by Z. Allora
He slowed the strokes to allow Fantasy Tristan to tilt Phillip’s head to the right. He could almost feel an intake of breath as Tristan’s mouth hovered over his.
Yes! Tristan’s soft lips touched his. Sparks of need ignited with Tristan’s unsure glide. The sweet hesitation thrilled Phillip.
Phillip parted his lips, hoping he’d be taken up on the invitation.
Tristan’s unpracticed reluctance wasn’t about him playing hard to get, but his inexperience. All the daydreams of happily ever after that had long since died in Phillip suddenly resurrected like the undead.
Yes, yes, yes. He’d be Tristan’s love… in fantasy. What could it hurt?
On a harsh groan, Phillip grabbed Tristan by his poorly styled hair and pressed their lips together. This held none of the harsh selfish taking Phillip had become used to. No, this kiss tripped into a shared surrender, incredibly sweet.
Honeyed didn’t mean their kisses didn’t grow desperate. The chorus of the grunts and the skin on skin meeting of the video coming to a climax didn’t add to the experience, but shadowed it. He slapped his laptop closed.
Once the intrusion had been quieted, the imagery morphed and became all about the tightly bound Tristan kissing him back. Wanting Phillip… loving Phillip… and losing control.
The submission pushed Phillip into being the greedy one. He took, but he gave Tristan everything he had. While his mind could go forever, the reality of hours being aroused tackled him. Edging the pleasure was no longer an option.
To the vision of kissing Tristan, he came hard. Trying not to overanalyze anything, he swiped the cum with the end of his sheet and snuggled into his new body pillow. Pretending the cozy form held him like Tristan might wasn’t meant for conscious scrutiny. Though it did make for an incredible night’s sleep.
THE NEXT day, Monique got in Phillip’s face as soon as he walked into the salon. “Why didn’t you text me back last night?”
“I was getting off, and I needed two hands.”
She rolled her sparkling eyes. “So was I, but I only needed one dick.”
“Chris helping you out?” Chris played the role of their best friend since high school. About a year ago, Monique started having sex with Chris, as if they could be just fuck buddies without falling for each other or taking down a ten-year friendship in the aftermath.
Monique grinned.
Shit! Smelled of disaster to him, but what did the gay one know about the lies straight people told themselves. Maybe they could turn off their feelings like he did. Though, he’d seen how Chris stared at Monique as if she embodied everything he’d ever hoped for in the world. Phillip refused to ponder whether Tris—anyone would ever look at him that way.
“Oh, and the phone rang as soon as I opened this morning. You’ve got a new client. See? I told you getting rated on those review sites would help you. Now we have to get a website and more of a presence on social media.”
Restraining a sigh and not saying his Grindr account should be the extent of his social media campaign showed his maturity as he set out his sanitized combs, clips, and scissors. Monique was a powerhouse and had decided she and Phillip should open a spa together before they were thirty. With her determination, they just might. He spun his favorite shears into the holster attached to his belt. Made him feel like he was playing cowboy, but it was convenient.
“Here, I started a sheet for you.” She handed him the clipboard.
He glanced at the name. “Shit.”
“You know him?”
Phillip glanced in the mirror to make sure he didn’t have spinach from the breakfast frittata in his teeth and then added a bit of wax to his hair. “I met him yesterday. I didn’t think he’d take me up on my offer.”
Monique mimicked a hand job, then a blowjob. “Which one?”
His growl died as the door opened.
Tristan ambled in.
Fuck! Even with a shitty haircut, the man looked good. The sunlight danced off his natural highlights.
As he stood in the entranceway, there seemed a sweet shyness about him that made Phillip—no, made Phillip’s cock—take notice.
Tristan dropped his glasses case as he swapped his sunglasses for his regular specs. He bent over and grabbed it off the floor.
Monique hmmm-mmmed.
Phillip gave her his best back-up-bitch glare, which she met with her I’m-innocent big eyes and her glamorous smirk.
Monique’s elbow introduced itself to his gut. But instead of moving him toward the reception area, Phillip ducked around the corner and into the supply closet.
What the hell? Avoidance wasn’t him, but he hadn’t expected to see his masturbatory material walk in for a haircut first thing. He decided it was lack of coffee that caused him to peer through the partially open door.
Monique’s voice reached Phillip’s safe haven. “Hello. You must be Mr. Cooper.”
“Um, yeah. Tristan.”
That deep uncertain voice did things it shouldn’t to Phillip.
Monique was probably showing off her professionally bleached teeth as she asked, “May I call you Tristan?”
Tristan pushed his glasses back on his nose. “Of course.”
“I’m Monique. Follow me. I’ll see where Phillip is hiding. May I get you some coffee or water?”
Fuck! He wasn’t hiding. He needed a moment to get his Phillip on and to ignore the little happy skip in his heart and don his “I couldn’t give two shits” attitude. Rejection didn’t pierce this armor… much.
Monique chatted with Tristan as she put a cape on him, but she only got one-word, polite responses. Phillip hadn’t underestimated the man’s need to be undone. God, he was terribly uptight and shy.
Phillip stepped out of the proverbial closet and strutted to his station. “Hi, Tristan. I’m glad you came in.”
Tristan’s cheeks got a bit red. “Phillip. Oh… me too. The library opens at 11:00 a.m. So I had some time today, and you had an available appointment. I thought… carpe diem.”
Ignoring the weird fluttery feelings just being close to Tristan seemed to cause, Phillip quipped, “Are you talking dirty to me, Tristan?”
“What? No! I… it means seize the day.”
“I know what it means.” And like that, the power and confidence Phillip had wobbled. Tristan must think him an imbecile. This was the first time he didn’t want to live down to negative expectations, so he smiled and put a hand on Tristan’s shoulder. “So, what made you come in today?”
“It’s time for a change.”
Phillip understood the feeling. “Come over to the sink. I’ll shampoo you.”
Monique tilted her head but didn’t question why Phillip had decided to shampoo Tristan instead of allowing Hope, who waited nearby, to do her job. Hope, the very capable shampoo person, shrugged and went into the storeroom to busy herself. Monique folded her arms and stood in judgment.
Phillip muttered on the way past her, “I don’t need a guardian.”
Monique murmured back, “Don’t you?” Thankfully, customers and the ringing phone pulled her to the front desk.
Phillip settled Tristan into the shampoo chair, moved the cape so it fell between the sink and chair, and then adjusted the water temperature.
Tristan squirmed. “Have you cut hair long?”
“I got my license the summer after high school graduation.” He wet Tristan’s hair with warm water, then pumped a clean-smelling shampoo into the palm of his hand.
“My barber’s been cutting hair for about a hundred years.” Tristan showed off teeth that weren’t quite straight as his words morphed into a moan.
Phillip bit back his smile. He’d activated his fingers of pleasure; all succumbed to their power. “Like that?”
Tristan let his eyes slide shut and gave the sweetest little gasp. “Yeah. He doesn’t shampoo mmmmmme either.”
God, the sounds of surprised bliss were going right through Phillip, making him need more. He put focused effort into his rubbing.
>
Tristan squirmed, stilled, and swallowed.
Phillip rinsed the shampoo out and finger-combed in conditioner.
Finally, Tristan sagged farther into the chair. “You’re really good at that.”
Biting back the I’m good at lots of things, Phillip simply said, “Thank you.” He rinsed the conditioner out and then helped the dazed Tristan stand. With a hand on his lower back, Phillip guided him into the waiting chair.
Phillip caught Tristan’s lowered-lidded stare in the mirror, and the connection made him blush. He motherfucking absolutely didn’t blush! What the hell? He cleared his throat, then asked, “So how would you like it?”
Tristan widened his metallic gray eyes.
“I mean… a….” And since when couldn’t Phillip meet a double entendre with a filthy rejoinder? “How do you want me… to cut your hair?”
Tristan’s sheepish grin made Phillip’s cock ache and his mouth water. Maybe he could hook up with one of his fuck buddies at lunch.
Tristan fluffed his fingers through his wet hair and shrugged. “This is how I’ve been wearing my hair, so I’m obviously not qualified to make that decision.”
Phillip chuckled. “I’ll take care of you.”
Monique leaned around the corner. “I’m telling you we should get T-shirts that say, ‘Phillip had his way with me.’”
Tristan stared way too deep into Phillip’s eyes and claimed, “I trust you.”
Fuck! No one trusted him… well, not guys, anyway, except Chris, and he didn’t count. “I’m going to put some layers in and leave the length.”
“You think I should keep my hair this long?” Tristan flicked his fingers through the length.
“Not long. I’m thinking about here, a little past the nape of your neck.” Phillip let his fingers trace along the exposed skin of Tristan’s neck.
Tristan shivered. “Whatever you want.”
All Phillip’s pubescent dreams of happily ever after—that he’d buried when his high school crush, Mickey Falsom, told him, “All you’re good for is sucking cock”—came raging to the surface, invading Phillip’s heart.
He hated that there might be some truth in Mickey’s words. The fact that he seemed hell-bent on living down to those expectations wasn’t lost on him. But right now, staring at this shy, kind, and gentle man in the mirror, he had to struggle with containing his unleashed wishes.
Pushing aside his desires for what he could never have, he gave Tristan a nod.
After five minutes of clip, snip, and combing, Phillip realized he should say something. “I really enjoyed meeting your grandfather.”
Tristan tried to nod, but Phillip stopped him. “Sorry. Yeah, he’s a great guy. Yours is terrific too.”
“They… um, seem to be good friends.” Phillip tried to be tactful. He didn’t have a clue if Tristan noticed the chemistry between their grandfathers.
Tristan caught his gaze in the mirror. “So that wasn’t me? Is something going on between them?”
“I haven’t a clue, but there seemed to be something. Is your grandfather gay?”
Tristan shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t—he’d never…. He was with my grandmother until she died five years ago.”
“Maybe he’s bisexual?”
Tristan pressed his lips together as he appeared to contemplate that but then said, “I don’t know. Maybe. Is your grandfather?”
Phillip shook his head. “Nah, he’s gay. He and my grandmother had an understanding. Now she lives with her best friend in the same complex.”
“Really? That’s wild.” Tristan gave him a heart-stopping grin. “You think we need to give them a talk about safe sex?”
“Nah, my granddaddy would take care of that.” Phillip made quick work of Tristan’s hair.
“I’m glad things are changing.”
Phillip dusted him off with a fluffy pink brush to remove all the clipped hair and then removed the cape. He swept the brush along Tristan’s neck, and then he fixed his collar. So what if he let his fingers graze along the warm skin? It wasn’t like he undid the top button of Tristan’s shirt like his fingers itched to do. He swiveled Tristan away from the mirror and used the new mousse that came in last week and a hair dryer for five minutes.
He twirled the chair around to show Tristan he looked even more mouthwateringly delicious. “Take off your glasses.”
Tristan pulled off his glasses like he was the Clark Kent of librarians, providing Phillip with a month’s worth of jackoff material.
“God, you’re gorgeous.”
Tristan squinted at himself in the mirror and then put his glasses back on. “No, it’s a good haircut. Thank you.”
Was the guy serious? The frown on Tristan’s face suggested this wasn’t false modesty.
PHILLIP CHECKED his phone for something to do other than lust after a guy way too sweet for him.
U up to suck at lunch?
He didn’t restrain the eye roll when he typed back.
With a romantic prop like that how can I say no?
Be here at 12.
Demanding fuck. He stared at the text, no different than a hundred others he’d gotten over the years. Straightforward, direct, and no effort. All interchangeable, but then cock was cock.
This guy who Phillip gave a false name to had a nice eight-incher and could host in an apartment three blocks away. He’d spent many lunch hours on his knees sucking off this near stranger… and others like him.
At 11:50, he made a flimsy excuse to Monique. “So I’m going for a walk.”
“You know, they sell knee pads at the gardening store down the street. They might come in handy,” Monique suggested in her helpful way.
“Shall I get you some too?”
The quick-witted bitch grinned. “In pink if they have them.”
He growled and left. Why had he never noticed the quickest way to the man he’d often sucked went right past the library? He couldn’t resist a peek over there.
Tristan was hanging a poster on the inside of the window about the community meetings the library hosted. He caught sight of Phillip and a thousand-watt smile lit his face.
Phillip’s silly heart backflipped, and he smiled at the librarian.
Tristan gestured to him to come over as he stepped outside.
Instead of waving him off, Phillip hurried across the street, anxious to hear what the man wanted to say. “Hey. What’s up?”
“I wanted to thank you again. Everyone’s telling me how good my haircut looks.” He beamed with a pure bright happiness, and pink tinted his cheeks.
“I’m glad, but I only updated your style. You’ve got great hair.” Phillip reached out and fussed with a piece, partly because of the rights bestowed upon him by the Board of Cosmetology and as a hairdresser he was morally bound to do so, but mostly because he wanted to touch Tristan.
Tristan pointed down the street. “I’m doing a coffee run. Do you have time to join me?”
The hope in Tristan’s voice would usually have been a warning alarm. A shrill siren to get the fuck away and fast, but for the first time since he’d known better, Phillip purposefully turned off reality. “Sure.”
They strolled down the street, and Tristan asked, “Are you from Albany?”
“Schenectady. You?”
“I’m from Colonie. I went to Rutgers for my master’s in Library Science.”
“I—” Phillip’s cell buzzed, and he pretended not to hear. He didn’t need a reminder of where he was supposed to be heading.
“You moved back here after you graduated?” Again his pocket got noisy. He ignored the vibrating buzz.
“Yes, um, if you want to get that. It might be your shop or a customer.”
Phillip shook his head. “Nah.” Though it did feel annoyingly like work all of a sudden.
At 12:05 his phone sang, “When I Think About You, I Touch Myself.”
Tristan asked, “You need to get that?”
“No.” He racked his brain for something
to say to this man. The fact that he felt tongue-tied around Tristan made him mad and confused and more than a little horny.
At 12:08 Phillip’s cell sang out again.
“You should get that.”
If only to stop that obnoxious song. Phillip nodded.
“Where the hell are you? I’ve got a hard dick out and no mouth to fuck!” The harsh words seemed to echo between them.
There was no hope Tristan hadn’t heard the asshole. Phillip ended the call without responding and found he couldn’t look in Tristan’s direction. “Sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry. Am I keeping you from your… boyfriend?”
When the uncomfortable silence got too loud, Phillip forced out the truth. “He’s not my boyfriend.”
“If you need to go… I get it. Really I do.”
The tone suggested Tristan didn’t get it in the least, which made Phillip super happy for him and kind of sad for himself. Scrambling, he tried to explain. “He’s not my boyfriend. We sometimes… you know, get together… for fun.”
“Sounds enjoyable.” Tristan put a hand out, blocking Phillip from stepping into the road directly in front of a car.
Phillip wanted to agree, but Tristan watching out for his well-being highlighted the bold contrast of what he didn’t have with these other men. As appealing as it might have been to hide behind the wild sexiness of a bit of naughty delight in the afternoon, even that was denied him. “No, it doesn’t. He’s an asshole.”
“So why do you—see him?”
Phillip shrugged. It was a cock to suck.
Tristan shook his head. “Sorry, none of my business.”
This was such a terrible idea. Phillip was committed to following through, so he continued their march toward the coffee shop to the music of Tristan’s wheels turning, trying to process Phillip’s… what? Life? Decisions? Sexual adventures?
“Please at least let me get your lunch,” Tristan begged, and it might be one of the few times a guy didn’t mean for him to ingest a liquid one.
“Nah, I got it.” He couldn’t let Tristan pay, so once Tristan’s transaction was complete, Phillip ordered a latte and grabbed a wrapped sandwich.
