‘No, hang on,’ he said.
Sip. Think.
‘Let me just check.’
Sip. Think.
Actually, when was this glass last cleaned?
‘So, you just want to give the gay scene a makeover?’ Brendan and Jon nodded together.
‘And it’s not going to involve some weird ritual sacrifice?’
Jon shook his head vehemently. ‘Oh lordy, no. How old school are you, sweet cheeks? We’ll just lead by example. It’s how we work. We are the Perfection. There’s no magic – wherever we go, people adore us, they love us, they want to be more like us. And we help them. But we don’t cheat. We don’t steal. We just bask in their love and we grow stronger. That’s all we want – to be wanted.’
Jack grinned at them with disbelief.
‘I really still think you could be evil. This could all be a horrible, horrible thing. It would be easier to just drag you down to the cells. Job done.’
Jon shuddered, theatrically, and laid his hand on Jack’s arm, muscles incidentally tensing magnificently, like weasels in a sack. ‘It would be easier, yes, but not as much fun.’
Brendan stubbed out his cigarette and grinned. ‘And you won’t. You trust us. You like us. You’ll give us a chance. And you’ll stay for another drink. A proper drink.’
Jack gazed sadly at his glass. ‘I’d love to, but I have to be ready. For when everything changes.’
Jon turned back from the bar, three drinks in his hand. ‘Trust us – you’ll be fine for a few hours. God’s word.’
‘Brendan,’ said Jack. ‘Your boyfriend’s hand is on my leg.’
‘Oh,’ said Brendan. ‘Is that a problem?’
Jack grinned. ‘Not at all. I just wondered if you felt left out.’
Brendan shrugged. ‘Not really.’ And placed his hand on Jack’s other leg.
‘Ah, I see. Does anyone ever say no to you guys?’
Jon tipped his head on one side, puzzled. ‘Why would they? We’re perfect!’
And the Perfection laughed, together. Not at all creepily.
‘OK,’ muttered Jack happily into the pillow. ‘I’m open to making a deal.’
Somewhere, Brendan gave a muffled laugh. ‘Oh, you’re open to a lot more than that.’
‘Yup,’ admitted Jack, giggling.
Jon leaned in close, his voice joining the blissful throbbing in Jack’s head. ‘You’re prepared to consider an arrangement?’
‘Yeah. I just wish more people tried your approach. So much more fun than waving around weapons.’
‘Really?’ Jon kissed Jack. The kiss was perfect. ‘But you’re such a skilled diplomat. And we don’t have any guns.’
Jack felt Jon move away from him, and started to laugh. ‘Hey guys. Don’t think I’m not extraordinarily grateful.’ He smiled, dreamily, and just enjoyed himself for a while. ‘I hate to ruin the moment, but just a reminder. It ain’t gonna stop me having a good time, but if you let me down, I won’t hesitate in coming back here guns blazing.’
Brendan laughed, pleasantly, and moved up the bed to wrap his arms around Jack’s shoulders. ‘How evil would we have to be just to get you to come back?’
Jack beamed. ‘Oh, barely evil at all. Just a little naughty. But remember – you start hurting people, and, charming as you are, fun as this is, and …. absolutely great as that is, Jon – it’s not gonna stop me blowing you away.’
Jon laughed.
Jack smirked. ‘Howabout, I love it when a plan comes together?’
Jack bumped into them at Cardiff Gay Pride. He was covered in mud and a scrap of blood-spattered gingham.
Brendan and Jon stood underneath a gold umbrella, watching the downpour. They were just wearing tight jeans and body paint. They waved to him.
‘Hey, guys,’ said Jack. ‘I’d love to stop and chat, but… you know… alien menace.’
‘Grr!’ they both mimed claws.
‘Yeah. Exactly. Lots of tentacles, big gun, gingham dress. Seen it?’
They shook their heads.
‘So, how are you?’ asked Brendan.
Jack shrugged. ‘Keepin’ busy. Saving the world. You?’
‘So-so,’ said Jon. ‘Look around you – we’ve already improved the hair.’
‘That was you?’ laughed Jack. ‘Way to go, guys.’
‘The last mullet moved to Swansea the other week. We had a party. Lasted a few days.’
‘Few other things – you know. Stern words with innocent boys down from Treorchy for the weekend. You know – always use a jonny, and no, a Mars Bar wrapper’s not a substitute. The STD clinic’s dead chuffed. Talked about giving us a plaque, which was sweet. Plus, by just being ourselves, I think we’ve been a good influence.’
‘Yeah,’ said Brendan. ‘People have finally stopped wearing plaid. And I’m doing some great work with the Assembly.’
‘I’m impressed,’ said Jack.
‘Care to show us?’ asked Brendan, raising an eyebrow. If anything they’d got prettier. Something even more striking about his cheekbones. And. Oh. Monster. Right.
Jack looked over, reluctantly, to the main stage. He could hear roaring and a few screams. ‘I’d love to. Maybe later?’
Brendan and Jon followed his glance to where Cardiff’s queen of song stood, drenched as usual, belting out ‘Delilah’ over a sodden PA. There was a flash of gingham and a tentacle backstage. Over the rain, Jack could just hear the sound of automatic gunfire. As he watched, Owen backed onto the stage, desperately aiming a flamethrower into the wings. He became gradually aware of the crowd, and grinned sheepishly, dropping into the kind of guilty creep that he’d seen roadies use. He paused and winked at the singer, who somehow carried on singing despite Owen aiming a jet of flame into the lighting rig. A large, charred tentacle flopped onto the stage next to them, and lay there, flailing and smoking.
Jon applauded, ironically. ‘That boy’s got to be one of yours,’ he smirked. ‘Torchwood are never throwing me a surprise birthday.’
Brendan leaned in and kissed Jack quickly. ‘Go!’ he urged. ‘Save Charlotte Church. We’ll be around tonight. We’re having a White Party.’
Jack saluted and ran off.
CAPTAIN JACK HAS KILLED THE WABBIT, KILLED THE WABBIT
Jack made his way slowly across the dance floor. Partly because it was packed. Partly because it was packed with strikingly attractive, topless men. On the one hand, he wore a look of grim determination. On the other, it seemed like a good party.
A particularly muscled guy with a big grin wrapped himself around Jack and started to dance against him slowly. He drew himself close to Jack, and Jack leaned slowly in and whispered quietly in his ear. ‘Not right now,’ he said, and moved on.
All around him was disco. Surprisingly good disco. When you’ve lived through the twentieth century a few times over, you’ll go to a lot of parties. Most of them a bit rubbish, really. When you come down to it, it’s all a
