Fissile

“𝐹𝑜𝑟 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑠 𝑎𝑠 𝑚𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑎𝑠 𝐼 𝑑𝑖𝑑, 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎𝑚𝑎𝑧𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑜𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑓𝑎𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑚𝑒.”

Michael Imani Aldene & Whitley Clarke Reeves.

01 . Encounter One

When two lonely people meet, they cling to one another for dear life. 

Michael Emilio Aldene, a 29-year-old fashion editor, is notorious for his critical and unswerving reviews. He believes fashion is an extension of his soul and emotions. An artist who cannot invoke authenticity has no place in couture. His magazine spreads could make or break an entire brand. His approval was one of the few that mattered. Despite his high-end disposition, Michael wasn’t always so refined. This was a raunchy bar for such a high-end person. 

What was the Michael Aldene doing at such a trashy place as this?  

He leaned into the counter and waved a delicate hand at the bartender. As he made his way toward Michael, he smiled and pushed his drink toward him, silently asking for a refill. Something was entrancing, maybe the way he held himself, or perhaps the way he stood out from the room. He watched as the mixologist got to work fervently on his drink, with the relaxation in his posture, Michael could tell he enjoyed his job. Head in hand, and fingers twirling in the man's hair. It was obvious the boredom had struck.

After this drink, Michael figured he would wrap the night up and mark it as unproductive. 

"Double it and put that on my tab," a deep voice stated as he neared Michael, sitting in the once-empty barstool beside him. “I’ll take some as well.” 

Michael's head shot over, and cocked to the side as he scanned who'd be paying for his tab tonight. It was a pleasant surprise to find a tall, well-built man in a suit, dressed just as nicely as himself. That watch on his wrist was screaming money, too. A grin pulled at the corner of Michael’s lips. It wasn’t often he was approached in scenes like this. When they did, they couldn’t keep up with his standards and were sure to remind him of his snobbish attitude. So this piece of work was a pleasant surprise. Michael always had something for an older man in a suit. Especially the way this man in particular looked. Long dark hair slicked back, a few strands falling loosely to drape over his face. A nose so sittable, Michael couldn’t stand it. Eyes so calm and charming, he could dream forever. And somehow, those brown and black glasses were the cherry on top. He was a bit attracted. No, that was a lie; he was extremely attracted to this stranger. 

Finally, the clink of Michael's refill hitting the bar knocked him out of the trance. With a small flinch, Michael came back to see the man with a generous smile on his face. "Are you gonna keep staring, or are we gonna say hi?" The stranger teased, and Michael could feel his face going red. His hand, which was once holding his head, was now covering his face as he looked away. 

He tensed up, being called out for just staring. Wrapping his fingers around the shot glass, Michael side-eyed the figure next to him and downed the shot before turning his head to observe him again. “Thank you, err-” 

"Whitley," the man introduced himself with a nod, and called for a drink. 

Whitley Clarke Reeves, a wealthy, simple man. Michael knew nothing about him yet, but he was well-known across town. There were no rings on his fingers, and that entailed a mighty fine opportunity. Whatever Whitley wanted from Michael, he could have it, right then and there if he wanted it. Michael was simple; when it came to an attractive man, he was ready to feast. There was nothing wrong with indulging yourself in things such as romance or erotica, but something about it made it hard for the man to breathe. He needed to get his mind out of the gutter. 

Michael smiled cheek to cheek and scratched his head nervously, clenching his empty shot glass. He felt so warm inside, and butterflies were dying to burst from his stomach. "Mia," the boy lied, and leaned into the company. It wasn’t a full lie, at least. He had given the man a nickname, for privacy’s sake. Michael didn’t need a scandal before he got the chance to see him naked. He licked his lips, 

Tonight just got less boring. 

“So, Whitely, what brings you here tonight?” 

“I’m a regular, I suppose,” 

“Right,” he laughed. “It’s hard to believe that.''

“Heh. It’s nostalgia. Reminds me of Italy.” Whitley responded, finger training the rim of his empty shot glass.

The bartender breezed by, dropping four fresh shots of their choice before removing the previous glasses. Whitley’s bottle of whiskey was left as requested. He pulled his shot glass in and pushed the tequila shots toward Michael with a soft grin. His aged features were god-awfully enticing. Every wrinkle and every gray hair only made Michael curious about what he had been through. Even if it was age, he loved stories from strangers. Whitley was a silver fox and it made Michael hot and bothered. It had been a long time since Michael had felt butterflies in his stomach. If he remembered correctly, it had been well over a decade. With his job and personal leisure, he had no time. Nor could he truly relate or feel comfortable. 

“Oh?” Mia cooed with intrigue. “That would explain the accent.” 

A deep laugh escaped Whitley’s stomach. “I attended a private boarding school in Italy for ten years. I didn’t pick up the accent until high school, surprisingly. My family moved here for a better life.” 

“Well, looks like we share something in common. My mom is from the Dominican Republic. She moved here after she met my dad at one of his international charity events.” 

Whitley chuckled wholeheartedly, lifting his shot. “Cheers to that.” 

Michael lifted his glass to Whitley’s, the glasses clasping together as liquid splashed about before the two threw them back and cleared their first round. Michael had a soda on hand to sip after his shots, since he didn’t appreciate the taste of liquor. He just enjoyed the fuzzy feeling that occurred throughout his body. Whitley, on the other hand, was drinking whiskey like water. What were the odds that a well-kept man would be an alcoholic? Hell, Michael couldn’t say much. If that was his vice, so be it. It was far better than other options. 

Truth be told, Michael wasn’t just drunk. He was high off his ass. The man’s vice was a needle, and it always had been. Drinking was just a way to keep himself out of the house. In bars like these, no one recognized him. No one would shame such a classy figure for falling into ruin. His addiction wasn’t new, nor was it erratic. After well more than a decade, he’d learnt to manage himself. There was a balance between work and his ‘peace.’ Michael had to have a stable income to support his needs, after all. There was no other way to maintain a habit without having the necessary funding. Sure, his job wasn’t all that, but hell, if the internet didn’t love hot gossip. 

“Do you like gay bars?” Mia asked shamelessly, anticipating a response of disappointment. 

Whitley took a breath, and his eyebrows furrowed in thought as if he were trying to recall something. He scratched at his chin and, after a while, looked down at Michael with a surprised expression.

“I can’t say that I have been to one– but I certainly run that way.”

Michael grinned. “I’d hope so,” he said. “There’s one across the block from here, but it’s more of a club. I think tonight is leather night.”

Whitley couldn’t help but chuckle a bit at the man’s knowledge about the club. He leaned in, but only briefly, to push his shot glass forward. “Let’s go there. I have all night. If you want to, that is.” 

Michael’s breath was taken away in an instant, and from here forward, this man would haunt his thoughts. The smell of fine whiskey, soft cologne, and dry-cleaned linen lingered the closer he got. Something about it made him look even better. He smiled with excitement at Whitley before he grabbed the shot glass. Michael was quick to chase it with his soda and watched as Whitley took back the whiskey as if it were water. He tapped the bar to signal the server and handed a sleek silver card to close out his tab, along with Michael’s. He didn’t ask, and Michael didn’t think it was worth trying to fight it. Plus, he couldn’t lie and say it didn’t feel good to be treated. 

They hurried out of the bar to make their way to the Dollhouse, which Michael was sure to talk about on the way there. It was a promiscuous queer club that Michael had bartended his way through college for. It made more sense now why he knew immediately what day it was, given their schedule hadn’t changed in almost a decade. Michael left no detail out, from coworkers to raunchy customers he dealt with regularly. Normally, it wasn’t his first suggestion for a gay bar. Hell, it wasn’t a bar at all. The Dollhouse was a club, and it wasn’t one for your average person. Michael was almost worried he was going to send Whitley into a warzone. But they couldn’t keep their hands off each other once they got there. Between them and all the leather, the aura of the club was as humid as ever.  Sweat poured off all the members like it was their liquor. There was no shame, and it seemed Whitley was enjoying it more than anyone in that room. Their lips were numb from drunk kisses that lingered between sexually tense dancing. Michael was a tease, but Whitley wasn’t impatient or quick to make any move. 

That was when Michael had the “best” mistake. Calling it an idea made him sound less irrational. 

At some point, they had wound up in the men’s bathroom. If Michael hadn’t thought of something better than sex, he might have just gone through with it. However, he felt something different, and a part of him wanted to go about things another way. Perhaps this time, he would. 

“I want to show you something,” he said, pulling away from Whitley’s lips and dragging him out of the bathroom stall, who was still stunned and processing what was happening. 

“Where are we going now?” He asked as Michael held tightly to his hand, leading him out of the club and back onto the dark sidewalks. 

“You’ll see!” Michael giggled, turning back to Whitley with the biggest smile in the world. It would become a core memory that would stick with Whitley. Michael just looked so beautiful in that moment, under the moonlight, and soaked in sweat. He seemed so excited to get to wherever they were going, so Whitley silently followed along, just happy to be there. For once, he felt alive. That was worth more than anything at a time like this. 

Michael, the dumbass in question, had brought Whitley to the rooftop of his apartment complex. It was a shitty office building that had been converted to fit a few apartments. The quality of the entire building wasn’t great, and the price was something you couldn’t beat, nor was the view. You could see the lake, the bridge, and the city lights from every corner. Both the clubs they had traveled to were starting to die down, and the dark sky was beginning to light up. Michael’s smile never died down, nor did he let go of Whitley’s hand. They stood on the roof of the apartment building watching morning make its way across California. There weren’t many words said as the sun made its way above the buildings, but none were truly needed. Even if Michael didn’t remember it in the morning, for now, he cherished the fact that Whitley didn’t even care about watching the sun rise. He had just watched Michael’s expressions the entire time. There was something about this man that was going to drive him crazy. 

“As much as I’d love to spend forever with you, Mia, I have to be in the office at seven,” Whitley finally whispered, almost disappointed that they had to return to ordinary lives after such an experience. “Could I see you again?” 

“I can give you my number and you can call me anytime. Let’s catch the bus, it runs in thirty minutes and you’ll still have an hour or two. Sorry for keeping you up all night,” he giggled, beginning to make their way down the building. 

Even though he had brought Whitley here, he wasn’t exactly happy about it now that he was coming off the drugs. A man of Whitley’s status would not want to be caught dead near Michael if he knew what he was. Michael was fully aware of that. Most people steered clear of him once they found out about his habits. He was unreliable and reclusive when he wasn’t the life of the party. 

“No-no. If every night is like this with you, Mia, I’m happy to accompany you. Is it sad that it was probably the most comfortable I’ve ever been in my life?” He asked, laughing as if to take away from the pain. It was clear he had much to think about now. 

“Not at all. Sometimes people blossom at different stages. That’s just how it works,” Mia said, sitting down under the bus stop. “I’m glad you felt comfortable. I was worried such a strong introduction would intimidate you. It’s not always like that.” 

Whitley took place right beside Michael, even throwing an arm around him and closing the gap in space. Without a second thought, Michael’s head rested on Whitley’s shoulder. They were both exhausted and yet driven with adrenaline and lust; they had partied until daybreak together. Two smiles on their faces wouldn't have been forgotten if they had been seen. Two fingers encased themselves in Michael’s hair, losing themselves in the coils and following their shape. Whitley was quiet, more often than not. Michael liked that. It wasn’t often someone just wanted to listen, even if he didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t very talkative either, ironically. Maybe it was the presence. 

Michael’s eyes felt so heavy, he could hardly stand it. The bus would be here soon, there’s no way he’d sleep through that noise. Closing them for a while wouldn’t be the end of the world. 

writer's notes

well, I've gone off and done it again! This is the start/continuation of a fleeting sense, the unprogressive love story of Michael Aldene. Michael is a self-insert that I've loved and cherished for almost a decade now. he's by far the easiest character to write for me, although the genre isnt my specialty. please enjoy the story that's been cooped up in my head for years, and be gentle. posting writing publicly is scary!!! but i love sharing my thoughts.