Christmas Angel

by Sharon Maria Bidwell

Again, Brian shook his head.

  “You’ll tick me off if you have a penchant for going silent.”

  Brian’s stare widened. His lips twitched and his expression broke, becoming gentle. “Fair enough. I never believed the ‘gay for you’ thing.”

  “The…?” What?

  “Gay for a particular someone. That’s saying a gay man can turn straight if he finds the right woman. Most people…there’s an inkling.”

  There had been. Dean had always made light of it. If his past troubled April so much after this measure of time…he supposed he understood.

  “Well, I saw things. Never took part.”

  What a thing to say. Why add that? Now, Dean felt embarrassed. He would not mention he had once written a gay series of detective novels—or rather a detective series where his main character was gay—because he didn’t do it now. He still wrote, but he wanted to venture into something more mainstream under his own name. With his first books, he’d made the character gay because it fitted the plot. Any other motives escaped his awareness, so no way to be sure. He assigned everything he read or watched to research.

  He sat thinking and, while he did, Brian studied him, Dean trying not to squirm under the scrutiny.

  “I don’t know. I guess there were signs. I never wanted a man before him. Not in a clear way. I’m not sure I can say I’m gay, though.” Heat flooded Dean’s face. “Well…I must be. I mean I’m not sure what label to put on my feelings. Not given it much thought. We’re doing okay, so why bother?”

  Brian stared out across the garden though, this time, he didn’t appear to focus on any one thing.

  “You say you don’t understand what you are?”

  Where was Brian going with this? Why? “Yes.” Simplifying, though a good enough way to express his feelings.

  “But you love Jay?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you still find you’re attracted to women though you’ve done nothing about the attraction?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t want to start off on the wrong foot with you, or any of the family, but sounds bisexual to me.”

  You got no idea what you’re saying. The thought flashed through Dean’s mind; the urge to argue winking out as fast. Accompanying anger—if it was what he felt—a momentary spark extinguished faster than it flared. Dean didn’t want to discuss this. Yet, he did. Brian was easy to talk with. He had a calm manner, a sparkling, dancing gaze, and a warm smile. A decided and refreshing lack of hostility left Dean open and receptive.

  Dean’s emotions…He wouldn’t want April to know, but sometimes, his own thoughts still troubled him. He didn’t doubt his love for Jay, determined to stay faithful, but what others thought of him, and why, gave Dean reason enough to question his own vows, though he didn’t do so much anymore.

  When Brian opened his mouth again, his words echoed Dean’s thoughts and gave him a real shiver.

  “I’m not saying April is right. I’m not saying let her upset you.”

  Dean needed a moment to work out the awkward phrasing. There had to be a but coming. Sure enough.

  “But I can see where she may have a point. Where she’s coming from, at least. You’re known as a womaniser, right?”

  Dean nodded, staring ahead. Shook his head. “I was.”

  “And you’ve never…been with another man? Other than Jay, I mean.”

  This time the phrasing showed, for all his forthrightness, Brian appeared self-conscious. Good. Nevertheless, Dean answered. “No. I…saw a few things.”

  “I take it you don’t mean porn?”

  How much of this would get back to April? Dean hesitated before he gave a terse nod. “No doubt April would say it had turned me gay, or this started with me acting out a fantasy with Jay.”

  Brian snorted, which helped to warm Dean to him again.

  “I don’t believe in such things. You can’t ‘turn’ someone gay and the acting out of a fantasy doesn’t take over three years. But as to my point…”

  The guy had one?

  “Even you can see how people might react. A well-known womaniser entering a gay relationship. From what April tells me, and what I heard today, you’re a little confused yourself. Nothing you’ve told me yet suggests otherwise.”

  Confused? Yes, sometimes. Dean gave Brian another nod, this one slower, more accepting. Fine. He’d listen but that didn’t mean he had to join in or to agree.

  “Ever thought of talking to someone?”

  Dean almost barked out a laugh. “I’m not going to any shrink.”

  “Not a psychiatrist. A counsellor.”

  “Same thing.”

  “Similar.

  “Semantics.”

  “Big word.”

  The two men laughed.

  “Good to see you two getting along.” April emerged from the kitchen to stand in the back doorway. Despite sounding happy, April’s expression struck Dean as full of suspicion, though it might be his own reservations doing his judging for him.

  “Care to toddle to the dining room? We’ll serve dinner soon.”

  “Be right there, sweetheart.”

  “Smart arse,” came her reply as she headed back inside.

  “True love.” Brian grinned.

  Possible. He showed every sign of being much in love. April might have a good one this time…even if Brian was somewhat forward. This, a first meeting and all. What was his motivation? Could be April hadn’t accepted Dean, pretended to do so. Something had to fuel Brian’s reaction. About what and how much had she complained?

  “Here.” Brian handed Dean his empty glass, freeing his hands to dig out his wallet. He extracted a business card, plain white, black curly writing with a touch of red. A name and the word therapist caught Dean’s eye.

  Good thing Dean held a glass object in each hand. The only violence possible was to shatter one or both, cut up his hands. Despite the caution, his grip tightened. Brian slipped the card into Dean’s shirt pocket.

  “She’s a counsellor. A good one.”

  “Yours?” Dean curbed the acidic bite of venom the word brought to his tongue. He painted a curl on his lips.

  Brian grinned at the question as he took back his glass, Dean letting go as if it grew hot. Maybe it did, owing to the heat of his boiling blood.

  “No. Our paths crossed, and it turns out she helped a relative of mine. And before you ask, we’re not friends. Anything you say to her would be confidential even if we were. I’ll tell her you might call.”

  “You on commission?” Dean couldn’t help it. He recognised the indicative signs of his emotions spinning into seriously pissed off. If Brian’s reaction was any way to judge, the man noticed. Brian froze, thoughts appearing to flit as winged mammals in the depths of his eyes.

  “Sorry. Again. Getting to be a habit. I only thought…” He shook his head. “You’re right. Not my business. Give it consideration…or don’t. Tear up the card. I…like you both. I know how April can be. I want her to be wrong.”

  “She is.”

  “I’m glad.” Brian gave him a smile that showed he believed him…but only ninety, maybe ninety-five percent.

  By an unspoken decision, the two men rose and went into dinner, Brian leading. They made their way across the deck to the back door, Dean giving Brian’s back a dark stare.

  Chapter 2

  The day, and the meal, had gone well. Full of excellent food and contented, Jay hadn’t given the time spent together as a sextet any thought until surrounded by the uncharacteristic hush of the homeward journey. They didn’t always talk in the car, but even in silence, Dean might put on the radio. Seldom did they spend quiet time together unless both were engrossed in a book. When they opted for no sound, the two men often shared glances, or a gentle knee squeeze.

  Tonight…Dean paid attention to the tarmac as if he headed to a personal and dark destination.

  For now, the best choice was to let him brood. No point trying to pry whatever annoyed the man out of him. Given ti
me, Dean was more likely to open up.

  With the decision made, Jay didn’t question when Dean marched straight to the bedroom, matching the speed to which traffic-free roads had allowed Dean to drive them home. Jay followed at a pace opposite to the rate in which Dean had placed his foot a fraction too hard on the accelerator.

  By the time Jay ascended the stairs, Dean had moved on from the bedroom. He’d stripped, evidence provided by a single sock abandoned on the floor, overlooked or disregarded. The man’s trousers were huddled in a heap and thrown on the room’s only chair. Dean’s dressing gown, hanging on the back of the bedroom door, gave a sure sign of Dean having walked naked to the bathroom. As Jay changed out of his clothes, the shower turned on.

  He slipped on his robe and glanced at the digital alarm clock beside the bed. A quarter to midnight; late, as he’d thought.

  When he pushed the bathroom door open, a thick enveloping blanket of steam blotted out any sight of Dean. Jay went in without hesitating as heat and moisture often set off the smoke alarm. Entering was akin to walking into a tropical greenhouse.

  Jay waved a hand, separating the fog. As the mist cleared, Dean stood revealed…tall, naked, hands bracketing the pipe that led to the spray control in the shower cubicle. His head hung. Water cascaded over his back, the temperature high enough to turn the room into a sauna. Dean’s skin took on a ruddy glow. The water caught the light and made him gleam, his muscles vibrantly defined.

  The captivating sight held Jay’s interest, until Dean glanced across, giving Jay a look he couldn’t interpret. Straightening, the man reached for a squirt of shower gel.

  The back view no more eased Jay’s instant arousal than the side view had. Nor did the movements of Dean’s hands spreading the soap, cleansing places only his, Jay’s fingers, and Jay’s tongue, ever explored.

  Any other night Jay might step into the cubicle with him and, despite his smaller size, stretch around, and gather up a little of the gel. He’d help to spread the soap, work the lather into every crease and crevice until the only thing left to need a wash…Dean’s erection; hot and hard and ready for him to grasp…

  Jay swallowed, slumped, bending his neck. Tonight, he didn’t think Dean would welcome his attention. A sense of wryness twisted Jay’s lips as he shook his head. Hard to recollect when he last dealt with disappointment.

  Resisting the urge to rub his fingers against his temples, he moved to the sink and prepared his toothbrush, setting it aside. He needed to wait until Dean finished because the water had a tendency to flash icy if someone turned on a tap elsewhere in the house. Seconds ticked by, a minute, two. He eyed the tap. If Dean didn’t hurry so Jay could take his turn, he might give in to the temptation to switch the tap on full.

  At last, the sound of running water ceased. Jay brushed as Dean stepped out, reaching for a towel. A patchy puzzle via the steamed-up bathroom mirror was the only glimpse of Dean. Maybe just as well. He didn’t want to see the man’s expression. Jay concentrated on rinsing his mouth, overly attentive to spitting. By then, Dean had left the room.

  Jay moved to the shower, disrobed, and stepped in. The sharp scent of the wash Dean loved to use assaulted his nostrils. While he liked it well enough on Dean, tonight the man’s shower gel annoyed him. How much had Dean used? Jay’s preferred cleanser had a milder note, less of a citrus tone. Dean often said it made him think of warmth—a hot drink, a cosy fire, the right smile, and the things he wanted to find waiting for him at home. Once, he’d said the same of Jay’s apple-scented shampoo. These days, Jay used other products, but Dean said he liked those, too. When Jay crawled into bed, maybe the familiar fragrance might help to bring Dean back to him, to ‘bring him home’, for he felt far away from Jay this evening. Jay took no time lathering up and fewer seconds rinsing. He didn’t want to risk Dean going to sleep before they exchanged a few words.

  Despite his haste, he feared he’d taken too long when the only light to shine in the bedroom came from the lamp on his side of the bed. Dean lay still, eyes closed, facing away.

  Too still.

  Jay relaxed. Dean only faked sleep. Jay shook his head as he hung up his dressing gown and then slipped into bed, glad they both slept naked. Without waiting, he curled up behind Dean, who tensed.

  He must have imagined it, but no; Dean had tautened for a moment there and even though he appeared to loosen, the movement came across as fake as Dean’s pretence at sleeping. Dean hadn’t behaved this way in a long while. What had happened? No way to ask without sounding indelicate.

  “Dinner went well.”

  “Humpfffff.”

  Jay rolled away, clasping his hands behind his head, elbows out to the sides. How to cope with this? How to handle a moody man? He glanced over and smirked. How did one handle a moody Dean, more like? His lover hadn’t acted this way in so long, something must have riled him.

  “Brian’s nice.”

  Silence. No movement from Dean’s side of the bed.

  “I think April found a good one.”

  Dean pulled the covers around, tucking in like a turtle, avoiding conversation. A fleeting but thorough rendition of emotions—amusement, concern, frustration, irritation, exasperation and a dose of incredulity—made Jay grit his teeth. With Dean, some things never changed, and when something bothered the big man, he too often opted for taciturnity.

  “You got on well with him. Hmm? Don’t you think?” Jay nudged him, elbow into Dean’s back.

  “Mmm.” Dean sounded sleepy. Faker.

  Fucker…or so Jay wished.

  “You and Brian. You both got on well. The pair of you chatted a good while. What did you talk about?”

  A grunt sounded from the other side of the bed before Dean grumbled, “Cars.”

  Liar. Or evading by omission. Dean needed coaxing, prodding with something sharper than an elbow. Time to be blunt. “You know I’m not buying that.”

  “Go to sleep.”

  “You know I won’t let this drop.”

  “Sleeeep.”

  “Obviously, it’s something you don’t want to discuss.”

  “Stop talking then.”

  “Never gonna happen.” Dean came alive, spinning around in the bed, pushing aside the covers and climbing on top, straddling him. Knees aligned Jay’s sides, under his ribs. Hands braced either side of his head. Dean glowered, and then…sat. Arse crack and cock connected, Jay semi-erect.

  Dean sat in the perfect position to ride him and the big man’s eyes went wide as realisation slid into his expression. Jay glanced between their bodies. As his own cock grew erect, Dean became hard right along with him. With a slight change of position, maybe the help of lube or, barring that, spit, Jay could slide in somewhere tight and hot. That didn’t happen often—Jay welcomed Dean in—but he’d been inside Dean enough times to remember the sensation. The recollection made him harder still.

  Dean dropped over him, smothering him in his heat and his smell. “Not happening.”

  “Get off then.”

  “Get off, or get off.” Dean backed up the comment with a lick to Jay’s neck. Jay fought to swallow, choked by desire.

  “You get us both off.”

  “I might.” Dean licked him again, nibbled. “I might not.”

  “Only way to silence me.”

  No need to say so; they both knew Jay would persist in talking, in pushing, taunting, if Dean didn’t distract him enough, but it never hurt to make things clear. Despite Dean’s willingness to use sex to sidetrack him from the discussion, Jay grinned. Fine. He’d let it go for this evening, but Dean wasn’t stupid; he knew Jay would ask again. Maybe when Dean got through kissing him…or licking…and the biting was good.

  Not so enjoyable minutes later when, pinned beneath Dean’s weight, Jay struggled, undergoing what might be a long bout of torture. Dean took long, lazy licks, interspersed with bites, kisses, and teasing sucks. As seconds passed, Jay’s enthusiasm metamorphosed. His muscles tightened, skin crawled. He caught his breath. Mild,
suppressed panic took over. Jay lay trapped, Dean having his wicked way with him because, although sexual, he did nothing more than teasing, his actions not designed to get either of them off, but to torment Jay.

  To protest or not to protest? Objecting might make the situation worse. Now his muscles bunched. If he said nothing, no way to surmise how long Dean might continue the ordeal.

  His body decided for him. Anxiety increased—mouth going dry, sweat breaking out. Crazy; he was in no danger, but the underlying panic, the sensations caused by his inability to escape, remained undeniable. He might freak out before Dean let go if the big man didn’t recognise Jay’s apprehension as genuine.

  “I need you to get off me, Dean.”

  “Hmmm…”

  “No. Seriously.”

  Dean’s answer was to pull a small bit of skin into his mouth and concentrate on giving Jay a hickey.

  “Dean?”

  The skin popped free of Dean’s lips and he pulled his head back enough to examine his handiwork. Apparently dissatisfied, he returned to working on the same spot.

  Beneath him, Jay wriggled. Shit! He couldn’t move more than a fraction in any direction. “Dean, I’m serious.”

  Dean licked the spot which was now slightly, deliciously sore. Pity the rest of Jay couldn’t get wholly in on the act although…how perverse to discover part of him enjoyed his underlying unease even as he hated it.

  “I think we need a safe word.”

  That declaration made Dean stop and lift his head. Jay stared back.

  “Dean, please. I’m an inch from going crazy.”

  Dean’s gaze narrowed. “You’re safe.”

  “I know. Just…” How to explain? “You’re heavy. I’m hot. You’re tormenting me to a point where all I want is your cock.”

  “That’s the idea.” Dean gave another lick, twisting his head in such a way that said he knew the exact spot to attack.

  Jay twitched and giggled. “Nooooo! No, I’m serious. Oh…Hell.” Another suck and lick. The tickling made his head spin. “If you’re so intent on sucking something, I can make suggestions.”

  Dean shook his head, shy of worrying Jay’s skin like an animal and making him gasp. Did he want to fight his way free? No. Yes. He could withstand a few minutes more. Still, Dean was heavy and everywhere they touched, skin against skin, turned slick. Maybe the problem was the heat they generated. Dean moved on, sucked Jay’s earlobe, drawing back with his teeth before letting go.