“Like?”
“Like a family. I don’t have my head around being gay, or bisexual, or whatever I am. How could I be a parent?”
“You aren’t sure what Jay wants, and you are allowing your fears to help you avoid the true cause. Another thing for you to give serious thought is people with insecurities fear taking risks. A relationship, by its definition, is a risk. One of you may become ill. One may die. Or one may leave the other. How does that make you feel?”
“Angry.” True, but why? Dean could answer that, too. “I don’t like putting myself out to be hurt.”
“See. You may think you put Jay’s hurt above your own, which may even be true, but you are aware you are just as at risk.”
“I take risks all the time.”
“I’m sure you do, but how many of them are emotional? Self-esteem relates to our expectations. We often set our self-imposed expectations too high. If they’re unachievable, we’re bound to fail. Set realistic goals in your relationship.”
“Like talking to Jay.”
Candice set pen and notepad aside, signalling the end of the session. The action underlined her next words. “Why not?”
Chapter 9
No way to tell how many minutes ticked by while Jay sat staring at his own reflection in the bathroom mirror, struggling with a decision he’d already made. He rose out of the trance when the image shifted, making him blink, vision out of alignment, as if he saw double.
Not double. The larger shape overshadowing his belonged to Dean. The man had entered the room and quietly stood behind him. Dean never ceased to surprise Jay by how such a big man moved so silently. Dean wore nothing but boxers. Jay met Dean’s gaze in the mirror.
“Away with the fairies?” The question behind Dean’s words was not as carefree as it sounded.
Maybe best to leave this discussion to another day. Then again, the scissors gave him away. He moved to reach for them, stopped. Sliding them into a drawer wouldn’t help. They were hair scissors and Dean’s darting gaze said he’d noticed. Jay opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. Sometime before, Dean had said the day would come when Jay decided to cut his hair, and Dean would still be there.
Did he really want to do this?
His hair…his long hair, was how this had started, Dean kissing Jay by accident when mistaking Jay as his sister, April. Dean loved Jay’s hair. Was the itch to cut it—one Jay had ignored a long while—worth losing the man he loved?
Don’t be ridiculous.
Dean wouldn’t leave him over a few inches of hair, but Jay dreaded seeing a look of disappointment. He might be in the wrong here. No one had the right to dictate another’s appearance. Still, shouldn’t people in a relationship have consideration for those they loved? If Dean wanted to pierce something Jay didn’t want him to, or claimed he wanted a massive tattoo, Jay would struggle to accept it. He’d do everything possible to talk Dean out of going through with something such as that. Maybe a haircut wasn’t as traumatic but surely, the principal was similar.
Dean took up the scissors, moved closer. The warmth of him invaded the space where Jay stood, heated the air he breathed. Burned him as a hand descended to squeeze Jay’s right shoulder.
“How many inches?” Dean met his gaze in the mirror. “I take it we’re not talking a designer cut or you wouldn’t have the scissors out. What were you planning to do? Try to cut it yourself?”
Jay flushed, shrugged. “I thought I might manage a little off.”
“Want me to give it a go?”
Head jerking in an awkward nod, Jay said, “Chip away before I chicken out.”
Dean’s gaze narrowed. “If you’re feeling that way maybe this is not the thing to do.”
He had a point, but Jay shook his head, movement as abrupt as his nod had been. “I want to. I’m just…if you don’t think I should…”
The man’s blue gaze flicked to the scissors before meeting Jay’s stare in the mirror. “Jay, it’s your hair. I don’t have a say in what you do with it. Well,” his lips twitched, “short of you sheering it, maybe, which, please, don’t do. I only want to know you’ve chosen to do this for the right reasons. Why now? Why…” The big man sought for a way to express his feelings. “Why so sudden? I thought when the day came it would be something you’d have mentioned, not sprung on me.”
Now heat emanated from within. Jay’s reflection became a little pink. As much as Dean might be right and Jay had the right to cut his own hair, the lack of warning…Dean didn’t deserve that.
“April and I have always been lucky with our hair. No problem growing it long and it’s always heavy and thick.”
Dean gave him a nod of understanding, but the skin around his eyes tightened, Dean likely wondering where Jay was going with this. Jay wondered himself.
“I love my hair. I love you love my hair. But it can make me too damn hot. It’s too hard to take care of and I dipped it in my food at least three times this week.” That earned him a curve of Dean’s lips, at least. “And I have many other reasons. I love my hair long, and I get why women might want long hair, but not have the patience for it. I get why my sister cut hers though it took a good number of years for her to make that decision. But more than that, I…” Hell he didn’t want to admit this. “I’m feeling too old for it. I’m feeling as if I look a little ridiculous.”
He didn’t miss Dean’s slight headshake. Maybe Jay didn’t look stupid. Maybe Dean was biased. How Jay felt was all-important.
“I’m not saying I want to go short.” That came out in a rush. “Not yet. I just want…less.”
Ow! Jay tried not to wince as, again, one of Dean’s hands grabbed his shoulder and squeezed. No malice intended, but Dean didn’t appreciate his own strength.
“So, what are we going to do here?”
That was the question and the main reason Jay had spent so long staring at his own reflection. “Shoulder length? I don’t want to go crazy. I might regret short. Or…is shoulder length too much in one go?” As much as he wanted to remove some of the weight, the decision proved more difficult than he’d thought.
A kiss landed on the top of his head. Dean’s blue gaze twinkled under the bathroom lights.
“Trust me, okay?”
He would. He did. Jay gave Dean’s reflection a nod. Right away, Dean moved off. The shiver creeping up on Jay might be owing to a change in temperature or an inner chill.
“You’ll get hair on your bottoms.”
What? Oh! His pyjamas. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll change.” Chances were he’d be going to bed after this and strip. He only wore pyjamas around the house, never between the sheets.
“Could just take them off now.”
“And risk you cutting my hair with something so distracting in front of you?”
Dean laughed while he fumbled in a drawer, dragging out a couple of combs. His gaze and body language focused on the task. No hesitation or disappointment was apparent in his expression or movements.
“I will cut some away first before I worry about tidying it. This is too much to work with.”
Of course. Were he sitting in the chair of a professional hair-stylist, he’d expect them to remove a good length first. Jay nodded. Comb now between Dean’s teeth, the man set the open scissors somewhere below Jay’s shoulder blade. Too high? Too low? A brush of Dean’s fingers against his nape sped his pulse. Jay clamped down on rising desire. Not the right time, nor the place. The last thing he wanted to do was to make Dean nervous or shaky in any way; not while he held scissors.
A vision of Dean bending him over the sink flashed so fine, maybe the place didn’t matter so much. The thought splintered on a distinct snip!
Dean chuckled. “Don’t look so worried.”
Along with the quick successive sounds, soft steins of hair fell away, brushing over Jay’s back.
“Okay, that’s done. I’ll comb it through and then tidy it. I’ll dampen it to make sure it’s straight.”
Though wet hair cou
ld stretch for a cut, Jay’s crinkled at the ends as it dried, so dampening made sense.
The sound of a tap turning on and water flowing caught Jay’s attention. Dean filled a spray bottle with water. Although they usually used it to mist a couple of tropical plants, the sprayer was useable and clean.
“You can always shut your eyes.”
As much as Dean teased, Jay obeyed and spent the next couple of minutes shivering when a chill spray of water or his moist hair touched his skin, or Dean’s lips left a hot, lingering kiss. He fought not to react. Better to stay still. Immobile. To concentrate on the sound of their breathing. On the tugs on his hair as Dean worked through with a comb.
A moment of stillness arrived. Whatever length Dean chose was fine. He trusted Dean, and if he trusted him with something as precious to him as his hair, he could trust him with his heart. Some people might say he had a psychological reason for letting Dean do this; Jay couldn’t swear they’d be wrong, but he didn’t think so. He could always ask Dean for what he wanted. Dean had better know the same applied to him, but so far, he’d not mentioned whatever bothered him. Did he think Jay hadn’t detected his mood? Stoic Dean, not opening up, not talking. He’d thought they’d got past that. The idea they hadn’t stung as heartburn.
Minutes passed. Jay endured, churning emotions having little to do with his hair. He was ready to howl or bolt from the room by the time Dean said, “There.” The scissors clunked on the side of the sink but Dean wasn’t through yet. Jay always used a brush and, sure enough, the familiar strokes of his favourite hairbrush skimmed through his hair.
“All done.”
Hair. Cut. Gone. Shorter. No longer hanging so far down Jay’s back. No way to glue it back on. No way to change his mind. Jay dragged his gaze to the mirror. Funny how he felt naked. Strange how a haircut could make a person feel vulnerable.
Not as vulnerable as catching the gaze of the person one loved in the glass and wondering what thoughts spun in the man’s mind.
* * * *
Of what had he to fear? Dean laid in the dark, body still, mind painfully active. If she was an expert in nothing else, Candice knew how to ask awkward questions. He cast his thoughts to the past, seeking answers in his early behaviour. A pattern might emerge. Clarification of how he came to this point. Even so, the much younger and inexperienced man he’d been didn’t exist these days. Wasn’t there something going around about writing to one’s younger self? Didn’t matter what he had to say, his adolescent counterpart would only laugh. The ghost of his youth had nothing to impart and made it more difficult to make sense of earlier decisions. Inexperience offered many explanations none of them reliable. The urge to deny came on strongest but, with a clenched fist, nails digging into his palms, he broke the self-imposed barrier.
His fear stemmed from the immature discovery he liked men. His love and, some might say, his over-inflated idolisation of women had left him unwilling to consider what he’d wanted, turned his back on, and might prefer. If only the preference rang true. Being gay would make his life easier. Bisexual…The possibility made his life with Jay more difficult.
If he believed Candice, everything he’d read verified bisexuals were often more beset by confusion and often found acceptance much harder to find from straight people. He didn’t appreciate the chance of fitting into that category. None of the likelihoods presented to him lessened his newfound fear of one day hurting Jay.
The soft sounds the other man made during sleep were as familiar to Dean as his own breathing. He lay and listened and ached. Why not be happy?
Bad enough he’d spent his life with Jay to date having to prove himself to others; now it appeared as if Dean needed to prove something to himself. Pile on the added confusion most bisexuals struggled with and he might soon need a straitjacket, let alone a shrink.
“Is it male attention you seek?”
Unbelievable she’d asked that, but damn if she wasn’t on to something there. He pinpointed moments when being the man every man looked to, envied, even wanted, or wanted to be, gave him a level of satisfaction akin to sex. Might be a peer or dominance aspect to that. He’d admitted when watching men have sex he identified with the one on top more, but he was the same with women, wired that way. April would call him a Neanderthal, and he’d expected a similar reaction from Candice, but the woman surprised him. She claimed people liked sex the way they liked it. Said finding the right partner who completed one’s needs, especially when one’s needs also fulfilled theirs, was not only conducive, it was a miracle of happenstance.
“Two people falling in love with each other, sharing the same emotions and that lasting long-term is incredible when you think.”
He hadn’t argued. His three years with Jay weren’t like the number of years both sets of parents had spent together, but every day built toward long-term commitment. Maybe lifelong. Why was he not content with that?
Dean lay as stiff as his dick so often was, wanting to toss back the covers, run outside, pace. Instead, he would endure, get no sleep, suffer every tortuous tick of time, rather than awaken the man he loved.
He’d read references to bisexuals calling this ‘figuring out’ stage brain frying. Now he understood how they felt. He wasn’t heading into depression…at least he didn’t think so, but that was the only good thing so far. He should have left well enough alone. The only well before him was deep and dark.
God, what was wrong with him? Running home the other day from his shrink—she’d hate to hear him refer to her that way but he couldn’t help it in the privacy of his thoughts—slamming the front door, rushing upstairs; what had he been thinking doing that?
One glance at Jay, the man staring at that damn computer screen of his, and Dean hadn’t even the mind to tell him off for not taking a break, though the thought had flitted through his brain. Jay worked too hard. Dean had stood for a moment while Jay muttered, “Hey,” closing the programme, while Dean drank in the sight of the man he loved.
His heart had pounded, his blood rushed. His cock strained with need. Dean hadn’t been able to resist. The memory of grabbing Jay’s neck, the bones fragile under his grip, mouth soft against his, pliant, engulfed him. Dean had dived deep. He could have sworn his cock had unhitched his belt and undid his fly by itself.
The kissing had done it, the warm hollow and soft surround and, in a blink, Dean had needed that around his dick.
He’d resisted, pushing his cock into Jay’s hand, instead. The prayer, “Jerk me off, jerk me off,” had chanted in his head. A swift end was his only hope of release, of keeping his sanity. He’d needed…Jay. He always would.
Dean had understood what he wanted in that moment but the world had flashed white as Jay squeezed and Dean had pushed thoughts of the future aside. He’d wanted fast, but he’d gone where Jay led. He always did. Then his cock got what it wanted—Jay doing what he did best, sucking, licking, tongue wicked, making Dean’s head spin.
Easy then, with cock sucked and balls caressed, to forget the thought had entered his head. After, he’d refused to contemplate it, but as he’d pushed deep into Jay’s mouth, down his throat, Dean had known…
He was in love and he was wrong. The well was deep but, no matter how cavernous, it didn’t have to be dark.
Chapter 10
Candice edged forward on the seat. For a second, Dean braced himself ready to…he didn’t know what. Tense. Flee. As crazy as it was, he felt comparable to prey when Candice wore her serious face. She wanted him to pay attention, something he struggled to do because of the things he feared. He dreaded the revelations he sought the most. He always had. That was his true problem. Once he understood and accepted there was no going back.
“We’ve established that a relationship is about needs. In fact, from the moment we’re born our lives are all about what we can offer others. How we can fulfil the need of another. Harsh but true. From the moment we come into this world, we complete the emotional needs of another. At least, we do if the family unit
is what it should be, and the child is created from love. Even if created from a hormonal need wired into most adults, one may argue we, as babies, still satisfy a need. Finding a job is actualising a need. We go to school to gain skills for which we hope others will find a use. We seek a partner to love and to love us. Some relationships end up too one-sided, with one needing more than the other does. With luck, the imbalance works, or at least doesn’t present a problem. Often, the couple may not notice such a thing exists. We still search for a partner to appease that emotional need. Our partners are doing the same.”
“I doubt some of my one-night stands would agree.” That came out sounding more apologetic than he liked, but Candice was shaking her head before he completed the sentence.
“You were fulfilling their sexual requirements as those women were gratifying yours.”
She had silenced him again.
“Don’t tell me you of all men don’t accept women have sexual needs.”
“I accept it. I applaud it.”
“I’m sure you do.”
Once again, her strongest emotion struck him as one of amusement, but he was guessing. He no doubt read her wrong. He’d never made understanding women his forte.
“But what that confirms is from the moment we’re born we provide something for someone else. We all perform a role. Within society. Within the family unit, whether that is a house full, or just two. Jay needs you to be faithful, but it’s more telling you need to devote yourself, and not just to fulfil his requirement but that of your own.”
It didn’t take Dean more than a few seconds of thinking to say, “I don’t like that.”
“Why?”
“Because that makes everything about me, which is the thing people such as April insist is wrong with me.”
“I don’t want to hear what April says.”
Well that shut him up.
“I don’t want to hear what your parents think, what Jay’s parents think, what your neighbour, or the man who runs the shop on the corner, thinks. I don’t want to hear you channelling April. It sounds as if she means well, but her good intentions are one-sided…as they should be. She is looking out for her brother after all. But get her voice out of your head. Ditch those voices.”
Christmas Angel Page 11
