The Grand Ballast by J.A. Rock Read Free Book Online Page A

But I’m excited to
get started on something new.” Bode took a sip of wine.
    “ What’s next?”
    “ Mmm.” Bode leaned back
further, glancing at the ceiling. “A variety show. Tap dancing and
top hats. Not really my thing, but we need to make money, and we
only make money when we do cheesy stuff.” He grinned.
    “ You realize there’s not a
false note in your smile?” Kilroy studied Bode until Bode’s skin
prickled—pleasantly at first, but then in the crawling, too-hot way
of illness or terror. Until Bode wanted to smash his wineglass, or
maybe the whole damn bottle.
    He looked away. “Do you
think I dance well? Really?”
    “ Would I lie to
you?”
    “ I don’t know. I just…” He
glanced up. “I try to push myself hard. Because I’m worried no one
else will. Nobody cares about quality. Not really.”
    “ And you think you don’t
push yourself hard enough?”
    Bode didn’t
answer.
    “ I know the feeling,”
Kilroy prompted gently. “I’ve felt it too.”
    Bode felt a rush of
warmth, disproportionate to what Kilroy’s words called for. “I feel guilty a lot.”
    “ Guilty?”
    “ Like, anytime I fail at
anything, even something small, I feel guilty about it.” He focused
on the pattern in the formica. He’d never talked to anyone about
this, except maybe Garland. He made a face. “And I guess there’s
some more psychological bullshit there too, like maybe if I
were…better somehow, less self-centered, my parents would engage
with me more.”
    Kilroy tilted his head. “You think you’re
the cause of your parents’ indifference?”
    “ No.
Not…exactly.”
    “ Why should failure make
you feel guilty, rather than ashamed?”
    Bode drained the last of his wine. “I don’t
know.”
    “ Do you feel you failed
tonight?”
    Bode shook his head. “No.”
    “ Good.” Kilroy’s voice was
very quiet. “I don’t want you feeling guilty tonight.”
    Bode shifted. Kilroy was looking at him
again, and this time Bode couldn’t ignore the heat in his body, the
maddening haze the wine cast over his mind and that was pierced
again and again by a furious lust.
    He knew what he wanted to
offer Kilroy, but he was afraid, and he liked being afraid.
    “ Please, kiss me?” he said
at last. “Please?”
    Kilroy was so still that he
seemed not to be alive at all—a clever puppet with no one at the
strings. Then he got up. Knelt on the kitchen tile and pushed
Bode’s legs apart—a sudden, dramatic push, like throwing open a set
of doors—and shuffled between them. He cupped Bode’s face and
strained upward, and Bode leaned down so that their lips met.
Bode’s chair slid back with a squeal, and he joined Kilroy on the
floor, one hand on Kilroy’s chest, surprised to find Kilroy’s
heartbeat going as fast as his own.
    “ Will
you…?” He paused, still with his hand on Kilroy’s
chest. Fuck me sounded crude. But he wasn’t going to say something prissy
like make love to me. Garland would have laughed at him. So he spread his legs
slowly, almost tentatively, his knees aching on the tile. His jeans
were too tight around his hips, and the waistband of his underwear
stuck out. He felt so ready . God, the things he did for
dance—avoiding booze and sex and cigarettes, convinced everything
would ruin him for the stage. But tonight— tonight —the wine was a revelation,
and he wanted Kilroy’s hands on him, Kilroy’s body moving with
his.
    Kilroy placed the tip of
his forefinger on the snap of Bode’s fly. Traced downward. Bode
dipped his head and let out a rush of breath like a laugh then
immediately forced himself quiet and waited.
    “ Will I…?” Kilroy repeated
softly.
    “ Please?” Bode whispered to
the floor. So many times he’d felt like this—like he wanted to beg
for something without knowing what. He saw random people and he
wanted to connect with them over something. The color of the sky or
the expression on a passerby’s face. He wanted strangers to love
him, to care