Chapter 18

Perry woke to the sound of his ringtone somewhere in the distance. He pushed up on one elbow and groaned. Dried spunk itched on his skin, sweat glued him to Deckard's sleeping form, and his asshole ached pleasantly, his toes much less pleasantly. Let the phone go. They can leave a message.

Although another shower might be a good plan. He eased up and off Deckard, who muttered, then woke.

"Hey, you." Deckard arched his neck, tilting his face up for a kiss.

Perry obliged. "Hey there."

In the distance, his ringtone cut out, then started up again.

"Is that your phone?" The drowsiness faded from Deckard's face.

"Ignore it. We've done our bit for the day."

"I suppose." But Deckard listened, a frown creasing his face, as the ring stopped, started again. After the third repeat, Deckard's phone rang in the bathroom. "Damn," he muttered. "Someone really wants us."

Noooo. Perry's plan was to clean up and then spend more time getting messy again. Maybe with a dinner break because the sandwiches they'd had in Deckard's office were hours ago and he was starving. "Let it go."

"That's my work ringtone."

"Crap." Perry got up and followed Deckard to the bathroom, since he was heading there anyhow and totally not because he wanted to listen in.

Deck picked up his phone. "Yes, sir?"

Perry could hear the lieutenant on the other end. "Is Crawford with you?"

"Um, yes."

"Tell him to answer his damned phone. No, never mind, put me on speaker." Once Deckard had tapped the icon, Jeffries said, "Crawford. Perry. Are you with us?"

"Yeah." He deliberately didn't say "sir." Jeffries could order Deckard around but Perry was a free agent.

"I need you to come in to Headquarters. Conference room two-seventeen."

Deckard said, "Respectfully, sir, he's had a long day. We both have."

"I know that. But there's a Captain Larrimore here from the army intelligence corps. I've been refusing to tell him where you're staying and he's not happy. Best I can do is have you meet him here, before he goes over my head."

Perry sucked in a breath. "What does he want with me?"

"To recruit you, I believe. Someone blabbed about your transparent power and the army's intrigued."

"Tell him I'm not interested," Perry blurted. "Plain and simple, right?"

"I don't think it's quite that easy. In any case, he'd need to hear it straight from your lips, not mine."

Perry exchanged panicked glances with Deckard. Well, he was panicked. Deckard just looked pissed.

"Give us forty minutes, sir," Deckard told Jeffries. "We need to clean up, change clothes, and eat something first."

"He won't be pleased but… sure, Crawford's a civilian. He doesn't owe the army anything. See you in forty." Jeffries cut the call.

"What do I do?" Perry waved his hands wildly. "It's like Boomerang said. But I can't hide my ability. It's on video now."

"You'll be okay." Deckard took his hands in a comforting grip. "First, we get clean and dressed. Then I'll make some food and you contact SPAM. You clearly aren't the only superhero the military has been interested in. Maybe they can help."

"Right." Perry blew out a breath. "Okay. Good thought."

Deckard hugged him. "You're not alone, got it? You have me and Jeffries and the whole bomb squad behind you now. No one's going to spirit you off into the military unchallenged."

Perry rose on his toes to kiss Deckard's mouth. "Thank you."

"Now a fast shower and some clothes to meet the military in."

"Right." Perry's brain had stopped gibbering in panicked circles and he thought of an old strategy he'd once considered. "I need my phone." He hurried down the hall past his underwear, then his shirt, jogging naked away from the bathroom. Guess I really do live here. At his discarded grubby jeans, he extracted his phone, hit Tucker's number, and headed back into the john, waiting for Tucker to pick up.

"Come on, come on."

Just before he'd have gone to voicemail, Tucker said, "Hey, Perry, you up for a night on the town after all?"

"Huh? No."

"I texted you like a dozen times. Are you ignoring me?"

I was being kidnapped and helping defuse a bomb. "It was a crazy day. I'll tell you soon." Soonish. "What I really need is to borrow a catsuit. The glitteriest, gayest one you have. I have to meet with an army captain and I want to horrify him out of his socks." Perry met Deckard's raised-eyebrow look in the mirror and grinned. Rainbows can be armor.

"Ooh, I can get onboard with that," Tucker said. "Pink with the feather boa, or rainbow lightning bolts?"

Perry gave it a moment's thought. He didn't want to go further than he could pull off and he wasn't sure about a boa. "Lightning bolts. That'll work with my purple sneakers." He was glad he hadn't worn those on today's adventure. "One more thing and I'll love you forever. Can you bring it to where I'm staying? I have to shower and eat and I only have forty minutes."

"The cop's house? Will I get to see tall, blond, and hunky again?"

Deckard laughed and Perry flushed. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Text me the address, girl. An emergency glow-up is on its way. You want makeup too?"

Deckard leaned close to the phone to say, "Sure. Let's sell it big."

"I like the way you think, blond and hunky," Tucker replied. "Heading out now."

Perry turned to Deckard. "You're okay with me sending him your address? He's not super-reliable but he means well."

"He's your friend, though?"

"Yeah. Best friend I have."

"Then he should know where you're now living. Do it."

Perry texted the information and set the phone down. "Do you think this idea's stupid?"

"I think it's creative. And as your boyfriend— I am your boyfriend?"

"Yeah, we can use that word." Perry couldn't suppress a smile, despite everything. "I like that."

"Then, as your boyfriend, I'm in favor of the military knowing exactly how queer we are, and that it's not any kind of secret leverage they can use against you. Whether queering it up works beyond that will depend on this Captain Larrimore and whether he's the kind of capital-A Army with a stick up his ass or more adaptable."

"I always vote for something up the ass."

"Let's hope."

Perry turned to the john. "Quick you-know-what and then we should shower."

"I'll go let Nix inside and make a couple of sandwiches while you go first." Deckard hugged Perry roughly and kissed his temple. "Get clean, boyfriend. I'll schedule a cab for us."

Fifteen minutes later, showers accomplished and most of the food devoured, the doorbell rang. Nix barked and Deckard looked up from the last bite of his ham and cheese. "That means the person's a stranger." He tipped his phone to Perry with the doorbell camera view.

"Yeah, that's Tucker." Perry stuffed the remnants of crust in his mouth, tugged the belt on his loaner bathrobe tight, and tagged along to the door.

Tucker, dressed in short shorts and a crop top, a bag in one hand, grinned up at Deckard as he came inside. "Hi again, big boy. Perry's got good taste. Do you do threesomes?"

"No," Perry snapped. "He doesn't."

Tucker wagged a finger at Perry. "Don't get touchy. It was just a thought. Now, let's pretty you up for the army guy, right?"

"Bathroom's this way." Deckard gestured.

Perry stripped off the robe and wriggled his way into the catsuit. The cuffs came up to his ankles because he had two inches on Tucker. Tucker tsked and knelt, rolling them to mid-calf. "It's okay. Capri length is in. Now makeup." He opened a case on the counter.

Holding still while Tucker penciled and contoured and shaded and eyelinered was hard, but Perry knew he couldn't do half as well in twice the time.

"There." Tucker stepped back. "Have a look, babe."

Perry squinted at the mirror, till Deckard passed him his glasses. Tucker had given him blue-and-silver eye shadow, with winged liner. In addition to heavy contouring, lipstick, and blusher, he'd drawn a matching lightning bolt in blue and silver on one cheek. Perry blinked at himself, seeing someone unfamiliar, like he'd lost himself. "What do you think, Deck?"

Deckard moved up behind Perry and his presence in the mirror, solid, back in his dark uniform, steadied Perry's fears. He checked Perry out from toes to hair. "I like it. A bit fussy for an everyday style, but I'd love to go to a club and watch all the men chase you."

Perry twisted to peer over his shoulder. "None of them would catch me except you."

"Aww," Tucker crooned. "Diabetic coma. What do you say, Perry? All good?"

He glanced at his phone. They were going to be late as it was and he needed to commit. "Great. Thanks. I owe you a big one."

"Take me out for drinks and tell me how it went. For a bonus, bring blond, muscley hotness with you."

The laugh that escaped his chest was welcome. "I'll do that."

Deckard said, "I'll see you to the door, Tucker. Perry, I have numbing cream in that drawer for your blisters, before you get your shoes."

They left Nix behind and got in the waiting cab, tipping the driver for cooling her heels while she waited. The middle-aged cabbie eyed Perry and snorted but didn't comment. In her presence, Perry didn't feel free to talk, so he clutched Deckard's hand down between their thighs and watched the streets of Nova City go by. When the cabbie let them off at Police Headquarters, she asked Deckard, "That guy going undercover?"

Perry lightened his voice to a fluttery contralto. "What? I can't be a cop who likes makeup?"

The cabbie snorted again, took her fare, and drove away.

Deckard held out a hand. "Ready?"

Perry didn't reach back, there on the steps of the building where Deckard worked. "You sure you want to do that when I look like this?"

"Positive." Deckard collected Perry's clammy fingers in his own. "Come on."

Conference room two-seventeen held a round table, four chairs, and two men in uniform. Lieutenant Jeffries in his bomb squad blacks sat opposite a tall, austere, gray-haired man in army green. Jeffries' eyes widened as he saw Perry come in and his lips quirked, then went neutral. The army guy raised both eyebrows and pressed his mouth in a thin line.

Score! Perry channeled Tucker and swished into the room with a lot of hip action, ignoring the protests of his insufficiently numbed toes. "Hi there, people folks! Sorry you had to wait. Me and the boyfriend were all sweaty and oops, you probably don't want to hear about that. But I couldn't come out with my face a mess. What's up?" He swung a chair out, sat down, and crossed one knee over the other, bouncing his purple sneaker.

Instead of sitting in the last chair, Deckard went and stood against the wall at Perry's back. The room was small enough that gave the effect of looming over the table. Perry approved.

The army guy turned to Jeffries. "Who is this?"

"Don't you recognize him out of the bomb suit? That's our superhero." Jeffries tipped his chin toward Perry. "He goes by the Interior Decorator."

"He… Right." The army guy fixed a stare on Perry. "Mr. Crawford?—"

"Who are you?" Perry asked, faking cool as anxiety fluttered in his gut. "That's not a police uniform. I know those well, because my boyfriend's wearing one. Oh, and all the lovely folks in his unit do too. You know they let me help defuse a bomb today? It was exciting but I almost threw up in my helmet. That would've been really embarrassing."

The man frowned even deeper. Hah, his face was going to stick that way. "I'm Captain Larrimore, US Army."

"Hi, Captain. You know, Jeffries is a lieutenant, but there's also a police captain around." Perry waved a limp hand at Jeffries.

Larrimore cleared his throat. "Yes. Well, the reason I'm here is to convince you that your nation needs you."

"My nation? Like, all of it? I'm just one guy."

"Your nation as represented by the US Army. You can help our brave fighting forces make a stand against?—"

"Fighting?" Perry channeled Tucker hard. "Oh, no, I don't like fighting. Well, wrestling, all those sweaty male bodies grappling and all, but that's more like acting, not actual nastiness."

"We're not asking you to fight. We want you to use your superpower to reveal traps and explosives and to let us see hidden clues to help us in the fight against terrorism."

"You said fight again."

The muscles in Larrimore's jaw rippled. "We don't want you to fight."

"A good thing." Perry buffed his nails on his catsuit, wishing they'd had time for polish. "That's not my strong suit at all. Now decorating, that I could help you with. That green uniform, for instance. It's completely the wrong color for your skin tones. For anyone's skin tones, actually. Who chose that? I couldn't alter the uniforms of the entire armed forces but I could make yours a much prettier color. Teal, perhaps? Or forest green?" He was tempted to convert the hat lying on the table, but settled for raising his hand, scrunching his face like he had to poop, and teal-ifying a patch of the tabletop next to it.

Probably a smart choice since Larrimore snatched up his cap. "Don't touch the uniform!"

"Oh, all right." Perry restored the table color with the same faked effort. "Meeting rooms then? They don't call me the Interior Decorator for nothing." He framed the side wall and said, "Lavender." The wall flushed a pretty shade of purple. "This is a calming shade. Very Feng Shui." He was totally talking out his ass. "Makes people more peaceful just looking at it, don't you think?"

Larrimore took an audible deep breath. "We want you to join the army?—"

"Oh, that uniform wouldn't suit me at all. And Basic Training? Shouting drill sergeants?" He didn't have to fake a shiver. Craning to look over his shoulder toward Deckard, he said, "There's only one sergeant I want giving me orders and that's you, right, poopsie?"

Beside him, Lieutenant Jeffries made a choked sound.

Deckard, bless him, said, "Right, puddin'-pie," in a perfectly calm tone.

"You see?" Perry turned back to the captain. "Me and the army would be a terrible mix. Why, I bet I'd have to get up before noon some days!"

Larrimore cleared his throat. "Your talent is unique. Your ability to see into places from the outside?—"

"Oh, dear, no." Perry was beginning to like interrupting Larrimore. His face turned more puce each time. "Not places. Things. Boxes and bags, unless they're lined, of course. I only work on the surface. If I made the effort to turn that wall transparent, for example, all you would see is the insulation, or maybe even the drywall. The paint might be its own layer. Hmmm." He tilted his head and put his finger under his chin. "Yes, I do believe it might be."

"The army offers many advantages to its people," Larrimore continued, wavering but not yet done. "Health care, higher education, housing, and I'm sure the pay would be well above what you're earning in a… mailroom, was it?"

"Oh, but that's just my other job," Perry said. "The army can't compare to the satisfaction of interior decorating. The joy of finding exactly the right shade of dusky rose for a bathroom wall." He clasped his hands on his chest. "No, no, even if you make me turn every tank in the army pink, it still won't compare to that satisfaction."

Larrimore said through clenched teeth, "We don't want you to turn all the tanks pink."

"A good thing, too. I don't have that kind of stamina. Well, I have some kinds of stamina." He rolled his eyes toward Deckard again. "Don't I, poopsie? I haven't heard any complaints."

"You're a wonder of stamina, puddin'-pie."

"But not for my colors. I might manage one tank a day. Maybe two. But then your men would be fighting over who got to drive the pink tanks, and I'd hate for folks to get jealous on my account. Really, I could just show you the color of fuchsia I think would be perfect and you could buy the paint. You have all those healthy young men… and women. I don't mean to be sexist, but it's the young men I'd watch, painting their tanks such lovely colors. Or maybe a rainbow. Why would you want them all pink when you could have an assortment?"

Larrimore squeezed his eyes shut for an instant. "I'm empowered to present you with a no-cost ticket and a stipend to come check out the Army Science Academy in Miami tomorrow?—"

"Oh, no, no, no. Florida? Have you looked at me? I'm a gay man, in case you hadn't noticed. So gay. Florida hates people like me. I'm not setting foot in that state. Really, you should move out of there too. When you start painting those tanks in rainbow colors, the stupid state government will probably accuse you of indoctrination."

"We're not painting rainbow tanks!"

"Well, that's probably just as well, if you're based in Florida. Not that I believe in capitulating to bigotry, but you know, their governor can get really nasty. Maybe I should write him a long letter."

Larrimore opened his mouth. Paused. Closed it again. Turned to Jeffries. "I think the US Army is unlikely to come to an understanding with the Interior Decorator."

"That's my assessment, too," Jeffries said, dry as dust.

"In which case, I'll take my leave." Larrimore pushed to his feet. "Gentlemen. Good afternoon."

They remained frozen until the door opened, then closed behind him, until they heard the click of his hard-soled heels move off down the hallway…

Jeffries doubled over with suppressed laughter, pounding his fist on the table. "Oh, my God. I hope someone was recording that."

"I hope they weren't," Perry said. The adrenaline that had carried him through the interview ebbed, and he put his face in his hands.

Deckard squatted beside him, laying hands on his shoulders. "Hey, you were awesome. I'm proud of you."

Jeffries snorted like a pig and gurgled, "‘Poopsie.'"

Deckard turned. "What do I have to offer you to forget that?"

"Not happening." Jeffries ran the back of his wrist over his mouth, which didn't erase his grin.

Perry clutched at Deckard's hands. "I'm so sorry, I was trying to be Tucker."

"I'm not sorry." Deckard leaned over and kissed him. "You vanquished the US Army and if that Larrimore has anything to say about it, I bet they never come back. I can handle a little ribbing."

Jeffries nodded. "Larrimore charged in here talking about how he was going to claim your talent for the military, and when I said you were useful here, he rode right over me. You changed his tune. It was a joy to watch."

"Oh. Thank you."

"I take it this outfit was a special effort? Or is this how you dress on your off-hours? No judgement."

"I had a friend lend me the clothes. And the makeup."

"Ah. Well, good job." Jeffries stood and stretched. "I'm out of here. You two should head on home too. You need some rest. Take tomorrow off, Deckard. In fact, I don't want to see either of you in the building for the next three days. Poopsie."

"Three days?" Deckard said. "I only had one day coming to me."

"And now you have three. Trauma recovery." Jeffries smile faded. "And that's not a joke. Today was a rough one, especially for the two of you. It may not all have hit you yet, but it will. Sleep, eat, enjoy time together. The department shrink is here for you, Deckard, and I'll tell her that Perry has access as a valued consultant. Get your heads back on straight."

"Yes, sir."

"Report on the seventeenth, Deckard. And Perry? You should consider if you want to be available to this department in the future, when your talent might be useful. I don't want to push you. This is dangerous and sometimes nasty work. But it's valuable."

"I don't need to think," Perry said. "I want to help, when I can." He stood and that reminded him. "One condition, though."

"Yes?"

"I don't mind using Wells's blast suit if she's willing to share, but I need my own boots. I think I'm going to lose a toenail."

Jeffries held out his hand and clasped Perry's in a warm grip. "I promise, we can manage that." He headed to the door, opened it, turned back to them. "Well done today, both of you. Very well done, all of it." The words felt like a father's blessing. As Jeffries closed the door behind him, tears welled in Perry's eyes.

He reached for Deckard, who pulled him into a tight embrace, and said, "It's okay. We're finished. Time to go home."

Perry choked back a sob, clutching him tight. "I'm getting makeup on your uniform."

"It washes. Won't be the worst thing I've had on it."

"What—? Ew, no, I don't want to know."

"You absolutely don't." Deckard hugged Perry, kissed his hair, then his temple. "Take however long you need. Then we're getting some fries and some ice cream, going home, and vegging on the couch watching some stupid reality show with Nix."

Perry sniffled. "What reality shows does Nix like?"

"Westminster Kennel Club, for one thing."

Closing his eyes, Perry relaxed into his boyfriend's arms. "I might have to try to find an interior decorator job after all."

"No rush. I can keep us in dog food."

"But I want to contribute. And I think I'd actually enjoy it."

"Then you should. You can send Larrimore a photo of a bathroom wall done in dusty rose."

"I pretty much want Larrimore to forget I ever existed."

"Sweetheart." Deckard laid his rough stubbled cheek on top of Perry's head and shifted them into a more comfortable embrace. "I'd bet Larrimore is currently doing everything he can to scrub the Interior Decorator from his brain. I, however, would like to take this guy dancing sometime."

Perry had started drifting, the adrenaline-drop catching up with him. He closed a hand on a fistful of Deckard's uniform shirt and hung on tight. "I'll get Tucker to take me catsuit shopping. I want one that covers my ankles."

"The first time I saw you, I thought you looked like a young Superman. Or at least, Clark Kent. I can't wait to show you off in spandex to a club full of men. Their tongues will hit the ground."

Perry thought Deckard was a bit biased, but he had no objection to hearing the flattery. "And maybe I'll dance with some of them, but only if you think that's hot, because at the end of the night, I'm going home with the man I love." Eyes closed, breath slowing, Perry found Deckard's hand, wove their fingers together, and took a moment to let that truth fill every empty space inside him.