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mattzerella-sticks · 2 years

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you don’t get to have what you want

M, 6.2k, Soldier Boy & Stan Edgar, queer longing, queer Soldier Boy, Period-Typical Prejudices

Toxic Masculinity is a burden to those who buckle under its yoke, forced to live up to excruciating standards that warp views and demand a happiness that might not fit them.

Soldier Boy not only promotes this life style, but also suffers from it. There are moments where he can sheds the prison of his own making for a few hours, to be someone whose comfortable in their skin, but he always returns and locks himself away.

Is this a healthy way to live? Or should he fully cast off this armor that he's worn for so long? When the opportunity arises, will he take it?

For Pridewrites Challenge 2022 #3 - queer longing

Soldier Boy sat slumped in his director’s chair after a long day on set. He cradled his coffee with both hands. He didn’t dare drink it. By the time they wrapped filming, all the ice melted and made craft services’ already suspect coffee taste even worse. It reminded him of the sludge they doled out during the war, when that was all they were given to keep from passing out in the trenches.

Except the trenches he slogged through these days were much more glamorous and luxurious than those forty years prior.

He shouldn’t have to put up with shitty coffee. He usually wouldn’t. Except Soldier Boy already made one production assistant cry today; another might give Vought cause to slap his wrists. Except Crimson Countess accosted him between the stage and his chair, yammering on about matters Soldier Boy didn’t particularly care to hear nor did he disguise that fact. Except any intention he may have had to hurl his lukewarm, watered-down mud at an expensive piece of equipment was derailed as his gaze caught them.

They were shameless.

Reckless, to do what they did in such a public space. But if he learned anything over the course of his career, it’s how the arts so easily attracted their type.

Those fucking fairy types.

He watched one of his solid gold dancers giggle and gingerly slap the chest of some no-name grip working on today’s crew. Except he didn’t immediately withdraw his hand. The dancer slowly trailed it lower, in some absurd caress, until his fingers played with the grip’s belt buckle. Even at a distance, he could see the blush rippling across his cheeks and his overinflated pupils like some coked-up whore. Worse, instead of reacting like any sane man and knocking the dancer with enough force to crack a brick wall, the grip leaned in. He curled his hand over the dancer’s on his belt buckle and said something else that stirred a second bout of laughter from the dancer.

Dancers were one thing; it was an open secret anyone willing to prance around in tights must cram as much dick in their mouths as possible. But this grip? He’s a certified pussy killer. Biceps toned from work, of constructing and deconstructing the complicated cameras surrounding them. A chiseled jawline that would put Rock Hudson to shame. Dark skin so dewy from sweat that it glistened under the stage lights.

All that and he proudly chased after this dancer whose asshole was so wide he could clean the set in five seconds just by sitting on it? What a waste…

Soldier Boy’s chest tightened. His vision tunneled, and Crimson Countess’s chatter was replaced by a low-pitch ringing that drove him crazier than the scene playing out before him. It contended with the nauseous warmth brewing below his stomach that oozed uncomfortably into other parts of his body. His lip began twitching like crazy the closer the two men became, enough that a simple tilt of the head would be enough to have them kissing. Kissing for everyone in the room. Kissing like it didn’t matter people would know they’re –

He spilt coffee all over himself. Soldier Boy effortlessly punctured the cheap Styrofoam shell; because of that tear Soldier Boy’s drink flooded his lap and brought him back from the edge.

It also got Crimson Countess to finally shut up about whatever she was blathering about. “Oh no, your suit!” Her hands hovered over his groin as she barked to the nearest gopher to grab napkins. Even then, she didn’t rush to take them from the gopher once he brought them a fistful.

“I’ll take it from here.” Soldier Boy exchanged his ruined coffee for the napkins, dabbing at his lap. No way in hell another man was getting that close to his junk in public. He glanced at Crimson Countess, who’s hands were still floating there doing nothing. She stared at his crotch while he cleaned. “What? You want me to drop trousers right here or something?”

“Are you okay?”

“Am I okay? Seriously, what the fuck kind of question is that.”

“You spilled coffee on yourself.”

“Yeah, that coffee couldn’t melt a popsicle stick let alone my pole.” Soldier Boy smirked, discarding the napkins to the side that someone else would deal with later. “Even if it were, a little hot coffee wouldn’t get in the way of my ability to… hoist a flag.” He grinned, stroking his groin again. Without the napkins, he was able to feel the stiffness of his dick that persisted despite the shock of getting wet. In truth, it made him harder than he was earlier. The damp fabric deliciously rubbed against him, made better because of his decision to forgo underwear that day, like every day. “Should we maybe find ourselves a closet somewhere for a quick fuck?”

Crimson Countess didn’t seem keen on his plan. “I’m don’t want a quick fuck, especially here,” she purred, tiptoeing her way up his arm. “Why don’t we get dinner once we we’ve wrapped for the night… go back to my place and, well, take advantage of the hot tub the cash my work with the chimps bought me?”

The hot tub was tempting. However, her plans involved a whole lot more time than Soldier Boy cared to spend in her presence.

Not to mention he already made plans for later in the evening.

“You know what?” Soldier Boy matched her grin as he casually brushed her hand off his shoulder. “I’m good.”

She hadn’t expected that, nor liked it. “What?”

“You got monkey splooge in your ears or something? I said I’m good. Totally cool.” Soldier Boy slid off his seat, saluting his teammate as he began stomping off. “I’m tired anyway.”

“Where are you going?”

“God, you’re awfully clingy today.” He spun on his heel to face her. “I’m done here, so I’m leaving.”

“But we have a whole skit to do.”

“What part of ‘I’m done’ are you having trouble getting?”

It was louder than he intended, though that worked to his favor. He shut her, and everyone in their vicinity, down with his outburst. Crimson Countess’s lips pursed as she adjusted herself in her seat, crossing her legs in a manner that meant she’d be even more annoying the next time he saw her. Camera operators stopped checking their lenses and executives paused their conversations on those big, cancerous cell phones to see what the fuss was about. He even caused the powder puffs some discomfort, both men at a more appropriate distance when he chanced a peek in their direction.

Good.

He caused enough of a scene that no one dared follow him towards his dressing room. For those that missed his little display, buzzing about like flies in his inner space, Soldier Boy swatted them away with a glare he perfected on the battlefield that made krauts piss themselves. The door slammed shut after the last overpaid assistant scurried out.

Secure in the emptiness of his dressing room, Soldier Boy deflated. He quickly cast off his helmet and tossed it onto the cheap couch production dragged in after he pitched a fit. Soldier Boy turned his attention to the vanity. He slammed his hands on the thin wood, causing all the grease paint and clown makeup they smothered in him to jump, scatter, and fall. A lone bottle rolled forward and tapped at his twitching fingers. Soldier Boy gazed at it, then excruciatingly dragged his eyes up to his reflection.

Most of the makeup from that morning had been sweated off. The mascara clumped on his eyelashes. Foundation streaks revealed the bags under his eyes and the crow’s feet cracking beside them. His tan glow dulled to a sickly pale.

He caught a glimpse of the man behind the mask, blown pupils and all. He hated what he saw.

The gloves kept his knuckles from being cut, after he smashed the mirror. It wasn’t the first one they’d replace.

Now, with no one watching, Soldier Boy began to shed his uniform. He started with the shield, always, dropping it in the most obscure corner of the room. It was surprisingly easy to trip over, and he stubbed many toes over the years because of it. The boots came off next, then the gloves. He unfastened the clips of his armor and belt which finally allowed Soldier Boy to peel off his costume. He dumped the carcass beneath the hanger wardrobe set aside for him.

Soldier Boy stood there for a moment, like Michelangelo’s David made flesh. Only his dick wasn’t that embarrassingly small.

It jutted out from his body, heavy and swinging since freed of his confining suit. Soldier Boy smiled, skimming its surface with his touch. His dick tensed at the contact. It seized once he grabbed it, pumping it slightly. Soldier Boy’s other hand tweaked his nipple. A drop of precome dribbled loose, that Soldier Boy caught with his thumb. He brought it to his lips and sucked his thumb dry.

He didn’t go further than that. Soldier Boy didn’t want to spoil his appetite.

He instead dragged a duffel he had hidden under the couch out and onto an accompanying table. Inside the non-descript khaki bag were the set of clothes he brought with him.

These were much easier to put on than his suit. No fancy clasps, and they didn’t require him to dip his whole body in lube to fit into them. Slacks. A plain white shirt. Denim jacket. Sneakers. Plus a hat and sunglasses, for anonymity.

Soldier Boy was officially gone for the meantime.

He slid the duffle back where it was and exited his dressing room. Soldier Boy didn’t leave from the same place he entered. His dressing room had a built-in exit outside the studio. It was written into all his contracts.

Soldier Boy skulked away from the studio with his shoulders hunched and the collar of his jacked pulled high, He tucked the baseball cap lower on his head as he bypassed security for the less frequented, less guarded gate nearer the back of the lot where they kept the rotting trash.

He’s made this trip countless times, though each escape carried that same nerve-wracking terror of being recognized Soldier Boy could only compare to being behind enemy lines during the Second World War with the lives of countless men on his shoulders as he led the charge.

Soldier Boy gasped once the gate creaked shut. He succeeded yet again.

From there, Soldier Boy stalked the familiar streets to the nearest subway line and descended into its depths. Along the way his defenses were kept on full alert in case someone looked a tad too long at him for his liking.

No one ever did. No one stopped him on the streets to ask if he was Soldier Boy. The clerk at the station didn’t ask how it felt to watch the life drain out of some Nazi scum as he paid for his token. The crowded train car didn’t gape nor treated him any differently than any other passenger. Someone stepped on his foot while they bounded off the train. Soldier Boy hadn’t snapped their neck for leaving without so much as an apology, for not realizing they disrespected the world’s greatest hero since whatever horny bastard invented the brothel.

He was too drunk on the novelty of being a stranger to care.

It reminded him of coming up for air after being stuck underwater for longer than your chest could hold air, whenever he slipped away from his duties and responsibilities; to be someone who didn’t have to care about his image for the next few hours.

The train arrived at his stop and Soldier Boy joined the flood of passengers leaving alongside him.

His destination was two blocks away. In a blink, he reached the end of his journey.

However, as he opened the door to the third-floor apartment, Soldier Boy’s unease refused to disappear. His hackles remained raised. Trusting his instincts, he scanned the apartment for any hint of danger. Nothing looked out of the ordinary from what was visible.

But that’s because this danger hid itself so perfectly.

Soldier Boy dropped into a fighting stance, once past his kitchen, as he caught sight of the unrecognizable figure on his leather recliner. He warily inched towards the entertainment unit, waiting for an opportunity where he might grab the knife stashed there for such an emergency.

The stranger seemed unbothered and, annoyingly, offended by Soldier Boy’s response. “I’m not here to harm you.”

Soldier Boy scoffed. “Yeah, and I’m Ron Jeremy’s fluffer.”

“Keep acting the way you are, and you won’t even be considered for the role of his fluffer’s understudy.”

The younger man remained where he sat, his legs crossed in a dainty way and hands folded atop the highest knee. His brown face was smoothed in disinterest and, though obviously an infant compared to him, Soldier Boy recognized the age hidden within his features. His big eyes loudly advertised how much he’d seen in the little he’s walked this Earth. Not as much as Soldier Boy, but enough to keep him on edge. In a few steps, he’d be at his knife and this uppity kid will be wishing he broke into the wrong apartment.

“We’ve already removed the knife there,” the stranger said, “Along with the other, various weapons you’ve had hidden here. I found the gun taped under the toilet tank cover quite ingenious, actually.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“The man with the ability to make your life much more difficult if you refuse to listen. Now?” He gestured at Soldier Boy’s sectional. “Have a seat.”

Soldier Boy sat only after checking the stranger’s claims. His stomach pitched as he felt around the entertainment unit, the hidden compartment where his knife hid torn out and missing. “I hate repeating myself,” he said, plopping onto the center of his sectional, “but who… the fuck… are you?”

“I’ll get to that. First I want to apologize that this is our introduction to one another. Not at all how I would have wanted it.” He offered his hand. Soldier Boy let it hang there. The stranger curled that hand into a fist and squeezed the rejection tight. “Very well… I’m Stanford Edgar. Recently, I was promoted to be the liaison between Vought International and its superhero division.”

“Liaison?”

Edgar smiled, its curl already testing the limits of Soldier Boy’s patience. “Think of me as a direct line to the decision makers. Everything that comes out of my mouth comes down from on high as if it were the word of God. Everything I do is an extension of their will.” He shifted, swapping legs so that the right knee was highest. He stretched his hands forward on the armchairs. “But a line can go two ways,” he added, “and I can be your representation for the Board, speak and – if able – fight for you, your interests…”

“Oh, really?”

“Of course, that all depends on how cooperative you are after today.”

Soldier Boy chuckled, relieved that Edgar finally finished peddling his bullshit and cut to why he was truly here. “Listen, Edgar… you ever been in a war?”

“I’ve never been particularly fond of the sight of blood or the sound of gunfire, so no.”

“Really? So you’ve never got into a brawl on the playground… at a bar… maybe on the street for looking at someone the wrong way?”

“…Just where is your line of questioning going?”

“I’ve been at war.” Soldier Boy rose. He lumbered over to where Edgar was. Edgar hadn’t flinched, even as he towered above the younger man. “I’ve been at war probably my whole life. Here and overseas. No matter what, I’ve always had to fight. I’ve never balked or backed down from a fight since I could throw my first punch. And you know what that’s gotten me?”

“What?”

“Respect.” Soldier Boy stamped his foot. Edgar remained stone-faced. He cursed the other man but kept powering ahead. “Enough respect that I was chosen – chosen from thousands upon thousands of no-name bums – to be the world’s first superhero. Respect to lead men through the rain and mud to fight for freedom. Respect deserving of more than a cheap ploy at intimidating me. I’ll say it once, and only once – I don’t need a babysitter. Especially from a pansy-ass suit like you who’s had everything handed to him.”

“Really?” Edgar interrupted, baring his teeth and sinking his claws into Soldier Boy’s leather chair. “Take a look in the mirror and then at me and say that again, that I’ve had everything handed to me.” He sneered, riling Soldier Boy further. “They said you were smart, but maybe countless years of partying killed what little brain cells you had to begin with.”

Soldier Boy dropped into a crouch, meeting Edgar at eye level and staring at him like he was any criminal he happened on in the streets. It wasn’t hard for him to imagine. “Be lucky I’m letting you walk out of here with your life. Not because I’m scared of what Vought might do, but because I’d rather not ruin my evening cleaning the stains your dead body would leave behind after I mutilated you. Test me again or breathe a word about this place to any member of the Board, and I’ll choke you with the very tie you’re wearing now.”

Soldier Boy knew crushing this corporate bug under his heel would take little effort, even without weapons. Edgar must be aware of this, too.

Still, Edgar maintained his cool. To Soldier Boy’s surprise, he seemed entertained by his performance.

“So you still haven’t put it together, have you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I meant what I said, before, about my role as your liaison. My decisions are their decisions… my words, their words… my actions, theirs…”

His meaning began to sink in. Soldier Boy folded once realizing the horrible conclusion Edgar presented. He collapsed on the sectional while Edgar continued on like he hadn’t seen.

“Did you really believe they were clueless regarding the secrets you kept from them?”

“I… I, uh –“

“I didn’t come here by choice,” he said, “I was sent here. Because they were finally tired of cleaning up your messes.”

Soldier Boy’s hearing wavered, switching between a terrifying ringing and deafening silence. He cleared his throat. “How’d they… how’d they even found out?”

Edgar convulsed as he rolled his eyes. “It’s not like financial crimes were ever your strong suit. Didn’t it ever occur to you we – the people who control your finances – would ever be curious of the small sum taken out every month? That we’d do background checks on the charity you made up to launder the money used for Nicholas Petrillo’s rent?” Soldier Boy snarled at the derision coating Edgar’s words. “We knew from the very beginning what this was.”

“Then why interfere now?”

“Because the risks outweigh the benefits. Naturally.” Edgar relaxed, his insipid smirk reappearing. “It was easier in the beginning. The parties you threw seemed like the perfect outlet for your wild and rebellious behavior. You performed better on the field, were more focused. Plus, we didn’t need to do much in the way of meddling. None of the freaks you partied with were a threat. No journalist would stake their career on some long-hair, unwashed hippie’s claim he smoked dope and dropped acid with America’s hero.”

Those were better, simpler times. Soldier Boy missed them, both the moments he remembered and the ones that were trapped behind a haze of drugs.

“Then the brightness of the 60s faded into the 70s, and while the unsanctioned parties thankfully stopped, you still came here from time to time for a random fuck. You are human after all. Our only concerns were making sure each partner signed a confidentiality waiver and keeping your girlfriend unaware of these infidelities. Annoying, but still manageable.”

“…So, what changed?”

“I think you know what.” Edgar broke the staring contest between them, glancing towards a nearby side table. He plucked the picture frame off it and studied it carefully. Heat uncomfortably pooled in Soldier Boy’s chest as sweat started pouring from him. “Be honest, is one man really worth all you’ve accomplished with Vought over the years?”

Soldier Boy’s lips twitched. He huffed, spreading his legs wide and sinking into the sofa. He digested the reality of the battle in front of him and debated his strategy. There wasn’t any more room to underestimate his opponent, not if he wanted to maintain control. Not if he wanted to win. “If you knew how well he ate ass, you’d understand.”

Apparently, Edgar didn’t find ass play rewarding like Soldier Boy did.

“I doubt his skills in bed is all there is to this.” He flipped the frame over, showing Soldier Boy a sight he was familiar with.

His eyes were drawn to the profile of the man next to him. How the sunset highlighted his strong features. How beams of light broke past the tightly packed coils atop his head and created a halo. How he happy he looked being next to the man and not Soldier Boy. It was the smoking gun that gave Vought enough reason to take action. He never bothered with mementos of his other conquests. Raul was different. Soldier Boy felt different when around him, and in his selfishness, he clung to the other man in such a despicable way.

It was a flaw he thought buried in the past.

“I’ll ask again, is he worth it?”

Soldier Boy should be stronger than this. Stronger than this sickness that plagued his heart. His answer proved how weak he truly was. “There’s no way to sweep this under the rug?”

“This is us sweeping it under the rug. Politely.”

“Why does the board think this is messy, anyway?”

“Because feelings are messy.” Edgar placed the photo back where it sat. “We should have been aware that this might happen when you failed to bring him back to your place that night months ago. However, we figured the next time you went cruising you’d move on. We didn’t expect you to see him again. We didn’t expect the deviation from your usual M.O. We didn’t expect for you, the most masculine, hard-ass man in America, to fall in love.”

That’s what it was. Soldier Boy ignored it until now. He couldn’t any longer. Not with Edgar and the full force of Vought’s board bearing down on him with the truth.

“A simple fuck is neater. No feelings. No ill will on being kept a secret, at being paid off. Both parties favor discretion, and one of you walks away richer after signing our NDA. This, on the other hand… if the Post or the New York Times catch a whiff of what you and your lover do when America isn’t watching, it’s over for you. Any such saccharine displays at courting do nothing but suggest Vought’s biggest asset has been a deviant homosexual all these years.”

“Hey! I’ve slept – and enjoyed – many a gal in my life.”

“That won’t matter to your base. Video of you holding hands with another man will cause your reputation to spin out. No amount of PR on our end would matter, and it’d have us operating at a loss to try and save your ungrateful ass. You’d be marked by this… permanently.”

He shouldn’t fight this hard. Why was he fighting so hard? Soldier Boy recalled the scene from earlier in the day, of the grip and the dancer flirting despite the risks of being publicly outed. It sparked an idea that leapt uncontrollably out of his mouth. “What if I choose to come out?”

It sucked that, when Soldier Boy finally caught Edgar off guard and ripped away his façade, he couldn’t revel in the satisfaction of how the mask of detached professionalism cracked. Instead it took all his will to appear completely normal with his suggestion; despite how massively scared saying it made him.

Edgar pinched the ridge of his nose, pushing his glasses far up his head. “You want to get ahead of this? Is that it?”

“It’s just an idea,” Soldier Boy explained, “I mean… isn’t that what we always want? To control the narrative? What if we – we clue Raul in as to who I am, get him prepped for interviews and all that other show pony stuff, then do a circuit. No, a blitz!”

“And how is revealing your homosexuality any better than someone else doing it?”

“Because people only care about things when they know they can take the piss out of someone.” Soldier Boy straightened, adopting his familiar confidence as he spoke. The idea came to him in a panic, but he believed in it more with each passing second. “If I show it doesn’t bother me, they’ll lose interest fast.”

Edgar steepled his fingers, considering his argument. It was his turn at playing defensive. “Everyday citizens are easy to convince with the right messaging, especially if we get ahead of it. What about the bigger names? The people in your social circles.”

“We all have our secrets.” Soldier Boy chuckled, “And the ones I don’t know I’m sure Vought’s collected for their own use. Hell with all the dirt on Reagan and his throat goat of a wife, I doubt America’s first family of homophobes would throw a fit over who I stick my dick in.”

“You mean he doesn’t stick it in you?”

“I’m not the chick in the relationship.” Soldier Boy sighed, “So? Does this seem like an idea worth bringing to the board, Mr. Liaison?”

“Your offer has legs,” he admitted, “however, I don’t see it getting very far.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your consistency in viewing things short-term is astounding, and probably why you hadn’t taken into account the long-term implications your coming out would impose on the business.” Edgar arched a brow, readying his offensive against Soldier Boy yet again. “Because this is a business at the end of the day, and while how you feel is one thing our bottom line is another. You say people will grow bored and tired of your homosexuality, yes? They won’t discuss it which, therefore, means they won’t discuss you. What was once a household name will become a pariah. It might not be a crash and burn but your brand will be slowly poisoned over time. I can already see your popularity in the Midwest and South, the bulk of your Q-score, disappearing within a year. It’ll take longer in metropolitan areas, though you never really shone there as much until we started booking you television gigs. Which, speaking of, you can kiss that goodbye along with all the campaigns and products tied to your brand. You’ll also notice the list of places where you’re welcome shrinking at the same rate your social circle diminishes because if you even if you can’t retaliate by speaking about someone, the next best thing is to shun them.”

“They can’t do that!”

Edgar steamrolled over him. “They absolutely can. Sure, they’ll say it’s not because you’re gay, scapegoat with some other reason; but talk amongst our peers is so rife with subterfuge and hidden intentions that the meaning behind the medium is plain.”

“But what –“

“But what about the wider homosexual community, you ask?” Edgar laughed, removing his glasses to wipe away an invisible smudge with his tie. “It’s not like we’ve never considered market testing with them. In their fetal state, though, they offer no reward in gearing advertisements about and for them. Still too bohemian and anti-capitalist… and afraid. Johnny Everyman might realize he likes men more than women, maybe sneak a Playgirl or attend a drag show, but will he risk outing himself by purchasing a roll of paper towels with your face on it? I don’t think so… Homosexuals have no true spending power at this stage, which makes them utterly worthless and unimportant in Vought’s eyes.”

Soldier Boy fumed. “So that’s how it would all go?”

Edgar stopped cleaning his glasses. He glanced up at Soldier Boy in such a condescending manner it curled his toes. “Well… ask yourself this. Would you act any differently in the situation?”

He hated how smug Edgar looked nearly as much as Soldier Boy hated that he couldn’t disagree. Since he couldn’t voice that, however, Soldier Boy let his silence answer for him.

“Exactly.” Edgar set his glasses back on his face. “Which is why you’d also understand why Vought would slowly wean you off of Payback until, when your popularity passes a certain number, you’re taken off the team to be a C or maybe D-list hero elsewhere if we don’t have you retire outright.”

Soldier Boy reclaimed his voice to better communicate his indignation. “You can’t kick me out of Payback. I am Payback!”

“Vought is Payback. You are an entity, trademarked and owned wholly by the company. If your value declines to the point we begin losing money on you, we’d be within our rights – and within our stockholder’s rights – to do what’s necessary to maintain our margin on profit. If this means replacing you with heroes more willing to walk the company line like, say… Black Noir, so be it.”

“Noir!” He jumped to his feet. “You’d let Noir lead my fucking team?”

“Of all the heroes in our portfolio, he has the second closest Q-score. He has great market potential. And, within Payback, he has the most experience in non-simulated combat.”

“That don’t mean he can lead.” His lips twitched again. “He can’t lead! He’s a –“

“I’d think very carefully what you say next,” Edgar warned, rising to Soldier Boy’s challenge. He crept closer, circling Soldier Boy, daring him to finish his thought despite the danger posed from him being a super. “Because there’s still a chance I stop being civil with you and take a more… nuclear route.”

Soldier Boy hated being backed into a corner. He stuck his chin out before slowly sinking back onto the sectional.

“Glad to see you still remember your place.”

He crossed his arms. “My place is as leader of Payback. America’s greatest hero. That’s who I am.”

“You are who we say you are.” Edgar stomped his foot for dramatics, hammering the point into Soldier Boy. “We created you from nothing! Built an image of you and protected it with our very lives. We crafted a myth of you for people to buy into, to believe, and it looks like you fell for it like the rest of the idiot public. You used it to your advantage. Now that you find it doesn’t suit your needs, you don’t get to shrug it off and keep the benefits. There are procedures you have to follow, and a culture – a culture you thrived in – that you must continue to emulate and promote!” He tugged on his suit jacket, then swept his hands across the breast to smooth imagined wrinkles. “So you can either have this,” he gestured to the apartment. Because of Edgar’s scrutiny, it suddenly felt too big, but also claustrophobic at the same time. “Or you can be… Soldier Boy.”

Edgar wrapped his pitch with a clap that echoed and rang in Soldier Boy’s ears while he mulled over everything they discussed these last few minutes. There was a lot Soldier Boy had to consider. And, as he checked the clock above the mantle, not much time to do it in.

Raul arrived in thirty minutes.

Of all he and Edgar clashed about, the crux of their issue rested on who Soldier Boy chose to be.

Did Soldier Boy walk away from his alter ego? Abandon this port in the storm of celebrity that he missed since his first injection of Compound V, and all that came with it? Would he trade the possibility of a meaningful relationship Soldier Boy’s so far cultivated with Raul for the shallow and vapid ones that crowd him day to day?

But on the flip side, if Soldier Boy owned up to the lie he advertised for decades and began speaking his truth, would that really change anything? Would he regret trading the fame, the money, and the power, if Edgar’s predictions proved true? Anonymity of civilian life was great in small doses, but could Soldier Boy handle being stuck in mediocrity forever? Would being treated like everyone else, like a nobody, drive him insane because he knew what it was to be special?

Worst of all, the doubts that ate at the back of his mind since he and Raul fell into their secluded dance returned and attacked with renewed strength. They questioned Raul’s intentions, whether he recognized him at some point or was still clueless as to who Soldier Boy was. If he’d stay once learning the truth or feel betrayed? If Soldier Boy’s fall from grace, when the story leaked, might drive them apart? Or would Soldier Boy do that himself? The bitterness that nestled itself in his heart from a young age, that he directed outwards on the daily, would focus on Raul until he pushed the man out of his life and truly left him with nothing. Raul did many things for him, but even he hadn’t been able to heal him of that toxicity.

No matter which angle he looked at it, there wasn’t any decision that didn’t cost him something.

So, naturally, he picked self-preservation.

“You made the smart choice.”

“Don’t you mean the right choice?”

“Right and wrong are subjective. In the grand scheme of life, they don’t matter.”

“Whatever…” Soldier Boy rocked forward, onto his feet beside Edgar. “What’s the plan now?”

Edgar gifted Soldier Boy with what he surmised was the younger man’s first genuine smile throughout their entire conversation. He produced a lighter and flicked it on. “We burn the evidence.”

“Burn the… you mean arson?”

“Of course.”

“What about the other people who live here?” Soldier Boy asked, “I thought doing this was all about reducing messes, not making more.”

“Already taken care of.” He flicked the lighter off and squeezed it against his palm. “Following your lead, we created a shell company and purchased the building from the previous owners for a generous sum. All former tenants were evicted last week, save one squatter – a Mr. Nicholas Petrillo – who tragically lost his life in the fire he set on accident.”

“Hell, you really do think of everything.”

“It takes a team of highly trained professionals to keep a superhero team running smoothly.” Edgar glanced about the living room space. “Gather whatever you wish to take with you. In a moment all you’ll have left of this place are your memories.”

Soldier Boy didn’t keep much at the apartment. The clothes and furniture were for show. His cupboards were bare. All he would’ve grabbed Edgar mentioned were removed before he stepped foot in the building. The only other thing he considered taking was the picture of him and Raul.

He reached for it. Soldier Boy brushed a thumb across Raul’s cheek, his gaze darting between him and his happier doppelganger. The fluttering feeling of love seeing Raul caused was immolated within the hardened fires of his anger of having such a dumb grin captured on film. This Soldier Boy bought into a lie, but not the one Edgar said. He committed the sin of thinking there was another way to be a man.

The real Soldier Boy, who held the picture with trembling hands, understood the truth of manhood.

Men were tough. Men sacrificed for the sake of others. They didn’t whine about their problems because they hadn’t the luxury to do so. Men controlled the destiny of the world and couldn’t lose their heads like dames always did because too much rested on men’s shoulders.

Only the strongest of men survived that crushing pressure. For too long Soldier Boy allowed his defenses to slip, to buckle under that weight. He lost his way because of the other man in the photograph.

Soldier Boy hurled the picture to the floor, the glass shattering on impact. He swiped at his very-clearly-dry-if-you-don’t-look-closely eyes and kicked the frame for good measure.

Edgar laid a hand on his shoulder. “Now there’s the belligerent hard-ass that fills our coffers.”

Soldier Boy shrugged his hand off and headed towards the door. “Get it over with already, will you?”

He heard the lighter click and the curtains go up in flames as he exited the apartment door.

Edgar trailed him down the stairs, neither man in a rush despite the building burning above them. They descended in the comfortable silence of being unafraid to exist in silence.

Though Soldier Boy felt there was one matter still unresolved before he might close the chapter on this part of his life. “You asked if he was worth it.”

“Come again?”

“Upstairs, you asked if Raul was worth not being Soldier Boy.” He tucked his hat tighter on his head and buried his hands deep in his pockets. “I’ve got an answer.”

“Which is?”

Soldier Boy sighed. “He is. But lucky for you… I’m not.”

Nicholas Petrillo died once they exited the building. He was remembered by no one. Mourned by no one, not even Soldier Boy.

How could he mourn someone who never truly existed anyway?

#the boys #the boys s3 #the boys season 3 #the boys fanfic #soldier boy #stan edgar #crimson countess #tw: racism #tw: homophobia #tw: sexism #tw: arson #tw: toxic masculinity #probably goes without saying but we don't root for soldier boy in this house #however characters can be complexed and explored in certain ways while also not championing them (which I hope I did)#also I am a slave to my attraction to jensen #that being said this is sort of a deep dive subconcious of soldier boy and his motivations #also his first introduction with stan edgar and how that went #queer soldier boy #soldier boy fanfic #pridewrites 2022 challenge

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