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Xmas Part 4----Blind Date

Being the best wizard in the land doesn’t mean you’re not clueless.
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So. Two music stores, one custom toy shop and an occult emporium later, I was beginning to feel a little hungry.  We didn’t have so many more packages---I had learned the trick of “delivery service” when we’d hit the first music store and I decided to buy everyone in my former band new and exciting instruments of destruction, even as I fueled my own long-held desire for a custom moss-green Flying Vee.

I got Michael a new Gibson high-hat---definitely a mean thing, since I knew damn well he didn’t play any more.  In fact, his old drum kit had been Ebayed away after a sufficient amount of wifely nagging.  Shawn still played, amazingly enough, but he’d never joined another band.  Rock was still his thing, but now he collected exotic instruments and tried to adapt them to the old songs we’d created when Dreadnaught was alive.  That boy could afford it, his dad had left him money.  I bought him an accordion; something that stupid he’d never think of! And a fifteen dollar tuning fork.  I’d wrap both in Spiderman gift paper, I decided, grinning to myself like a fiend.

About then, when I was having all kinds of fun, I noticed Carson was looking rather grim.

In Berkeley, he always had an aloof look about him, stern and grown-up for his age.  But when I say “grim” I don’t mean anything like the barbarian warrior he eventually turned into, who pretty much appeared as if he was contemplating his next serial killing except when he looked at me.

Naw, he’d just tightened up a little.  He’d been relaxed and faintly smiling after we’d left Cost Plus.  Between there and here, though, something had occurred to bother him.  I couldn’t remember anything significant happening, and so I decided to get to the bottom of it in my usual subtle manner.

“What’s up with you, Ravenstreet?” I inquired, pausing before signing my name to the third document at Guitar Center that would help to beggar my best friend if that was even possible.  “You look crabby as hell; if I’m actually denting your funds too bad, just say so and I’ll slow up.  You don’t need to glare at me like you’re sucking lemons up your ass fer Christ sake!”

He gave me a scowl of irritation---nobody including Carson really is all that fond of blunt honesty. The clerk tied himself in knots, thinking he’d lost a sale; we both ignored him.  “I don’t care how much you spend,” my boy finally admitted, and the clerk’s sigh of relief was like a gust as he timidly pushed the sales slip for Shawn’s accordion at me again.  “But I expected that you would be buying things for yourself, not your---friends.”

Oh, ho.  So that was it, eh?

“Carson---you know I’m a popular guy.  I like people, but it’s not that big a deal here.”  I meant, of course, that he had no reason to be jealous of anyone.  And from the slight gentling of his mouth, he knew what I was really saying without a bunch of goop on my part.

I was pleased, and some relieved.  Enough to reach over, clerk be damned, and give him a hug; I’m not good at slinging mush, but physical contact I sure can do.

“You lamebrain. Don’t you know that half the fun of Christmas is getting other people crap and imagining their faces when they open it?  Well---of course, you wouldn’t know that I guess.  But you’ve done it with me, dig? You gave me something special here. I never had the cash to do Christmas on this large a scale before, but thanks to you, I’m really havin’ a blast.  I love the commercialization of Christmas!  All hail frivolous spending!  And you’re the best-lookin’ Santa I ever met.  Shaving that beard was a great idea, dude.”

I tilted my head back to smirk up at him---up, dammit, forgot about that.  He shifted his body a little, to accommodate his dick I guess. Because to my great glee, the impulsive embrace had caused more than a bit of commotion below his beltline.  And I suppose me admitting how pleased I was with him didn’t hurt matters either, even if it was tease rather than the mush soup he might of preferred.

It was almost funny, how his face softened when his cock hardened; I bet there was a science project in there somewhere, it was so dang predictable. His expression had changed so much you wouldn’t have thought it was the same sourpuss as a few moments ago.  He looked sappy as hell, on the verge of kissing me then and there.  Man, life just kept getting finer.

I slid a wicked glance to the balding clerk and was a little disappointed.  A true San Franciscan, he wasn’t embarrassed at all by our antics; obviously didn’t care if we got it on right there on the counter as long as I signed his bit of paper so he got his commission.  I took pity on him and did so, leaning chummily against Carson’s arm as it was now wrapped around me in a possessive grip.

“You know the bad part, though, Carse?  I dunno what to get *you*.  I mean, I have no problem spending your own money on you, but you’re one of those guys that’s a bitch to buy for.”  I made my voice purposely bright and air-headed as I nattered on; all the unaccustomed spending had for some reason filled me with mischief.

Something pulsed between us.  Well, yeh, his dick of course, but I mean on a more ethereal level, too.  His eyes were bent on me with such heat in them that *I* blushed.  I could tell that he wasn’t seeing a thing in the world now but me, and pleasant or not that was a little unnerving.

But I didn’t look down.  Looking down would just have informed me of what I already knew---that we had two science projects going on here at this point.

“You know what I want,” he said in a voice of molten velvet.

A heavy shiver went through me instantly.  I swallowed, and tried to think of disgusting things so that I could move away from him and walk without showing off my hard-on to all of Northern California.

Funny, how impossible it is to think of anything bad enough.  Cat puke, cooked carrots, decaffeinated coffee---dammitall, this was a tough one!

By now some gal with a ring in her nose was in line behind us bitching like thunder, and rigid or limp we had to be moving outta her way.  Carson solved the problem by just pulling me with him as he stalked grandly out the door.  Of course, he didn’t care what showed, the bastard.  Just as well, since he was packaged so that he looked like something was up even when it wasn’t!  At this point, I was actually afraid to look because I *knew* I couldn’t keep a straight face.  Or keep my hands off him.

Maybe shopping was done for the day.  Except for a stop at the drugstore or something---

Naw.  I knew what he was hinting at, and it raised the hairs on my arms to think about it.  But that was for Christmas Day, man.

Plus, I needed time to study up on how to boink another dude with style and authority.  And---talent.

Oh God---I could feel him wrapped around me.  His heat, gripping me.  I wanted to make it good for him.  It didn’t help that he seemed to think that just me *doing* it would take care of that!

I wasn’t that sure myself.

“I’m starving,” I squawked, trying to ground myself a bit.  “Let’s go to Burger King!”

Carson forgot about his dick at the very idea.  “Sensei, I thought I would take you to a more elegant place.  You eat this---crap---on a regular basis.  Today is special to me.”

“Today is special to me too, but you want a place to get veggies, is all.  BK has a salad bar now, at least in San Francisco.  And also----“ I had spotted the Smurf/bums again as we exited Guitar Center and got a cool idea.  I get those more often than most people would think, but now I could act on one of them.

The magic had lowered to a soft simmer while we were indoors and involved in shopping.  These dudes outside Burger King were pretty much just bums now, guys in shabby clothes and  cheeky attitudes trying to keep warm.  They did have a bit more shine to ‘em than usual, and one guy gripped an obviously magic sword.  Since he was poking a rival bum with it maliciously, I figured he’d probably forgotten its original purpose, though.

“C’mon, Carse, I want a double bacon with cheese!” I caroled, and he rolled his eyes a bit, but followed.

My order took the clerk a trifle aback.  Carson, grimly ranging the salad bar in search of virgin lettuce and sprouts, didn’t notice yet that I was ordering anything beyond my own load of meat.  “30 Whoppers and fifteen coffees?” the big-mouth trumpeted.  “You sure you wanna feed all these homeless guys?”

“Two burgers apiece and a coffee for each bum out there,” I agreed, a little annoyed.  “Is my money good or what?  And the ‘homeless’ are in shelters; I’m just feeding bums today!”

“Bums is the word,” the quiet bearded guy in the door agreed cheerfully, as the clerk began to sputter, really appalled at my non-PC language I guess.  “Especially if you’re buying beer.”

“Beer is next,” I agreed, and the bearded guy grinned.   His name was Tom as I recalled.  “Screw ‘homeless’; we’re bums and proud of it!” he said

He pointed his nose out the door and roared like a lion. “Hey, any bums out there? The history teacher’s treating today!”

There was some hooting and yakking outside.  Carson scooted over with his salad, both eyebrows on high alert.  Tom turned back after listening carefully, pleased as a shark with a T-bone.

“Twenty bums and five bum-esses in the area,” he announced happily.  “Hey, McIntyre---can we get fries with all that?  And you know I’m allergic to the damn sauce they use.”

“Fifty Whoppers, two plain,” I changed my order.  “Twenty five coffees; ditto large fries.  One double bacon cheese Whopper with everything and---oh, yeh, I’ll pay for this guy’s salad too!’

“Nice to know I rate with your ‘bums’,” Carson said crisply, and I cracked up, and hugged him.

To my surprise, he more or less shook free and stalked to a table with his veggies, and too late I realized that I’d blundered on this one.  I’d dragged a crew of strangers into our quality time together, in his way of looking at it.  And he wasn’t gonna pretend it was okay just to please me, either.

A burst of understanding hit me, and I didn’t need the absent Baast to explain it all for once.

I’d wanted to show Carson the joy of Christmas; my intentions had been excellent, hell right they had.  It was just, his idea of a happy Christmas and mine were so damn different.

I’d meant to be my usual entertaining self and wow him with my dazzle, my people skills.  Every damn year I amused this small portion of the masses and I was proud of my talents, dammit.   And I started doing it to begin with because I missed him!  Although later, I admit, it was just due to being an exhibitionist without a working band.

But for him---this was a date.  And I’d dragged so many other people into our time together I might as well have been trying to found a new country.

Batshit.

Indeed, the large and rather smelly crew of riffraff was filling up the restaurant, grabbing their food and coffee and patting me on the back.  Most of them I knew from previous long-winded discussions on the street or in the park---it’s true, I really will talk to anybody.  But once you got past the fact that they were loaded to the gills and fairly aromatic, most of the crew were intelligent and even cultured people fallen on hard times.

Some of them, of course, were just drunk dorks.

And none of them was Carson.  That was a given.

I stood there in the middle of my gabbing pals for a few seconds, watching him pick at his low-rent salad.  He looked moody, and dangerous, and about as ready to say “Bah, humbug!” as anyone I’d ever seen.

He glanced up at me, a streaking flame of blue, and then back at his greens.  I expected them to wilt in the  bowl and yell “Uncle!” in squeaky vegetable voices.

Fucking sexy as hell, too, of course.  And I ain’t talking about the veggies.

I casually meandered over, and watched him push dead plants around as I worked on my speech.  “Um---Carson?”

“What?” he growled, not looking at me.  “Don’t you have beer to buy for your underprivileged fans?”  Oh, he was pissy.

“Well---nah.  I gave Tom some bucks for that and told him to go crazy.  And underprivileged, hell!  Most of ‘em make more than I do in food stamps alone,” I couldn’t help pointing out.  “And, anyway, I guess I feel more like, um, white wine at the moment.” I gabbled this before my brain could figure out I was apologizing and stopped me from talking.  “I guess going to a fancy place ONCE won’t kill me.  If they can tolerate my clothes, I mean, damn if I’m puttin’ on a tie.  And if they have meat?  I ain’t talking to no salads.”

For a moment, I wasn’t sure if he’d even acknowledge me.  He kept studying his bowl of sprouts.  Then he spoke, so quietly I barely heard him.

“Sometimes, Keith, you go too far.  I need no proof that you’re quite insane.  Or very popular.”  There, that last, snarky remark was the real problem.  Now hadn’t I explained to him that wasn’t a biggie?  How could such a sexy guy be so insecure?  What a jerk!

Jerk indeed. He stood up without fanfare, leaving his salad.  He walked towards the door with a face like a mask.

I followed him, squawking like a parrot.  “Hey!  What the hell?  WHY the hell?!?!  I said I was sorry!!!!”

He glanced at me, cold as a glass of ice water and nearly as pale.  And spoke in a dead tone that cut me to ribbons.

“Why the hell?  Because I loved you, fool.  And most times it seems you don’t even care about that small detail!”

It took me a beat too long to adjust to the fact that he’d spoken in the past tense.  By the time I was un-stunned and moving my mouth as usual, he’d pushed past the various bums in the doorway and was disappearing into the graying afternoon.

I lost it, friends.  Forgot cool and couth, so totally. I leaped after him, calling his name in near terror. The only intelligent thing I’d done the whole day.

And naturally I ran straight into a bum with an open can of beer who was trying to get his ass out of the hamburger joint before he got hassled for the booze.  We went down hard in a spray of golden liquid and a storm of cussing on both our parts.

Bah fucking humbug.  In spades.