Bad Things by Varian Krylov

had a look at the interior. “Seriously, I’ve never been in such a beautiful car. What year is it?”
    “ Sixty-four. I don’t think of myself as materialistic in most things, but I do love design.”
    “ Makes sense. You’re an artist.”
    “ Why? Because I do tattoos?”
    “ Yeah.” There was maybe a thirty second gap of silence, and then Carson asked, “So, is the upholstery all original? The two-tone red and black is hot.”
    Maybe he was nervous, being alone with Xavier for the first time, on the way to spend the night in his house. Or maybe Carson was one of those people who were always afraid of silence. Normally Xavier would already be fearing for his sanity, but Carson being chatty would work out great if he actually knew anything about what was going on backstage at the club.
    When Carson got inside the house, he just about lost his shit, blue eyes wide and mouth hanging open. He gaped at all the mid-century mod décor in silent awe for a minute before setting his bags down and drifting along the perimeter of the living room, now and then running his fingertips reverently along the smooth plane of a teak sideboard or book shelf.
    “ I feel like I just went through a time machine. I love retro mod. But it’s too expensive. I’d have to sell my camera. And my internal organs.”
    “ Nah. You just have to be patient. Stuff comes up on Craigslist now and then. You want a drink?”
    “ I shouldn’t. It’s already late, and I should get up at a decent hour so I can start looking for a place. And hey, just tell me where I should set my stuff so it won’t be in the way.”
    Xavier laughed. “If the place looks tidy, it’s not because I’m anal. It’s only because I’m never here.”
    He poured two glasses of tequila and handed one to Carson, who sipped at it as if he was being forced to eat Brussels sprouts.
    Xavier couldn’t help laughing again. “I didn’t mean to force you. I thought you said no to be polite.” He dumped the contents of Carson’s glass into his own. “So, Brian’s a total dick, eh?”
    Carson kind of smiled. “He’s definitely a hardass.”
    “ How long have you been working there?”
    A heavy sigh. “Almost two years.”
    “Not where you wanted to be?”
    Carson shrugged. “It’s fine. I always knew photography would have to be a side thing. I’d much rather be a bartender than stuck doing wedding photography or some shit like that.”
    “I’ll set you up with some bedding so you can get to sleep. But tomorrow you have to show me some of your photos.”
    The nicer he was, the more nervous Carson seemed to get. Normally, that would mean the game was on. Not that Xavier was into hunting straight guys. But it was fun as hell, sometimes, watching them try not to pee themselves when they thought he was trying to get them to let him fuck them.
     
     
     

     
     
     
    Maybe Carson was doing it out of sincere gratitude for Xavier’s generosity, going to the store and stocking up on groceries for the next few days. Or maybe it was guilt. Or maybe it was just another scene in Brian’s crazy spy versus spy soap opera. When he got back, Carson put everything away, except the ingredients for the chicken stir-fry.
    The door to the stairs was wide open, and down in the basement he could hear Xavier working out. Gloved fists slamming into the heavy bag hanging from the beam. Regular, huffing breaths.
    For some reason, it surprised him, how well-stocked Xavier’s kitchen was. Racks of spices. Good array of utensils. Nice variety of pots and pans. He got the rice boiling while he sliced up the onion, red peppers and chicken, and quickly chopped up a few green onions and a bunch of cilantro, intermittently stirring the meat and veggies.
    Xavier was still down in the basement. Maybe Carson should have waited to start cooking. Who knew how much longer he’d be at it?
    Not sure why he felt so awkward about it, as if he were intruding on him in the shower, Carson went downstairs,