your father yet. Isn’t there a nice girl you like?” she asked. “I’m a forty years old man.” He repeated. “That’s why I am so worried. I want you to be happy.” Nisha let him know and then said. “I have a friend in Thailand she is extremely nice and she is pretty too and she cooks well.” the black haired said and the blond businessman looked at her. “Not interested.” He said. “You want an American girl more? European, yes? I also know a nice European American girl for you. She makes clothing. I can arrange a meeting for you.” She said. “No. I don’t want you to set me up with a white girl either, that’s not it. I don’t want a girlfriend.” He stated and her black eyes widened as she looked at him and he realised that and quickly added. “At the moment. I’m too busy.” Josh told her and she blinked her eyes. “Men? You love men!” she figured and Joshua tensed up extremely and he was almost glad that he didn’t have to say a word because when they had turned around the corner they ran into something…. What they ran into made him feel like he’d rather answer to what Nisha had said after all.

 

It was the day where the candidate of the opposition got to speak in the city centre and there he stood Sandro Benotti, a crowd of listeners and voters around the stage and plenty of journalists. But it was clearly to see that something was incredibly out of place and wrong. On stage a radical looking young, enraged woman stood, she had stolen the microphone from Benotti and was shouting tirades and hateful shit against European Americans and policemen into the microphone stating that both all policemen and European Americans deserved to die and rot in hell. There was turmoil starting, officers were approaching and Josh just stood there tightening the grip around the bags he was carrying, pulling Nisha closer towards himself to shield her. “What is this? Those people all look so angry! Why are they so angry, it’s a nice day and this is a good country.” She said and Joshua shook his head. “Those are terrorists. They are dangerous. And their presence doesn’t mean anything good.” He told her and she looked at the angry people not understanding what their problem was. Josh looked up at Sandro Benotti whom the terrorists had punched with the microphone and had threatened to throw him from the stage if he didn’t let them speak now. He didn’t agree with Benotti’s politics but one thing was for sure his opponent had not deserved that. He was interested in a peaceful and open discourse and he was a decent man, he just disagreed with him and this was not great. He might invite him to speak the next day after him, his advisors might not like this but if his speech got disturbed like this that wasn’t fair game and although both men insulted each other on the political stage they didn’t actually have anything against each other on a personal level. Benotti had actually bought his house from Weißenburg’s company.

[brinary]

Poor thing. White as a sheet. He already seemed pretty pale in the fluorescence but someone approaching him had him drained. He could only imagine being so nervous. Kris could even see his veins, every part of him standing out in heavy contrasts. Against the background of the writhing masses, the man in front of him looked like a cut out in a green screen. Everything totally bathed in darkness and neons flashing in the distance with a severe white-out patch. As if he was a mistake. Kris could sympathize; coming here made him realize his decisions were a mistake. A repressed and sneaky stranger must be feeling the same. Even more strongly than him, to boot. What a life to live. Hiding a completely different side of one's self to please the family and others, then entering a location that's supposed to enhance your life-- supposed to make you feel welcome-- and it's... not easy to get into.

 

Kris probably wouldn't be let into the club so casually if it weren't for Haye. Then again, he wouldn't be there in the first place if it wasn't for Haye. But this wasn't about him. The stranger he spoke to was white, going through the motions, extreme emotional tensions shifting visibly through his body. The writer could ever see muscles working in the man's neck and tensing along his shoulders. Confusion, anger, maybe some disbelief? Fear, of course.

 

Whatever thoughts coursed through the older stranger, they'd stopped after some point. It couldn't have lasted very long. Emotional shifts in these specific situations were rapid- a process aided by the anxiety caused in some by the rushing rhythms the DJ was turning out.

 

Instead, the man leaned back. Kris managed to not so much as peek at the other at work. He could tell this pale guy was strong and when he leaned back, his body probably looked beautiful. Kris wouldn't know. He didn't look. His eyes were fixated on the face so carefully shaded by the cap and the lighting of the club, casting odd shadows and patches of brightness across them both. It was harder to ignore the voice, though. It somehow traveled through the pounding music with a deep, bass quality to it that had Kris get a fuzzy feeling in his stomach. When he put pressure on it, folding his arms a certain way and pressing them close, it made the pressure and fuzziness increase. The brunette didn't get absorbed in the surprise of pleasure (?) that was tickling his system. Instead he listened attentively to the other and nodded. Wow, 20 years. So the guy had to have at least been in his late 30s or early 40s. Really good looking for his age, then. Downright exquisite. The toddlers mention made him chuckle as he restirred his drink.

 

Oh, he was approaching him. Oh, he was touching him. Oh... Oh, it felt. It felt--

 

Looking up at the mysterious stranger, his shoulder was patted heavily twice and it wobbled him just slightly on the first hit but on the second, he was still and strong. And flustered. Oh... He was totally lost. Perhaps it was the drinks he, too, had sipped on when Haye was dazzling everyyone. They weren't impairing him but opening up new pathways in his heart, and mind, and body, and he wanted to be touched more and very very badly. By any man that would take him. Maybe any man. But this one, specifically, would more than do. Instead of leaning forward and pushing his face into a strong chest, the journalist gave the man a kind smile. "Oh, no problem!" he returned quickly with a (nervous) sip of his drink. Which meant that he was very unprepared for a body suddenly being very close to his. Perfumed air buzzed in his senses. His gut twisted sharper than it ever had-- in, in a while. His throat felt tight and his clothes felt tight and his head started to hurt as blood rushed to different parts of him.

 

"Oh." It was all that could come out of his mouth. Christopher was stunned out of his mind and the word- the noise- barely escaped through formerly smiling lips. It sounded like the air had been pressed out of him. He desperately wanted to curl his body into the older man's or kiss him, touch him back-- he should touch him back. He'll touch him back. Just to sate the desire. Just to feel better. The hand not wrapped around his drink lifted to rest on the stranger's bicep as he man finished speaking and patted once as he finally let out an embarrassed laugh. "T-Thanks." Christopher's hand dropped away as the other finally moved away and went past him with a friendly wave. He could feel the eyes on him from the departing figure and could only give a lopsided smile. Once the man was gone, he felt like his head was swimming. Mutely, Christopher continued to sip his screwdriver. Then the heat blasted through him and he hurriedly gulped down the entirety of his glass. It was so hot and he just really needed to cool down, to calm down, get up, go-- go somewhere. "Two margaritas," he ordered once the bartender came back from further down the counter.

 

While he sat there, the events kept playing. They were going faster and faster. Details that Christopher's mind probably conjured up, like how the fatigues he'd been wearing whispered when the fabric brushed against each other. The stretch of the white shirt and the man's throat bobbing. His sinuous form. With barely a whispered 'thanks,' once the two margaritas came, he headed around the dance floor to head upstairs to the DJ booth. He didn't even bother on knocking. Thankfully, Haye and Nee had finished fucking, buy only just recently. They were surprised at his presence and clammored to pretend that it wasn't obvious what the situation was, what was happening. After Haye pretending to ask about how the dancefloor was, the brunette finally snapped.

 

"I know you two are fucking. I know. I know, okay? Just-- here are your drinks. I--- I think I should go home. Nee, take care of him." Kris didn't stop to wait for an answer but hurriedly departed down the stairs again. He felt utterly shameful and complicated. His gut was in knots and he had a headache and the worst of it all, Kris felt painfully, painfully aroused. He hadn't even been this turned on when he'd caught Joshua and that police officer fucking.

 

Back on the dancefloor, everything was suddenly way too much for him. The sexuality hanging thick in the air-- he couldn't take it, or breathe. "Fuck," the man mumbled then hurried his way through the same exit he'd pointed out to the stranger. Outside's rush of chilled city hair hit his hot face like a slap. He could almost gasp.

 

Others looked at him oddly as he hurriedly went on his way down the street. Without a second glance, Kris ducked into a bar. It was gritty and smelled like smoke with a table long-since sullied by spilled drinks and the gum of tobacco. He put money down for a beer but went into the bathrooms almost immediately, entering a cramped stall. He. Could not. Breathe. His chest was tight and it took a lot of time to work through the tightness pressing against his lungs, crouched down with his head between his thighs and sucking in, puffing out. Jesus.

 

"Oh my god I'm so pathetic." Kris could not believe that a simple touch and a few words had so strongly affected him. It, in fact, was despicable. Christopher stood and rubbed his temples. His cellphone was buzzing but he disregarded it. Probably Haye trying to butter him up. Casting a glance aside, he spotted two pairs of feet in a stall three spots down from his and made his way out as fast as he could. He didn't need to be reminded of how much sex he continued to not have. Especially by grown, grizzled men who were going to so shamelessly engage in coitus in a public restroom.

 

Cabs were parked around the further end of the strip and he hurriedly hailed one. There was barely any money on him but he managed to procure five wrinkled dollars from his pants. No conversation was exchanged as he directed him up the street, cringe unseen by the driver once he realized he'd mentally called fucking 'coitus.'

 

Years without sex got him here.

 

Calling sex, coitus. What should he do next, call it goddamnn-- goddamn 'intercourse'? How clinical could he get!?

 

Once home, the Hispanic peeled his shoes off and lay them down near the doorway. His socks were hooked and pulled with a finger, bouncing to the bedroom to toss them into the laundry bin. The jacket joined them and his pants were half unbuttoned when he finally collapsed on his bed with a grimace. His glasses skewed uncomfortably to the side and he removed them, staring up at the ceiling with half-open eyes. He was still aroused. After a few minutes in silence he cursed, getting up to close his room door and turn on a lamp as he mumbled, "Dammit" on repeat. Shame was the primary emotion right now. Shame. Because he was going to masturbate like a teenager.

 

Christopher prided himself on self-reliance but was also easily flustered at the desires of his own body. The last time he'd been in a sexual experience was with a girl named Hila and that was when he was 25. In two more years, it would be a decade since he had sex. And it'd been at least a month now since he even touched himself obscenely. Regular shower wanks were regular. But dedicating time to "taking care" in how he handled business was... practically foreign at this point. Regularly, it was a hand around his cock, rough pulls and tugs, sometimes a slower pace just because he liked to hold himself just a moment away from cumming. This time was different. He still went under his sheets, the comforter weighing down on him as he shoved a hand down to rub right where his balls were and shuddered. Angling the heel of his palm to dig especially in as he drew his hand up was making him shake even harder. As he grabbed at himself, his hips hitched up to squirm his plaid trousers down just enough to where he could scrape them off with his heels. Left in only a pair of pants, he closed his eyes and let things come unbidden. Phantom hands that touched him and voices sliding in and out of different baritones and basses mumbling to him. He didn't have to bite his lip anymore to keep the noises from coming up-- at least, usually he didn't.

 

But his body felt so wound up that stuttered gasps and half-choked exhales eeked out of pursed lips. His dick was already stiff and stroking it had revealed he'd already had a faint bit of pre-cum pebbled on the head. God, it was hot. Under the comforters he could barely even think and the weight was too much. He hastened to sit up and get on his knees, one arm leaning against the pillows as the other pumped his dick. His open mouth let drool run freely. Even his dick was dripping a steady stream, and each time he felt himself about to cum, felt that choking feeling, he'd tighten down and clamp his mouth shut as pleasure and pain wracked his frame. Christopher could hear his phone vibrating somewhere in the room but he barely paid it mind at this point. His head heavy from exhaustion, the man wobbled and rested his forehead against the pillows and felt like a whore, angling his ass up, just to imagine someone behind him. Not even fucking him. Just watching him do this, so shamelessly, rutting into his hand. Someone who hated him. Breathing insults against his neck, or saying nothing at all, and that really pinched his windpipes in half. Humiliation was burning on his cheeks as he stroked himself again, mouthing 'please' into his pillows, wet with saliva. The entire thing had his body on fire.

 

Someone touching him. Holding him, even. Saying awful things as he was forced to grind against them, a bruising hold, a promise of something more pleasurable to come, who wouldn't even leave his bed after they were done--

 

who would keep a hold on him as he came, with that same bruising grip. "Argh!" Kris's chest heaved as he came. Images flashed in his mind. Unbidden of course. Too many being a person he could only imagine would take advantage of him and kill him on the spot. Even that was really arousing. Eyes closed, the writer slowly came to his senses and collected himself with a dizzy mind. Spit stretched and broke from his lips and he rubbed it away with the back of the hand that he'd collapsed on, grimacing at the already cooling cum on his hand and the front of his briefs, smeared on his sheets.

 

 

"... ugh." He collapsed face down and mumbled into the sheets. "I'm such a mess."

 

No truer words, that was for sure.

 

It didn't take long for Christopher to collect himself. In a few minutes, the sheets and pillowcases were pulled and thrown into the wash and the man was tugging new ones into place. He showered quickly and had food in the microwave. And after two more hours staying awake, answering one of Haye's 15 text with a picture of his foot, and idle TV watching, Kris went to sleep.

 

The blinds had been closed when he'd gotten home and remained closed, so Kris slept in a little later than usual. It was definitely catch-up after the hours he'd missed out on in prison. Haye had called him in the morning which he almost never did, so he must be really worried, and Kris decided that he could stay worried a little longer. Sheets tumbled dry in the middle of the night, the man proceeded to fold them and put them up in the linen's closet. The next thing was breakfast which was just some rice porridge with a few dates thrown in there. That's when he decided to call Haye back-- who was currently at work but there was no bad-blood on either side.

 

Christopher went the rest of the day reflecting on his stupid actions and thinking about the stranger from the club. He touched his forehead to his leg as he came again in the late afternoon, drool smeared across the expanse of skin, and opened tightly shut eyes with a guilty blush.

 

Maybe he should make a documentary about how being lonely was okay until you realized everyone except you wasn't lonely but, in fact, getting all kinds of physical desires and emotional needs filled to the brim.

Almost literally, too.

 

An old co-worker phoned him about a job at the pits for a local punk concert. He said Kris would have to bring a notepad and his best moshing gear to review the concert's line-up for a website he'd been working for. He was supposed to go but unfortunately issues with his Mother had come up and a drive to Colorado was his only mission for the day. So Kris got blissfully lost getting shoved around and squeezed inbetween groups of 16 to 57 year olds, entering the venue in relatively clean, loose, dark clothes and leaving at three in the morning soaked with different liquids, all mixed with sweat, and looking happily ravaged. A few people talked to him out in the parking lot about joining a jam session at a trailer park nearby but he declined. It was already a 45 minute trip back to his apartment and he'd spent probably two hours deciphering his sweat-and-soda wettened notepad for the article. Which is exactly what he did.

 

That afternoon, Kris was in the hot sun helping another friend out as Sandro Benotti showed up to speak at the city's center. All of Kris's associates loved Sandro. They thought Sandro had amazing ideas, good plans to execute them, and a fierce grassroots background that supported his words. No background history to conflict against his beliefs-- always a life of service towards others. Christopher liked him, too, liked him enough to give him criticism like he did for every other candidate. People... did not like him giving the criticism. And after feeling very put out by the negative reactions to his plain and enthuastically constructive thoughts regarding Bernotti, the writer understood why. it was rare to have someone with such a plainly political background like the man before them with a chance to be mayor. Even when he had first come to the town, Bernotti was a recognizable and respected name by those who knew him well enough- or were just in the political sphere.

 

Now running for mayoral office, people came out of the woodworks to support him. It was a largely young base. A lot of college students or soon-to-be college students. Middle-class members looking for health benefits and change for the economic markets, others wanting to hear his stance on improving infrastructure, others for the environment. Bernotti seemed to have a lot of good ideas and answers to people's concerns. Kris liked him.

 

He was still living in a house bigger than Kris's masochistic tendencies (read: utterly massive) but hey.

Barely any American politicians were broke now'a'days. People could be an everyman but only up to a certain extent. No one's gonna default on their car payments just to prove they could be like the regular folk who they're appealing to.

 

By the way, it was hot. Kris kept having to flick or try to tuck his hair back but the curls refused to stay. In a button down shirt with a loose collar and smart, albeit casualer-than-most's pants, and black running shoes that were weird enough to look almost classy, he was taking multiple notes about the speech that was being carried out. For almost two hours he was out in that oppressive heat, surrounded by others who were vibrating and clammoring just as much as everyone else. It was gross but nothing that the writer couldn't handle. He'd just finished getting some of his questions answered by Bernie, voice still feeling worn from all the questions he HAD been picked on to ask (or plain shouted when the forum was opened up) as a shudder made the crowd condense back around him. A woman stepped on his foot and apologized quickly as Kris hissed, but he waved her off as his eyes went up towards the podium. And-- this was happening.

 

Kris could feel his insides curling up and hated how much he wanted to roll his eyes because YES. Yes, freedom of speech was so important and the right to criticize someone- especially someone who said he would look out for your best interests-was well within the safety of the law. Charging up there was... it wasn't illegal. And Bernotti obviously seemed to acquiesce and give them their chance to speak. But that wasn't good enough.

 

And he could tell the crowd was split between anger at the interruption, confusion at the situation, or support for the women. People began to swat at the officers for trying to get the women down, especially when Bernotti seemed alright with their presence, and Kris could see no good coming from the next several minutes. After being harassed, Bernotti allowed them to speak, even with the crowd surging up to the stage.

 

Noise was drowning out what the women even had to say and someone swung at the officer. The crowd pulled again then broke apart in a flurry. Kris barely escaped getting the wind knocked out of him, narrowly avoiding people running from the outbreak of violence. Someone was being maced and the other got a baton roughly to the back as officer's were shouting against now-excitable conference attendees. Pocketing his things, Kris went into the very thick of the battle, restraining one of the protestors who was about to get up and run at the police as he called for peace along with some other people trying to break up the fight. The women themselves had jogged off the podium in the tantrum that followed and Bernitto had security guards for his protection. All the was left was squabbling and violence. Which Kris valiantly broke up- at least, broke up a section of it, by taking the arm of another person trying to grab at something to throw and hauling him into a woman who seemed just as aggressive. It wasn't totally in self-defense but in Kris's defense, he absolutely thought the man was lunging for his bag to try and use it as a weapon. For some reason.

 

More police were coming; Kris wasn't down to have to experience holding TWICE in one month so he disengaged and pulled several others back. Fellow reporters came clammoring up to him since he "really got in the thick of it" but he told them to e-mail him as he limped for his car. People who'd been getting food, groceries, or just shopping around were still paused in the city center's parking lot and other miscellaneous parking spaces. Kris wrenched his door open and sat down heavily. The violence was still happening and threatened to push into the areas were nothing was really going on. Kris watched from his car, nursing a sour jaw and then exiting with an apple in his hand, sitting on the trunk with a frown and eating as he watched.

 

Shit was pretty ridiculous.

 

Seeing Joshua was even more ridiculous, with some strange lady. They both looked on edge, though. He gave an experimental wave and motioned for them to come over to avoid the mess.

[-Hideki-]

What was unfolding before the conservative’s blue eyes was developing incredibly fast and it was difficult to follow the events that took place in the crowd from where he stood but what he did clearly see was police officers being attacked and violence breaking loose after that while he could see the rats deserting the sinking ship, running from the stage and off they were after they had caused the outbreak of violence. He felt himself reminded about a song by a band playing medieval rock titled ‘Die Ratten’ and he hoped that the terrorists would stumble and fall while fleeing and would break their necks.

 

Sandro Bernotti was holding his left eye where the microphone had hit him and was dragged off stage by his bodyguards while the masses were punching the shit out of each other and the police was trying to get in control of the situation constantly under attack by Sandro’s fans. His fans would certainly not attack the police, he thought. Shaking his head he couldn’t help but to think that this was what one got for being too soft and trying to too understand when confronted with terrorists as he saw baffled Sandro disappearing in a car being driven away from the place. Joshua had told him so. They had had an off stage private conversation in which he had told him exactly that and had warned him what came from it when one legitimised such groups, got them too much power by giving them a stage (back then a figurative stage, now they had taken his literal stage.)

 

Weißenburg and Bernotti had stood for completely different outlooks on that terrorist group and it had shown back then when a policeman in their city had been killed by that scum. For one, Sandro had refused to call them what they were, terrorist, racists and murderers, and trivialised the threat they were to the nation and national security and all policemen and white people in the nation. Stating that one had to look on the roots which had led to this group forming, why they were that angry and why that anger and desperation now had turned into despicable violence. That there were societal problems that had to be found a solution for so that those groups wouldn’t even form anymore! That had not been what the overall populace and the colleagues of the brutally slaughtered policeman had wanted to hear though. They had been more for what Joshua had said and that had put him further ahead in the polls. Josh had started with a list of all crimes committed by that group from arson, vandalism over bodily harm to the murder of a protector of the American citizens. He had called it unspeakable, had called those people monstrosities and scum and had said that it was about time that they opened their eyes and saw those racist, anti-American terrorists as what they were terrorist and that they should finally treat them as such, exactly how they treated the IS or the Taliban. He had ended with an appeal to show solidarity to their police force and then had invited Chief Morrison to say a few words on stage. His voters had loved that and some had printed shirts for solidarity with their city police and the dead policeman.

 

However there had also been people getting inspired whom Josh had not wanted to inspire. Ryan Stephenson, as the future leader of the thousand-years-ethno-state had felt appointed and absolutely competent to make a fierce stand and he had called the members of his ‘New Right’ movement to counter protest a protest of the terrorist, bring torches because fucking torches were badass and he also had liked the beautiful flames in the night and it had made the march look more impressive too. And it had come how it had to come. The two sides had insulted each other until one of the terrorists had thrown a stone at a ‘certainly not a neo-nazi’s’ head and they had ended up trying to fucking kill each other off. Not that Josh would have personally shed a tear if they had eliminated each other, it wouldn’t have made the world a worse place that was for sure. Ryan Stephenson himself had not been present though but had given interviews about his movement’s protest somewhere else. Because someone might have punched him if he had actually been in the crowd and if he would have gotten punched in the face it would have hurt and it also would have looked so ugly and that would have made him cry then.

 

His approach to the situation and plans to deal with that group would certainly be the better approach than Sandro’s though, that was to see clearly right there in front of his very eyes. And he was sure that Bernotti getting embarrassed and humiliated by that very group on his own stage without being able to really defend himself, letting the stage be overtaken, since this was what it looked like and what it was although the other man clearly had not deserved this, would be to see in the polls in favour for himself and against Bernotti. It was nearly ironic that those thugs had decided to do this with the one who had legitimised the group’s existence and had not waited to do that on Joshua’s stage. Then again Josh wouldn’t have given them an inch and would not have let them say a single fucking word on his stage; he would have used the invasion to demonstrate the terrorist character of that group. And they had probably known that hence come for the liberal whom they also despised because he had the same skin-colour Weißenburg had.

 

Somehow he was looking forward to walk up to Sandro and tell him ‘I told you so old chap, I told you so and I was right’ before he would invite him to speak to his voters after he, the governor and the partyman from Washington would have spoken. He’d make time for Sandro and he’d assure him on stage that he would ensure that no terrorist would invade his free-speech this time, because without a jest it wouldn’t be fun.

 

Joshua was still standing there with Nisha at his arm who looked unbelieving at what she saw there. All the violence and the hate! And the people even dared to attack the police. Back in her native country she had always nearly pissed herself when a policeman had only ever done so much as to check her ID and even though she wasn’t that scared here she had definitely a lot of respect for the policemen and would never say something disrespectful. But those people had no respect for the officers and probably not for the law either. It was bothersome but they were kinda stuck there because they couldn’t get to the car since they couldn’t walk past the violent mob. His car! His beautiful, wonderful, priceless car! His SUV! His baby! It was stuck in there with those creatures! Those hairless animals called humans! Weißenburg was in horror at the thought that had just occurred to him. If they did something to his car he’d riot! He’d fucking riot! The pale hand clenched into a fist. “If they make a scratch into my SUV …” he raged but he was cut off by a calm and soothing voice and a pat onto his arm. “If that SUV of yours breaks then you can finally buy a new car that is more eco-friendly. You don’t need such a car in a big city like this and it is important for the plants and the animals of the planet.” She said and everything fell out of Josh’s face before he yelled again. “Say what now?” he couldn’t believe it as she smiled at him and he was starting to vent about how he would certainly not drive some pussy, loser car to safe some insects and because some brain-dead-tree-huggers didn’t understand that the climate had always changed, that it was normal, that man made climate-change was a lie and that too warm weather certainly was not the fault of his treasures, pure awesomeness, car and that they were just sour because their cars sucked and their lives were boring so they wanted to ban everything fun and awesome for everyone else too.

 

Nisha had not listened to any of what Joshua had said though since she had seen a freckled young man who looked as if he had gotten hurt in the turmoil giving them a wave and gesticulating them over. She smiled and waved back at him and in the next moment Josh who was just going on about how his SUV was upgrading the city with its sheer presence pulled after her and he had nearly fallen because he had neither noticed that she had started moving nor that someone had waved at them. Confused he looked around, holding all the bags being pulled to the other side of the street by his stepmother. When she approached a man sitting in the trunk of a car eating an apple calling:”Hello good Sir, are you hurt, do you need help?” to him he finally turned his face into the right direction and there he saw that journalist….again. “No he doesn’t!” Josh instantly said. “He is fine, he can eat you see, let’s go.” He said wanting to head into the other direction just away from that journalist prick but Nisha clicked her tongue. “Don’t be so rude and unhelpful! If you got hurt I’d want someone to bother too.” She said and pulled him over completely and they were now standing in front of the man who probably still owned a bloody sex tape of him and who was eye in eye with his step mother now who was smiling way too widely and nicely at him.

 

Josh wanted to cross his arms but realised he couldn’t due to the bags on one and the lady on his other arm. “You are always where something bad happens aren’t you? You probably just hit a policeman didn’t you? Cooperating with the terrorists!” he said. “Well, at least your days as a sorry excuse for a fake blond are a thing of the past now.” Joshua commented although he had seen that in that club already. That night! That club! He had flirted with him. He had been close to him and had told him he was hot. He had looked at that arse! And the image of the other’s butt in those tight pants and the touch the other had given his arm came back onto his mind, followed by how he had imagined him when he had sex although not the whole time and his heart was doing crazy things, while he felt embarrassment in his guts and just wanted to sink into the ground but concentrated to keep a stern, displeased face when he looked into those green eyes that seemed more intense now that he had a darker hair colour too just like the freckles. How his cute freckled face really looked when it was all twisted and he was drowning in pleasure? He asked himself and wanted to slap himself again. What the fuck was wrong with him? This piece of shit was out to humiliate him and he was thinking about fucking him again and wanted to figure out where on his body his skin was freckled too! Maybe he had hit his head when he had fallen onto the ground in the policeman’s garden or it had been the pain killers that had been injected into his back. Stupid Morrison!

 

Morrison had texted him in the morning apologising to him but all Josh had cared to answer to the fucking novel the man had written was ‘Fuck you Morrison!’ since he was so incredibly pissed about having had to climb out of the window and jump from the frigging rain shelter like some stupid clown version of creep, as if he was some cringe worthy, hideous freak to gross to use the door to leave the house and be seen by one of his kids. He could have just said that he was a friend from work and they had had to talk business in private and without being disturbed for a moment because it had been important. But no, they shall never see Joshua’s face. And that arsehole had even forgotten to give him back the hat, that was lying around somewhere in the man’s bedroom and his sunglasses that he had placed on the cupboard. Jerk! Maybe he’d show up one day when his wife was back and he was at work with a wig from his sister, in disguise again, try his totally grant Dutch accent again and tell her that he had forgotten the rest of his clothing in her bedroom as a revenge for Peter being that cold and indifferent about his physical health. But he would not do that, because he wasn’t the twat in that situation.

 

“That is nice that you two know each other!” NIsha remarked. “Are you friends?” she asked and Joshua snorted: “We certainly aren’t friends.” What made the black haired woman sigh. “That’s a pity.” She turned to the journalist. “He really needs new friends you know, his are bad company.” He heard his stepmother say and while he was lighting a cigarette he had almost distorted his hand and had lit his hair on fire. “The good thing is though, that if you aren’t friends yet you can become friends. Why don’t we go and eat some ice cream over there together in that ice café? It’s not like any of us are getting anywhere anytime soon anyway.” She suggested and Weißenburg protested. “No! I don’t want to go and eat some ice cream with this little shit. Besides, he is eating an apple already.” The blond said and Nisha gave him a strict look:”He can keep the apple for later then”, and turned to the other again. “He doesn’t mean it he is just shy.” She said and he got the feeling that now that she had figured out that he was most certainly gay she was trying to set him up with a man and not a woman anymore. “I am not shy.” He protested. “Very shy! He’d be delighted to have ice cream with you.” She ignored him.

[brinary]

Kris thought it was pretty weird how much the political unrest here reminded him of the trashy reality of his former home. There were a lot of times over the course of the past year he considered the parallels. America had a well-documented history when it came to political upheavals, revolts, and revolutions. Their specific freedoms granted them access to protest en masse in all sorts of different ways. What had been viewed as radical, who those people had been, all changed throughout history's course. The new 'crazy' was subjective; black people sitting in diners had been branded as a sort of radical terrorism- a product of its age. He wondered what the future would hold. If only a few people getting killed will be a new normal. Without a doubt there were grounds for these individuals to have issues with what was going on. Almost all political violence had motivations sprouting from distaste and upset for mostly flawed systems, or feeling wronged. The disenfranchised have always had the chance to make their feelings known in America. Other places were different. A lot more violence and death occurred. Quietly or outright in public, lives were extinguished by the screaming desire for change.

 

But those were past times, those were other countries. Kris loved seeing people use their freedoms accordingly. This, however, wasn't sitting well with him. And he supposed it had just been awful timing. Articles and video footage of police misusing their power had been a big thing months ago with a crack-out expose fully chronicling power imbalances between the city's middle-to-poorer class, hidden agendas, and flawed police training. Then there were the deaths. They mostly happened downtown. Those were the ones people had ignored. Then it came to be shootings in the financial district, a business owner getting his skull cracked open by officer's who wrongly assumed he was the person who had broken into his own shop. Infrastructure failures by the RV parks and section 8 housing complexes, resulting in sewage rising out of nowhere.

 

Ryan became a thing. Terry became a thing. Joshua ran for office. Sandro ran for office. The situation seemed to stretch itself into a never-ending oblivion like taffy. And like the weak stuff in the middle, things were thin and being pulled either way with two extreme globs in both hands.

 

At this point, Kris kinda just wanted to quit the political game and try to settle down. Get his dick sucked. Multiple times. By someone who hated him. Or liked him. Maybe get choked. Getting choked… could be nice. He was thinking about the turmoil unfolding in front of him but when that specific subject crossed his mind, the man got lost in a cloud. Questions, wonders, and desire were sticking pins into the shouting tirades that were his other thoughts. For a moment, he was simply curious and horny-- like any badly titled porn. But then someone was yelping and scampering past his car as the battling forces swelled again.

 

Skinning his teeth, Kris winced at the violence then resumed eating his apple as he nursed his wound. Why was he always the one getting beaten on? That was an extremely fair question. It seemed like no matter how calm something started, the reporter would leave with a few dings, some dents, and something sprained or bleeding.

 

Unfair.

 

His mother texted him on their family groupchat with a bunch of worried emojis. Well, when he stared at them, they were emojis blowing their nose but he assumed his mother thought they were crying ones to show deep remorse and much sobbing, not… feeling sick. Which was really cute and made him love his Mom even more. Obviously extremely distressed, his Mother fretted as he texted back with one hand, thumb moving fast across the small space on his phone while the other held his small apple. Of course they didn’t know Kris was going to be there (he hardly told them about the news he would cover unless it was something that would take him away from wifi or bars for a substantial amount of time) but it was a violent outbreak. A newsworthy violent outbreak.

 

So of course they assumed Kris had to be there.

 

It was getting increasingly hard to defend himself and show his parents, his family, that he wasn’t exactly a shot-stirring skunk who lived for drama, news, and outrage. That sounded more like Terry Wilcox. But the gist was that they thought Christopher to be drama-prone and they were right in that regard! He was prone to encountering drama. But there was never any in his life. Just the normal drama, what had become his normal dream, at least.

 

He’d glanced up from his phone to survey the parking lot again when he saw the man and his-- … not girlfriend, but someone close to his age. It looked like a friend of his. Joshua, as always, looked hot. The woman with him was gorgeous, too. Pretty people really did tend towards pairs and packs. But when the woman smiled and waved back at him, his heart softened dramatically. Awe, she seemed so sweet! He liked her already. Joshua looked like he was on a tear about something else, probably something stupid, when she began to walk towards him and he waited enthusiastically. Leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, he watched the two advance toward his car, further from all of the drama occurring.

 

At her call, Christopher’s eyebrows shot up (ow that hurt) and he winced as he smiled, rubbing the soreness. His wounds from the previous prisoner status had evened out to mild bruising and some puffiness, with large amounts of soreness. Nothing a little concealer didn’t hurt. Being in the middle of another fight wasn’t good for the healing process as a whole, though. “No, I’m okay, but thank you so much!” he called back, pleasantly surprised. Nice people? Around Joshua Weibenburg? This was such a wonderful moment in his knowledge gathering. The man somehow managed to have actual nice people around him! What a feat… Kris immediately admired the woman. She must be a golden kinda gal to handle Joshua’s attitude.

 

Once the pair settled before him, he crossed his legs on top of his car. It was a regular car. A nice civic. Eco-conscious but enough trunk space for hauling; the engine was quiet but could raise in volume for extra speeds, and the backseat was nice enough for Kris to sleep in. Which he did. And does. Bad habits can’t be broken easily.

 

In his crisp shirt and pants, he looked very well put together and cleaned up. His hair had been combed back at one point but the curls were too wild to be contained and he seemed to just leave it alone. At Joshua’s sweet introductory lines, Kris smiled at him and shrugged. “Whatever story helps float your boat.” Feeding into the man’s plots never did him any good. Being playful and neutral seemed to work best. With the comment about his hair, the younger man laughed and reached up to tug on one of the wilder curls, which had loosely coiled so it sprang back up once the writer released it. “I liked my blonde hair. I thought it made me look charming,” he replied with another flippant grin. Something was off though, or just odd about the other man, who seemed more standoffish and distant. The scowl pulled a little tighter, the voice a little more raised, frayed-- he wondered what had happened to make him sound so… Distant. And on edge. Normally his speech was just regular hatred with confusion sprinkled in.

 

But this guy really seemed to be acting oddly. Kris dismissed his observations for now and focused again on the woman with him who was blissfully unaware regarding their current situation. Kris snickered at the same time Joshua snorted, responding similarly with a, “Don’t think we’re anything of the sort.” When she commented on Joshua’s company, Krish ducked his head to try and muffle his laugh but it was TOO funny. Even Weibenburg’s expression was priceless! The journalist glanced at the man who looked like someone had just caught him trying to take a shit in his neighbor’s pool and was half-tempted to roll into another fit of laughs. He continued to watch with a grin as the two went back and forth, sometimes nodding and eyebrows lifting when he was addressed, but mostly keeping silent.

 

Silence lasted for a moment more before Kris responded to the query with an infectious and charming smile. He couldn’t believe he had just gotten asked out for ice cream by Joshua’s ??? mom-friend. Even more surprising, he was GENUINELY looking forward to it.

 

“Yes, I’d love to have some with you. Thanks for inviting me-- I’d do most anything to get out of this mess,” he said and shook his head as he got down from the trunk of his car. “ But ice cream with you both sounds like one of the most pleasurable activities to do when avoiding total mayhem! I’ll get my things.” Kris opened his front seat door and bent in, leaning in far to dig around for his wallet in the glove compartment before taking it out. He also pulled his bag from the floor of the passenger’s side and then exited the stuffy car. “The birds and squirrels will nibble off the apple and besides, it’s small anyways, I would’ve been done in a minute more.” Placing the apple in the dirt path in front of his car, the writer walked to join the pair waiting for him. All smiles and openness.

 

“Alright, ready to go.” How lucky was he. A parental-supervised ice cream date with the man who wanted to throttle him. What a dream come true.

[-Hideki-]

At this point the way his blood started to boil in his veins in anger when around that leftist prick with the quick mouth who didn’t seem to show him the respect he was used to wasn’t a surprise anymore. If he would have to spend more time around that guy he was sure he’d get high-blood pressure and grey hair in no time. This man just had a way to make him furious by not taking him seriously and responding to him in that way. ‘Whatever floats your boat’ he had said, entitled bratty douche who thought he was so smart. Didn’t those leftists all think they were so smart and were so intellectually and morally superior to everyone else? It was like an SJW disease to be arrogant spoiled little shits. When Christopher told him that he had liked his blond hair while smiling and laughing and reaching into his now chestnut coloured hair coiling one of his curls around his finger though the blood seemed to decide that his head was not what it wanted to shoot into and changed course. That bloke just looked incredibly desirable to him in that moment and he held his breathe. That stupid adorable smile on his stupid cute face while he did that with his stupid hair! It made him want to step close, incredibly close, take that hand out of those curls, bury his own fingers into them, play with them and kiss him, kiss him deeply and dominantly, make that guys tongue submit to his. This hair was even thicker than Ilay’s had been and he could imagine that it would be nice to dig his fingers into or pull on it while his cock stuck deep in that sexy little arse. Thinking that didn’t help to stop the blood that was on the wrong way and he wished to just be angry again and the blood to shoot up into his head instead. This was so dumb, so ridiculous but if not make-out with him he at least wanted to touch that hair… badly….. he’d let him touch his in return…. although no one ever seemed to be interested in his hair much. Why not? It was nice hair too! It was so light that it was almost white and it was silky. “Well think again then!” he said one of his intentions being to distract himself from his crazy horny fantasies. “It didn’t make you look charming but stupid.” Josh continued and got a push from a tiny elbow from the side, Nisha looking up at him scolding. “Don’t say something like that to this nice young man this is really bad karma.” She reprimanded him, like his mother again, and then turned to the journalist. “I’m sure you looked nice with the blond hair too.” She smiled and Josh snorted tauntingly. “The SJWs never look good with their badly dyed hair, they just think they are so cool and edgy and alternative with it. They look ridiculous. But then again, badly dyed hair is kind of their signature.” He laughed amused and Nisha looked confused. “What is an SJW?” she asked genuinely not getting that. “Social Justice Warrior.” Josh said with a raised eyebrow. “Why is Social Justice something inherently bad so that it is an insult?” she asked further and everything fell out of Josh’s face. “There are some things I still don’t understand about this country and I am here for such a long time now. You’ve been eighteen back then remember?” Nisha got nostalgic. “I remember clearly.” He said.

 

Weißenburg didn’t like how the other started to laugh again when his stepmother had said that his current friends were ‘bad company’. It reminded him of this situation in the park where the other had seemed way too happy and amused about the whole scenery and now again. His expression turned dark as he started to smoke, looking at the younger male displeased and with narrowed eyebrows when he thought he didn’t hear right. That journalist agreed to go and have ice-cream with them, happily on top of that, as if he was glad to do so, even saying that having ice cream with the two of them sounded like one of the most pleasurable things to do while they waited until the storm of outrage had past. “Lovely!” he heard Nisha cheer and saw her smile widely while Josh looked like he wanted to puke. Instead he left out a giant cloud of smoke from his mouth with a hiss and annoyed rolling eyes.

 

One of the most pleasurable things? He’d love to? What a liar! He certainly didn’t love to have ice cream with Josh, he hated him and wanted to destroy him after all. Wait, maybe that was it. Maybe he hoped that he could exploit the opportunity and get on further information to ruin him with. That cunning, lying bastard! Never trust someone from the media, they all have no spine or integrity he thought, his face looking even more torn in anger now as he and Nisha waited for the man to get his things out of his loser car. He’d never drive such a boring car. It wasn’t an SUV and it wasn’t a truck either, nor was it a luxurious sports car. It probably couldn’t drive as fast. His car was bigger and better and he’d definitely have liked to show him that his car was much superior to Rosario’s loser car but he couldn’t because his SUV was stuck in the middle of the outbreak of violence. Thinking about his car being there again made his face look even madder.

 

Being told that the apple had been small anyway and that he was just leaving it there for squirrels and birds he shook his head. “Splendid.” He sarcastically said. “Put it there to allure and feed some pests again like you did with those damn flying rats in the park last time.” Joshua remarked while Nisha rejoiced. “Squirrels are so cute. And I like birdies too. I had a canary bird as a pet when I was a little kid back in Thailand. It was so lovely and sang so nice, I always wished I could have sung like that.” She told the both of them while they were walking towards the ice café. “I’d love to have one again but his dad is allergic to birdies. So we only have a raccoon on the attic.” Nisha let them know and Josh looked at her as if she was kidding. “So you and my father have bloody parasites on your attic and you say you have a fucking raccoon as if it was your pet!?” he shook his head disbelieving. “Raccoons aren’t parasites. They are so adorable. Their cheeks are so cute.” Nisha said and there came the cheek pull again, he had seen it coming and he hated it. It really was enough now with all the cheek pulling. “And they have those cute hands with those small palms and those overly long fingers; it’s so sweet when they grab stuff. Their adorable hands kinda remind me of yours.” The black haired lady said and her black eyes looked at his hands and he looked as if she had just punched him in the face…. really hard… with a brick….! “My hands are totally normal looking and definitely don’t look like those of a raccoon.” He objected letting his head sink. She patted his arm and smiled at him. “It was a compliment.” She let him know but he disagreed. ‘She actually thinks that but it really isn’t.’ he thought to himself. “Our raccoon has founded a family.” Nisha said looking at the journalist. “Great, so you have a lot of those stealing little criminal creeps around. Honestly, they are the thugs of the animal kingdom.” Joshua interrupted. “I wouldn’t say they steal, I would say that they are collectors, with those cute hands of theirs.” The woman found “Collectors of stuff that isn’t theirs.” Weißenburg said in a sarcastic tone. “They are animals they don’t understand property laws.” Nisha told him and then continued to tell about them as enthusiastically as she had. “They are also very smart. Our attic is nearly empty so I always put stuff there so that they come back…” she got cut off by Josh. “Wait… you put stuff there, to keep the parasites in your house?” he was baffled at that. Sometimes Nisha didn’t make sense to him. She ignored the interruption. “And since they know I am not doing any harm to them I can sit there and watch them play. There are three baby raccoons and the parents.” The woman told them and then smiled towards the journalist. “Do you have raccoons too? Or pets?” she was interested in learning. “What is your name by the way? I’m Nisha.”

 

As they entered the ice café quiet electronic music was playing in the background and the whole café seemed to have a futuristic theme. It looked a little as if it had been taken out of a science fiction movie and the furniture created a cool, chilling atmosphere. Inside none of what was going on out in the city centre was noticeable. People sat around before gigantic ice cream bowls and were chatting and texting on their phones. Waiters and waitresses were walking around carrying more ice cream bowls and the ice looked incredibly delicious. The only thing that had bugged him had been the ‘No Smoking’ sign on the entrance hence he had had to leave his cigarette outside before entering. Nisha had found a place where she wanted to sit at the end of the room in the corner on the window where it was relatively quiet and were it wasn’t that crowded yet. She waited until one of the men was sitting down to steal away one of the chairs so that they had to sit opposite to each other and had to look each other into their eyes. She had that innocent expression on her face as always but Joshua was definitely aware of what she had done, why she had done that and what her whole goal with this was. It was absurd. She wanted to set him up with this left wing journalist blackmailer arsehole. Well, she couldn’t know this otherwise she would have told Christopher that he should apologise to Joshua and give him the sex video or that would be really bad karma and he’d be reborn as a maggot. But still the irony of it all, the god damn irony!

 

Sitting there reading the card it didn’t take long until a cheerful male voice with an Italian accent spoke and addressed Nisha welcoming the pretty lady to his café. The woman beamed at him because she always did when someone called her pretty lady and she gave him a complement for the unusual ice café and the atmosphere. When Joshua turned his head towards the man his eyes widened before they turned into bitter, aggressive tiny slits. That was that bloke! That stupid arsehole with his dumb accent, those light brown stubbles on his chin and the olive skin, that short, well-kept hair and the wide charming smile and huge eyes! That prick who was fucking his ex! Every organ and muscle in his body clenched and he exuded enough anger to lit the air on fire with it, his teeth crunching as he heard him complement Nisha and how nice and charming he was to her and how the woman seemed to actually like him and be charmed by his idiotic attitude and the bloody accent! That made the volcano in him erupt with anger and a good load of pain and he slammed his fist onto the table. “Who do you think you are you prick!? With your dumb little accent and that coquettish attitude! She is already taken! She won’t fall for your crap! So don’t leave your trail of slime around that table and fuck off from her. No one will spread their legs for you here and no one wants you to fall on your knees in public either,twat. You probably think you’re hot and can get everyone but you aren’t and you can’t. She deserves a hell of a lot better than you! You will never be enough for her!” he yelled at the man and a few people were turning around to them, then shrugging and turning away again. Both Nisha and the man looked at him completely confused, his stepmother seemingly lost for words. But it obviously wasn’t about her. That much she knew. The Italian however didn’t. He looked at the enraged man who looked at him as if he was the worst enemy and he wanted to punch his teeth out. Weißenburg was also much taller than him and looked much stronger. So if he’d start a physical fight the owner of the ice café knew he’d lose and really didn’t want to get punched into hospital that close before his wedding day so he shook and waved his hands in a deescalating manner. “I’m sorry Sir, really sorry. It’s a misunderstanding. I didn’t mean to hit on your woman. I just found her really pretty and nice and I thought I’d express that but I assure you I want nothing from her and wouldn’t think I could pinch your girlfriend.” He started to speak really fast. “I definitely am no threat to you at all because I am gay. I am solely attracted to men, so regardless of her being beautiful I am not interested in your girlfriend that way and I am certain that she has not looked at it or understood it that way. You are a really handsome fellow and I think she is happy to have you. I’m also engaged! See?” he stated naturally and clearly, not even quietly so everyone who sat close enough could hear it.

 

That made him even angrier and his veins stuck out, his carotid pulsating again, like the night when Christopher had broken into his property. “I don’t care who you fuck! You don’t have to rub that into people’s faces. It’s a private thing! Private! Do you know what that is? Keeping something in private where it fucking belongs! Because no one cares or wants to know this!” he shouted at him and the café owner looked baffled at the rage and hate thrown into his direction again. Had he done something to this dude? From the table to their left they heard a young woman say:”Shut up homophobic dickhead! Leave that man alone.” Into Weißenburg’s direction! Her friend looked into the blond male’s face. “Isn’t that the conservative candidate? That really doesn’t surprise me at all. What else could he be than homophobic!? He is even involved with shady figured like Ryan Stephenson so he’s probably a fascist too.” she stated and Josh’s eyebrows twitched dangerously. “I’m not a homophobe or a fascist god damn it!” he yelled and the women said something again but he didn’t hear it because Nisha had turned to the Italian café owner again smiling at him very brightly although there was some awkwardness on her face. “I take the blueberry ice-cream bowl. It looks delicious. Are their fresh blueberries in it?” she ordered and the man nodded with his charming smile back on his lips. “Yes. It’s only fresh ingredients and we make everything ourselves too.” He told her and she was delighted to hear it. “What do you want Joshi? Do you want vanilla ice cream? I know vanilla is your favourite ice-cream maybe that will lighten up your mood again.” She suggested and he just grumbled:”No.” That left Nisha confused for one second and then she smiled again. “But you love it especially with strawberries on it!” she reminded him looking a little sad because he was not enjoying himself and was looking miserable. “I don’t want ice cream from that jerk.” He hissed and the Italian man kept his smile looking awkward wondering if there was something wrong with his face or why this man hated him that much. Or was he really homophobic? He didn’t know, he just kept his calm. Nisha sighed and turned to the man. “He takes a huge vanilla ice cream bowl with strawberries and he’ll eat it too.” She ordered in his name and the owner nodded and smiled at her. “And you?” Nisha asked Christopher what he wanted.

 

After they all had ordered Josh was staring out of the window pouting. Great! He had just made a fool out of himself, had gotten called a homophobe by straight women even though he was gay and obviously not a homophobe and having seen that guy before his very eyes, in real life and not only on a video on the internet hurt even more badly. And the happiness in that man’s voice when he had said he was engaged and how casually and without a care he had said he was gay. It made him feel sick to his stomach and he wanted nothing more than to go home and not see anyone before he had to host the governor and his partyman who came from Washington for him. But he was bound here because some arseholes were rioting and beating each other up in the city centre and sitting opposite to the man who hated him and wanted to humiliate him and was probably feeling great right now because he was hurting and had made an idiot out of himself in an ice café. “What is with you?” Nisha asked worried, laying a hand on his shoulder stroking it. “Nothing! I am just very worried about my SUV. It’s stuck there all alone, with the violent mob, no one to protect it. And that’s just really stressing me out.” He pretty obviously lied not looking at her but he couldn’t say ‘That guy fucks my ex who has dumped me. Not only that he’ll marry my ex’ especially not with that left-wing bastard around.

 

Nisha knew that something was off and that it probably wasn’t because of the car but that was what she was given so she reacted to that, with a roll of her dark eyes and a sigh. “Stop with this car already. Nothing will happen and if something happens you’ll repair it or buy a new one. If you insist than some new filthy SUV too! You speak about this stupid car as if it was your lover. But it’s not Josh, it’s a car. You can replace it. It’s time you find a person you can love then you don’t have to love a stupid car made out of metal, steel and plastic.” She told him. “My car isn’t made out of low quality plastic.” He was offended and she rolled her eyes again. “Enough with that car already! We have a guest and you act like a stubborn kid right now instead of talking to the guest.” Nisha scolded him again giving the brunette an apologetic look and he just wanted to stand up, say he had not invited the one who was out to get him down and he wouldn’t entertain him and that she had invited him and could entertain him but he didn’t. He thought for a moment and she had a point. He was acting stubborn.

 

So he took a deep breath, leaned back, casually crossed his arms in front of his chest again and leaned his head into his neck a little as his eyes peered into the green ones of the journalist a breeze coming through the window carrying the massive amount of perfume into Nisha’s nostrils who sneezed from it because she couldn’t stand too much perfume on anyone and had often told Josh that sometimes less was more. “So, I am assuming that you are a fan of Sandro’s?” he asked and then quickly corrected himself as he didn’t think that this media idiot should know they were acquainted. “Mister Benotti I mean.” He added and a smirk was playing around his lips. “How are you going to write about this situation now? How will you describe the terrorists and their actions that had led to this violent outbreak? Will you condemn them? What do you have to say about Benotti and how he acted on stage? I’m genuinely curious, it’s not a trap and I am not trying to mock you. I am just interested, that’s all.” Weißenburg wanted to know from the younger man with the freckles on his face.

[brinary]

'Man,' he thought, 'he must not notice how loud his feelings are.' Kris found Joshua's mean streak way too funny. Especially in how obvious it was. The man could be slitting his throat and the action wouldn't have as much hatred as when the blonde's eyes flashed like that. All the rage boiling inside him, backed by paranoia, and reasoned by somesuch shit that Kris didn't have a name for it. But it didn't make hhim no less nice-looking. He looked particularly fearsome and sharp. A lot of male models scowled and sneered at cameras. They had squared off jaws and poses that provoked imagery relating to things like violence, dominance. Joshua reminded him of those chaps. He was like a cologne's campaign advertisements fully realized. Just without a woman in silk hanging off of his arm. And the last people he'd seen hanging off of Joshua had been wearing meshy booty shorts, and was also quickly shoved off Joshua's arm. For someone so steely, Weidebnburg did feel emotions incredibly. They telegraphed in all of his stances, his body, his eyes and lips. A passionate man. A hot-tempered, mean man. Christopher reasoned that his attraction was another masochistic streak, his subconscious motivated to moving him towards an alarming death. Joshua was really attractive though. After the events just two nights back, the writer knew how horribly touch-strarved he was. At this point, he'd let the man do whatever he wanted most likely. If his good sense didn't kick in, Kris could imagine he'd be fucked and strangled. About to defend himself nonchalantly, Kris smiled at Nisha's quick chiding and felt all the better that she was around. Ignoring Joshua's comments, he blushed at the woman's compliment and ducked his head again. "Awe, thank you."

 

'Starved,' a voice in his head said cruelly. Christopher agreed. He liked it, as bad as he felt knowing he shouldn't. Even Haye complimenting him or pulling him into close hugs made him hold his breath. It was easier with Haye. He could act combative, brush off compliments and tell him to shut up. But Nisha was a stranger and just an undeniably sweet woman. So he let the compliment boil under his skin as the two went back and forth over the SJW term. He had clutched his apple just a little tighter then loosened his hold, trying to will his blush into a calmed submission. But that was really hard. However listening to Joshua generalize and bash people did make him feel better. It snapped him out of his train of thought, because, he reasoned, if he had badly dyed hair and was an SJW, it meant he was wrong, and meant Nisha was wrong. So calling himself ugly would be okay. He was ugly. Nisha continued to make him laugh and giggle with her motherly ways.

 

It was obviously irking Joshua but that dude could go and... kick rocks somewhere. The whole ice-cream date thing seemed to hit the blonde man pretty hard. His mind was probably working on producing more conspiracy theories as to put him in an even worse mood. The ol' sourpuss. Joshua was like Kris's personal Fun Police. Although such characters were meant to function as a means of stopping perpetual fun and happiness, Weidenburg did that and then the complete opposite. His harassed expression and general crossed manner came across as cartoonish to Kris. So even when he was being a stick in the mud, Christopher could use said stick to draw pictures into said mud. And the stick would be mad about it.

 

Walking with the pair of them, he listened to Nisha attentively and nodded as she spoke. At the mention of raccoons, he seemed to chuckle especially heartily. "I love raccoons, too, they're cute. They were born crafty and courageous," he replied to Joshua's vexed statements. The laughter was still there in his voice but he kept a clamp on it. No need to even further rile up the blonde. But his lips did quirk into an especially delighted expression seeing the older man getting his cheek pulled like he was a young boy. Joshua as a young boy... He imagined he acted just as much of a curmudgeon now. Perhaps with more pouting. He could see it now, a young, cross looking man getting his cheek pulled as he was cooed to. Another desire to laugh rushed to his throat but Kris managed to keep it down, too.

 

It was getting harder and harder to, though.

 

Once Nisha directed her attention to im, the journalist shook his head. "No raccoons, but I do see them by my apartment complex sometimes. I'm Kris, by the way, and where I live, well... We're not allowed certain pets," he finished regretfully. "Which is a letdown. People have dogs and cats, fish, too, and hamsters. But certain lizards, reptiles, or other mammals like ferrets aren't allowed. I have a bird feeder outside on my patio though. A lot of the finches and other birds like my apartment now because of it so I treat them like pets. And the animals I feed in the park, they also know me really well." With a faraway smile, he continued talking. "I'd love to have pets someday. They're such nice companions."

 

Ice cream was one of his pleasures but Kris had surprisingly hardly came inside of the small cafe. It was exceptionally cute, though, and perfect for what was turning out to be a literal date. Sitting across from the older man and having Nisha look between them expectantly... It felt like a big elaborate game. Christopher was a big fan of games! Tempted to lightly tap the other man's shoe with his own, the brunette bit his lip as he considered the options. Once the waiter came, he watched with a reserved smile as Nisha and the waiter went back and forth in a game of Compliments. It was obviously just the man's way-- the fat wedding band on his finger gave away that he was already committed to someone and happy to show it off. Maybe it just came from being extremely observant that Kris picked up on that. And also picked up on the shaking, seething man across from him. When Weibenburg finally exploded, fuming, Kris didn't know exactly what to do. Getting up was out of the question, and trying to calm him down would only result in his head cracking against the tiled floor as Joshua likely pounced on him and beat him to a pulp. So he sat there at first, just totally mute from the surprising outburst.

Uh, ahah... what the fuck.

 

I mean this obviously extended past flirting with Nisha to a deeper, more personal issue because what the hell had this guy ever done to Joshua? And here he was, screaming his pale skin to reddened, blistered fury over... his own internal knowledge and struggles. Which other people weren't privy to, and so it seemed like he was screaming over nothing. Which had to be one of the more embarrassing things about it. it put him right back in the shoes of his adolescence when his father would yell at restaurant managers for what he felt was condescending attitudes. Or even his sister. And he understood the why- the insecurity, the shackles raising, already on a high defense. It wasn't the fault of the people they were yelling at. It was simply the catalyst, the embodiment of a perceived issue- a real issue- that they reacted against. That understanding didn't make it any less embarrassing though. If anything, he wondered how it was this candidate had so little self-control. He recalled watching the entire sexual escapade take place, that unrestrained and animalistic passion and desire that morphed Joshua into a different being. Anger was the same. But the results looked different and sounded different and made him feel different. And by feel different, he was highly uncomfortable and embarrassed for Nisha and for Joshua himself. This didn't strike him as behaviour Weibenburg could look back on and reason with. Kris did what he did best, kept quiet and observed. That poor owner wasn't making things any better. Being happy about his engagement only riled up Joshua more, and Kris wondered if this was something like a repression issue. Was he just mad or frustrated about having put himself in the closet like this? That a man was happy and living his life? But he couldn't have just known this man was gay. So it was obviously a person from his past, or an associate who he knew, but the other didn't know him. The logistics were confusing to get his head around. And yet there could be no other plausible explanation.

 

Maybe Weibenburg really was just a lunatic in a nice suit with a great dick. If this was just an off-the-cuff reaction, the man just might be fucking mental. If he was throwing a tantrum just because he was angry, and not because he was seeing someone live the life that maybe he possibly could PERHAPS desire... then he was-- yeah, no, then he was fucking crazy.

 

Always the crazy ones...

 

More stuff happened. Kris was in a different mindspace, eyes averted to the menu as he slowly curled hair around one finger, unwound it, then curled it the other way. What he really wanted was to chew at his nails or get up, leave, but, again. That's really rude. And Joshua may be allowed to act however old way he wanted to and yeah, Kris totally peeped on him that one time, but he still had standards. Those particular standards dictated he remain seated and quiet.

 

Once the question was directed at him, Christopher took a moment to reply, staring blankly with empty eyes before they turned back on and he sat up straighter. "Oh! Yes, um," he laughed awkwardly and cleared his throat. "I'll have the pistachio ice cream with coconut shavings, please. Thank you very much." He gave the man an apologetic grin then watched him walk away before glancing back to the table. Joshua ("Joshi") was pouting. An image materialized, that petulant pouting child getting his cheeks pinched and grabbed. Kris enjoyed being right but having such a burden as to perfectly assume how people acted... God, he, he just really marveled at his own powers. His deductive reasoning was so excellent.

 

His mind reminded him that he was a piece of trash that had reached the top tier in his potential, so the awe he felt towards himself lasted for only about two minutes.

 

Kris continued to watch the scene unfold. He didn't want to be here anymore. It wasn't funny like he thought

it would be, Joshua launching insults at him over ice cream while Nisha made pleasant conversation. It was just sad. Something was so obviously hurting inside of the other man's soul, his heart, and he was so corked up that he wouldn't show it. It was there to anyone willing to look. The Hispanic didn't expect to be anyone's go-to comforter. Especially after how he ended up meeting the pouting businessman in the first place. There was no trust there, and Joshua barely liked him. Didn't like him-- hated him, was disgusted by him and in slight fear and anticipation of what he assumed Kris might do. But... Kris felt like if he had left, maybe the other man could have opened up more, just a little. Been allowed a second or two of vulnerability instead of having to be conscious of his presence. The lives of these candidates were hard, but having to see personal life clash so hard with a public setting and influential public opinion was difficult.

 

Things had cooled now. Kris watched tight shoulders slowly relax and ease back, watching Joshua with a frown plainly on his features. Glancing up, their eyes locked and he fought the sudden urge to look away or reach across the table and take Joshua's hand. It'd be inappropriate, unwanted, and disliked. At the questions, he rested his arms against the table and pushed his lips out as he thought, before glancing down at his hands. "... Truthfully and genuinely." He sighed and rested his cheek against his hand, propping his head up as he looked at Joshua. "... I ..." It was building in his throat. He could even see it now and remember so clearly the gunshots in squares, the disappearances, the violence, that raw anger and all the resulting turmoil. And he'd come here with so much hope. He still had hope. But the sadness was welling in his throat and he shook his head to clear it, briefly smiling.

 

"I don't know how else to report it. I understand why he did what he did. Pushing back against a group like that would have just sparked an immediate violence. I respect him for that. I respect him for trying, and for being open. Not a lot of people would have done that. I know I wouldn't have." Briefly wiggling in his seat, he looked past Joshua and out at the window. "Tensions are incredibly high. No one can really win in any of these situations. Our city is an isolated example of a bigger national dilemma. Just look at me and you." Green eyes slid back to the blonde's face and he kept smiling, albeit a little sadly, a little mischievously. "We're on two totally different sides and all we've ever known is vitriol towards one another. I can't critique Benotti without having people call me a traitor. You and your friends and whatnot think I'm some... sniveling soothsayer. Everyone's always mocking or mad."

 

He sighed and leaned back in his own seat with a laugh.

 

"It's so tiring! How can people keep up being angry for so long? Being on the debate team was better than this, and I almost didn't pass my classes from being gone for so much of my term."

 

Running a hand and scrunching up curls, he sighed and shook his head again, clearing his thoughts. "I come from a really bad political background," he confided. "I've seen bodies strewn on streets. I knew some of those bodies personally. And papers lied about that. Well, I won't lie. All I can do is stand in the truth as I see it. What happened today is a microcosm of a political structure that has inherently strived for inciting elemental fury and a courageous, idiotic stance for doing anything for the fight that you believe in. There's no moderation at all. It's gross, you know? And that's what I'll say. What happened today was gross and super icky and I hated it and wanted to go home. Do I still like Bernotti, yes. Do I think he's, like, a little bit of a bitch because he just let them boss him like that? Of course. I'm also a man in my 30s who can get scrappy. He's an older gentleman who has to consider his hips, and back, and also his public image. So I can't completely stand against him and spit at his shoes like, "oh well you didn't do this so you let that happen and this is entirely your fault" like! no! It could have and would have been way worse with someone who wasn't him. But look at me, I'm rambling, I'm just so over this bullshit. I want to make arepas without someone buzzing my inbox asking me if I heard such and such group did a mass anal prolapsing demonstration at so-and-so's conference. My bones are weary. It makes me think, like... is this how people felt about hippies? Because hippies didn't seem bad at all. But maybe people got this aggravated about having to constantly cover stories about people dehydrated to protect trees. Shit I can't--" he laughed, almost manically, and rested his head back against his hand on the table with a sigh, "stop, talking, I feel. Like a faucet of words."

 

"Long story short: I'm going to report the facts, say that Bernotti tried but that not even peacefulness could've worked things out, maybe discuss the details about infrastructural breakdowns causing frustrations in groups surrounding those breakdowns, reference similar stories throughout history by comparing candidates and groups' responses to those candidates to what we have in historical archives, then finish with saying this entire thing is crazy bullshit and announce my decision to quit journalism and focus on... recipes for baking or something. Maybe... D.I.Y. projects. He scrunched his nose up, freckles following the movement to condense around his nose and eyes like a flurry of stars. "How's that sound. Is it Joshua and Nisha approved? I love support. And criticism!"

[-Hideki-]

What he got after he had asked the journalist how he was going to report on this, how he saw Sandro in that situation and if he would condemn the terrorist was completely different from what he had expected. He had expected a clinical analysis paired with mocking, sarcastic, sharp comments directed towards the right but there was none of that. Instead the man before him whom had seemed like someone who didn’t even take it seriously to ruin an existence got serious, not only that, he got emotional, as if it touched him on a personal level and he seemed sad but not only sad and disappointed about that but there also was some fatigue showing through. Exhaustion by the political climate and the own career path he had chosen. And that got all the clearer when he spoke.

 

Although Joshua obviously had his disagreements with this the man didn’t sound unreasonable at all to him in that moment and there were certain parts that the businessman could even relate and agree to, that he had understanding for and that didn’t help with his already conflicting feelings when it came to this man. Rosario had put him into a place between fury and temptation, between hate and desire and now that person, this criminal jerk who was trying to see him fall and humiliate and degrade him in such a way that no one would ever take him seriously anymore and that would not only harm his political career but his business as well as it would fuck him up psychologically, was getting something human towards him, something normal. As if he was someone one could talk to in a civil manner, one could exchange thoughts with, someone who had a past, present and future and was not just some heartless vulture who had no conscience and no morale and ethics.

 

The same man who had claimed it an heroic act to illegally break onto his property, record a sex tape of him and then threaten to expose him to the public as a liar by omission how he had said was opening up to him! To Weißenburg, telling him about some of his personal and assumingly traumatic experiences. It was odd, it was confusing, it was definitely a 180° turn of attitudes and it made him seem… likeable…. Not only hot and cute but likeable! Did he calculate that too? Was that an act to make him come to see him in another light, to get him to let his guard down in his presence? He suspected. Or was he really genuine and just plain honest for a change? Talking to him as if he didn’t hate him? As if he was seeing him like a real person now one could actually talk to and debate with instead of trying to get his head, slander or embarrass him publically or to just be disrespectful and mocking towards him, laughing about him with his journalist friends?

 

How the other lost his calculative cool a little, how real his expression and the sadness in his voice seemed, not hiding between either professionalism or mocking Weißenburg for a moment the man was just plain attractive to him and seemed like someone he’d actually like to get to know, without Nisha sitting on the table with them though. However, no matter how what was happening before his eyes and what his ears heard there was the sting in the back of his mind that reminded him about what he had done, to what length he had been willing to go as well as the former slander articles about him that had not been constructive but insulting came back to his mind and he felt like that man was a hypocrite and he probably didn’t realise it and that was damming back his attraction to the other male that he was clearly feeling even though he had liked not to. In the end this man had chosen to be his enemy and one shouldn’t develop sexual desires and weird feelings of attraction to their enemies, how absurd and stupidly insane was that? That when the brunette started to go into an overheat, the words flowing out of him like a waterfall as if no one could stop them, that he wanted to lean over and shut him up, calming him with his lips?

 

The events of the last days had put him through an emotional rollercoaster due to the fact that he had seen himself pressed against the wall and his personal issues, with his past love life, his present sex life and his own internal battles he had with himself had gotten him to the point he was now at. To the point where he was irritable and angry and just as exhausted as Christopher seemed to be. The irony of it being that Rosario had played a huge part in why Weißenburg had even come as far as to a point where it had gotten difficult for him to control his fury. He usually had himself under control, he wasn’t irrational and his actions were not arbitrary, he always had reasons and a plan like the next guy and he wasn’t unintelligent either. Granted, he had never been a calm man, he had always had a temper and he had his issues with his aggression because every negative emotion he felt converted into anger immediately so that he wasn’t even able to see what the initial emotion had been or what had caused it, he just felt rage then. When he was sad – anger. When he was lonely – anger. Depressed – anger. Hurt – anger. Fearful – anger. Nervous – anger. Disappointed – anger. And when he couldn’t find an outlet for his ‘one for all’ negative emotion and it started to built up more and more and more, it erupted and like with a volcano one couldn’t say when it would end. Hence he had thrown one or the other temper tantrum during his forty years of being alive.

 

He certainly also wasn’t a professional in the realm of politics. He was some guy, with a successful history in business and the Army and a shit load of money that he had worked his arse off for because he had not inherited shit! And he doubted that his voters would want some professional politician anyway because they were mostly angry with their politicians. And he had done well and he had even had a relatively good time at the beginning although he had hated the show and entertainment aspect of it all. The insults he had smiled at and countered and he had not seemed angry at all. Since he had not been able to be brought to slip up with insults though the media outlets who mainly hated his guts for some reason had digged in his personal matters, had dragged out stuff in hopes to create a scandal, had slandered him, defamed him and had messed with his public image and how he was seen. And trying to ruin his reputation and image had not sat well with Joshua’s mild but still present narcissistic tendencies. And since then he had experienced it more as war against the poor media representation he was given, journalists and those who generally tried to piss on his legs and fuck with his business and organisations like some rotten stray dogs. That had also changed his tone of voice and his attitude as a whole and what he had said had sounded more vigorous, more radical than it initially had and there was a lot more resentment and generalisation too. It even led to some childish behaviour some times. He had elbowed himself up in business and he was a user of the carrot-and-stick-policy as well and he would elbow himself up in politics too. There were no limits if one worked hard enough.

 

Weißenburg didn’t stand for being slandered and defamed and it had also been a red flag to him when they had started to drag his business into the line of fire. That was what he had built for himself! His life’s work and he wouldn’t let anyone ruin this. He had spent years defending the country for a college degree and had then worked non-stop. Starting out as a small construction and building company! By now his construction company was not merely that anymore but Joshua’s company was basically shaping the landscapes of the state and was one of the big players in real estate nationwide. He had even bought some buildings abroad and tried to establish his company there too. He didn’t only have construction workers working for him anymore; from architects, estate agents to bankers he employed a lot of different people from different fields. No one of his opponents however focussed on the fact that he gave people plenty of jobs and he was treating them decently unlike other people, what his company did for the economy and all those thinge, they didn’t care about. They were hooked on his taxes however and he couldn’t just make his finances transparent because, well, they had a point, he was avoiding taxes like the plague.

 

The blond male had actually let Christopher speak without disturbing him and he had a tendency to interrupt people because he had things to say to what they said and he felt like they couldn’t wait, but he had let him speak and he had just listened before he was asked whether he would approve of all what the man had told him now. There was a grin on his face when he looked into the other’s eyes. “I am certainly in favour of you quitting your career as a stalking, lying, sensationalist vulture.” He stated, showing his teeth as he grinned and then got a little serious again. “Although I think that you are having a too trivialising approach when it comes to the terrorists and I would expect a more clear condemnation of the group and it’s ideology as a whole and not just that one act itself there are points you’ve stated that I actually agree with.” The businessman let him know.

 

“It too find those actions gross and I see some of the problems with our political culture that you do too. As it is, I would like a topic related political debate, a civil culture around the debate and an acceptance of plurality in opinion in a society. I too look with concern at the length that people are willing to go, how they are willing to commit crimes to push their agendas and see their political side win. Starting with riots and vandalism, over stalking, breaking in, harassing, blackmailing, destroying existences over bodily harm and violence what in the worse case will result in a bunch of dead people on our city’s streets and already has cost the life of an innocent policeman.” Josh said firmly, looking straight into the green eyes of the journalist, the smirk reappearing on it. “I can’t deny that it surprises me that you condemn the lack of moderation, the lack of actual debate of ideas though and I can’t overlook the obvious hypocrisy in it.” The blond stated and it was obvious that he was playing at the other breaking into his property and recording that video of him with such a despicable intent he had had.

 

“I also wouldn’t say that Mister Benotti’s behaviour was to the core wrong on the stage, however, I blame him for having legitimised and not taken a stance against those terrorist racists beforehand.” Weißenburg spoke. “What would your side have said had I legitimised Ryan Stephenson’s movement by saying that there simply were societal issues having led to this group forming and that those just had to be changed and then the Ryan Stephenson’s would change their minds and not be neo-nazis anymore? Without clearly condemning their ideas or their actions. Just legitimising that they exist and claim they had a valid reason to exist because they are angry about god knows what shit they are all angry about? And then Ryan would disturb me on stage, take the microphone and would proclaim the thousand-years-US-American-ethno-state with him as leader?” he asked, drawing that hypothetical scenario although he doubted that Stephenson had the balls to do that. Not to mention that he falsely believed they were on the same side and had things in common and he had already publically called his ideas disgusting.

 

“Anyhow…” he started. “I would definitely disagree about hippies not having seemed bad.” The man said in a playful tone of voice, what was when Nisha spoke again. “I like their colourful clothing.” She let them know and then smiled at Christopher and when Joshua looked at her it appeared again that she really was not a political person at all. Maybe that was why she was so calm and joyful most of the times and seemed at ease in her life. “I also think baking is a really great thing to focus on. I could give you the recipe for my melon cake, it is delicious and I perfected it over the years.” The black haired lady said. “I am a professional cook you know, me and my husband have a restaurant. I have always found cooking and baking really relaxing and therapeutic.” Nisha let the brunette man know. “I baked and cooked a lot when I was a teenager. I was almost always in the kitchen. It distracted me from me!” the woman said her black eyes looking as if she was staring into a dark abyss filled with demons of the past and a lot of pain and misery and her face looked frozen in that blink of a moment and she wasn’t really realising her surroundings. “Nisha!” he called out to her touching her hand with his that the woman felt reminded her of the raccoons. “Sorry.” She said, shook her head and smiled happily at the youngest person on the table again.

 

As Nisha then started to inform them about how she had originally wanted to make strawberry cake to find that her family members had already eaten all the strawberries and she had only found a melon in the fridge and how she had worked and with that the foundation for her special melon cake had been born, Joshua was actually relaxing even though the journalist was around. The other speaking to him like he had before had eased something although he still didn’t find him too pleasant knowing that he’d probably humiliate him regardless of their conversation or sitting in a café with him and his stepmother. He would continue to not see him as a real person but just some political character he hated and didn’t want to win.

His blue eyes were actually taking the other man in as the woman talked about baking her cinnamon, marzipan, apricot cup-cakes and how she always formed little animal figures out of the marzipan and put them onto the cupcake. He was hot and cute at the same time. And he had been even cuter back in that club, that blush, the shaky touch he had given him. It had made him want to touch him more and rob his breath completely. The businessman would have liked to take him but he had had the feeling that the other would have wanted him to get rid of the hat and the sunglasses and had then figured out who he was and would have probably not wanted him then and slapped his face for touching him and had exploited that situation too. However he almost unconsciously shoved his leg forward between Christopher’s now in the ice café, their knees touching, testing his luck right there like an idiot. Well, if the other stomped on his foot or started to yell at him he could say it had been accidentally.

 

Blue staring into green he sat there forgetting about the owner of the place fucking Ilay and those cunts who had called him a homophobic fascist and basically all his surroundings, Nisha’s backing expertise merely becoming background noise as he moved his long leg further, grinding it against the other some, letting it get closer to the man’s crotch. That was when he got a painful reminder that he was not boyfriend material and the man who had had his heart having tossed it into the rubbish bin and being with someone else now as their ice cream was brought to them and a man stood there smiling. “I bring your ice cream.” He had said but the voice had no Italian accent, it had no accent at all and was painfully familiar, it made his heart skip a beat and he froze how he was as the blueberry ice cream bowl got placed before Nisha’s face. The blond man didn’t want to look to the side, he was eager to ignore the other but his ice cream just didn’t get served, nor Rosario’s. Weißenburg turned his head around and reluctantly looked into chocolate brown eyes in a pale model like, picture book face. “Ilay.” He mumbled and the man smiled at him. “Josh.” He said smiling at him. “So you have quit as a public defender too and are a waiter now? I don’t think your mother will be happy about that.” he said jokingly because it was obvious Ilay didn’t work there, standing there in his suit and his tie. “I don’t work here. I just come here to see my fiancé during lunch break. I like lunch break visits, remember.” He said and he did remember and it made his heart clench painfully and he could already see the other giving him a speech because of how he had acted towardds his boyfriend now. Why had he not seen him enter, he could have run to the bathroom and climbed out of the window? Now that ice-cream salesman must have told him that some crazy guy had thrown a tantrum and had insulted him, pointing at him and Ilay knew now and was mad about him and he’d be in an embarrassing situation in public again.

 

“I’m sorry!” it came from the man with the wavy, chestnut coloured hair then and Joshua’s face looked completely taken off guard and by surprise. “I apologise for how I have behaved and how I have spoken in front of you two days ago. I was insensitive and inconsiderate and I didn’t mean to hurt you. But if you want to insult someone, let out your anger onto someone, look as if you want to punch someone’s teeth out, direct it at me. I’m the reason you’re angry after all. My fiancé isn’t the one so leave him out of it. It’s me who caused it for you. So if someone is getting punched, it’s me, come on, hit me.” His ex said placing the plate with both remaining ice cream bowls onto the table taking his arms from his body baring his stomach to him. Josh snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. I would never insult or hit you and you know it damn well.” Weißenburg said. “I’ll leave your beloved boy be. Just leave me alone and continue my whatever that is! I have already made a fool out of myself enough for one day having gotten called a homophobe and a fascist by those sour chicks and you showing up here doesn’t make me feel any better.” The businessman said and Ilay noticed Rosario for the first time and wondered why the other was sitting on the same table with the guy who blackmailed him and he had wanted his legal defence against. Then again, it wasn’t his problem Joshua was an adult after all, instead he laughed. “They called you a homophobe and a fascist?” he repeated amused. Josh raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think people calling me that to be funny at all.” The blond said and Ilay only laughed more intensely. “I find it to be incredibly hilarious.” He admitted and it was pretty obvious that he did anyway. “Sorry, I just find it so funny in an absurd way that people seriously think you are a fascist or a homophobe for that matter and even Nazis like Ryan Stephenson think you are with them in their course. It makes me want to visit him and tell him a story or two about you and about me, destroying his image of you and ruin you as his icon for him. I’m certain that would solve the problem with him supporting you too. He’d distance himself from you. Would be good for the campaign.” The lawyer laughed placing the ordered ice cream in front of the blond man. “Great. It’s good for my campaign and you can marry that stupid ice-cream jerk in hospital then.” Weißenburg said in a sarcastic tone. “You mean Ryan wouldn’t like me? And there I thought I was pretty cute and likeable.” Ilay joked not less sarcastic then he turned to the journalist though and his face went serious.

 

“Mister Christopher Rosario.” He greeted him and his brown eyes looked into the green ones. “I know what you did to him and I frankly find it disgusting and not only that, such means are also incredibly undemocratic and in case you have not realised, this is a democracy, we have a free marketplace of ideas. If you don’t like his politics, counter them with your own, have the better ideas, argue against him, show the people your ideas are the better ideas. If however they’ll decide in favour of his, accept it and don’t try to throw in something as intimate and irrelevant to the political discourse as that. Not to mention that – as you should know and I hope you do cause otherwise you’d be dumb – your actions are illegal.” Ilay gave Christopher a speech instead of Joshua what baffled the businessman and he could only watch the scene unbelieving. “If you do him harm or ruin him, I’ll destroy you. He might be an idiot with a complex about the very thing you want to reveal but him being an emotional cripple doesn’t mean he deserves to be treated in such a despiteful way.” He ended and slammed the ice cream bowl in front of the journalist. “Bon appétit!” the man said moving his perfect eyebrows up before he turned around, ready to leave and spend time talking to and kissing his fiancé when Nisha’s soft, high-pitched voice spoke, the woman having been busy with trying to place Ilay somewhere as she had been sure that she had seen him quite some times already. “I know who you are now!” she said and he looked at her. “Weren’t you Joshi’s lawyer friend!?” she had come to the conclusion and Ilay snorted. “Right! I was his lawyer ‘friend’.” The man said remembering why exactly he had left the other man in the first-place when Nisha referred to him as a former friend of Joshua.

 

With that he wanted to leave them behind but Weißenburg grabbed him by his wrist. “Ilay, stay away from Ryan Stephenson, promise me!?” he said rather worried. “That’s no fun.” The dark haired said and smiled. “That’s something I’d definitely do because it would be hilarious.” Ilay found and the blond grumbled. “I know you would, that’s why I am asking you not to.” Ilay smiled. “If you are that worried about me, fine, I will not tell him my sweet stories.” He agreed and Josh let go of him, sighing, shaking his head. His eyes a little tired.

[brinary]

Being watched and listened to was a nice change of pace. He was used to slightly more interruptions or non-attentive listening, as he sits in the center of attention. Joshua's attention and clear-cut gaze made his stomach almost wiggle around. He wanted to be closer to him as he spoke, in a more intimate setting, and talk with him gently with their lips almost brushing. And tell him sweet things. Then get himself mauled, throat ripped by fearsome and mean jaws. Immediately after speaking, he felt embarrassed. Saying so much- uncensored, not mindful-- he must sound like an idiot. But there wasn't any judgment there. There had to be judgment going through Joshua's head, of course, there must be. Kris couldn't be getting off scotch-easy; Joshua must be getting ready on what to say to him, how loud to yell at him.

 

The yelling didn't really seem to happen, though. It was... okay? There was still the attack, of course. It somehow relieved him. His shoulders sagged ever so slightly in relief and he had to return the grin with his own small own. Yeah, he'd never get over the fact not that Kris could technically blame him. It was pretty wild of it. And he'd probably feel a tearing, painful repulsion at the fact that he did it. But he was also pride-bound to vehemently protect his decisions and actions. Something so serious being used as a reference point to even joke about, though, was kind of odd. Joshua continued to boggle him. He'd expected violence and anger but was getting instead a calm and measured answer, something actually conversational. He got that Haye vibe again, memories of sometimes explosive fights melting into amicable, friendly chats. As the man spoke, Kris indicated his hearing with subtle nods and keeping that eye contact going. They both had really strong eye contact. People had trouble with that, it was something they taught in debate classes and anything to do with orating. Maintaining that eye contact was pivotal to communicating ideas or establishing connections.

 

As the other remarked on where they agreed, he heard Haye's mocking tone in his head. 'Special, oh, he thinks you're so different,' and the embarrassment following. Joshua's comments did confirm that he really liked the feeling. It was... He couldn't place a name to it, the acknowledgement, except a spongey pride. If his pride were a sponge, it'd just be swelling from Weibenburg's water words. He accredited it to the delight of humanizing himself to people who'd been so opposed.

 

Although the blonde still made reference to Kris's past offenses (literally one offense QUITE honestly, a stubborn voice said in his mind) there was nothing bitingly malicious or snarky. There was only so much he could say in a casual conversation without sounding like a prick. If he pulled out one study and another article or referenced outside sources, they'd definitely clash. Keeping with his own feelings ad thoughts on the matter, especially when telling the blonde, had been a good idea. Changing his position to better cradle his chin on linked fingers, the writer made a half-hearted attempt to shrug flippantly but was much too infatuated with staring back into the eyes of the businessmen

 

 

Things seemed light and casual. Nisha's blatant banal enjoyment and overall bouyant energy really helped close the chapter- for now- on the situation outside. Grinning, the Hispanic man nodded his enthusiastic agreement. "So do I," he added, which wasn't untrue, but also he mostly did it because Nisha was cute and seeing her happy made him happy. Nisha's attitude infected Kris with good humour and an interested smile all theroughout her talk. He could see that the darkness in her past got to her but baking was- and probably still is- a really important past time. Kris himself used to knit and crochet to calm down. It helped with the travels up the trains. in dire straits, his mother would try to sell the little things he could think to make. The hobby turned habit helpfully added legitimacy in cash's form. Having to shift 'past-time' to 'survival method' in his head had hurt his adolescent brain. Thankfully he could now crochet without incident. And Nisha could cook without having to escape a horrible life. That truly made his heart fill. Sure, first impressions couldn't always be trusted, but someone so genuine like Nisha just couldn't be... NOT trusted.

 

 

Even if he was hungry and looking forward to the ice cream, he felt good around the two.

 

He was really listening to Nisha, smiling and adding small interjections when appropriate about his own baking escapades-- mostly with things like flan and fruit cakes. He'd gotten into a Swedish treat called a princess cake he absolutely adored and shared that tidbit as well when he could feel something totally foreign. It was a good thing Nisha had jumped off of that into another interesting topic because Joshua's knee was touching his and it could have been but he sincerely doubted it was. He remained still as he waited, still listening to the woman speak with the same grin. His eyes flickered briefly to Joshua's and then away as the motion continued. He could feel his cheeks growing hot and slowly let his leg spread, nearly hooking his foot over Joshua's before another presence showed up at the table. Glancing up, the man looked at the stranger and felt a name briefly come to mind. Ilay, he was pretty sure? He'd seen his law office before and Haye spoke highly of him.

 

Obviously there was something. There was almost certainly a 'SOMETHING' going on. Christopther's previous assumptions began spinning in his mind. A compass seeking its goal, searching for the right direction, lines on a map beginning to cross. An intersection. The look in brown and blue eyes. Little in jokes? No-- oh, yes, absolutely that was TOTALLY his ex. Joshua's ex was Ilay and Ilay, if he was visiting his fiance... There hadn't been any other workers he'd seen. None especially that were gay and engaged. Okay so Joshua was mad because Ilay was his ex, and his ex was now engaged to an ice cream store owner/waiter, and Christopher was awed (once again) by his amazing deductive reasoning. But wow, oh god, that was messy. Christopher immediately felt extra guilty about actually engaging with Joshua in footsie then felt dumber because of course the man didn't actually...

 

No, he didn't want him. This was his response to his pain. Kris saw it for what it was now and felt ashamed at thinking otherwise. The realization sobered him up. God, he really was desperate, ready to hump Joshua's leg like some creature. When in reality, Weibenburg just needed to vent his frustration and sadness over someone he probably didn't get over. Who he seemed to have a lot of feelings for. Christ now he really wanted to leave. The pressure was crushing his lungs, driven crazy by embarrassment and amusement at his own stupidity that he pursed his lips and tried not to have any significant emotion flash across his face.

 

At least they both seemed to have a dramatic streak. Ilay seemed cute, too. Yeah. He could imagine them being a cute couple. Probably really sweet. Secretive though-- that's why they broke up, he bet. Someone wanted to live loud and proud and another couldn't be fussed to do the same. And while that was understandable, it was still incredibly sad. Years were stretched between the two men, Kris could just see it, and felt especially like an insect who was peeping on things and looking in on people who he shouldn't be allowed to view.

 

Ilay was cheerful and jested a lot and Joshua and humoured him and he wore nice shoes and had kind eyes and a sweet smile and it was kind of tearing Kris apart just a tad? He hated it. He was glad the other could come and joke around with the blonde man, their banter a bittersweet familiarity. No doubt he would soon be addressed-- a former lover, ex-boyfriend lawyer associated with Joshua meant someone he could vent his personal issues to then take professional actions to the courts.

 

So when the brown-haired man greeted him, Kris knew what was coming and nodded in return before the speech commenced. Christopher didn't technically 'hear' what the other had said but more listened to him orate. Ilay always had a really good way with words. Christopher had by chance been on jury to hear the man present years and years ago. The entire crowd seemed pretty riveted by him. He spoke well and put together sentences that were in plain English, understandable to the masses, but still very powerful. As much as Joshua was scary and shouted hard, Kris thought Ilay to be a much better insulter. Of course it'd been his... well he'd heard this before. It wasn't anything exactly new or fresh. And it wasn't even because Joshua had gone on tirades before insulting him or whatever, or the voices that belittled him, just being a journalist in general. These exact situations. 'You know it's illegal right,' 'if you release it, you'll wish you'd have never gone into writing,' 'hurt her reputation and I'll murder your whole family,' 'I'll go to the press and humiliate you'-- it's the common thing, it's the way people go about these situations to protect loved ones. And Ilay loved Joshua very much. That much was obvious. Shame that they ended like they did, probably. It seemed like they would have had a passionate love. The chemistry was totally there. Thinking about these things helped Christopher weather the speech, listening without completely absorbing, attention rapt and gaze unwavering although solemn still.

 

With the bowl slammed in front of him, he took the spoon with a hum. "Merci beaucoup." How long before he could leave. This was so lame. To think, to THINK he could be comfortable around Joshua. That they may have even gotten through one hurdle and crossed a particular bridge. It was so ignorant of him and a special naivety that immediately made him shove ice cream into his mouth before he could say another word. The cold was a bitter snap that rattled his nerves and made him squeeze his eyes close. But he continued to let it melt and swallowed before taking more spoons.

 

 

Stuff happened around him again. It didn't concern him. None of these people concerned him. He was making friends with people who he could never cross that bridge with, peeking into private lives again, nothing better than a shitty paparazzi. Glorified drama article writer.

Kris shoveled ice cream into his mouth until he was certain he couldn't speak for a while, nose burning and mouth a prison of electricity as the cold buzzed through him. Wrote for all these journals and ended up having such shit insurance that he probably needed hundreds of thousands for root canals. Didn't even eat sweets that much. Couldn't believe it-- he could have been Joshua's rebound, potentially, just... a cocktoy. Narratives like that were only appealing when they weren't real. But Kris honestly knew he'd have caught the hardest feelings for Joshua if it came to that. Shit. He already had some caught feelings for the other in general! Some man touching him at a club even set him off, TOUCHING his ARM at a CLUB'S BAR.

 

Once Ilay, Joshua's 'lawyer friend,' had walked away and Joshua had sat back down, Kris had swallowed his shoveled ice cream. Licking his lips, he glanced around at the other two. "Uh, this... ice cream is pretty yummy. I think it's yummy." He quieted after that and chewed his lip before pushing his bowl closer to them. "Do you guys want some? It's pretty good. I just said that but I feel the need to emphasize the goodness, I guess. Or maybe I'm just easy to please, I don't know." And then once they ate some of his, then he could say 'whoops gotta run' and get the hell out of dodge, potentially never looking back, so he could avoid the whole mess and try to get a grip on his own emotions.

 

Vulnerability never benefited anyone in these political situations. Sexuality could be used as a means to an end, or a means to a new beginning. Vitriolic tendencies propagated the 'game' of it all. Mixing all of those elements together between two people wouldn't be good and most likely end up in something very unhealthy. Like death from a strangehold gone too far. As caustic as Kris could be, and masochistic and all, well. He wanted to try and keep some of his self-respect by avoiding being an obvious rebound.

 

Being nice for now wouldn't hurt any. If anything, it was for Nisha's sake. Once they all left this ice cream shop, they'd go back home and resume their usual lives. Nisha would be sweet and kind, Joshua would hate him, and Kris would write.

[-Hideki-]

Black eyes lay on the journalist when the brunette male was immediately shoving ice-cream into his mouth as if he was on one of those strange eating contest she had seen on a feast her husband had taken her to and that she had found rather decadent in a way that had been unpleasant to watch. People shoving insane amounts of food into themselves to eat faster and more than the person next to them! It had almost had something immoral to her. However Rosario obviously wasn’t at a food contest, he was just suddenly behaving strangely and generally off. Something bothered him, something was painful to him, that much she had gotten but she also got the feeling that just as Joshua had when she had asked him what was up he would lie to her too.

 

Josh had turned his head around even before Ilay had run off, he a) didn’t want to see him run to that stupid arse with his accent and b)something about the noises the spoon made when the other ate was well, unusual. And when his blue eyes looked into the green eyes of Christopher the man reminded him of Tony the golden hamster his sister had had as a kid when he had had his cheeks full of food. It looked funny, a little cute even but also completely weird leading Joshua to raise his eyebrows in a questioning confused manner but one corner of his lips rising as well when he looked at that oddball and how he was behaving just now.

 

The journalist’s behaviour didn’t get any more normal, quite the contrary, it got even weirder when he fake enthusiastically praised the ice-cream too much as if it was the best thing he had eaten in his entire life, shoving it towards them apparently badly wanting to get them to eat his ice-cream. Weißenburg laid his blond head to the side some and looked at the other as if he had kinda lost it now. “I’m allergic to nuts. I can’t eat pistachio ice-cream!” he just said but even if he had not been he had not eaten the man’s ice-cream, he was way too busy examining him now that he acted that suspiciously and just outright odd. And the guy had said he was the oddball! What was his problem now anyway? It couldn’t be that he was ashamed? Ashamed about his actions? Or scared? He had aimed at his head with a gun and had called him all kinds of stuff and he had not given him an inch so Ilay condemning him and telling him he’d destroy him couldn’t have affected him in anyway could it? It didn’t make sense.

 

Not to mention that Ilay was just not scary, like, at all. Maybe as a lawyer but as a person, no, just no. Weißenburg remembered when Ilay had been mad at that Indian guy from the electronic store who barely could speak any English because he had sold him garbage more than once and the guy had played dumb and he had freaked and threatened him stressing the fact that he could get really mean and dangerous and he had even gotten kicked out of two schools and the Israeli Army had not wanted him because he was just a really bad and mean guy. Josh had failed not to laugh and the guy had just looked at him unimpressed blinking his eyes thinking Ilay was crazy. After that Ilay had been mad at him for having laughed but how could he not have knowing the reason as to why he had been kicked out of school and what his experience trying to enlist in the Army had been?

 

When Ilay had been old enough his mother had had the glorious idea to send him to his aunt and make him enlist in the Israeli Army in the hopes that they would cure him and get him back to the right path with some drills and all that jazz again. Since Ilay for a long time in his life had tried to make her mother happy he had attempted to do so. He had gone to the Army and there some handsome jock with a square jaw and grey eyes had looked at him as if his mere intend was an insult. “This is a joke isn’t it?” he had asked him and Ilay had smiled at him and said “No” and the guy had gotten a little irritated even and had said to his comrade that they should send him away, had then turned to Ilay again and had told him:”Go home again pretty-boy and draw pictures or make flower arrangements, plan a wedding or whatever the fuck it is you do.” When the brunette man had told the muscle head that he had applied to law school the man had said:” Even worse!” Only to be reminded by his comrade that they had to test whether he was physically capable or not and couldn’t just send him away like that, what he had not liked but had had to agree to.

 

Ilay had not been happy about it because he really had not wanted to be a soldier in the first place and had had hopes they would just send him away again when the jock had reacted like that. But thanks to his asthma and having been beaten up in his public school for being too gay so badly that it had permanently damaged his hip he had not qualified and the unfriendly man with the buzzcut had told him that he was not fit and that he shall go home now. “Thanks a lot, that is great!” Ilay had obviously been happy what had surprised the man and he had asked:”You didn’t want to qualify?” After which Ilay had told him he had not wanted to come there in the first place and it had been his mother’s idea in order to get him in line again. The guy had seemed friendlier then and Ilay had told him he was going to tell his aunt that he’d fly home the next day and had wanted to leave the room, the soldier however had stopped him and said that if he would leave tomorrow he could show him the city that night. Well, it had more been like showing him his bedroom but whatever. His aunt had insisted that he’d stay for a few weeks longer and that way he had tumbled into his first relationship with a closeted man who had been in the Army and seemed so strong but was terrified as fuck to come out. It had only lasted two years though as Ilay had realised long distance relationships weren’t his thing and neither of them had wanted to move.

 

Overall Ilay seemed to have an unhealthy tendency to attract and to fall for men of that type and this bloke and Weißenburg had had a lot in common. Well, the man had been calmer than Joshua but less ambitious and less passionate too. The two of them had even met. Much to Ilay’s dismay! When he had been with Josh his ex who had not known and had been around for vacation had suddenly stood in front of their door – he had had his new address from Ilay’s mother who had hoped both of the men might eliminate each other because she couldn’t stand either of them – and they had acted like two alpha wolves about to tear each other apart at first. Until Joshua had commented something political on the news and Ilay’s ex had found he agreed and the two of them had started to get into politics, and figured out they had had about the same opinions and they had started to like each other, even ignoring Ilay completely until the man had said “Get a room!” in an obviously jealous way. Although there had been no reason for jealousy because neither of them had been sexually attracted to the other! Joshua and Ilay’s ex Ari remained friends to that day and still were in contact. Much to Ilay’s dismay again because he hated the idea that two of his exes were still friends as it made him feel that every time they talked they’d bash him and laugh about him. In reality they barely spoke about him though but mostly talked politics and when they bashed something they bashed Islam and Muslim terrorists. Only one time when they had been drunk had they talked about Ilay and the whole conversation had just been them discussing his arse, his dick, his body and how he had been in bed. Maybe Josh should call Ari again, he was sure he’d too be interested in learning about the ice-cream jerk and his stupid accent and that Ilay would marry that guy.

 

So Joshua just didn’t see Rosario being scared of Ilay’s threat, it didn’t fit. But what made him act like this then? Was it the realisation that the people didn’t see his actions as positive and heroic as he had thought maybe? He mused, his eyes still observing the man who seemed so tense, as if he was an antelope about to flee from the lion. But who was the lion he was trying to flee from? Weißenburg? No. Ilay? No. Nisha? Hell no!

 

Nisha reached out her hand towards the man whose eyes were nearly begging them to take some of the ice-cream already but the hand was not going towards a spoon or Christopher’s ice-cream but right for the man’s wrist, holding onto it with her tiny hands. “What bothers you dear? Is it something that Josh said or did?” she asked and Joshua was looking at her. “What? Me? I haven’t said or done anything right now. I just said I am allergic to his ice-cream.” He found that incredibly unfair that she was immediately jumping to the conclusion that it had been his fault that the man was behaving that strangely now. When Nisha had taken away her hand again Joshua sighed and let his hand run through the light hair of his looking straight into the left-winger’s green eyes.

 

“What have you expected?” he rhetorically asked. “I don’t see why it is so shocking for you to see that moderates like him condemn your action and don’t see that as something heroic or standing up for a good cause. You should have expected that.” Weißenburg told him clearly. “Moderates don’t like when someone results to criminal means or violates someone else just to further their political cause. The only people you’ll appeal to with this action will be the radical left, the people who’d do everything for their own personal political outlooks, those you claimed to find crazy and claimed to be sick of and yet you act exactly like them when you do what you are planning to do to me, that’s where I see the hypocrisy.” He let him know. “And those people would never vote for me anyway, whether I am what I am or would fit the norm. So you won’t win any one over for your cause or political opinions. You’d scare away more and more moderates, who’d shake their heads about that and who’d feel how Ilay feels about this minus the personal component because Ilay and I know each other quite well and ja, maybe you’d get some of my voters to not vote for me, maybe you’ll get enough of them to not vote for me not because of what I am but because they’d see me like this then and caouldn’t take me seriously anymore and you might actually prevent me from being the mayor but you won’t benefit or strengthen your side, nor Sandro. Who you’d strengthen would be those people far right from me. Those whom you even disagree with more by enlightening the people’s fury and directing it against that aspect of me! It also won’t be good for other men like me. And yes, maybe Sandro will actually win because plenty of my voters will vote third party or not at all and he’ll get four years, and after those four years, you’ll get Pierce Portman running for mayor. He tried already. The party chose me. But then they’ll chose him and he’ll win, trust me about that. And I personally wouldn’t like to see this man win in our city.” He explained.

 

Pierce Portman was a former evangelical pastor who had gone into politics and was famous for advocating for mandatory conversion therapy for gay people, claiming electro-shocking gays would make them definitely straight again, that doctors at hospitals should be allowed to deny treatment to LGBT people even in emergency cases and if the person died otherwise because if they would be forced to safe the sinners life that would violate their religious freedoms and saying that being gay was a totally legit reason to fire someone from their job and kick them out of their apartments or house they have rented. All in all Pierce seemed incredibly focussed on LGBT people in a hateful way. It was like a witch-hunt basically and Josh sometimes imagined that one day Pierce would leave his house, built a stake in his backyard, grab a pitchfork and a torch and run through the night like a maniac shouting ‘Burn all them disgusting faggots! Burn them all!’ In his humble opinion Pierce was a mental patient and he was certain he had broken free from some insane asylum and had then pretended to be a pastor.

 

He took a deep breath and then he leaned his body over the table closer to Rosario, he could inhale his scent again, realising that he smelled really nice. Wondering how he himself smelled to the other but the man probably just smelt the loads of perfume anyway. His hand grabbed the other by the shoulder again, not less firmly as he had done in the club that night. “Listen, you say you admire Sandro Bernotti, why not take him as an example then. I disagree with him but he is a decent man, not a criminal. And I know one thing about him for sure, he’d not break into his opponents property and record something like this to threaten them with and he wouldn’t praise you or be thankful to you if you did publish that either. I guarantee you. He plays fairly. So do I. Both of us are able to separate our work and our politics from the personal.” Josh told him, his face closer to the other’s now and he could see those freckles more clearly. Weißenburg took his hand from the other’s shoulder and moved it towards his face, lifting it up to make him look into his eyes again, not able to resist the temptation to let his thumb stroke over the freckles in Christopher’s face, his heart starting to beat faster, silence following….

 

…Until he heard a high-pitched squeal from the chair next to him Nisha’s black eyes shining as she was taking another bit of the blueberry ice-cream, swallowed it down and spoke again. “It’s so cute. Your hands are adorable; they really look like the raccoon’s. One touched my hair and my cheek once too when it was climbing on my shoulders! It was so sweet!” she rejoiced and Joshua looked at his hand now and quickly took it away from the journalist’s face then looking defeated as he sank back into the chair. “My hands are normal looking!” the blond said and it looked like a part of his soul had just died and was escaping through his mouth as he spoke, Nisha however didn’t see why it bugged him at all and she took one of his hands and played around with his long fingers. “I don’t know why you can’t see I’m giving you nice complements.” The black haired woman said and then turned her face to Rosario. “His hands are cute aren’t they? Like the raccoons!” she asked him as she just couldn’t be the only one to see it right.

 

After he had focussed on the ice-cream he originally had not wanted to eat for quite a while and had placed his foot close to the younger male’s so that their ankles were touching, ignoring his stepmother he stopped half-way through the ice-cream and looked outside of the opened window. The crowd was gone, policemen were securing the streets and an ambulance headed away into the direction of the nearest hospital and he rose from his seat stretching himself. “Seems like we’re good to go now.” the blond male said. “Already?” Nisha asked as she had enjoyed it. “Already! There are a lot of preparations to make. The governor, remember?” he reminded her and she had indeed forgotten for that moment. “Right, the governor.” She nodded and was now thinking about the menus she would cook for him together with Joshua’s sister.

 

Joshua Weißenburg turned to Christopher again. “I can’t say it was pleasant in this ice-café but oddly enough this was not your fault.” He jested, a small smile playing around his lips as he looked into the attractive face of the other man, the light brownish skin, the freckles, the curly hair and those green eyes. He was a handsome fellow indeed. “I didn’t even dislike your presence.” He added and sighed. “Well, in case you decide not to release that material and to not ruin my existence because you don’t like my politics, maybe you want to meet at a more pleasant place where I won’t be called a homophobic fascist and there won’t be so many people around, you probably won’t want to, but if you would, you already have my address. You could come over and we could …. talk politics and eat something or whatever. You wouldn’t survive if I cooked but we could order. Just use the door like a normal person this time and no cameras or bugs.” The businessman said and quickly touched the man’s hand before he took all the bags and said. “I’m gonna pay.” Heading towards the counter where luckily no owner and no Ilay were to see, just a young lady with a short bob.

 

Nisha beamed and her painted lips smiled widely as she found she was a true genius and her plan to find a partner for her stepson was totally working. And they’d look so cute together too. “It was so nice to get to know you. I hope we meet again sometime soon.” She said and bowed her head to him following Joshua who was paying for all three of them and then headed towards the door. Nisha hugged his arm again and then turned towards Christopher waving at him happily before they were out of the door.

 

Weißenburg just wanted to punch himself again. What was wrong with him? Inviting that man over to his house! And he certainly didn’t want to discuss politics either and that had probably been obvious. He was into him! He was into that cute arsehole who had that much potential to enrage him like no other but who also intrigued him. What a fucking mess! It was Nisha’s fault she had made him spend time with this guy. Then again, it wasn’t more embarrassing and humiliating that he had done that now then the guy having watched him having sex. So he should just forget it and get over the fact that he had made it known that he wanted the other man. He would never appear anyway. He’d laugh at him for this with his left-wing friends and the other morning Josh would see his own naked arse on TV how he fucked Morrison into the mattress. Those thoughts were disappointing and even to some extent painful and it made him angry again, rage building up in him, his hands clenching into fists as he walked the way towards his car with Nisha on his arm.

 

He should get something to vent about and let the aggression out though. When they arrived at the Jeep his SUV was not burned, it was not damaged either but it had a new ‘design’. The shining white varnish of his beloved car had gotten sprayed with insults. ‘eco-swine’ was smeared onto the engine bonnet, the left side said ‘fucking big-wig’, the right ‘Down with capitalism’ and the roof of his car was smeared with ‘Corporate bastard!’ It was the car itself that had triggered that reaction in that crowd of people as they had not known who it belonged to but the vehicle itself apparently had been enough to enrage some people to the point they smeared it like that. Joshua lost it completely he was running around his car in circles, waving his arms around in an aggressive motion, the bags moving dangerously in them screaming things like ‘Bloody tree-huggers’, ‘they should lock all the criminal hippies up’, ‘we should throw them out of the country and send them to North Korea or fucking China if they hate capitalism that much’ and he couldn’t calm down. Nisha even worried his head would explode or he’d get a heart-attack right there as she was just staring at the sprayed SUV and her clamouring stepson.

[brinary]

shit.

 

he fucked up somehow, shit.

 

Both of them were looking at him oddly and it was like a whole other type of life roaring to life.

His gut response was to get angry and defend himself vehemently. But he was not his father and he wasn't his sister, and this wasn't junior high where the kids would watch him strangely. His habits whittled down to weird idiosyncrasies. Once he tried to mimic the other children, it only seemed to make him even weirder as he fumbled through slang he couldn't use and tried to do things he saw on televisions. Such memories were bouncing around in his head like his brain was lined with springboards. The combination of stress, exhaustion, lust, and bitterness was making him antsy but he tried not to move an inch. A familiar sensation broke out across the back of his neck as he felt himself beginning to obviously color.

 

'Please take some so I can leave,' he pleaded mentally. 'Please take it or just spit on me. I don't know what to do.'

 

Joshua's expression pained him and then he felt his eyes widen. "Oh! I-- y--" English. English. "You're-- right, I-" he shook his head, eyes fluttering closed as he tried not to scream and smiled instead, eyebrows scrunching. "I completely forgot how... allergies work. My family just force fed me to see if I got over it," Kris eventually joked with a weak laugh. "How about you, Nisha?" Please save me, Nisha, was what he wanted to say, or, you're my last hope here. But that was a for sure social no-no so the request didn't even eek out of him.

 

At first it seemed like his mental begging had paid off and Nisha was reaching for his food. One part had Kris feel immediately happy because sharing food was something he enjoyed doing and it felt good to see. The other part was context-driven, just purely relieved that the woman seemed to understand that he needed her support and regular enthusiasm. He was going to open his mouth to say something when Nisha's hand bypassed his spoon and instead settled on a wrist. The question surprised him too and his eyebrows jumped up in surprise. "What? No, no," he said quickly to avoid this becoming like, a Thing. He didn't want the already put-upon Joshua to misconstrue his feelings. It wasn't exactly completely off-the-mark, though. It was just that what Joshua did was completely fine, normal, and sad. Kris having to see it and realize it for himself was what really turned his stomach. But-- nope, yeah now it's a Thing, and he can feel the chastising coming from a mile away.

 

It was hard to focus when Joshua did things to his hair. It looked soft, taken care of and well-kempt. The way the blonde hairs reflected light was even prettier. His former blonde dye had been opaque and not the gentle wash of colour Joshua's was. He wondered what he would look like when he finally went grey. Hair like that was already so soft as it was, in color and condition. It nearly looked silver. It was easy to imagine it then, a greyed Joshua, perhaps at 50, although the hairs seemed vibrant as ever. With as much stress as the man dealt with, Kris would have expected at least a few differently color wisps but oh wait he was being lectured at again, wasn't he?

 

This wasn't the time to be thinking about how soft Joshua's hair looked.

 

Yeah, it's a Thing now and Joshua's understanding was so far away from Kris's actual concerns that the journalist felt like laughing. But he supposed it was a little better than having to explain his confliction. It was actually being around Joshua that made him forget about the taped evidence. He had been so triumphant and proud (still was, the inklings were there) but there was no way to do anything with that kind of dirt without risking a net loss. Christopher's mind worked in horrible ways but his least favorite and most common method of thought was extremes. His mind loved to jump to extremes. If he released the footage, Joshua would be ex-communicated by many of his supporters, be put under fire, someone else would win, have potential to ascend to other offices, someday even becoming an important player in a larger political game, while Kris's family was seized and thrown into prison cells or his sister forced to relive a horrible life or his friends hurt, and Kris wouldn't probably even die but remain a political prisoner. Having dirt like that wasn't even that cool. Outing someone was never cool. So Kris let his confusion flash briefly across his face before quieting it quickly and listening with lips pursed to keep from saying anything again Which was lucky on his part because he might have made an embarrassing noise when Joshua leaned in that close. Then grabbed him.

 

Talking about Pierce Portman should ensure that Christopher wouldn't get aroused at anything for the next four hours. But somehow the grip shot straight to his cock and he felt the blush finally color his cheeks as he was made to lock eyes with the older man. They were across from each other, separated by just the medium-sized table, but suddenly they felt too close and too distant at the same time. He wanted to put his hand over Joshua's and silence him with a kiss, pounce across the table and wind his fingers in silky hair. His heart was beating fast and blood was rushing to different regions of his body, leaving his head. He felt himself nod in understanding as the hand on his shoulder moved to his cheek. Where Joshua had touched him felt on fire and he was burning, melting almost literally in the ice cream store as he wet his lips subconsciously and felt a light tremor run through him at the thumb on his cheek. His eyes went to Joshua's mouth before he physically jumped at Nisha's outburst.

 

The world came back into focus and he still wanted to grind himself against Joshua's leg as the other held him by his waist, not even kissing, just close like they'd been a moment before.

It was enough to leave him breathless and hard of breathing. Like he had a punctured lung.

 

"Mm--" he cleared his throat and blew out a laugh, smiling at Nisha's sweetness even though his dick felt like it was ready for whatever his imagination had planned. The warmth leaving his face was enough to cripple him. If he'd been standing, Kris would have sank to the floor with a moan of despair. But all he did was continue to smile and blush and take a small bite of his icecream. Eyes wandering to Joshua's long fingers, he felt his body shiver again despite the heated moment and he grinned around his spoon as he swallowed. "I don't know, they are pretty nice, Joshua. Raccoons always keep their hands looking impeccable." The only thing slightly more pleasurable than being touched by Joshua was ribbing him alongside Nisha. Joshua was particularly cute, though, in his petulant and pouty moods. His anger was rolling and fierce but this reaction just seemed altogether sweet.

 

He wanted to pop Joshua's finger into his mouth and suck on it before the other worked his hole expertly because those are rational thoughts that pop up in the minds of people who totally have themselves under control in an ice cream shop, right? Totally.

 

The thought sat heavy in his stomach but not unpleasantly as they continued to eat in relative peace. Kris experimentally rubbed, ever so gently, his ankle to the other man's own and couldn't help but chance glances at him before returning his attention to looking around at various decorations or taking another spoon to eat. Having shoveled so much ice cream into his mouth,

Kris only had a few more melted bites to take from his bowl before he was done anyways. He'd been thinking about 'things' when Joshua spoke up. Kris's eyes focused beyond the older man to look outside and he made an 'oh' sound before nodding. Well, time was up! A once in a lifetime opportunity. The two spoke about the governor and Kris got a napkin from the dispenser at their table, dabbing at his lips before he was addressed by the businessman. Blinking at Weibenburg's joke, his half-smile changed into a full one. 'I didn't even dislike your presence.' He said that. Joshua Weibenburg had said that, to him. And then.

 

Here's the kicker-

 

And then Joshua invited him not out for a press conference or to give a one-on-one interview, but instead, his house. His whole ass HOUSE.

 

If he wasn't hard before, he surely was now.

 

He licked his lips again and didn't know what to say, stammering for a moment before he swallowed hard and nodded. "Okay. Yes," he agreed and released a slow breath, chewing at his lip as the other man got up to leave and watching him go to the counter. A voice reminded him NOT to stare and that there was another person present who was Nisha, so his eyes didn't linger on Joshua. Turning, he settled his attention back on the woman and smiled brightly at her. "I really liked meeting you, too, and yes!-- hopefully we see each other soon, I'd like to try my hand at baking with you," he agreed as the woman stood. The two left as a pair, Kris waving after them before slowly dropping his hand.

 

Joshua Weibenburg had an ice-cram "date" with him and paid for everyone's collective orders. The experience truly made Kris dizzy and he got up with his bag to get back to his car. It was across the lot not too far from Joshua's SUV, so he got to watch the scene as he went back to his own smaller vehicle. It was pretty wild how confident and brave these people were in their handwriting abilities. Christopher could barely make out the sentences on his first try and had to squint and glance back through his rearview to help himself decipher exactly what the phrases were. Living in such politically charged times, he was just glad no one had thrown a molotov into the backseat or rolled the thing over onto its side. Joshua might have really lost his goddamn mind then, probably burst a blood vessel or have an aneurism on the spot. And one would suspect that thinking about a hot man having a tumor or needing medical attention from anger overload would calm down an erection. But the thing raged on and Kris drove as far as he could before it became too much.

 

With a hand over his mouth and eyes closed tight, he jerked bent over himself in the driver's seat as he jerked himself hard and fast. It felt almost excruciating how much attraction had built up over a short amount of time to the other man but here he was, horn letting out a continuous, seconds-long honk as his head bucked forward and he came into the napkin held up to his dick, releasing with twitches and whimpers. The horn finally stopped once he raised his head. "Ugh... I'm a mess."

 

When he got back to his apartment, he immediately called Haye to begin his fretting. Never one to shy away from transparency, the news had his friend fumbling out screams and ending the call with the slam of a door and a car starting. In fifteen minutes, Kris was instructed to open the door to a sweating red-head with big eyes and his ceramic smock still on. “Are you fucking serious!?”

 

As he worked on an article, Kris relayed the “date” in detail, pressed when he faltered on significant parts like leg action and cheek touching. Even talking about it was getting him worked up. Haye was eating this shit up, staring flabbergasted and erupting in the occasional sputtering noise. The two men looked across from each other when it was said and done. Haye leaned back, running a hand over his face then shaking his head.

 

“You absolutely have to grab the bull by the horn’s, Kris.”

 

“I’m terrified of what’ll happen if we end up actually alone together.”

 

Haye smirked. “Probably another untimely interruption. But who gives a fuck!? I need this saga to continue! Here, I’ll tell Kelsey about the e-mail you will send regarding this “political meeting”--” he batted the pillow Kris threw at him away, “since she works in communications for him. She can probably get your e-mail to bypass the regular secretaries and land right in his inbox.”

 

Kris frowned at him and averted his gaze to his laptop. “Won’t it just get lost in all the e-mails he gets in a day, much less an hour?”

 

“Less talk, more walk, which is a metaphor for write!”

 

Held at verbal gunpoint, Christopher blew out a breath and wrote an e-mail to the address his friend had given him. He tried to keep it slightly personal but not TOO much if anyone else besides the intended reader caught wind of the message. With Haye’s seal (a thumbs up), he shot it off and frowned at his blurry reflection in the computer screen.

 

Fraternizing with the “enemy” felt suspiciously natural to him.

 

‘Good afternoon, Mr. Weißenburg,

 

This is Christopher Rosario. I hope this message finds you well, especially after the day/week/months you’ve been enduring recently.

 

I wanted to send a follow up communication about a meeting. The location you specified sounds good to me and I’ll try my best not to show up empty-handed. Not in that way, but in terms of food. Is there anything you specifically enjoy? Even a general flavour is fine. If you tell me not to bring anything, I will respectfully have to decline.

 

A time and date would be very good. I understand you’re busy and that I am, as well, so if you’d like to coordinate for far-off-in-the-future, I’ll completely understand, though hold my own reservations (minor disappointment.) Due to my work experience, I’m exceedingly flexible.

 

Looking forward to your reply, and hope you’re well,

 

C. Rosario

 

P.S. E-mail post-scripts are charming because I could have just gone back and added a new sentence, but didn’t. I just enjoy the antiquity of a good post-script. Anyways, if you’re feeling kind, I’d like to say a hello to Nisha. Thank you!’

[-Hideki-]

It had taken a while since Nisha had even been able to express something without getting shouted over by Joshua and when he finally heard her and she was speaking in a soothing manner, not making the mistake to trivialise the offense this time it took her about 15 minutes to get the middle aged man to a point where he was not too enraged to even drive anymore and enter the smeared car to drive to the auto body shop to get new varnish. When they arrived at the shop and the auto painter told him that it would take some days until they would be able to finish it Josh got mad again and demanded his car to be taken care of right now and that he wanted it in a few hours which the man said he couldn’t do and that he had to finish other cars first anyway. The blond didn’t give up though, tried to give him more money but the man shook his head saying even if he’d start right now it would take time and he couldn’t just take the car right away anyway. Josh had pouted and crossed his arms in front of his chest feeling the need to vent about the auto painter and him having the audacity to tell him he had to wait.

 

It came worse though, since he couldn’t take the SUV he needed a courtesy car and everything fell out of his face when he got presented those. “I’m not driving such a loser car.” He protested. And the auto painted pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose, finding this particular client incredibly exhausting and entitled. “But Sir, you will need a car while yours is here.” He told him fighting hard to remain calm and not call him an entitled, arrogant prick who should shut his mouth already, take the fucking courtesy car and be gone. The man was a client though so he had to be nice to him regardless of his attitude. “Yes, I do. I am telling you I won’t drive one of those junk cars though!” he repeated and the man sighed. “Those are the only courtesy cars we have.” The auto painter made it clear and Josh whose eyebrow was twitching and whose carotid was making an appearance again looked at him like a psychopathic murderer in a movie. “What car do you drive?” he asked the poor man and the man started to stutter. “I? …Uhm…I have a BMW!” he answered and Weißenburg smiled, it looked creepily, the man making one step back. “Alright. I take that one then.” Joshua stated and the man looked baffled. “Excuse me?” he said and Josh stared him in his eyes, his body language exuding dominance. “You give me your car while mine is here and you can drive one of your loser cars.” He stated reaching out his hand and the man reluctantly and with a sad and unwilling face handed Joshua the keys of his car, well at least the unpleasant client disappeared then.

 

Sitting in the man’s BMW he had to realise that the gear change was not automatic but manual and the blond businessman stalled the engine multiple times. Angrily he smashed his fist onto the horn when he was stuck at the traffic lights because he didn’t get it to drive again. “Shit! Stupid Euro car, trash, fuck this!” he cursed aggressively moving the gear stick and pressing his foot onto the accelerator what led to him not getting anywhere at all whatsoever what only made him more angry. Nisha sighed and laid her hand on his on the gear stick. “You are too aggressive. If you do it like this we’ll be stuck here until tomorrow if the other drivers won’t get out of their cars to murder you.” She told him, stroking a strand of her long black hair out of her face. “ Manual gear is actually better than automatic, you just need to do it more gently with more feeling and tact.” The woman told him and he hissed at her:”What do you know about cars? You are a bloody woman, women know shit about cars. Do you know what my father told my sister when she came annoying him when we were working on the car. ‘Go play with your Barbie dolls.’.” Nisha smiled at him amused. “I know one or the other things about cars. My father forced me to learn. Not that I was interested but when I didn’t listen he did that.” she said and moved her hand, slapping the back of Weißenburg’s head to demonstrate and because he deserved it for throwing one tantrum after the other. “I would have loved him to say I should go and play with Barbie dolls because that would have meant I’d have been allowed to play with Barbie dolls and even had those. I didn’t have anything I liked….” She said and she had that tunnel vision again. “Nisha!” he called out to her again and she shook her head. “Anyway, I know some things about cars. So trust me when I say, gentle and more feeling.” The Thai lady told him again and he took a breather before he tried again, concentrating and focussing on the engine and the sounds it made and the feeling he got, then moving the gear stick without nearly ripping it off and he finally got the car to drive again, Nisha smiling at him and nodding while his face flushed red and he liked to disappear in the seat.

 

Back at his house they ran into annoyed Jacqueline who tapped her high-heeled foot onto the kitchen tiles, crossing her arms under her tits pushing them further up and Josh found it looked ridiculous and stupid. “Where have you been?” she said scolding. She was wearing a black dress with white dots and had her hair bound up with a scarf she had bound in a bowknot, looking like a housewife time travelled from the 50ies or 60ies. “I thought you just wanted to go to the grocery store and then come right back. Now the whole schedule is a mess!” the woman complained pointing at Josh’s head with a cooking spoon almost hitting his nose. “We were. But we got stuck due to the terrorists taking over Sandro’s stage, hitting his eye and a turmoil breaking out between his fans. And some rotten hippie rats sprayed my car so when we finally were good to go we had to go to the auto body shop and now I am stuck with some European arsehole car that has no automatic gear.” He ranted and his sister looked concerned. “They punched the old man. How cruel. They really have no morale. I hope he is alright.” She mused and Joshua emphasised again:”They smeared my car!!! That whole thing was awful!” but it didn’t seem to interest her at all.

 

Nisha placed the bags onto the kitchen table, having a completely different expression on her face than Joshua. “Not the whole thing!” she said and Jacqueline looked curious. “We met this nice young man and he ate ice-cream with him and Joshi asked him for another date and I am positive that he’ll like to meet with him again too.” Nisha said and the blond lady looked baffled and confused and looked from Nisha to Josh questioning who was yelling something about ‘This wasn’t a date. You forced me. I don’t even like him.” But that she ignored. “Wait, you told Nisha that you’re gay?” she asked hopeful and Joshua got uncomfortable again. “I didn’t. She figured it out herself. Because she wouldn’t shut up about wanting to set me up with one of her female friends! And when she found out that I am well, gay, she wanted to set me up with a man and then that journalist prick waved her over and she went to him and invited him for ice –cream and I had to stare into his stupid freckled face the whole time….” She cut him off as he was starting to ramble and her eyes were shining way too brightly and excitedly and her lips had that almost mischievous smirk on them. “You like him! You find him hot!” his sister teased him and he protested. “I don’t like him. He is the worst type of left-wing journalist prick you can even imagine.” But Nisha was pressing a bunch of boar meat in a plastic bag against his chest. “Oh come on Joshi!” their stepmother shook her head. “He already said he liked him. He said he hadn’t ‘disliked his presence’ and he touched him and was going like this, it was so cute.” The woman moved to his sister laying her hand under her jaw, staring into her eyes and moving her thumb over her cheek mimicking him. “Stop that!” Josh said his cheeks slightly blushing again and Jacqueline laughed. “You’re totally into him huh?” she teased again. “Does he have a nice arse?” she asked. “He certainly has.” Weißenburg said without thinking as he was remembering that arse in the tight pants and Jacqueline laughed about him even louder:”You checked out his arse, oh my god!” And he rolled his blue eyes. “Real mature!” the businessman said ‘And she calls me childish’ he thought.

 

He was banned from the kitchen when the two of them started with the cooking and baking because he was only in the way and a waste of space they told him and he felt reminded about when her mother had always thrown his father out of the kitchen because he had just annoyed her there. Now he had a restaurant because Nisha had encouraged him and had wanted to cook with him. Josh was left to do ‘whatever’ and he decided he would take the time before the governor and the partyman arrived to relax on the sofa. He was sprawled out there and tried to think about nothing for a change, watching some sports match on TV. Not that he had been interested in watching sports much. Making sports, ja, was alright but watching it had never really interested him. He however had never been able to disappoint his father and to tell him that, neither had he been able to tell his high-school friends so he had formed a habit to relax through the sport events while looking at the athlete’s bodies and their butts in their sports gear. It only had had the disadvantaged that he wasn’t focussed on the game itself and whenever someone had asked him a question or commented about that he had had to improvise.

 

The governor and the man from DC arrived at 6pm and the dinner really went well. There were no giggling females who mocked him because he was attracted to a man whom he had so extremely mixed feelings about and the conversation was just pleasant. It was political yes but it was neither a debate nor did he have to try and win them over or to explain himself. He had already won over both of the older men. The governor probably was about sixty, his father’s age and the other man he thought was in his mid-fifties and both complemented his campaign and his policies and had he been worried about the dinner it had gotten much easier and more smoothly then he had thought. No comments about the fact that he lived alone, had no wife or children. Just once did the governor comment on the food, praising it with the addition of:”I can’t believe that you made this yourself though! Did you order it after all?” the older man had winked at him and Joshua had shook his head and told him that his sister and his stepmother had made it and that he would tell them how much the governor had liked it.

 

From there the conversation went on and the governor told him that he was planning to run for governor again and that after the second legislation he would like Joshua to follow in his footsteps, to run for office and become the governor then. The guy from Washington told him that the party approved and that he as well as even higher ups would like to see him succeed and make him reach higher places. That they needed more conservatives like him, men that had a clear stand and language. That had actually come as a surprise and he had felt incredibly flattered his ego send to new heights as he had heard that, it made the evening all the better and desert taste even sweeter. There was a political future for him. And he already had people to support that political future, who wanted him in their ranks at the top and he just knew that the voters wanted him too. It was an overwhelmingly positive and good feeling, better than any feeling he had gotten from his work for weeks and it considerably lifted his mood.

 

After they had talked over a bottle of wine after dinner the governor and the party man excused themselves and went into the rooms that Josh’s cleaning lady had prepared for them and Weißenburg himself disappeared in his bedroom soon after. His body felt heavy as well as his eyes when he finally hit the mattress after having spent some time in the bathroom. There was no unrest in him anymore and he felt much less tense and irritated than that morning. He was already seeing himself as governor and then reach even higher. Maybe he’d be senator or a congress man one day, or he’d become president. In that moment it didn’t even seem all that absurd as it was. There were no limits after all! And he fell asleep with that thought and a grin on his lips.

 

 

 

He had to get up early in the morning because his sister rang at the door at 5am with her bulldog and two suitcases full of gadgets and products for hair and make-up and she screwed up her nose when she saw him with screwed up hair, closed eyes and boxers as he had just zombie walked his way to the door. She shook her head at his appearance and hissed. “You haven’t even showered.” She scolded. “Go take a shower.” Jacqueline ordered him unpacking all her stuff in the living room while he turned around and dragged his feet over the floor to go back upstairs and lay down again but the way he moved and having his eyes still closed she saw that coming, walked up to him and whistled in his ear before yelling at him:”Not back into bed old man, into the shower!” He had been startled by the whistle, his heart was racing and his eyes were wide opened again. “Are you nuts!” he said pressing his hand against his heart. “Jesus fucking Christ, Jacqueline!” the man had expressed and had then gone into the bathroom for his morning routine. He just left his hair alone and wet because he knew that she would be displeased otherwise because she would take care of his appearance for the speech he would give.

 

His hair was perfect when he had gone on stage and his sister had even smeared theatre make-up into his face and he hated it. He already couldn’t stand the sensation of lotions or sun blocker on his skin much less shit like that but she had insisted that he needed to look flawless and she had taken about half an hour to cover up his frown winkles that had gotten rather visible as he had aged. “I look like an idiot.” Had been his response but she had said. “You look twenty years younger at least and no one will see your wrinkles on TV this way.” What had been an exaggeration nor had he cared about that, he had wanted to wash that make-up off again. He hadn’t had much time though as there had been things to discuss and preparations to make.

 

Even with the stupid winkle camouflage on his face the speech went incredibly well. There was about fourth the draft of policemen, many with heavy arms on them, than the day before due to the incidences that had occurred and Weißenburg had his security positioned closer than usual, they were clearly visible too but that was inevitable. No violence occurred though and no Sandro spoke either. He had asked the man the other day but he had decline the offer, said he had to recover first, what was understandable but not a smart move politically in Joshua’s opinion. The people loved his speech though and they were chanting some catchy slogans and claims with him and the events of the day before had of course been a subject. And his voters had been glad to resist terrorism when he had told them he wanted them to resist it and not give those people an inch, not change their ways because of those thugs. They were heated but in a different way the fans of Bernotti had gotten the day before and the applause he got for his speech had been immense and they had also happily welcomed the governor who was a former CIA agent and the partyman from Washington who was less known by them but if he was on Weißenburg’s stage he had to be decent hadn’t he?

 

The blond man had been completely satisfied with himself when he had sat in the limousine and had been driven out of the city centre but it didn’t take long and he got a message from one of his advisors who send him an article with a video where he saw that things had gotten ugly again after he had been gone. One of his female followers who had made video’s for her internet channel had gotten punched in the face by a masked guy and someone had gotten pepper-sprayed as well. It decreased the satisfaction he felt immediately and he recorded a video to express his condemnation of the violence going on, that he didn’t want any political violence to happen no matter from which side and that he wanted an atmosphere of debate instead where everyone could say what they meant and everyone could give their opinion to everything without having to fear to get pepper-sprayed or punched in the face on the streets. He had also wished that all those attacked would get well soon again. His advisors had said he didn’t have to but he did. The governor and the man from DC had left right after the speech because they were busy men as well and gone they were.

 

After that an interview for the conservative channel had been on his schedule and he had gone there as well and had discussed his policies but also the incidents that had occurred the day before as well as what had happened right after that day. Speaking of that somehow brought him to the incident with his SUV and he was starting to rant about that on TV and he definitely was getting insulting towards the people who had done that to his car calling them retarded. What had led to a woman from a magazine calling him out later at a press-conference saying that retarded was an offensive and ableist term and that a candidate for mayor shouldn’t use words like that while ranting about a personal incident with his car on television. He had looked at her with a smile playing around his lips and had said: “Frankly I think stating that it was offensive and ableist to say the word retarded is god damn retarded. It’s just a word. And I am asking myself where you got that retardation from. Thanks for your comment.” That landed on the internet pretty fast, the original, with comments as well as a techno-remix of it.

 

When he had arrived back at home he had planned on doing nothing anymore that day but he had gotten a call from Carlton Brix, the brother of policeman Brix, whom he had been with back in his Army days and who was back in the city for vacation. And Brix wanted to meet him at the bar. Not only him though but also Tristan Jiles as the three of them had started at the Army the same time and they had been buddies back in the days and still were friends. However Brix couldn’t reach Jiles and had asked Weißenburg to drop by Tristan’s place and just bring him to the bar too.

 

Carlton who was from a military family was the only one of the three still in the Army and had made it to Major. Josh had been the first to go and Tristan had followed although decades later. And he had not exactly gone on purpose or voluntarily. Tristan Jiles was a high-school dropout who had no school qualification. He had not been able to get a job, because he had refused to go back to school he had been kicked out by his parents at age eighteen and he had been homeless. After months of living on the streets he had enlisted in the Army to get paid and a place to sleep and food, basically out of sheer desperation. When Joshua had first seen him back then he had screwed up his nose. Tristan Jiles had been chubby, had had a wild and unkept dirty-blond beard and the blond had also hated his opinions and his first talk with Tristan had been the former homeless man making fun of him for being a protestant Christian with a cross around his neck. He had been an anarchist and an antitheist but experience and age had changed him. When in the Army his physique had soon become incredibly hot, he had been obligated to keep his face decently and being a soldier had moderated his anarchism into being a libertarian and had increase and furthered his antitheism.

At the first mission though, he had soon stopped poking fun at Weißenburg for his half-assed, half- agnostic, reformed Christianity-light believes and had focussed on the insanity committed in the name of another religion he had seen, realising that this in that day and age was the true danger. When children blew themselves up in the name of their god, there was something incredibly wrong with the whole ideology behind it.

 

So he was now on his way to Tristan Jiles in the lend BMW. The man had gotten an honourable discharge five years ago when he had gotten severely wounded to the point he had gotten invalid and could no longer work for the military nor do any physical work whatsoever. He wasn’t only physically damaged though, he also suffered from PTSD. Actual PTSD, not the SJW version of PTSD since all SJW’s seemed to magically suffer under PTSD somehow. After months in the hospital he had gotten on disability and had spend his days playing video games, writing, drinking and uploading videos concerning the topics of the harmful impact of religious ideologies especially combined with political intentions and ideologies for societies. They had been well researched, academic and analytical, no shouts, no insults, no rants, nothing and nearly no one had watched that. Then one day, Jiles had drunken too much, was gaming whilst chatting, someone had send him a link to a video where some bitter chick who had probably not gotten any cock for, well, ever and probably wouldn’t get any cock either, was shitting on his life, meaning video games because those were his life.

 

She had gotten all riled up about how the characters were too unrealistically looking and was being a moralist about how the female characters were dressed too seductively and bullshit like that, and it had been obvious she had not played a single video game her entire life and didn’t understand how video games even worked. It had pissed him off so much that he had in his drunken head recorded a response to her that involved a lot of yelling, a lot of swearwords, a lot of name calling and all that jazz. Where he basically said that she had no clue about video games, that video games were supposed to be unrealistic because they were a small escape from everyday life and their realties for people, that he had served the country and was a cripple now and that she couldn’t tell him that he wasn’t allowed to have a little fun in his life and that she should do something beneficial for the country too, like becoming a nurse or something. He then went on saying that no actual gamer actually used video games to fap to. That he didn’t care for some female arses in the games and would actually rather see hot male butts than some fat, sloppy, soft, female arse anyway but that he didn’t really care because that was not what he played the games for and that, newsflash, heterosexual men who wanted to see naked females for masturbation purpose could just type in some google search or go to a frigging porn side where dozens of women were willingly showing themselves off, raising the question if she wanted to forbid those women to show themselves off to their audience however they wanted to and to do with their bodies what they wanted to as well? It was trivial. Nothing compared to the actually intelligent and important videos he had made but boom he had gotten millions of views and had started to create more of such content and bash grumpy man hating cat ladies, moralists and angry man hating dykes and giant red-dragon-unicorn-hybrid-fluids on the internet when he had drunken too much. Well, he also had bashed Sandro Bernotti and Joshua too. His following consisted mostly out of libertarians, centrists and old-school-liberals so was in no way right wing or conservative, he didn’t have much to offer that appealed to most conservatives anyway and the reach he had gotten had actually gotten some people interested in his religion critic and his books and nowadays Tristan Jiles was a millionaire due to videos on the internet. He definitely had a lot to thank that tight nit, prudish wench and her idiotic criticism of video games for.

 

He parked the car in front of an expensive apartment building where Tristan had his loft. Josh knew he was at home, he always was, he didn’t really leave the house anyway so the reason as to why he couldn’t reach him had to be because he had had to change his number or something. Standing in front of his door he rang the bell and a few seconds later the door to a dark loft with blue light and shining computer screens – multiple ones – were to see and the smell of weed was itching in his nose. In front of him stood, unhealthily pale, Tristan Jiles smoking weed in his boxers! He had lost the muscle built he had had when in the army but he had not gained any weight again either but had lost plenty, he was just plain thin, so thin that one could see his rib cage and it looked unhealthy too. Actually as a chub he had not looked as unhealthy as now. The man’s left arm was completely damaged and extremely scarred from the wrist to the shoulder, even expanding to his chest. His torso and stomach was scarred in a different way too and there also was a long scar on his thigh lurking out of his boxers. He had lost one eye that was replaced by a glass eye and both of his eyes the real one and the fake one were now on him. He had dyed his dirty blond hair black and it was hanging in strands to his chin. The man had a goatee that was dyed black too. But as fucked up, sleep deprived and just generally damaged he looked, he actually grinned at him widely. “Joshua old chap!” he greeted him and as he spoke he was blowing smoke out of his mouth that clouded the thin man completely for a moment. “Whether you’re playing games, rant on the internet or jerk off to some twink in a porn video, you now have other plans. Brix is in the city, we’ll meet him at the bar.” The blond told him and Tristan raised an eyebrow.

 

“I’ve quit the porn.” He stated and Josh looked at him as if he wanted to make a fool out of him now. “What, you do that ‘no fap’ bullshit?” he asked and the libertarian laughed. “No.” he told him. “I have sex instead. I have a boyfriend.” Joshua was told and he looked so surprised that it made the nerdy guy laugh. “I know I am not the prettiest sight anymore but come on, I’m not that hideous either.” The man joked and Weißenburg shook his head. “Where the hell do you get a boyfriend if you don’t leave the house?” he asked genuinely wanting to know. “I do leave the house.” Jiles said. “I go to the Game Shop every week, I buy merchandise, I was at VidCon, and I travel to the comic con every year.” The man listed some occasions when he did leave the house. “I met my boyfriend in the Game Shop. He is a programmer, he programs video games.” He informed the conservative candidate and Joshua raised both eyebrows. “Splendid. So you found another nerdy creature that doesn’t leave the house with you.” The blond man said and Jiles laughed. “Come on in already. I have to get dressed. I was editing actually.” The former soldier said gesticulating the other to enter the loft. “If I’ll enter I’ll smell like weed.” The man said screwing up his nose in disgust. “No shit!?” Tristan remarked. “I do too. People think I’m a pothead. But what shall I do about it huh? I get it for medical purposes. I was sceptic at first too, didn’t want to take it, but it helped a lot with both the pain and the anxiety. So fuck the smell and people staring at me you know. Isn’t like they wouldn’t stare at a guy with a glass eye and a fried arm anyway!” he shrugged and Joshua stepped in reluctantly.

 

Entering the loft he could see a naked figured lying on his stomach on Jile’s giant fucking bed and the figure belonged to a living person, it was not a sex doll. “You actually do have a boyfriend and he’s real. But why is he sleeping that early?” Josh wanted to know looking at the attractive man in his late twenties who other than Tristan wasn’t scrawny. “He was programming the whole night until midday and then we fucked. He crushed straight away after a few rounds and hasn’t woken up since, constantly snoring.” Jiles told him. “Well, I see that much. His arse is still gaping widely. What did you do to him?” he wanted to know and Tristan showed him his fist, Weißenburg looked at him disgusted. “Yikes, you perverted libertarian freak.” He said and Tristan laughed. “Well, thanks for the complement but he’s into that, not I. He asks me to do that sometimes and I only do it for him. I am into cosplay though.”

 

Tristan stripped out of his boxers to change them.“You know the good thing when you have insomnia and you just can’t find any rest and all that shit like me is, you can stay up for a week, bad thing, you’ll sleep for a week after that. But he gets it.” Tristan said. “He is fucked up too. He’s Russian and one day when he had been out at a secret LGBT party with his ex-boyfriend some violent homophobes had somehow found out about the location, stormed it and started to beat people to death. My boyfriend and his ex were only lightly wounded and ran away. They hid somewhere and because they were terrified they held each other kissed their faces… Well, the police found them and they got arrested for ‘homosexual propaganda’ and openly showing that they were gay in public – what was a dark ally at night they had hid in because violent arseholes were after them. They got tortured by the Russian police. My boyfriend survived while his ex died in police custody. He got imprisoned; he got tortured by the inmates. When he got out he was beat by the policemen again and when he went home his brother and father were kicking in his face. He stole his family’s money and booked a flight to the US where he got straight into a hospital and then asked for asylum.” He told him and Joshua’s face looked horrified and disgusted and he wished the other had not told him that because it made him angry about Russia to hear that and ruined his mood.

 

“We wake up screaming in terror together sometimes. Isn’t that the romantic future everyone dreams of?” Jiles told him in a cynic tone of voice.

“Will you put on the bloody underwear now and get dressed?” Weißenburg got impatient and Jiles turned towards him. “Why? You don’t like my dick?” he asked turning around with a grin and Joshua rolled his eyes. “Alright, I’ll get dressed.” And so he did and when he was dressed he was wearing tight black pants, black boots and a black shirt with white print saying ‘GOD IS DEAD! I KILLED HIM!’ on it! And Joshua let his hand run over his face. “You don’t want to go like this do you?” he asked but he knew the answer already, well at least he had tried. “Of course. I’m a huge Nietzsche fan. I think he was basically a libertarian too.” Jiles found and Weißenburg looked at him. “More like a nihilist!” he corrected. “That too but also libertarian. I mean what is more libertarian than self-empowerment and independent thinking?” Tristan rhetorically asked and grabbed a jacket from a black suit casually putting it over the shirt that would offend a shit ton of religious people. He didn’t know if Nietzsche could be called a libertarian but what he knew was that he found libertarians confusing as fuck. They were economically right wing but socially, well, they were liberal something found mostly in left-wingers. So was libertarianism a right or a left wing movement?

 

Jiles grabbed his keys and his purse and put them into his pockets before he went over to the bed where the naked man was still snoring. “Mitya?” he spoke to him, letting his hand run over his cheek. “Hey Mitya.” He repeated until the man turned his blond head around, blinked his mud green eyes and looked at his boyfriend questioningly and sleepily. “I go to the bar with two friends back from my Army days.” He told him and kissed his forehead but before he could turn around his arm was grabbed. “I’ll come too. I’m not just staying here and you leave. I’ll go too with you.” He spoke with a heavy Russian accent and the man jumped out of the bed, grabbed clothing, ignored Joshua completely and went to the bathroom. That was when Weißenburg realised something. Next to their national flag over Jile’s bed there was a rainbow flag. And he knew for a fact that Jiles hated the thing because he found that it contained all the ugly bright colours there were and would never put it somewhere. “Whatever happened to that this flag was all ugliness of the colour spectrum combined?” Weißenburg was curious, smirking at his friend and Jiles shrugged. “Nothing, I still think it’s ugly. But he wanted to put his flag too so I let him because it made him happy. And if it makes him happy I can endure some ugly colours in my loft.” He informed the conservative and Josh looked questioning. “Shouldn’t he have put the Russian flag then?” he asked and the libertarian pressed his hand onto Joshua’s mouth. “No. Don’t say that or he’ll get mad and throws a tantrum. He hates Russia… a lot… a damn lot.”

 

 

 

Arriving at the bar Carlton Brix was already there. The Major sitting there in his uniform was sticking out quite a bit and that not solely due to the uniform he was still wearing. The man was pale as snow, had intense freckles on his face and body and short fox red hair that had been pretty full once but was getting lighter and the hair line had receded quite some. His eyes were brown and his face and his head reminded quite a bit of a fox. He had already drunken a beer while he had waited and his face had been blank while he had read through some news on his phone. It lit up almost immediately though when he looked into the faces of his old friends. Both Weißenburg and Jiles where there and when they were close enough he was hugging both of them at the same time, giving heavy punches onto their backs but his back didn’t get away without some either. “What happened to your face!” was the first thing Carlton said though and not to Jiles but to Weißenburg. “My sister.” He answered quickly as everyone was sitting down. That was when Carlton figured out that the ashen blond man who looked sceptically around in the bar as if someone would jump through the window and lunch an attack actually belonged to their group as he was sitting down there without a word. The brown eyes of the red head were travelling towards the paranoid looking Russian man. “Good evening! I’m Major Carlton Brix and you are?” he introduced himself and the man looked even more sceptically now, not trusting the man in uniform. “I’m Tristan’s boyfriend. We’re lovers. You have a problem with homosexuality?” he barked at him as in a defense against an attack that had never come in the first place. ‘Oh boy!’ Josh thought and Jiles smiled awkwardly but Brix stayed calm. “No. I’m too.” He answered. “What?” Mitya wanted to know. “Homosexual.” The red head said and Weißenburg could see how some of the scepticism disappeared from the man’s face and he eased up a little, tensed again when he saw Josh again though.

 

“I’m glad you told me.” The Russian started and went on a rant:”I once met a guy here who went on a date with and he told me he didn’t want anyone to know. I was angry! Why did he hide when he doesn’t have to? Hiding is painful, you live in constant fear that someone might find out and they harm you or torture you or they do something to the man you love and you can’t defend yourself, because you have no rights. Here we have rights and can defend. So we can actually fight for making better future. But when those people just play hide not because they are in actual danger but because they feel ashamed for who they are they give something to the people who force us to hide, they are doing what they want. They refuse to make a stand for us in a place they can be themselves. I hate those! They are cowards and egoistic.” Mitya Kalinin made his opinion known and while he had expressed his discontent about gay men who stayed closeted in the US both Carlton and Tristan – who no one had ever told but who had also found it plain obvious how Carlton and Josh had acted around each other back then – were constantly staring at Joshua who had indeed started to feel a tad bit uncomfortable and under attack. “Let’s order.” Weißenburg distracted and waved over the waiter and ordered. And when Carlton had ordered and asked Mitya if he wanted the same the man shook his head. “No. I don’t drink alcohol. It is disgusting.” He said and Jiles already saw it coming but both Joshua and Carlton broke out in laughter. “A Russian who doesn’t drink alcohol!” Josh laughed and it didn’t make Mitya get a better vibe from the other as he somehow hadn’t really liked him from the start, there just was something about him that irked the man. “I’m not Russian anymore!” the man barked with his obvious Russian accent. “I’m taking this!” Mitya said and pointed at a pinkish cocktail a waiter was carrying to another table. “Hun, I don’t think you should…” Tristan said as this cocktail did contain alcohol but his boyfriend didn’t let him talk. “Because it’s pink?! I’m taking this one!” he insisted and as always when MItya got like that Jiles just shrugged. “You do you.” He said and the waiter noted that.

 

Mitya didn’t seem to realise the alcohol in the cocktail at all and drank one after the other and Weißenburg was kind of good at drinking too and got drunk with the other even though they were both rather avoiding each other and talked more to the other two men. Carlton as well as Tristan didn’t drink as much and were incredibly amused at how Mitya was starting to get by the time due to the amount of alcohol in his blood. Mitya had just gotten the splendid idea to pull some of the cocktail through his nose when Joshua’s phone rang. He intended to ignore it but whoever it was, was incredibly persistent about it and didn’t hang up. “Excuse me.” He said his voice sounding just as drunken as the Russians just that he had gotten rather quiet and didn’t get such weird ideas.

 

He picked up the phone call and a female voice was screaming at him so he held it away from his ear. “Jacqueline! What do you want?” he wanted to know and his sister knew that he had held the phone away from his ear. “When have you checked your work mails the last time?” she asked reproachfully and he blinked his eyes and tried to search for the answer in his drunken head. “I don’t know… But I’ve said that all urgent ones should go to my assistant. He checks them constantly and informs me if something he can’t solve can’t wait.” He told her. “So no problem.” Josh didn’t see the problem nor why she was interested in it. “This one had to go to you though! Kelsey told me that it’s really urgent too and you should look it up.” The woman said who worked for Josh together with the other woman and from what the woman had said she had concluded that it probably was something from the man Josh had been with in the ice-café writing him and wanting that date with her brother that Nisha had told her the man had offered the journalist. And Jacqueline was keen on her brother getting a real chance and not missing that chance because he was too busy to check his mails. “You’ll log into your e-mail program and read them now.” she demanded and Joshua shook his head. “Not now. It can wait until tomorrow, I’m at the bar with Brix and Jiles.” The man said and wanted to hang up on her but she snorted. “Oh, I can hear that you are at the bar. Your slurring is not to overhear. But you’ll open this mail regardless. You will know which one it is anyway.” She told him and hung up on him.

 

In confusion he looked at his phone and walked back over with it to the table. Upon being asked who it had been he didn’t look up from the phone. “My sister. She wants me to read some stupid mail.” He answered but for some reason did what she had told him and logged into his mail account. Even though most stuff went to his assistant during the last months of campaigning there were a lot of mails and he didn’t get how he was supposed to find out which mail she had been talking about but much to his surprise he realised it directly. “Christopher…” he mumbled the name as he clicked on the mail.

 

His drunken eyes had problems to stay focus and he saw all the words more than once but he slowly but steadily read the message. His eyes widened and his heart started to swell. He had said he needed to decide whether he wanted to release the material or meet him and as it appeared he had decided against publishing that video and having a dinner date with him instead. Well, he could still betray him and publish the video anyway but if he let the worst case scenario out, and he was more prone to do so drunken than sober, this was great news and he smiled like a child on Christmas at his phone. Actually looking forward to this as he had not had an actual date for quite some years now.

 

Good evening Mr. Rosario!

 

I am delighted to be informed that you have decided to accept my suggestion instead of what you initially planned.

 

If you insist to prepare a dinner and it’s not too much of a burden for you then I’ll let you know that my favourite dish is pork hock with potato dumplings, purple cabbage and beer gravy.

I’d be impressed if you could prepare that for us but in case it’s not on your menu card I’ll let you surprise me. If you won’t have enough time on your hands or decide it’s too much trouble we might as well still order something.

 

As an appropriate time and date I’d suggest tomorrow at 7pm. I’m still free there.

 

Please let me know whether that works for you or if it’s too spontaneous and last minute.

 

With best regards

J. Weißenburg

 

PS:I’ll tell her when I see her.

 

While he was typing and thinking about eating together with the other and his favourite food in particular he started to feel hungry and crave food. It was one of the things that happened to him when he got drunk. He got quieter; he craved food and alcohol made him horny as fuck too. Hence when he looked up from his phone towards his friends and Tristan’s boyfriend he said:”I am hungry. Let’s grab some food.”

 

It didn’t take that long to get the other’s to realise that eating something was a good idea however when they had paid for their drinks and they rose from their seats Mitya couldn’t stand on his legs anymore. The guy wobbled around as if he was made out of jelly and Tristan had to catch him so that he didn’t fall onto the floor and break his already crooked and broken nose another time. “I think that we should pass on the food and go home now.” Tristan said looking towards Josh and Carlton and while he didn’t pay attention to his younger boyfriend for a moment the man swayed again and nearly stumbled over another time. “Jezz!” Jiles expressed when he caught the man, grabbed him and placed his arm over his shoulder, making a pained face. “I think you should.” Brix said and Weißenburg nodded. Tristan shook his head. “He’ll throw up! I see it coming already.” The man predicted and neither of them said anything because it was most likely the case. “It was nice meeting you regardless though and I hope to see you around.” Jiles said, waved at them and then dragged his lover out of the bar.

 

When Carlton and he stepped outside the cool breeze hitting his face made his head feel at least a little clearer and it eased the throb he had in his head. Joshua was quiet, he just looked up into the stars at the dark blue night sky that reminded him of their national flag from time to time and focussed on walking relatively straight. The search for a restaurant wasn’t exactly easy and they had to realise that no restaurant was open at that hour anymore except for pizza places and fast food chains and neither was to Weißenburg’s liking so they decided to walk the few stations to his father’s and Nisha’s restaurant. It would be officially closed too but they would still be busy with the clearing works and all that and since he was family he might get some food anyway.

 

As he was walking and got a glance on Carlton’s hands he remembered what his stepmother had said about his again and since he wasn’t exactly clear he opened his mouth to speak. “Did you find my hands weird? Like raccoon hands or something? Like not normal and kinda wrong?” he wanted to know and the question came incredibly random and out of the blue and Brix looked at him as what he was, a drunken man. “I never saw anything wrong with your hands. I loved them. Wanted to be touched by them! They caused me pleasure.” He answered truthfully with a nostalgic smile on his face but it was clear that between both of them there was nothing anymore, no sexual energy whatsoever, it was over but it didn’t mean that it had not been nice when it had been a thing. “Although your fingers are remarkably long in comparison to your small palms but I found that was a plus too, you could reach spots with them fingers, I wished I could reach them myself that well.” Carlton added and Josh looked at him as if he had built him up to throw him back down and to then confuse him. “Stop pouting.” Major Brix said shaking his head.

 

As he looked at the red head who had always had something of a fox and whose hair had gotten some grey strands over time he remembered what a tease he was, he seemed so calm and nice and reasonable almost innocent sometimes but he was a beast, a teaser and smutty to the core. Joshua knew. He had experienced it. He had had a crush on him from the first day he had seen him when they had arrived at the Army base and he had been terrified of it. Since he had not been the most experienced at that point for once and he had also been scared that someone found out and he would have gotten a dishonourable discharge and kicked out for being gay. So to overcompensate the fact that he had had a crush on that young man with the full messy hair, the freckled skin and the fox like face and had been stunned by him he had started to pick on him. Only on him! He had mockingly called him ‘Foxy’ all the time, had made jokes about him, had laughed about him and had acted like a complete arsehole to him. Until one day he and Carlton had been alone in the locker room and he had picked on Brix for having fucked up during the tasks before leaving the man with haematoma on his knees and thighs.

 

“Looks like you should have rather started a career in character dance than a real man’s job Foxy!” he had said and the ginger had turned around to him, only wearing boxers while the other had been dressed completely, he had looked into his eyes and taken advantage of the fact that they had been alone there. “You are into me, that’s why you do this, aren’t you Weißenburg? I have seen you leering at me in the shower the other day! You are a dirty little fag and you think no one would notice if you insulted me but I have noticed and I’d love to tell the other’s about how you look at my body.” He had said with a wide grin on his face ad he had gotten so close to the blond that the younger Josh had not been able to breathe anymore. He had licked on his ear and rubbed his dick against him and Josh had burned, leaving out a gasp, helpless against the noise. His cock had gotten hard and the pants of his uniform had felt so constricting and tight and Carlton had laughed at him. “Now, now, look at that. Manly Josh has gotten hard from feeling a man’s cock rubbing on him.” He had teased him further for all the bullying the weeks before. Josh had had to take a deep breath and had been able to huskily press out the words:”You’re not better. You’re hard as rock. I feel it.” And that he had felt the sexy man’s throbbing erection pressed against his own rod had only increased the arousal and it had made ‘Foxy’ who had seemed so innocent to him laugh and there was absolutely nothing innocent about what he did then. “Sure. I’m a dirty fag as well. I’m all hard for you. But it’s nothing compared to how much my hole is twitching right now. You can’t imagine how it’s begging for cock.” He had whispered into Weißenburg’s ear and as a young inexperienced man he had nearly cum into his pants at that point, especially when Carlton who had not had much more experience than him had gotten even more brave and had taken Josh’s hand and had placed it at his butt and shoved it down into his boxers. “Go on, feel it for yourself.” He had told him and with a hot face the blond had curiously shoved his hand further down, running over the freckled arse and had then rubbed and pressed his fingers onto Brix’s anus what had made the man let out an erotic moan and him to prod it more.

 

It had taught him that the other man was a force to be reckoned with and that he had fun teasing and mocking Weißenburg and now he was teasing him again about his hands. Probably nothing what he had told him was to be trusted so he came to the conclusion that the Major was not one to answer that question without an ulterior motive to mock him so he’d ask his physician, he would be professional about it for sure. (Good that he forgot a lot of the ideas and plans he made when drunk).

 

They finally entered the restaurant after he had knocked on the door for a while until someone had heard him. The place was empty aside from Joshua’s ancient grandfather who was sleeping at the bar, not because he had drunken alcohol, he found himself too old for that but because the man was old and had gotten tired and when he was tired he slept where he was. Josh’s grandpa was wearing a baseball cap with their national flag and was covered with a blanket that was printed with their national flag too while the location itself was inspired by the beach in Thailand Nisha and Josh’s father had met at.

 

Weißenburg’s father looked at the blond questioningly. “What do you want here this late?” he asked as this was unusual and the man knew that the restaurant was closed but they still had to work. “I’m hungry. I want hock.” He said, throwing his heavy drunken body onto a chair at the bar, Brix taking the place next to him laughing awkwardly. “Ich geb’ dir gleich Haxe Bengel!” his father barked at the demanding tone. “Total besoffen!” he commented further looking at the man. “You get bacon and eggs or nothing at all.” His sixty years old father decided but then another voice sounded, tired and old but he had heard that still. “We speak English in this house!” his grandfather demanded the use of the English language but he was too tired to slam his fist onto the bar. His father rolled his eyes annoyed, took a box full of glasses, ignored his old man and disappeared.

 

“What did he say?” Brix asked Weißenburg. “That I am totally drunk. And that he’ll give me hock… what said in this way actually means that he’ll give me a good beating but no hock if I talk to him in a demanding voice again.” The blond explained to the Major who raised an eyebrow. “How lovely.” He said sarcastically. His grandfather’s old and translucently blue eyes stared at the soldier through glasses that were as thick as a brick but he still couldn’t see properly again, he was just too old by now. “What rank?” he asked. “Major!” Brix answered. His grandfather nodded. “Thank you for your service young man.” Weißenburg’s grandpa said and Brix smiled at the man looking at his attire. “You’re a true patriot I see.” He acknowledged and the old man nodded. “Yes. I’m here since 1935. You didn’t even exist back then.” The senior told him. “Well, I’m honestly glad I didn’t. I wouldn’t have wanted to live back then.” Carlton told the old man and he laughed cynically. “Neither did I.” he let him know. “I didn’t even want to reproduce because the world was an awful place and humanity disgusted me and I didn’t want to put a child into that sick world. I wouldn’t have imagine that it somehow would happen to me when I was forty and I’d get a son. But it did happen. And when it did I was genuinely happy and I thought, that the child would grow up here so maybe it would have a good life and it wouldn’t be so bad and it would get older than sixteen or twenty or thirty before it got shot. If I hadn’t been able to predict that something terrible was about to happen back then and had not left at the right time, to the right place, I would have probably died very young and a very wasted death.” He told Brix. “I turned 100 this year.” Joshua’s grandfather informed him and the Major’s chin dropped. “100? That’s impressive, a proud age you reached there. Congratulations.” Carlton said and Josh’s grandfather smiled. “Thank you young man.” He smiled faintly and then his face went serious. “I always loved this country, it saved my life. I still love it but I can’t ignore what I’m seeing and sensing. I never ignored, that’s why I left my birthplace in the first place. And what I’m seeing on the streets, all those radical political fringe groups, their violence, the political turmoil, the divided population, the anger, the fear, the hate, all this reminds me of the Weimar Republic.” His grandfather let them know. “It was yesterday when I saw the violent outbreak at this young man’s speech, what is his name, something Italian, Bernotti, right, Bernotti, that I thought if I wasn’t a hundred years old but young I’d probably leave. Then I asked myself where to I’d leave, I always love mind games and I found no place in the west! It’s the same going on nearly everywhere, the same patterns, and it was an upsetting thought.” The man ended and something in him looked disappointed about life and the world.

 

“Vater leave the young people alone.” Joshua’s father returned and the old man had something to say to this as well but the words didn’t come out clearly because he yawned at the same time. “I think the young people should listen to the elderly though. We have seen things, we have known things that they didn’t. We have experiences and we know where something like this leads to if nothing is done to prevent a disaster.” He had spoken then he yawned again and his eyes had fallen shut and he tried to force himself to keep them open. “You can tell them another time. Maybe earlier than that! You should go upstairs and sleep now.” he suggested and the hundred years old man slowly stood and held his back and turned to leave when his son called out to him. “Your blanket dad.” He said and the old man grabbed the blanket with the flag print and walked towards the small door that led to the kitchen but also to the staircase. “Good night boys.” He said to the two middle aged men that compared to him really were merely like boys and went away.

 

Joshua’s father leaned over the bar. “He watched some boxing match and it had cost him a lot of energy to cheer for our fighter and a lot again when he was angry when he lost.” The man explained and then smiled at Brix. “So on vacation huh? Finally seeing your girlfriend or wife again? Must have missed you ! I don’t understand why you choose to hang out with my drunken son instead.” He said and Carlton laughed. “There is no wife or no girlfriend. I’m gay, meaning I only love other men. My boyfriend is a soldier too. He didn’t get vacation now though unfortunately.” The Major told him and smiled and Joshua’s father blinked at the man. “I know what gay means. I’m not stupid and not from yesterday.” He commented. “I wouldn’t have thought it though.” He said and shrugged. “Whatever makes you happy I guess.” He commented and then leaned in closer. “What I actually would like to know is who this girl is my son is dating! Nisha is talking about Joshua having a date and him being interested in someone but when I ask her she says she can’t tell me anything about that person and when I texted Josh he didn’t tell me either. Any idea?” he hoped to get some information out of his son’s friend. “No. I didn’t even know he was seeing someone. He didn’t mention it.” Brix let him know and the man’s father said “Verdammt!”before something else came to his mind. “What would you like to eat? I’ve forgotten to ask.” Josh’s father wanted to know and Brix smiled awkwardly. “I guess it was only bacon and eggs wasn’t it?” he answered and Weißenburg’s father laughed. “You can have something else too.” He granted the Major and Joshua who had placed his head on the table and had been dozing off rose it again. “That’s so unfair! Why does he…” he wanted to complain. “Shut up! He’s a guest.” His father said and Joshua pouted again. “Bacon and eggs are fine though, thanks.” Major Brix said and the restaurant owner nodded and went into the kitchen.

 

Weißenburg raised his light blond head and looked into Brix’s face. “Since when do you do that?” he asked a little lost, wanting to know. “What?” Carlton asked and Joshua, supported his heavy head and spoke in his slurring voice. “Telling everyone that you are gay just like that?” the businessman was curious as back then both he and ‘Foxy’ had been in the closet and had hid their relationship and that they were gay. “Basically since I can’t get fired from my job at the Army anymore because of it! Since it is legal for a solider to love the same gender!” Carlton told him. “I never wanted to hide myself or did you think I wouldn’t have liked to act normal about who I’m with? Hiding was exhausting and stressful and I’m glad I don’t have to anymore. It was good for my mental health and I wouldn’t want to go back to not being able to be authentic anymore. It doesn’t have to get awkward when others comment on women and ask me questions on women or whatever. I can just say, sorry bro, I like the ‘D’ and that’s that. Much easier.” He told Weißenburg and Josh could understand it. He could understand the appeal, the lightness it must bring but when he thought about coming out it still made him uncomfortable and terrified. Although his father had reacted better to Brix than he had thought. Back when Joshua had been a kid they had seen a group of gay men on the streets and his father had gotten uncomfortable as one had said something to him and had whispered to Josh: “I wouldn’t want to be in the locker room with one of those guys.” And then all the gay jokes. All the German gay jokes because his mother had disapproved about the man making insensitive jokes about sexual minorities so he had made them in German. Then again, Joshua was more scared that his father would quit with the gay jokes around him, that he would stop being comfortable and himself around him. That he’d walk on eggshells and not go anywhere with him anymore. Or that he’d be disappointed or ashamed.

 

Carlton threw him out of his thoughts though when he asked. “You’re seeing someone? And he thinks it’s a woman? It’s not actually a woman is it? You’re not trying to act straight now do you?” he wanted to know and Joshua sighed. “No. I’m not playing straight and I am not seeing a woman.” he answered and Brix seemed relieved. “So who is he? Is he hot?” he was curious. “Your brother certainly told you about the crazy, imbecile journalist who broke in a while ago? That’s him.” The light blond let him know and Brix looked at him as if he was bonkers. “No fucking way!” he exclaimed and pressed his hand onto Joshua’s forehead to see if he had a fever. Weißenburg hissed and pushed the other man’s hand away. “I don’t know what’s up with me either.” The drunken man told his friend. “I just feel drawn to him in an odd way. He makes me crazy angry and I wanted to kill him multiple times but then again I find him hot, cute, and he has shown me that side that was actually really likeable and reasonable and human, if that makes sense.” He was honest in an unashamed way due to the alcohol. “It made me want to get closer, get to know him, touch him.” He told Brix and on his mind it went further. ‘I want to knead that sexy little arse, rub my cock between his arse-cheeks and against his hole, I want to kiss him, suck his nipples, take his breath away. I want to bury myself inside of him, feel his tightness, see that cute freckled face of his twisted in pleasure, hear what sounds he makes when he is being ravaged, bite down his neck, grab those beautiful thick curls and pull his hair while I pound him.’ And there he had one of the other side effects alcohol caused in him. His blood was boiling thinking of Christopher again but this time in the pleasurable way. His crotch felt hot, his dick had raised its head and was grooving, getting erect in his pants, his gaze was glazed and aroused and when he breathed it felt like fire as if he was the fucking giant-red-dragon-unicorn-hybrid. Well, the horn he already had too, in his pants and it wasn’t calming down and he wished the journalist was under the bar right now opening his pants, freeing the throbbing thing and would let his tongue circle around the glans of his cock before sucking him off and thinking this only made it worse.

 

And there was no Rosario anywhere either. Just Carlton who got that teasing gaze that he had had back in the ‘Foxy’ days and was smirking into Joshua’s face. “And you still get horny when you drink.” He commented and shamelessly and unapologetically his brown eyes travelled down to Josh’s crotch and the raging boner inside of his pants what made him grin more. “What a tent! If it already stands like this when you fantasise about him, are you sure you won’t explode right away when he gets anywhere near your dick?” he teased him further and Joshua just couldn’t bear it anymore, he needed his cock to be touched and since there wasn’t someone to do it, well…. “Shut your stupid mouth Brix and don’t stare at my erection.” He hissed, stood and nearly ran through the floor that led into the kitchen, left it behind through the door that led into the staircase and went up into where Nisha and his father lived.

 

Weißenburg headed right for the bathroom, locked the door behind himself and sat down on a stool that stood in there. He leaned his back onto the cold wall, rested his head against it and opened his pants, pulling them down to the thighs together with his boxers. With the left hand he grabbed his balls and he let the other one run over the shaft of his dick letting out a relieved gasp as his cock was finally getting the attention it yearned for. The man massaged his balls letting his hand run to the tip of his dick and he shoved his thumb under his foreskin, letting it run in circles, before pressing on the slit, rubbing the glans while he had his eyes half closed and was imagining his thumb to be Rosario’s tongue. It turned him on more and he wanted more and stopped toying himself and closed his hand around his pulsating cock, feeling its heat and the throbbing of the veins before he moved his hand, stroking himself, which he pretended to be the journalist’s mouth. While his hand was increasing in pressure and speed he was imaging the attractive face of the younger male with his dick in his mouth, looking into his eyes with a green lusty gaze while he was giving him head and Josh was thrusting his hips penetrating his own hand as he imagined face fucking him and the hot sight. His body was heated, his heart racing, sweat was forming on his skin under his clothing, too hot, way too hot. The man was panting and the panting got heavier as his orgasm was building up and he felt himself almost being there. The stool moved and vibrated due to his movements on it – it was not made for some grown arse man masturbating on it obviously – and his muscles got tense and constricted, his carotid appearing again, his veins incredibly visible in general as he bucked up into his right hand and shot his load making a mess in the bathroom.

 

Joshua stayed there like that, waiting for his breath and heart rate to calm and he closed his eyes. Only after a while he had seen the mess he had made and he tried to clean the bathroom and his pants as good as possible before he left the bathroom again to get back downstairs. When he opened the bathroom door he looked into Nisha’s face and the woman smiled at him. “Hello. I heard you are hungry.” She remarked joyful and Josh nodded. “Yes.” He said and wanted to pass her quickly because he felt ashamed of having done that in the home of his father and his stepmother but then he remembered something. “I am supposed to say ‘Hello’ to you from Christopher Rosario.” He told her and Nisha smiled. “That’s so sweet. Say hello to him too and that I wish for you both to have a nice date!” She said and patted Josh’s shoulder and he felt like she shouldn’t have touched him as dirty as he was or at least felt.

 

He was laughed at when he returned but there was also food waiting and now he had been even hungrier hence he ignored that Brix was laughing about him and ate his food. His father and Nisha insisted that he stayed the night because he was too drunk to drive home so he was falling into a small one person bed in the guest room of his parents and although he was incredibly tired he couldn’t sleep. What Mitya had said about men in the closet and then what Brix had said was constantly repeating on his mind and he was thinking about it. Then he was remembering Ilay telling him that he should just casually spill the beans and make it in a likeable way. And then there was Christopher on his mind and that they would have a date and that cost some time to think about as well until he finally fell asleep.

 

The other morning he was having breakfast at the restaurant – no bacon and eggs this time though – and then walked back to the bar because the lend BMW had been there and he drove back home with it where he showered, shaved and got ready for the day. He was wearing a black turtle neck shirt and a silver-metallic suit and black shoes. His mood was quite good even though he had not slept well and he greeted Kelsey friendly when he arrived at the office and got down to do some work that he had had no time to when he had been busy with the campaign or drinking with his friends. Weißenburg went back home at 6pm and arrived there at 6:30pm, leaving him thirty minutes to refresh himself until the other should be there.

And when he was thinking about it his stupid heart was starting to race and he was literally screaming at his heart to ‘Quit the bullshit!’

[brinary]

His friend insisted they celebrate the "first big step" in some sort of alcohol-fueled way but Kris honestly couldn't be bothered. Getting drunk from sending some man a date confirmation e-mail sounded more pathetic than usual. Haye seemed to be half-joking anyways.

 

"So now what? Waiting game time?" Kris asked, thumb hovering over his mouth after chewing on it and scowling at Haye's lame idea.

 

"Yep, waiting game! I know you've been outta commission for a while, so I'll let you get caught up to speed on how this whole dating stuff works." With a shrewd frown, Kris thought about launching another pillow at the taller man but decided against it only because the red-head looked prepared to dodge it. He didn't want anything get hit in the crossfire. Instead, he ran his fingers through his hair with a deep exhale.

 

"I feel like my nerves are shot. I think... I'll make a smoothie or something. You want in?" He unfolded himself from the couch with a pop of his knee. Stretching, more pops and snaps resounded along his arms, back, neck and- with a final pivot of his hips- pelvis. Haye looked unimpressed as he crossed the apartment to start rifling through the kitchen. "Not for nothing dude," the red-head started, "but you need to get that checked out."

 

Looking back with a fiendish grinned, he raised an eyebrow. "Who knows, maybe ol' boy Josh can snap a few of those things back in place, rearrange some other sensitive parts. Might be unable to walk tomorrow but the healing process always comes after initial pAIOUCH!" He cried out as Kris yanked fiercely at his neck. Said furious man was extremely reddened and made up his face like he was getting ready to plain yell at his friend. But the expression died down and he just let out a wordless scream before stomping to his room.

 

"Make the smoothies, you ass!"

 

Christopher spent the forty minutes it took Haye to work on their smoothies in relative silence. His laptop was still out on the coffee table which was regrettable. Instead, he picked up a book he'd leafed through for an essay he'd planned on publishing (and never did) with intent to resume his reading. Christopher was a fast writer and an even quicker reader. The man leaned back in his bed to enjoy the quiet. His body felt calm and his head wasn't buzzing with a cacophony of desire. It was hard to actually sit down and do anything anymore that wasn't write. Politics had been a key part of his life and was one of the mainstays of Christopher's career. Throughout all of that time, desires had come up- to be loved and touched, to settle down with someone happily, maybe break the news as gently as possible to his parents. But his 20s had been an even faster time than his teens.

 

As someone who'd made a name as the teenage debate prodigy, writing champion, et cetera, college seemed to slow things down for the fast-thinking Christopher. Used to a life where things constantly occupied his time, he went nearly belligerent in his freshman year from lack of things to do. The man got a job, enrolled in volunteering opportunities, was an officer in several clubs, made his own club, did anything to have his time filled. Everything then kick-started his new notoriety, a journalistic GOTV documentarian. Grant money from college to make a series about immigration, study abroads and scholarship programs galore. Now in his 30s, he felt almost regrettable about how much he'd done. It seemed nearly impossible to return to that peak. And now what?

 

Alone in a medium-sized apartment. Elaborate meals for one and a small bathtub-shower combo that didn't see any other bodies except his own. As Haye called for him from the kitchen, Kris took off his glasses and bookmarked what he'd finished reading. What his friend said was completely true: any and all experience the Hispanic had previously was outdated and most likely unusable for the current situation. He was out of his depth with no proper way to research how to go about things without feeling utterly foolish himself. If his mind could be as clear and as focused as it was when he read, maybe things would be easier. But having a focused mind doesn't immediately grant someone the knowledge they desperately need.

 

Kris had never really dated, only having sparing glances with boys and girls on his debate circuit. Living in close quarters with hormone-addled people in college-hosted small dorms and even smaller hotel rooms would have led to some run-ins. Kris heard several of those run-ins, saw at least three for his own eyes, the sound of connecting, wet skin not as muted as his fellows would have believed.

 

Now Joshua was a thing.

 

When he entered the kitchen, Haye was already drinking his smoothie and texting. New thoughts about the blonde man made Christopher feel too hot to function and he took a greedy hard drink from the provided straw. The smoothie wasn't too thick thankfully and was some kale-spinach-raspberry-sugar number. Or maybe it wasn't, because swallowing led to a whole new configuration of flavors that didn't line up at all with the man's original hypothesis. About to ask Haye what he'd made, the man suddenly went and got his bag from off the floor by the door.

 

"Hey, I gotta jet," his friend said, still looking at his phone. "Office needs me for a commission and some maintenance crew is about to be there for some plumbing issues we've been having, so I need to be there to see them in, tell them what's up. You gonna be okay by yourself?"

 

Kris looked up from sipping and only spoke once he felt comfortable enough to finally breathe again. The smoothie was so good that stopping to speak was even difficult. "Yeah, I'm okay. I think I just have assignments to work on. But go and scadaddle-- I'll talk to you later." He walked up to his friend and the other grabbed him roughly around his shoulders and kissed his head. Kris secretly loved it but swatted the other man's neck. "Ew, go away." They laughed as they parted and Haye disappeared down Christopher's hallway, waving goodbye as he began to speak over the phone to an assistant.

 

Alone once again, the Hispanic man decided to commit himself to that book agin. The assignments could technically wait and although he was serious about getting work done, he was also serious about distracting himself from his thoughts for as long as he could. The pesky things needd to be shut up now and again, and getting lost in a good book was a great way to waste (not really waste because reading is never a waste) time. Centering himself back in the text wasn't difficult and Christopher got a pen out just to write notes in the margins. His phone was buzzing with alerts; news organizations wanted his commentary piece now, but he needed to be in the mode to write an article that summed up his experience at the Sandro rally. Even the memory was enough to make him pause in loosely writing a footnote. He had to pull his pen up quickly so it wouldn't bleed and soak through the pages. The rally was a horrible example for a quickly growing trend. The unrest breeding violence was uncalled for, but a conclusion Kris had seen repeated time and time again.

But his negativity gave way to an unfathomable warmth as he remember Nisha's exuberant smile and Joshua's silky smirk, the feeling of a thumb caressing his cheek. Kris could close his eyes and pretend it was there, the memory was so vivid, hours old and seeming even less believable with each recollection.

Such thoughts stalled his penning . Kris kept the pen balanced between his thumb and forefinger with a far-off expression. One sharp shudder made him scratch a line across the top of the paper, making him cuss before he bookmarked and closed the book for good. He needed a new distraction. Maybe actually working would do well for him instead of reliving a few minutes out of the many hours of his already tiring day.

 

Christopher barely beat the darkness. Evening had been coming hot on his heels without him ever really noticing, too caught up in reading and remembering. The man got his lights on and guzzled down the rest of the sipped at and drunken from smoothie. It'd left a tiny pool when the man picked it up from sitting out on his side table.

 

Lights on in the house, the Hispanic man popped in some leftovers from a few nights off to reheat in the oven and on the stove. While that was happening, he sat down, took a deep breath, and finally began to write his opinions about the conference turned violent outbreak. Christopher liked to start many of his articles with a light tone or in the middle of action, but it felt uncalled for. In this case, he wanted to be as genuine as possible- as he did with any paper- and decided to voice his immediate opinions and concerns. The written article was to join one of many that had already been published, most likely, by various outlets, but Kris didn't worry about the timing. Timing didn't matter as long as pignancy held. If there were people present to research it or look it up, his article would be among the masses- and it'd almost certainly reach the first page.

 

Over the course of the next several hours, the journalist wrote down eleven pages concerning Sandro, the political climate, and overall condemnation of base guerrilla tactics in a society which didn't require them. Kris touched on the fact that there had been children present with their families, absorbing the frenzied emotions in the air. Babies, bundled up tight, began fussing from tension that even their underdeveloped mind had yet to understand in its full context. What were they becoming as a people where apartheid protest images could line up shot-for-shot with the ones coming out of their own city, their own country to a broader extent. Violence as a means for change didn't suffer in terms of results. In fact, violence often got a lot of results. Just because it was good at that didn't mean it was perfectly alright to depend on it as a political mechanism, however.

 

He even mentioned having dessert with a very conservative associate and finding it to be the highlight of his entire month- just to demonstrate that everyone could get along.

Christopher finally sent it in later around 10 with a tiny smile, absolute in knowing the editor would take that last little part out. "For reasons," she often said, and Kris wished just once she'd tell him her reason behind that particular decision.

 

There wasn't much for that night. He cleaned, watched a recorded National Geographic programme, showered and climbed into bed. It was in the middle of the night when he got texts upon texts from his sister and only woke up after two calls. Yanking up the phone with a grumbling noise, he stared at the clock as he answered. "Hello?" Usually the man had a whole tag line but in this case, there was nothing much to say, because it was three in the morning and he'd barely gotten four hours and his sister was already snapping at him in Spanish.

 

"You need to get up RIGHT NOW and come here to help me with Franco I'm losing my FUCKING mind I'm so FREAKED OUT he won't stop THROWING UP AND I NEED SUPPORT!!!"

 

Kris couldn't trust himself to drive and rushed downstairs to catch a bus line a three minute run from his apartment. It would carry him to the midtown center and even a little further to the middle school, where his sister lived across the street from. Sweating and in a shitty t-shirt with worn out sweatpants and sneakers, he called his sister panting into the phone.

 

"I'm in your community right now, is your car started?! Get your car started!" The front door of a house heavily decorated with plants opened moments after, the man seeing it before his eyes and hearing it over his phone.

 

Franco the dog had an affinity for eating the grass and its new pesticide coat must have turned the dog's stomach over when it ran out for an early morning shitting session. Kris helped rush the greyhound to the emergency vet clinic. His assistance technically wasn't needed after that point but he stayed, if only as emotional support for his frayed sister. The clinic had free coffee and he loaded up on espressos, drinking greedily as he waited around. His portion of the ordeal was finally over around eight in the morning, where his sister had to force him to leave and kiss him on the cheek telling him things would be okay. A friend would be coming to pick her up once things were officially done- and besides, Kris had a busy day ahead of him.

 

How could he forget? The news cycle certainly was buzzing with anticipation. Joshua Weibenburg's latest speech would be happening that morning. Kris was fucked in the head from thinking about the man enough, but seeing him inundate his e-mail, his texts, everything was like the world throwing him a taunt. Kris wasn't cleared to attend the event and hadn't even tried. Instead, he got in on the news room portion from former co-workers and took to the streets to get the people's opinions. It wasn't a sporting event, people weren't just watching the interview on TV in some random restaurant. But the epicenter was the actual venue itself. Protestors, nay-sayers, moderates, and supporters alike were all doing their own thing. Often they'd clash in an argument but it seemed to de-escalate fast. Kris really hoped no fights broke out around him- he wasn't looking forward to having to dodge more violence.

 

The Fates, too, laughed in mockery as fights broke out. Thankfully the man hadn't been in the crosshairs but narrowly avoided a bikelock being swung in a wide arc. The swing did hit someone though and Kris saw the surge directing itself to his right to assist a woman who'd gotten struck across her temples. His news day was altered so he could, instead, help others get her medical attention.

 

Kris found himself in another medical center, this time a hospital, when the internet broke out around some stupid thing Joshua said. He found himself rolling his eyes but his mind could barely think ill of the comment anymore. Anger broke out but not at Weibenburg. No, it was at himself, upset that he was already dismissing things like it was his... his boyfriend or something just being a cunt again. No-- no! Lust was clouding his head! If anything, the dinner would be a big scheme to have Kris killed and about the dinner, the message hadn't even been checked or answered. The man noted this with pursed lips then closed his eyes, angry at

himself, again.

"You have literally been watching him run around all day doing speeches and interviews of fucking course he didn't check the stupid e-mail uggggHHHH I WANNA ROT." Exclaiming that loudly in a hospital lobby wasn't... great? Kris removed himself from further disgust and spent his day doing more writing, more reporting, more cooking and cleaning and reading. His article was making the rounds now. People supporting him as a mixed and much needed voice in such divided times. Others called him a cuck who was no better than a fence-rider. Kris wouldn't call himself a fence-rider but he did want to ride one particular thing. That fantasy was far off from reality though, as he instead rode the rollercoaster called Tired Out of One's Fucking Mind, hunched over his computer and struggling to type.

 

Notes were sprawled across his desk from mid-afternoon to late in the evening. After sending in several drafts, editing three other things, and cross-referencing for hours on end, the man had fallen asleep. Waking up was a challenge. Christopher felt sore from his position and heavy with exhaustion as he sat up slowly. Nausea was right on the tip of his throat, leading the writer to gather himself and hobble off to the kitchen from where he'd been laying down and typing on his bed. Several parts of the apartment had evidence of Kris's work throughout those many hours. He was aware he should clean up but drinking water and not vomiting was more important.

 

Because the computer sickened him, Kris closed it with a snort and folded himself back into bed after lazily turning off the lights in his apartment. The day was a railroad- from making commentary papers, to responding to critical questions, all the editing and running around... it wore a body out.

 

The next morning saw him freshly showered and reading e-mails as he ate oatmeal. Haye's "friend," Nee, gave him a collagen face-mask as a gag present but the stuff came in handy. It was smeared across his face when he stumbled across Joshua's late night e-mail. Remaining stoic was a tenant of good facial care, at least where it concerned masks, and thus, it was difficult for Kris not to react immediately to seeing the promising reply in his inbox.

 

Scanning it, he felt like exploding. Kris re-read it many times, going over to fawn over small details and word choices. He feared he was reading too much into it and wouldn't be surprised if he was accused of just that. But how could he not. He was a writer! Word choice mattered! 'Delighted' and 'burden' stood out to him, along with the particular usage of 'we.'

 

Oh. He said 'we.'

 

We.

 

Kris felt like he had just been handed a sweet gift after a strenuous few days. His bruises were finally on their last legs of healing. He'd done so much work. He was being allowed the chance to indulge himself in truly shitty behaviour.

 

The first thing he did after reading off e-mails and sending some replies back was go to the grocers and get ingredients for several servings of pork hock, potato dumplings, purple cabbage, and beer gravy. After several hours, Kris decided, "well this shit isn't that difficult." The pork hock was all too familiar to him and after getting the opinions from several neighbors from his first batch, he decided it was permissible to take. The second batch was still cooking, slow and low for maximized tenderness. Potato dumplings were harder. They couldn't come out nice and glazed like pictures showed, but instead over cooked and rubbery.

 

Kris stared at his already messy kitchen and scrapped the dumplings. Purple cabbage, good to go-- beer gravy took practice but he eventually ended up just getting some from one of the Euro-centric supermarkets down by the meat district. Just as a teensy back-up.

 

It took him a lot of the day to prepare the food. More hours were funneled into decent presentation, making a batch of back-up cookies in case Joshua decided his food was garbage and spat at him, and then getting ready. Actually going to Joshua's home as an invited guest was strange. Kris got driven up by an Uber to the neighborhood and walked the rest of the way with a 'thank you,' walking to Joshua's home holding a large tote bag that currently held the food in insulated containers.

 

As to not appear completely desperate, Kris hadn't put any extra effort into his hair and let the curls continue their wild reign. He'd outfitted himself in regular dark jeans and a button-down shirt with dark orange and blue stripes, the material meshy and just slightly see-through, but he knew it was opaque enough to not hint to his body. It was large on him and he let it bag over just slightly from where he'd tucked it in, a black jacket over it anyways to shield from previous rain.

 

Well. This was it. His murder awaited him; all Christopher could hope was that the man would kiss him or something while he bled out. Smiling at the thought, the journalist bolstered himself before knocking on the man's door, 7' sharp.

[-Hideki-]

His heart wouldn’t listen to him though so the only thing he could do was to continue to do what he had gone into the bathroom to in the first place. So he turned on the cold water, leaned over the sink and literally refreshed his face and skin. He dried it with a towel and then looked into the mirror. It was clearly to see that his hair had gone through that day already and he tried to get it fixed again but even though it looked less messy it still wouldn’t lay as it had in the morning. He then decided that he needed to refresh his perfume too (he actually didn’t it was still more than enough) and straightened out the collar of the silver suit that he had already been wearing the whole day.

 

The man had just found that he looked alright again and not too crinkled when he heard a loud knock on the door in the empty, quiet house. Immediately he got aware of the racing of his heart again and with a last look into the mirror he left the bathroom and walked downstairs lighting a cigarette to pretend he had just been hanging around somewhere not actually trying to appeal to the brunette male with his looks. He grabbed the keys from the cupboard next to the door and unlocked it before his long fingers closed around the cold door handle and he opened the door.

 

The sky was clear but it was dark outside and the automatic light at the front door was wrapping Christopher Rosario into a bright light as If the brunette man stood on a stage. Joshua leaned in the door frame, the cigarette sticking between his lips, smoke getting carried away by the wind, as well as a few strand of his hair that were getting out of line again although he had tried his best to get it into order again. His face was blank and he seemed calm how he leaned there but his heart was pounding so hard, even harder than before now that he saw him and Josh feared it might break a rip. His blue eyes stared into green and there was tension filling the air, an intense friction that electrified the cool. Weißenburg could feel and hear his heard beat in his chest, feel his pulse that was like the bass in that night club. That ubiquitous urge he felt made it hard to breathe and he should have said something, something polite, something normal, but he couldn’t. He just looked into the freckled face, over the lean figure and it felt like that tension, that urge stood in the way of him and his heart beat just seemed to get louder and louder and as if he could feel it beat in places where it couldn’t.

 

Instead of a ‘Good evening’ he stepped forward, spat his cigarette onto the ground stomping on it again, closing the distance and one of his arms reached out, grabbing him by the neck while the other hand groped his arse as he pulled the shorter male against his body and kissed him. His lips burning, the electricity turning into a firework in Weißenburg’s stomach and the businessman knew that it would end like on New Year’s Eve :however beautiful and impressive the fireworks were, in the end they just left a lot of rubbish on the streets and burn victims in the hospitals because they had been too irresponsible. Kissing a man who had material to blackmail him with, a man who didn’t like who he was and what he represented was irresponsible, maybe not only that, maybe it was outright crazy and idiotic but he didn’t even care. He didn’t care if he burned himself or the streets of his heart would be left buried under a pile of rubbish the day after.

 

Joshua indulged in that kiss. He was claiming, he was dominant and he kissed him deep. His hand ran from the man’s neck up into his hair and his fingers buried themselves into those curls and he was finally getting to do what he had been tempted to this whole time. His tongue parted the man’s sweat lips and assertively overtook the other man’s tongue rolling around it and in his mouth in an almost exploring as well as explosive manner. His hand was squeezing that sexy little arse, the other one feeling those wild untamed curls and he lost track of anything else that surrounded him. His body was getting hot and he kissed more eagerly until the limitations of the human body forced him to breathe, to fill his lungs with oxygen as lust wasn’t enough to survive on unfortunately.

 

His breathing had gotten somewhat heavier and he looked at the man, the man he had not even thought would actually show up to meet with him, his eyes filled with desire searching for hints in the brunette man’s face. Maybe this had taken him aback or he had not liked him to do that? Had not wanted to even kiss him in this manner and especially not before he had even entered the house. But he had had to do it; otherwise that tension would have kept him from functioning and being able to put together normal sentences to have a normal conversation. Sure it was still present, it was blazing inside of him but for now the friction was eased and he could breathe normally again. He let his hand run through the man’s hair in a caressing manner and then let it brush against his freckled cheeks. “Alright then…” he said with a laugh. “Good evening, how about you come in now?” he suggested and his hand now reached for the tote bag, taking it from him. “I’ll put it in the kitchen so that we can reheat it later. You can go into the living room, just walk straight ahead, and make yourself comfortable on the sofa, I’ll be there in no time.” He instructed Rosario to proceed into the living room that reminded of a hunting lodge and closed the door behind the man as soon as he had entered.

 

Joshua did as he had said and walked into the kitchen unpacking the tote bag and placing the boxes onto the kitchen faucets. That stupid heart of his that had completely lost its shit apparently swelled again and the blond male’s cheeks flushed slightly pink – fuck this being so visible! His skin was just so white that it was almost translucent to the smallest amount of blood. The man couldn’t help himself but to find it adorable and to be fluttered when he saw the other had actually cooked his favourite dinner for them. That he actually really bought this and had stood in the kitchen to make this for him. And it looked tasty as well so it was actually impressive too. Sure his sister regularly cooked for him and he often got food from his father’s and Nisha’s restaurant but this was entirely different! When had another man he had been into cooked for him last time? It was something that reminded him of something that he hadn’t known he had missed but he seemed to miss after all.

 

The answer to when it had happened the last time was about six years ago as it had been Ilay. He had loved it when he had cooked for him not because Ilay had been an impressive cook or something, he had cooked alright, much better than him but no comparison to his sister, but because he had made it for him. Joshua had also liked watching him cook and to wrap his arms around him from behind while he stood there, kiss and suck on his neck, saying he’d thank him for the effort properly later, whispering naughty stuff into the other’s ear making him blush. Those moments had been fun and warm and close and over all nice and he didn’t have them anymore in his life and having Rosario cook for him reminded him how he did once have that and how he might be able to have it again. Maybe? At least he hoped so.!

Would he one day watch that quick mouthed, cheeky man prepare food for him with a smile on his face, wrap his arms around his hips and whisper naughty stuff into his ear kissing that freckled cheeks? He found that he liked the idea and he would have liked to punch himself again for that. What was with him!? What embarrassing thoughts were those? They were even worse than his graphic, intense sex fantasies about the brunette man.

 

Josh went to the fridge and wanted to grab two beers for them but then he remembered that Christopher wasn’t JIles and he had not invited him to casually hang out with him but that he had been reckless enough to invite a man who had broken into his property for a dinner date so he closed the fridge again and took two glasses and a bottle of expensive white wine.

He then went through the floor and joined the journalist in his living room. “Thanks for bringing the food, it looks delicious.” He thanked the other and placed both the two glasses and the wine bottle onto the coffee table before he let himself sink into the sofa next to the other man. “I hope you like white wine? If not I have to see if maybe I find red wine someone gave me as present once somewhere.” He wanted to make sure that he had not served something the other didn’t actually want to drink.

 

Though it was his sofa he didn’t know how to sit at first and how to act now in the first place since the last real date that wasn’t a hook-up had been twelve years ago as he didn’t count those when Ilay and he had already been a couple in a committed relationship. Shit twelve fucking years! He was old wasn’t he? Well, his grandfather had called him and Carlton young men so as long as he was still young for his grandfather… well, nearly everyone seemed young to his grandfather though, even Bernotti. He decided to just sit like he usually did and to not think about it. So he leaned back, legs wide apart and placed one arm over the backrest, his face turned to the journalist next to him.

 

He needed to say something or it would be awkward and he wanted body contact too. At first he had been about to say something political but he stopped himself from asking something about that. Their politics were what divided them. Joshua’s political opinions were what the other man didn’t like about him, what turned him off, so it probably was not a good idea to make politics their subject even if it felt like the closest and logical topic. He watched the other man, his facial features, his neck, his chest, his eyes even wandering to his crotch and then his thighs. Weißenburg placed his hand onto the brunette man’s thigh in a way that felt almost experimental because he had no idea how the other would react.

 

Finally he spoke then, a smile playing around his lips. “Now, how has it been going for you after you’ve been stuck in that ice-café with me? What have you been up to the last day?” he decided to ask him about his life. Maybe he’d learn something more about the man as a private person and maybe the other would learn something more about him too, other than his politics, maybe something that he would like about Josh. There sure had to be something that this man could like about him? He was a decent man after all. He would like to talk to himself at least and he hoped that the other would like to as well and would leave with a better opinion of him when he left later. Or maybe the other morning? Josh didn’t let his mind go there further right now. They had not even eaten something, not even drunken some of the wine so he took the wine and uncorked it! “ We could eat here or we could go into the dining room, whatever you prefer.” He casually said. Josh’s dining room was more like a hall that even had a small stage. The parquet was made out of mahogany wood, there was a huge table in the middle of the room, knights’ armours standing in line as decoration and shields and swords hanging on the wall.