Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Malik
“Are you sure you don’t want to come? It’s going to be fun.” I spoke into my phone as I walked from the parking garage across the street to Vancouver City Hall.
“Dude, your definition of fun and mine are wildly different. Seraphina invited me over to her place and I promise you, we’re not going to be discussing policy and plans and zoning and… Uh…”
“They’re discussing a new social housing project.” I looked both way before crossing Cambie Street—even though I had the walk sign.
“Well, Vancouver needs more affordable housing.” Something rustled in the background. “But what does that have to do with you?”
“The land they want to build on used to belong to the Indigenous tribes of the region.”
“Dude, all the land belonged to the tribes—that’s why we say we’re on the unceded territory of the…”
I wasn’t going to fill in the blanks. I loved that most government bodies recognized we were merely colonizers.
My affinity with the Indigenous community ran deep.
I knew what it meant to be discriminated against for the color of my skin.
The grievances of those native to this land ran much deeper, though.
They needed my support. “I’ve made it to city hall. Wish me luck.”
“Dude, whatever. Stay out of trouble, okay?” He cut the line before I had a chance to respond.
Probably just as well since he wouldn’t have liked my answer.
I made my way to the room where the council was meeting. I slipped into a seat in the back row, noting at least four people on their phones in the gallery. Or what I supposed was the gallery. Although the room was large, the area for the public wasn’t that big.
The lady who sat at the center of the room—and on an elevated platform—was the mayor.
I hadn’t voted for her. Not progressive enough, in my books.
She’d done okay so far, so I’d given her the benefit of the doubt.
Only a couple of the councilors sat in chairs, although I quickly realized some were attending the meeting virtually.
A bunch of procedural stuff happened—including evacuation procedures.
This all felt unnecessary, but I supposed there must be a good reason for it.
The mayor then gave the land dedication.
She said it too fast. She didn’t give us time to reflect on what it means. Moments later, she was on to business.
The first three items were boring as fuck.
Renewal of some program that encouraged the construction of net-zero homes.
Well, that was good. The rezoning of two adjacent lots so the developer could build a four-plex instead of the current two single-family homes.
Increased densification. Sounded like a great idea.
Vancouver’s housing crunch was legendary, with one of the lowest vacancy rates in Canada.
Anything we could do to increase densification was a good thing.
Finally, after what felt like forever, the proposal for the social housing came up.
The councilors asked questions. The mayor peppered in a few.
The developers clearly knew their stuff as they had answers for everything.
What I wasn’t hearing, though, was how they were going to be respectful of Indigenous people.
Is this even your fight? You’re not Indigenous. You don’t have a stake in this.
The project was to be in Kitsilano—a tonier neighborhood in the city.
With a lot of detractors. Person after person spoke—all NIMBY people. Not in my backyard. Well, where did they think people were going to live?
One particular lady got my hackles up. She kept going on and on about those people.
Finally, Spencer was called up. He went up to the lectern, put down his papers, and looked up toward the mayor.
“Thank you, Mayor Johnson and council members. I am Spencer Wainright, and I’m the administrator for This Land is Ours.
Our mission is to ensure Indigenous rights are respected and environmental protections are enacted.
Normally, we focus on pipelines and other things detrimental to tribal lands.
For too long, we haven’t taken care of either the members of the community or the land on which we reside.
I am speaking in favor of this new project.
Of course we need more social housing. I want to ensure, however, that equity is involved. That—”
He glared at me as I nudged him aside.
“What he’s trying to say is that although the amount of social housing in this project is good, it could be better. The developer’s going to get rich off the at-market-rate units—so they can damn well build more units for the less advantaged.”
A throat clearing behind me had me turning. I faced the woman who’d spoken vehemently against the proposal. “What’s your problem? How does this affect you? People need a place to live.”
“They can live on the east side.” Her where they belong was completely implied in her statement.
“There’s not enough housing on the east side. There’s not enough housing anywhere. Why is it so wrong to give—”
“I’d like to see order.” The mayor’s words rang out.
I pivoted my attention back to her. “I was just saying—”
“Whomever you are, you’re not on the speakers’ list.” The mayor glowered at me.
“But I just—” Even as I said the words, Spencer grabbed my arm with both of his hands and yanked me.
Hard.
“Hey, wait just—”
“No waiting. Apologies to you and council. We’ll be leaving now.”
“Very well.” The mayor eyed her list. “Has everyone who wished to speak taken a turn?”
“Well, I haven’t—” Again, Spencer pushed me away from the lectern.
“Do we need to call security?” The mayor appeared to be reaching for something.
“I’ll go.” I glared at Spencer. “Sorry.” With that, I stormed out of the chamber. Righteous anger—and Spencer—followed me right out to 12th Avenue. I rounded on him. “What the fuck? I had everything under control.”
His green eyes went wide. “What are you talking about? You had nothing under control. I had sound arguments and reasoning and was about to present some interesting findings—”
“More studies? More logic? You have to act with your heart, Spencer. Otherwise, people are just going to tune you out.”
“Hey.” He frowned. “People do not tune me out. I’ll have you know I’ve presented before council before, and—”
“Did they vote the way you wanted to?”
The frown increased. “Not always—”
“Well, they sure as shit weren’t going to this time either.”
“You don’t know that. I might’ve made a persuasive argument—if I hadn’t been rudely interrupted.”
I pursed my lips. “You always play it safe. You never risk anything. Real change isn’t going to happen unless you put yourself on the line.” I stepped into his space and put our faces mere inches apart. “I think you’re chickenshit. You’re afraid of being real about the struggles.”
“That’s bullshit, Malik. I’m in the fight every day. I might not be in people’s faces—”
“But you should be. They should know about This Land is Ours. They should understand what the fight and struggle are all about. Too many people wander around this city…hell, this province…” I rubbed my forehead. “Hell, this country and even this planet. People don’t get it.”
“Some people get it.” He held my gaze. “But there are better ways to get what you want than grandstanding and showboating.”
“I wasn’t doing either.” God, he so didn’t understand. “If you stand for nothing…if you speak out for nothing…then what’s the point?”
“I was trying to speak.” He gestured wildly toward the building. “You didn’t give me a chance. I’d like to believe I could’ve made a persuasive argument. But you interrupted, and then I lost my turn. God, you’re always thinking with—” He cut off.
“With what?” I was super interested in what he was thinking. Maybe I had cut him off—which would have been rude—but he was droning on and not getting to the point. Not imbuing the audience with the sense of urgency the situation required.
“With, I don’t know, anything other than your brain. You’re brave. Great. Fantastic. That doesn’t move us forward. That doesn’t help us achieve our goals. You need to understand that it’s not about you. It’s not about people doing what you think they should—”
“Wait a minute. I never said you should chain yourself to a bridge.”
“Good, because I’m never going to do that. I’m a member of the bar of British Columbia in good standing. I’m not going to risk that for some harebrained, half-baked, stupid—”
“Don’t call me stupid.” I said the words low.
Almost a growl. I could put up with a lot of shit and name calling—but stupid was a hard limit for me.
The bully at my school would run around saying all Black kids were stupid.
I reported it to a teacher, because I wasn’t the only Black kid who was hurt, and the little shit denied it.
The teacher took his side, of course, and I got a reputation as a snitch as well.
I might’ve eventually grown bigger than the bully, but his words and taunts never ended.
He knew that I couldn’t, as a Black kid, risk getting in a fight.
Plus, he always had tons of friends and followers.
I was one of the few Black kids in my school.
I went to school with a rainbow of color, but the minority kids didn’t always stick together.
Leaving high school had been the best day of my life.
Losing my parents had been the worst.
“I didn’t call you stupid.” Spencer pressed a hand to his temple. “Sometimes your ideas are…”
“Are what? Hey, are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” He snapped that.
“Then what—”
He cut me off by launching himself at me, pulling me flush against him, and pressing his lips to mine.
When I attempted to speak—whether to protest or encourage, I couldn’t be certain—he thrust his tongue into my mouth.
He grasped the back of my neck, lowered his head slightly, and then devoured me whole.
His tongue sought the recesses of my mouth, even as his hands held me tight.
Then those hands were meandering down my neck, to my chest, along my flank, then to my ass.
He pressed us closer.
I angled myself so our erect cocks brushed. Even through the layers of denim and khaki, I felt his arousal.
It matched my own.
The concept of consent flitted through my mind. How he hadn’t asked. How I probably would’ve said no. How, if I had, I would’ve been missing out on all this.
I wrapped my arms around him to pull him even closer.
So there wasn’t a breath of wind that could pass between the two of us.
Yet, the slightly rational side of my mind, pointed out we were standing on the steps of city hall.
That anyone could walk by at any moment.
The irrational side—the side that apparently drove Spencer nuts—truly didn’t give a shit.
I’d been attracted to him since the first moment I stormed into his office.
I’d been pissed. Hell, I still was pissed.
But none of that seemed to matter as he squeezed my ass.
Yeah, I wanted him. I wanted him so badly that I was willing to drag him behind a building and have my way with him.
Would he be willing? Would he be interested?
Was he a bottom or a top? This would be an important question to have an answer to because I always topped.
I wasn’t vers. I wasn’t a switch. I liked what I liked, and I never deviated from that.
Hence the fact Creed and I were just friends. We’d been horny enough to contemplate trying to bottom for each other. In the end, though, neither of us had been willing to compromise. We were better off as friends.
And why the fuck was I thinking about Creed while this infuriating man had his tongue down my throat, and his hands planted firmly on my ass?
No idea.
I tried to refocus on him. I didn’t know what would make him feel good, but I was certainly willing to try.
Within the boundaries of decency, of course.
I’d taken Mama Murthi’s admonishment to heart—I was not going to risk getting arrested and not being able to perform in Black Rock.
If Rocktoberfest ever came calling. I had my doubts.
Spencer pulled back abruptly, then pushed off against me.
I nearly fell backward. “Hey.”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry. That was… And you were… We shouldn’t…” His pupils nearly eclipsed his entire irises as he gestured. Something between the two of us—if I could make sense of his rapid movement.
“Look, can we talk?”
“I have to go.” He turned and fled.
Like an idiot, I stood there with my mouth gaping.
Because what had happened was both super hot and super weird.
I didn’t care that he hadn’t asked. I was someone who could stand up for myself.
I hope he hasn’t done that to someone in the past who didn’t want it.
Or doesn’t do it in the future with someone who also isn’t welcoming of that overture.
But that fucking amazing, awesome, brilliant kiss.
Man, could he kiss. My lips still tingled where he’d pressed against me.
My rock-hard cock wasn’t happy about the lack of options.
Much as I wanted to rub one out—to clear up the ache—I wasn’t going to do that either in public or even in my car.
Nope, driving home with a hopefully deflating cock was about the best I could do, given the circumstances.
Several people exited city hall.
The NIMBY woman came up to me and shook her fists. “Look what you’ve done.” Then she marched off.
A gentleman approached me next. “I’m not certain you can take all—or any—of the credit. But the project was green-lit. So that’s good news.” He slapped me on the back. “Quite a show you put on in there.” Then he took off.
I’ll watch the council minutes when they post. I needed to see if I’d been as rude as Spencer claimed. I also needed to see for certain that the project would go ahead. And if any Indigenous input would be sought. Likely not, but I could hope.
I adjusted my jeans, so I was slightly more comfortable, and headed to my SUV. So a good day…right?
Hard to tell. Reading Spencer was impossible—or damn close to it— so I had only my gut reaction to go by.
My gut—and my cock—said, more, more, more.
Interesting to see if I listened to my brain, which said danger, danger, danger.