This was met with Liam’s nod of approval, and all three looked at me.
“I’d like to point out that their relationship began with an exchange of cash. Unless it was talked about explicitly, that would lead anyone to assume that Franco would be footing the bill.”
“Have any of you ever been hungry?” Arden asked. His question was met with an awkward silence. None of us had. “I’m not talking about a twinge in your stomach because you’ve skipped lunch. I’m talking about drinking hot water and pretending it’s soup. Or cooking the noodles for an extra-long time so that they bloat before you eat them. I’m talking hunger pains that don’t go away.”
Franco threw up his hands dramatically. “I was born rich. How can you blame me for that?”
“When you’re hungry like that, it changes your perspective. And the things you thought you’d never do—acts that others might consider degrading or humiliating—none of that matters when you’re faced with the alternative of literally starving.”
“I never made him do anything he didn’t want to do,” Franco said defensively.
“Imagine you meet a man of some wealth, and from day one, he dazzles you. He presents himself as someone who has the resources to ease your financial burden. He’s sweet and charming and generous. He takes you to nice restaurants, buys you gifts, compliments your appearance, and on top of that, he’s not terrible in bed.”
“Not terrible,” Franco scoffed.
“So, you think that’s how he shows his affection. He knows you work hard for your money, and he wants to spoil you. And isn’t it nice, after all that sweat and grind, to sit back and be spoiled a little bit?”
“That’s why I did it,” Franco insisted. “Because he’s special.”
“But then, all of a sudden, that same man turns those kind gestures against you, makes you feel like you’re beneath him, that youowehim for his generosity. And now, it’s not about helping each other as a team. It’s a transaction, tit for tat, and it feels like a job. The man is acting like a regular old john and treating you like a thing. So, you say, fuck it. He can keep his fancy dinners and his mediocre cock. I’d rather stick to Top Ramen and eat alone.”
Was Arden still talking about Marquis and Franco, or was this about his relationship with Matteo?
“Are you saying my cock is mediocre?” Franco said at last, his takeaway. Despite his two shots and Tom Collins, he looked completely sober.
Arden patted his arm affectionately. “I’m only presenting a theory. I’m sure he still considers your cock above average.”
“But the other things. You think that’s what I did?”
“That’s what it sounds like you did.”
“You’re making a lot of assumptions,” Liam said curtly.
“Maybe,” Arden said, “but so did Franco.”
Franco sat back in his chair and nursed his second drink, brooding, and I said to Arden, “I think you broke his brain.”
“He’s better off knowing, I think.”
Did I admire him more because he stood his ground? Absolutely. Liam was eyeing the dance floor and Franco was having an existential crisis, so I grabbed Arden’s hand and rested it on my erection to show him just how much I’d enjoyed his display. He turned to me with a flirtatious smile.
“You like it when I’m mean to your friends?” he purred.
“Not mean, just honest. You should argue with me more.”
“But we always agree,” he said, massaging my cock through the cumbersome fabric. He was wrong about that. On things of little consequence, like what I wore or what we ate for dinner, Arden got his way. And on the things where I cared deeply… those topics weren’t up for discussion.
But I was too enamored with my lover to study those cracks too closely. All I could think about was Arden sinking to his knees in front of me and sucking me off right there in the crowded nightclub. Of course, I didn’t suggest it, mostly because I feared he might actually do it. He liked to show off.
Instead, I touched his chin lightly and kissed him, because he was mine. Franco threw ice cubes at us and told us to stop bunnyfucking. Liam frowned at the array bodies on the dance floor with a dissatisfied expression. The deejay announced something about the house being on fire, and soon after, the carousel began turning. Franco craned his neck as each new dancer appeared, then huffed in displeasure when they weren’t Marquis.
Meanwhile, Liam and Arden discussedThe Roadby Cormac McCarthy, one of the only books I’ve ever regretted reading. Not because it wasn’t a masterpiece, but because now, at the first sign of trouble, my mind immediately jumped to cannibalism.
“Anyone can write a run-on sentence,” Liam was saying with regards to whether McCarthy’s lack of punctuation was revolutionary or cumbersome. “Look at Jack Kerouac. Look at William Faulkner.”
“See, I would think that as a poet, you would appreciate him bucking convention,” Arden said. “Like ee cummings.”
“It’s lazy and self-indulgent. Grammar and punctuation are what separates us from animals,” Liam said. “Without rules, there’s just chaos.”
