by John Inman
Wyeth got thanked with a gentle bump of Deeze’s knee against his beneath the table. With the floor show over, the restaurant noise ratcheted back up to its normal level, and people went back to minding their own business.
“We’ll run tomorrow,” Deeze quietly said, his eyes eager, the pink tip of his tongue still darting across his lips as if retasting the kiss. “I have other plans for tonight.”
“Thank God,” Wyeth muttered, as sober as Deeze, his heart already thundering inside his chest in anticipation. Not in anticipation of running tomorrow, but of what awaited him tonight.
Hand in hand, they left the cafe. Every diner in the place watched them go.
Chapter Nine
“PICK YOUR feet up!”
“Blow me!”
It was a week later. Wyeth had managed to evade the jogging issue for seven days, but now his reprieve had expired. Grumbling under his breath while his heart kaboomed and flopped around alarmingly inside his chest cavity, he reluctantly trailed Deeze up Sixth Avenue in a pair of red sweatpants and a yellow tee. He wore the sweatpants in eighty-degree heat because he had taken Deeze’s advice and not returned to the salon for his spray tan booster. Deeze might love Wyeth’s pale hairy legs, but Wyeth still didn’t.
As far as running went, the only redeeming factor in the whole enterprise was the fact that he got to stare at Deeze in his cute little running shorts, thudding along in front of him. He knew he ran a pale second (no pun intended) as far as sexiness went, but how could he not? he thought wryly, staring once again at Deeze’s ass. Just look at the guy. The man’s a god.
With downtown behind them and Wyeth worn out already, they slipped through some trees and jogged into Balboa Park with all the other insane people who rose at the crack of dawn to batter their joints to mush in the pointless quest of outrunning their own mortality. Or more likely, hurrying it along.
Wyeth had to admit it was sort of lovely being in the park this early in the morning, with the sun barely up and the birds chittering in the bushes. Jewels of dewdrops spotted the grass, and remnants of the last mowing stuck to his shoe tops. The long sloping lawn smelled like a field of hay, which for a city boy was kind of nice. Still, he would have enjoyed it more if he hadn’t been waiting to fall flat on his face the moment his legs gave out or his tendons started snapping like rubber bands or his heart suddenly exploded like a roadside bomb. His eyes burned with sweat, his shirt was stuck to his chest, he had bitten his tongue after jumping off a curb, he couldn’t be more than fifteen steps away from heat prostration, and he was annoyed that without his spray-on tan, he looked like a sweaty little albino next to Deeze, who apparently never perspired (or faded) at all.
Chaucer wasn’t looking too thrilled either. Wyeth had released him from his leash so they wouldn’t trip each other up, but the dog was lagging behind already, and they had barely gone five blocks. Deeze, of course, was prancing around having the time of his life, flinging his arms about, sucking in great gulps of morning air, goading Wyeth to run faster, and singing one fucking ABBA song after another as if begging Wyeth to hurl a sneaker at him and smack him upside the head.
Expecting a lung to collapse at any moment, Wyeth called out in jittery little oxygen-deprived gasps, “Could you be slightly less happy? It’s pissing me off and depressing the dog!”
Deeze sang all the louder for about a minute just to be annoying. Then he shut up and grudgingly slowed his pace to let Wyeth catch up. They settled in side by side at a more reasonable speed, clomping along the sidewalk, their footfalls sounding like gunshots on the morning air.
“Now you’re bookin’,” Deeze said, barely out of breath at all.
Wyeth gave an exasperated grunt. “I’m a librarian. I’m always bookin’.”
Deeze was undeterred. “Be honest. Isn’t this fun? See what you’ve been missing?”
Wyeth snarled. “You mean the coronary? I think I feel one coming on even as we speak. It should be a doozy. I hope you know CPR.”
“But don’t your legs feel stronger?”
“No. They feel like Jell-O, and my ass is cramping up.”
“Think of it as tightening the glutes.”
“If I recall, we tightened my glutes last night. You even used your grease gun.” He had the good grace to blush at his off-color joke, although it was up for grabs whether he was really blushing or just wending his way toward a massive heart attack.
Deeze edged a little closer and gave him a good-natured elbow to the ribs as they jostled along. A broad grin spread across his face, and he reached out to swipe the back of his fingers along Wyeth’s sweaty arm. His voice dropped to a crooning register usually reserved for more intimate moments—moments with fewer clothes and far less pain and where the gasping was caused by more personal endeavors. Like sex. “Speaking of that, you were incredible last night.”
Wyeth found himself smiling, even while another rivulet of sweat stung his eyes and his jockey shorts crawled up his ass. Then he frowned when Deeze ruined the moment by urging him again to pick up the pace a bit, prompting Wyeth to grouse about the night before, “I’ve had better, you know.”
Deeze sputtered a laugh. “Liar!” And as if Deeze was trying to prove he could be even more annoying than he already was, he proceeded to run a few more circles around both Wyeth and Chaucer while Wyeth veered across a grassy patch of parkland looking for a place to die.
“Don’t you ever sweat?”
Deeze shot him a wink. “I was sweating last night.”
Wyeth had to bite back a snort. Jeez, even in the midst of agony Deeze could make him laugh. “We both were,” he said. Then he lost his rhythm (if he ever had any), tripped over his own feet, and almost landed facedown in the dewy grass. Deeze caught him just in time, and together they stumbled to a stop, arm in arm.
As soon as all forward momentum ceased, Chaucer plopped down on the ground like someone had clubbed him over the head. Deeze stroked Wyeth’s arms, standing close enough that Wyeth could feel Deeze’s warm breath wafting over his face.
Again Deeze softly said, “You really were incredible last night.”
Wyeth blinked back a drop or two of sweat. He bent over with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. He finally rose up and leaned in to give Deeze a kiss on the cheek.
“Thanks,” he said, slipping a hand under the tail of Deeze’s shirt and stroking his hairy belly. He licked his lips while his eyelids drooped dreamily. “Let’s go home and fuck, baby. I want you so bad. I can’t wait another minute.”
“Oh man,” Deeze gasped. He edged closer and started to nuzzle Wyeth’s ear. Then he pulled back and squinted his eyes. “Wait a minute! I’m not falling for that. You don’t want to go home and fuck. You just don’t want to run anymore.”
Caught off guard, Wyeth muttered something about some people being too smart for their own good, and the next thing he knew, Deeze was tugging him down a hillside into a grove of trees where the shadows lay deep and the dawn hadn’t reached quite yet. This must be where the serial killers hang out, he thought. Somewhere in among the tree trunks, murderers crouched, slews of them probably, waiting for a couple of idiot joggers to come stomping along so they could beat them to death and eat their power bars.
Although at that particular moment, it wasn’t his own impending demise that bothered him most. All Wyeth could really think about was this: if we’re running downhill now, later we’ll have to run uphill to make up for it. He wanted to cry. Suddenly death at the hands of a serial killer didn’t sound so bad.
Thank God Chaucer chose that moment to reel against a pachysandra bush and, with a pitiful whimper, halfheartedly lift his leg to relieve himself. Deeze and Wyeth stopped to wait. While Chaucer stood there on three trembling legs, splattering the bush, he glared at Deeze.
“Your dog doesn’t look too happy.”
“Who can blame him?” Wyeth bent and patted Chaucer’s head. “Pee slower, boy. I need a break.” Wyeth then collapsed against a tree, wiped his
face with his shirttail, and tried to catch his breath.
Deeze laughed and leaned into his own tree to execute a few hamstring stretches. He then dropped to the ground and did a couple of push-ups to get the kinks out—like Deeze really had kinks. After the push-ups, he did a series of jumping jacks that would have killed a lesser man, and it didn’t even leave him out of breath. Still bouncing around like a basketball, Deeze watched Wyeth stroke his aching calf muscles and groan.
“Sore?” Deeze asked kindly. “I can massage you when we get home.”
“Really?” Already Wyeth’s imagination was dragging him to the place where a massage would likely lead. It was a steamy place where body fluids were likely to be swapped, and Deeze’s grease gun would come into play yet again. Frankly, Wyeth couldn’t wait to get there. It was certainly better than running. “All right. Can I massage you too?”
Deeze stopped stretching and walked into Wyeth’s arms. “Baby, you can do anything to me you want.” With those words hovering in the morning air around them, mixing with the hum of insects and the rustle of leaves overhead and the quiet patter of serial killers lurking in the bushes, Deeze cupped the back of Wyeth’s head and tucked his face into the side of his neck. His hands slipped under Wyeth’s shirt, and he stroked Wyeth’s lean frame as Wyeth stood cradled in Deeze’s arms.
“Are you having fun?” he asked softly.
Wyeth snickered. “You must be joking.”
Deeze slapped his ass and embraced him tighter. “I’m not talking about running, silly. I’m talking about—in general. Are you having fun in general? I mean, you know, with me?”
Wyeth swallowed. Suddenly he didn’t feel like joking anymore. He squeezed his eyes shut, enjoying the sensation of Deeze’s broad hands on his back. Their legs touched; their hips bumped together. Already Wyeth felt his cock—and Deeze’s too—hardening in response to the closeness. The freshly shaved cheek against Wyeth’s face, the scent of the man holding him, the taste of Deeze’s sweat on Wyeth’s tongue when he ran his lips over Deeze’s jaw—all of it made Wyeth tremble. But not from exertion this time. This tremble came from a deeper place. A hungrier place.
Wyeth hesitated, then said softly, “Y-yes. I’m having fun.”
He waited, wondering if Deeze would answer, but he didn’t. So raising his hand to the back of Deeze’s neck to dip his fingers into his hairline, Wyeth rose up on tiptoe and lifted his head to whisper in Deeze’s ear, “Everything you do makes me happy, Deeze. I’ve never been with anyone like you.”
Deeze dropped his head and brushed his lips over the tender skin under Wyeth’s ear. He gently nipped at Wyeth’s earlobe with his teeth, sending another shudder through them both.
Deeze’s voice was husky and fractured, as if he had just woken from a long sleep. Or as if he had been planning what he was about to say for a very long time, and now that it was time to speak the words he was overcome with stage fright. “Wy. We have to talk. We—we have to decide what we want to do. I don’t think we can go on much longer the way we are. I need to know what we are going to do about it.”
Wyeth pressed his hands to Deeze’s chest and pushed himself away, just far enough to stare into Deeze’s eyes. “Do about what? I don’t know what you mean,” he said, his voice uncertain, his eyes suddenly wary.
Deeze studied Wyeth’s face and smiled a sad little smile. “I think you do.”
“Explain it to me,” Wyeth drawled, his throat suddenly dry, his cock withering. Already his heart was growing small inside his chest. Burrowing deeper to protect itself from pain. Forming a protective shell. Preparing for the worst. Preparing for what he had known all along would come sooner or later. “I don’t understand what you’re getting at, Deeze. I really don’t. Spit it out. What are you trying to say?”
Deeze sighed. His eyes flitted through the branches above their heads as if searching for an answer there. “I’m just trying to say that we have something between us. I can feel it, and I think you can too. But it’s not enough. We’re reaching a crossroads. Things can’t go on the way they are. Decisions have to be made.” He gave his head a tiny shake as if unhappy with the words he’d chosen. He tried again, a little more desperately this time. “I-I just don’t want us to end up hurting each other, Wy. That’s all it is.” Then he said the same words over again, sadly, as if the very act of uttering those words admitted the defeat he felt inside. “I just don’t want us to end up hurting each other.”
Wyeth dropped his head to Deeze’s chest, trying to comfort Deeze even as his own anguish swelled inside him. “Shush,” he said, fighting back a wave of pain but determined to hold on to his dignity until he could get away. Away from this place. Away from Deeze. “If you want to break it off, Deeze, I understand. You don’t have to worry. I won’t make a fuss.”
Deeze stiffened in his arms. “Wait. What?”
Wyeth used all his willpower not to let the ache in his heart tear at his voice. He had to be strong or he’d never get through this. “I said I understand. You don’t have to worry. I’ll bow out gracefully.” He spat up a mirthless chuckle that was as patently false as the look of weary boredom on his face. “I knew it would happen sooner or later. No point in putting off the inevitable, right? If it’s stillborn, it’s stillborn. Best to let it go.”
Suddenly Wyeth could no longer hold back the tears. His vision blurred. His breath caught in his throat. He briefly tightened his grip on Deeze’s arms as if clawing for balance, then he tried to turn away, racked with shame and hurt.
Deeze held on to him, refusing to let him go. He snatched him back around and dipped a finger under Wyeth’s chin, dragging his face up to his. He waited until their eyes were locked before he spoke. “What the hell are you saying?”
Only then did Wyeth’s tears spill out, skittering down his cheeks. Horrified, he tried to turn away, but again Deeze wouldn’t let him go.
“What’s wrong?” Deeze pleaded. “What did I say?”
Wyeth wrenched himself from Deeze’s arms. He realized suddenly how cool it was under the trees. How fragrant the woods were, how quiet it was with the city noises sifted to silence amid the hush of the trees. He also realized how empty he suddenly felt. It was a familiar emptiness. One he had lived with before. One he had always lived with. It was an emptiness he hadn’t felt since Deeze crashed into his life.
When he found the words he wanted to say, they simply tore out of him. He couldn’t have stopped them if he’d tried. “I knew you’d break my heart the first night we slept together, Deeze. I knew it, but I took the risk because I wanted to be with you. At least for a while. I understood the rules the minute I threw myself into your bed.”
“Threw yourself…. What rules? What the hell are you talking about?”
Wyeth angrily brushed the tears from his cheeks. He threw his shoulders back and tried to be brave about the whole thing. Jesus, if he couldn’t hold on to his pride, what the hell did he have left? “Deeze, nobody knows better than me that you’re out of my league. Hell, I never did understand what you saw in me. I just thought maybe I could hang on to you for a while and enjoy the ride. You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever been with. For that reason and a million others, I knew it couldn’t last. If you want to end it now, then I understand. Really. You don’t have to tear yourself up over it. Let me just get my dog and try to find my way out of these stupid fucking trees.”
His voice gave out and the tears welled in his eyes again. He took a sharp little intake of breath, and just stood there, drained.
Deeze gripped Wyeth’s shoulders and shook him so hard Wyeth’s teeth rattled. The fury of it startled Wyeth, and his tear-filled eyes popped open in surprise. Deeze loosened his grip on Wyeth’s shoulders, but still he didn’t let him go. “Is that what you think I’m doing? Breaking up with you?”
Even as the tears rolled down his cheeks, Wyeth’s face finally tightened in anger. “Aren’t you?” It was an accusation, not a question.
Deeze cringed as if a stone h
ad been hurled his way. “No! Jesus, Wy! I think about you all the time. You’re never out of my head. Don’t you know that? I don’t want to lose what we have. I don’t want us to end up hurting each other. Don’t make that mocking face, Wy. Don’t ever think you can’t hurt me. Hell, you’re hurting me now.”
“Deeze…. I don’t underst—”
“I’m not trying to break up with you, Wy. In fact, I’m trying to do the opposite. I don’t want us to see anybody else. I don’t want us to date other people. Not until we decide how we really feel about each other.” Suddenly, it was as if all the air had gone out of Deeze. He gripped Wyeth’s waist and dropped to his knees in front of him. Dragging him close he buried his face in Wyeth’s stomach and gazed up into his face. “I want you for myself, Wy. I want us to make some sort of commitment to each other. I’m not trying to own you. I’m not trying to marry you. I just don’t want to share you with anybody, not until I figure out what is happening in here.”
Squeezing his eyes shut, he struck a fist against his chest, against his heart. “I know it’s selfish, Wy. I know! But it’s what I need right now. I need to know,” he added lamely. Then he looked up into Wyeth’s eyes again, his own eyes shimmering with passion, with confusion, with a dozen different emotions. “Please tell me you want that too.”
Wyeth stared down into Deeze’s upturned face. As he stared, a tear slid from his eye and splashed across Deeze’s lips. Deeze licked the tear away, smiling weakly.
“Yummy,” Deeze whispered in a broken voice. Then his face grew serious. “Talk to me, Wy. Please. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
But Wyeth couldn’t speak. He was so stunned, so relieved, and so deeply, deeply touched, there was no voice left in him. He slipped his fingers through Deeze’s curly hair, and, swallowing hard, he closed his eyes, squeezing back another onrush of tears. A moment later his strength gave out and he dropped to his knees on the trail in front of Deeze and squirmed his way into Deeze’s arms.