by C P Harris
When we walked through the condo doors, he beelined for the stairs, telling me in a robotic tone, “I want to be alone.”
Damon never wanted to be alone.
“I’ll be here if you need me.”
“How can you be here when you’ve already left?” he asked, ascending the steps. His voice was hauntingly cold.
Exhausted and shook up by the whole ordeal, I flopped down onto the sofa, rubbing my temples. Praying for sleep to take me.
“Justin.”
“Hmmm.”
“Justin, wake up.”
I squinted. Blake stood above me, wearing an alarmed expression. “What time is it?” I asked, sitting up and swinging my legs to the floor.
“Three in the morning. You’re bleeding,” he said, bringing a hand to my cheek.
“It’s Damon’s blood. I’m fine.” Pinning him with my stare, I noticed that he was clean, with a fresh bandage wrapped around his right hand. Damon must have showered before going to bed.
“At least it’s not the hand I sign checks with,” he said, trying to make light of it, but I wasn’t in the mood for jokes.
“How much do you know?” I asked.
“The last full memory I have is getting out of the cab at Elite. Other than that, there’s a few images that came through here and there. Enough for me to fill in the blanks.”
“He needed you, and you weren’t there.” I didn’t say it accusingly; I merely wanted to know if he had a choice in the matter.
“That part is news to me. I didn’t feel anything.”
“I’m too tired to try and figure out what that means.” Fetching his good hand, I said, “I need you.”
Instead of removing his bottoms like he normally would after such a request, he sat next to me, bringing my hands to his lips. He looked depleted and resigned. And I refused to peer any deeper than that. I didn’t want to handle the truth. “Blake,” I whispered, gazing up at the ceiling. Don’t leave…
“Lay with me,” he said, stretching himself out. “I’ll hold you until you fall back to sleep.”
That wasn’t why I spoke his name. I wouldn’t cry. I’d cried enough for one night. I swallowed hard and nodded, crawling onto him until I rested on his chest.
He sighed, “I love you, Justin.”
His steady heartbeat lured me to sleep.
Chapter Twenty-One
I woke up on the couch with a stiff neck and Blake staring out the window into the morning fog.
He looked my way briefly before focusing once again on the mist. “Something within my body feels different. I feel different. I can’t put a name to that difference, though. It’s too unfamiliar.”
Damon, not Blake. The two were starting to become so similar, I was losing track of who was who. His eyes flared with alarm when I stood, heading for him. Then I remembered him wanting to be alone last night, and his shouted words to me in the car: “Don’t touch me.”
“Damon, why won’t you let me near you?” I asked, approaching him cautiously.
“Because the feeling intensifies when you’re close. I don’t like it.” he snapped.
I stopped moving any closer. Instead, I reached out to put my hand on his shoulder. He tensed up. I pulled away. “Do you remember everything from last night?”
“It’s kind of hard to forget with this throbbing pain in my hand—” He paused. Unwilling to look at me, he asked, “Did I hurt you?”
“Not in the way you think. I can’t help but to hurt when I see you hurt, Damon.”
“Goddamn it,” he muttered, wincing after he attempted to run his injured hand through his hair. Going into the kitchen to retrieve the painkillers from the cabinet over the sink, I walked them over to him, asking him to explain how he was feeling.
“I’m angry, no surprise there. It’s not the sharpness that I usually thrive off of, though. There’s heaviness to this anger. Like the weight of it is too much to bear. I feel like I’m being pulled under... something, somehow. Fuck!” He threw his hands in the air.
I ventured a guess. Damon’s default setting was mild annoyance if not outright anger. He was sensitive, and so his feelings got hurt often, and he had an aptitude for self-pity. But those small flickers of emotions played the background to his anger.
“Is it sadness?” I asked.
He thought about it for a while.
“You’ve felt that before, haven’t you?”
“Sadness,” he said as if he was tasting the word. Seeing how it felt on his tongue. “A long, long time ago. In the back of a dark, small closet.” Swallowing two pills dry, he confirmed, “Yeah, this may be that. It’s been so long, though. How can I be sure?”
“Do you want to see if Julie can squeeze us in today? I don’t have to be back in Chadwick until tomorrow.”
He pressed his forehead against the window. “No. Not today.”
“I’m giving up the apartment.” I was willing to try anything to perk him up.
“Is that so?” He turned and stalked toward me.
“Yes. I don’t need it. I’m not leaving you, Damon. I never had any intention to.”
“You don’t need it. And of course you’re never leaving me, no matter what your intentions may or may not have been. If I ever gave you the impression that you had a choice, I apologize.”
“Well, I see something is not so different.”
“Come for a run with me, and then we’ll work out in the gym,” he said.
“Damon, you know I don’t like lifting weights. I dance. I don’t want to bulk.” How many times did I have to tell him this?
“But today you’ll do it.” He strode past me like his word was law.
“Damon!” Counting to three, I continued. “You don’t have to put a cherry on top of the asshole to overcompensate for your new feelings. Your normal level of arrogance is more than enough.”
Several heartbeats later, he confessed, “I want you with me.”
Those words were unexpected, and his pinched brow told me how much it took for him to say them. Oh, yes, something is definitely different.
“I’ll keep you company while you work out. I can do that.”
He nodded. “No touching. Not yet.”
“That’s going to be hard, but I’ll try.”
Damon remained glued to my side for days, taking time off work and even sitting in on my dance classes at the community center. Normally, this would be okay, but we hadn’t touched, not so much as a kiss, and his mood shifted constantly. Plus, I was a little anxious about not having seen any sign of Blake since the early morning hours after the incident at Elite. He didn’t say it, but Damon worried as well.
On day five, he couldn’t put off going into the office any longer, and that morning, I finally received a moment of privacy where I could take care of myself in the shower. I took my time as the water beat down on me. Thinking about sex and love and why I found it impossible to absorb one without the other. Why did Damon and I feel like strangers if he wasn’t raging at me while ripping my clothes off? And why did I feel like I would shatter into a million pieces if Blake didn’t give me all of him while taking all of me?
I’d made great personal progress on one level, but growth—I was discovering—was an ever-moving thing.
I’d been astride the shower bench, fucking myself onto the dildo suctioned to the surface. I picked up the pace, and, with one hand splayed in front of me holding myself up, I jerked my cock with the other. I came in silence, lowering myself to my forearm, riding out the tremors. Unable to resist, I ran a finger through my cum, bringing it to my lips.
I would learn to be loved without needing proof in the form of copulation. It would be garnered and nurtured by action and not reaction. But I couldn’t abandon human touch in its simplest form. Affectionate by nature, I desperately missed their hands on my flesh in some way. Something had to give, and soon.
A few weeks later, we were still stuck in the same rut. We’d been to see Julie twice, and each visit, she’d asked us
if there was any progress made with our assignment. The answer always “No.” Damon wouldn’t let me get near enough to try anything.
During our second visit, Julie had asked, “What would be some examples, Damon, of situations between you and Justin that you would normally have Blake handle?”
“Dealing with him on an emotional level and making love to him would be the first two that come to mind,” Damon said.
“Making love to him?”
“Yes. I fuck him, I don’t make love to him.”
“And why is that?
“That would require…”
“That would require what?” she nudged.
“I... would... need…”
“Just breathe, lower your head between your legs, and count backwards from one hundred. You’re experiencing a panic attack.”
In my opinion, that session was a complete failure, but Julie insisted the opposite. The fact that Damon had the attack meant his brain was trying to deal with the situation on its own. Without the interference of Blake. Hearing Blake reduced to an “interference” made my heart scream.
“Be patient, Justin. It’s not going to be fixed overnight,” she’d said.
Days later, I showed up at the center a little early. Pete was already there running through the routine. He appeared metaphorically lighter every time I saw him, and I searched around the empty floor space, asking, “Hey, are you missing something? Where’s your load?”
I got an eye roll full of teenage angst for that. “I left it outside.”
“Did you bring anything in with you?” I asked in mock outrage.
“Only me.” His lips twitched.
“Who’s ‘only me?’” I feigned confusion.
He let his smile off its leash, blinding me in its magnificence. “Pete. Just Pete,” he said.
I opened my arms wide, and he stepped into them. “And that’s more than enough for me.”
“Are you ready for today’s auditions?” I asked.
“Born ready.” He went into Plié for what I assumed would be just a 540 jump but ended up being a Revoltade. His long, lanky body twisted gracefully in the air, landing in Plié and transitioning smoothly to one knee.
“Dear God, I’ve created a monster.” We laughed at my horror.
“Ah, Mr. Justin?” His voice timid.
“What’s up?”
“I don’t know if you know this, but Mr. Max has been paying for my treatments. My hormone therapy,” he clarified.
“No, I didn’t know that.” I could tell he was relieved that his trust in Max wasn’t misplaced.
“Yeah, I figured he wasn’t the type to tell anyone. Debbie and I have different dads. He loves her, dotes on her. Me, he tolerates—barely. Anyway, I ran away a few years ago when he convinced Mom to stop paying for dance. Said it was messing with my head. I would come here every day and watch them build this place. I thought I was hiding out, but then I’d show up to find food and other items waiting for me.”
“Max,” I said.
“Yeah, Max. After a while I stopped hiding—obviously doing a poor job of it. Eventually, I opened up to him. He got my mom to take me back in, and she allowed him to find me the right doctors and pay the medical bills. Takes me to all my appointments. He told my mom that if it ever became too much for her, he’d be willing to take guardianship over me. I think that made her feel like shit. Her pride and all, you know?”
“Yeah, I know.”
The other kids started pouring in, and before Pete walked off, I said, “Thanks for sharing that with me, Pete. I know it wasn’t easy.”
“Talking to you is actually one of the easiest things I’ve ever had to do.”
“Are you trying to make a grown man cry, Pete?”
He chuckled and called me a dork.
The conversation left me inspired, and I promised myself I’d get Damon to agree to start Julie’s assignment. If Pete could be brave, then so could I.
Max and I sat chatting in the kitchen at the Chadwick house about my plans to speak with the chancellor at The OBH about Pete. I was in the middle of filling him in on their apprenticeship program when Damon strolled in. He wore a suit, again. I eyed him up and down, my brows lowered.
“I’m Damon,” he confirmed through a clenched jaw.
“Hey, Damon,” Max said.
Damon offered him a grunt and then said to me, “Can I see you upstairs?” He spoke without inflection.
“Sure.” Peering over my shoulder, I winked at Max, which seemed to help relax him. To the untrained eye, it would appear like Damon had plans for my murder.
We entered the bedroom, and I jumped ahead of whatever he had to say. “I’d like to test out the assignment tomorrow night. You’ve stalled long enough. I’ll be there for you every step of the way, Damon. We’re in this together—”
“Fine.”
Too stunned to close my mouth. I had a whole speech practiced and memorized. I had counters for every foreseeable disagreement he could have. I’d prepared for war. “Okay. I’m meeting Sam in the city for lunch tomorrow. I’ll come to the condo after.”
He nodded and waved at me dismissively. Too worked up by whatever was on his mind to care about what he’d just agreed to. “Every time I see you with him, I want to rip you the fuck open. I keep hoping that will change since you insist on being his friend, but this may be one of those things that simply is what it is.” He moved closer. “If I ever get any indication that he’s trying to be more than friends, I will harm him.”
“Damon, it’s not like—”
“If I ever get any indication that you return his feelings…” He let the sentence hang, straightening his tie. “Therapy can only take me so far. You’d do well to remember that.”
I stood taller. “Don’t threaten me, Damon.” I playfully plucked his nose. He frowned at that, but I was too happy to get upset with him. “Have you taken your medicine today?” I asked. Knowing he wasn’t on any medication.
Grabbing my hair, he brought his nose to mine. “Don’t make me fuck you, and I won’t cover your mouth. I’ll send you back down there leaking me, saturated with my smell. My scent pouring out of your mouth. A nice little he’s mine message for Mr. Max.”
I scowled at him for mimicking the kids down at the center when saying ‘Mr. Max.’
“I’m not in a playful mood, Just,” he warned.
Pushing him away, I retorted, “When are you ever?”
“I’m going over to Ash’s, then heading to the city. I’ve got another early meeting. I’ll be ready to start Julie’s experiment tomorrow night.”
He’s handling meetings now? Blake was still a no-show then. I did my best to keep my face clear of any signs that the news disheartened me. I gave up the farce once he vacated the bedroom. I closed myself in, resting my forehead against the room door, trying to stave off the panic brewing inside me. I kept reminding myself that things would work out. Remember to be brave.
I arrived at the condo ahead of Damon the next evening in an effort to set the mood. I’d chosen the bedroom as our location. I lit candles, put music on, and had a tumbler filled with his favorite scotch waiting for him. I’d already downed a few fingers myself to put a muzzle on the angst.
We didn’t waste time once he got in, wanting to avoid pesky feelings, such as doubt and fear, from taking over. We stood fully dressed facing each other. “We’ll start slow. Run your hands through my hair,” I instructed.
“Like this?” He roughly stroked his hand over my head.
“A little gentler. Yeah, like that,” I said.
“This isn’t difficult at all. It won’t get my prick up, but it’s easy enough to do.”
“Okay, try unbuttoning my shirt and taking it off—slowly.”
“As opposed to prying it from your body?” He raised his brow.
“Yes, exactly.” We laughed, but it was filled with nerves.
He started on the top button, and it didn’t appear to be a challenge for him.
Shirt now on the floor, he looked to me for the next set of instructions, but his eyes weren’t brimming with heat. The assignment was starting to mess with my insecurities. I almost wanted to call it quits and have him take me with force if only to be reassured that he still wanted me.
“Intimacy,” I said. That’s what we were missing. It had nothing to do with soft touching and the slow removal of clothes. The type of intimacy we shared needed to be tested. He needed to be made to feel something while simultaneously doing these things. Something beyond his limits.
“Take off all your clothes,” I told him, and I did the same. I blew out all the candles, turned the music off and the lights on. No distractions. No hiding. I wanted us bare and open in every sense of the word. He peered around, not liking where things were going.
Standing in front of him, so close our toes touched, I retrieved one of his hands and placed it over my heart. The other I brought to my lips and planted open-mouthed kisses to his fingers and palm. We stood like this for a time; I didn’t take my eyes off him.
Damon blew a quick breath, becoming increasingly unsettled. “How long are we going to fucking hold this position, Just?” He wanted to pull away. I could tell by the stiffness of his wrist that I held, the sudden clamminess of his palm beneath my lips. I held him tighter.
“Tell me how you feel about me?”
“You know how I feel about you. You’re mine.” Agitation began to set in.
“Do you love me, Damon?”
He’d never verbally said it, and that was always okay with me. I knew why he couldn’t, and Blake told me enough for the both of them.
“Do you love me, Damon?” I repeated.
“Yes,” He pushed out roughly between thinned lips.
“Tell me. Please.”
Again, he attempted to pull away.
I continued laying kisses all over his hand, and he set out unsuccessfully to ball it into a fist.
He looked to the ceiling, “I—”
“No. Look at me.”