Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warnings:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau/Original Male Character(s)

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Original Male Character(s)

Additional Tags:

Sexuality Crisis, misogynistic language, mostly in refrence to locker room talk but cliff is a big dumb hockey player and not free of sin, Parasocial Relationships, Gender Themes, eventual forcemasc, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Language, sweat kink, Ilya Rozanov Has Good Gaydar, but he missed one, Stream of Consciousness, BAMF Shane Hollander, Everyone Loves Shane Hollander, Masochism, Daddy Kink, more like brief mention but i should probably tag that, Internalized Homophobia, Internalized Transphobia, comphet, Implied/Referenced Suicidal Thoughts, Panic Attacks, Transphobia, Homoeroticism, Male Homosociality

Language:

English

Series:

Part 1 of for years or for hours

Collections:

Anonymous

Stats:

Published: 2026-03-16 Updated: 2026-10-13 Words: 61,356 Chapters: 19/20

I have never known hunger

Summary

Cliff Marlow is not gay. He's not. Seriously. He'd know, right?

Notes

Title in reference to Hozier's 'In a Week'. Do not feed this work to AI.

Chapter 1

Cliff finds the channel by accident. He’s not really a DIY guy in the first place, and the few times he tried arts and crafts as a kid with rapidly developing giant hands mostly got him laughed at. He’s just fine only being good at hockey; if he wants food he buys it, if something breaks he gets it fixed. Anything more delicate than handling a stick isn’t for him, and whatever, it’s fine.

He doesn’t put much stock into it being gay, though. Food’s food, and paint’s paint. Anyone who spends hours carefully making some fiddly little thing is probably some flavor of insane, but he’s not going to knock the sheer effort.

This one is definitely insane, on first impression. He’s lying in a motel bed trying to block out Rozonov’s snoring with YouTube like usual, clicking through until he finds something interesting enough to take his mind off not being able to sleep. White noise does nothing, drinking until he drops works half the time but it’s terrible for everything else.

And that was how Cliff ended up watching an insane person build a dresser out of a log. The background foghorn faded away as he watched a sweaty Goth hack away at a solid chunk of wood, line up the pieces she’d cut and shaved, and swing what looked like a pretty heavy mallet to drive nails into it. The whole process, sped and cut until it was only thirty minutes of watch time, included treating, painting, and polishing the wood.

He can’t fully settle on why he keeps watching. The obvious answer is the hot Goth chick; she’s bigger than he usually goes for, built more like someone who spends most of her time doing weights than anything else. Biceps that really stand out when she’s lifting the wood, thick muscular thighs, her chest small like they get when a woman really pushes for gains. It’s not really that he’s into it specifically. He can just appreciate the dedication.

(And if he feels a brief twinge of inadequacy-then look, okay, he deserves a hamburger a couple times a week and if you’re having hamburgers a milkshake is necessary, and only some kind of twisted monster or Shane Hollander would turn up his nose at his Mom’s blueberry cobbler. So.)

He can see during the shots where she’s buying paint and metal that she has several piercings and tends to wear thick, detailed eyeliner that spirals and curls up the side of her face. Her hair is short in these clips, but when he scrolls down through her other videos it’s longer, wavier, a soft black waterfall over her shoulders. In the oldest ones she’s less built, bigger chest and less callouses, but she covers up more. Cliff goes back to the video still playing and has a new appreciation for the black tank top and the gray sweatpants.

Sweat drips down her neck. He thinks idly about licking it off.

He’s always liked sweat in a way it’s not a good idea to talk about, with how much time he spends in a locker room. It’s not weird, probably, just something primal that men don’t like to acknowledge. A thick, dark, musk that means we did something. He’s noticed a few of the other guys breathing deep, on a few separate occasions, which proves it isn’t just him.

But the women he’s with usually don’t sweat like that. And they don’t like it on him, either, and it’s just one of those things so he usually doesn’t let there be an occasion to even bring it up. It’s not like he wants to be a pungent caveman every day, either. It’s just that sometimes he lets himself indulge in it.

And he’s not great at math, but Cliff would say it’s about a 90% certainty that he’d get punched in the face and called something nasty if he ever said any of that out loud. Men get defensive over the shit they like to bury their heads in the sand about. Same reason you don’t even glance at someone’s pecker in the shower, even though both of you probably want to. Just to look. It’s a finely crafted piece of equipment, and they all brag about sex anyway, they all talk or talk around size and exaggerate and posture about it, so it’s always been kind of ludicrous to Cliff that he can’t just out and say “Nice cock. Really something there, brother.”

But that’s not how men compliment each other, because they’re all too scared of being called gay for it. And who wouldn’t be? He’s not gonna catch those consequences just so he can tell St Simon his balls look nice today.

It’s not sexual. It’s so not sexual. And he knows it’s not sexual because women compliment each other’s bodies like it’s nothing, breasts and all, and there is no way all of them can be lesbians. That’s just too many.

And if Cliff knows he can’t look or think too hard about his teammate’s dongs (which he would never actually do, for the record. Probably it would be crossing a line. He’s just-) then he definitely can’t look too hard at a chest. Even when those pectorals bounce. Especially then, because somewhere a wire got crossed in his head and tits got confused with pecs and now he looks at one like it’s the other. It’s. A problem.

Goth Chick is not helping. All the sweat and callouses and hands that make things and arms that lift things and that easy, smug confidence, that ambling swagger-

No, you know what’s not helping, the gray fucking sweatpants are not helping, because he’s forgotten like four times now and he keeps tracing the lines of it looking for-

He clicks on another video. Goth Chick builds a box, paints it black, spends a long time detailing skulls and birds (crows? Ravens? Are those the same thing, or is it like soccer and football and one’s different in England?) and gluing faux-velvet to the inside. When it’s done she uses it to store protein powder.

Rozonov keeps snoring. Cliff keeps not sleeping.

The channel is called ‘IvyGreenArt’, and he doesn’t know if that’s her name. It doesn’t really fit, in her new stuff; the earliest, he can see that woman being Ivy, tall and just this side of delicate, polite and clean. But the closer to latest upload the videos come, the more it tangles. The comments just call her Art, like it’s short for something else, and he gets a weird wash of shame about liking it.

There’s carpentry here, but it’s not all building furniture. Art also apparently recycles old clothes (and he had no reason to wonder if you could do that, but now he wonders why he never wondered), plastic bottles, cardboard, broken glass, tin cans, basically almost everything that wouldn’t be seriously unsanitary and makes stuff with it. He’s glued to it for three hours straight before he realizes he’s just watching a woman recycle her old garbage on the internet, but by then it’s too late. Cliff is unfortunately hooked.

It doesn’t look like crap, either. It looks freaky, a lot of it is freaky, and the dresser ends up painted like a crime scene with a life-accurate model deer skull stuck to the top, but by the time he’s onto her second channel he’s already subscribed to the first because at heart Cliff is just a weak man.

The second channel was created two weeks ago, and as of now it has seven workout videos and one apartment tour. He watches all eight of them, and then he has ten minutes to pretend to be asleep because he needs to get up in fifteen.

Chapter 2

Cliff keeps watching in his downtime. He watches both the craft videos and the workouts, and both of these turn him on.

He’s not the kind of jackass who thinks being attracted to muscular women is gay, because that’s really stupid. Being attracted to any sort of woman can’t be gay unless you are also a woman, and in that case it’s lesbian and he stays the hell away from all of that.

It’s another thing, right? It’s supposed to be hot to think about women having sex with each other. He’s wracked his brain trying to understand that, and years ago came to the conclusion that it was probably a biology thing. Twice the women meant twice the offspring, potentially, and bodies were stupid lumps of meat that knew nothing and should be ignored, so that way it did make sense. Too many men who didn’t care enough about making people uncomfortable to detach their caveman brain.

Which made him angry, when he thought about it too long-what, you’re so sensitive about it when it’s about other men in the shower but not when it’s chicks telling you to fuck off?

Maybe evolution or his genetic code or something decided that wasn’t going to happen for Cliff, because he’s never been able to get into it. He’s always had the sense, when looking at girl-on-girl, that this was private and closed to him. Not necessarily that it was some moral failing, just to look, but that he was doing something that would seem ridiculous if he thought too hard about it. The whole affair was pretty lackluster, and kind of faintly uncomfortable. Why am I doing this?

But anyway. The only thing that makes a man gay is being into dudes, so Cliff’s not worried about that. He doesn’t know why he’s so bent out of shape about being attracted to Art, but he is and it’s weird.

He knows it’s rude to say a chick looked like a dude, that they didn’t like that. Women could be muscular and still look like women. He even knows just from listening to his sister blow up about it that chicks didn’t actually like being treated like ‘one of the guys’ because they weren’t one of the guys and that dynamic was always going to exist in some capacity, that it was better to just treat your friends like people first. He wasn’t sure how that would actually work in practice.

But Art looks like a dude, and he’s not just being a dick, okay, she does. It’s a bunch of things-it’s the hands, the way she walks, the way she speaks. It’s driving Cliff insane. He might actually be insane at this point.

“Yup.” she’d say, thumbs-up, when asked a question. Or “Nope”, not even looking at them, or at the place on screen she’d edit in a comment to respond to. Not stiff, in the way girls got when they didn’t like you and wanted you to leave where they spoke as little as possible. This was easier. Relaxed. Like it was all she needed to say and she didn’t care about...being open to the audience, or whatever.

She’d used to. Her old videos had a lot of that. Soft voice, lots of talking, smiling. But by the time Cliff finds her, she’s dropped all pretense of being gentle and available and sensitive. She grunts out a one word reply, barely pausing in whatever she’s doing.

And she seems so much more alive for it, is the thing. She moves like she owns the room and everything in it, smirks like she’s won something, breathes like she’s glad to have air in her lungs. Gets her hands dirty and cleans them off under a hose and doesn’t seem to take any of that for granted.

You can’t know people off the internet, or whatever. Cliff doesn’t know her. He’s just…

Interested.

He watches Art lift in the workout videos, catches himself looking at the dark hair he can see underneath her arms, lightly trailing her legs. Not a lot. When he starts dreaming about it, there’s way more.

Cliff’s never had a problem with getting distracted on the ice. If there’s an issue, then there’s an issue and he’ll deal with it later. Compartmentalization, he thinks it’s called. It’s not like people can see from the outside that he’s fixated on this, so he plays hard and works out hard and drinks hard and keeps his eyes where they should be in the locker room. The silent contract stays intact.

It’s not gay, he reminds himself, watching Art cut up an old sequined dress she’s turning into a jacket. She’s showing enough chest through this video’s raggedy dark tanktop that it’s probably fine. Even if her nipples press against the fabric in a way that reminds him more of the shit Roz wears, than anything else.

And it’s also not gay to acknowledge to himself that Roz is fuckin’ ripped. It’s jealousy, probably, and them being friends is what makes it softer. He thinks about running his hands over those biceps because he wants them.

The lips, too. He’s got a nice mouth. Chicks are always all over him, and he’s talked generally about how men that don’t eat pussy are cowards too scared of getting on their knees to have good sex, and that’s why they can’t get anybody to stick around longer than a night. Cliff had taken that advice, gotten pretty good feedback, thought about Roz on his knees between a pair of thick, solid thighs while he did so. To perfect the technique.

“Yup.” Art says, in response to a comment on the last video that asked ‘did you make those bookshelves?’

Those were in the apartment tour. They’re huge, floor to ceiling, painted like she always does, with raven carvings. He looked it up. They’re different from crows.

“Wow.”

Cliff just barely manages not to flinch. Roz leans over his shoulder, the heady smell of his sweat pressing into him like something physical. His tank top is damp with it. His pecs are pressing against his arm, his back.

Roz is a touchy guy. They’ve all pretty much written it off as a European thing, and at this point it’s just a Rozonov thing. He’ll slap you on the back, kiss you on the cheek after a spectacular win, press his body against yours if you just so happen to be in the way until your mouth goes dry and your stomach twists, but not in revulsion. More like it does when you get something sweet with your morning coffee but don’t want to share it, so you sneak into the bathroom and gobble it down there. It’s an envy thing.

He’s seen Roz shirtless. He’s also seen some of his cousin’s pervy anime stuff. If Roz pressed his bare chest against the back of Cliff’s head, he’d be buried there.

Was that sexist? Probably. Emasculating, anyway, and he doesn’t want to deal with that so he doesn’t voice the thought.

“You are watching sewing tutorial?” Roz asks.

Dry mouth makes it hard to talk. “Nah.”

“Ah. So you are watching for her.” he reaches out, taps the screen. Cliff bats him away, but he doesn’t move from where he’s practically draped over his back.

“Yeah, she’s hot.” God, she’s so hot. He wonders if she’d smell like dark, musky effort.

His dreams have always been weird, probably because he doesn’t get a lot of sleep anyway. Wet dreams are always weirder. It’s really nothing to think too hard about.

Lately, they’ve put Art in the starring role. He doesn’t fuck her, which isn’t anything unusual, and she slaps him around a bit, which also isn’t. Most of Cliff’s sex dreams involve him getting the crap beaten out of him while he takes it, sucks their fingers into his mouth after, until he either wakes with the burning need to nut or already having done so. It’s kinky, and he won’t deny that, but it’s pretty comfortably straight. Getting off to women smacking him maybe just makes Cliff pathetic, and that’s not gay. He thinks it’s actually probably homophobic to imply that.

Still. He always has that moment of panic, afterwards. It’s never kitten heels and chicks with big tits and a whip. He’s seen enough porn to know that’s what a lot of guys are into, that it’s not all that weird, objectively.

It’s just-violent. Less ‘Fifty Shades of femdom’, and more like a dog with a rabbit. Or a pair of coyotes that decided that one of them was going to tear into the other, and the other one just let it happen. Not to death, or anything. They were never nightmares.

Just violent. He doesn’t know what it means.

He’s not sure he wants to.

Another guy Cliff is comfortably jealous of is Shane Hollander, which is pretty normal. If he’s not the actual best player in the league, then he’s constantly vying for the top spot with Rozonov right behind him. And the guy fuckin’ works for it.

Hollander posted a workout video once, and along with the documentary there’s a few short yoga tutorials. Getting that bendy takes effort, clearly, and he’s obviously pretty proud of the results. He’s caught Roz watching all of these at least once, so he knows he’s not the only one. Recognized something in the look, too. It was impressive, made them want to get on that level. If they weren’t against each other it might even be inspiring.

And the thing about Hollander is he’s not passive. He’s restrained. That’s an incredibly important distinction.

Cliff has never been on the receiving end of a Hollander beat-down, and they’re rare; it takes whatever Scott Hunter famously pulled or someone as shit fuckin’ stupid as Dallas Kent to push him that far. But once Hollander is pushed, he goes all in.

And honestly, he didn’t even see it. That’s how fast the whole thing was over-when he watches the footage back, Kent is being his smug shitstain self one second, and the next Hollander is dropping gloves, grabbing him by the back of the neck, three hits and the fucker’s down.

“I guess Hollander can handle himself, huh.” someone says, nudging him. It’s his house they’re watching the game at, so he should probably be paying attention. Cliff says something in agreement, the replay probably burned into the back of his eyelids for the next couple weeks. The Scott Hunter fight did something similar.

“He is good fighter.” Roz mumbles into his drink behind them. Last time he looked, their Captain was on his phone.

And that’s why Cliff is so sure it’s all part of that masculine drive, right-because clearly, Rozonov is the same. He loves this. At this point in his life, Cliff doesn’t know how he’d live without it, without being able to breathe their air, smell them, be part of them. He thinks sometimes he knows what it means to be ‘one of the guys’, that they call it brotherhood but it isn’t, not really, it’s being men in a group with a common goal, a purpose that holds them together.

And if that’s true, then what Patty said made a whole lot more sense. He doesn’t know how he’d survive if he was trapped on the other side of an unbreachable wall, if he could see them like this but never touch it. He feels a kind of hollow ache sometimes when he thinks about existing in the in between; too macho for girl groups, but never man enough for the men. Maybe Art had to face that wall, and decided she was better off on her own without any of them. He could respect that. There’s a sort of noble loneliness to it.

When he watches her newest video that night in his own bed, he thinks about it. She’s finished the jacket, which now has gold buttons and a turned down collar. It’s vibrant, shiny, loud. Not something you could really ignore, not something that blended in. Black sequins, gold buttons, thick shoes with looped metal chains attached.

Huh, Cliff thinks.

Chapter 3

Clothes aren’t something Cliff thinks about. He doesn’t really even care about name brands-the point, he thinks, is to cover up and keep warm, and for men that’s as far as it can go. You wear a suit to important events, you put on a hat when it’s cold, and it really doesn’t matter at any other time what you’ve got on. It wasn’t something guys thought about. It was effort to even dress up for a date, and it wasn’t supposed to make sense because chicks were the ones who had a feel for what looked good. Chicks and gay guys.

That’s something Roz gets away with, or doesn’t care about. Whenever there’s room enough to put something together that manages not to be just clothes on a body but something you could call an outfit, he knocks it out of the park.

The jacket Rozonov’s wearing tonight, a thick dark gray, has black buttons down the sides and at the cuffs, and it somehow manages to show off his shoulders. The pants are cut in a confusing way, purposeful instead of utilitarian, like they’re meant to hug his thighs like that, meant to make you look. His crucifix somehow manages to tie the whole thing together even though it’s always there. It’s subtle. It doesn’t shout. It’s just comfortable.

Cliff is wearing a hoodie he threw on right before leaving for the bar. He looks normal.

Art mostly wears the tank tops and sweatpants, stuff she probably doesn’t mind getting dirty. Chicks take care of their clothes, wash them carefully and follow all the instructions on the tags. When she’s not doing dirty work though, she wears a lot of the stuff he’s watched her make. The jackets, the shirts, the thick pants with a million pockets down the sides. All black with a few accents, here and there. Chains and dangling skulls and spiders hang off of her like they want to be looked at.

His mom has had one fur coat for as long as he can remember. She only wears it for really special occasions, so he’s seen it maybe a handful of times in his life. It’s gray, long, soft. The inside is all smooth black fabric, and the pockets are really deep. He doesn’t know if it’s real or not, but he sure thought so when he was a kid. He used to think of it has having been an animal once, something warm and alive that was now dead. It looks good on her, because everything does.

Cliff thinks about that coat sometimes.

Whenever he thinks about Scott Hunter now, it’s with an edge of something he doesn’t think he likes in himself, or doesn’t know what to do with. It’s not that he’s uncomfortable with having played against a gay guy. Cliff doesn’t hate gay people, and he thinks it’s pretty stupid that people get so bent out of shape about it. Being gay is fine. He’s not sure how any of it works, but since he’s straight he figures he doesn’t need to.

He watched the kiss happen, said “Good for him”, and that should have been the end of it. It’s not, because people got bent out of shape, and it’s a thing now. Which is stupid. It’s not like he did something wrong, and if anything all the bullshit just proves what a bad idea it is to make guys question anything.

It’s weird. He feels weird about it. He can’t say it isn’t the gay thing, but it’s not that the gay thing is weird, but it’s all weird.

He doesn’t like that. He thinks if he expressed any of this to Patty she’d say it was homophobic, so he doesn’t talk about it.

Cliff almost thinks a couple of times that if he did say anything, he’d end up saying more than he wanted to. That maybe the silent contract would get violated in front of people who wouldn’t understand it, and he’s never been great at articulating himself clearly.

It’s not revulsion, is the thing. He watches Art put together a coat made out of several discarded skirts and an old blanket, and he can almost place what it feels closest to. It’s next to the weirdness he gets when he’s watching her exist.

Some kind of masculinity issue, then. He’s just being macho. It’ll pass.

Art has a Twitter account. It’s new. He follows it, not really thinking about it that hard.

Mostly, she posts bits and pieces of upcoming videos. A half finished carving, a chunk of metal work, an old piece of clothing being taken apart by fabric scissors. Sometimes she posts pictures of herself, and that’s his justification if anybody asks.

Cliff doesn’t read the replies anymore. One too many people said something about fucking with gender and he almost deleted his account right then and there, like they’d popped a plastic bag next to his ear to make him jump. Or threw a grenade at his face. He does not-

It’s not like he couldn’t have figured that one out. He’s not that smart, but he’s also not that dumb. He knows about gender. It’s a thing. People get bent out of shape. He doesn’t really care, personally, what other people do.

So he just doesn’t read the replies.

He pulls a few all-nighters in a row, while he’s at home. It’s harder to sleep without Roz in the room. And he knows that sleep deprivation will make his weird dreams even weirder, so he’s not going to stress too hard about them after they’re over and done with.

They don’t exactly make Cliff want to go back to sleep, though.

“You look rough.” Patty comments.

“Haven’t slept.” Cliff yawns, then rests his head on his folded arms. “Wake me up when there’s meringue.”

“Absolutely not. If you fall asleep I’m stealing yours.”

He’s almost tempted to let her. The little family owned restaurant she likes to drag him to when he’s in town is quiet enough today without being empty, and the familiar voices are making whatever is clenching in his chest relax. It’s nice. He could fall asleep, she wouldn’t abandon him here.

“Trouble at work?” she prods, then pokes. Cliff is too tired to do anything about it.

“Nah.”

It’s been fine. It’s separate from whatever is going weird in his head, and he’s good at keeping it that way. Maybe he needs to get laid.

Probably wouldn’t be a great look if he passed out right after, or during, though. Sex takes a lot out of a guy.

“So…”

He lifts his head just a bit, enough to stare at her across the table. She’s wearing a white button-up sweater held together with a cat pin. Her hair is held back by a white claw clasp, or whatever those are called. It’s long, but it’s the same dark color as his and near enough the same texture. But Patty’s eyes are lighter, her face rounder. Cliff is all gangling limbs and sharp angles.

“So what?” he asks.

His sister rolls her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

What? “Nothing.”

“You’re being weird.” she accuses him.

“You’re already weird.”

“Oh, shut up. We’re adults, act like it for once in your life.” she snaps.

He’s way too tired for this. “Well, this adult is fine and doesn’t know what you’re talking about.”

Patty clearly doesn’t believe him, but thankfully lets him off the hook anyway. For now. If she thinks she spotted something she’ll come back to it later.

“So, Scott Hunter, huh?”

Never mind. This is worse.

“Yeah.” Cliff says. “Good for him, right? Nice guy.”

Probably. He doesn’t know him or anything, but he’s had a reputation for it long enough that he thinks it’s probably got a grain of truth to it. He’s always seemed to back it up. Cliff is getting really sick of feeling like he has to somehow defend the guy every time his name pops up. Always waiting for the other person to say “Actually no, I don’t think so, I think he sucks and homosexuality doesn’t belong on the ice.” And do what, in response to that?

He’s a had a few examples to go by, at this point. Carter Vaughn has stood by Hunter throughout what at times feels like a shitshow from the public, and the Admirals as a team are pretty solidly behind him. They’re not just letting the vultures eat him alive, and that’s good. He’s happy about that.

A lot of “Good for him”. “Great guy.” He really doesn’t know why it’s stressing him out so much.

It’s a good thing. Hunter’s happy with his weirdly buff barista guy, he’s not being fired or traded or anything. Cliff really should not care this much, it's been six months. He doesn’t know why he does. Why he finds this whole thing vaguely upsetting in a way that squirms away from him when he tries to pin it down.

“Yeah.” Patty smiles at the waitress when she brings over the food. And then she’s back to looking at Cliff like he’s a bug she’s holding under a magnifying glass so she can better twist the wings off.

He yawns again. He really can’t help it. Maybe he should make the forty five minute drive over here every night and pay the owners off to let him sleep here at a table for just an hour.

“I’ve just been thinking” she starts, which is never good, “it must have been rough, right? Hearing all that bullshit every day? You heard his speech, right?”

Cliff shrugs.

“I guess, yeah. Sucks.”

“Yeah.” she says, and her eye contact is very intense right now. That’s her ‘you need to do something’ look.

Do what? If Cliff could end all bigotry forever, he’d be a dick not to at least try. But that’s probably not going to happen. That shit is stained all over the league, so deep you’d hit dinosaur bone trying to dig it all out. All he can do is shut people up when they’re slinging around slurs. Roz doesn’t put up with that shit, and that makes it easier, but it’s still not something he can just remove. Not on his own.

She doesn’t mean it like that.

“How are the Bears for that kind of thing?”

“Pretty good.” he says. “I think we’ll get better, even. It’s not like we’ve got any actual gay guys on the team, so there’s probably shit we don’t think about. Lotta talk going on about what’s not cool to say, so.”

“Right.” Patty says. “You sure about that?”

Cliff stares at her.

“Cliff. Seriously?”

“What?” he asks, feeling like he’s about to hit the pavement at fifty miles an hour.

“Oh my god. Don’t tell me you’re actually that dumb.”

“Okay”, he croaks, “I won’t tell you.”

“Oh my god.” Patty groans, like he’s being a massive idiot and his lungs aren’t actively trying to climb out of his mouth. “Cliff. Scott Hunter is gay.”

“I know?”

“You can’t tell just by looking at somebody!” she exclaims. “There could be a dozen gay players all across the league, and you’d have no idea until they told you. And if things keep being toxic? They will never tell you.”

Oh.

“No, yeah, that makes sense.” he picks up his fork. “Yeah. Okay.”

“So all the-”

Cliff nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I get it, that’s-mindfuck, but makes sense. Yeah.”

“Do you get it?” Patty asks, crossing her arms. “I saw that expression, sir. Hypothetical gay people aren’t going to go for you in the-”

“I know! Fuck, Patty, I get it.” he huffs a laugh. “Wouldn’t go for me anyway, right? This ugly mug?”

“You are not ugly.” she smacks him.

“True. My hockey butt makes up for the face.”

“Shut up, ew!”

He does think about that, later. He’s always been so sure that they’re all straight. Cliff has never questioned that before.

It’s...not the same as watching the kiss. Or the speech. This is less outside of what he can touch. This is inside, in his own team, where maybe it’s home ground, where maybe it could be honest. If it could be anybody, maybe he already knows him. He'll just have to make sure things keep getting better.

Oddly enough, he sleeps pretty soundly that night.

Chapter 4

Chapter Notes

Cliff has always kind of had a thing for being a tall guy. It’s probably another one of those conceited masculinity things, but he does like being bigger than most of the people he’s around, especially other men. In a way that’s hard to really put to words, because it’s not necessarily that he’s the top dog in every or even most situations. He’s just got a certain awareness that he’s taller than Roz for example, while his Captain is a practically unquestioned authority. Roz is qualified for the job, he’s got the skill, got the muscle, got the know-how. Cliff is content to follow his command. He trusts him. There’s a very warm safety in that.

He doesn’t love being clumsy, or the way men automatically size him up against themselves that’s always more that's a threat to the hierarchy than I’d like to punch him. He knows it’s not something that can be helped, really. It’s automatic. It’s also depressing, because he doesn’t want to challenge the pecking order or create a new one or move up a space. He just wants shit to actually work, and shit tends to work best when he listens to people who know what they’re doing. If he’s on the ice, that’s Roz. If he’s trying to figure out why his car is making noises, that’s Patty.

It’s weird though, because the thing seems not to matter much when he’s with chicks. If anything, the closest he could come to naming the feeling he gets when really looking at himself next to a slender, delicate, shorter woman is the first time he was seriously injured and woke up in the hospital. A sort of hazy confusion that couldn’t be touched, really, and just hung there waiting for Cliff to catch up. It’s flat. Well. Here I am.

He’s not sure what to make of it, so he doesn’t think about it much.

But it feels good when he knows he’s done great work, and it’s not at all diminished by another man being the one to slot him into place to facilitate that. He figures that’s how societies get built in the first place, that it’s really not so unusual. That’s just teamwork. All the hyper-aggressive dominance addicted macho types wouldn’t even be here if not for guys like Cliff, so the joke’s on them, really, in the end.

He’ll make one very lucky woman very happy one day, reads the first comment under Shane Hollander’s four minute workout video. Cliff can’t help but agree. Watching those arms strain and bend and bulge is mesmerizing. Hollander keeps things private, but he has no doubt the guy fucks like a champion. He is one.

Man, that really would be something. All that strength focused and locked onto a single point. All that determined, measured energy slowly eroding until he lost his composure. Something similar to when he drops gloves, but more so, drawn out longer, a bigger climax.

He wonders how good Hollander is with his tongue. Wonders if he knows, as Roz puts it, how satisfying getting his head squeezed between someone’s thighs feels.

Siri is it possible to get pregnant from a video, read another comment. Cliff briefly imagines that, puts away his phone, and finishes getting ready for tonight’s game.

Cliff is high off a win and probably needs to get laid, but he’s having too much fun tonight to think about chicks. He’d rather go back to the motel room and jerk off in the shower, honestly, and then settle down to watch YouTube for a few hours with a bag of sour gummy bears. That sounds like heaven.

He’s so drunk. Connors dared him to get the-is ‘fruity’ homophobic? It feels homophobic. It’s not even that accurate anyway, because it tasted more like candy than real fruit. It was a cherry-strawberry fizzy thing with a little umbrella and an actual cordial cherry in it, sugar around the rim, and it was like if soda was vodka. He’d sucked it down way too fast, and then tried another one.

Roz found him thirty minutes later, halfway into the fourth. Cliff never had fantastic restraint when it came to sweet things.

“I’ve been drinking beer my whole life.” he tries to explain now. “Beer.”

“Your whole life?” Connors asks.

“That explains some things.” St Simon claps him on the shoulder.

“You don’t get it.” he waves the gummy octopus that came in the last cocktail around for emphasis.

Roz is staring at him with a huge smile on his face, cheek resting on his fist, openly laughing at him. He thinks this is hilarious.

“It’s-like, not-I’m not gay, and it’s not gonna make me gay-but it’s okay if other people are gay.” he stresses, so that if either of them are the gay-teammate-who-might-exist they won’t feel unsafe. Or something. Cliff takes another big gulp of lemon-lime tinged with vanilla.

“I just don’t know what was stopping me. It’s so good, I wish somebody told me it was good and it was okay.”

They practically have to drag him back to the motel in the end, he gets so fucked up. He’s just coordinated enough to take a piss and then stumble into bed, and when he finds the bag of gummy bears under his pillow, strategically placed there while he was sober enough to make plans, he makes a sound that prompts another rare, genuine Rozonov laugh.

Good day.

“You are still watching sewing person, then?” Roz asks a few days later, glancing at his phone as he comes by with his cup of coffee.

“Still hot, so, yeah.”

“Hm.”

There’s something about that sound that makes him pause. He sends him a questioning look.

Roz shrugs.

“You got something to say about that, brother?”

And if it’s the thing people in the comments like to jump to, he’s not interested in hearing it. If there’s one subject Art has been very clear about lately, it’s that she’s not a lesbian. Every now and again she’ll respond to one of the more well meaning or even positive messages she gets about this with something casual and very blunt, but slightly more polite than she often is. And he gets why she makes the extra effort to be kind to them, because lesbians get so much shit on the internet and everywhere else that it’s just depressing. So much so that a small but infuriating group of really disgusting people keep hounding Art with a mix of sexual harassment, finger-wagging about how she’s being sinful and perverted, and idiots who think she’s corrupting the youth and spreading her man-hating lesbian agenda with her DIY crafting channel.

Not that he thinks Roz is thinking any of that. But Cliff isn’t so much of a creep that he’d trot after an actual lesbian like a dog who smelled food in someone’s pocket.

“I agree, is all.” is what the guy says instead, bafflingly. “Very sexy. Biceps.”

Cliff snorts, relieved. “She definitely is.”

Roz takes a long sip of coffee. Glances down at Art again, as she’s stitching an unnecessary zipper onto her latest coat. Less of a thing to keep her warm in the cold, and more of a show-off thing with a bunch of complicated flashy bits. He never really thought about clothes being fun, really, before he saw some that were.

“Sexy, ah, stubble, too.” he flicks at his own face with his free hand, tracing the path down his cheeks.

“Yeah.” Cliff says, then realizes for the first time that there is, in fact, stubble to exist sexily. Huh. That was new, actually.

Huh.

“Huh.” he says, out loud.

Roz watches him. He doesn’t know what’s happening in his head, but Cliff himself can’t really muster up anything else. Other than the distant, encroaching thought that possibly, he’s a bit of an idiot.

He scrolls through the comments. Other people have pointed out the faint dark hair along Art’s jaw, short and patchy, shaved down but not to smooth it. It looks like the stuff that started growing on his own face near the end of puberty.

Art hasn’t responded to any of this but that’s pretty normal. Selected comments edited on screen are all the attention they’re given, these days. He’s made a game of it in the past, trying to predict which ones will get a brief, curt answer.

So. Okay.

Cliff isn’t the kind of guy who sits around and thinks about things. He’s not good at it, for one, and he’s generally got a lot on his plate. For some reason, this just stays in his mind and won’t leave.

It’s...it feels like it shouldn’t be a big deal, and it’s not, because it’s not his life and he doesn’t know shit, really. But it’s also a huge deal. Earth shatteringly huge. Monumental.

He goes back and forth between uh, cool, not my life so I need to stay out of it and oh.

Oh, he thinks, when he’s scrolling through Twitter and sees a still from that video. The hair on Art’s knuckles is darker than it was before. Or maybe it’s thicker. Or maybe he’s imagining it because he’s a sick, invasive creep.

Oh, no, he thinks, which is a completely different thought and the drop in his stomach this time is decidedly not the swooping sensation from before, when something catches in his head. A thought, or a feeling, or something.

Cliff is not the introspective type. It’s hard to tell what exactly things mean when they pass through his brain, and he’s always been under the impression that’s just the way men are built so it doesn’t usually bother him. Until now, it’s never felt like active avoidance.

When conclusions reach for him, he doesn’t try to flinch away.

It’s another thing he wants to take to Patty, at this point. It’s childish. It’s stupid. He knows what she’ll probably tell him. That he’s being-transphobic? Was that the word? Was that what he was, at this point?

Because he can tell, just like with the Scott Hunter thing, that it’s not revulsion. He doesn’t feel grossed out or angry or some kind of selfish entitlement over Art’s body, and he kind of knows that’s probably not where those things stop, that homophobia can be more complicated than people think on the surface so this probably is too. But what he does feel is something.

The swooping is a sensation he doesn’t know if he can call good, but it feels good. It feels terrifying and like he’s about to die but he doesn’t want it to abandon him. It makes a lump form in his throat and he starts sweating a lot, but it’s a warm sweat and not a cold sweat. It only turns cold when Cliff is left with his own thoughts too long and his stomach drops out of his ass, and the shame punches him square in his gut.

And he shouldn’t be reacting like that, right? No matter what’s happening, that should not be Cliff’s reaction to whatever this is. It’s too much. He’s a big dumb man who plays major league hockey. None of the options he’s avoiding right now have room for that in them.

‘Am I transgender text google.com’

‘test for trans’

‘are trans options besides trans woman’

‘is attraction to trans male mean gender wrong’

‘can straight men date trans male even though trans male is type of man???’

‘does google record search histrory’

‘how to delte search history’

‘does wanting shane hollander to choke me mean gay for men’

‘shane hollander confused attraction support group reddit’

‘r/shanehollandersbuttmademebi’

‘r/trans’

‘how to tell if im transphobic test online free’

‘r/IvyGreenArt’

‘why is r/IvyGreenArt full of creepy men’

‘am I evil for transgender attractive to me’

‘what is a chaser’

‘how to tell if im chaser test’

‘all transgender variations list descriptions’

‘is it transphobic to think trans male person hot as straight man because they are masculine’

‘attracted to transgender male because of hair and muscles NOT chest or genitals im straight’

‘attracted to transgender male because of hair and muscles NOT chest or genitals im straight MALE’

‘all pronouns transgender list alphabetical’

‘am I stupid test online free’

‘r/cliffmarlow’

‘r/ilyarozonov’

‘r/shanehollander’

‘r/greatestpecs’

Cliff’s night of frantic Google searching ultimately leads him nowhere, and he comes out of it just as confused as he was before.

Art hasn’t paused his (their? No idea. There are so many pronouns. There are so many) upload schedule at all, seemingly unbothered by the explosion in the comment section. And on Twitter, but Twitter was always kind of weird about Art. Especially because now, a lot of those same people are furious.

It’s a lot.

He doesn’t know how Art is actually coping with it, but he seems okay in the videos. He has not clarified a single thing, made a single statement, or indicated for even a second that anything has changed beyond the actual, physical changes. The facial hair is clearly still growing in, the hair on his hands and fingers and arms is thickening, and he’s starting to get acne like a teenager.

“Yup.” he says, in response to one of the normal, respectful comments that asks if he’s going to put a raven sculpture over the top of a commissioned cabinet in a style he’s shown before.

“Nope.” he shakes his head when someone asks if he’s going to go back to a glue brand that once pissed him off so much he stopped using everything they made out of spite.

‘if straight man dates trans man can he be girlfriend so trans man can be the boyfriend reddit’

As if he didn’t already feel like enough of a creepy pervert, Cliff’s sex dreams went from fairly standard for him to...whatever the hell this was.

Art petting him like a dog, telling him to roll over, and then putting his dick down Cliff’s throat and telling him to suck, which was the first time he’d dreamed about an actual, genitalia specific sex act in like ten years. Hollander scoring against them four times in a row, then skating up to him and telling him very kindly that since he’d failed at the only thing he’d ever been good at he unfortunately had to be penalized now, and then he proceeds to beat Cliff’s head against the rink until he cums all over his back.

The worst ones involved Cliff’s Captain. Apparently, his unconscious (or subconscious? He’d always gotten those confused. That one sex novel hadn’t helped.) was preoccupied with the idea of Roz spanking him. And in some sort of twisted replacement for the normal sex dreams, this time Rozonov was the one to pat him on the head, tell Cliff he’d done a good job, and then let him suck on his fingers.

None of the dreams involved chicks at this point. One humiliating, horrible dream starred Scott Hunter.

The worst part? Every nut from then on was the runner up contender for best one he’d ever had.

Chapter End Notes

Hope I managed to balance out the genuine panic/angst here with levity. I did go back and forth quite a bit with how heavy I wanted this to get.

Chapter 5

Chapter Notes

I messed up the publication date, my bad, sorry if that messes with anyone's stuff

After reading some first hand accounts, Cliff is relieved to finally be able to say he’s not trans after all because he’s never had a dream about being a woman, or people calling him “miss”, or not having a dick in a way that didn’t freak him out. He’s not sure why he was so stuck on this for the last two months, but it’s nice to finally put it all behind him.

Good dreams do tend to mix him up a bit, but not in an unusual way. He’s always shaggier, sharper a lot of the time. Still just as broad and masculine as he always is, but less restrained. He does tend to be a lot more graceful than he is in reality, quick and clever, but he’s also a bit bloodthirsty so that probably cancels it out. Faceless people sometimes stare at him but he always knows with that narrative sense you get in dreams that they don’t think he’s weird. They think he’s neat, passively, in the way you’d admire an animal you caught just a glimpse of before it was out of sight.

Something that could do a lot of damage, if it wanted to, for sure. But it wouldn’t, unless circumstances forced it; it was far more likely to avoid you. It wanted to be left alone.

Cliff does sometimes know in those dreams that this wasn’t how he had been before, but he never fights it when it happens. It’s like finally being able to breathe after a lifetime of holding it for no good reason. There’s sometimes grief over never being able to go home again, never play hockey, never talk to anyone he’d known before because they wouldn’t recognize him, and he doesn’t want them to be angry at his new life. But the pain of not slipping out of his window and down onto the pavement, not running down the road and into the woods, is always worse than taking what he needs.

And none of that screams ‘transgender’, so it’s probably fine. Trans chicks dream about being chicks, and any metaphor usually seemed to circle back around to that in the end. They were never so semi-literal. _Kelly08 probably doesn’t actually want to be a free and wild horse, she just wants grow boobs. And good for her! Cliff does not want boobs. Cliff wants things that are weird and probably anatomically impossible. Ergo, not trans.

But the general consensus seems to be that questioning is okay, encouraged even, so he decides not to worry about butting in where he’s not wanted. Overall, he’s just glad that it’s all over and he never needs to think about it again.

I’m so fucked, he thinks about a week later, looking down at an innocuous cardboard box that nevertheless feels like it’s accusing him of something. Two more sit on the table next to him, and all three are full of things he rage-bought on Ebay in the dead of night.

What the hell is he doing? What does he think this is going to achieve?

Cliff could have spent the night in his fantastic solo motel room doing normal things. Like watching TV or jerking off.

He still can. He can probably put these in a garbage bag or cram them into his suitcase and-burn them, maybe, when he gets home. He should. That’s what he should do.

Instead, he opens the box up with a knife and looks it in the face.

The clip-ons are in one plastic bag, still stuck to the cardboard they were probably displayed on in whatever store these were originally from. They’re too much, he thinks. Way too much. Black and white and red, embarrassing splashes of blood on bone. Not something you’re supposed to not notice.

Then the fucking underwear. It’s not even-he’s never even had a thing for that, never understood why it’s supposed to be hot, he just knows that’s how it is and he’s had to suck it up and get used to it. His only girlfriend that lasted longer than a year had liked it when he bought her lingerie, but he'd never seen the appeal. Soft colors, lace, little bows. It made him itch, in his head.

And he knows the metrics of sexy by now, he thinks. This isn’t. Probably. They don’t look like they’re meant for fucking.

They’re sturdy. Maybe not even machine made. Structurally they’re not all that different from the boxers he has in his bag right now but these aren’t gray nothing boring. They look soft in the way men’s clothes aren’t allowed to be. Satiny red with lines of sheer black.

He chokes out a slightly hysterical laugh when he thinks did I buy vampire lingerie on fucking Ebay.com last night?

Fuck. If they fit around his huge ass, he could wear these under his clothes and literally no one would know.

It’s not-they don’t look feminine. He doesn’t think they’d feel feminine. But they’re not in line with what he knows he can get away with. Roz might be able to pull something like this off, not these colors but this type of thing would work for him, for his body. Might raise more eyebrows than usual, but he’d get away with it.

And he’d look nice doing it. Cliff feels like a sick pervert for imagining that, but he knows it’s true.

He’d bought the makeup last because he’d been so far gone by then that all he’d been able to think was fuck it, fuck it, fuck it. Fuck this. Fuck me.

Hadn’t been a great night. Or maybe it had been. He really couldn’t decide.

He wasn’t going to wear it, obviously. He’d look-

Cliff resists the urge to shove everything away from him like it’s toxic waste, and gets up to check the lock on his door again.

It’s not like he’d grown up looking at his Mom’s makeup kit and wishing he could get into it. His mother is beautiful, and so is his sister, but he’s never wanted to imitate the way they present themselves. They both gravitate towards pink and white, soft delicate colors and soft delicate fabrics and simple, light jewelry. Patty always gets enraged when people talk shit about chicks with tattoos, but she probably isn’t going to go out and get one. If she did, it would probably be a little cat, or a flower. Something that fits the way she likes to look.

His Mom never bought black lipstick. He hadn’t known that even existed until he was sixteen and one of the girls who sat across from him on the bus but wasn’t in his class went Goth, and then she was wearing black and purple and green and he hadn’t been able to help sneaking glances at her. He didn’t even know her name.

Art doesn’t wear a lot of makeup anymore. Not even the eyeliner that used to travel up his face like spiderweb cracks in glass. Maybe it had finally cracked through all the way, and he’d been able to climb out of a skin he doesn’t need anymore.

It’s shitty to miss it. Cliff knows that. It-

Mostly, the makeup aisles in drug stores or wherever, when they’re near the checkout line, have the bright or soft stuff. Red, pink, yellow, purple but not the dark purple. A quick glance won’t get you any of the darker colors because you have to look for them.

Near Halloween it’s easier, and sometimes clearance bins in smaller stores have a bunch of makeup stuff dumped in because they need to get rid of it. Not that he’s ever pawed through it. Cliff is too big to do that invisibly.

And obviously he doesn’t know what’s what. Thinking about it too hard freaks him out. And it’s supposed to, because he’s a guy and guys don’t know about this stuff unless they’re gay, and then they’re allowed.

Cliff briefly imagines Scott Hunter picking up a tube of lipstick. He can’t even complete the thought; he doesn’t think that’s ever going to happen.

But he found some stuff on the internet that looked right. Dark colors that weren’t cheap Halloween costume stuff meant to be worn once and then thrown away. Or face paint probably meant for theater. Stuff you could, hypothetically, do something with.

Maybe it’s not so hypothetical now that it’s in his hands, though.

He takes another look. It’s just eye shadow. Cliff has touched these before. He’s had girlfriends. He’s bought these for chicks, and not for one second did anyone think he’d be using it. Probably because of the condoms he usually bought with it, and all the other stuff, and it was usually Valentine’s Day or something. So he had that, for protection.

He’s nervous about breaking it, he thinks. His hands are big and clumsy and the little plastic case is small. If he tries anything he might just end up poking himself in the eye, and he won’t be able to go to the hospital because then they’d see, so he’d have to sit there for the rest of the night thinking about what he’d done.

“What the fuck am I doing.” he groans. Or tries to. It comes out different.

Patty’s one of those people who likes to say clothes and makeup don't have gender, but he's not sure what she means by it and he knows he can't ask. He can't ask because there are rules, and if someone breaks them they will be enforced. He knows it. He's seen it. 

He’s always known what he had to be, because no one ever let him forget it. You don’t cry, you work hard, you don’t act like that, or look like that, or do these things, and you do this instead. You carry the heavy shit, you open the door for people, you don’t talk about anything that happened to you. That’s what Cliff’s father taught him about being a man. That it's an obligation. A weight to carry. Sacrifice, over and over and over, and the weak ones couldn’t take it. So don’t be weak, Clifford Marlow.

His dad loves him, probably. He’s said it before, he’s not one of those men who can’t or refuses to, but sometimes Cliff really wonders. He really does. He wonders sometimes if the tough way his dad had raised him was because he’d been a boy, or because Cliff is broken in some undefinable way no one knows how to articulate to his face.

Cliff had tried. He really had. He doesn’t know how much longer he can go on trying, but he has no idea what not trying looks like other than being a failure.

He turns the little plastic case over in his big, rough hands. Shades of black and gold and silver glint up at him.

Maybe this stuff is simpler than he thought, though. His hands are steady enough that he doesn’t actually poke himself with a gold tipped sponge brush, and he gets the hang of where it needs to go within a few minutes. It’s sort of grounding. Helps him not to think.

It’s not earth shattering, when he’s done and he looks at it. He doesn’t look like a different person, or like a chick, and he’s not physically weaker or smaller all of the sudden. He looks…

He looks nice. Good.

Cliff turns his head in the mirror, probably paying more attention to his eyelids than he ever has before. It’s not complete, he thinks. Maybe.

He turns on the TV in the next room just to have some noise, and then goes through the rest of his stuff. He’ll keep it, maybe. He won’t burn it or throw it away or leave it at the anonymous back door of a thrift store five hundred miles away.

He’d seen the eyeliner and thought, oh. So he’d bought it, and now it’s on the table in his hotel room. He’s still having trouble lining all those things up and connecting them to reality. But the little stick is here, and so is the nail polish that does still make him really nervous to look at, and so is the four tubes of lipstick, and so is every little thing that made 2 AM Cliff go fuck everything I want that. He probably can’t use any of the nail stuff tonight because he’d need to scrape it off immediately. He has it, though.

Cliff wasn’t insane enough at 2 or even 5 AM to actually track down a fur coat, but he did find a jacket he’d felt at the time would have actually ripped his heart out of his chest if he hadn’t bought it, and he generally liked not having that happen, so it’s here too. It’s the kind of deep purple that makes something in him settle and when he takes it out it is soft, and it has a zipper with a matching black snake that dangles from the loop. It’s not very big on him but it does fit because he knows his sizes. He keeps it open at first but his shirt doesn't work, so he peels it off and puts the jacket back on. It feels nice against his skin.

He looks at the earrings again and takes out the set with red snakes. They don’t hurt when they’re attached to him like he thought they might.

It’s nerve wracking, when he has everything together, to try and look at himself. And it’s not perfect, he thinks, he should have matched the colors better, but it’s not bad. It doesn’t feel bad. It doesn’t feel like this isn’t Cliff.

It doesn’t feel feminine either, not really. The dull sweatpants and socks kind of ruin it from the waist down, but maybe he can fix that. From the waist up, he’s almost...pretty. But not like a woman is pretty. More like the way an old, well crafted vase is pretty, or the way a cat is pretty. Graceful, a little too much, but somehow it all works.

He bites the inside of his cheek, because now he doesn’t want to smudge his lips.

Flamboyant. That’s the word, he’s pretty sure.

He stays like that for a while. He thinks maybe this is the most like Cliff he might have felt, ever.

‘can crossdressers be straight’

‘does crossdressing have to be drag or can it just be everyday’

‘euphoria or high from wearing clothes dangerous?’

‘what is gender auphoria’

‘gender euphoria but not trans’

‘is it legal to fire people for crossdressing’

‘is it stupid to wear platforms if im 6’4 honest’

‘can men get ears pierced in a straight way’

‘which one is the gay ear’

‘fabian salah’

‘fabian salah’

‘fabian salah single im straight just checkng’

‘shane hollander calvin kline’

‘is it wrong to have wet dreams about people hurting me’

‘is IvyGreenArt transgender’

‘platform boots black leather ebay’

Cliff is absurdly proud of himself for playing a home game the very next day completely normally. They win. It helps.

But now that he’s...done all that, it’s hard to stop thinking about it. They hit the bar afterwards, and he smiles and laughs and he gets a beer because the fucking Voyagers are also at this bar and he is not going to get wasted on cocktails in front of them.

And he thinks about how last night he was wearing fucking lipstick, and wants to die. But the swooping motion had never gone higher than it had then so maybe it’s just an up-down kind of thing. He’ll take the down. He can live with coming down.

Half his mind is ticking back to it during every lull, though. The conversation lapses and he’s thinking about the walk-in closet he’s never put more than a halfhearted few things into, his sorry collection of jeans and t-shirts, and thinks yuck. He’d have to keep about half of it for appearance’s sake, but it’s going somewhere else.

This sweatshirt is comfortable enough, but he has the money to get comfortable things he doesn’t hate looking at. Other stuff would have to be close to him so he can change if he needs to answer the door, but he imagines that won’t be too much of an issue. Cliff has space but he doesn’t have too much of it.

He hasn’t looked forward to doing something like this since he was a kid. He isn’t the type to make plans for the future. But he wants to, now. He wants to keep something for himself, wants to do something fun.

Maybe he wants to be loud where nobody can hear him.

“Marly.”

He looks up. Roz is nudging him, half a smile trying to sneak its way onto his face. “Marly.”, his Captain says quietly, very quietly. “Look”, and he flicks his wrist to gesture behind them.

So Cliff looks.

Sitting at a booth, an empty plate in front of him and a half empty glass to his left, fuzzy cheek propped up on his hand-

Is Art.

“Oh.” he says, out loud, exactly the way it always sounds in his head. Probably he shouldn’t have done that but the sound is in the air now.

“Yes.” Roz is fully grinning now. “I am right? You know this face better, I think.”

“Fuck off.” he manages.

“You want to go? I keep-” he gestures to their teammates with his pointer finger in a vague semicircle. “these, away.”

“God, no.” Cliff chokes. “I’ve practically been fucking stalking him for what-a year now?”

Roz sends him an unimpressed look. “You have fucked fans before. I know you have. Is almost impossible not to, we have so many.”

“I guarantee you he has no fucking clue who I am.”

“Mm. No, am saying you are fan, in this situation. And he is probably-” Roz leans over way too wide, like he doesn’t care if Art sees them, and squints. “probably, maybe, stronger than you, so.”

“That doesn’t matter with power dynamics and shit.”

“That is one ‘power dynamic’, and is not relevant. Marly, why are you having panic attack? You like him, go say hi.”

“I-” he stares at Roz, shakes his head, stares at the table. “I-”

This is all way too fucking confusing. Does Rozonov know he has...weird feelings about Art? He’d called him hot the few times they’d spoken about him, but he’d-they’d both thought, that first time-his feelings should have changed, he doesn’t know why-

And Cliff hates himself for even hypothetically intimidating Art. He’s a huge fucking hockey player, he’s got money, he’s got lawyers, and Art is a fucking YouTuber. He doesn’t want to-pressure him, even unintentionally, even accidentally, even-

“Marly.” Roz put a big hand in the middle of his back. “Is okay. Go make friends with mysterious sewing guy. You are not that ugly, you will not scare him away with your face.”

“Fuck you.” he tries to breathe. “You think?”

“Yes. And...was not going to tell you, but…”

Roz leans in, and he can’t help but shiver a bit when his breath curls around Cliff’s ear-

“He has been looking at you all night.”

Chapter 6

Chapter Notes

Apologies in advance for any increase in formatting issues or spelling mistakes, my computer is old and cranky so I have to write this on my phone for the time being. Feel free to point out typos I am a nerd and will fix them.

Art is wearing a long coat with an upturned collar, the color such a deep red that it edges into black. Underneath that is a tight fitting shirt that emphasizes his chest and hangs just low enough that spirals of dark fuzz escapes its confines. A dark metal chain hangs around his neck, matching the shade of his septum piercing, the metal studs in his ears, the snakebites, and the little ball Cliff glimses on his tongue when he yawns. There are two silver skull rings on each pointer finger.

His facial hair is still clearly growing in, but he's got the beginnings of mutton chops if he can keep at it. He looks like a vampire duke. Cliff wants him to sink those crooked teeth, that slight overbite, into his pulsing throat and drink.

Art picks up his glass and takes a long pull. His knuckles and fingers curve around it, cradling it in their rough warmth.

You strap knives to your feet for a living, he scolded himself. What, you can't go up and talk to one guy? Just because he might be, what, gay or something? Aren't you trying to be better at this?

He's always kind of wanted to fight this guy, he thinks, in the way friends do. In the way sometimes Roz or one of the others will grapple with him or each other, laughing, because everyone involved can take it. Because they're on the same level, and when they're warm and drunk in one of their homes they're sealed away from the world and all that matters is that the other body is close and willing and sweet with it. Bitter, with just a hint of burnt sugar that makes it something to savor.

Cliff has never wanted that from chicks. Not really. Sometimes he thinks violence and sex are too entwined for him to be normal about either, that he's always been unsatisfied with fucking because it can't hurt him, not the way every hookup has ever wanted it. And asking a stranger to slap him across the face is way weirder and probably creepier than calling to mind the way blood exploded in his nose last month, when he earned himself a satisfying punch, to make sure he stays hard.

And it's fucked up that he's looking at Art and wishing this near stranger would grab him by the hair and slam his face into the bar. He doesn't like the thought of him being angry, which is the only way he could get it so it's stupid, but he wishes there was a way it could be because he asked.

Cliff has wished, more than once, that he could walk up to Hollander after a game and ask for something similar. He'd pay, if it were possible, to be thrown hard into a wall, to be strangled, to be pinned and held and told "I win", in that low, satisfied tone he's only heard a few times. Hollander always sounds a bit rough after a fight.

He'd thank him, honestly. He'd never say it aloud because Hollander's the enemy captain, but it would be his pleasure. He's a bit pissed that there are men walking around with his blood on their collar who don't seem the least bit grateful.

Cliff just has a lot of respect for the effort he puts in, is all. That kind of dedication should be acknowledged, right?

And he's pretty sure it's the same with Art. Same sort of deal. It's a masculinity thing, and maybe it edges a bit into the toxic stuff Patty sometimes talks about, but Cliff doesn't have a girlfriend so it would probably be slightly less of an issue if he were to put the energy he usually reserves for fucking into appreciating this sort of thing, right? Not like he's neglecting his duties, or anything. Is hookup culture bad? He can never keep that straight. Everyone seems to have a different answer.

Whatever. Point is: how does Cliff approach this guy?

"You are going to stand here forever." Roz groans.

"Shut up. Give me a minute."

"You have had minute. You have had eight of them."

"Fuck off, Rozonov."

He's given a look that he refuses to catagorize as 'pitying'. "Marly, you are so bad at this. Worst I have ever seen. You are making me sad."

It's just-it's not simple. This is complicated stuff, right? Cliff really doesn't know what he's doing here, and there are so many tangles that every time he thinks about going ahead he gets caught in one.

"I don't know what the fuck I'm doing." he hisses, like it's going to help. "I don't know this shit, I haven't done this before."

Meeting somebody he sort of knows who has no idea who he is, the intensity of his whatever-it-is, knowing whatever he does he's inevitably going to come on too strong-this is not Cliff's wheelhouse.

For some reason, that does seem to make Roz stop for a second.

"Never?" he asks, with a glint in his eye. Maybe it's a bad idea, but it feels closer to sympathy. Somehow.

He reminds himself that Roz has banged a shit ton of models, and a lot of them probably couldn't give less of a shit about hockey. Maybe he does know his way around this.

"Of course not."

The look he gives Cliff then is weighted, somehow. Assessing. Like he's trying to figure something out, and then he sits back and it intensifies. He feels oddly like he's supposed to say something, that he's being asked a silent question, but he has no idea what the answer to it could be.

But the shoulder clap he gets is reassuring in a way that makes him think maybe Roz understands all that.

"Okay." he says, and then he's standing up. "Because you are fresh little baby, I will help. You buy next round to thank me."

"What are you doing?"

"You will thank me!" Roz repeats, and then he turns and heads right for Art's booth. Cliff has only had one beer but maybe it was too much anyway, because it's turning his stomach to hot mush. Burning a hole right through, so that all his insides drop out of his ass.

Fuck.

Roz waves, with just the tips of his fingers. Art makes eye contact, leans back a bit. He can't hear what they're saying, but he can tell that Roz is doing the thing he sometimes does. His dramatic European side flaring up and out, settling naturally on his shoulders like it belongs there. He gets looser, gestures more, gets delightfully catty in a way that's always fun to see. He's always wanted to put Patty in a room with him when he's like that, wants them to make each other laugh in that rare, unguarded, natural way.

Cliff has sometimes thought that, of all the guys he knows, he'd hate Roz getting with his sister the least. In a long term way, anyway. He's been on the lookout for either of them trying to settle down for a few years now. Thinking about his Captain sitting in his childhood home at Christmas dinner, loose and happy and dramatic with his fluttering hands and the charming little smile he pulls out whenever he's being a manipulative little shit...it makes his heart hurt, in a way he doesn't completely hate.

Patty hates hockey, but he's pretty sure it's impossible to hate Ilya Rozonov once you know him. They'd get along, even if there was no real spark.

Maybe he just wants to watch them being bitchy together. It's fun. 

Those might be Cliff's favorite moments with both of them, to be honest. Patty is usually too guarded, and Roz has only let that side of himself fully out maybe three or four times in the past decade. He gets why, he thinks, but it's still kind of sad.

Art seems to be responding well. He's smirking, huffing what looks like a startled laugh, leaning foward on his elbow with his other hand still clutching what looks like maybe a whiskey. Not beer, at any rate.

Roz gestures towards the bar, and Cliff resists the urge to vault over it and hide before Art turns and looks at him.

Holy fuck.

Weakly, he waves.

Art's smirk breaks into a full laugh that he can catch a faint snatch of, under the music and the talking and shuffling and the plates and glasses. He waves back.

Oh, okay. He might actually be able to die happy now. That's awesome.

Roz beams. He flicks out a wrist, curls his fingers inward. Come here.

Oh, god.

That beer is doing something strange in his gut as he lumbers over, aware suddenly, once again, that he's tall and broad and dressed like a hockey player at a bar. Normal, boring, gross. Not enough of himself.

"Hi." Cliff says, his heart biting at his ribcage.

Art is looking at him. His eyes are settled on his face, but he took stock of him just as he reached the table. Not unsuspicious, not unaware, but not without an edge of something Cliff can't name. It's not the way men usually look at him.

"Hi." Art says, touching two fingers to his temple in a casual salute. "Your friend says you're...what was it? My number one fan? And you want me to sign your jacket?"

That might be the most words he's ever heard him string together at once. His voice is low, rough, scraped like it just dropped very recently. The tone is gruff, but it feels warm. Maybe that's just wishful thinking.

"Uh." Cliff says, and now he's painfully aware of his own voice. "I mean, I just, I know you from YouTube, yeah."

"Do not sell yourself short, Marly." Roz crows, leaning forward to thump his lower back. Far too close to slapping him on the ass for a bar, jesus fuck. "He loves you. He thinks you are so cool, I think he wants to be just like you when he grows up."

Art chokes out another laugh. It's rough, almost painful sounding, from the chest. Like he's had to re-learn how, and he's been practicing just this side of too long without a break.

"I'm legal. I mean I'm twenty eight." Cliff blurts, then grimaces.

A raised eyebrow.

"Fuck you." he says to Roz.

"He is telling truth, though, twenty eight. The way he is, it is just because of many concussions." his Captain explains unhelpfully. "He plays hockey. Very impressive, yes?"

"We both-"

"And he drives very impressive sports car. Only one, though, he does not make as much money as I do. Very sad, is because I am better at hockey."

Thankfully, Art seems more amused by this than offended. Cliff kind of wants to murder Roz right now, so that's one of them at least.

"I'm really sorry about this." he says. 

Art leans back, taking his drink with him, the other arm sliding along the top of the booth. "Nah. It's alright."

Cliff swallows.

"You're cute."

He startles at that, eyes snapping up to meet his. He couldn't have heard that right. "I-uh?"

Art shoots a look at Roz, who grins like a shark. His captain slides out of the booth, stands, and thumps Cliff on the back.

"You're cute." the guy repeats. "Nervous, though. Ilya wasn't lying about that."

For some reason, Cliff feels like he's being ganged up on.

"You want to sit, kid?" Art asks, jerking his head towards the now empty side of the booth. "No pressure."

Fuck yes. "Uh-fuck-I mean yeah." he croaks. "Not a kid, though."

"Well, apparently you're twenty eight, so we've got five years between us." the guy shrugs. "You put off by that?"

"What? No."

"Cool." he raises his glass, tips it to him, before downing the rest as Cliff slides into the booth like he's being pulled by a magnet.

"Can I buy you another drink?" he asks, as the last few drops slip down his throat, into his stomach. Art never breaks eye contact, still looking up at him and somehow managing to feel bigger than Cliff when he says "If you want."

And he does want.

"Got a name, then?"

"Yeah. Cliff Marlow." It feels awkward to go in for a handshake, but a bit less so when it's reciprocated. And then he realizes he's touching him and has to pull himself together so he doesn't act like too much of a freak about it.

It's just-

The callouses, right? And the firm way those fingers grip him, the quiet assurance. He can feel it, even in this.

Fuck. He can't believe he ever thought Art was a woman.

Is that a shitty thing to think? He hopes not. He's 99% sure he knows who he's talking to, but he's not the brightest. He could be way off base. Maybe he did all that last night, had that whole long spiral breakdown, over a misunderstanding.

"Bartholomew Green", the guy says, and wow. That is. A name.

Cliff just nods and holds himself back from saying anything insane like are you a real vampire or I like you, because then he would have to leave this bar and quit hockey to fake his own death.

"Your parents named you that?" he asks instead, like a jerk. 'Never meet your heroes'-yeah how about 'never meet your fans', or 'never meet a fan who's had mutiple concussions on purpose'.

"Nah." Art says. Fuck.

Cliff learns over the next half hour the following things about Mr Green:

-he does in fact go by he/him pronouns (a phrase Cliff reeled off perfectly, may he add)

-he recognized Roz vaguely because his stepfather is a near religious hockey fan, but did not recognize Cliff at all (a blow to his ego)

-he likes cinnamon whiskey (something they now have in common)

-he has a tattoo on his upper back (hot)

-he thinks Cliff is 'interesting' (?????)

-he likes gorey horror movies (bonus)

-he himself has had two concussions over the course of thirty three years (from being punched in the head)

-he has no trouble complimenting other men's physical appearences-Cliff is apparently not only 'cute', but 'hot in a nervous otter sort of way'.

"Like the animal?" he asks earnestly, which gets him another low chuckle.

Talking to him is weirdly easy. It's nice, and he's nice. Cliff isn't used to men being so nice to him.

Art is very blunt. Gruff. He's settled into his skin like he's decided to make the world his own. It's still incredible to watch.

Roz fucked off sonetime between Cliff sitting down and now, but it's been hard to focus on anything but this. He knows he's still here though, since there's no way he'd pass up a second round of drinks at this time of night.

He thinks he might vibrate out of his skin if he thinks about what he's doing for too long, so he doesn't. He'll...scream into his pillow later, and take the good natured ribbing he'll get for it. Right now there's a guy in front of him and a drink in his hand.

In response to 'Do you like, uh, cats or stuff?' Art takes a minute to think about it and then tells him "Yeah."

"Woah. Nice."

Cliff likes that he thinks through everything he says. He's a bit of a slow talker and clearly a deep thinker. He wonders briefly if it's genetic. Has he ever thought about having kids? He'd be good with them. He's got big arms, those are good for Dad things.

He's been drinking kind of a lot. But it's fun, and they're evenly paced enough that he doesn't think the other guy minds.

"My sister has a cat." he informs him. "Her name's Snowball. The cat, not my sister."

Art nods. "Good name for a cat."

"Yeah."

"You like whiskey?" he asks a few minutes later, after he's ordered a third.

"Yeah, it's good. If there weren't two full hockey teams here I'd probably get a cocktail, though."

Art hums. "Think they'll be trouble?"

Cliff is suddenly blessed with the image of Art bashing Gilbert Comeau's ugly face in. He rubs the back of his neck. "Mine won't be. The Voyageurs, though-they'd never let it go. Especially not if it's one of the little pink ones." he huffs. "I can't help it if dragonfruit and cherries taste good."

"Ah." those dark eyes scan the room briefly, and he wonders if he recognizes anyone else. If he's thinking about ensuring trouble doesn't find them.

"It's not a big deal or anything. Just one of those things it's better if other people don't know, right? Less complicated that way."

Art gives him a long look. It's not that different from his resting face, but it feels...sad. Maybe he's just drunk and seeing things.

"Ugh, sorry. I can't complain, it's not like it's something I can't live without..."

"Still. Sucks."

Cliff let a smile tug at his mouth. "You know-it does, actually. It does suck."

Art smiles back. Not his usual cocky, sure of himself smirk, but a genuine smile. It makes him look kind.

You'd be such a great Dad, Cliff thinks wistfully. Hell, I kinda wish you were my Dad.

"Do you-"

He stops. It's almost unsettling to see him hesitate, but at the same time it's...nice? That he's human?

"What is it?" Cliff prompts, resting his chin in his hand. He'll do anything, he thinks. Probably the whiskey talking. They do call it liquid courage, after all.

Art looks at him for a minute. Like he's assessing, again.

"I'm picking up a vibe." he says. "And I don't know if this is the place to ask about it."

"What kind of vibe?" Cliff asks.

He glances at the bar. True to his word, Roz is distracting their teammates.

"Same vibe I got from your friend earlier." Art says bluntly. "Only, he was sending it intentionally. I can't tell with you, and I'm not going to mess with you if you're not ready for all that."

What?

Wait-did that mean-

"You're not leaving, are you?" he asks, trying not to sound pathetic, which was kind of impossible given the question.

Art snorts.

"Nah." he reaches out, pats Cliff's hand. It's maybe a condescending gesture, but it's comforting. Warm. His hands are heavy and rough.

Then he smiles again. "I think you just told me, anyway."

Later, when he has a phone number in his pocket and one text in the thread that says 'you're so formal. very well Mr Marlow, i accept your terms' Roz thumps him aggressively on the back and makes him pay for the entire round for the whole team.

It's worth it. Cliff grins and drinks and stumbles back to his motel room happier than he's been for longer than he can remember.

He's way too drunk for makeup, but he puts on the jacket and clips the little white butterfly into his hair and falls asleep curled up in the corner of his bed, thinking sluggishly about mutton chops and tiny silver skulls.

Chapter End Notes

Sorry Patrick Brewer for stealing your line but it was just too good. Ever since I first watched that I wanted unpack the psycological implications and now I have cast them upon a different character. I am a cruel God.

update: fixed mispelling of comeau lol because it's important to disrespect accurately

Chapter 7

"No, I'm doing fine." Cliff tells his mom over the phone. "Yeah, no, I'm good. Season is going fine, I haven't broken any bones so far...nope, still no girlfriend."

He'd paused in his re-arranging to talk, so there was no risk of suspicious noises. A lot of stuff was getting either thrown out or given away, and he could swear he feels lighter with every bag he fills up.

The closet was obviously the first thing he gutted; 80% of his sweatshirts, jeans, t-shirts, socks and boxers are now stuffed into garbage bags where they belong. Cliff has actually been having fun buying stuff to replace it all, which wasn't something he'd known was possible before.

He's replaced his bland white bedsheets with purple ones, because he's decided he really likes that particular shade of dark purple. They're soft and smooth, and the blanket he picked up is heavy and warm.

Cooking is maybe something he's thinking about doing, possibly, so he's on the hunt for silverware and appliances that aren't boring. He already has a nice dark wood table and the curtains are a good shade of blue, so he'll leave those there. But maybe he'll get rid of the oven mitts that have a half naked chick printed on them. 

As it turns out, he's pretty fond of shoes. Maybe it's dumb to wear big chunky platforms when he's so tall already, but he likes it. It's the closest he's gotten to the way he is on the ice, where he's quick and fluid and graceful. If he pairs the black leather with the solid purple of his jacket and the matching pants he found, which are loose enough in the legs to hang nicely but tight around his ass in a fantastically intentional way, Cliff can confidently say that for the first time in his life he actually looked kinda hot.

He doesn't think it's sexual. He doesn't get off on being dressed like this. He thinks sex probably would be better this way, but only because he actually likes the way he looks for once. He feels like himself, and it turns out that self is attractive.

No wonder some chicks take so many pictures of themselves all the time. This is incredible.

Not that he's actually ever taken a picture. He's deleted every email, cleared his search history, put up with re-typing his address every time and given the website a bunch of different fake names to try and cover his tracks. Cliff is stupid but he's not that stupid; if this gets out...

"Yeah. I'm following my diet, Mom, don't worry."

He's not, but what she doesn't know won't hurt her. Hopefully.

Cliff loves his parents. It's a complicated love, and neither of them make it easy, but he has a duty to make them feel appreciated and valued. He wants to give them the best. He needs to.

It hurts that there are things they'd take pain from. That if Cliff had ever gone to his Mom and asked if she could help with his needlework, she wouldn't have taken the opportunity to share something she loved with her son. She would have been worried about him. It would have made her sad.

Patty is sort of allowed to be into cars and like her job. She took so much casual misogyny from them growing up that even stupid ten year old Cliff had seen it, and he hates himself for wishing he could just snap at them to drop it like she does. But he wishes he had her anger, sometimes.

He doesn't know how to be angry at this for longer than a few hours. It just hurts, most of the time, and lately he's been soothing it with things that feel like familial betrayal.

Cliff runs his palms over the smooth, dark silk of his skirt. "Yeah, I'll be there at ten. Sounds good." he watches his mouth move in the mirror, the temporary velvet shimmer on his lips. Pairing black with green was a good choice, he thinks.

He's not shirtless this time; he's managed to figure out the green mesh top made of something surprisingly soft, and it fits nicely with the pair of dark pearl clip-ons. Cliff has owned one leather jacket for about four years and never had an occasion to wear it before now, and it's a bit nuts that it really brings it all together.

The mesh outlines his pecs in a way that looks nice. They're not tits, but they look good. He likes the weight of it.

"Yeah Mom, I still have the white sweater. No, I'm not going to conveniently stain it before-I did that one time!"

"And that was one time too many." Mom says darkly. "Just dress nicely, alright? Patty's bringing Gayle."

"Oh sweet, I love Gayle."

Gayle is Patty's best friend. Cliff has wondered on occasion whether they're maybe closer than that, but evidence doesn't seem to point that way. Too bad, because she's nicer than every boyfriend his sister has introduced them to so far.

She's funny, sweet, very pretty. She doesn't even openly dislike him, which hasn't always been true of most of the boyfriends after they get to know him beyond 'hockey player'. And wasn't that a kick in the teeth every time.

"She's practically family at this point, isn't she?"

"Hell yeah. We should invite her to Christmas this year." he says, tapping two of his shiny black nails together. It's been nice to have them done over the weekend, and even though it's a bit sad to have to scrape it all off...he does have a nice coil of anticipation, high in his chest, for the next thing he's planning to do with them. Cliff has tools now-he's thinking about patterns. 

It's so weird to be content this often. Settled. It's exciting, but these past two weeks it's also leveling out into being a fact of life. The sky is blue, water is wet, Cliff Marlow paints his nails.

He likes being this Cliff Marlow. He's a lot more fun than the old one.

Roz hasn't brought up Art since that night, and that's decent of him. He's getting the sense that whatever he thinks is going on, he's not gonna say anything until Cliff brings it up first. And maybe when he knows what that is, he will.

This whole thing...it's weird and private and he wants to keep it safe. He doesn't know which parts he's even allowed to talk about, but maybe Roz wouldn't much care about him crossing those lines. The night he and Art met had meant something, and he couldn't pretend it hadn't.

Roz knows, is the thing. He knows that Art is a man and he's not threatened by it. Maybe he doesn't think he's sexy anymore because that is actually gay, with the whole man aspect confirmed, but he'd been cool about it. Respectful, as much as Roz was capable of being, which was usually more than people expected about the actual important things.

So Cliff does wonder if Roz would be okay with all this. They get changed in the same locker room, stand under showers a few feet apart, and he thinks, tentatively, maybe those things wouldn't change if he found out about him.

About her? Eh. He grimaces as he takes off his skates after the game.

He's thought about that, carefully. Imagined being Patty's sister instead of her brother. His father's daughter. It's fine, he supposes.

More than anything, Cliff wishes he could just take the bits of that he does like and keep them. Something other than 'he' would be fine, he thinks, maybe even nice. But he wouldn't want it all the time, and he still doesn't like the thought of being a woman. So what gives? He can't have it both ways, and he knows that.

And it's not even femininity that he wants. Androgyny is the word, he thinks-is it possible to be androgynous and flamboyant? Can a thing be beautiful without being feminine? Is it even possible to have what he wants, or will he just have to settle for close enough?

He keeps feeling like this whole thing is somehow...cruel? Rude? Like if a trans chick saw Cliff Marlow, jacked hairy hockey player who likes lipstick and heels but grieves when he thinks of discarding masculinity entirely, she'd be hurt by it.

Caricature, he thinks. That's the term. It's frightening. He doesn't want to be that. He doesn't want to do that to women who already have enough to deal with.

'They' is soothing. But he's not right for it. Cliff likes the neutral ones because they're aside, they're next to and outside of. That's the closest he can get to a description. And when he thinks about it like that, 'he' slots in there very nicely. Not wholly a man, but not not a man. Everything he wants and nothing he doesn't.

Except. That's not how this gender thing works. You can't just decide that because it feels good. Trans people know who they are from like, birth or something. And if they don't then they always knew something was off. They don't just, what, take up hockey so they can be an object instead of a person for a while? Transgender people don't like being dehumanized. It's offensive. Cliff is just-

Being some kind of caricature. Being weird.

If Cliff could choose...in that alternate universe, maybe his friend would be okay with whatever this ended up being. He might not get it, but he'd try, because it would be important.

'This is my friend Cliff. He's not as good at hockey as I am, but this is why I am Captain and they are not.', Rozanov might say to someone, in a world where that was okay.

But it's not. So he'll just have to get over it, and stop hurting for a thing he'll never have.

"Marly, I can hear the marbles clacking around in your brain from over here." St Simon calls, already stripped down to his boxers.

Cliff huffs. "Family tonight, man. Gotta get those marbles sorted by color so I don't get shit for bad housekeeping."

And see, he doesn't mind jokes like that because he knows he's dumb. Would a transgender person be dumb? No.

"Are they still giving you shit for fucking around?" Connors asks, hands on his hips, naked.

He shrugs. "Yeah. I tell them there's not a woman alive who could tie me down, and they don't like that answer. So honesty's out, you know?"

Not that Cliff has had a lot of sex lately, but that's been helping. He doesn't really want to look a gift horse in the mouth by examining it.

It's just-fucking is a lot of work, right? It takes effort to stay hard, it takes effort to pull, it takes a lot of focus to make the chick feel good. And that's what it should be, right? Cliff isn't a massive jerk who only cares about his dick. His dick was made for fucking chicks, or for chicks to fuck themselves on, so that's how he uses it. And that makes him a man.

Except that Cliff is a hell of a lot happier not having his dick wet, apparently. The only time he pops a spontaneous boner is while he's watching hockey, or wrestling, or Art lifting weights. Cliff apparently likes wearing nail polish and makeup more than he likes getting pussy.

He thinks-he does wonder, because he's a man and sex is on his mind more often than not. And it has to be at least a bit good, right, or gay guys would just stick to blowing each other rather than sticking a dick up their ass.

He's still horny as fuck. He wants sex, he just doesn't want the sex on offer. Which sucks.

Maybe the hypothetical gay teammate feels like that too. He feels bad for him. He hopes he's okay, because all of his unmarried teammates have been hooking up with chicks for a long time, they're still doing it constantly, and that can't be great for him. Having sex with someone you're not attracted to doesn't seem fun.

Fuck, maybe he's trying to make himself be attracted to them. That sounds traumatizing. Cliff really hopes he's okay.

He hopes Scott Hunter never did that.

But Hunter is fine now. His guy posts pictures of them sometimes, and they're really sweet together. Cliff is weirdly attached to the pictures of Mr Grady in his reading glasses. He's the studious type. Well-read. Intelligent. Incredible biceps.

Cliff wonders what that's like. To date Scott fuckin' Hunter. Polite, clean, measured. He wonders what it's like to get fucked by him.

He'd be sweet, he decides. Careful. Probably has to be goaded a little into going hard and fast-or maybe, maybe, he's a little desperate. Having gone without for so long. And who could blame the poor guy?

He shivers.

Still naked, Connors comes over and gives him an authoritative look. "Marly. Buddy. Come on, are you really going to let them strong arm you out of getting some quality pussy?"

He scoffs. "No."

But if things keep going this way, if it keeps helping to not even try...fuck, he'll either have to make up an excuse or fake it somehow. He can't just-not, openly, visibly. Too many questions.

Shane Hollander is probably swimming in it, he thinks glumly. He probably likes it. What does liking it even feel like? How's anyone supposed to know if they do or don't? Cumming tells you nothing, because he's cum during some really stupid shit. Like the Scott Hunter dream, where he held Cliff against his broad chest and jerked him off while he told him he was good.

That one fucked him up a bit. Because nuzzling into him had been so nice and safe, and knowing that this guy approved of him, that he really thought Cliff was worthwhile...it was professional admiration taken to a level he isn't sure helps when he's on the ice with the guy.

Anyway.

Cliff's family isn't religious or anything. Broadly, they're just old fashioned. His Mom thinks he and Patty should be settled down in good marriages with about a dozen kids by now, that he needs to be solid and uncompromising and she needs to be sweeter and more forgiving. That's probably not going to happen.

Honestly...he doesn't see either of them having kids. Patty just doesn't want them, and Cliff is starting to think maybe he's too fucked up to have a family of his own. Beyond not even being sure he'd want to be called Dad, beyond the thought of having a wife being kind of fine most times and just depressing at others...

Ugh.

Mom wants him to stop hooking up entirely. She doesn't even know Patty's had sex one time, and even though Cliff does not want to know anything about that, he's certain she's lied about it. And good for her.

Patty is thirty four years old. She's allowed to have a goddamn life.

He wishes he'd been sensible enough to lie. He wishes for a lot of things, these days.

"Fuck off, dude." he says, full of false cheerfulness, and ruffles Connors' hair. It's soft.

Art texts him about a minute before he has to leave the house.

Green: Watched your game btw

Green: Was interesting. Congrats on the win

Cliff spends way too long thinking about that. About someone who couldn't care less about hockey tuning in just for him, apparently.

Fuck.

Art is nice. He's actually, genuinely nice, and he says what he means out loud and he's gruff and stoic but that's never crossed over into him being cruel. He doesn't shut down a conversation as soon as it crosses over into something close to emotional and he doesn't use Cliff's emotions against him. Or he hasn't yet, anyway.

"That really sucks", is a fantastic response to many things. It feels really good to just aknowladge when things are bad when there's no changing them. Cliff kind of hates that he's stuck so often in trying to change things, feeling at times solely responsible for the bad shit, when he's constantly on the edge of a knife that keeps trying to slice him open before he's ready.

He's not sure he could handle a seminar about lgbt stuff. Patty thinks it could help with the locker room, wants him to get as many of the other guys to go as he can. Cliff thinks he could take maybe five minutes before he cracked, and he sort of doesn't want to do that around a bunch of people.

He'd probably just embarass them, anyway. If the people running those events knew about him, they'd probably blacklist him for doing it all wrong.

It's not like he'd hate learning about this stuff. It would be great to have some real, definitive answers. It would be cool to hear from people who actually know their shit. Maybe he could learn how to better support gay people.

It's just...he'd be doing it from the outside, right? Cliff isn't part of that.

He stops at a red light, and taps at the steering wheel with clean, blank nails.

It's selfish. He knows just how hard this shit is for people.

The light turns green. He drives.

Cliff just-

It hurts and it shouldn't. Honestly, he kind of wants to tell Art how stressful it all is just so he can hear him say "That really sucks", because it does suck. But maybe Cliff sucks more, as a person.

Which he hates. Because he likes being himself. He likes looking good, he enjoys admiring Art's projects as well as how smoking hot he is building them, he likes his cocktails and he likes exploring this stuff. He wants finding nice things to keep being easier the more he does it.

Cliff can't be mad at or ashamed of those things. They're good. They're nice. He wants to protect that part of him, whatever it actually is, from an outside world he can very much tell (because he may be stupid but he does pay attention) will take it from him by force and try to rip it into quivering shreds.

And like it or not...his family is part of that world.

So needless to say, by the time he's pulling into their driveway he's not feeling great about being there.

It goes worse than it usually does, because apparently Cliff can't handle his parents using slurs at the dinner table now.

He drives to a gas station, has what he can in hindsight only call a panic attack, and finally shuts off his phone because it won't stop ringing.

Cliff shoves the box into Roz's chest. "Here."

"What?" The man blinks down at it, one hand still clutching his doorknob. He's in shorts and an open button-up that clearly isn't his.

He shakes the box. "Cobbler. It's not my Mom's but it's good."

Roz looks down at the box, then gives him an irritated expression. "Connors is trying to organize search party."

"Oh." he winces.

"Did you drop your phone in-volcano?"

"Eh." Cliff shrugs one shoulder. "No, but I did. Stop using it. For a few days."

Roz barks out a laugh. "Marlow, what kind of fucking fight-"

"I need help."

Chapter 8

Chapter Notes

I know the chapter count keeps going up and this will continue until this installment concludes. I have more planned. This fic centers mainly around Cliff figuring things out, and the next one will focus more on the relationship. Stay tuned if you like these characters ig

Cliff doesn't talk about shit that bothers him. Patty's told him that it's important for guys to open up, that the toxic masculinity thing affects women in a bad way and that if he doesn't learn to communicate he'll never be able to form an actual meaningful two-sided relationship with a chick. And of course he wants that someday. He has to. She's never even had the thought enter her mind that he maybe doesn't.

He'd try. If he had to. He'd do his best to be good to a wife.

Part of him seriously questions if it's possible to have a good, real, solid marriage to someone he'd rather not be with in the first place. It sounds cruel, on its face, devoid of context. Like some kind of terrible trick.

So he keeps his mouth shut, right? Since his "feelings" are usually just...bad, he thinks. Cliff's thoughts and feelings are wrong, and he doesn't think he regrets or hates most of them, but he knows they're not what they're supposed to be.

He does feel really bad for making his Mom upset, though. And for being such a shitty ally that he couldn't speak up when horrible things were said.

And maybe that's why he's here.

"I fucked up."

Roz's arms are folded. He stares him down like a disapproving father, for all that he's a year and maybe the later end of a half younger than Cliff.

"Yes." he says.

Being yelled at by his Captain is not that unusual; he's screwed up before, so has everyone else. He appreciates knowing what he did wrong so that he can fix it. He does not like Roz being disappointed in him. But even that isn't usually world-ending, because he'll never leave you in the dust with no way to climb back to your feet.

Maybe that's where the stupid discipline dreams stem from. Roz is safe; if he ever did decide that sort of physical punishment was necessary, he would figure out how to do the thing properly. It wouldn't be some kind of awful attack.

Hell, it might simplify a few things. Cliff does crave that sometimes.

Real life is unfortunately more complicated.

"Sorry, brother. I'm nothing but trouble."

"Shut up." Roz grits. "Fuck you, you know your mother called me?"

"She did?"

"Yes. She says you were terribly rude, left all your things behind when you ran away. She is worried."

Cliff grimaces. "I'll talk to her."

He'll apologize to her. He won't explain what happened, at least not truthfully. Mostly because he doesn't really know.

Roz gives him a long look he's not sure how to interpret. "Is this what you need help with? Saying sorry to Mama for shit behavior?"

He huffs. "Nah, I've done that before. I need to..."

Is he seriously going to say this?

"I can't let it happen again."

Not only is he being a shitty ally, he's just...a bad son. And he doesn't-

Cliff thinks it might actually kill him to give this up. He wouldn't survive it. He needs to breathe, just every once in a while. It's greedy to have it as often as he does but every time he doesn't it really is like suffocating.

He hates the thought of-exposing it. His soft, furry little underbelly, underneath all the unnatural armor he's stacked on top to protect it. It would be so, so easy for Roz to stab him.

With literally anyone else, Cliff wouldn't risk it.

"The fuck did you do?" Roz exclaims, unfolding his arms to gesture broadly. Oh-he might be upset.

"I, uh. I kinda just...sat there." Cliff winces. "Like I texted-they were fighting about Scott Hunter, my Mom-well, you know, she's old fashioned...Patty has a hard time with that."

Roz's mouth opens a bit, but he's not saying anything. Is this fuel on the fire? He's not sure.

"And then, I mean...you know old people and their slurs. Right? Grandma throws 'em around like...throwing things. So she calls Hunter that thing you told everyone to stop saying, or you'd gut us, but obviously I didn't gut her I just sort of..." He can't look at Roz anymore. "I know I should have done something because you were very clear about that and fuck, it's just, she flipped out when I said I didn't want to talk about this so I don't, uh, think it would have gone down so well."

"Flipped out." Roz repeats, monotone. Like he's saying the words separately and they're linked together by coincidence.

"She told me to get the fuck out, so I got the fuck out."

"Ah."

"I know it's not-fuck, I guess I can handle it in a locker room but not at my Mom's dinner table. Which...ugh."

Cliff shakes his head. "So, uh, anyway-any advice?"

"Advice?" Roz asks. "Fuck."

"Yeah, fair. You want me to go?"

"Go? No I do not want you to fucking go Marly, you have been missing for two fucking days. Fuck you." he snaps.

Uh?

"Stay there." Roz jabs a finger at him. "Sit on couch, do not move, I need to-find my fucking pants. When I am back, if you have moved one fucking muscle, I will make you regret."

He takes the box. "Thank you for cobbler." he says, and then heads up the stairs.

So obviously, Cliff does not move.

He's obviously interrupting something, anyway. He's not sure why Roz doesn't just come out and say he's got a hookup upstairs, but maybe his Montreal girl came over for some nasty weekend sex. That would explain it; he's pretty cagey about her, and the few things Cliff does know suggest that she's a very high profile, wealthy chick, possibly a celebrity, and picky as fuck about her privacy.

They're fuckbuddies, he thinks. Like Svetlana Vetrova, who he's met twice over the years. He knows they fuck, and he's not quite dumb enough to miss the genuine affection that webs them together. Friends that have sex. He assumes the Montreal girl is similar, though possibly far more high strung and eccentric.

Do they know each other? That could be an interesting friendship. He kinda hopes so.

Man, it would be nice to have a solid thing like that to fall back on. Something familiar. He's only had a threesome once, which is different, but it was too depressing to try again since. He knows he's definitely not gay because if he was, he would have been able to keep it up the whole time. He'd ended the night wishing they'd all just stayed at the bar together and then gone home separately.

The chick had a fun personality. But she'd kept touching him, making him jump. Colbert had kept moaning and distracting him. It was a whole mess and kind of vaguely upsetting. She'd made them kiss, the other guy hadn't been into it at all, and Cliff just...

Felt sort of bad the whole time. It wasn't her fault, and it wasn't Colbert's fault. But he hadn't enjoyed it.

He thinks they figured that out, after. Colbert hadn't even grumbled about staying in bed to cuddle them both, and the chick had kept asking if he was okay. She'd only kissed him on the cheek, after that, or the forehead, and that was nicer.

Colbert had given him one awkward forehead kiss and ruffled his hair. That had been weird, but he liked that the most out of anything that happened on that blurry night, years ago.

Which means...he doesn't know what it means. He usually doesn't-

Enjoying sex is a weird gray area, right? What part is supposed to be enjoyable? Knowing you're doing the right thing? Making someone else happy? It's never the effortless tumble you see in movies. It's scary work, but it has to be done.

Cliff thinks that marriage does sound a lot like Hell. If Hell exists, it's having to fuck a woman at least four times a week until you die. It's knowing that afterwards, she'll wake up next to you in bed. It's knowing that she knows you and knows something is wrong and having to tell her you're fundamentally broken in some vital way that you are starting to think maybe no one else is.

But he thinks that might be a sexist way of thinking. He can't ask Patty. He's not going to talk about sex with his sister, ew.

Roz, maybe. After he gets the yelling over with.

If Cliff was gay, then fuck, he'd be fucking dudes way more than four times a week. Maybe more than six hours a day. Having a husband would be fuckin' fantastic; some big, kind man who likes you and wants to pound your ass and kiss you after, give you stubble burn, a physical reminder of his existance. Big hands to card through your hair. A nice looking cock that not only can you compliment casually, but suck on. Men like blowjobs; Imaginary Gay Cliff would probably blow his Imaginary Husband so often he'd run out of jizz to give him.

And then they could hold hands. God. It's probably not good all the time, he knows gay guys have their own issues because they're people, but fuck it would be so, so nice to be married to a man. A best friend who you're in love with. Like a teammate who you get to kiss and nuzzle and call up after a long day on the road, just to say I miss you, I love you, I'll be home soon.

Someone you can take out for a night out, just the two of you, and look at across a table. You can say, out loud, "You're so handsome." And maybe he'd say it back. Maybe he'd say "You're beautiful." and he'd mean it in the way Cliff aches for.

Maybe Imaginary Gay Cliff wouldn't be a husband, or a wife, but something outside of both of those that some Imaginary Gay Man would understand and love anyway. And it wouldn't make Imaginary Them any less Imaginary Gay.

He thinks he loves Imaginary Gay Cliff.

Cliff fiddles with the empty packet of goldfish crackers in his pocket. It's...bad, to fetishize this stuff. It's an act of violence, maybe, against people he's already failed to stick up for.

He knows what he's got to do. But he doesn't think those soft parts can take another hit. His Mom took a spiked bat and whacked them a few days ago, and that's her right as a mother but as her child he only knows how to go still and limp when the trap snaps closed.

When Roz comes back down the stairs, he's wearing a pair of comfortable gray sweatpants.

He still looks...annoyed? Mad? Cliff can't tell, he just knows it's something hard and stony.

"Marly." His Captain says. "You are such a headache these days. I don't think you even know."

Cliff shrugs.

"I am very glad you are not...hurt." Roz says haltingly. "Connors was imagining crazy kidnapping shit. I tell him this is stupid, but I think, why would he throw fit so big he does not speak even to us? Maybe he has lost his mind."

"I mean-"

He's cut off. "And then you come here, you bring cobbler because you do not think I am joking about this, and you say lovely Mrs Marlow says Scott Hunter is a f-"

"Bro!" he yelps.

Roz glares, hands in his hips. "And this frightens you so badly you run away crying, and you come to me to make it better, yes? Papa will fix everything?"

"You-I was not crying." Cliff splutters. "And don't call yourself Papa."

"Or what? You will get hard? Is okay, I understand, it happens often to people around me."

"Fuck you." he snaps.

"No, you are too upset. Would be taking advantage." Roz grins when he glares up at him.

He really does want to strangle this guy sometimes. As if sensing that, he goes into the kitchen and starts fucking around in his cupboards.

"I'm not upset, for the record!" Cliff calls to him.

It's not completely a lie. It's better than it was when he was alone. It's just also weird, and he feels weird, and it helps that Roz is here and annoying as fuck and safe but he wants...

Ugh. He doesn't know what he wants.

He gets up and walks into the kitchen. His probably unwilling host is pouring vodka into glasses and seems to have put two slices of bread in the toaster. Weird.

"I might be kinda gay." Cliff blurts out.

Oh fuck. He didn't mean to do that.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK

Roz puts the bottle down, caps it, turns to look at him.

"Shit." Cliff wheezes. "Pretend I didn't admit that."

Admit? ADMIT?

He tries to say something else and it just ends in a horrible gurgling groan sound.

Roz shifts. "Oh," he says, "Okay, you sit again, okay, yes?"

Cliff falls into a barstool.

"Okay." There's a hand on his back. "Okay. Stop dying."

"I'm not dying fuck you."

"You had better not be, I would have to drag your stupid long corpse out of here before you stink up my house."

That forces a laugh out of his shaking, sweating body.

"Don't tell." he manages. "Joke, haha, I'm funny right?"

Roz pats his back. He doesn't thump it like usual. It's not soft or light, but it isn't a near painful, purely masculine smack. The only contact you're allowed to dole out, sometimes

"Very funny, Marly." he says, in a tone he doesn't- "Would be okay, if it wasn't funny joke."

"It's not." Wrenched from his fucking bones, feels like.

"It is." Roz says, clearly, measured. "It is okay, Marly. You're okay. We are good here."

He's not fucking crying or anything. He's just shaking himself to pieces with his Captain's hand between his shoulderblades.

Cliff pulls in another breath. "I'm-fuck. I can't be."

"Oh." Roz says. "You have condition? Doctors say, 'light exercise only, limit contact with gay?'"

"Fuck off." but he's laughing again, at the image.

"I think can't is maybe...not accurate. What is preventing you, hm?"

Cliff folds his arms on the tabletop, buries his face there. "I wouldn't do it right."

Roz heaves a big, exgausted sigh. "Always with this perfection. Why, I ask? Why? I am surrounded by these perfection addicts."

"Cliff." he says, and leans down to speak closer to his ear. "You want to go suck dick? Then suck it. Is skill. Everyone is bad on first try, I promise."

"I don't..."

The guy gives his back one last pat, and then moves over to swing onto another barstool. "Okay. Then what do you want, Marly? No judging here."

He swallows.

Cliff wants too much. He's greedy. He wants beautiful clothes and he wants to wear them when he's not in his Bears jersey. He wants to play hockey. He wants to be one of the boys. He wants to exist in the locker room without everyone being scared of him, like he's a threat, like he's a pervert. He wants to be part of his family without them hurting him. He wants to drink cocktails in a bar after a win and not be made fun of for it.

He wants to be 'they'. He wants to be pretty. He wants to be flamboyant. He wants to be handsome, still. He wants to be Roz's friend. He wants Shane Hollander to choke him. He wants Shane Hollander to kiss him. He wants Art to like him.

He wants Scott Hunter to look at him and smile, because he's not bad or wrong or shaming him. He wants Patty to hug him and drag him out shopping with her friends and point out things she thinks he'll like. He wants his Dad to tell him he won't let anyone hurt him and mean it. He wants his Mom to tell him he's a good person and it's not bad to do this, and mean it.

He wants to be himself, and have that not be huge news. He wants this to not shock everyone. He wants to go on with his life and be who he is and not hide it, and not be something weird nobody's heard of.

Cliff just wants to be okay.

"I want to not hurt anyone." he chokes, because he wants that, too.

Roz makes a sound he can't identify. "You are hurting no one, Marly. Being gay hurts no one. Is not...is not some bad thing."

"It can hurt you. But that is not...your fault? It is just how things are, and is not...is unfair, yes? Unfair to you. But itself, is nothing wrong."

He shakes his head. It's still buried in his mostly bare arms, the sweat cold and tacky, gross. He's closed his eyes.

"It would hurt my Mom."

"Well. That is her fault. Very sad for her."

"She's old." he mumbles.

"Old people can have stupid feelings. I am not saying this is simple problem, but it is not your fault."

Cliff wrinkles his nose. "Feels like my fault."

"Parents do this, is their favorite hobby."

His next breath shakes. "I am doing it wrong though."

The hand comes back to rest between his shoulders. "Wrong how?"

Cliff swallows. "Scott Hunter doesn't..."

"What? He does not leave the nursing home? Very true. He does not go to good parties? Also true."

"He doesn't fucking crossdress and shit." he nearly sobs.

There. It's in the open. He knows how the lock on the front door works, he can bolt if he needs to.

He does not expect Roz to say "Oh, no! Clothing, the worst crime of all! Quickly, to the nudeism jail!"

Cliff looks up and glares at him.

Roz reaches out and wipes at his face. "Hey, there he is."

That just makes it worse. Roz makes that sound again, and ruffles his hair. "Marly, seriously. So what, Scott Hunter is boring and old! You are young and hot, you should act like it! Wear a dress, fuck a few men!"

"Unless you don't want to." he holds up a finger. "Is okay to be more boring than Shane Hollander, I promise you are still gay if you don't want to fuck."

"I never said that." Cliff mumbles.

"Then go fuck! Live, ah, the truth! Is okay, I still like you, I promise-oh, Marly, really." Roz clicks his tongue as his eyesights blurs again.

"I don't even know if I'm a dude." he manages. "I think my gender's broken."

His Captain (and he still might be that, maybe) cracks up a bit. "Okay, I know less about that, but is also fine. Probably not broken."

Cliff scrubs at his eyes. "You don't even know what I am."

Roz shrugs. "I have met these women before. Here, other places. All over."

"I am not a woman."

The guy holds up his hands, palms out. "Okay. That's okay, too. Like I said, am not so familiar with this."

Cliff huffs. "Me neither. It's fucking confusing."

Roz snorts. "I, ah, I have heard this. Can take a while to figure it out."

"Years, sometimes." he pats his back again. "So, no rush, hm? Just...tell me, if you want something different."

He chews his lip. "Even if it's weird?"

"Yes. Weird, boring, fun maybe...is okay. I want something from you, though." Roz pokes him in the middle of his chest.

Cliff blinks, sits up a bit. "Okay?"

The guy leans in, grinning. "You said crossdressing? You wear just clothes, or do you do makeup...?"

"Uh..." his face is getting warm. "I've kinda been doing makeup."

"Okay. So, sometime, not today because I am busy, but sometime, you come over and you bring your makeup, and we do this together."

Cliff startles.

Roz's grin gets wider. "Ah, I wish I could take you up and show you...well, actually, come here."

He gets up, gestures Cliff to follow him. 

And because this is his Captain, because they've been friends for like eight years, because he's trusted him with his life up til now...he does.

Roz thunders up the steps, loud and quick, and he hopes whatever is happening won't disturb his girl enough to come out and ask what's up with the noise.

Cliff gets to the top, and he's being pulled impatiently to the bathroom. Not the ensuite, but the one at the end of the hall.

Roz goes right for the medicine cabinet, opens it, takes out a box. It's blue, looks like satin, probably smooth to the touch. He opens it.

Oh, Cliff thinks, a lump forming in his throat.

There's lipstick in the box. Blue, shimmering, a few different shades. There's an eyeliner pencil. There's nail polish.

"I like to be pretty, sometimes." Roz says, casually, shrugging one shoulder like he does when he's nervous. "Not like you, maybe, I'm happy as a man. But this is fun. You want to have some fun, sometime?"

"Yeah." Cliff says, immediently.

The guy smiles. Wide, genuine, happy.

"I have more." he says, closing the box and tipping it back and forth. "But, ah-"

"Yeah. Uh, I kinda gathered you've got a girl around."

Roz hums. "I have company, yes. In my bedroom. But our conversation is private, so no panicking. And neither of us will tell, without permission, yes?"

"Definitely not." Cliff confirms.

"Okay, good. Anyway, all of my stuff, is open between us. I have been told many times how pretty I am." Roz bats his lashes, and Cliff snorts.

Then he thinks-shit, he's probably not exaggerating much. He hasn't imagined Roz in makeup before, but he's probably...really pretty. Hell, he's pretty right now, if he thinks about it that way.

"And I think you are too, probably."

Oh, fuck. Cliff bites his tongue, wonders where the hell Ilya Rozanov learned how to tear people's hearts open by being so fucking genuine.

"Thanks." he says, and it comes out too watery but Rozy doesn't seem to care.

'Thanks', they text Art later.

'Did it help? Just to talk?'

'Yeah', he types out, laying on their side, in his own bed. 'I think I'd like to talk to you too actually, if you want?'

Cliff is nervous about that one, but they get a quick response.

'Hell yeah. I like talking to you. Even about "weird shit"'

He huffs, smiling. 'Ilya told me it's not so weird. Idk about that still but he's been nice about it. So I want to be open about it with you if that's cool?'

'👍 it's definitely cool with me, Mr Marlow.'

Cliff has been looking things up. Some specific things that they missed, earlier on in his frantic Googling sprees.

And they're thinking now that maybe just between the three of them, 'Mr' doesn't quite fit. He likes the sound of 'Mx', though.

Chapter 9

It's nerve wracking to go back into the locker room afterwards. Less so than the prospect of going back into that house, knowing that he might be kind of gay, as in homosexual, as in likes dudes, and not as in...all the stuff Cliff's family associates with the word, including that, that just ends up synonymous with bad.

But most of the guys don't think that way. Or if they do, they don't say it out loud. Or if they would, they know for certain Roz would follow through on his threats if he ever caught them doing something.

But Cliff is fairly certain that most of it is genuine. He doesn't know if they always get it exactly right, but the effort seems to count for something. They're not sure if saying nice things to Hunter over Twitter translates to being chill with a gay guy in their showers, though.

And Cliff is still confused about so much of this. Sorting it out is difficult. Talking to Roz helped, but it also almost made it worse because now they have to deal with everything not thinking about it kept them safe from.

Everything hits that much harder now. It rolled off their back before, when he was able to think that's fucked up, you should shut your mouth, that's not true, but now that they know it is, in some way, about them? That every time someone called him a sissy or a-

And he's not sure how to...

They're not right. Because it doesn't make someone weak, worse at hockey, something to be mocked, something bad. And that's what they mean. They're saying there's something wrong with you and you are less than me.

But just because it isn't true doesn't make it-Cliff had no idea back then-

It's just. Hard? And they want to just ignore it but that can of slithering worms is all the way open and either way they're sick of being in there.

And of course it's more than a little terrifying just being in here. Surrounded by men. Most of them pretty attractive, most of them naked, all of them very straight.

Except for them. The gay transgender. And that's not a great thing to be, in most locker rooms. He's hoping-they can't tell, right?

Cliff is very glad they've never taken any pictures. He can't imagine what could happen if any of them leaked. He knows they look fuckin' stunning, gorgeous, only getting better with practice, but probably Roger Crowell would not agree.

Which is a shame. Cliff does sort of wish they could show off, sometimes. That the burst of confidance they sometimes catch could ignite something further, that they could ever be on some magazine cover like that instead of as an object of humiliation, of scorn, cast as some sort of creep.

And they have felt...awkward, about some things. About having to face up to maybe being attracted to about a third of their own fucking team. If Cliff is gay, then thinking about looking at someone's dick goes from masculine curiosity to...

They want, so badly, to ask someone who knows for sure. But somehow he doesn't think it'll come across right if he DMs Hunter asking about whether he's ever gotten hot and bothered in the locker room and felt like a pervert after.

And they still can't shake the fear that maybe the guy wouldn't approve, anyway.

It's...the maybe-trans thing isn't seperate from the rest of it. Cliff can't take these things and force them away from each other. They're something, and that something is whole and complete and waiting very patiently for him to figure it out fully. And the more they do, the more protective over it they feel.

So he doesn't think he can handle it if only one part is acceptable. If they can be gay as long as they do it politely and quietly and don't ever talk about it, but the pronoun thing is too complicated, weird, unacceptable. Or the reverse. The thought that both together is way too much is...depressing.

Roz does not seem to really care, though. He's normal on the ice and in the locker room and the fucking shower where they're right next to each other, and you wouldn't know to look at him that he's undressed next to someone who told him he was maybe into dudes yesterday.

But you wouldn't know that apparently he wore fuckin' makeup, either. And that his girl knows he wears makeup, and she still likes him. A whole lot, apparently. Can a mindfuck be a good thing?

Cliff is still trying to process that one. That Ilya Rozanov, the pinnacle of masculinity, in his own words, likes to be pretty. Likes to wear shimmering blue lipstick when he knows he's alone and free to do what he wants. Or when he's with someone who knows how nice this stuff can be.

It's a comfort, and they won't deny it. It's hard to tie it into reality, into everything they already know, into his mental picture of Roz, but even if they aren't the same it is such a relief to know he's not alone. Not in this.

It's a little weird to watch Art's videos now. Not bad weird, but it makes him a bit nervous in a similar way to when they think too hard about Hollander's freckles and his big hands just before a Montreal game.

He's seen those muscles in person before. Cliff watches them flex as he lifts a half-finished bedframe he was comissioned to carve with moons and wolves, and he thinks about the grip of the man's handshake. Firm. Steady. Not trying to turn their bones to powder though maybe he could.

People in the comments range from supportive of a transition they haven't gotten a confirmation for yet, to extremely disrespectful. Some of them are actively mourning a lesbian sister they've been told twelve thousand times does not exist.

But there are a good handful of people who stick to talking about the intricate hand carved shapes in the wood, or asking about aspects of the process.

Art does respond to a single comment with a gruff "Thanks", that reads nice beard mate 👍 and he has to talk himself out of writing a similar one.

They've set up a meeting at the same bar as last time, though not on a game night and hopefully sans Voyageurs. Cliff won't let himself think too hard about what they'll be talking about.

Art was...nice? When they'd asked about pronouns? So hopefully he'll be nice about Cliff's?

He lets himself imagine sometimes that maybe this guy has connections. Like maybe he can introduce them, if nothing else, to a few expanded concepts. Like maybe there are others, and Art knows them, and Cliff can not be some weird thing but part of something.

He can't just ask over text "By the way are you gay and can you help me figure out if I'm gay?" That seems like an in-person conversation, if it was one they could have at all.

'gay test free'

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'what does it mean if i want to be like specficfic trans man but was born man but not entirely man help me'

'gebders list trans'

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'compulsive heterosexuality definition'

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'Shane Hollander commercials compilation workout sweaty'

'is it wrong to think about kissing straight coworker without acting on it'

'why are men so attractive gay'

'why are men so attractive and smell good gay'

'r/cliffmarlow search: gay = 0 results'

'r/cliffmarlow search: transgender = 0 results'

'kipgrafy instagram shirtless + scott hunter'

'is it wrong to be artracted to hot attractive men in rekationship'

'is it wrong to be attracted to two hot attractive men in relationship eith each other gay'

'kip grady glasses'

"Oh good, you're not dead." Patty says, when he gets to her table.

Cliff winces. The day in between getting home and yesterday's game was spent apologizing to practically everybody they knew. The group chat had been chaotic; Connors really was serious about getting a search and rescue party together, St Simon apparently drove all the way out to his house to check if they were there, and if he hadn't dropped in on Roz when they did...

They'd yelled at him over text, but Roz had covered for them with a wild story about an even wilder bender, and that placated most of them.

But that wouldn't work on Patty. Or their Mom. So.

"Nah." he says. "Sorry again."

His sister glares up at him. "Clifford Fredrick Marlow, I could kill you."

Cliff shrugs. "I...kinda had a breakdown. Wasn't thinking clearly."

"A breakdown? What do you mean?"

"Uhhh...stress, I guess." they scratch the back of their neck. "Mom sorta...pushed it over the edge. Unintentionally."

Patty frowns. "Okay...I thought you said things were going well. What's been stressing you out? And stop looming, come on, sit."

People keep telling them to sit lately. It's getting old.

Cliff sits.

And he doesn't speak.

He's not going to...what, come out to her? Not this way, if ever. They can't quite picture it going as well as it did with Roz, who somehow knows more gay people than they do despite being straight.

Patty knows gay people. But it's different with family. They don't doubt Mom would be considerably less civil with Cliff than if Hunter somehow showed up and made it beneficial to be polite to his face.

Cliff loves his sister, and generally he trusts her. Maybe that's why it's a lot fucking scarier to imagine somehow losing her to something this important.

"Just. You know, stuff."

"Stuff." Patty echoes.

"Yeah. Uh, you wouldn't want to know, it's-gross."

Her eyebrows shoot up.

"Uh, I mean, it's normal." he chuckles uncomfortably "Man stuff. Wait, not-nobody's hurt or anything, it's just me. Uh. I'm fine though."

"Oh sure, I believe that." she says dryly.

"It's...medical."

"Okay..."

"Yeah, and it's-it's just, not something I should talk about. You'd get grossed out, and it's just been a lot, but I'm fine now and everything is cool." Cliff says. There. Not too many lies, right?

Also later today I'm going to hang out with Ilya Rozanov and we're going to put on makeup together, and then next week I'm meeting a gay guy in a bar but it's not a date. By the way, do you by any chance have Scott Hunter's phone number? I want to ask him about gay stuff for no particular reason.

Patty leans in. "Cliff", she says, very deliberately. "Do you have fucking testicular cancer?"

"What? No!"

"Prostate cancer?"

"No."

"An STI?"

"No, Patty."

She sits back. "Are you sick?"

Cliff shifts. "No, Pat. I'm not sick-uh, I mean, I was sick, but now I'm not."

"Oh yeah?" she asks, crossing her arms. "With what?"

Their mind races. "In...flu...uh.. influreuthris?"

Patty nods. "And the symptoms of that are..."

"Uhh...don't make me say it."

"Why not?"

Cliff makes a face. "Because we're in a resteraunt?"

Patty gives him a steely look.

"Uh....uncontrollable...pissing?" they try.

"I heard that one really fucks with your memory. Is that why you sound like you're making it up?" she asks sweetly.

He groans. "Come on-I can't tell you. It's...private."

"If you're fucking dying on me, I swear to shitting Christ I will ressurect you just to send you back to hell."

"I'm not dying."

"Then talk to me."

They glare at each other until a waitress comes by. When she leaves, Patty says "I can tell when something is wrong, Cliff. I know you."

They swallow.

"If...if I promise to tell you another time, will you let it go today? Please?" he asks quietly.

Patty searches his face. "Okay." she says. "But promise me, okay? I don't care if it's weird. You scared me. I really thought...I don't know what I thought."

Cliff nods. "Not in public. Um. I'll tell you when I've got the time off, and you can come over then."

That won't happen until they're ready, though. It feels selfish in the moment, but Cliff needs the buffer. And he needs to figure this out first.

"It's not bad." he says, even quieter. "It's complicated, but it's not bad."

"Marly!" Roz cheers, when he opens the door. "You did not get lost? Your marbles are still rolling around?"

"I think you're mixing the metaphor." Cliff says, but they're not entirely sure. He knows it's a dig, though.

Roz waves his hand with a dismissive flick as he moves to let them in. They can't help but double check that the door's locked after.

This is...they're nervous. Cliff brought a few bags of stuff that is still generally very private, and they're trusting him with this but part of him might not be able to relax until it's done with.

But another part thinks it could be fun.

"Let me see."

"Uh." He baulks. "Like, right here?"

Roz shrugs. "Wherever. Is no big deal, Marly."

"It's just, there's a lot of windows..."

The man rolls his eyes and mutters something about 'always with the windows', but gestures him to follow as he once again climbs the stairs.

Cliff does feel a bit better once Roz starts showing off his own stuff. He's eager, impatient, excited. Like he's been waiting for this since he first offered.

It's harder to worry somewhere in the back of their mind that this is a trick or a trap when their Captain is pulling out expensive pallette after expensive palette, tubes of definitely expensive lipstick, and ten thousand colors of nail polish and talking about which ones go with what. They're way higher quality than Cliff's Ebay makeup.

"I like blue most often because it brings my eyes out, but this is very nice too." he says, tapping a palette composed mainly of reds, oranges, and striking gold.

"You have a lot." Cliff observes, staring at the neatly organized case. It's big; there are four more that he can see in the closet.

Roz shrugs. "Some were gifts. You see, I am so sexy and beautiful that my lover buys me presents."

"Sure."

He grins. "You doubt, Marly? I will just have to show you, then. Now let me see what you brought, I am dying to see!"

"Okay, okay, fine." they grumble, but it's mostly nerves.

"Uh...so, I got all of this off Ebay." Carefully, he tips the nondescript bag he's been keeping the makeup in onto the bed. "It's kinda cheap, I think, but it all works. Um, I tend to do darker colors, I guess?"

"Oooh." Roz says immediately, and starts pawing through it. "I can see that-lots of black, hm? And silver, and gold..."

Cliff fidgets.

"Green? And purple, so much purple-your favorite color, eh? I would not have guessed."

"It goes well with...stuff." he mumbles.

They reflexively flinch back a bit when the guy steps up into their space. But he just takes Cliff's chin in one careful hand, looking close at his eyes. "These suit you, I think." Roz says, low like he's thinking. "I did not think you would have such an eye for these things."

He shrugs. "I just picked out what I wanted. Lucky?"

"Or picky." Roz says, sounding teasing. "But this is good, this is less work for me."

"Fuck off." they laugh.

"Anyway-you have more pretty things?" he asks, and somehow Cliff forgot that Roz is like a magpie sometimes. He likes flashy, sparkly, shiny things. And maybe that doesn't stop at luxury cars.

So they end up taking out their new nail tools, which Roz is delighted they know how to use ("You must teach me, Marly!") the clip-on earrings, a few other pieces of jewlery, and with some anxiety, his purple jacket and favorite skirt.

"Uh, none of this really goes with regular clothes." Cliff says, rubbing the back of their neck. "I actually sort of...dumped? Most of my-other stuff, and this is, uh, what I wear at home. So. Uh."

Roz's gaze lit up the moment he saw the jacket "Good taste." he says, "How long have you had good taste, Marly? You-uh, well."

"Yeah." they shrug. "Just-tried to look normal. I hated it too. But guys are supposed to have shitty taste, right? Woulda looked..."

Still would. Which is why Cliff doesn't dare wear even his loose pants and a close fitting lavender shirt out of the house. They're too fitted to the parts of his body they like to emphasize, they're too flowing and pretty not to stand out a bit.

Roz nods, but doesn't linger on it. That's nice. Cliff doesn't have to dwell on it either, then.

And then Roz reaches for the skirt, and underneath-

"Shit." they burst out, making a grab for the underwear, but it's too late. He saw.

"Oooh", Roz teases. "Marly! You have been holding out! Very nice-"

"Shut up!"

"No, no, is okay, I did not realize we were sharing this too, I have-" he wheezes, flapping a hand towards the closet again.

"Fuck off." Cliff groans. "No, we are not sharing."

"Okay, okay. I think my boyfriend might object, anyway." his Captain chuckles.

They stuff the underwear back in the bag, cursing himself for being so careless. Then they-pause.

Turn back around.

Roz is looking at him, charming smile across his face.

"Your what?" they ask.

The guy shrugs. "My boyfriend. My, ah, 'Montreal hookup'. Not just hookup, anymore."

Cliff blinks.

"You're gay?" they yelp.

Roz snorts. "Not completely. Word is bisexual? I like women, and I like men. Especially him."

Cliff's whole world just tilted off of its...tilt stand thing. "I never-you never-"

The man shrugs. "I didn't know about you. Have to be careful, da? About who you tell. And I don't tell him what you told me, but I say to him, I want my best friend to know this about me."

He swallows, audibly. "We have known each other many years, Marly. But not completely. So...as much as I can...here is one more part."

And Cliff can't not fucking hug him.

"Holy shit, Roz." they laugh, only a little hysterically. "Fuck. Good for you, brother."

"Yes." Roz says quietly, and they can tell he's smiling. "Very good."

Cliff steps back, beaming, grip sliding to his shoulders. "And he's, you like him?"

"Of course I like him, he is my fucking boyfriend." the guy grins. "I love him. Fuck, Marly, I have never loved somebody this much."

"You love him? Dude!"

"I do." Roz is blushing, whatever he might say.

"Wait, holy shit-was he here?" Cliff gapes.

"Many times! But yes, this last weekend also. We do not get a lot of time together, so."

Shit. That's sad, actually.

A relationship you just...can't be in, publicly. A perfectly healthy, normal, loving romance that would be fine, celebrated even, if it was straight.

That really sucks. They can't even imagine how much pressure that has to put on them. No wonder Roz is bursting at the seams to talk about it. He can't, really, with anyone else.

But as soon as Cliff gets through that thought, they realize-that's their future, too.

Damn.

Maybe they should try to get ahold of Hunter.

"I hope he knows how lucky he is." Cliff tells him, clapping him on the shoulder. "And, if you can-tell him congrats, from me."

Roz beams back. "I will. Now come on, let me turn you into prettiest princess at the ball, eh?"

"Fuck off, Rozanov."

"Wait." they say sometime later, "you said some of the makeup, those were gifts?"

Roz does a complicated motion mostly with his eyes that seems to replicate a shrug; most of his energy is focused on painting tiny dotted wings on a golden dragonfly now resting on Cliff's thumbnail.

"Dude. That's expensive shit."

He grins. "You are jealous of my sugar daddy, Marly?"

"Shut up. No."

They think about it for a second. "Maybe."

Roz cackles.

"What he is called, Bartholomew-I bet he has lots of money from selling fancy furniture." he says, shit-eating grin leveled at him as he pauses. "He could-"

"No! Roz, no-"

"You want to call him? I can tell him for you, I can say, 'Oh, Mr Youtube, Marly needs some cash for pretty things, he will give favor-'"

"Shut up!"

"Oh? No? You would do it for free?"

Cliff uses his other hand to pick up the roll of paper towels they've been using and poise to beat him over the head with it.

Roz pouts. "I am trying to help! You say you are jealous, but you don't like when I fix? So fickle."

"Fuck you. Do not call him."

"Okay, I won't tell him you have huge embarassing obvious crush."

"It is not fucking obvious!" Cliff snaps, then pauses. "Fuck."

So. Overall, when Cliff leaves that evening in his gross normal clothes with his artful silver eye shadow and lipstick scrubbed off and his nails scraped clean, everything tucked neatly back into their bags, and Roz has thumped them on the back and told him to stay in fucking touch from now on, idiot, he's in a pretty good mood. Better than this morning, when they failed to lie to Patty.

But they're also maybe in trouble now, because it's finally gotten through their stupid thick head at last that Cliff has a huge, embarassing, apparently obvious crush on Bartholomew Green.

And they're coming out to him next week.

Fuck.

Chapter 10

Hello, Mr Hunter. How are you? Great season so far. I look forward to playing against you in New York in a few months.

I am reaching out now because I wanted to t

because I would like to ask you something. I hope it isn't insensitive to enquire about this subject. I really don't know the protocal here ehich is kind of the reason I'm asking.

How did you know for sure that you were that you are gay? And did you Was it difficult to hide stay closeted for a long time? How did you cope with that? I guess I am just wondering if it gets better.

I have one friend, but I'm really lonely. I am wondering if I shoukd be satisfied eith that or if

Apologies if I bothered you with this message. No need to write back urgently. I'll be here a while haha It's not like I can comr out Do you think we could talk sometime What's it like to be with someone you love So there's this guy

sincerely,

mx Cliff Marlow

Cliff stares at the email for a few minutes.

I know You probably don't I understand that this is a more complex subject but I think the effect you coming out had reached further than you perhaps intended. I still don't know if I have a place anywhere. I have read conflicfing reports. I don't want to intrude.

I am

I'm

I identify with

The simplest way to put it is that I'm trans. My friend says they consider me family and that it's a very individual thing I just don't want things to be awkward on the ice I really look up to you

I don't know how to put this so I hope it doesn't sound weird, but I really admire you and Mr Grady. You have always I hope that things conti ue to go well for you both.

Apologies if I bothered you with this message. No need to write back urgently.

A lump forms in their throat as they stare at the closing words. Sincerely, mx Cliff Marlow.

He drags the curser up and deletes the whole thing.

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'nonbinary goth with pretty nails and makeup pictures google'

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Cliff swallows. "Hi." he says to the bathroom mirror. "Mr Green, good to see you. How's it going? Great, that's cool. I'm transgender."

They wince. "I'm...nonbinary." they try. "If that's okay. Do...I like you. A lot. More than I should. Want to go somewhere more private and kiss?"

Ugh.

Kissing isn't all he wants to do to Art. And they can't tell whether it's a normal amount of wanting. Whether he's allowed to-like, they don't know-

He keeps dreaming about Art fucking him. Right up the ass. And in the dream, it feels really fucking good. And they kind of want that in reality.

But what if that's...

It feels...weird, in retrospect, but Cliff has searched for trans porn. Just to see if maybe there's anyone like them who's sexy and open about it. But there really isn't.

There's a lot of trans women who get-misgendered, is the term, he thinks. In the titles and sometimes the videos and the sheer focus on genitals just ends up being really uncomfortable. None of it is...porn isn't supposed to be relatable, but it's even more alienating than usual.

It's a lot of women being disrespected, and a complete absence of anyone like Cliff. And the times they do find 'crossdressing' stuff just reminds them that's not how they think of it anymore, personally. Some of the comments,  some of the videos even, just don't-

He doesn't think of the way they are as humiliating. It's beautiful, when he lets himself feel it, and the more normal they allow it to be, the more they can breathe easy. It's not...degrading.

And Cliff neither really wants to be some kind of-bossy, 'do what i say, boy' dom in bed, or get made fun of. Or insulted. Being a slut could be fun, maybe, but being themself doesn't...make them one? Or at least he doesn't want it to?

And it sucks, because Cliff would wear the fuck out of a pair of slutty heels and a microskirt. They're hot as hell. If he felt like tracking down some sexy underwear that wouldn't be stretched out by his giant fat ass (and they'd want them to be actual, like, clothes right, like even sexy clothes shouldn't just get tossed) then they would look incredible. These are just basic facts.

And it's not just the clothes, of course. Cliff has the aforementioned bangin' ass, pecs that they were getting more comfortable thinking of as a nice feature (big enough to stretch out the fabric of a shirt, bounce when he moved, and maybe, maybe, someday someone would want to suck on them) long muscular legs, and he'd always taken pretty good care of his hair. Looking at any of that, before, was weird in a way that had always been hard to describe.

Maybe it was dysphoria, honestly. Because the giant hands do sometimes bother them, with the way people focus on them so much and tie it all in to being a big masculine man who could never be anything else. Gross.

They've never wanted to be sexy in the way men usually are. Features that they do like in the context of his actual self get twisted and stained by other people's eyes. And maybe they're worried there's no room for what he wants to be as soon as they take their clothes off.

The clothes don't make Cliff what he is, but it's hard to argue with a skirt. It's there, it's real, whatever you want to make of it. But if a nude ever leaked-well, all they'd see is a man. Which isn't the whole story.

So they stopped trying to find anyone like them. Maybe it was also a mistake to try and find-

Well. Cliff's, uh, thing hasn't arrived in the mail yet. But they sort of...know what they want to try and do with it.

And they can't seem to find much evidence of that happening in practice. Which is fine! Cliff would never try and get someone to do something they don't want to. Maybe it's just not a thing. It just makes the post-sex dream nut guiltier than before.

Ultimately, at this moment, Cliff wants to look slutty and get railed for it and maybe punched in the head but like, respectfully. Consensually. They would beg, actually.

He doesn't want to be treated like...a man being feminized, or like a woman who is feminine, or maybe even feminized at all. Which is difficult, and maybe weird, because Cliff loves doing things that they know other people would think of as feminine. And. Not even shitty people.

It just sometimes feels like sex is a hard boundary, a line, where it has to be back to basics and anything you are outside of that doesn't matter. And that's a scary thought and Cliff doesn't like it.

Cliff genuinely likes this guy, is the thing. And maybe he more than likes him. And they're starting to realize that they're very, very attracted to him.

Maybe it would be easier if Art just ended up wanting to stay friends. That would be okay. Just getting to be around the guy, talk to him, is enough.

But if they could...

Hello, Mr Hunter. How are you? Great season so far. I look forward to playing against you in New York in a few months.

I would like to talk to you about something. It's important.

sincerely,

Cliff Marlow

No. That's way too alarming, even if it's also accurate.

It's just...they want to tell someone. And he knows Hunter won't tell. It would be safe, right? Like practice, maybe, and then they could ask him how to work up the courage to tell other people. The guides are not helping. The guides were not made for or by high profile athletes.

And Roz hasn't come out to anyone but Rich Boyfriend. And apparently that was in response to Rich Boyfriend coming out to him, after he'd dumped him for a woman after having a confusion induced panic attack.

When Cliff made him recount exactly how something like that had happened, they went from offended on Roz's behalf to fully on Boyfriend's side. "How is any of that being blunt!" they'd exclaimed. "That's like fifty mixed signals at once! I'd have left you with your dick in your hand too, asshole!"

Roz had made a pained sound and rolled his eyes.

Cliff is drunk. They're at a bar, the team is here around them, and all they want is...

Cliff: I like you

Cliff: srry im being weird you're sjust a goof dfriend and youre so nice

Cliff: how ttadl boyhsgoggle.com

Cliff: donut recipe and ickng frlm scratch

Cliff: do hot bo eat donut if i give them

Cliff: is it creepy to gotbve baked oods to cgtyush

Cliff: hoggle.cim does it ever stop hurting im so tired

Cliff closes every app, shuts down his phone, and sucks down half of the cotton candy flavored cocktail in front of them. Then they turn on the phone and click on the email app.

Hello, Mr. Hunter How are you? Great sneaasonI look forward to playing i like hovkey

There is a really cool guy and I only have one friend, do you want to be friends i will come to that smoothie place and tip

not innudendo i wont try anything lolll im a pussy wait isntsat mean sorry mr hunterrsir dont hate me i like you

can i hug you next game please and pretend youre my dad hes not geeat the real one i mean i know youre like four years older than me which is less than art do you know who he is HE IS SNO NICE AND HOT DONT MHIM IM sorry caps lok didnt mean to yeklll

its hurts so much i know im sorry was it worse for you did you girls i did and i feel so bad fuckf im sorry im so sorry i hole

dk yku like donuts

sinscerly mx not miss markow

Connors looks very worried, which is weird because he's not the one on the ground.

"I fell." Cliff gathers, having reviewed the evidence thougholy.

"Yeah, buddy." his teammate says, his voice going weird. "Is there, uh, something you need to talk about?"

They brush a hand over the ground. "This floor is...gross."

Connors crouches down next to them. "Yeah. You need help getting up?"

Cliff shrugs.

Someone else walks into the men's room. He waves.

The man glances at them. He fiddles with his zipper.

"He's drunk." Connors says. "Few too many. He's fine."

"Piss away, brother." Cliff gives a big thumbs-up. They briefly wonder if they should clarify where, because they're not into that, but the stranger seems to know what he's doing. Connors gently takes his head and turns his face away.

"So." he says, when the guy leaves (very quickly for some reason) still in a very strange tone. "Um."

"Mmm."

"Yeah." he pats Cliff's head. It's so nice.

"Your hands feel good."

"Uh....so..." Connors coughs. "Uhm. Cliff, buddy."

"Yeah?"

The guy crouches, like he might sit next to them (floor buddy??) but he doesn't. He stands and pulls Cliff up. "Oof! Fuck, you're heavy."

"Mmmyeah."

Connors stands back. He looks at him for a long moment.

"You know you're my friend, right?" he asks quietly.

"Uh. I...hope so?"

The guy makes a weird face, like he's trying to smile but can't quite manage it. "Right. So, even if...I just want you to know that. Okay? You are wasted, dude."

"You're my friend, too." they clutch the guy's shoulders, partly for emphasis and partly because the room is swaying and they don't want him to fall. "You're such a great guy. You're, I hope you live forever."

Connors nods. His face is still weird.

"I don't think I'm gonna live forever." they mumble.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah...I don't think so. That's a long time to be lonely."

"Oh. Buddy." Connors says, voice thick. "You don't have to be lonely. We're here for you, man. We're still here."

They wouldn't be. Not if they knew. They wouldn't want Cliff in their locker room, they wouldn't want him in the homes, they wouldn't want him near their kids, they wouldn't like him anymore.

Cliff isn't like Scott Hunter. And they aren't dumb enough to believe the Bears are like the Admirals, because they do not get things that good. Those things are not for Cliff. They don't deserve them.

Not even their own mother thinks they're good enough. Everybody has to know it, right? Maybe they see it, maybe it's visible in their face or sore shoulders or his dumb, sad soul.

Fuck. Is he jealous? Of everybody? That's awful. Cliff is awful.

They sniff.

"Oh, bro." Connors raises a hand, lowers it, settles for patting him on the arm. "Come on, I think you need coffee or something."

It sucks, because Cliff is just too beautiful to be this sad. And yet they are. Curse this world for making such a wretched creature.

Connors snorts at something, but Cliff is focusing more on trying to walk without crashing into too many walls.

"Hey, I'm hauling Marly to the diner across the street." Connors tells the guys, holding onto the back of his jacket so he doesn't run away. Or something, what's happening? "He is fuckin' gone, man."

Roz sighs. "I told you to pace yourself with this shit, Marly."

"Sorry, papa."

Connors puts a hand over their mouth. They lick it and it goes away. It tastes sticky. "Uhh, yeah. Vicky, you wanna tag along? I might need help...with, um..."

"Might throw up, guys, sorry." Cliff grunts, staring at the floor. It's so far away and yet so close.

"Yeah, with that." Connors points to them with his free hand.

St Simon agrees, apparently, and then they're moving again. They hear snatches of conversation without really understanding it.

"So, you think-"

"Maybe, it's really unclear. I don't know this shit, man, I just hope-"

"Me neither, fuck-"

"You think Cap knows?"

"Nah, no way-"

"Really out of it. You don't think-"

"Non, I watched him, that's all him, never left the-"

When Cliff wakes up, their entire brain is being stabbed repeatedly by a thousand swords.

"Ow."

"Hi, sleepyhead!" Connors sings, and they flinch. "Guess who went on a bender last night!"

"Judging from the-fuck, no, lights." Cliff sobs, burying their face in the shitty motel pillow.

"And guess who sent his friends some really weird and concerning messages! And guess who scared the fuck out of everybody AGAIN."

Oh...he sounds mad.

Why does this keep happening to them?

Connors is stomping around the room. "Cap says it's fine, and I trust him because he doesn't put up with Dallas Kent shit, but I have no fucking clue what this shit actually is, Cliff, except that it's scaring us. So please fucking enlighten me because Cap says he's not allowed."

Cliff groans.

"You need a refresher?"

"You were so much nicer last night."

"Last night I was worried. I'm still worried but now I'm also pissed."

"Why?"

"Because you don't do this shit!" Connors yells. "This is Rozanov behavior! Did your whole fucking family die in a fire? Did your secret wife drown in a well? What the fuck, Marlow!"

"You have been spiraling for months, and you haven't told anyone a damn thing! You don't talk to us, you barely go anywhere, you don't fuck, you drink like my alcoholic fucking grandmother, you run away from your own fucking family and shut everyone out for two fucking days and Cap goes from being with us on it to fucking covering for you!"

He does a bad imitation of Roz's accent. "Is just sickness, is bender, is energency, cold, very bad vomiting diarrhea do not visit, stay away, no is fine he has closed all blinds no worry, shut up stop talking about it, very private businuess."

Connors takes in a breath. Cliff looks up and twists around to see he's gone red in the face.

"I think", the guy grits, "that you don't think anybody cares about you, asshole. You fuck. And we do."

Cliff stares.

"I don't care what it is. Okay, no, I fucking care-Roz says you're not hurting a damn soul but your own. And he told us to shut up, tell no one, we guard this with our fucking lives because yours might be on the line."

Connors glares at them. "Tell me what I do with that. What am I supposed to think, Cliff? Because I'm wracking my brain here, and I'm running out of conclusions to draw."

"Uh." Cliff swallows. His throat hurts.

"Here."

The guy flings a bottle of water at him. It's cold.

"Did you-was this in the fridge-"

"Shut up. Talk."

Connors crosses his arms, sits down at the end of the bed Cliff is haphazardly occupying, and waits.

"Um..."

What. What are they supposed to do?

Cliff can't just...what, flay themself open because they owe this guy something? Do they?

"Oh, jesus fuck."

They turn back around, clutching the water.

"Fuck. I'm sorry. Man, I-"

He flinches at the touch.

"Shit. I didn't mean..."

"I know you mean well." they say tightly, steadily. "But this is none of your business, Connie. Don't."

"I'm sorry I yelled at you."

He grits his teeth around a spasm.

"Cliff."

"Stop."

"I really am sorry. I thought-fuck, I kinda expected this to be a shouting match, not-"

"Shut up."

"Marly." Connors says, and wraps his arms around their shoulders. "It's okay, man. It's okay. I got you."

Twenty minutes later, Cliff flings a wad of tissues at him. "This never happened."

"It's okay to have feelings, bro." Connors bumps their shoulders together. "Doesn't your sister say that? Like, constantly? Pointedly?"

"Ugh."

Cliff collapses back onto the shitty mattress. Closes his eyes, lets the sounds of awful reality TV wash over them.

The bed shakes a bit as Connors does the same.

"Hey." he whispers. His warm breath ghosts over their face.

"Hey." they murmur back.

"For what it's worth? You're nice, too." the guy brushes a strand of hair off their forehead. "And usually, you're a good friend. I like you a lot."

Oh.

"Thanks, buddy. Did anybody happen to get a really weird email last night, or..."

He can hear the grin in Connor's voice. "Yeah. You sent it to St Vicky. We can forward it to Hunter though, if you want, 'Mix Marco'."

Ughhhh.

"Do me a favor and never look that up, okay?" Cliff sighs.

And then winces. "Or say it. Especially like that, jesus christ."

"Okay."

Connors rolls over and hugs him around the waist. "We like you so much, Cliff. We'd miss you. Don't...just don't, okay?"

They swallow.

His hair is still so soft, when they ruffle it.

"I'll try." they manage.

Chapter 11

Chapter Notes

I think I am later with this chapter than usual, apologies, ocd has been kicking my ass to the point that it's been hard getting out of bed. but i persist

They have a game today, so Cliff compartmentalizes until it's over.

And hockey does help. They genuinely love hockey. They love flying over the ice, they love the challenge, they love to work for it, he loves scoring and they love to fucking win.

It's grounding in a way that makes his body somehow both more and less real. It's all grace and impact and movement. Paying attention to the others, what they're saying and what they're doing. Strategy, action, noise and bright light and cold.

You can't turn off your brain, and in a fucked up way maybe, that's good. You have to look. You can't crawl into yourself and hide there, you have to show up and you have to fucking play. You have to pay attention, especially as Alternate Captain. What is happening to your teammates? What do they need from you?

Guilt can't touch you on the ice, because objects don't have feelings. A tool does what it needs to, and in the right hand it can aid in victory. As long as Cliff stays sharp and polished, they can function as intended for however long that lasts.

"No drinking for Marly tonight!", Roz says as soon as they've set foot in the bar. "He is sober until he learns how to be boring."

Cliff doesn't bother putting up a fuss about it. Probably for the best, even if alcohol might help take the edge off of the gnawing pit in their stomach. It's probably just dysphoria.

And isn't that a thought. That gender dysphoria is something he can have. That there's a word for this, that it's got a name.

Things he didn't even register grating before. Mr Marlow, sir, dude, bro, Clifford, he, he, he, him, he, nothing else. The hands, the sizing-up, the clothes that make the inside of their skin itch. It's tiring. Empty.

And the thought of doing it forever is...

Cliff orders a plate of fries. If they're going to mope, they'll at least mope into some shitty bar food.

And food's weird, right? He's getting so sick of feeling guilty about this stuff. It sucks to have to choke down things because you have to. Like mushrooms and lasagne and soup. It's clearly not like this for other people. Other people don't like some things but it's not visceral, it doesn't-

Cliff is too tired to get worked up about this. And they probably won't end up sleeping for long tonight, anyway.

Maybe after they talk to Art tomorrow, they can go home and pretend to sleep for a while. Maybe that will do something.

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'rose landry movies'

'black fuzzy sweater ebay'

Hello! Sorry if it's weird to DM you but I thought it was cool that you donated to that charity. It sounds like it could help a lot of people. I didn't even know there were places like that. I think maybe it could do some good in unexpected places. Hypothetically. Hope I am not bothering you no need for reply :) -Cliff Marlow

They send it before they can overthink the action, turn off their phone, and put it in his jacket. Then he takes off the jacket and wads it up and puts it behind their back.

What if he hates me, some deep, half emerged part of Cliff wails, pulling out his imaginary hair by the roots.

He'll probably just ignore it. He doesn't know or care about you. You've spoken what, three times? And the only thing you've said to him on the ice is 'fuck you, you're gonna lose, bad pass, boo!'

I never claimed to be an intelligent or well spoken person. Thing. Whatever.

Well, good, because he can definitely tell. That you're really dumb. And pathetic. You're lucky you haven't been fired yet.

This is stupid. Why am I talking to myself? Why are you insulting me?

You'll never be good enough to catch his attention. Best give it up now. If he doesn't already hate you for that injury he hates you now for being weird and awkward. Good intentions aren't enough, you have to actually be interesting or likable.

Okay?

He can probably tell that you used to daydream about kissing him. Bet he'd never talk to you again if he knew that.

Probably, yeah. Most guys wouldn't talk to me if they knew what I am. Their loss.

How can you say that?

Eh. Whatever. Even if I can never come out, I'll figure out a way to live. And I'll try to make the world a better place while I'm in it. Maybe that means I quit hockey and go live in the woods somewhere, maybe that means living half-suffocated for the rest of my life. I don't have it all that rough, all things considered. I'll manage. I'm fine.

Okay, but have you considered that maybe you're secretly an abusive evil monster and just don't know it yet?

Yeah, constantly. I have to. No one else is going to watch it so I have to watch myself. If I hurt someone then I have to be the one to figure it out and fix it.

"You look constipated." says Carmichael.

Cliff sets down the glass he was about to take a giant gulp from.

"Aren't we all." they say, like it's something profound.

Connors spits beer all down his shirt, hacking and coughing.

"You people are disgusting." Hammersmith mumbles, eyeing the last of his wings like he's thinking about pushing it. He'd better not. He's made that mistake before.

Cliff yawns. It sucks to be so tired and know he probably won't be able to sleep.

"Seriously, though. Are you good, man?"

"Yeah. Great." they contort their face into a smile.

'insomnia cure'

'insomnia cure no prescription'

'how to sleep'

'cant sleep keep thinking'

'cant sleep because of thoughts panic'

'anxious about talking to crush adult'

'can adult gay nervous about hot guy'

'how to be cool in front of hot guy hes very nice'

'how to come out nonbinary'

Pat: are you good

Pat: Gayle says you haven't talked to her since you apologized

Pat: She likes you, you know

Pat: I think she really likes you. Godawful taste.

Pat: Mom has been trying to set you two up for years. Did you know that? It's not fair to jerk her around. Gayle deserves someone who treats her with dignity.

Pat: I love you Cliff but seriously I can tell something is fucked up and I don't like it. Either you did something or something happened to you and I will find out.

Pat: I'm worried about you and you won't talk to anyone

Pat: I just want my brother back you dick

They get the texts after a long session of lying in bed, eyes shut tight, already halfway to spiraling. He's trying to nap. It doesn't work. Finding that Patty's been texting them over the course of four hours is just the icing on the...cake they didn't order.

Cliff: sorry

Cliff: i know im awful

Cliff: none of you deserve this

Cliff: i really try to be a good person but i know its not enough and it never can be theres probably shit i dont even know im doing wrong and i find those pockets of rot constantly

Cliff: i never meant to lead anyone on

Pat: jesus fuck hi

Cliff: im sorry patty

Pat: for what??? TALK TO ME ASSHOLE I LOVE YOU

Cliff: love you too

Cliff: don't

Cliff: it's not that important. im fine like this. talking wont do anything.

Cliff: and im a coward i think because i know exactly what ill get if i do talk and maybe i deserve it? i dont want

Cliff: i have been doing a lot of reading recently and coming to some conclusions 

Cliff: i dont know if youd be okay with them and i apologize if that is the case because i really love you and gayle too

Cliff: and i understand if you dont eant me around after i know you have thoughts about gendered stuff and idk if this is feminist there are branches i think that dont like it

Cliff: and i think thats sad and but is that telling women what to do if i think they shoukd reconsider

Cliff: ihave a responsibility to be a good person and not harm people and i really want to find ask peolle what is it like for you and can i help because we share this thing and i could try doing that making space thing

Cliff: its fucking stupid fr me to be scared of talk ing i have so much of that privlage stuff you told me about nothing woukd happen to me but maybe i deserve fired and no one hires me unless i go back and then i starve and die but id be fine otherwise i think i dont know im sorry

Cliff: i just dont want to make things worse for people and what if this does if people are nice to me do i deserve that?

They turn, bury their face in the pillow, and scream.

Cliff: sorry i took a minute to think and i apologize for being weird i will do better in the future

9 messages deleted

Cliff: am i using that phrase right

Pat: what? i put my phone down for two seconds and you write and delete an entire novel wtf

Cliff: sorry  gotta go practice

Marly: hey roz just letting you know ily not romantically

Cap: what is wrong

Cap: are you safe

Marly: lol yeah i just did something embarassing apparently my sisfers friend has a thing for me. awkward!!

Marly: i just apppriciate your friensdhip. if i didnt admit im gay i might have dated her just because she wants to and i really do like her id have broken her heart since i am actually so gay dude i coukdnt hsve loved her like that

Marly: lol 😃😃😃

Mr Hollander,

apologies for the deleted DM, I don't mean to bother you. Simply commending you for your charity work. Have a good day.

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'do gay guys cuddle after sex'

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It doesn't help them sleep, but watching Art's videos is soothing as usual. The older man's gruff voice is steady, calm, the few times Cliff is graced with it. And tonight (today now, technically, at 5 AM) he needs calm. Needs something grounding, bracing.

In the end, they're able to snag maybe five minutes or so. And that's something.

Marlow: hey guys. id like to apologize again for my recent concerfning behavior. i have been dealing with something personal and it is taking a toll on me mentally. that's no excuse, but i have been asked repeatedly for a explanation.

Hammersmith: At least we know for sure this is Marly. "concerfning"

Connors: concerfning

Carmichael: concerfning

Carmichael: seriously, tho. what's up?

Marlow: i wish i could say. is it too much to ask to just let it be for now? i promise no one is getting hurt. im just going through something. its hard but ill be fine.

Cap: That is fine Marly, and thank you for explaining. Now everyone shut up and leave him alone.

Connors: We're here for you, dude. we're not gonna judge. promise.

Connors: We just miss you

St Simon: We do and we will not judge

Cap: He is right here and fine stop pushing

Marlow: idk guys. its tempting. but

Marlow: dunno

Marlow: i dont wanna be a joke or like freak you out or anything

Marlow: i havent been sleeping its none of your if i said the word nonbinary would any of you know what that is i feel like i am dying

Marlow: thanksfor your concern

Chapter 12

Chapter Summary

This chapter properly earns the 'explicit' rating. Transgender sex below.

Conner: hey dude I know you don't want to talk about it and I wont push but you know you CAN, right? just want you to know you're still my boy we're brothers here yknow

Cap: good yes!!! talk to this man and then GO TO SLEEP MARLY you are delirious probably 

Mom: You know I didn't mean it like that. You overreact to everything. I shouldn't have to worry about my grown adult son throwing a hissy fit over a few words he decided he doesn't like. They're coddling you over there.

St Simon: It's okay. I did not mind. I have babysat drunks before and believe me, you are not nearly as rowdy as some of the rookies

Hammersmith: You're usually not like this, Marlow. It's getting weird. Yes, my wife is bisexual. She's very open about it. Why are you asking?

Dad: Your mother's been through a lot, buddy. I know it's hard. She says a lot of things she doesn't mean but she really loves you.

Carmichael: my girl's got this super hot friend and she's in town tonight

Colbert: yeah i remember you freaked out lol was it too gay for you? im like a connisur or however you say it now my buddy ross and i pick up girls together all the time if you wanna try again

Conner: look its gonna be ok man. whatevers up i promise its not the end of the world. hang in there, ok?

Cliff really hates whatever this is. It can't be like, depression or something because they wouldn't be able to play hockey if they had a real mental thing going on. He's seen PSAs. That's serious shit.

But it's...ugh. Hard to think with all this pressure, and they're scared, and it's...what does Cliff have to be scared of? Other than all the things that could happen?

Food at least helps. Cooking is kinda neat; you can try to follow recipes but they're complicated, and it's way easier to just shove a bunch of good things in a pan with some kind of oil and a shit ton of salt and spices and heat it up. Bread and potatoes and onions and garlic with slightly crispy cheese on top is actually pretty fuckin' awesome, turns out. And taking a long shower afterwards helps them not think. Cliff is really sick of thinking, right now.

He's definitely sick of thinking about that stupid DM. Hollander seems to have seen it, but hasn't answered. Cliff didn't really expect him to, but it seems to confirm all of his worst fears for this. That talking about it is just too much, too weird. That maybe people like Rose Landry are the only ones that get to, given their distance. 

And they're still feeling bad about Patty. She doesn't deserve being treated like this. Cliff wants to tell her, he really does. They're just really scared that trusting her with this will reveal some kind of hidden wrong he didn't even know they were comitting. That maybe the fundamental core of what he is can't mesh properly with people fighting for the right thing.

There are a lot of groups they are now aware of that seem to think that. And Cliff doesn't know how to tell if being uncomfortable with the thought means it's the truth or not.

They grew up with the knowledge that if you feel bad, it means you did something bad. And if you don't feel bad, you either just don't know it yet or you're doing another bad thing by not feeling it. Probably on purpose. 

Whatever. There's a picture of Scott Hunter in swim trunks going around and that's distracting enough to occupy them until it's time to leave. 

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Maybe it was a bad idea to go on a googling spree right before Art showed up, because now they're embarrassed and sweaty and kind of scared.

And still pretty tired. Cliff needs to sleep sometime soon. It's always been a headache but with all this...lately, it's more of a struggle.

"Hey."

Be normal! "Hey." they greet, with finger-guns. Super casual, super normal. "Good to see you, Mr Green."

Cliff tries really hard not to scream internally because fuck. Fuck. Art is wearing The Jacket, the one with the gold buttons.

He's also got gold jewelry in this time, in the nose and ears and mouth and probably his tongue. What looks like an actual tooth hangs on a cord around his neck, a coiled gold snake ring on his finger. And he's wearing tight black pants. Tight.

In comparison...Cliff is in his 'normal regular male hockey player' costume. It doesn't fit right anymore. Maybe it never did.

"Good to see you, Mr Marlow."

Cliff swallows as Art sits across from them. That's a good an opening as any, right?

"About...that." they rasp.

Is it getting warmer in here? Cliff's palms are really sweaty.

Fuck. Why is this so hard?

It's not...they trust him. He won't tell anyone. But the thought that maybe this could go wrong is...

And just saying it is always the hardest part. Even with Roz, it was like gargling rocks. Even though he knew it probably wouldn't...

"Um. So. I've, uh, looked into some stuff and actually I think-"

Cliff cuts himself off, but it's more like-they dry up. The words are just gone.

"Sorry. Uh. Um, I don't-"

Breathe, idiot. They try not to sound obvious about it. There are people here, still. They're not listening now, but they might-

"I'm nonbinary."

Fuck. Fuck. It's out.

Good fuckin' flying fucktags, that was difficult.

Art watches them. It's not staring really, or at least it doesn't feel that way. His expression doesn't change. When it's clear Cliff has clammed up, he dips his head in a nod.

"Okay." he rumbles. "Thanks for trusting me."

Holy shit, that's nice to hear. "Uh. Heh. Well, you're a good guy, so."

Art huffs, puff of air through his nose.

"What, you are! I-really like talking to you."

The guy takes a minute, like he's thinking about that. "I like talking to you, too. You're a good person."

Oh, geez. Art better be careful with that, cause it's kind of heady.

"So would it be better to say 'good to see you, Mx Marlow', then?" he rumbles, low and quiet. Not a whisper, like it's something weird. Just a private conversation.

"Yeah." Cliff swallows. "Yeah, fuck, that's a lot better."

Just hearing someone say it is...it fits. For the first time, it clicks neatly into place like it was just waiting for them to figure it out. 

They take in a shaky breath. Then another one. He's being weird, shit.

"Um." he winces when their voice breaks. "Sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about. This shit's hard."

They swipe a hand across their face. "It kinda is. Uh...thanks for-thanks."

Art nods. Like it's not that big a deal, like they can still be casual. Like this isn't...

A problem? Weird?

"Um. I, you still wanna be friends?" Cliff blurts.

The man's lip twitches upwards. "Yeah. I do."

"Wow." Cliff sniffs, reaching into his pocket for a kleenex. "I'm really glad to hear that."

The lip twitches higher. "I'd be a hypocrite if I didn't."

"Well, you know-I've-been doing some reading."

Art raises an eyebrow.

"I just...I don't want to bother anybody. Or...hurt anybody."

"Aw, kid." his eyes fall for some reason to Cliff's hands, awkwardly curled into the tabletop. "You're not hurting anyone. Promise."

"Fuck off, I'm not a kid." they laugh wetly.

"Right, I forgot. You're legal. I mean, twenty eight."

Cliff mimes throwing his tissue at Art's head. The guy just chuckles.

"That-is a terrible segues, actually, like really shit-uh, but I also wanted to tell you I'm, um, gay." they take a breath. "I think that's...I can be gay, right?"

"Yes."

Whew. "Yeah, so, I'm gay. Men are...wow." 

Art snorts. "Yeah. Sure are."

Cliff's stupid heart leaps. "Yeah?"

The guy inclines his head. "Yup."

Be normal! Be normal! "That's cool. That we're, uh, both gay."

"Yup."

Cliff tries not to...they don't know what. Jump in the air and do cartwheels? Jesus, he's got it bad.

"Did you...you said, uh, that you got a...vibe?" he bites the inside of their cheek. "Like, back a while ago. Was that..."

Art waits a minute, then shrugs when Cliff doesn't add to that. "I got massive baby queer vibes from you."

Cliff pouts. "I'm not a baby."

"Nah. You're just new to this, right?"

"Yeah. Pretty new." 

"That's all it means. You were still in the shell."

Huh.

That's sort of...the thought that maybe Cliff doesn't need to know everything right away, that maybe it's okay to be new, is nice. Like he wasn't just being stupid. Like maybe it took time because they needed time.

"Can I...ask you something?" he says haltingly.

Art sits up a bit. "Yes."

"Uh. So...I used to go by 'he', um, exclusively, since I thought I was...you know."

The man nods.

"Do I have to..." Cliff fiddles with their hands. "I don't...I'm not completely a man. But I'm not-I guess that's the easiest way to put it? I want to keep using it and I like 'they' too, but-am I screwing this up already? Do I have to change that?"

Art shakes his head.

"Really?"

"Really." he says gruffly. "You're fine. Don't let anyone fuck you up about your pronouns. If he/they feels right, then it feels right."

Cliff nods.

"Hey." Art says, the rough edges soft like a pumice stone. "I mean it. You're okay."

"Sorry." they mumble, scrubbing at their face.

"You're good."

After a beat, he leans in. "It sucks, and it shouldn't be this way, but this is pretty normal. Everything you're feeling. We get spoonfed a lot of bullshit."

Cliff sniffles.

"I can't imagine being in sports helps that a ton."

He shakes his head.

"You talk to Ilya about it?"

"Uh, yeah." they mumble. "I did. It helped."

Something in the line of Art's shoulders seems to loosen. "Good."

"I, um. He actually, uh, made me realize something. Also."

They just have to do it. Get through it. There's only one more hurdle left, and then maybe Cliff can just breathe for a while. Whatever happens, it will be out.

"I...like you." he mumbles, dropping the tentative eye contact to stare at the tabletop.

"Oh." For some reason, he doesn't sound...surprised... "Yeah, I kinda got that impression."

It's probably okay if Cliff just keels over dead, right?

"So it is obvious." they groan.

"Not really. I've just been an infatuated baby queer, so I know how it looks."

Art reaches across the table. Slow enough for him to move out of the way, but he doesn't.

The weight of it is nice. The size difference is pretty pronounced, because even though Art somehow seems a lot bigger than the body he's wrapped in, he's compact. And they can feel that, when touching him. The callouses thick in his palms, the roughness of the skin; the heaviness, like a stone. 

Cliff recalls, for some reason, that they'd imagined him being nearly their height. Maybe that says something about him still thinking of confidence like that, even though...

"Cliff." Art says, low and rough. 

"Yeah?" Even though their throat is dry like sandpaper.

"I'll be blunt."

"Please." he half-chuckles. And that gets a smirk.

"It's mutual."

Oh.

"Furthermore." he says. "You're not subtle. I know what you want."

Oh.

"You do?" Cliff asks, heart hammering so hard it's probably leaving bruises.

"Yes."

"I want you to fuck me." he says, because it's true.

When they glance up...they recognize, finally, the way Art is looking at him. It's like a coyote the second before he gets his teeth around a piece of meat, and they can't help shuddering at the thought of being eaten. Devoured.

It's kind of a trip to realize that they're getting hard. No prompting. No focusing. Just from knowing that it's even possible.

Fuck. Cliff swallows.

"You wanna-do something about that?" he asks.

Cliff has hooked up before. So many times that they can't even count. 

And this is similar, but different enough that he's-nervous maybe isn't the right word. He's not sure there is a right word. It's-

I didn't even have to beg, they think, near blissful, as Art unlocks his hotel room door. Is this-it? I just get this? I get to have it?

"So." Cliff swallows. Their throat has never been drier. 

Art quirks an eyebrow. Those thick, calloused fingers move to unbutton his jacket.

"I don't know if I'm into, uh. Topping? Like, me doing it, I don't, uh-"

"That's fine." the man says. "I don't bottom."

Fuck yes, yells the horny little monster in the back of their brain. 

"That's, that's cool." 

"Yeah." Art moves closer, dropping the jacket on the floor. He gets close.

He smells like heady, musky effort. Like work, under the cologne. God, Cliff thinks, and isn't sure if they're calling for a deity or deciding they've found one.

Moving forward is something he's unsure about. He's never kissed a man before, and it's got to be different in the motion of it, right? They can't approach this the way they're used to. So he doesn't put his hands on Art's shoulders or hold his face. They just get close, and move down. Art moves up.

And then they're kissing.

It's-

Cliff can't stop.

The smell of him, his rough hands on their back, dragging up to his head, and fuck if that doesn't-

He moves back, and Cliff makes an embarrassing, needy sound.

"It's alright." Art soothes. "You good taking your shirt off?"

Oh, right, clothes. Cliff hastily strips it off, then freezes up, a bit. Because that's...

Art is looking at them. The same way he always has, really. He holds out a hand.

It takes Cliff a second to realize what he wants. Something hot, a burning coal, is blazing away in his stomach. They're dripping in their underwear, wet at the tip and aching. He takes Art's hand and presses it against their chest, unable to hold back a moan when he squeezes gently.

"Look at you." the man says roughly. "This is what you want?"

They nod, jerkily.

"Yeah? You want me to play with your chest?"

Fuck my tits, they think, and it's kind of weird that a thought that makes him so hard he almost blacks out can also make them want to cry. But Cliff can freak out about whatever that means later.

"Yeah."

Cliff makes a sound like a wounded animal when Art moves in to kiss at his-fuck, at his breast. It's nice. A bit tickly, what with his face being so hairy. And that part is really nice.

But also scary? For all the oh god I'm being kissed by a dude reasons, but also-the thing they're maybe still dreading, that back-to-basics idea. The thought-one or the other, pick one, and that's it forever. Man or woman. 

He's distracted from that by Art tonguing their nipple. "Oh fuck."

He surges up again for a kiss, and Cliff does grasp onto his shoulders this time. They need the anchor. It's messy, wet, and Art's lips taste like faint honey-beeswax. 

"Can I-" they cut themself off, not sure how to ask. But Art seems to follow at the quick glance down at his crotch.

"Hm." he takes a minute, seeming to think. "Nothing goes in, alright?"

"Okay."

Cliff honestly has no idea what to expect when the man shucks his pants off. A twitching erection maybe a bit longer than his thumb, no balls, but the-well, they didn't do well in Biology so they don't know what to call it. But everything's longer. He feels like maybe he's gonna pass out.

"Can I suck your dick?" they ask, and before he can respond, they blurt "Please? I haven't-I'll make it good."

Art snorts. "Yeah, baby. You can, come here."

Cliff drops to their knees. They're unprepared for how nice a hand in their hair feels, pushing down. God.

He opens his mouth. Reaches for it, and it's a bit-scary, still, because that is a penis and it clearly wants something. It twitches in their palm, and Art makes a rough sound at the first bit of contact. Cliff takes a breath, tries to remember everything they've read on how to blowjob without teeth 101, and sucks the tip into his mouth.

It tastes like skin, mostly, and a bit like sweat. It feels nice on their tongue. It's easy to go for more, to slip it further down until Cliff's nose rests in Art's dark nest of pubic hair. The man is making rough, punched-out, getting-my-dick-sucked noises now, and his hand is in Cliff's hair, petting him. It's good.

They really start getting into the motion of it. Up and down the shaft, sucking, drooling, not holding back the little grunts and moans that want to come out. Fuck, they want-

"Shit." Art grips his hair. "Fuck, Cliff-"

Cum, please, cum on my face.

He pulls back just in time for it to hit them. When they realize, he sticks out his tongue just in time because nothing matters right now except getting a taste of Art's baby batter.

"Oh, fuck." the man chokes.

It's kind of bitter, but thick and salty. Cliff has heard before that spunk is supposed to taste like chicken, but this is definitely better. Chicken is fuckin' bland. This is more like good soup.

"Thanks." they say, glancing up to look at him. His hand is still tangled in their hair.

Art looks wrecked. A bit dazed, like he's been whacked over the head with something heavy. Cliff has never looked that way after a blowy-did they do it wrong? 

"Jesus fuck." he pants. "Holy shit. If there was ever something to be said for enthusiasm..."

"Does that mean it was good?"

Cliff is rewarded with a kiss. "Yeah." the guy says, gently patting at his shoulder. "Real good."

It feels like it's going to be difficult going from there, but Art keeps up his slow caressing of Cliff's body, kissing and mouthing at the bits that get him a response. He seems to like making them make noise.

Eventually, they get their dick out. And usually this is the worst part? Cliff likes their dick, is the thing-it looks nice, it's-thinking about it looking pretty is kind of embarrassing, but it is pretty. Just like the rest of his body. But no one has ever thought the same, and it's always just been better to not think about it. 

It's not...it's not a male part, because Cliff really hates thinking of themself as male. But female isn't any better. It's a neutral part, and they don't hate it, and that means sex is just kind of an exercise in frustrated misery because all people see is a-

"Hey. It's okay." Art says, kissing their shoulder. "We don't have to."

Cliff bites the inside of their cheek."It's not that. I-think I want you to touch me."

"I'd like that. But I want you to feel comfortable."

"I just...um. Can you just keep doing-that?" he mumbles. 

Art kisses them again. "This?"

Cliff closes his eyes. "Yeah."

He kisses down their throat, their chest, nuzzling into Cliff's tits for a while before moving down the trail of hair leading to his groin. And it becomes very apparent at the first gentle, licking kiss that they are still very much into this.

It's a relief he's never had before. Being able to come back from something that tripped them up is nice. But nicer still is Art's wonderful, wet tongue and the nub of his piercing rubbing against their dick.

Cliff whimpers when Art slips the hand previously massaging their hip down to his balls, gently fondling them. "This okay?" he asks.

"Yeah." they moan.

"You're beautiful." he says. "Fuck, you're so beautiful."

Hearing that is-part of them wants to jump up and down, flip a table, yell finally!! Somebody noticed! and the remaining two thirds wants to cry at the same time he gets railed by this guy. A lot of feelings are happening.

Art jacks them off while he sucks and licks at their dick, seemingly content to let Cliff just lay here and moan about it. And that's kind of hot all on its own. If they weren't feeling so scraped over and raw, they'd want-

Cliff still wants Art to punch them and slam their head against a wall or a table. Give them a nosebleed and use it as lube to jerk them off together. Fuck him rough and hard and tell them how good they're being, a sweet little slut, that doesn't need to think about anything but being used because that's his reward. Maybe make them cum over and over until he can't take it anymore, just because Art wants to see that happen and Cliff would like to please him.

Maybe some other time, Art could tie them down so he really couldn't move. 

But they're so tired. And things have been kind of a lot. This might be as much as he can handle right now.

"Fuck!" Art has started really blowing them, still gentle and slow but taking the whole six inches down and back up again, licking at the leaking, dripping head. "Fuck-Art, I'm-"

I'm gonna cum in his mouth, Cliff realizes then. And as Art holds onto their hips, rubbing comforting circles with his left hand, I think he wants me to.

It crashes over them then, a full-body jolt of pleasure, their cock spurting down Art's warm, wet, smooth throat. 

He pulls off when it's over, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. There's a smear of Cliff's cum in his mustache.

I think that was the hottest thing that's ever happened to me, they think, drifting as the man settles properly onto the bed next to them.

"Was that okay?" he rumbles.

Cliff rolls over and hides his face in Art's shoulder. He nods.

They let out a long breath when he starts petting their hair again. It's soothing. He's not sure how he lived without it.

"Thanks." he mumbles.

"You don't have to thank me, baby." Art snorts. "Is it okay to call you that? I didn't ask."

"Yeah. I like it." Cliff has never gotten to be someone's baby before. Not like this.

Being in his arms feels very safe. Especially when they shift a little, so that Cliff is more fully being held. Art doesn't seem to mind at all. 

There are a lot of things they should say. Probably they're supposed to talk? But it's cozy, and warm, and it seems like they both feel pretty fucked out. They can probably shower and stuff later, right? It's really...warm, here...

Cliff wakes very slowly.

It takes them a minute to place where they are, but then they remember-Art, the bar, the sex. The mutual blowjobs.

Falling asleep.

They rub their face, yawning. For the first time in what seems like forever, they feel rested. 

Art is still snoring next to him. Facing away now, spread out with one leg dangling off the bed. It's kinda cute. But why does Cliff always end up rooming with guys who snore like a foghorn?

His phone buzzes on the nightstand. Sighing through their nose, they reach for it.

Cap: MARLY ARE YOU DEAD OR NOT SAY NOT

Cliff: sorry, ended up getting laid didn't mean to ghost you again

Cap: ???

Connors: hey idiot please respond

Cliff: Yeah im alive sorry passed out finally

Cliff: i think i have insomnia i've been awake for days

Cap: Marly did you fuck Mr Youtube??

Cliff: not gonna take a pic but he's still sleeping next to me

Cap: nevermind i take my threats back, you made good decision finally

Cap: I am proud of you Cliff, was he good to you

Cliff: yeah

Cliff: he's good to me

They lock the phone again, and roll over to snuggle back up to Art. His back muscles move as he snores. It's kind of funny.

Chapter 13

They don’t really start it on purpose. It’s just that after spending so much time with Art, Cliff can’t just settle after he leaves. Th energy bubbles through his limbs and up into their brain and every time it pops it’s like little webs of electric something. It’s incredible.

Cliff has never...it was just a blowjob, right, but it-

Sex can be fun. Sex can feel good. Sex doesn’t have to make them feel weird and gross about their body.

And he's heard about that, but he’d been starting to wonder if it was all fake. Like that didn’t really happen, it was just made up to sell...more condoms, or something. But no, turns out you can jizz your brains out in front of someone else and it can feel really fucking good in your brain and your body. And you just have to live with knowing you never had that before this point.

And maybe that’s why Cliff starts cutting up decorative pillows? They have to take a brief detour and change into some ‘don’t look at me’ clothes so he can poke around a dollar store for cheap supplies, but when they get back the front door gets locked and he has both fabric scissors and sewing needles. They got lots of shit and he’s not entirely sure what they’re doing but it’s somewhere for all the hhhhhhg to go.

The fuzzy white pillow, a few plush socks and old dishrags slowly give way to the shape of a rabbit-thing with an open stomach and bulging red eyes made from bottle caps they try to paint carefully before gluing in. There’s no plan, really, just movement and color. There was a lot of craft paint available for pretty cheap, so they’ve got options.

And after it’s pretty much probably done, Cliff can’t help but feel some weird warmth towards the thing. YouTube has some good tips for sewing movable limbs, and that gives it a kind of pseudo-life that’s sort of charming. They’ve never thought much of that pillow before, never really used it. There wasn't much point before.

It’s sad that they can’t really just leave it on the couch, though. There would be a lot of questions. As much as the rabbit is really fucking sick, it’s also, like, a stuffed toy. And Cliff is so sick of everything that they’re not willing to tie that up in knots and refuse to acknowledge it. Who gives a fuck what it means, it looks cool and it’s nice to touch. They don’t want to have to defend it.

And it does give the room some warmth, afterwards. Some personality that it lacked before he got his paws on the thing.

Hmm, they think, something giddy rising in their chest as they take in the searing white paint and the off-eggshell rug. Maybe it’s time I got more serious about redecorating.

“You’re an ‘it’, I think.”, he mutters to the rabbit, who doesn’t respond. It’s Saturday, around 11:43 last time they checked, and socializing with teammates is over for the day. So they’re painting the living room now.

It’s kind of heady to just decide you don’t like something and be able to change it. It’s a sort of power they’ve very rarely felt before, and the thought of being able to just look at any wall in his house and see something he likes there is-

It's always just been easier to let other people handle this stuff because fighting against it just isn't worth the effort. Not when Mom or Patty are involved, Mom because she needs to have a say in it so she feels like it’s not out of her control, and Patty because she has opinions and will give them whether or not you asked. Which, usually he appreciates the second one. Mostly.

When it comes to doing the right thing, they trust their sister. She won’t just change her mind a day later because somebody (possibly entirely unrelated to the situation) pissed her off. She’s consistent about this stuff, and unless you prove her wrong her stances stay generally the same day-to-day. And Cliff trusts that. Relies on it, maybe.

But when it comes to the way things need to be physically she kind of just takes over. And that was fine when Cliff didn’t care about most things, but now they do. And maybe now they have some of their own opinions. It’s not like, her fault or anything. That’s sort of just the way they are. Or used to be.

He’s hoping she doesn’t hate the shade of dark purple he picked out. They’re planning on maybe trying to get some accent pieces (is that the right phrase?) to put in the corners along the wall and ceiling. The gouging bland modern-rich-people aesthetic can go to hell, maybe. Cliff would like these rooms to be both pretty and interesting.

And the rabbit fits the vision. The white fabric is smeared with the red paint he used to make it look bloody, which makes the eyes stand out, and it takes a second to figure out what you’re looking at. Cliff is pretty proud that they managed to make being bad at fiddly art stuff actually work for them, since that helps it edge between disturbing and sort of morbidly cute.

Just doing something is nice, all on its own. And maybe they’ll feel a little less out of place when the house is nice to look at.

The one thing they’d argued for when it came to the house were the blue curtains. “It completely ruins the aesthetic!” Patty had groaned, but Cliff had seen them on the website and fallen in love. His mind could not be changed, he could not be swayed, and at the end of the day it was all coming out of his paycheck anyway.

They’re solid, long, and heavy. Apparently they’re ‘blackout curtains’, which means they're big and heavy and make the room really dark. They’re also made of some faux-velvet fabric that was the best out of anything at the store, and Cliff hadn’t cared about anything other than getting them installed on every window on this house as soon as possible. Patty gave in eventually and let them do it, since they’d have to be the one living here.

She looks at them sometimes when she’s over with visible pain in her expression, but she never tries to get rid of them. It’s nice that they can hate things about each other’s lives and not start violent fights over it or scream and throw things. He knows how she feels about this, and she knows that they know, and honestly if she wanted to complain out loud to their face that would be just fine. It’s almost sort of soothing that they can have this thing between them.

Hopefully, painting all the walls purple won’t ruin that?

Cliff is actually excited to find that it seems like the colors will mesh really well. Working some more blue into the color scheme will probably help too, which has already been proven by the neat little spoons they picked up a while back. The handles are a bit darker, but they have crescent moons cut out near the ends. That could definitely be something.

They’ve been trying not to be too...clingy, with Art. They’ve been texting back and forth since that night, but they haven’t talked about it beyond ‘Yep, it was fun’ and ‘Maybe again some time’. Cliff has no idea if he’s supposed to...push, or initiate, or something. That’s not really the way they’ve been up til now, and it’s so easy between them that he doesn’t…

Ugh. It’s just, hard? The expectations are maybe not even there, or not the ones they’re used to, and so it’s a different rhythm. A nice rhythm, but still different, which is scary.

Cliff can control the way his house is different, at least. Taking out one more (well, like a thousand more, but all wrapped up inside the walls) thing that itches against their brain will help, and they know this because it has before.

The coffee table can stay, because it’s nice solid wood, but it probably needs a tablecloth. The rugs can all go, even the bathmat, and also the towels, which are all nearly the same shade of cream. Or maybe they won't get rid of them, maybe they'll figure out how to dye them. That opens up a whole new world of possibility.

He’ll work his way up to cabinets and stuff, but even the standing ones are in danger now. The smooth, featureless countertops too.

And as they go through the house and make a real actual adult list of Things That Can Go Away Forever, they wonder briefly if it’s possible to do something about the lighting. Cliff has always turned off the lights after he leaves a room, because one it saves power and two, gross ew ew ew gross, and c, if the sun is shining through the windows there is literally no reason to have a light switch turned on. He’d just as soon rip it all out and replace with with whatever people used before electricity was invented.

Candles, maybe? If you blow them (heh) out before leaving that’s probably safe.

Probably, this will be somewhere close to a complete remodel. Which is okay, because Cliff can afford it and at no point is anyone else allowed to get involved. If this takes the next fifty years to complete, then that is fine with them.

They carefully set their phone down, and jump in the air, pumping his fist. Nobody’s watching! Who the hell cares!

“Oh.” says Connors, the next time Cliff hosts. “Somebody...redecorated.”

“Dude, what the fuck?"

"Oh, sick." one of the rookies says, looking at the skull they'd tucked into the nearly empty bookshelf, between the action movie DVDs.

“Marly, you have finally lost your mind?” Roz asks straight out. Which, ouch, but also they don’t really care.

“Nope!” Cliff says cheerfully. “Come on, assholes, I got food.” And it was the same food as always, so they’d better like it.

Maybe it’s like some kind of unethical to test the waters this way? Like, experimenting on people without signing one of those “Yeah kill me or whatever I won’t sue” papers. But Cliff isn’t planning to kill anyone, they just changed all the bowls and plates and bought a better couch. Same TV, same chips, same beer, same hot dogs and burgers, same Cliff. Just, y’know, happier.

Hammersmith has that celiac thing, so they have gluten free stuff to avoid killing him, and St Simon is allergic to peanuts so they’ve checked the ingredients and warnings and stuff to avoid killing him. Cliff has made sure to seperate anything dubious and point it out, just like they’ve always done. Part of being a good host is avoiding murder and stuff.

People get distracted by the game pretty quickly, which is good. Cliff still gets a few weird looks, but there’s beer so the looks soon turn to questions. Which is...do experiments have phases? He has no idea. Whatever, that’s part of the plan.

“You having a midlife crisis, Marlow?” is the first one.

“Nope.” they say easily, swallowing down beer in quick gulps so they don’t taste it. Nasty stuff. And you have to drink so much of it. Is that mean? Patty likes beer. Like, genuinely. They don’t understand her.

“Then why the fuck did you let a funeral home throw up everywhere?” Hammersmith asks, eyes still on the television. Hollander has the puck.

God, he’s so hot. Cliff stops chugging, just to make sure they don’t accidentally say that out loud.

It’s actually really tempting to do it. They should not do it. For like a micro-millisecond it would be really funny.

Okay, no more beer for mx Marlow at all, they think, setting the can down.

He shrugs. “Got fuckin’ bored, man.”

“You got bored of your lovely expensive house.” Roz says, with that undercurrent that means he’s teasing.

Cliff shrugs. “I like colors, so fuck me. I mean sue me.” Jesus Christ.

“You guys need us to leave-”

“Oh, Cap, I think Cliff wants something-”

“Gay”, declares a very drunk Colbert, and launches a pillow at them. It hits St Simon, who just walks over and whacks him with it. That’s considerate, since the last time people threw things in his living room they broke the TV.

“Stop.” barks Roz. “Knock it the fuck off, gay is not an insult.”

“Right, sorry Cap.”

“Sorry.” says a rookie.

“Sorry.”

“You did nothing wrong.” Roz says, reaching over Connors to flick Cliff on the cheek, hard. It stings. “You are just drunk idiot who can’t speak.”

"Ow."

"If this makes you happy, then whatever." their captain waves a hand to indicate the room. "It made you buy better couch."

"It really is a better couch." mumbles Connors, who has sunk halfway into it and appears boneless. And alright, whatever, they'll take it.

Four days after that, Cliff is splayed out on that same couch, a fuzzy black blanket underneath them, getting fucking ass-blasted into outer space by Art’s tongue.

They’ve done some probably passable research on anal stuff, and it was awkward at first but after the first time he made himself cum he figured it’s probably worth it. They can’t believe guys just ignore that there’s a feel good and cum button right there, just because it seems gay. Well, yes they can, but it’s stupid, and Cliff is stupid for not fingering himself way, way sooner.

Art’s warm, wet tongue licking into his hole is fuckin’ transcendent.

"Fuck." he moans, squirming against it. The guy slaps their cheek, igniting their blood with sexy gasoline, so they do it again.

Art pulls back, heedless of his confused whimper.

"It's alright." he sooths, petting him. "How rough do you want it?"

"How rough are you willing to go?" Cliff asks, and grins when they twist around to see those eyes darken.

It's nice that not only is the guy willing to smack him around and lick his asshole until he cums hands-free, but also to snuggle after jerking off onto their sore, bruised ass.

Art strokes his hair, pressing kisses to his forehead every so often. Cliff is still sniffing a bit, the tear tracks on their way to drying.

"I needed that, I think."

They don't talk about it. Cliff has done kinky shit before but it's hard to really compare that with this. Something that's always seemed to reinforce his masculinity, needed it, centered around it, is incompatible (in their mind, at least) with this soft-rough-sweetness. Maybe it's because there are no women here. Just a man and a man-shaped object, and Cliff closes their eyes and lets that comforting thought sink in.

"I like your rug." Art says, a low, rumbling undercurrent.

"Thanks. I dyed it."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm. Been doing a lot of that."

They don't talk about the sex, but it's a nice chat anyway. They let the contentment seep into their bones, because maybe they've earned it.

Chapter 14

Marly: did you know theres people who make jewlery out of teeth and shit

Marly: online

Cap: no I didn’t know that

Marly: so I paid this woman $200 to make a pendant out of my baby teeth

Cap: ok this is what I get for making you check in

Cap: this is my punishment

Marly: look at these tho they’re kinda cute right??

It’s so, so nice to just sit between Art’s thighs, his cock heavy and soft in their mouth, as he watches some probably-important documentary thing on Cliff’s TV. They’re not paying attention to it.

His thighs are so big. The skin is rough and the hair just this side of coarse but the fat and muscle come together to make a cozy squeeze. They’re bigger than last time, even, he thinks.

Art reaches down to tousle his hair. Cliff hums contentedly.

They yawn, droopy eyed. Hopefully that's not too rude, but the room is dark and the noise is a pulsing background thrum that's making Cliff sleepy.

Connors isn't even trying to hide his massive boner even though they're right next to each other. That in itself is kinda hot, to be honest. If the guy was ever interested, Cliff would. Maybe his type is short muscly guys with mustaches or something.

But maybe it's also that Connors is sweet, and he gives a shit. Maybe Cliff likes guys who give a shit.

Whatever, they're drunk.

He makes eye contact with a stripper and hurriedly tries to signal don't come over here I'm super gay and not out so I can't say no, but she seems to not have understood. Because she's coming over here.

Fuck.

She is beautiful. Not sexy to Cliff, and it's honestly a massive relief to be able to think that, but she's very pretty even in this low, red-tinted light. Dark hair, he thinks, medium tall, short skirt and barely-there top. Bizzarely, as she walks over, they can finally place the feeling he's always gotten from this sort of build up, from seeing a woman dressed like this.

It's not exactly jealousy, because it's not negative. It's like...shit, there's an idea. And the idea is tracking down that top to see if it makes Cliff's boobs push out like that.

Is that objectifying? They'd give credit. If they were able to do this in public. Uh, ever.

Okay so maybe he's kind of jealous. In just this one specific area.

"Hi." they croak, and wince. Wow.

She laughs, at least. "Hey."

This isn't the kind of spot that has male strippers. Which would still be sad, because Cliff would not be able to interact with them. And maybe they'd be straight. And maybe they'd figure out what he is and not like it.

Connors shoots them a weird look.

Please everyone go away and leave me alone. Please don't hate me. Where did you get that top? Where did you get those shoes? How far up in size do they go because I would like to buy some.

"First time?" she asks, and Cliff shakes their head.

"Taken, sorry." he lies, and she makes an oho sound and blows a kiss before focusing on Connors. So then Cliff has to sit and wonder if it's mysoginistic to get hard while their friend gets a lap dance if he's so close their elbows touch every time one of them shifts. And kinda wish maybe it was him giving it. And start thinking about his pouty lips and stubble and the way he yelled at them when he was worried.

Fuck.

“So this is not crisis?” Roz asks, then snaps “Hold still! You want this in your eyeball?”

Cliff stills obediently. He does not want the eyeliner pencil in their eyeball, especially not after watching it get sharpened. This is why they stick to the liquid stuff.

“What’s not a crisis?” he asks when that part is over.

Roz gestures to the kitchen with one hand as he sorts through his bag with the other. And yeah, it does look different.

The painting is done for now, and he found some shiny black adhesive trim (at a thrift store, of all places) to stick along the edges. The tile was a bigger job and kind of a pain, but much less so after they bit the bullet and paid someone to come put it in who actually knew what she was doing. And not once had she tried to interrogate him about his sexuality, so that was pretty cool. Being tipped an extra grand maybe helped with that. So now the floor is smooth, shiny black with tiny flecks of blue. They picked up a cool tablecloth that’s fairly easy to clean, and as a centerpiece for the table there’s a little round spice rack full of neat salt and pepper shakers they’ve found. Cliff’s favorite so far are the heart and lungs, which now hold cinnamon and nutmeg.

“Nah. It’s just fun. Like I said, I was getting bored.” he shuts his eyes again when Roz comes in with the q-tip to fix the tiny smudges.

“Maybe not bored. It’s like, I know you like the way it was before and everything, and your house is bangin’, but I was suffocating here. It was like standing outside in the winter butt naked and refusing to go inside."

“Oh.” says Roz.

“There’s so much cool shit in the world and I always felt like I wasn’t allowed to touch it, let alone have it. And since I figured out that’s what I wanted I don’t really see a reason to not take it, you know? Like if it’s not hurting anyone, then why not?”

“Why not?” their Captain echoes. “Hold still again, lips apart.”

“I don’t completely understand, but it’s good that you’re happy.” Cliff can hear the quiet click of the lipstick tube being opened. “Very big changes, Marly. All very sudden. Good changes, but sudden, and...people worry.”

He wishes they wouldn’t. Maybe it’s inevitable. Maybe it does kind of look like they’re losing their mind, what with freaking out and not talking and going missing and changing the whole house to suit this person who never got to really live before. An old person, who’s been here forever, but they’re new to everyone else.

I can’t stop, though, he thinks, as the smooth stick glides over their skin. Not gonna stop. Not for anyone.

“It’s good that you’re happy. That was it, sort of, that maybe you were not happy and trying to say it.”

Pshh.

“But if this is what you want, then good. You are just way fucking weirder than I ever thought.”

"Okay", Roz says, snapping the tube closed. "Enough of that shit. Look."

Cliff looks, after the nice little hand mirror has been shoved at them. And he's gotta admit, Cap really has a knack for this stuff. Their eyelids are a bright sparkling gold outlined in black, and the yellow lipstick is maybe more sunshiny than they'd have chosen but it works. The cropped black sweater does a lot to pull the brightness back.

He'd been slightly doubtful about the skirt, considering how delicately lacy it is. But it ends up working very well with the rest of it, especially the little yellow ribbon clip. Not a look Cliff would have chosen, but that's not the point. Roz let them play around with him, so fair's fair.

He looks unfairly gorgeous in thick, dark makeup. The spattered red of the bone earrings brings out the richness of his hair, and the soft texture of the clothes they'd chosen blurs some of his harsher lines. Cliff had been very nice and let him be the first to try out the collar they'd bought (from an actual, real fetish website that has taught him so many new words) and it's almost annoying how good the looped chains and spikes look on Roz. The fingerless gloves and their favorite pair of heels finish it out really well.

"You're good at this." Cliff admits, tilting their chin to look at the metallic flash of gold in the mirror.

"Lots of practice." Cap shrugs. "Unlike you. Mr-no, not...but not Miss, right?"

"Nah. Uh, 'Mx' is the one I like." Cliff says. And this is still kinda scary every time, but maybe less so?

Especially when Roz makes an interested little sound and repeats it until he gets it right. Just like learning any other new word.

"Mx Natural Talent', then." Roz says, flicking his hand up into the air. "'Oh look at me, I started this last week and I have never made a bad call-'"

"Fuck off." Cliff laughs. "Hey, you wanna see that project I told you about?"

'handmade jewlery online store'

'gay porn blowjob cum on face'

'sex toy shop high rated boston'

'sex toy shop high rated boston online storefront'

'how to work with resin guide is dangerous how? with picture'

'can resin go in glass fishbowl empty'

'fishboel pictures with fish in small'

'fishbowl statues or glass'

'electric candles red and black'

'electric candle skull'

'ca. you make snowglob or copyright?'

'how to ride trans man bottoming anal'

'can tdick penetrate anally'

'can tdick penetrate anally id care how far ijust want him in me'

'strap on with pictures'

'why did no one tell me stra on dildo anal was an option for men why no porn???'

'snowglobe diy turorial'

"I've kinda...uh...come to some conclusions." Cliff mumbles, staring at the bathroom tiles. "About gender and stuff. About mine specifically."

"Aghhhh. Hi! I was never your brother, I'm your sibling, and I want to stay that way because I love you? And we're family? Please don't um disown me."

"Hi Patty! Yeah, come on in-oh, the dress? Yeah. Uh...fuck, no, bad idea. Bad. Don't do that."

"The house, yeah, changed it up. I'm super gay so I changed my entire life so I could live it instead of being a willfully unconscious passanger. Yeah...no."

"Hey Pat, I'm gay and I'm trans. I'm...sorry?"

They let out a frusterated huff. This sucks.

Connors: hey buddy no worries

Connors: just got your long rambly voicemail

Connors: i get that whatever yr going thru is hard. its okay. sorry the strippers didnt help i just sm kinda running out of ideas

Connors: id be up for the mall tho, could be cool. you really just want it to be the 2 of us

Connors: ? cuz i bet Colbert woukd be down he's been picking up chicks at spencers lool

Cliff: Hi! Sorry to message you out of the blue like this but I'm trying not to chicken out lol. I just wanna say thank you for donating to the Trevor Project it's really great to see people I work with advocating for these causes. It helps more than just the people who need those resources I think if that makes sense? Idk you've probably already thought of that sorry if I'm being weird. Just wanted to say hey, thanks for caring ❤️

Carter: *is typing*

Carter: *is typing*

Carter: No worries, not weird at all! I'm glad it made an impact. I wouldn't have known this even existed if it hadn't been for the Hollander-Landry thing, and I hope this makes more people aware of it. I'm not as tapped in to transgender issues as I'd like to be so it's been a learning curve.

Carter: And I won't say anything. Thanks for reaching out.

Say anything about what?

Mom: Do whatever you want with your money but I wish you wouldn't give this stuff validation, Clifford. You know all it does is hurt people in the long run. Especially kids.

Cliff: I love you very much and I apologize for the inconvenience but I am no longer responding to your comments on my behavior, my weight, my chosen career or my choice in company. I am not mad at you. When you choose to engage with me without using guilt, conspiracy theories, slurs, or swear words, I will be here for you with a big hug. I am unable to engage with you right now without severe emotional distress. I love you both very much and I hope to become even closer to you someday soon.

Mom: You are breaking my heart. I can't fucking believe you. Why won't you just explain to me what is so wrong with me?? I have done everything for you and all you do is shit all over me

Cliff: I love you very much and I apologize for the inconvenience but I am no longer responding to your comments on my behavior, my weight, my chosen career or my choice in company. I am not mad at you. When you choose to engage with me without using guilt, conspiracy theories, slurs, or swear words, I will be here for you with a big hug. I am unable to engage with you right now without severe emotional distress. I love you both very much and I hope to become even closer to you someday soon.

Mom: Men used to go to war.

"Hi, Patty."

"Hey." his sister strides into the house, sets down her cat shaped purse, kicks off her shoes, and only then does she seem to absorb the changes this room has gone through.

Cliff winces.

"So...I know what you're thinking." they start.

"What are you wearing?" Patty interrupts.

Oof. Well, at least they didn't go with the dress after all. Cliff is in the most low key but comfortable clothes he has right now, which are still kinda a bit much.

In a good way, but. You can sorta tell. Which is sorta the point.

Aggghhhh.

"Uh, a sweater." they shrug.

'A sweater'. It's one of the nice artful ripped and layered ones, clearly handmade, with too many zippers that don't do anything but feel nice to play with. The pants are baggy, with deep pockets to hide his hands in up to the wrist.

Nothing super outrageous, but if Cliff was doing this they wanted it to be on their terms. And that means going as himself.

"You wanna sit?" they ask, nodding towards the living room. Roz is already there. Moral support.

Patty stares at the wall. Then at the rug under her feet. Then past the doorway, where there's fuzzy black carpet. Then at Cliff again.

They wave.

"You pierced your ear?" she asks weakly.

"No. It's a clip-on."

"Right." his sister sighs. "Please tell me that's not a real tooth."

"Well, it is, but don't worry, it's the one I lost a couple years ago. Remember? I kept it 'cause Mom used to collect our baby teeth, so-"

"Please stop talking."

Cliff mimes zipping their mouth shut.

She eyes him warily, like he might jump at her or something. "You still have chairs?"

They nod.

"Okay. Okay, alright, just-let me sit."

She heads out to the living room, balks at it, then sits gingerly on one of the chairs. Near the edge, like it's gonna bite her.

"Look, they're my teeth. They used to be in my actual mouth and shit, if you think about it, and it's only about as weird as having them in a box, probably." Cliff tries. 

Amanda also thinks it's slightly weird. She usually works with animal bones, for legal reasons. Cliff had offered to send her their dental records and she had politely declined but said a few pictures of the before and after was probably sufficient.

Was that a jerky thing to do? She likes the money. Is this illegal? Is this the last straw for Patty, Cliff's molar in a different place on their head?

He reaches up and takes it off. Rolls it over in his hand, remembering the burst in their mouth when it got knocked out.

That's sort of why they wanted this, maybe. Cliff isn't like, he's lost some thing to hockey, right, not a lot but some things. It's broken parts of their body. They've bled for it. Keeping what he can and making it stay part of him seemed...nice.

Maybe they should have just bought the deer tooth.

Dumb. Hockey was Cliff's choice. Of course there has to be a price, and it's weird to try and be unashamed of it. That feeling is safe. You screw up slightly less when you're reluctant to do anything outside that box.

"I don't-okay? That's fine, just-" Patty shakes her head. "Whatever, I'm not even touching that. Cliff, what."

He swallows. "I...need to tell you something. And I-uh, you might not...like it. A whole lot."

Chapter 15

Cliff doesn't really want to do this.

There's no going back, is the thing. Once Patty knows about it she's not going to just forget. She might never look at him the same way. And they don't want things between them to change. Not fundamentally, not-

It's easy with Roz. It's easy with Art. Even if they don't completely get it, they've listened to him. They have both tried to be kind and that means so much to Cliff. That they give enough of a shit to try. That they'll use the words he's comfortable with. That they don't act like it's something small and dumb or such a drastic change that it's world-ending.

They feel normal, with the two of them. Like something that can just exist in space.

And it won't be...it won't kill them, if he has to let Patty go. It won't. But he hopes he doesn't have to. Maybe, maybe, their sister could love someone she hasn't fully met before.

It feels like a big ask. It feels almost unreasonable.

They are still so tired.

It takes constant effort, more than Cliff had even been aware of, to hide this vulnerable part away. To protect it. And it's also been really, really lonely.

He swallows. "That probably sounds ominous. I'm kinda, I've been trying to figure out how to tell you? And nothing I ever come up with seems right."

"Tell me what? Seriously Clifford, what the fuck is going on with you? Why is fucking Ilya Rozanov here?" Patty exclaims, smacking the air in Roz's direction.

It's not like those aren't good questions.

It's just hard. Cliff has come out twice now, and for some reason it never gets easier. It never feels less like being scraped over raw.

"He's my friend." They swallow. "And he's got context. I told him."

Patty looks over at Roz with murder in her eyes. "You're involved?"

"No, Cliff told me. Please listen. Is not bad."

"It's good, I think."

"You keep saying that, but you look fucking miserable right now." she turns back, and her expression gets stony.

Just say it. Yeah, turns out being in the closet sucks. I've been going through a lot. I'm multiple things at once and I've been lucky so far but I know down the line there's gonna be people who can't handle that.

And maybe it won't be so bad. But it also could be. There are stats and shit.

The thought of coming out publicly, to everyone, scares the fuck out of them. More than this, which is still almost more than he's up to.

"I mean. There are things like that. It can hurt, but it's better than staying the same." Cliff slips the earring into their pocket, thumbs it. "Safety's not the same as freedom."

Patty crosses her arms. "So what I'm hearing is you bought a bunch of weapons."

"Good idea, but no. I just mean-if you stay in the place you're supposed to be, sometimes it's dogshit and you never really fit there anyway. And people don't like that. But which is better, staying in the shell and slowly suffocating because you got too big for it or cracking it open even though there's a bunch of wackos with hammers outside who want to hammer you to death?"

Roz makes a face.

"You're not any good at metaphor, Clifford. Drop it and just talk." their sister grits. "I'm, fuck this, you're scaring me. Are you quitting hockey to join a metal band?"

"No, Pat, I'm transgender." Cliff finally manages to pluck from somewhere under their spleen and throw out into the room. There. Done.

Saying it is only a relief for about a second. The sweat comes next, the rush of anxiety, the 'I can never take that back, everything from now on is different.' Time splits into before and after. It makes them feel a bit sick, but Roz is here and the house is Cliff's and he will be okay. 

Patty doesn't look mad. More confused. She shakes her head less like she's saying 'no' and more like she's clearing her ears of water. They took swimming lessons together as kids, but Cliff has always hated being in swimming trunks. At the beach they usually get really drunk and then wade out into the ocean fully clothed.

"What?"

"Uhh, I think there's a dictionary definition but I don't remember how it goes. Sorry." Does that make Cliff bad at being trans? Educating people is an important part of advocacy and he's been informed by several sites that people will ask really invasive questions. It's not gonna be fun talking about the different surgeries and stuff with people who might not understand or just stare at them like a bug pinned under a microscope, something to dissect and consume out of detached curiosity, who might still turn around and keep being cruel anyway. But it seems like they've got a responsibility to do something.

Hell, he's not even sure what he wants in terms of work done. If they want work done at all. The tits they've got now are pretty nice. They kinda don't want to talk about that with strangers or even friends, really.

"I know what it means. I just-fuck, you're serious?" Patty asks, staring at him intensely. It's kind of making them nervous.

"Yeah." Cliff steels himself. "I'm nonbinary. Pretty sure about it. Uh...I hope that's okay."

His sister blinks a few times. "Nonbinary."

"Yeah. I think, yeah. Gender's fucking weird, and it's not like I can look at other people and how they're doing it anymore." They drag in a breath. "I'm, like I'm sorry if it makes you uncomfortable? Genuinely, I'm sorry, but I really tried to stop and I just can't. I think I'm at the end of the line when it comes to that, I pushed myself as far as I could go and now if I don't do something about this then something real bad is gonna happen."

"It's, I have trouble even putting it to fuckin' words, because it's just-I like being myself, I really like it, and it's this baseline bottom level contentment that's completely new and I never got to feel before, and I'm sorry I hid it from you and I'm sorry if it's weird and I know it's not-usual, but I still love you and I just don't want-" he bites the inside of his cheek hard. "I don't want to have to choose between having you as my sister and living, but I will if I have to and I promise I won't be mad or anything, I won't tell anyone, I probably can't come out anyway so there's only a couple of people-"

"Marly."

"Just, Just let me." They startle a bit when Roz comes up behind them, but the hand on his back is-get through it. Get through it. "I know what some of the literature says about this and I don't know if you've gotten to those ones yet but I promise I just want to be in my house, um, and go to the store and play hockey for Boston. I don't want to make people uncomfortable or mad or creeped out or scared-"

"No one who knows you is scared of you, Cliff." Cap says, his hand still firmly resting on their back. "Scared for you, maybe."

"Well, they don't know. If the guys knew, they'd hate me."

Cliff can't look at Patty. He's mostly staring at the carpet, the soft, clean ink-black. It's gonna stay clean, too, and not turn into a gross crusty mat you don't want to put your bare feet on. It was cut with that in mind, and it's just a matter of moving the coffee table, really-

"Is that what you've been hiding from me?" Patty asks. "Did you think I was going to hate you?"

Kinda? They'd hoped not.

"Do you?" A little more confrontational than necessary, maybe.

Patty glares at their Captain. "No, Mr Rozanov, I do not."

This was not how Cliff had wanted them spending time with each other to go. He'd gone and messed this all up.

"Good. There is no reason to." Roz says, in his 'I'm telling you to go away right now but I have to be polite about it' voice.

"I don't like that tone."

"Oh! That make us two."

"I'm just trying to understand." their sister snaps. "Forgive me for needing a fucking minute."

"No problem." Cliff chokes, and ducks to the side. Shakes off Roz's hand and heads for the bathroom. Before anyone can catch them, he's in the doorway and then behind the solid wood and with one flick of the lock they're safe.

It's nice in the bathroom. Neither one has been finished, but the tile is in and that's cool. It's green-blue. The colors are going to shift a bit in here, with purple and black as the accents. Fish-skeleton theme. Like an aquarium in a graveyard.

They sit on the floor by the sink and try not to feel like a giant, cowardly child.

'how to cope when coming out makes people fight'

'coming out shock will it get better or worse'

'can trans just be left alone'

'why are people so unclar'

'how to communicate'

'how to communicate withn people'

'do they mak soap with stuff in'

'transparant soap with fish'

'cool soap'

'glitter in soap transparent'

'how do i fix coming out whent wrong'

'how to stop sad within 4 minute'

'how to stop sad within 4 minute's guide with pictures'

Someone knocks on the door.

"There's one upstairs!" Cliff calls.

The knocking turns to banging. That could be either of them, then.

"We are sorry!" Roz yells, very loudly. The door isn't that thick. "We were very rude and will not fight anymore! Please come out!"

"Tried that! Didn't go well!"

There's a deep, frustrated sigh. 

"Cliff, I really am sorry. You were being vulnerable and I didn't treat that with respect. Can we talk?"

So you can tell me I'm being stupid for caring about what you think and then going 'Well, obviously' when somebody points it out? Cliff thinks nastily. No thanks.

That's not fair. She wasn't mean or anything. Just surprised. Really, this is good. They need to stop being so sensitive.

Cliff: ughhhhhhhhhhh

Cliff: just talked to my sister and its weird i think i fucked it all up

Cliff: i thought shed hate me because i've been reading about feminists who don't like it and i still dont know what she thinks

Cliff: she says she's sorry for fighting with ilya fucking good im glad theyre both sorry. I was really scared. I don't need them yelling at each other while im fucking crying

Cliff: am i being unreasonable??? im all over the place

Cliff: i m going to SHIT in this DENNYS PARKING LOT

Cliff: i miss your thighs around my neck

Cliff: unrelated

Cliff opens the door.

"Marly." Roz says, his face falling.

"I'm sorry for being weird." they fiddle with the doorknob. "You've said I should express my feelings more? Um, right now I'm feeling a lot of things and it fucking sucks and I hate it."

Patty steps forward and hugs them.

"I love you, loser." she says into their shoulder. "I could never hate you. I'm sorry I said you were hiding it from me, I'm not entitled to that."

He sniffs.

"Thank you for sharing this with me."

Part of him really wants to play this off. Make a joke out of it, so it's not as big of a deal and not as scary. But they're scared. And it's too much to handle inside, it's been building for years, and so now it's leaking out of their face.

"I'm also super gay, just to throw the second part of this out there." he mumbles.

"Yeah?" she says, squeezing him. "Thank you for trusting me with that."

That starts them back up all over again. Fuckin' Christ, what are they, a lawn sprinkler? 

Thankfully, after all of that is over, they go into the kitchen and Cliff starts a pot of coffee. It just feels like the thing to do.

"Uh, I have an ice cream cake in the freezer." he says, as Patty tries not to be too obvious about glancing around their kitchen. "Anybody want some?"

"I love cake." says Roz, sitting down at the table and clasping his hands on top of it.

"Aw, I know you do. Pat? You want cake?"

"Sure." she says, glancing over at their Captain. They were sort of trying to block everything out during Bathroom Floor Time but those two must have had one hell of a talk out there, because the hostility is mostly dissipated now. That's good. They really didn't like whatever that was back there.

Cliff brings out the ice cream cake he picked up a few days ago. It's chocolate with peppermint frosting, and all the red with the chocolate sprinkles makes it look very at home here, somehow.

"Oh, wow." says Patty, when she sees the plates. And then again, with the coffee mugs. She takes the one with the red-eyed, stretching cat.

"Is that tacit approval, or..."

She watches them fill up the mug with something like guilt in her eye. "These are cool, yeah. Sorry. You sounded weird on the phone, and then I come over and everything's different, and you're different, and I...think I reacted poorly."

Cliff nods, sniffs. Sits down across from her.

"I think", he says, "we had really shit role models for this stuff."

Patty snorts.

"We really did." she says, tapping her nails against the ceramic. "Oh my god! I hate blowing up like that, I always feel like I'm turning into Mom."

"Nah, you didn't blow up. You guys just sniped at each other a little. If you'd turned into Mom there would have been a whole new branch of slurs to use on me."

"Ugh." Roz grimaces, before gulping down black coffee. Cliff snags it when he's done and adds sugar and whipped cream to it. 

"She doesn't know, does she?" Patty asks, biting her pale pink lip.

"Nah. No, she'd probably be calling me stuff no matter what I was. Did I ever tell you about the time I found a pair of pink rain boots when I was in the second grade and she told me to stop acting like a sissy f-slur for looking at them?"

Their sister stares at them, mouth open. Guess not, then.

"Ah, yes. How dare children see pretty things." Roz says, leaning his elbow on the table, propping his chin in his hand.

"I know, right? I'm not even really into pink, I just thought it was neat. They were that transparent glittery rubber, it was objectively really sick."

"I will take your word for it. You have good taste."

Patty gives herself a little shake. "You know, a few days ago I'd have thought that was a joke. But I think you kinda do, in your way."

Aww. Cliff grins. "Thanks."

"But seriously. Are you okay, Cliff?"

"Uhh, rain check on that one?" they grimace.

"And this is Helix. I stopped throwing out the twist ties you get on baked goods a while ago, and I linked those together to make the skeleton and just sewed the base fabric on before doing the fur. I got that for a few bucks at a thrift store, it was this fuzzy blue pillow that I actually had to wash again and then I brushed out the fur and trimmed it." Cliff holds her out to Patty, who makes another close mouthed "uh-huh" noise. She's staring at the tip of the fabric horn, which has little painted intestines dangling from it. 

"I think it is very sweet you have a horsie." Roz coos, and ducks when said horsie is chucked at his face.

"You really do have...an imagination." says Patty, staring at the book shelf that's now full of repurposed creations. Cliff's bedroom is usually locked now when they aren't in it nowadays, so there's less real risk of anyone seeing something they shouldn't.

"It's fun! They're so interesting to look at, right?" he enthuses. 

"Just adorable." Roz says, although he clearly thinks otherwise. He's staring into Helix's bulging black eyes like she might bite at him if he looks away.

Oh, well. At least Art seemed sincere when they'd sent pictures last night. He'd said they were enchanting.

Cliff possibly gets a little too lost in thinking about him, because it's not until they hear a creaking sound that they realize they should have said don't open the closet.

"Ah, Patty-" Roz yelps, and-shit. Shit.

"Uh, that's, hey-" Cliff stammers, as his nosy (brilliant, incredible, love her so much) sister freezes, looks at the ground, and visibly puts together that the swatch of fabric she must have seen sticking out from under the closet was from a dress that must have fallen from the hanger. A very particular dress. Shit.

"Oh." Patty says.

"Heh, uhm, yeah." they mumble, sliding over and picking it up. He hangs it properly.

"So..." Cliff turns back around. "Please forget you saw that."

"Cliff. There's nothing wrong with it." Patty winces. "I'm sorry again for freaking you out. It looks nice."

That's really sweet. "Thanks, Pat." he swallows around the lump in their throat. 

"So you've been..."

"Yeah." they chuckle awkwardly, rubbing the back of their neck. "I've been. Always kinda wanted to, but I haven't been able to work up the courage for it before now."

Roz leans over his shoulder, staring into the closet. "Ooh, Marly, I did not know you had more. Oh-oooh, fur-"

"No." Cliff grabs him by the back of the shirt.

"But I will be so careful!"

"I think I've been exposed enough for today. Maybe another time." they rub their forehead with their free hand. It's turned out not to be such a bad day, but it's wearing on them even so. Lots of high emotion, and also crying. Which always seems to wring him out, physically.

"Okay, okay." Roz sighs, pouts as he spins and falls backwards onto the bed again. "Mm, cozy."

"Sorry about him." Cliff rolls his eyes.

"He's not so bad."

"He's a pain in the fucking ass. Which I know about, so trust me on that one."

Patty chokes.

Both of them hug him on the way out.

"I'm sorry you didn't feel like you could tell me." Patty tells them, squeezing tight. "I love you."

"Love you too."

"I'm glad you're my sibling."

"Me too." Cliff gives himself a shake and tries to keep it together.

Roz smooches them on the cheek. "I love you also, Marly! Mwa!"

When they're gone, Cliff turns off the lamps and sits in the dark living room for a while, sprawled out on the soft couch, head pounding.

The headache isn't great, but they'll count not beating themself up for any of this as a win. At least right now, things are okay. They'll make it. 

Patty still loves him. Patty knows, and she won't tell, and maybe everything can still turn out alright in the end after all.

Smiling to himself, they open their phone to check if Art's replied yet. If the thighs comment interests him, he might tell them to keep going. They could get a dick pic, if they ask very nicely. 

Connors: are you ok??

Connors: i didn't know you felt that way about us wrestling thats kinda gay dude

Connors: wait no thats homophobic language uh that's kinda intimate?

Connors: sorta sweet i guess? how drunk r u

Connors: or high? plz don't shit in a dennys parking lot wait are you in jail???

Connors: yuo said roz + sister is there are you still with them

Connors: or ARE you cliff??? Blink twice if youre clif!!!

Fuck.

Cliff: wrong number sorry

Connors: WHAT NUMBER MAKES ANY OF THAT NORMAL

Cliff: maybe i'll tell you if you promise to be cool about it

Connors: bro i will be soo fucking cool is it a chick

Connors: do you have a girl??? why the fucks she secret

Connors: wait. Marly

Cliff: not dating caps girl im not THAT stupid

Connors: oh good cuz youd be fucking dead

Cliff: i am gonna take some iburprofen and then i will tell you. but I have rules.

Connors: ???

Cliff: Tell no one. On pain of your death. 

Connors: is this illigal shit like bad illegal cuz dude i dont wanna be implicated

Cliff: No. Second rule if you dont like it then thats fine just leave it and we can forget all about it

Connors: the fuk are you involved in marls

Cliff: getting my pain meds now and then we talk

Cliff stumbles into the kitchen, opens the drawer with the drugs, avoids the cold medicine and the aspirin and picks up the ibuprofen. Downs three with a sip of cold coffee, then goes back to the couch.

Connors: like im joking here bro but seriously youve been weird 

Connors: glad youre telling somebody other than cap

Cliff sits for a minute. Is this a good idea? Probably not.

But lots of things have been bad ideas.

Cliff: im seeing somebody yeah

Connors: so thats why you dont fuck!!! 

Cliff: lol

Cliff: cant tell you yet why its kind of secret. but maybe soon. i think Vicky should know too. I kinda want everyone to know but it's difficult and maybe you'll see why.

Cliff: i kinda can't wait for you to meet 

Chapter 16

Chapter Notes

Very late. Been extremely depressed.

tw for probable ocd thought patterns, suicidal thoughts, and transphobia. Cliff opens up a bit and a lot comes out. A lot.

Hollander leans in, pressing them against the wall. Cliff swallows.

“Stop looking.” he says, pressing their foreheads together. His soft lips are so close. “Please.”

“I’m sorry.”

One of Hollander’s big hands clasp around his wrist. “You know this isn’t right.”

“I know.” Cliff says, unable to look away from him. He never can look away for long. They’ve always been far too fixated on him, on his body, on those small moments of humor. The pieces of himself he hands over to the world, rare and precious, like they’ve somehow earned a joke or a wink.

You can’t love someone you haven’t met. It’s a good thing, probably, that Hollander has never granted him the opportunity.

The hand slides up their arm.

“Don’t say a word.” Hollander tells him. Presses closer. The concrete of the pool wall digs into their back.

“Never.” Cliff says.

Finally, those lips press against their neck. “I only fuck winners.” the man says, low and dark. “Lucky you.”

The lips are pulled back. He bites down, hard, drawing blood. As if he can somehow tell that Cliff is a thing to be used roughly, a toy, something to slide over his cock and little more. A willing piece of furniture, a body folded into devotion. It’s a gift that they hope Hollander appreciates, finds worthy of his time. Worthy of the straining erection Cliff can feel against them, through their swimsuit.

Hollander moves back, just a bit, barely splashing. He reaches down and pulls himself out. “Don’t bother taking that off. I can tell you’re ready enough. I can just slip right in.”

Cliff rolls over and opens their eyes.

“Fuck!” he yells, and smacks the pillow.

“Wha?” Connors yawns from the other bed, dismissing the blaring alarm on his phone.

Oh, nothing. I was just about to get fucked into oblivion by Shane fuckin’ Hollander. Jesus fuck.

“Wet dream.” they grumble, getting up. Yup. It’s-wow, that’s embarrassing.

“Was she hot?”

No. He’s unfairly gorgeous, fuckin’ ripped, and his dick is fat. Cliff had caught a very brief glimpse of it in the showers at one memorable All-Stars, and had to look up whether envy could make someone salivate. ‘Why do I want to suck on Shane Hollander’s nutsack’, well, the real answer to that is he’s hot and you’re gay. Moron.

They have to bite down on their tongue to tamp down that mental picture. Maybe he’d pet Cliff. Maybe-

You are literally having regular sex with one of the hottest dudes ever, he scolds himself.

“Yep.” they mumble, and duck into the bathroom.

Art texts him before the game. It’s short; good luck, but it makes them smile. The thought that he’s watching tucks so neatly into the focus that it almost feels like it’s supposed to be there.

Hi, Mr Hunter. Can we get a drink? Not like a date. I’d never try to wiggle into your relationship like that. Unless you want me to. Cause I kinda want to. Can I suck on your pecs? Do you top?

Cliff had kind of assumed that having sex they actually liked would make him less horny. No such luck. Now it’s worse.

Approaching him, it’s impossible not to cringe a bit at all of the humiliating memories. Hunter’s dream-voice whispering in their ear, his dream-hands touching his body. Comforting, gentle. For some reason, dream-Hunter rarely hurts them.

Do I have daddy issues, he wonders, as Hunter looks up and straightens his back. Uh-oh. He looks tense now. Bad time?

“Hi.” Cliff says. And then. Does not say any other things.

“Hi.” Hunter says, cautiously. Why? He’d won. Wait, maybe that’s why.

“Good game.” He thrusts their hand in the Admiral Captain’s direction. Please take it. I’m not a disease. I promise I can’t infect you.

“Good game.” Hunter takes it, shakes firmly. Oh, man. His grip is strong and a bit sweaty and Cliff can feel the callouses on his palm. And then it’s gone.

Just do it. Do it. Ask.

Wanna get a drink? Yeah, man, some beautiful hockey, wanna get a drink? You like beer, we could grab a beer? Know any good bars around New York? Let’s get a beer, let’s hang out. Like a couple of guys who definitely aren’t transgender at all. Which is true for both of us. Because why would it not be.

“Do you drink beer?” Cliff blurts. Fuck.

Hunter visibly tries not to scowl. Fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck. He’s mad. He’s disappointed. Somehow. How do straight guys talk again? How do-the word is cisgender, right? How do those guys act? He’d done it before!

“Not that-I mean, it’s-all my teammates do, and I’ve, I’ve seen you do it before, so, like my sister likes it and I don’t entirely get it but maybe it’s um, maybe I just haven’t done it enough-drinking beer, I mean, maybe it’s an acquired taste, and so, bars don’t just serve beer though, so if that’s not your thing-”

“I-um?”

Cliff is very sweaty. It’s hot-and-cold. Really not fun. Also they might throw up but just a little bit.

“I don’t know the bars in New York that well, I mean I’ve been in a few but not a ton, not that I think you’re constantly, usually it’s nightclubs but, uh, so, anyway, maybe I should just-”

“Marlow!”

Oh, wow, Carter Vaughn. Cliff turns around, trying not to visibly deflate with relief. “Vaughn! Hi!”

They’ve spoken a few times, for maybe a handful of minutes all put together over the years. They don’t know each other very well beyond a passing friendly greeting. But maybe the nice-but-sorta-weird conversation they had over text had opened something up.

He still can’t figure out what ‘I won't tell’ was supposed to mean, though. It can’t be that Vaughn figured them out. He hadn’t said “I am transgender” and that’s been what it’s taken for everybody else to get it, so that can’t be it. Well...Art was easier…

Huh. Maybe?

Should Cliff have said it back?

“Great game.” they blurt, but thankfully Vaughn just claps him on the shoulder again. Gentler, somehow, than they’d have expected.

It’s just a bro smack, stop getting worked up over nothing. Also, stop that, pretty sure he’s got a girlfriend. A lucky girlfriend. Oh fuck he’s got dimples.

Fucking devastating. Cliff is trapped between two seriously hot, seriously nice guys who both like and play hockey. And they can’t even ask them to rail him about it. Fuck.

“Do you guys want to get a drink?”

“Sure!” Vaughn says cheerfully.

“Ohh, that’s what you were trying to say. Yeah, I’m down.” Hunter says, and Cliff, miraculously, does not die on the spot.

Both Rozy and Kip end up tagging along. Which means Cliff gets to meet Kip. Which means Cliff needs to not embarrass and humiliate themself in front of Kip.

Technically, most of the team is coming. But specifically it’s going to be the five of them hanging out, which totally isn’t a terrifying prospect.

“Oh shit, this is a gay bar.” Connors says, scrolling through his phone.

“Is it?” Roz sighs. “Okay. Ground rules! Everybody shut up and listen!”

So the neat thing about the ground rules is Cliff doesn’t have to turn down any wingman offers! The bad thing about the ground rules is that people are talking about the ground rules, which means they’re talking about gay stuff, which means Cliff has to not jump out of their skin every four seconds.

“LGBT-what’s the ‘T’ for, again?” asks Carmichael.

“Transgender.” Oddly enough, it’s Hammersmith who offers that up. But maybe he and his wife talk about this stuff. That’s a cool thought.

“So, like chicks-”

“Yes, like chicks, like women. But also men. Or neither.” Roz cuts him off.

“How the hell does that work?” Connors asks, pausing in taking off his skates to look up at him.

“I don’t fucking know. How do lesbians work? I am not lesbian, I have no idea.”

“Well, don’t they-” Carmichael starts, then stops, and slowly sits back down under the force of Hammersmith’s glare.

Yeah, so they’ve talked about it.

“Just don’t ask about genitals.” Roz rubs his forehead, and sighs deeply. “Do not-any word that is not ‘transgender’ is probably offensive slur. So do not say them.”

“Not even...what’s that one, transsexual?”

“Probably not."

"I thought that was the official term. Like the medical thing." says Sebbins, glancing over. 

"Even-"

Oh. People say that one in real life too.

"Probably, yes."

"Does it matter? They're pretty rare, right? What are the odds you're even gonna see one?"

Cliff ties his shoes.

"Freaky, right?" Carmichael nudges them. 

"We're livin' in the future, brother. Might as well get used to it."

The room tilts as he stands up. Nobody else seems to notice. The air's thicker.

"I guess so." his teammate sighs. "What a future, though."

"Can't be so bad." somebody says. The sweat's definitely gone cold. 

"Shut up, Carmie. Don't worry, no one will hit on you. People have standards."

"Not what I meant, dude. It's just, it's different than gay stuff, right? You know?"

"I do not. Enlighten me."

Cliff's face drags up, lips tilting. Their legs bend and straighten and the shoes make small thuds as they hit the ground. 

They change in the motel bathroom so that they can have a small breakdown.

Freaky. Freak. You're a freak.

What are the chances you'll even see one?

Like we're zoo animals. Like we're not human.

"Stop being a fucking-" Cliff grits, gripping the sides of the sink. "It's nothing. That was fucking nothing. Grandma's said worse to your face before."

Because Grandma has this story she just loves to tell. It's so funny. One time, when Cliff was little, maybe nine or so, his mom and aunt forced them into a tux for a wedding and cut his hair shorter than it had ever been. And they cried the whole way there and only stopped when his uncle threatened to put them in the trunk of his car and abandon him in the desert. Apparently that was supposed to have been too ridiculous to be believable. Sure.

If we'd have let you, by now you'd have gone full-

Which is probably why he gets so much 'hockey is gay' crap. The fear must have been there for a while.

Something drips into the sink.

"Cliff? You good, bro?"

What would you do if I told you, Connie. What would you do. What would you think of me. 

Roz: are you ok

Roz: i don't know if i helped in there

Cliff doesn't think of their body as bad.  As something scary. It's just a body. If he did want surgery in the future then that wouldn't change. Why is that so hard to understand? Why is that such a big deal?

It's stupid, is what it is. They hate being angry but can feel it stirring anyway, the trapped, burning coal of it. Fucking stupid. 

Cliff: i feel like a monster

He throws the phone at the cheap motel bathmat. Hides their face in his knees.

Marlow: genuinly sometimes i want to be dead

It's not bad. It's not. It's not.

Then why does he feel so awful right now?

The thought that people he respects might see them like that makes him gag. 

Green: that's horrible, baby. I'm sorry.

Marlow: im sorry fucf i meant to send to ilya

Green: it's okay, baby. I've been there. you need to talk?

Marlow: ithink im just anxious theres a lot i that comes up its almost randomni hate it

Marlow: my dad texted me a whike ago and it brought up a lot of shit memories

Marlow: i think tonight just set it off it's beem building for weeks

Marlow: doesnt help that yknow its not like i cant read so if theres a news story about someone who died i see that and go cool coulda been me. for no other reason. and nobody would care

Marlow: i love my family i love this team i love the world and i hate that they dont love me back. i have to wonder if its in my soul or something like am i so bad? im trying not to be. i try really hard

Marlow: and i dont want to be a burden so it builds and builds and builds and then ut sprays out in a big ugly gush and now im.ashamed about that and that people saw it. i want to die but i dont want people to know i want to die but i want someone to say its okay youre okay im.here

Marlow: but i dont want to be one of tjose people who threaten it or fake it and try to get attention or make people feel bad for them i just want to be good art why cant i ever be good

Marlow: its bad that im.here but its bad that i dont wanna be here

Marlow: its all bad 

Green: im here baby

Green: you're ok Cliff it's ok

Marlow: im so fucking sorry

Green: you feel like this a lot?

Marlow: more often than i dont i guess i can distract myself for a while but im always doing something bad or wrong so it always comes bsvk

Green: im sorry baby, thats awful

Marlow: it is awful it sucks  and i never know if its real and im the worst bc what if those times im.ok are just me tricking myself or igniribg bad actions

Marlow: ughhhhh im going to a var in 5 mins and its my first gay bar. 

Green: the worst breakdowns always happen right before an appointment

Marlow: 😭🤣😭 true

Green: i dont want to overstep. but do you feel like combining this with alcohol could make it worse

Marlow: oh yeah it totally would its happned before. no alcohol i do noooot want to embarass myself

Marlow: more than i have literally rn

Green: you're good baby 

Green: better than going to a chat room thats what i did before therapy and i do not recommend it

Marlow: you go to therapy

Green: yeah. they won't tell anyone, it's very private. and if you don't gel you can find a different one. i had to go thu a few

Marlow: maybe i shuf im so sick of feeling sick in my brain its awful

Marlow: loll this is the stupidest thing but 

Marlow: i feel like all i do is cry and cum lately

Green: ugh yeah my twenties were like that. only i was sobbing fully in public between chugging beers and snorting coke

Marlow: 😭

Marlow: ykno when i first heard about doing coke i thought it meant putting coca cola up your nose and i rememver thinking that for like years even dare didnt correct it cuz they didnt explain whats in the powder 

Green: 🤣

Marly: yeah im.better i talked to art and he says i need therapyyy

Marly: but in a nice way

Roz: he is maybe right. big relief to hear this. i love you very much.

Marly: aww Rozy dont set me off again

Marly sent a picture

Roz: jesus fuck kid

Marly: im literally older than you

Roz: unfair. pretty even with fucked up cry face. 

Marly: 😘

In all it took half an hour for Cliff to "get ready", and they know from the second he sees Connors sitting on the bed that he had not in fact been crying quietly enough. Damn it.

"Cliff." the guy says, arms crossed.

"Nope. Not now."

"Buddy. You need a fuckin'-hug, man?"

Chapter 17

Chapter Notes

Cliff feels like garbage. Their eyes hurt, his throat is scratchy, they don't really want to go out tonight and now Connors wants to hug. What a weird fucking day.

"I mean, I wouldn't say no?"

A hug does sound nice. Human contact sounds nice. Fuck.

Connors stands, and they meet in the middle for one of those one-armed bro hugs. It's not the worst thing. Cliff is just now very aware that these are probably different because guys don't want to seem like they actually want to touch even when they do, and probably not everybody wishes...and that's the thing. He doesn't actually know what goes on in a man's head, do they? 

And that's kind of...maybe a bit melancholy, because Cliff doesn't understand a lot of things and this is the one area he really thought they did. But there's also some peace in that. In being something else. I'm not like you, he thinks, and the separation sends a little thrill through them. I'm something else.

He's warm under his t-shirt, and Cliff can smell a deep mint cologne on his skin. The sort of thing that has fresh on the label and comes in a dark bottle. His arm, thick but not bulging like Roz's, strong across their back. 

"Dude. Whatever this is, just let somebody help." Connors says, into his sweater. 

"Can't."

"That's wuss shit. C'mon. What, are you in debt to the mob or something?"

This is probably too long to be a bro hug. 

"Nah." they chuckle. "Nah. You wouldn't be able to guess, brother, don't even try."

Connors scoffs. He pulls back. Cliff tries not to mourn the closeness.

"Look, thanks for wanting to help. But you kinda...can't."

"Why?"

And that's the thing, right? From the outside it's probably weird to keep sidestepping this shit. They feel like a bad friend but this is not something that can get out. He's got way too much to lose and the idea that it might not matter and nobody would care is an appealing fantasy that Cliff just cannot afford to put any stock in. And that's sad. That's a depressing thought. But sometimes reality just sucks and that's that. 

It's a bad idea to make guys question stuff. If they could just fucking open their ears and listen without jumping in and shoving sixteen different assumptions down your throat, then maybe it would be easier. Like Cliff knows not everybody has a Patty in their life, a big sister who will just flat out tell you figure your shit out because I'm not your mother and I will not put up with you being an asshole, so if you want me around you'd better be decent, someone who's fully done dealing with everyone's shit, including yours. But they could at least take some notes. It's not like they're whispering.

And maybe this is a two extremes thing, a little, because Pat can sometimes go a bit far, maybe, and Mom definitely has gone way too far in the complete opposite direction. They're at least smart enough to know that one is probably a response to the other, so it's not really fair to judge her by the standards of someone who isn't probably kind of traumatized. And Dad was and continues to be fully sort of useless, so she really was on her own through the whole thing. The least Cliff can do is try to engage with her peer-to-peer. 

And she hasn't said a lot about trans stuff, but a few other people have. People who aren't trans themselves, so maybe other not-trans people would listen. Maybe. Except they don't. And it sure as hell isn't just guys, but guys are what Cliff is up against.

A place like hockey, where a buncha presumed straight dudes are all packed together and made to fight and compete, it's gonna involve a lot of reinforcing what it means to be a straight dude. What it means to be a man. Cliff has had it forced down their throat often enough to know the rules backwards and sideways. It's not like any of the disgusting shit they say about people is natural, it's careful and deliberate and designed, not by these guys probably, but carried out by them dutifully. They don't even know they're singing someone else's shitty song. Or they don't care.

It's tempting to think maybe Connors would care. 

"Just can't, man. Sorry."

'how to the py'

'therapy where'

'does my boss infromed when i get thearpy'

'why my thoughts really sad and all over the place'

'how to stop thinking'

'thought too much about my situation and kind of nauseous plas advice'

'can parnets be transphobic before you come out'

'can mothers smell trans on a kid and try to stop it making them repress'

'i want my friends back'

'can you trust althets with secrets'

'gay bar eddiquit'

'how to be in gar bar while closeted'

'how to talk to gay people whil closeted'

'can i talk to other trans people closeted and they dont figure me out'

'toothbrush holder ebay'

'how to tell if my boobs are big enough'

'biology articles dysphoria'

'why is breast only for women'

'do nonbinary get surgery'

'is medical transition only one way'

'is gender binary real'

'offensive to get surgery nonbinary'

'can a gender be offensive to women'

'can you get gender surgery in secret'

'nonbinary support group online only anonymous ask question'

'conflicted about surgical options nonbinary??'

'what counts as dysphoria'

'is it bad to have more than two pronoun'

'can i baje wedding cake just to eat cause it might raste good'

'wedding cake recipes best'

Therapy is probably their best bet, because Cliff can't just-ever relax. There's something fucked up right under the skin. Something that keeps crawling and moving and wanting. It's been starving his whole life and no amount of being fed ever seems to satisfy it, because the right sort of food is so, so rare.

Art's touch. Clothes that fit. Something a bit gross, a bit messy, a bit dark. Things that match the inside of their messed-up head.

He used to hate watching horror movies. Didn't hate them, but hated how they made them feel most of the time. It's unfair, how the beautiful things are always evil and irredeemable and need to be punished. Monsters aren't people and anything that is a monster has a single awful purpose. They did teach Cliff something important, maybe, and that is the immutable (is that the word?) law of changing lanes. Don't, pretty much. Don't do it. Color inside the lines, don't wear a dress, don't let your eyes flit to the pretty colors, and never, never let yourself taste them. 

It sucks that like, furries and shit are so doggedly (heh. Wait is that offensive?) hated, because Cliff can see the appeal in some of that. Saying "Nah, I'm actually more comfortable like this, and I'm good at drawing and people pay me so much money to draw big lion-man cock that I can afford this big intricate costume, so suck on that," is kind of just inherently cool. It's a big group, so it makes sense that some of them are shitty people. But a lot of them seem kind of nice. They'd get it, maybe, if Cliff could talk to them. A certain kinship with things that aren't really human, maybe not to the same extent but there nonetheless.

Mostly...Cliff still doesn't really fit anywhere. Not here, certainly. Not in a gay bar they can't be gay in, not in a group of guys they can't be not-quite-a-guy-entirely in, not...

And it's like, being nonbinary doesn't make someone not human. It doesn't. Cliff is pretty sure that is offensive. But, just, fuck. Maybe they do kinda want to be a free and wild horse sometimes. Or not a horse, but a big long graceful hairy thing with no genitals and big tits and some sick fuckin' claws. And a juicy fat ass he can get fucked in. And a tail.

Which is weird! Probably! Doesn't stop the want!

In reality, Cliff is inside the skin of a human and they have to act like it. Whether or not they like that very much isn't relevant. So he needs to figure out how to act like a person before everybody figures out that they don't actually know the rules all that well and don't always understand what his face is doing and when something hurts it cuts way, way deeper than it should. Always getting upset about the wrong thing, right? And it's not on purpose but that doesn't matter. Never does. It's a rule broken.

Ugh.

People have, like, genitals and nipples and stuff. Can't just...

Stop thinking about it, Cliff scolds themself as people laugh. Someone is going to notice, sooner or later. Freak out about this at home.

"-not what I'm studying, but it's always nice to take a break for a minute and see something fresh." Kip (Cliff is supposed to call him Kip and not 'Mr Grady' or 'sir') is going through his phone. He bites his top lip in concentration, then apparently finds whatever he was looking for and turns it around to show Roz. And Cliff, but maybe that's unintentional.

It's a photo of a statue. Or a sculpture, maybe. They've never been entirely clear on the difference. Jutting wings spring from its open spine, the curve of its massive body. Bone and leathery skin and viscera. Eyes he can't quite get a read on, but they're deep, electric yellow, somehow sheep-like. The hair of its mane looks so lifelike it seems like they could reach out and touch it, feel the flowing texture, the places it's matted with blood. Between its legs, up along its body, is a hole or a pouch. An ax sticks out almost comically from its side, pushed deep into the flesh. The handle is gleaming wood, the blade so sharp and shiny it has to be real. 

Below is a pile of dripping meat not recognizable as anything but. Cliff has a feeling they know what happened to whoever was swinging that ax around.

There's a gleaming card attached to the platform it's resting on. It reads indefensible.

I might be in love again, they think, unable to look away. Next to him, they can almost feel Roz shiver.

"Oh." Kip says, and Cliff realizes he must have blurted that out. Shit. "Wow. I-kinda felt the same way, actually."

"Haha. Uh, yeah. Wow." they mumble. "Big fan of...things."

Roz thumps him on the back. "This is true. Marly is big fan of scary things."

"I, I mean, I don't think it's scary." They look back up at Kip, a bit panicked. "Uh, unless it's supposed to be."

"Um, well, kind of." Kip shrugs. "The meaning's pretty clear, if you ask me, but that's not going to be everybody's interpretation. And I don't really know the artist well enough to speak for them."

It feels a bit...dreadful. But not more than the world already is. Cliff isn't a deep thinker so interpreting these things isn't really for him. Probably why it's just more...it feels like they could relate.

In real life, if someone comes along and chops you up and you turn them to meat for it, you're probably not going to look tragically beautiful afterwards. But it doesn't look...it's not romantic, or happy, it's kind of like those old paintings of eagles pecking at that one guy. Bad situation. The interpretation turned out beautiful anyway. Or something.

Indefensible. Yeah.

Maybe it's kinda...Cliff doesn't wear his teeth in front of people. Because it's weird, and gross, to other people. But they're still-part of him. Reclaimed. And that's meaningful to them, even if the circumstances weren't good in them getting out.

Or maybe he's wrong and it's just a statue. "Deep, I guess. Sad."

"Didn't know you were such a big art fan, Marlow." says Hunter. He hasn't said anything about what to call him. Probably not Dad. Because that would be weird and gross on so many different levels. 

Roz snorts into his drink.

"Uh, not really. Not on an intellectual level or anything, I couldn't go to school for it." Cliff tries not to make any weird faces. "I just-like things, sometimes."

Would it be completely gross and inappropriate to say it reminds me of some really intricate erotic furry art I saw once? Probably. They'd have to wonder why I was looking at big gay dragons fucking each other with huge cocks. And like, why I thought it was better than most of the straight porno stuff I've seen the guys passing around.

"The anatomy just made more sense! It was really intimate and you got the sense they liked each other on a deep personal level!", they imagine crying as he's dragged out of the bar by armed security.

Not that straight porno stuff can't ever be intimate. The guys just have shit taste.

And also. Well. Gay.

"Yeah?"

Oh god, that feels like a prompt. Fuck.

"I...um. Have weird taste, I think."

Don't ask. You don't want to know about what I like, you'll be grossed out like everyone else.

Well, except Art. But he's the guy that let Cliff know any of this existed in the first place, their inspiration sometimes, the man that-well, Cliff can't paint or anything, or do any real kind of artistic thing. But sometimes trying to shove the way this guy makes them feel into a project ends up making something that does sort of express that.

Which is how he comes up with the better pieces, a lot of the time. Harder to make stuff when you feel like crap. 

"That's okay. Art is divisive."

Aghhh. "Uh, maybe-I mean-"

Cliff's palms start to sweat as he reaches for their phone. Anything potentially incriminating is password locked, but. Maybe. He goes in, pulls out some choice pictures, and moves them to their own album. If Kip is a scroll-through-someone-else's-phone kinda guy, he won't see anything weird. 

Not that they have any nice pictures of himself. Or of Art. Mostly, it's just-

"Oh, the rabbits." Roz says, grimacing. What a baby.

"Uh, here." Cliff mumbles, putting their phone on the table and shoving it over a bit. 

Vaughn looks over at it too, leaning over Hunter, who's sandwiched in the middle. "Oh. Interesting." he says, and Cliff sweats harder.

"Wow." Kip says, and leans in closer. Doesn't seem all that repulsed. "Yeah, that is weird. I like it."

He does? "You do?"

"Yeah! Kinda creepy-cute, in a way."

"The teeth are sort of...uncanny valley." Vaughn says, "Little too almost-realistic for me. Maybe that's the point, though?"

It actually is the point. Holy shit, somebody got it, like right away. 

"I want to know how they made those eyes. That's weird." Kip sounds delighted. They hadn't expected that. From the sound of it, the guy mainly deals with more classical...type...things. Cliff doesn't know art words.

"There's more." he mumbles. "You can...scroll through, if you want. Don't worry there's no dick pics in there."

Not that they'd take any. Probably. Cliff feels sort of conflicted about his dick recently.

Kip snorts a bit but starts swiping through the pictures. They've branched out a bit, sort of, kinda. It's something to do with his hands. Taking a cheap thrift store bowl and gluing shit inside it seems neat at any rate, and maybe dabbing little bits of paint on cardboard until it sorta looks kinda skull-ish from a distance isn't anything real. But it feels good. It's a way to feel less bad about having big cardboard boxes around. And then there are little paintings he can hang up, so. 

The guy pauses a bit at the aquarium gravel thing. They'd sorta worked on that one for a while, on more sleepless nights. It's kind of a smushed shape with long skinny wires that looks like a big creepy hand after he covered the whole thing in this cement stuff they found at a grocery store. It dried pretty fast when mixed with paint but it was stable after that, so it was easy to glue down shiny silver-white gravel without breaking it. It's a good base for the creature thing resting in the palm, curled up safe, nose-to-tail. The patterns in the gravel are maybe sorta...a little exposing. Maybe he shouldn't have added this one.

Cliff hasn't even shown this one to Art. They're scared he might understand it. 

"That's pretty." Vaughn comments. When they risk a glance at Kip, he almost seems a bit choked up.

"Are these all by the same artist?" he asks, and Cliff tries not to shy away from the eye contact.

They manage a nod.

"Where'd you find them?" Kip asks, and he's sorta...intense? About it?

Well. So. 

"Uh." Cliff says, and winces at the voice crack. Gah. Why is this almost as bad as coming out always is?

Do they just lie? What if he wants to see more? What if he's mad and wants to kill them with hammers? What if he's accidentally inserted twelve thousand homophobic slurs and just didn't realize? 

"Marly." Roz claps him on the back. "Do not be embarrassed."

"Shut up." Cliff sputters, "Stop."

"Oh, come on! You have audience! Is good for you." the bastard coos. 

"No, I think it's actually fatal."

"Aw. I know I make fun of your horrible, horrible bunnies-"

"Shut up, Rozanov."

Roz just talks over them. "But you are really very talented. Even old man Hunter thinks so. And he knew all the famous dead artists, so he can judge you properly!"

"I think that just insulted both of us." says Hunter, "So this is you, Marlow?"

No. Yeah. Can one of you bash my head in so I don't have to be here?

"Yes."

"Oh." Kip looks back down at his phone, then scrolls back up to look at an earlier piece. "Oh, wow."

"I'm not, like, I just do some shit. Sometimes. Like I said I didn't go to a school or-know anything." 

This is so humiliating, it's like being cracked all the way open over broken glass and boiling water and having knives thrown at them. While naked.

"That's actually really impressive." Kip says, and he's still intense, and it's kinda scary, but it's also nice?

"You don't think it's, like-" Cliff struggles.

"What? Gay?" Hunter asks flatly, lip twitching a bit. 

They flinch a bit. "That's what my Mom would say." he mumbles, then regrets it. And also every kid who'd ever called them a sissy girl for trying to draw horses, or whatever.

"Your Mom is a-"

"Roz."

Roz looks at them innocently, and takes a long sip of his deep orange cocktail thing through its bright pink straw. When he'd seen Kip's, he'd insisted on getting the same one. Cliff has been sipping on ice water all night.

"I was gonna-everybody I show this stuff to, they're like 'ew, what's wrong with you?'"

Kip shakes his head. "Have they all been...well."

"Nah, I don't let the guys see this stuff." they laugh, just a little bitterly. Like cooked broccoli without seasoning or oils or cheese. God, he's hungry. "Just Roz, and my sister, and-my one friend. Actually, he likes it, he says-that they're pretty. I like, um, pretty things."

Vaughn looks back down at the phone, tilts his head, like he's trying to see the prettiness in a bunch of fake teeth, tiny miniature bones, and a little thumb-high figure with branching "leather" wings grasping its own beating heart in both hands. 

"Yeah? I think they're pretty, too." Kip smiles at them. Oh, jeez. Wow.

Only because he seems so interested in the backgrounds, and what they are, Cliff tells Kip about his house. And how they got really sick of bland white minimalist no wood, no stone, everything-same rich people aesthetic, so he'd just sort of stopped doing that.

"I kinda gutted a lot of stuff. Had to redo everything pretty much, I even replaced all my dishes because before I didn't-I mean I cared, but it's like, you're not really allowed to care about pretty stuff when you're-or you get called gay, and you have to prove you're not gay, and that sucks. I mean not anymore, kind of? We're better about that stuff but everyone still got freaked out when they first saw it and now I think-even my sister was freaked out." 

"Big changes, Marly. Not bad."

"I know. It's just-I wish people could be happy for me right off the bat, you know?" he mutters, picking up a french fry. 

Art was. Art is. Sometimes it kinda seems like the more he knows about Cliff, the more he likes them. Which gives him a squirmy warm mushy feeling that should just be kinda gross but is instead gross and wonderful. They never want that feeling to go away.

Roz makes a low, pained sort of sound. "I know."

"Uh, anyway, I have fish soap." Cliff shows them a picture. "I guess it's maybe supposed to be decorative but it still works and it's good stuff, like pretty high quality, so I use it. And uh, there's a skeleton, just sort of because."

After Cliff's done taking a piss, they wash their hands and go to dry them. As they're doing that, thinking ignorantly that he'll just keep having an unexpectedly good time with all these nice people, their phone buzzes.

Mom: Stop avoiding me. 

Mom: You take joy in hurting me don't you..I don't have forever...one day I won't be here anymore and you will REGRET harming me thus way while I was alive. Selfish 

Oh, fuck this.

Cliff: Hi mom. I love you. I dearly want to be very sarcastic and cutting right now but for your sake I will come to you with this. I am transgender. Very certain. Please stop callimg me homophobic slurs and saying the t-slur because it is very painful. Can we reconnect and talk about this like two adults who love each other, mother to child?

Mom doesn't respond, but the little check mark showing she's seen the message lets them know she might need a minute.

He hopes she knows this is pretty much her last chance, but does not expect her to use it well. 

Marly: *sent a screenshot* so we'll see how this goes. ugh.

Marly: im just done dude. i can't take it anymore. id rather just settle this and be done with it than keep dragging it out. thank fuck id dont live with her anymore. thanks for the advice on that btw, 

Marly: just wanted to update you since you asked before. you're so fucking sweet man, im so glad we met. i dont even have the words to describe it.

Marly: you just mean a lot to me

Marly: sorry if im getting too intense haha

Marly: i know we're kinda just fuckbuddies

Marly: and i swear im not trying to push or make you have a big feelings 'what are we" talk it's just that the buddy part is real too. i care about you. just wanted you to know it goes both ways and all that.

Conners: hey man

Conners: wrong number? 

FUCK.

"What's wrong, where are you?" Roz says, after picking up midway through the first ring.

"Outside."

"Okay, I am coming to you, stay there."

"Don't do that, stop being weird."

"Who made you cry, I will kill them." he hisses, and over the line he can hear rustling, raised voices.

"No, don't, sit back down, don't. I'm okay I just needed-I'm just freaking out, I-told Connie."

"Shit."

It's cold out here. Soothing, a little. Cliff feels like the world is pulsing in and out.

"I didn't mean to. Fuck. I just came out to my mom, and I was trying to tell Art about it, and I'm fucking stupid-"

"Cliff?"

Cliff jumps about a foot, drops their phone, scrambles to catch it, barely misses the sidewalk.

"Good save, bro." Connors blinks, swipes a hand across his mustache. "Uh. Or I guess not."

"Shit. Just, can you forget all that? I didn't mean it, I'm just, I'm playing a joke on someone." Cliff swallows against the burning.

Connors shakes his head.

"Please. Please, dude, you can't tell anyone."

"Wasn't going to, um."

Cliff wipes their face with the bottom of his shirt.

"And you're-once again, you're fucking sobbing. I'm not gonna ignore that."

"Dude."

"Yeah?" Connors storms up to them. "Yeah?"

"I don't know!"

"Fuck you." the guy growls, and grabs him by the waist. Squeezes tight, tucks his face into their shoulder. "Fuck you, lady. Fuck you."

"Not a lady." they sniff.

"Still fuck you. Fuck, that's why you broke the fuck down back at the motel? Cause Carmichael said-"

"Like you didn't participate at all." Cliff mumbles sullenly. Connors sways them where they stand, back and forth. Fuck. This looks pretty suspicious, right outside a fucking gay bar.

"Shut up. Or don't, fuck. I'm sorry."

Cliff squeezes his eyes shut before they can drip into Connors' hair.

"Buddy. I'm gonna fucking kill you. I love you. What a hag, she really calls you a f-"

"I can say that word, but you shouldn't." Cliff bursts into deeply inappropriate giggles.

"Okay, well, fuck her. If we can't, then-moms say that shit? My mom would fucking kill me."

They take in a shuddering breath. It hurts on the way in and on the way out. 

"I love you. I love you, if you do anything stupid I will fucking punch God in his goddamn pissing fucking cock, you hear me?"

Bold of Connors to assume they're getting into heaven. 

"Love you too." Cliff mumbles. "Don't tell."

"Dude-Marly, the guys think you're suicidal. The fuck do you want me to do?"

"Tell them I'm getting a therapist. I am. All fixed."

"You'd better." Connors kisses their shoulder. "Fuck, I didn't ask for consent."

Aw, so he did pay attention to that course thing they all took. "Dude, okay, first of all good catch, second of all, you already have spit-shake standing permission." Cliff sniffles again. "If I didn't want you kissing me I'd take it back, trust."

Connors kisses the spot again.

"I'm not a woman. I know that's what you're assuming, but don't, I'm not either. Like Roz mentioned earlier."

"Still not a clue how that works, but whatever. We're good?"

"We're good." Cliff tries to breathe evenly. Fuck, they are now way, way past his limit.

Roz comes out to yell at him eventually, just to find Connors struggling to understand why 1) Cliff absolutely could not talk about this, and 2) that they're gay but not completely a man. It's a work in progress.

"Why would anybody care, though? Like you're not a bad...person, right? Yeah, you're not a bad person, or a creep, so why would they think that?"

"Because, bro. Transphobia. And like, transphobia is like, useful, cause you can just go 'oh, it's the evil people's fault', and then if we die or something nobody has to care. This is upsetting, can I stop talking about it?"

"Marly. Connors?" Roz asks, one breath away from yelling. "I was worried, you little shit."

"I might cry again, can we just stop being mad and pushing me?" Cliff chokes out. "I've had a really, really hard day and I need a break, okay guys? Please?"

Roz swears, kneeling down and putting a hand on their shoulder. "I'm sorry."

Cliff sucks in a long breath. 

"You can have a break, buddy." Connors ruffles their hair. "It's okay. You're okay."

His phone buzzes.

Roz grabs it. He taps at the screen and squints. Types in Cliff's password, which, terrifying, but then he says, "Ah! Is Mr Youtube."

"Oh. Yeah?"

"Yes. He says goodnight."

That helps, a little bit. A nice little thought, his big guy, curled up in bed. Or more likely flopping all over the bed, fuckin' starfish. Cliff likes him so much. 

"I'm so tired." they mumble.

"Who's Mr Youtube?"

Cliff lays down on the concrete. "The guy I'm fucking."

"Ohhhh. Woah. Seriously, bro?"

"Yeah." they say, and if it's a bit dreamy then fucking whatever it's been the weirdest day ever.

"Dude. Is he hot?"

"He's so hot and so sweet. He's got mutton chops. And these huge fucking arms."

Roz cracks up.

"And a fat cock."

Connors gives them a weird look. "So, are you the bottom?"

"You don't need to bottom to like dick. And I'm not answering that. And fuck you."

"Heh."

"Shut up."

"Um." Cliff swallows, presses their thumb against the cool concrete. "Can I like, ask you for something?"

"For sure."

"Can you not call me 'bro' and shit anymore?" he asks in a rush. "I know it's not convenient and I'm-it just makes me uncomfortable."

"Oh." Connors sits up a little. "Yeah. I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay. Just-now that you know?"

"Yeah, d-uh. You didn't like 'lady', though, so...probably not 'sis' then, huh?"

Cliff cracks up a bit. "Nah. 'Buddy' is cool, though. And I'm fine with 'guy' for some reason, just not-like 'brother', or 'dude', or-not 'man', either, really. Just a thing, I don't know."

"That's okay. I'll work on it." Connors says, like it's easy. Like they're not asking for too much. Like he gives a shit about how comfortable Cliff is.

"And hey, I'm gonna get way better about all this crap." the guy says, rubbing their back. It's nice, to be touched. He'd missed this. "I'll like, go take one of those classes. Watch a documentary."

"I mean, I haven't done that."

"We could do it together." the guy offers, and that's kind of sweet. "But just watch, b-buddy, I'm gonna seriously pull this off."

"Sorry. Ran into someone." Cliff slides back into the booth.

"Friend, or..." Vaughn starts, then hesitates. 

"Yeah, uh, just Connors. Teammate. We-just-uh, had to talk for a minute."

Cliff still feels sort of-is "unmoored" the word? The fuck is a moore, anyway? It's a distant sort of feeling, like there's no ground under his feet, like they could take a wrong step and tumble down, down, down into a watery grave.

Somebody else knows. It's a complicated thing. Actually, three more people know now tonight, plus however many of Mom's friends are gonna get an earful about it. 

He almost feels bad for them.

They drift a bit, in what feels like maybe a good way? Vaughn talks about a series of novels he's really into, which leads into a conversation about fantasy, which leads into Kip and Vaughn laughing over some really, really awful movies they've seen together.

They're like...buddies, maybe. That's really cool. It kinda makes Cliff's heart hurt, in a way that's sorta good. Kip is gay in the way Art is, where you can sorta tell because they're sorta just saying it. No concealment. "Hey, here's me." And somebody Cliff kinda sorta works with (who's kind of a nerd, turns out, which is delightful) is cool enough with that to hang out with him. To share a thing he obviously really, really likes with him. And if Cliff is reading this right, they've done that without Hunter. 

Four or so years ago, he wouldn't have thought this was even possible. Shows Past Cliff, they guess.

It's nice to just listen to people talking and laughing. To watch, passively, Kip's hand go to Hunter's shoulder or his knee, to watch as the guy nearly always stacks his own on top of it and squeezes. Casual touch. Casual friendship. Right out in the open, not contradicting each other.

Maybe it's weird that Vaughn is kinda friends with his Captain's...except it's not weird, is it, and Kip isn't a WAG. And even then...men and women can be friends, right? Patty's said so. Usually it's guys that end up wrecking that, but that's a choice they make, it's not some nature thing.

And there's sort of...Kip doesn't seem like the sort of guy to fold himself into a role he doesn't fit. But that means there's no room for him to fit, inherently. Not as his full self. As a gay man he's kind of crossing that made-up line just by existing.

He could get along great with the Boston WAGs, at least. It's not about meshing as people. Not about liking each other.

Never is, is it?

Come to think of it, Cliff really hasn't ever talked to most of his teammate's wives or girlfriends one-on-one before, have they? Does he even know all of their names?

Can I change that? Am I allowed?

Well, no. That's against the rules.

Hm. They think on that a minute. Maybe...fuck what I'm allowed to do.

As things are winding down, fucking Connors shows up.

"Hi, everybody." He waves at the table. "This is a great bar! Love the beer!"

"Uh...me, too." Kip eyes him.

"Conner, how drunk are you right now?"

"Not at all, bud. Stone cold sober." he waggles his eyebrows at them. For some reason, he's undone his top couple buttons and smoothed back his hair. He at least looks comfortable? So that's good?

"The guys are leaving, so I'm here to letcha know. Since we're roommates, though, I'm not gonna leave you hanging." Connors pats them on the head. Cliff leans away. He smells sober, at any rate.

"Uh, thanks." 

They're sort of expecting him to...go back to whatever he was doing before. But he stands there, hands now shoved into his pockets, grinning as Kip gives him a brief once-over.

Wait.

Cliff has seen that once-over before.

Connors seems to pick up on it. The grin wavers a bit. He rubs the back of his neck, as the skin around it goes a bit red.

Kip smiles kindly. His eyes don't change.

"Conner, huh?" he asks.

"Yep! That's me, Conner Connors. Heh."

"Heh." Kip chuckles. "Having a good time, Conner?"

"Uh, yeah. Met some cool...gays? I guess? Guy gays, girl gays..."

Kip laughs again. Like soft velvet. 

The guy is just getting redder. Roz watches, gaze ping-ponging back and forth between them.

"Anybody, uh, told you you're one hot tamale?" Connors winks, even as he's pinned under that look. 

Kip leans forward. "Mm, a few."

"Kip." Hunter says, like a warning.

"Yeah, baby?"

"Not here." the man says lowly, so quiet it's possible to miss it. Possible.

Kip looks at Hunter. 

"Too public." Hunter murmurs.

"You sure?" Kip hums back. "Rest are gone. Just him."

"Still public."

"I can hear you guys." Vaughn says, visibly trying not to crack up laughing.

"Aw, man, I didn't mean to start anything. I was just trying to...you know, I'm just saying-dude, from one bro to another, 10/10, right? Absolute smokeshow. Don't fumble him, Hunter!"

Jesus Christ.

Vaughn is fully laughing at them now. At the absurdity of this, probably.

"Just me?" Kip hums. He pats Hunter's knee. Cliff can almost feel their own eyes bulging out of the socket as Connors watches him linger there.

"I guess you're pretty lucky too." Connors shrugs. 

Hunter looks like he wants to be mad, but is so unnerved he's forgotten how. Unnerved, or...well. 

They're sitting across from them, so. 

"I bet you say that to every gay couple." Hunter says, slowly, his mouth moving like it want to smile. 

"No, I'm serious! You're hot shit. I bet every gay guy here is jealous of both of you." Connors winks again. "I bet they wish you'd tell them you like their vibe, if you know what I'm saying."

"Really." Hunter says, looking less and less like he wants to run away and hide. More like Kip, every minute. More like a shark who's just smelt a delicious bleeding seal, floundering in the vast ocean, helpless.

"Totally."

Kip and Hunter exchange a look.

Roz looks aghast. "Really? Him?" 

"What?"

"I mean, there's something to be said for enthusiasm." Kip mumbles. Connors cheers.

Cliff's captain huffs, looking a bit put out. They suspect it's for the same reason he is.

"Do not break him." Roz orders. 

Kip shrugs. Hunter looks a bit worried then, like oh god, what are you planning, but turns to Roz and says "If we do, we'll, uh, put him back together after."

"Hmmph. Okay."

"I'm, uh, not really following." Connors says, looking around the table. 

"We're just...having a discussion, that's all."

"Uh, yeah? What about?" Connors asks.

"Whether or not we like your vibe." Kip says, and Hunter slides his big arm, thick with muscle over his boyfriend's substantial shoulders. Squeezes him.

Connors freezes. Slowly, he points to himself.

"Yeah, you, bud."

Vaughn is laughing so hard it looks like it hurts. 

Connors blinks, a bit, like he's startled. "Oh. Um..so, you-"

Hunter nods.

The guy pulls in a breath, like he's about to speak, then stops. Tilts his head. Thinks around it.

"Well", he says finally. "I've done two girls at once before, can't be that different.

Kip chuckles. "Aww."

"I don't think I need to say it out loud, but just in case-this stays quiet, right?" Hunter says, and makes the round of slow, serious eye contact.

Vaughn wipes away a tear. "Never thought I'd see the day. Oh, I'm proud of you, Scotty. Good for you."

So the night culminates in fucking Connors going back to Hunter and Kip's hotel room with them. He's probably gonna either drop out once he realizes he doesn't like dick, or-

Or get spitroasted, probably. Bent like a pretzel. Maybe they'll take turns until there's nothing left in him. Cliff has been in a motel room with Connors while he jerks off and thinks they're asleep, he can take a while. Keeps going. Fuck, Cliff wants to annihilate him for this.

"Buddy. Are you jealous?" Connors asks, before they part.

"Yes I'm fucking jealous!" Cliff exclaims. "I thought you were fucking straight!"

"I am, b-buddy! I'll just keep my socks on." Connors winks. "It's just like a two-man, except the girl is, you know, Scott Hunter."

"Okay, bro, to be completely transparent, I do not think that's how this is gonna go down."

"What do you mean?"

Cliff leans past Connors. Looks at Hunter and Kip, standing casually by their car, loose and relaxed. Both of them seem calm, slow. They've been talking for a minute. The night is a bit chilly, wind blowing. 

They look back down at Connors. Put a hand on each of his shoulders.

"Connie." he says solemnly. "They are going to fuck you."

"I don't think so."

"Okay, which one of us is gay, huh?" they demand. "I know that energy, I've been on the receiving end of it. You want that?"

Connors shrugs.

Cliff is so fucking mad about this. "What do you mean! Just-make sure you're having fun, okay? If you don't like it, say so, get out of there-"

"Ohhh. You're worried about me?" Connors huffs, smiling. "Aww. Marly."

"Yes, idiot, I am. Just-you wanna do this?"

"Yeah. Sure. I mean, you're not..." Connors indicates the general concept of gender and/or gayness. "So, like, maybe it's not as boxed up as I always thought, y'know?"

That's...not a terrible answer? "Okay. Alright. Be safe." they sigh.

"Aw, I will." Before heading over, he punches their shoulder. 

Damn.

Roz sits on the bed formerly occupied by Connors. "So."

"Yeah."

Their Captain shakes his head, flops down on the bed, stares at the ceiling. "What a fucking night."

Chapter End Notes

Full disclosure: this was not supposed to end with Connors getting double teamed by Kip and Scott, but he kept insisting he wanted it, and so it is done.
Don't rescue him, he's exactly where he wants to be.

I'm very tired. New job, so my shaky posting schedule sort of imploded. Hoping I'll get back into a rhythm soon.

Chapter 18

Chapter Notes

Adding a tw to this chapter for bottom dysphoria

Cliff whistles as they pipe icing onto the cupcakes. Or frosting? There’s supposed to be a difference but they don’t know what it is. It’s pink, whatever it is, and there’s glitter in it. It’s kind of-he knows he’s supposed to be embarrassed about this whole thing, right, even the concept of it, but once they had the idea it just wouldn’t leave. And Cliff likes cute things, and this is cute. So there.

“I think Mom calling messed me up.” they grumble over the phone. It’s sitting on his counter top on speakerphone. He’s been thinking about getting a new phone case.

Roz makes a sound. It’s muffled, but even so they can tell it’s the one that follows a hand gesture. “I am glad you sent me clip. What the fuck, I thought only my family talked like that.”

“Apparently not. Also, I am so sorry. Fuckin’ yikes, bro.”

Edible glitter is so cool. If Cliff were making these for themself, they would probably do it in black or maybe silver. Then again...pink is kinda sick. The trans flag colors look good next to each other, so maybe they could do something with that. Lots of possibilities.

It’s just fun. Colors are really cool, and baking is kinda fuckin’ sick, and at the end there are cupcakes. Maybe they’re not the best they could be, but Cliff’s built skills before and this is just another thing to learn. They’re at least good enough for him; he ate one to taste test a few minutes ago and the frosting or whatever is amazing.

And-like, they feel almost kinda bad about this. But it’s not like anyone’s gonna know! Not unless they ask, and they probably won’t. It’s not like Cliff is trying to buy anyone’s...not affection, but liking-them-ness. The possibility of friendship traded for baked goods. That’s not it. It’s just…

There’s a potluck, next team gathering, WAGs included. And Roz is hosting so he’s handling the details, so nobody has to know that it’s Cliff in charge of desserts and that they made the desserts. Or one of them. Whatever. Technically they’re celebrating Hammersmith’s wife’s birthday, and she likes pink, so the cupcakes are pink. Because it’s her birthday. And maybe she will like them.

And Cliff knows two women around his age, really. Patty and Gayle, and they still haven’t talked to Gayle about anything. They’re not sure how she’ll take any of this. And if she’s in love with him, then oh boy, he’s gonna have to reject her and probably whatever friendship they had before won’t survive that. So. Um.

But being siblings and friends with Patty involves...well, of course he’s always loved her. She’s their sister. But there’s an undercurrent of that in everything they do, so it doesn’t translate to non-familial friendships that well. Yes ma’am, sincere and teasing in one, doesn’t seem to be taken the same way by other people.

And Gayle...Cliff and Gayle drink. A lot. They’re drinking buddies, and movie buddies, and talking-about-sex buddies, but it’s not-entirely, like-gah. Now that he knows he’s gay, that’s probably it. It’s safe to talk about sex with her, because she knows a lot, and she’s never going to take that as an invitation. Hey, I’ve got this problem and I’m kind of scared, is an okay thing to bring up with her.

And the thought that maybe they were wrong about all of that and Gayle has been living in a world where the two of them are starring in a will-they, won’t-they romcom is Cliff’s nightmare.

Hell, they sort of thought for a long time that she and Patty were the movie stars in that one.

Ugh. Most of this is probably some kind of misogyny thing. But Cliff is never going to know how to talk to women in a platonic way if they don’t just do it, so this is the first baby step. Yes it’s hand-holdy and training-wheels-y, and the cupcakes are cute and full of sugar and glittery because it’s comforting. But what else are they supposed to do? He already half-knows these people. They’re not even really strangers.

It’s not like anyone’s gonna know. It’s just a gesture, of-something.

Cliff looks at the cupcakes. There’s fifty, eighteen of which are done at this point. They’re cute, and they like them so much-fluffy sparkly frosting on top of deep pink cake, and a dish of little chocolate heart shaped candies to put in the middle. He’s going to tackle the allergy friendly batches tomorrow, so nobody dies.

It looks like something Cliff would have wanted on their own birthday as a kid. When he was really little, he used to ask his grandparents for a ‘girl cake’ every year ‘because they’re more fun’. Probably the ‘girl cake’ part was sexist. Maybe this is sexist. Maybe Cliff is a weird misogynist who made up this woman’s favorite color and gaslit himself into doing this so that he could turn up and give girl cake to a girl because something whatever. Ugh.

They never got it, anyway. Grandma kept trying to explain why Cliff had to be a boy, and that led to the whole mess on his ninth birthday. A misunderstanding, they used to think of it, but now he’s sure that was just a big red repression button.

Why is cake always weirdly traumatic for them?

Marlow: dudes if I send a picture of something will all of you promise to shut the fuck up and not make fun of me

Carmichael: bro its ok mine are different sizes too

Carmichael: its normal

Marlow: 🖕

Cap: We all promise Marly. ALL of us.

Connors: yes palfriend show us ur balls

Marlow: not my balls

Marlow: *sent a picture*

Hammersmith: the fuck

Marlow: 🥲 ok thanks I worked hard oin this

Hammersmith: I didn’t mean it inn a bad way jesus

Cap: No.

Hammersmith: I mean whatever . It does look good

Connors: it looks tasty as fuck

Cap: Yes it does do you have more I am becoming blue monster

St Simon: ???

St Simon: you mean cookie monster??

Cap: YES

St Simon: it does look good! What bakery?

Marlow: uh my kitchen 👉👈

Marlow deleted a message

Marlow: uh my kitchen

Sebbins: you can’t erase that marls we all saw it

Marlow: shut up!!!!!

Carmichael: Marly Vicky is married and loyal

Marlow: shut the fuck up nobody gets cookies now

Cap: NOOOO

Cliff looks at his naked body as they lay across the bed.

It’s kind of nice. Not bad.

It’s...they feel weird about not having bigger tits. And that’s! Like, is this some kind of self esteem thing or is it dysphoria? Because it feels like dysphoria. It feels like...they just wish they could feel the weight better. That the sense of balance was right.

And his dick is weird. It’s weird. They don’t hate it, but it’s...Cliff is wondering if they’d be happier if it just weren’t part of the equation.

And! That’s! A lot. And pointless, probably, because he can live with it. And they don’t want vaginoplasty. They’ve looked at completed surgery pictures, they’ve read about it, about upkeep and recovery time and about how happy people (not even only women, which did admittedly help a bit. Lots of nonbinary people get surgery, and that’s kind of a relief to know) are afterwards. But the end result isn’t just not having a penis. It’s having a vagina made from that penis. And Cliff isn’t any more enthusiastic about that possibility.

Having breasts, the thought of that, makes them happy. Wistful. He wants it.

If only they could-just take it off, maybe? Use Art’s strap if they ever want to top again? Doubtful, but maybe when he’s more comfortable. Ugh.

Their dick is just sitting there, limp in his lap. A thing protruding from their body. Not a bad thing, not some kind of-invader, whatever, just a thing that’s weird. Um, maybe no. Sorry. A result of…

Ugh. Cliff doesn’t want to not have their beard, either. Doesn’t want a lot of the changes that would come from...why are bodies so hard? Why can’t he just pick and choose?

He does know that they used to wish they looked like a Ken doll, for whatever that’s worth. Whatever the hell that means.

Ugh.

And isn’t that the thing people always say, anyway? Huh, huh, you gonna cut it off? Assholes, and that’s not even how that works, and Cliff wants to just be able to have that done and not have it be a big deal. UGH.

Marly: Roz bro

Cap: Yes

Marly: im gonna ask something stupid

Cap: never stupid marly

Marly: does ur dick ever bother you

Cap *is typing...*

Cap: *is typing...*

Cap: no, i like it fine. But its okay if you don’t

Marly: I mean yours is great bro trust 💦

Cap: 💋

Marly: but yeah ive been looking at surgery stuff and getting freaked out dysphoria suckssss

Marly: its not even like I hate it, I just think id like my body better if it wasnt in the way. Like inconvinient

Cap: 💯

Cap: *is typing...*

Cap: and this is dysphoria for you?

Marly: yeah p sure

Cap: *is typing*

Marly: hey cap you know its ok, right?

Cap: *is typing*

Cap: *is typing*

Cap: *is typing*

Cap: ok I wasnt going to say anything because I was not sure for a long time but I have permission now. There is someone else I know who talks this way and I was not going to say anything to anyone because I do not think is ok to say behind peoples backs. But I have confirmation forom person and if you confirm I think is probably good if you talk to each other. I don’t know. If I am wrong is ok.

Marly: ???

Cap: Marly do I have your permission to send you someones number who is also maybe transgender and we both know them

Cap: I have permission from this person to send

Marly: uhhhhhh sure yeah

Cap: you cannot tell anybody

Marly: of course not bro trust

Cap: ok

Cap: 1** *** ****

Marly: uh thats already in myphon wait

Marly: oh

Cap: yes be GENTLE

Marly: yeah 100%

Cap: she is nervous like baby deer

Marly: I remember

Marly: oh geez thats gotta be tough. Her bf??

Cap: yes is all ok, he is good to her and still friends

Marly: ok good he fuckin better be

Cap: lol yes he is sweetheart

Cap: also confirming yes she/her she says

Marly: ok good t be sure

Marlow: Hi!! sorry if this is weird. This is Cliff Marlow id on’t know if you remember me but we were Bears together for a while. Ilya gave me your number. I already still had it haha. If this is weird you can delete my contact no hard feelings and I will forget everything unless you don’t want me to. Whatever you want.

Price: Hi

Marlow: Hghvgji

Marlow: oh god sorry I dropped my phone

Price: lol

Price: You’re a woman too?

Marlow: I’m nonbinary

Marlow: uh he/they

Marlow: and uh im weird sorry

Marlow: congrats though! Women are awesome

Marlow deleted a message

Marlow: I’m so sorry I’m such a loser idk how to tak

Marlow: *talk

Price: Ha. That’s basically what Ilya said. Women rock, good for you.

Marlow: yeah

Price: yeah

Marlow: uh

Price: haha yeah

Price: Fabian wants to say hello. Is that okay?

Marlow: Yes!!! omg

Price: are you a fan?

Marlow: kinda haha sorry

Price: nah it’s okay so am I

Price: Hello. I am very happy that Ryann has someone she can talk to. I hope you’re doing alright with all of this as well! -Fabian

Marlow: thats so sweet can you tell him thats really sweet

Marlow: he/him for fabian right

Marlow: and thats a v pretty spelling

Price: That’s right, dear -Fabian

Marlow: JVFUYUGVFGVHBHBh

Price: awww

Price: He really is very sweet. He says our souls are entwined forever.

Marlow: that’s beautiful

Marlow: you deserve beautiful things

Marlow: sorry was that weird

Price: you’re also really sweet what the hell

Price: I do not remember you being so nice. Like you were nice but in a bro way.

Price: and don’t call me that just btw

Marlow: yeah no me neither I’ve been asking people not to for me

Price: ah ok good 2 know

Price: you’ve told people?

Marlow: yeah I actually told Connors, you remember him? I think Vaughn figured it out I might have accidentally told him either that or its like trans-dar idk if thats a thing thatd be cool tho and I told my sister and my parents, they didn;t like it, sisters cool tho and the guy im seeing knows + Cap

Price: there’s a guy?

Marlow: yeah!!!

Marlow: I am gay

Marlow: that sounds so awkward for some reason every time lol

Price: its ok. I’m straight apparently

Price: still figuring some things out there tho

Marlow: yeah

Price: complicated but better to know

Marlow: yeah definitley

Price: is uh asking about your guy ok is he a player

Marlow: omggg its so ok he’s so fucking cool I love talkiing about him

Price: 😆

Marlow: he’s not a player he’s a YouTuber and he makes furniture and like cuts up old clothes/ its so cool I think the words upcycle ill send you a clip its easier to see

Marlow: *sent a link*

Price: lol you had that locked and loaded

Price: oh that’s cool!

Price: is this like a buisinuess or did he buy those

Marlow: *is typing*

Marlow: ok he’s working so I cant ask him damn I don’t have permission to share some stuff. He doesn’t talk about it online but if u scroll back in his youtube channel it kinda makes sense, he’s open about it and this is all still public but id ont know if I should tell you or anyone in words

Price: girl what

Price: is it ok if I call you that

Marlow: yeah that’s ok! Not a girl though, just a person

Price: gotcha

Marlow: do you like it f I called you that

Price: yeah. Fabian does.

Price: lol thats actually part of what helped me figure it out I realized I liked it a lot

Marlow: gotcha

Price: oh I get it ok

Price: cool!

Price: ah fabian’s been reading over my shoulder shit I should have said that ealier

Marlow: nah I got that from him texting its cool

Price: oh thank god

Price: he was saying thats ‘T4T tho?

Marlow: *is typing*

Marlow: oh!! thats cool yeah

Marlow: sorry its kinda complicated because we’rew not dating or anything just friends that have sex and also im in love with him

Price: GIRL

Marlow: 🫠

Price: so legally you cant kill me if I said HOT

Marlow: I wouldnt anyway

Marlow: more people agreeing with me yes

Price: Fabian agrees btw

Marlow: yes both of you have such good taste

Price: lol maybe im just used to

*Price deleted a message*

Marlow: ???

Price: never mind lol

Price: thats so cool tho I kind of wish I could do that

Price: turn my old clothes into something nice

Marlow: wel;;;;;

Marlow: he just opened up a thing to do comissions;;;;;

Marlow: this is one he did with his friend her name is Sophia

Price: *is typing*

Price: 😭😭😭

Price: Incredible handwork, and she looks beautiful in it -Fabian

Marlow: Yeah!! I really want to comment on her instragram but I cant

Price: 😭

Marlow: you’re really cool to talk to

Price: you too

Price: I really want to tell people and maybe make friends but uh surprise I’m anxious

Price: so its nice to talk to someone

Marlow: yeah, I hope things work out for you

Marlow: if you ever need somebody punched I enjoy violence

Price: Hgghj

Price: Thank you for making her laugh -Fabian

Price: Orange juice is coming out of her nose -Fabian

Price: lol thanks. I don’t!!

Price: like it I mean

Price: I may need you to punch people if that was serous

Marlow: girl hire me as a bodyguard you don’t even need to pay me

Marlow: did I use that rite

Marlow: also thats not hiring hi im dumb

Price: that’s okay. I still like you.

Marlow: 😭😭😭😭

Marly: we’ve known each other for five minutes and id kill for her

Cap: excellent

Connors: hey pal we used to tell each other sex stuff is that still cool

Marlow: bro yess tell me

Connors: so I hooked up with a woman last night and she was hot as hell so im still striaght, fucking incredible and incredible fucking

Connors: going back to s and k tho for another night bc DAMNB

Marlow: 🤣🤣

Connors: im serious like holy shit you know when you clean your ears out and all the gunk is gone and you can hear better and the tool thing feels so good in there

Connors: I think I was like reborn

Connors: thu the threesome

Marlow: Its Power

Connors: yes

Connors: also dicks are kinda hot

Marlow: bro yes

Marlow: I am in a good mood, do you want to see the cupcakes I’m bringing tonight but YOU CANT TELL ANYONE IT WAS ME or ill die for real

Connors: show me cupcake my friend

Connors: my pal

Connors: my

Connors: love?

Marlow: aw. Thats sweet.

Connors: my angel

Connors: my marly my sweet

Connors: sibling just doesn’t have the same ring is this good or uncomfortable

Marlow: connie u are the lite of my world

Connors: marly u are my sunshine

Marlow: ok cupcake

Connors: oh well

*Connors sent a picture*

*Marlow sent a picture*

Connors: FUCBK

Connors: are they strawberryyyy

Marlow: Personally. I respect everyone’s opinion. But strawberry cake. Can Fuck. Off.

Connors: oh

Marlow: Red velvet and raspberry frosting :)

Connors: oughhh

Marlow: yeah you like that bro

Connors: angel you know I do

Marlow: lol Cap just looked over and told me to stop sexting u

Connors: hes jealous

Marlow: totally

Connors: I told vicky youre ok btw. He trusts me.

Marlow: good, cuz I am doing better

Connors: good. I want u to be ok.

Marlow: I am better with friends always

Connors: u wanna hear about the sound scott hunter made when I bottomed out

Marlow: YES

Marlow: Hi! Good evening :)

Green: good evening mx Marlow

*Green sent a picture*

Green: latest project

Marlow: omg that is incredible

Green: Expensive too, very happy with it

Marlow: yeah you love work lol

Green: Four chairs and a dining table, tall order

Green: He’s so polite. Opinionated. Best kind of customer

Marlow: you’re doing a beautiful job and its gonna look amazballs

Green: Thank you sweetheart

Marlow: *sent a picture*

Green: 👀

Marlow: lol that’s me on the floor covered in flour

Green: and you are handsome

Marlow: I like when u call me that

Green: yeah?

Marlow: like an old clock

Green: I would polish u every day and admire your elegant hands

Marlow: ok I gotta clean up and go to a thing stop making me genuinley emotional

It’s not a big thing, so Cliff wears a sweater and a pair of black jeans. It’s not the worst thing, and there is alcohol and Roz gives into their ad expression and lets them have a margarita.

Probably he was supposed to pull out one of the beers. But who cares.

They haven’t really been around his teammate’s families much, since they figured themself out. And it’s kinda scary, honestly. They all seem nice. Some of them use Mom language when the Voyagers start scoring, though.

Susan Hammersmith doesn’t.

She seemed happy earlier when everyone wished her Happy Birthday and watched her open things. She's still holding onto the one book she got that she seemed really excited about.

It’s-is Cliff being weird? About her being bisexual? It’s not like that gives them anything in common. It’s just, maybe she might be okay with gay people. And maybe she thinks about these things and maybe doesn’t like the weird shit people do and say. Maybe they could talk about that stuff. Or maybe they could talk about...well, they don’t know what she likes, because they don’t know her.

She’s married to a guy he sees every day, and they don’t even know her. Is that weird?

Cliff can’t help noticing that all the guys are in one general area, not a strict line or anything but sort of clustered into the couch. And they’re hockey players, and there’s hockey on, so that makes sense. But the WAGs are at the dining table. Sitting, talking quietly, a couple of them holding their babies. And that’s how Cliff’s used to seeing them. It’s almost a bit jarring sometimes to see one of their teammates holding a baby.

Roz is hosting, so he flits in and out. But he’s basically the only one.

And it’s a birthday thing. Mrs Susan is with her friends and just got a bunch of gifts and they’re chatting. So that makes sense. Just. Every time, huh.

And Cliff would bet that on most teams, it’s pretty much the same.

What was the thought they had once? Too much of a guy for the WAG table, but too much of a girl for the men?

Ugh.

Do you like it like this, they wonder, watching them. I know they do. But how do you feel?

I don’t feel good about it, now that I looked. And I feel like I’m being a weird jerk but I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if this is a bad thing but I feel like it’s a sign that something deeper is wrong and maybe it’s just that this is all built on like sexism or something. And the roots of that homophobia go all the way back into the highest oldest branch of that tree. But I’m scared.

This is older than I am, and as far as I know nobody’s escaped it yet. I know I won’t. It’ll crush me, somehow.

It’s probably been crushing women for a long time.

Cliff shivers.

But at least people like their cupcakes.

Cliff made a few more just for them, because they’re good and he’s stressed. It helps to have seen Susan enjoying them and thinking they’re pretty, even though hopefully she’ll never know Cliff made them. Too exposing. Ugh.

Just let it happen. It’s easy. ‘I like cute things’. ‘I think cupcakes and things are cute and good, even though they’d look so awesome with little candy teeth and maybe frosting bloodstains and if some of them had eyes.’ ‘Glitter is fun.’

Yeah, sure. Imagine the consequences. Gah.

Connors is going straight (heh) to a hotel tonight to get fucked in the ass by Scott Hunter. Again.

What Cliff wouldn’t give to have Hollander and Art double team them. Fuck. They don’t know how Hollander is in bed. Maybe he’s sweet and gentle, maybe he’s sweet and rough, maybe he likes to put people on their knees and tie their hands and collar them and make them crawl to suck his big dick. And Cliff knows it’s big. The balls, too.

Cliff frowns at their empty glass. Maybe they’ve had too much to drink.

On screen, Hollander scores. Beautifully. They can't decide if they're mad the Voyagers are winning or totally encompassed with lust for the sheer-

Roz bats at him, eyes on the television.

"Uh?" Cliff blinks.

"Mosquito. Dead now."

"Oh. Thanks."

'shane hollander bi and single'

'SHane hollander bi'

'bottom dysphoria'

'why do i want to bite when guy i like is cute funny'

'shane hollander locker room interview shirtless'

'shane hollander shirtless'

'shane hollander naked'

'shane hollander butt'

'big dildo'

'how to tell if a guy likes me boyfriend way or just friendshop'

'is hockey marriage dangerous'

'hiw sexist am i test online'

'how to tell woman who might like me im trans advice guide'

'How to tell woman who might like me im gay advoce guide'

'recipes'

'how to do something nice for friend who is a girl'

'Scott hunter abs'

'kip Grady ads'

'kip grady abs'

'kip grady skirt pictures'

'Did kip grady wear skirt'

'why did kip grady wear skirt'

'kip grady degender clothes post'

'kip grady glasses'

'fabian salah concerts near me'

Chapter End Notes

If I've gotten anything terribly wrong, especially in regards to Ms Price, then please feel free to let me know

Chapter 19

Cliff: hi Gayle. sorry for not reaching out for a while. I'm sure mom is upset with me right now and she might have said something to you all. If so then the fact is I'm trans. This is not something I decided on a whim, it's very real to me, and I just want to be myself. I like you very much as a friend and part of my family. If you don't want to associate with me then that's totally okay. I just wanted to be up front with you about it.

Cliff has started listening to Art’s workout videos at the gym. It’s almost like they’re working out together then. Except not, because that’s not how time works.

But it’s nice to hear his voice. Kinda hot, because he’s grunting with the force of it and breathing hard and probably sweating yeah okay it’s probably also a horny thing. But who can blame them?

It’s not just that, though. Because Cliff sort of just wants to spend time with him and this is the next closest thing. They wish he could be here, even though this place is full of Bears. Even though hanging out like that might be...too much? Too fast?

They try not to flinch when St Simon glances at their screen during an ill-advised ad skip. But he doesn’t...like, leap back and point at Cliff and say “I knew it, I knew it all along, you lovestruck homosexual!” He doesn’t really linger, just makes a curious “Hm” sound and adjusts the treadmill he’s using.

“I think I would do this very often if I was not greatest player in MLH.” Roz says, and the bravado can’t fully cover up the wistfulness. “Outside, you know.”

“Yeah?” Cliff slides the pizza into the oven.

“Mm.”

Huh.

“I don’t know. I can’t, so. There is no point in being upset.”

That kind of makes them pause, their finger briefly hovering over the oven timer. They kind of figured that this was more of a hobby for Roz than it is for them. That it’s not the way he sees himself in his head, and more of a fun way to pass the time.

That’s been the vibe, anyway. They thought. Was he wrong?

“I think there could be. I mean, it’s not fair that you’re like, not allowed. Pretty normal to be upset when things are fucked up.”

Roz shakes his head, rearranging Cliff’s salt and pepper shakers on the spice rack. He looks really pretty tonight. It’s not as high effort as they usually go; just a nice jacket and a skirt, a necklace hanging down over his bare chest with the crucifix dangling above. “No point.” Roz says again, doing his one-shoulder shrug. Face relaxed, body too loose.

They’ve learned not to push when he gets like this, but.

“I mean, I am. Upset I mean.”

Roz nods. He’s distant. Not like he was when his Montreal hookup (his boyfriend) dumped him briefly, but something in that same area. “Makes sense. You are you.”

“Hey.” Cliff says, parking himself in front of their captain. “You get to be you too, dingus.”

“We are not the same, Marly.”

They are starting to seriously doubt that is true. But you don’t crack an egg by throwing it at the wall as hard as you can and then expecting the yolk to be intact and it to be free of dust and shit. This metaphor is weird. Cliff is hungry.

“I’m fine.” Roz says, gripping their shoulder and shaking it. “I am in a weird mood. It’s fine.”

“I’m not saying you’re not fine. We can be fine. We’re fine together.”

Roz rolls his eyes. “Yes. Good.”

“Okay, good.”

Don’t throw. Gentle.

“I love you, idiot.” Cliff squeezes around his shoulders, and Roz doesn’t pull away. Maybe that’s good enough for now.

Green: Saw this and thought of you

Green: *sent a picture*

Cliff can’t help but smile in the middle of the locker room.

“Marly, you are blushing!” Roz sings quietly.

“Fuck you.” they flip him off, and the laughter seems genuine.

Marlow: howd you know I like foxes

Green: Lucky guess

For some reason, wearing a dress has always felt too intimidating.

Cliff has tried to work up to it a few times, but always chickens out at the last second. What if he looks weird? It doesn’t make a lot of sense because Cliff absolutely rocks a good skirt, but they always become too aware of the shape of their body compared to what this is supposed to look like. Even sized to fit him, even when it’s something custom, it’s just…always seemed too big. Metaphorically.

Maybe there’s still a part of them that flinches away from the thought of intruding. That knows “man in a dress” comes with six tons of judgment and shame, no matter that they aren’t one. No matter that probably Cliff doesn’t fit anywhere in the group of people that’s meant to hurt. It’s just...it’s a lot to try and live up to, and shrug off.

But he wants to. Especially some of the intricate stuff they’ve seen online, stuff that feels right and makes sense. Dark silk that pools around the model’s ankles, big puffy skirts that flare, shiny buttons and purple ribbons and flowing sleeves. The more flamboyant and vampire-esc it was, the more Cliff wanted to try it. And when they found this one...

It’s the same dress Patty found in their closet months ago. Ruffled, puffy, long sleeves that flow down his arms like dark water. There are flashes of green and blue in the fabric when the sun hits it right, but the shiny black material mainly seems to pull light into it. Right now the shiny round buttons are undone, but when he does them up they stand out against the fabric pushed out by his chest. The edge of the skirt is ruffled, and so is the neckline. It makes his collar stand out, the one with looping chains attached and a heart cut into the center. They stopped straightening their hair a few weeks ago, and now the dark curls are long enough to put back in a ponytail and held in place with a clip.

The person in the bedroom mirror is...stunning. Beautiful. He doesn’t look silly at all, or like something to be afraid of. When he smiles, Cliff almost expects sharp teeth to poke out.

It’s a very formal sort of...thing. Not really casual attire. It’s Cliff, in all their dark flamboyant glory.

It’s kind of funny to think that a few years ago, just being content to listen to the rain outside their window while he read by candle light would have been unthinkable. They’d probably have said that’s not something real people do. That’s just something you see in gloomy old movies. But it’s fully possible, and Cliff is settled comfortably into the armchair next to the window at the end of the hall, the black tapered electric candle pulsing gently on the side table as the rain pounds against glass and thunder booms in the distance. They’re not a big book person, but something about the cover caught his eye. As it turns out, his thrift store find is one of those steamy romance books with lots of blood and death and fucking. It’s great. They’re really rooting for Perry the demon summoner to demolish these guys with her dark powers and rescue her evil lover from eternal torment. And then ride his dick about it.

Cauliflower @cliffmarlowofficial

[a photo of a hand with trimmed nails covered in black shiny nail polish]

Back in the day I think they called this ‘emo’ lol

Cliff: Hi Emily! I know I RVSP’d for the wedding, but since then something came up and I am unsure if I’d be welcome there. I don’t know if Mom has said anything to you, sorry to bring it up if she hasn’t.

Green: that one client is distractedly hot

Marlow: ❤️‍🔥

Green: I haven’t seen him in person yet but his voice is doing something to me

Marlow: is this the guy who implied he broke his table by fucking his girlfriend too hard

Green: Yep

Marlow: nice

Marlow: hey uh you like my dress

Marlow: *sent a picture*

Green: *is typing*

Green: *is typing*

Green: *is typing*

Green: *is typing*

Green: *is typing*

Green: yes

Green: sorry im trying to be articulate

Green: youve

Green: my words are gone

Green: you are really beautiful

Green: you always are you are stunning in thi

Marlow: youre really sweet

Marlow: I like you

Green: I like you so much

Marlow: wish I could take you on a date lol

Marlow: like this I mean

Green: I’d like that a lot

Green: if we could

Green: I think I’m going to get my shit together. I’ve wanted to for a long time. But I want to make myself public.

Green: I hope that doesn’t interfere with your job

Marlow: woah

Marlow: no id ont think it would. People don’t really know we know each other

Marlow: I know You havent come out as trans or said anything

Green: Yeah. I have my road blocks. I think I have to clear them.

Green: Sorry if I’m coming on too strong. It’s just

Green: Being around you makes me want to do something brave

Cliff is not used to being driven near to tears by good things.

Mr Hunter,

Hello! I wanted to email you say hello. It was great to hang out with you and Kip and Vaughn. Maybe we could do that again some time.

I w So Sorry if this makes anything awkward between us. And I apolize if this is an insensitive question. If you’re okay with it, can I ask you some questions? Not like an interview, I’ve been feeling lost lately and I have been wondering if maybe we have gone through some of the same things. Maybe we haven’t and I’m totally off base. But I really look up to you. And when you came out, I didn’t realize it right away but it did change some things. Personally I mean.

I guess this is me coming out to you? I’m not very good at this part. I’ve kind of botched every time so far haha, but I guess since this one is sort of planned out I should try to be coherent with it. So. I’m gay.

And I just wanted to tell you that

I’m not as brave as you and Kip. I’m actually kind of a coward I think you were really I would have been really, really scared and I still am but I think I want to try. And there’s kind of a big reason that I want to.

I can’t tell you much about him, but I met this guy. And he is so incredible. When I looked at you and Kip I realized that I wanted that to be us someday. Out in the open.

I think maybe it would look different for us but I hope it’s still possible. I want it to be. I like him so much! He is funny and the hottest guy in the whole entire world universe and he is so, so nice. I don’t know if forever is what he wants but I wish we had the option. I wish that we could be together.

I don’t know if any of this is making sense. I’ve kind of started this email a bunch of times and I never knew how to put these feelings into words. They’re kind of big and they’re scary. But I’m just hoping you understand, and maybe if it would be okay, we could talk about it some time. Other than him, I’ve actually never talked to another gay person about this stuff.

Sorry if I was weird or embarassing haha

regardfs,

-Mx Cliff Marlow

(ps idk if mx makes any sense to you but I think maybe Kip would know so its ok if you ask him)

Cliff checks three times that they’re sending it to the right person before clicking. And then it’s sent.

They try not to panic too hard about what he just did and get on with his day. But having done that, for real this time, keeps jumping out at them. They refresh the email app thing maybe ten times an hour. 

“Fans have been sending me messages. And a lot of young fans. Saying how much it meant to them, for me to come out.”

Cliff watches the video all the way through, then closes out of it and tries not to die.

They’re...nervous, probably. Scared. This is scary and weird and he doesn’t know how not to be anxious about it. What if it goes to his spam folder and he never sees it? What if he posts it on Twitter? What if Kip sees it and figures out that Cliff isn’t some cool artist but actually super lame and spends half an hour laughing with Hunter about it?

Maybe gay people don’t do this. Maybe when you grow up you don’t ask for help, and it’s some kind of gay code that he was never in touch enough to learn?

What if one of them gets hacked?

Marly: hey roz I just came out to hunter over email and im freaking out

Marly: what if he gets mad and ungays me

Cap: 😭😭

Cap: marly noo not the dinosaur

Cap: But he will be lovely, don’t worry he is a nice grandpa even if his knees creak

Cap: he only hits me with his cane because I am obnoxious

Marly: well you are so that tracks

Cap: OHH SO THEY HAVE JOKES NOW

Marly: 😜

Cap: look at this little shit eh maybe I should sic my boyfriend on you for being mean to me

Marly: eh I bet I can take him

Cap: I would love to see you try

Marly: what is he like a rugby player

Marly: do they have rugby in russia

Cap: 🤭

Marly: I know you cant tell me but you said he has an accent. And that it wasnt mine. So maybe closer to yours I was thinking

Cap: guessing games are fun keep guessing

Marly: im thinking athlete for you. If not then like bodybuilder or model. Someone built like big guy

Cap: well I do like them big,,,there was one guy, not built but taller than me? Yes yes yum

Marly: yeah. You like being held too

Cap: 😭 stop knowing me

Marly: you like hugs you keep hugging me. You always hugged Svetlana. I bet he wraps you up in his big arms and holds you all night

Cap: ok fuck you

Cap: yes I like them big and I like them strong what do you want from me

Marly: dude I hate to break it to you but we have a tyyype

Cap: 🤬

Marly: aw and youre posessive

Cap: 🤬😡🤬🤬🤬

Marly: hey don’t worry I get it. No ones coming after your man. I bet hes just as sweet on you

Cap: I am sweet for no one!! I am fearsome!!

Cap: *sent a picture*

Marly: oh my god youre in his lap rn??

Marly: he okd that pic??

Cap: yes he says blanket is enough cover

Marly: lol I bet you guys are nauseating

Cap: I love him so much

Cap: he is out of blanket now and his arm is so big around my waist

Marly: im gonna ask Art to be my bf

Cap: 🤯

Cap: YES DO THIS

Marly: lol

Marly: im nervous but

Marly: we talked today and it was really idk how to describe it. Like idk if im supposed to give it more time but I just want to jump in and date if he wants to

Cap: marly please do it. I waited scared for like ten years seriously never do that to yourself it was hell

Marly: 😢 dude thats like forever

Cap: whole adult life and younger basically yes

Cap: let me be your mentor

Marly: im older than you

Cap: true so it is good you went to scott hunter he is older than everybody alive so

Cap: has he answered yet

Marly: no

Cap: still nervous

Marly: less but yeah

Cap: thats ok

Cliff: Patyyyyyyyyy

Patty: ?

Cliff: stickers

Cliff: *sent a picture*

Patty: oh cool

Patty: wow glitter

Patty: I didn’t know you liked pink

Cliff: yeah! It’s trans flag colors

Patty: Oh!

Patty: did you go somewhere

Cliff: no I made these

Patty: Woah! Shit

Cliff: yeah!! hot glue hurts loll

Patty: lol

Cliff: also

Cliff: uh I don’t wanna rush anything or like say anything too soon but I will say for now: theres a cute boy and I really like him so much so so much

Patty: you met a guy??

Cliff: yeeeeeah

Cliff: and I came out to someone

Cliff: im kinda freaking out so I did some craft stuff that helped

Patty: thats awesome was it someone I know

Cliff: uh it was scott hunter

Cliff: not the guy i like the guy I came out to they are seperate men

Patty: you came out to scott hunter?????

Cliff: Yeah

Cliff: like I want to do things I want to live my life you know and maybe its scary but its worth it maybe

Patty: definitley worth it

Patty: I’m proud of you

Emily: omg hi Cliff! Yeah I’m so sorry I did hear about that. Your Mom has been telling people that you decided to switch genders. I think it’s really gross that she’s talking about you like that. Not that people shouldn’t talk about transgender stuff, she’s just been really mean about it

Emily: If you still want to come then please do!!! I was so excited to see you!!

Emily: omg I have been soo frazzled lately everythings a rush I wanted to get to you sooner but weddings are like that I guess!! Ok we gave you the guy’s dress code but do you want the girl’s instead? We can make it work!!

Even over text, cousin Emily is a whirlwind.

Cliff: Hi Emily! I would honestly love to go and I’d love the girl’s dresscode (although I’m not a girl exactly, kind of in between? Hard to explain!) but I don’t want to cause any trouble at your wedding!

Emily: Cliff omg I’ve been strong arming my mom foreverrr I can handle her or anybody! She hates that im marrying Beckham loll but true love will always win!!!! I’ll send over the dress code and if you need adjustments we will make it work!! Auntie doesn’t scare me at all!!!

Emily: I think you’d look soooo good in pale pink we’re doing pink and white! I got everyone to agree to let me wear pink too instead of pure white and guess what I am showing BOOBS I am not wearing grandma’s dress!

Cliff: I love that for you!!

Emily: :) :) :) 

Cliff really wasn’t expecting to get the little fox pin in the mail.

It’s made of something dark and sparkly, and the eyes are set with red-brown stones. It’s small, a little figure with one paw raised, head turned as if looking for something. Sleek, graceful, curious. They loved it before, and holding it now in his hand…

Marlow:

Marlow: you are so sweet

Green: You like it?

Marlow: Yes

Marlow: *sent a picture*

Marlow: it’s beautiful

Green: maybe thats why it brought you to mind

“Hey.” Cliff nudges Roz’s face with their sock, not looking away from the screen. He’s demolishing them. “What do you want for your birthday?”

“My birthday is in a year. Almost.”

“Yeah, but like, what do you want.”

“A nipple piercing.”

Cliff snorts, dodging. “Just one?”

“Mmm, okay. Two. A diamond in each nipple.”

“I could swing that. See, this is why I ask in advance.”

There’s a beat of furious button mashing that could pass for silence if you fudged the definition a lot.

“Do you really have to leave?”

Roz wins, holds the controller limply, and sits while the music plays.

“Yes.” he says. “I’ll be closer to him, a little. If I am going to wait until retirement to be with him, then I need to not be so far.”

“Okay.” Cliff says. Biting the inside of their cheek. “And he can’t move here?”

Roz shakes his head. Rubs his thumb over the plastic. “We worked it out. This is the best way.”

Shit.

“I’m gonna fucking miss you, Ilya.” Cliff says.

Roz nods. His eyes are on the console.

“It’ll be good to play against you, though.” he says, trying to joke. “We could go for drinks after.”

“Yes, after I beat you.”

“You’ll be playing for Ottawa, you guys are gonna get stomped-"

“Not with me there.” Ilya flashes a grin, and it’s almost normal.

“You’ll call me, right?”

“No. I am blocking your number as soon as I get on the plane.”

“Asshole.”

“...yes, I will call you.”

“Good.”

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Green: Goodnight baby

Marlow: Good night Art

Green: *is typing*

Green: *is typing*

Green: Sweet dreams

Mx Marlow,

Hi. I hope I’m using that right. I googled it.

You can ask me anything. You weren’t weird or embarrassing at all, I promise. And I would love to hang out with you guys again sometime soon. It was a lot of fun. And it was really cool to get to see your art, you’re very talented. Kip keeps talking about it.

I didn’t tell Kip anything or show him this email. I wasn’t sure if that was what you meant by your ps, but just to be safe this is private for now.

I’m sorry to hear that we might have had some of the same things happen to us. I don’t know what that might be yet but whatever it is I promise it’s okay to talk about it. And nothing that could have happened to you is your fault.

I was scared too. I was terrified for so long by just the thought of coming out. I had panic attacks about it. When I kissed Kip on the ice it was impulsive. It was the best moment of my life and I was so scared that I thought my heart was going to explode, it was beating so fast. It was worth it.

That’s not to say you need to come out right now in a really flashy public way. Just that I think you’re incredibly brave for sending me that email. I would never have had the guts to come out to someone I looked up to.

Thank you for sharing that with me. I am really honored. And I’m rooting for the two of you 100%.

It’s unfortunately really normal to be lonely. Especially in hockey. I wish I could take that part away for every other queer player in the league. I wish it was even an ounce less isolating and scary. I’m so glad that you reached out, and I hope maybe it helps you feel less alone. If you’ve got people on your side right now, lean on them.

You’re gonna be okay, kid.

-Mr Hunter

Let’s talk soon!

(ps: that actually stands for ‘postscript’. Kinda neat, right?)

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