“It’s easy for you, isn’t it?”
Dean frowned at him.
“It’s easy for you. You can take what you want, knowing how much I want it. Then when you tire of it, of me, you can just walk away. You’ll have your fun and you’ll go. You don’t even care who picks up the pieces.”
He wouldn’t have put it quite like that, but he couldn’t deny it. The truth was he could walk away any time he wanted. Unless someone saw them together ‑‑ witnessed them kissing, for instance ‑‑ no one would believe it. Even then, if someone said something it would take more than one witness or an extremely credible witness to change things. Otherwise, he could simply deny it. No one would believe someone like Dean had jumped the fence, not even for a minute. He hardly believed it himself.
Chapter Eight
“What the hell is this?” Jay looked up from the screen of Dean’s laptop. For once, Dean really hadn’t fiddled with it. There was nothing wrong with it. He’d brought it with him to spend the day with Jay and get a little work done. Jay said he would upgrade it for him while he was here.
Dean walked across the room and looked over Jay’s shoulder. To his horror, one of his stories shone out from the screen and as Jay panned down, he didn’t need more than a glance to know the page was explicit. Jay gave him the strangest look. “You wrote this?”
“Writing. Present tense.” The situation was uncomfortable, but he could blame no one but himself. Then again, maybe he could. “You didn’t have to look in those files to do the upgrade.”
“So I was snooping. Don’t expect me to apologise for it. I’ve always wondered if you wrote anything and when I saw a folder so artistically called ‘My Writing’, I couldn’t resist.”
“You could have asked.” Dean hankered down beside him.
“Would you have let me look? At this?”
Dean stroked Jay’s thighs, letting his hands wander restlessly over the jeans he wore. “No. Not this minute. But not because of what you’re thinking.”
Jay looked from the screen to his face. “Am I research?”
He clearly managed to keep the anger at bay, but Dean didn’t blame him for the question. He didn’t even resent it. “No. No way.”
“Did you lie about having been with a man?”
“No.”
“Then how?” Jay looked back to the screen.
“I made it up. I watched some movies, read some books, saw an opportunity and wrote a story. When it was well received, I wrote another and another.”
“You’re published?” Dean nodded. “And you’ve not told your family?”
Dean glanced at the screen. “I may one day, but I wasn’t sure how they’d take it, considering.”
Jay looked back at the screen. His eyes moved back and forth, as he read a few lines. “I’d say you were more worried about the guys at the garage.”
“That, too.”
“How many of these have you written?”
“This’ll be my fifth novel. After this, I plan to try something more mainstream. I might keep at this as well, but I see it all as writing. It’s still putting my work out there.”
“Why these books, though? Why not men and women?”
“It’s a good market at present. I saw an opportunity.” Jay’s expression said he didn’t believe him, entirely. Dean dithered over what to tell him. “I’ve never consciously thought about it. Maybe I just didn’t want to. I guess it’s always interested me. Some guys I shared a house with while I was going to college ...” He shrugged. “I saw things. It didn’t exactly appeal to me, but I guess it made me think about it. About why ...” he waved a hand in the air, “other guys ...” He sighed. “I guess I’m one of those other guys, now, and I still can’t say I understand it.” The laugh was a little self-deprecating.
Jay kept reading. His hand reached out as though he would touch the words on the screen. “That paragraph there is beautiful.”
“You don’t have to sound so surprised.”
Those warm brown eyes flickered towards him. “How not? This is a side to you we never get to see. A side we only glimpse. It’s warm and sensitive.” He glanced back at the computer with his head tilted. “The sex is hot, but the emotions are there even if they aren’t blatant, though, maybe ...” Jay stopped talking and then shook his head, more a gesture of ‘forget it’ than a no. Dean wanted to quiz him about it, but Jay spoke first. “Do you sell to the gay market or women?”
“Both,” Dean answered immediately. It was nice to have an easy question for which he could provide an immediate answer. Jay looked back at him as though he sprouted a second head or maybe he just didn’t know him. Dean expected anger, but Jay seemed to take his word for it that he wasn’t here screwing him for research.
“I always wondered why there were so many more toiletries in your bathroom than mine, but then I just decided you were vain. You’re sure you’re not a closet case?”
A smile tugged at his lips and he gave into it. “Not as far as I know.”
The fingers that reached for the screen now moved to touch his face. The humour dissipated. Dean’s lifted his hand to catch Jay’s fingers, his grip curling around them. Hesitant, unsure of what he was doing, he slowly guided them to his mouth and pressed them against his lips. Crouched in front of Jay like this, it positioned them close together, Dean looking up a little into the other man’s face, but not by much. Even practically kneeling, Dean’s stature predominated. Strangely, his mind turned to the guys at the garage. What would they say, if they knew the type of books he wrote? What would they say, if they knew he cared for Jay in any way other than friendship? Of course, the biggest question remained, just how much did he care?
“What are you thinking?”
No real surprise Jay would ask him; he could well imagine the expression on his face. “I was thinking how I’d like to see those lips of yours pursed in worship.” He grinned but the look in Jay’s eyes quickly washed it away.
There existed a moment of silence, then Jay said, “You just can’t help yourself, can you?” A slap followed the statement, and then another, and another. Dean caught at Jay’s hands, as the strikes grew more furious. They grappled.
“Hush. Sshhh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”
“Yes. You did.”
Dean paused, safe from Jay’s slaps as he held his hands in his. “Well, yes, I did,” he admitted, “but I meant it in a nice way. I just said it at the wrong moment.”
“You always bloody do.”
He could have stood it, if Jay sounded angry. Instead, the smaller man sounded tired, and that made him feel worse. He let go of Jay’s hands, struggling with him, tucking in tighter to the chair, wrapping his arms around Jay’s waist, pulling the other man against him until Jay ceased fighting.
“I didn’t come here to fight with you. I don’t want to fight with you. Not ...” Dean now struggled with what to say. If he said the wrong thing, Jay might throw him out of here; well, not bodily, but he could scream at him to leave and that amounted to the same thing. He moved his head in denial of that happening. “Don’t. Let’s not fight. Not today. I want ...”
What did he want? He sniggered silently. You thought this could be a bit of fun and you could both laugh it off and move on. You are an arrogant prick who can’t even be honest with yourself, let alone someone else. You knew Jay would get hurt. There was no way to avoid it. This was no longer just fun for either of them, if it ever was and somehow, he doubted that as well. Another question presented itself. Just how much did he lie to the reflection he saw in the mirror every morning?
He held Jay in his arms, but there was no mistaking the tension in the other man’s body. Jay waited for him to finish talking and he didn’t know what to tell him. “Let us have one day of peace. No questions. No explaining. Definitely no worrying.”
It took a moment, but then Jay gave a soft laugh and the tension eased out of his body. Dean, who had inadvertently dipped his head in the tussle, became aware of the hard
stomach beneath the shirt, his face pressed into it. He breathed in and took in Jay’s scent. He smelled of warmth in a way that spoke of home, as if he were a place you could return to and always receive a welcome. Dean frowned. Jay was the one adrift, unsure of his future, not knowing if to change his job or study beforehand. Where were the dates, the evenings out, the lovers? With what did Jay fill his days and nights? Dean’s future was clear. He liked his job and soon he would run the business. There was plenty of time to think of a family, or if he even wanted one. Of course, that depended on meeting the right woman. Either way, he would never lack for company and being alone never worried him. He was a loner ‑‑ sociable, but a loner all the same.
His grip tightened until Jay winced. Afraid he might crack one of Jay’s ribs, he tried to ease up, but discovered he couldn’t let go. If he were such a loner, why worry about what other people thought? Why would it even cross his mind to think over what they would say if they could see him now, down on his knees, hugging Jay, breathing in his scent, burying his face against him?
Jay’s hands moved to stroke over the back of his neck, his shoulders. Dean almost laughed, but he couldn’t manage it. He could only raise a small smile as those small, slender hands worked their way over him. They roamed, covered a lot of area; his shoulders were the widest part of him. The touch conveyed comfort, not sex.
“What’s wrong with you?” Jay said on a whisper, and Dean shuddered. The hands paused, and then made wider circles. Dean could only shake his head and snuggle in closer. “Dean, you’re scaring me.”
He was scaring himself. He pulled back, looked away, kept his face averted. “Just drop it, please. Let’s just spend the day as we planned.” It struck him as odd that they arranged this, but here they were. Later, they planned to watch TV, order a takeaway, eat popcorn, drink wine, or in Dean’s case, he might make that a few beers. It felt as though he hung on by a knife-edge right now. He so did not want to analyse his feelings. If Jay pushed him to face them, to discuss this, he rather feared he might start crying. The very idea frightened him. He was Dean Chapman. Big Dean Chapman, and that wasn’t a reference to the size of his cock, though that reflected his stature. Men, especially big men, should not cry, particularly when they didn’t even understand why.
Aware he fed himself more bullshit, Dean struggled to his feet. “What shall we order? Pizza, Chinese or curry?”
“It’s a bit early to think about that.”
“Not when it’ll take you ages to decide.” Refusing to look Jay in the eye, he hurried away to fetch the menus.
Chapter Nine
Taking a handful of popcorn, Jay risked a glance in Dean’s direction. The man’s gaze looked glued to the screen, but he couldn’t tell how absorbed with the movie the big man actually was. Earlier, they’d eaten dinner in silence until Dean said, “We should have gone to my place and watched TV there.”
Naturally, he meant the huge widescreen TV he owned. “If you mention the size, I’ll accuse you of boasting.” That raised a grin, but Dean refused to look at him. Jay tried not to think about the equally large bed that dominated Dean’s bedroom. He certainly didn’t want to think about all the things Dean had done on it over the years with other people.
Something bothered the big man tonight, and although Jay could sense it, he couldn’t understand it. He recalled Dean earlier, down on his knees, those big arms wrapped around him. He could hardly breathe and even imagined he heard a rib creak at one point, but he’d done nothing to make the larger man let go of him. The closest thing he could liken it to was angst, but that made no sense. Out of the two of them, he should be the one suffering anxiety.
To think, he finally had what he wanted and the only thing wrong with it was that it couldn’t last. It couldn’t go anywhere. Only he could get involved with a bi-curious friend who would treat him like shit without meaning any malice aforethought. He wanted to punch whoever invented that phrase.
Dean would leave him after some indeterminate time. Dean would leave him. He accepted that for he could see no alternative. Dean would take over his father’s business, marry, have the requisite number of children and live happily ever after. Not to mention he would buy a dog, as well as a cat, because he was just soppy enough to do that. It always struck Jay as odd that others couldn’t see it. Didn’t they know what a big, stupid, soppy teddy bear Dean was? Oh, he was arrogant with it. Overconfident, bigheaded, condescending at times, conceited ... Jay sighed. The problem was Dean had reason to be. Well, maybe not so much the bigheaded or condescending part, but why shouldn’t he be confident? As for conceited, the guy could take the word and beat Adonis over the head with it. Yeah. As if a guy like Dean could look in a mirror and not know he was handsome. It wasn’t even conceit when you thought about it. Dean never referred to it. Other people mentioned his looks and he played up to it, but if they said nothing, he said nothing, or if he did, he meant it as teasing. Maybe Dean was a little oblivious to other people’s feeling sometimes, but Jay now thought that maybe people wanted to see the wrong side of him. It was as though they needed to locate his flaws to see him as less than perfect. Dean wasn’t perfect. He was ... lonely?
Jay’s gaze flickered towards the other man. Having no idea where the thought sprung from, now he couldn’t shake it. The idea of Dean lonely made him choke on a laugh. How could someone like Dean Chapman be lonely? People wanted to either be him, or be with him. Suddenly feeling a little sick, Jay eyed the bowl of popcorn warily. Was he just another one of those that wanted to be with Dean? Was that how Dean saw him?
He shook his head, actually doing it in reality, glad when Dean failed to notice. It wasn’t the same. He’d loved Dean for a long time. If it were some passing fancy, he would know by now. If all he suffered was an itch that required scratching, well Dean had well and truly scratched it. Jay wanted the sex, but he wanted what came afterwards. He wanted to lie and watch Dean sleeping beside him and that he couldn’t have, not for long. He could have tonight, though, and maybe a few others like it. If that counted as selling out, no doubt his signature would have the dark, reddish-brown colour of dried blood. If the choice was never having an intimate moment with Dean or having to accept it wouldn’t continue, he would still chose the moment. Maybe that made him a sad sap, but he could enjoy it while it lasted or he could spend the time moping and be left with nothing but a painful memory. Once the grieving ended, he would like to look back and be able to smile once in awhile.
Credits rolled up the screen and Jay blinked. He’d completely missed the end of the movie. He sat slouched, his feet pointing into the corner of the room towards the TV. Dean sat on his left, but he sat upright on the edge, looking intent. The film finished, now Dean flicked through the channels trying to find the Cricket scores. England was playing down under. He’d never truly cared for Cricket and when he said so, Dean confessed he didn’t care all that much for it either. His father enjoyed the game, though, and Dean just wanted England to win on principal; that made Jay laugh.
“Don’t you always want England to win?” Dean asked.
“I guess so.” You couldn’t help it. It just varied by degrees depending on the competition. Against Australia, it was just a question of batting for your country. He gave a thought to what it would be like to have Christmas somewhere warm. The season approached swiftly and his plans were the same every year, to visit his parents.
Wishing to fill the silence, Jay remarked that he’d rather watch motor-racing and received a surprised look from Dean in response. “What? You think you’re the only one that likes cars?”
“No, I just ...” Dean shrugged. “I guess I didn’t think ...” Slight rouge infused his face.
“If you say a gay man can’t like sports and especially something as butch as motor-racing, I don’t care how big you are, I’m going to slap you.” He watched Dean open his mouth and close it again, apparently having second thoughts about arguing. “I thought you’d love motor-racing,” Jay told him.
; “If you say a car is just a car, I’m the one that will do the slapping. I don’t care for it that much. I always considered it a waste of petrol.”
Jay gaped, sat there aware his mouth was open, but he couldn’t close it. Finally, he managed to laugh, then grin, and then he flicked popcorn at the other man. “Don’t tell me. You see it as petrol that you could put to better use. Like in one of those cars you get to tinker with.”
Dean flicked some popcorn back. One piece hit Jay on the nose and then skipped away, rolling somewhere under the coffee table. “I do not tinker,” he growled. Jay liked the sound of it.
“No?”
“No.” Those so blue eyes narrowed so that all Jay could see was a blue line in each. Oddly, it made him think of catching a glimpse of the ocean on a distant horizon. “I know exactly what fits where,” Dean concluded. He made a grab for Jay’s ankle.
Not expecting it, Jay jumped. The popcorn bowl, balanced on the sofa between them, shifted. He went to make a grab for it and only succeeded in hitting the edge of the bowl. It rose into the air, flipping as it did so. In something surprisingly akin to slow motion, Jay watched it somersault, the contents flying out in a crispy shower. It covered the floor, him, and the sofa.
Turning, Jay slipped to the floor on his knees. Even as he heard and felt the crunch of popcorn under his knees, pieces of it slipped into his clothing. Laughing, Dean joined him in scooping up what they could find back into the bowl.
“I guess we won’t be eating this.”
Jay looked at the bowl in Dean’s hand. Even though he’d hoovered two days ago, bits of dark fluff stood out against the pale roundels of puffed corn. He shook his head in agreement. “No. I don’t think so.”
“I guess we’ll have to eat the chocolates.”
Unbelievably, he hadn’t scoffed the lot. The squashed ones were gone, but the second box remained virtually intact. Only one was missing. As Dean lifted the lid of the box, Jay went from searching for popcorn in the dark recesses of the sofa, to searching the inside of his shirt. On his knees, he shook his shirt away from his body and three pieces fell out to roll across the carpet to come to a halt near Dean’s feet.
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