Chapter Text
The heat was one thing. The insanely high-energy children in the float just before him were another thing entirely. He had not signed on for this when he’d agreed to help an old friend out with “carrying a few things that had to be moved a couple of blocks.” What he thought was simply an attempt to get him out of the house to get over getting dumped. He sighed. His own fault, really, for not double-checking the date and meeting point that Mace had given him. He must be worse off than he thought for missing that.
Damn Mace. Damn everyone around him for being so joyous. Especially, damn the raucous and bouncing SMYAL float in front of them. While he appreciated that their cause was worthy - queer and trans kids absolutely need the kind of support the organization provided - they were to a person positively glowing with the kind of ecstatic fervor that is the exclusive purview of the young.
Seriously. Who could ever tell the difference between the teens and the adults nominally old enough to chaperone them anymore? They all looked twelve to him. Or thereabouts. If he had a lawn, he’d definitely ask - no, tell - them to get off it.
And the music. He was going to spend the next three hours behind the kind of pop-fluff he’d spent decades avoiding. He looked over at Mace. Mace who’d managed to convince him that actually marching in the damned parade was the obvious choice now that he was here. Really, he’d just needed another strong body to carry the other side of the banner, exactly what he’d told Qui, no lies there. Mace wasn’t one of the best human rights lawyers on the planet for his looks alone.
Qui looked at Mace. Grimaced. Mace smiled back, broadly. Gestured with his free hand, a sweeping motion that took in everything from the rainbow-bedecked spectators, to the midday heat rising in visible waves from the pavement, to the pulsating beat of the teens’s music and the ranks of activists behind them who still, unbelievably, had to continue to fight for basic rights. He blew a kiss at Qui. Qui narrowed his eyes at him and stomped a bit more forcefully. And definitely not in time with the music. Mace laughed.
The same demented, proverbial chaperone danced closer to him again. Fuck-me shoes and that ridiculous hair with a kilted getup between them that was somewhere between Sailor Moon and sexy schoolgirl. It exposed an inordinate amount of pale skin and nicely toned muscles. Qui caught himself hoping that they were wearing appropriate sunscreen on a day like today and scoffed at his own instinct. He wondered about their pronouns.
Qui’s musings about pronouns were answered when they gyrated close enough for Qui to see the big button with the “He/Him” pronouns pinned to the waistband of the micro-kilt. Definitely not his type.
Not that he had a type. Anymore. Not since Sir had in the nicest, most comforting way, sat him down and explained that he, in no uncertain terms, was no longer the boy that Sir was looking for. Or at. Or anything. Fuck him. Qui stomped a little harder and didn’t bother to control the scowl. May the Count choke on the cock of whatever pretty young thing was going to replace him. He breathed in and tried to get back in the moment. How often had he lectured his students on this very thing?
Not-my-type was still gyrating in his general direction. With intent. Qui swore he wasn’t going to get excited about that. But at least he felt less like a lecherous old man now that he could see the beginnings of crow’s feet every time he smiled. Which was often. And oddly, still in Qui’s direction. He hoped they weren’t hunting for a top and making assumptions based on his age and size.
The irritating music switched up to something that he at least knew. Duran Duran were wailing about Rio and NMT was really getting down. The view was definitely improved by the obvious joy as he let the music lead him. His wards, the ranks of deliriously ecstatic teens of all and indeterminate genders, were clapping time as he sashayed down 14th Street NW, backwards and in heels, twirling a flagpole festooned with the Progress Pride flag at one end and a Trans Pride flag at the other. Qui watched with fascination. He clearly had done this before or practiced a lot. Former drum major maybe? Gymnast? Suddenly, he was close enough to touch. And did. Gently and quickly. A second of warm contact then they were dancing off again, to a promised land.
Okay. Maybe this wasn’t Mace’s worst idea. Qui’s hand drifted down to where the fleeting touch had landed and felt something crinkle under his fingers. He pulled the note from his pocket and read the words on it.
”Come to my place after the festivities - around 8? You’re lovely to look at. You won’t regret it. -Ben.” Then an address. He colored and crumpled the note in his hand. NMT looked at him, opened his eyes fully, smiled, then winked.
Qui spent the rest of the parade trying hard to hold on to the here and now while his imagination raced with possible results of any course of action he could take based on the post-it. At least NMT had a name now.