15. CORIOLANUS

CORIOLANUS

The Present

“ S ORRY, man, I didn’t mean to get so didactic. My philosophizing and social commentary were getting a bit heavy there. That’s all great for an intellectual discussion but not very sexy.” Christian laughed playfully to reduce any lingering tension. “Let’s talk about something with a less polemic tone. Like, we can talk about your incredible ass! I mean, damn!”

Corey nodded and let out a hearty chuckle. “You’re funny. And I concur. Like I said, I want to go deep with you in many ways tonight, but perhaps you’re right. Maybe not so serious so soon. We can go that route on our next date.” He winked and ran his tongue over his top lip in a playful, suggestive manner.

Christian choked on his wine; his choice to take a drink that moment, he realized, was a definite mistake of lousy timing. Were they on a date? He did not expect that or even dared hope it could be possible. Was this not just a hook-up with some enjoyable social four-play thrown in?

“Um, are we on a date?”

“We can be on whatever adventure you— we wish,” Corey answered honestly. “I’m having fun. Let’s see where the night takes us. And I appreciate the compliment about my ass.”

Christian giggled as he nodded enthusiastically. “Sounds good. I hope you know I’m really enjoying myself here. I’m glad you came looking for me, Corey.’

“Me, too. So, are you originally from the GTA?”

“Yep. I was born here in Toronto. I grew up in what you’d call an upper-middle-class family in a large suburban home. I moved out on my own a year ago—and not soon enough.”

“Why? Were you abused?”

“Fuck no!” Christian scrunched up his face, surprised by the frank question. “God, nothing like that!” he laughed.

Corey never regarded the abuse of youth as amusing. And though he found Christian’s trivialization of such a lamentable situation odd, he chose to overlook it, blaming it on the young man’s still visible nervousness despite his enthusiasm .

“I’m a prodigy—and yes, I know how pretentious that sounds. I graduated from high school at fifteen and started at U of T right after. I’m beginning graduate school soon. I moved out at eighteen to experience life as an adult. Some University friends invited me to live with them. A couple of those guys were at the club tonight.

“My folks weren’t thrilled with me going out on my own into the big scary world at my age, but they didn’t have a say. Then or now. I have several scholarships, so I’m financially independent. I love ’em and appreciate their concern, but—you know. Parents can be too overprotective. Even stifling.”

Corey understood the need to be free from oppression, no matter how supposedly well-intentioned. “What’s your craft, prodigy?”

“Mathematics, but also music.”

“So, have you the gift to soothe the savage beast?”

“What? Oh, I get it. Ya, I’m good—great even. I’m a bass-baritone, and I’ve been compared to Gerald Finley. I doubt you know who that is.”

Corey rolled his eyes and snickered. “He’s a Canadian opera singer. You’d be surprised at my breadth of knowledge.” I’ve forgotten more than you’ll ever learn in your finite life, mortal. “Just because you saw me spread my ass and flop my dick around on stage tonight, don’t think you know me. You shouldn’t be so quick to prejudge my degree of culture. Didn’t you state earlier how that sort of thing irked you? ”

“Cripes!” Christian blurted out, immediately realizing what he said was unintentionally offensive. “I totally didn’t mean to denigrate you. Practice what we preach, eh!”

Corey raised his wine glass to Christian’s, still elevated in his hand, and clinked it. He smirked but said nothing; his silence spoke for him.

Christian looked mortified.

“Shit, Corey, it’s just that no one I hang with has the same interests as me. They’re all pop music and disco karaoke lovers. Liking and performing classical music and opera shunts me into a realm they don’t get—those things aren’t only for rich, uptight people who serve on boards.

“And, I mean, look at you! I assumed you were only into the alternative scene by how you dress. I guess making assumptions makes an ass out of me. Fuck.”

“It’s cool,” the god shrugged. “I shouldn’t have been so triggered. My appearance often makes people judge me quickly, as what I did tonight influenced your presumption. But that’s no excuse for me to get nasty or assume your statement’s intention was mean-spirited. See, making an ass of oneself isn’t just your shtick.”

Corey smiled and again winked flirtatiously, hoping to dissipate further the tension his knee-jerk reaction had stupidly set in motion. That kind of quickness to be offended was not a typical character trait of his.

The only things Corey felt could have triggered him were Christian’s resemblance to Olympius and the feeling of being belittled, however unintentionally. He hated this millennia-old emotional baggage related to power and control issues.

After all this time, he started to wonder if he should consider going into therapy.

“I’m sorry, handsome. Please continue. I want to hear more about you. Your music?”

The god knew he could easily acquire all the knowledge in the world about the mortal just by probing his mind. Or by drinking his blood, tasting the rich, metallic flavour of Christian’s two decades of life experience as it poured into his mouth in a red gush of ecstasy. But both methods of information gathering would end the night’s fun too early. The easy way was only sometimes preferable and rarely the most fun.

“Sure, Corey.” Christian winked back playfully, all feelings of unease now seemingly washed away. “I have to warn you, I tend to ramble on in florid detail about music. Aside from singing, I play various instruments masterfully, but most musical instruments are in my wheelhouse. How can I explain this? I sorta intrinsically understand any musical sound, how to make it, how to work the instrument, only needing to hear it played once.

“But that’s not to say I can’t and don’t create music myself. I do. I understand the theory of music, like how it works mechanically, acoustically, and emotionally. I hope I’m making sense. It can sound like abstruse philosophizing when I start postulating about my relationship with music, or so I’ve been told.”

“I understand what you’re conveying perfectly,” Corey stated warmly. “It’s all quite fascinating.” The god was glad he had not needed to resort to preternatural charm or psychic removal of memories to reset the scene to the beginning of their seating. Christian was eager to let shit go and get back in the moment, which put Corey’s mind at ease.

“Good. Like I said, I sometimes ramble when talking about music. I’d love to play something for you sometime—something of my creation.”

“Perhaps, one day, you will. Anything’s possible.”

“Awesome! I’d like that. And Corey, please let me know if I’m monopolizing the conversation.”

“I will, and you’re good,” the god assured. “I’d love to hear more.”

Christian smiled. He had been doing that a lot tonight, and if his facial muscles were sore in the morning, it was a price he was glad to pay.

“Okay, well, do you want to hear something more spicy? I can’t believe I’m about to reveal this. Talking to you, Corey, I mean, it’s just so fucking easy. Even with that slight hiccup earlier in the conversation. And from where we met, I highly doubt you’d judge me on this revelation. The thing is, I’m interested in S&M and some other fetish stuff, but I’ve been too timid to try any of it. How’s that for intimate information?

“Oh, and I’m gay, like homosexual, but I’m cool with the label queer . My parents are very accepting. They’re former 90s radicals who were prominent allies in the Act Up movement. They’re both university professors.

“And along with math and music, I love to draw, but I’m not really an artist. It’s more for fun ’cause I’m not that great. I love to draw people mostly. I enjoy doing portraits. It’s like a sliver of their being is captured forever on canvas or a simple piece of paper with nothing more than a pencil or stick of charcoal. That’s the power of drawing.”

Wonderful! How absolutely charming. I chose well tonight. The god was delighted, though his face remained frozen and his body still as he kept a necessary hold over his desire to pounce and feed.

“Don’t minimize your talent,” Corey stated with supportive intent. “I bet you’re better than you think. We’re always our own worst critic.”

“Ya, I guess,” the young man shrugged.

“Look at me, Christian, with your artistic sight.” It was a godly command, not a request, but done without aggression. “Describe how you see me.”