Angel Heart

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

“My, we are hyper.” Jay grinned.

“It’s been two weeks. What do you want from me?”

Two long, interminable weeks. Dean didn’t need to remind him. The seminar—a good idea, a great opportunity to gain contacts, and add to Jay’s I.T. skills—tested endurance, both men hating the time apart, useless at hiding it. He’d enjoyed the conference but struggled every day to forget Dean wasn’t with him. Calls became minimal after their second attempt to talk on the phone concluded with some extremely heavy breathing before saying goodnight. Good thing they hadn’t succumbed to transmitting images.

Still, that session meant a late night for Jay, the following day spent in a distracted state. A disrupted day led to a far from easy decision to tell Dean he needed to concentrate. The choice was that or to return home having learned little. Waste of time, money, and the torment of separation.

Wisdom prevailed. Dean took the news with good grace, as Jay expected. Sure, maybe he sounded a little disgruntled, but no more so than Jay felt for asking. Jay had dived into the lectures through a combination of common sense and desperation, wishing the time to pass faster. Pity he’d re-entered the house they shared to exit again twenty minutes later, the timing lousy.

Dean bounced on the mattress.

“What are you doing?”

“Testing for squeaks.”

“What if I’m too tired?” Jay half kidded. He counted one lucky star—the schedule allowed him to attend the seminar without the risk of missing his parents’ wedding anniversary. Still, he recollected the trip to their house as a blur. Most of the day remained vague, the two concurrent trips monotonous.

The taxi back home to Dean from the station had dropped him at the kerb, and he and his suitcase had passed over the threshold, Jay to a rough embrace, faster kiss, and instructions to change, which he did. A fast freshen-up took place, and then the burning pressure of Dean’s hand in the small of his back steered him out and into the passenger seat of Jay’s car—a gift from April, which they now shared and Dean maintained. Having a mechanic in the family came in handy and Dean made for an excellent chauffeur a great deal of the time, especially convenient this day as Jay was exhausted. During the drive to his parents, Jay had jerked awake a couple of times before succumbing to the tiredness that weighed and pulled him under a tide of somnolence. If he and Dean spent any of the time talking, he didn’t recall. The conversation over dinner had dragged, Jay ready for bed in a myriad of ways—in need of a good night’s rest, which laying beside Dean better accomplished, and s*x, if he managed to stay awake long enough.

Dean ignored his half-hearted protest, the man’s outward expression suggesting Dean knew a variety of ways to keep Jay alert. Now came the time for them to say a proper hello, then to sleep to recharge for the two days ahead. For now, Jay’s life seemed on-hold, suspended. The business cards, reading material, and all the publications he wanted to go over he’d tucked away until he ventured home again. As much as he wanted to go over all those things, no one controlled the bad timing. Not that he begrudged his parents his attention. Forty years together was indeed something to celebrate. He should be half as fortunate.

A hot tongue circled an ear, jolting him from the dose into which he was in danger of slipping. Talking would keep him awake, but he wanted to babble on about nothing other than the course—a desire he’d already restrained many times this day. His parents didn’t want to hear about that, not with their anniversary looming, and Dean…he’d talk as soon as he was laid, but by then Jay would want nothing more than to sleep. Jay didn’t resent that either. Time apart s*x was better than make up s*x in his humble opinion, but here, in his parents’ house, they needed to keep things on the quiet side, which was why Dean tried out the mattress.

“Maybe we should wait,” Jay suggested.

“Can you?”

“No.”

“Well then.”

Tomorrow would be better. They were travelling on in the morning to a hotel, the whole event pre-arranged. His parents would renew their marriage vows, and they and their guests attend a reception. The booking included the ceremony, the banqueting hall, use of the grounds and facilities, dinner, a portion of the drinks, and many of the rooms. Immediate family and closest friends would stay the night. Others would stay for the day, maybe part of the evening, depending on when they needed to commence their homeward journeys. Jay’s parents had booked to remain longer—a romantic break. His mother, wanting her children’s help to make certain everything ran well, had summoned them to arrive a day early and travel convoy style to the hotel.

An image flittered into Jay’s brain of a mother duck leading a line of ducklings along the dangerous side of a motorway.

“You’re thinking.” Dean’s tone implied he knew Jay’s mind spun to the unpleasant, complete with a reasonable hint of disapproval. Jay’s intellect underwent a triathlon, speeding along, jumping from one event to the next.

He should be concentrating on the two of them, not how he’d upset his mother’s plans by arriving a day later than she wanted because of his schedule. Bad enough to garner one woman’s disapproval, but then mother and sister had things in common for which they would assassinate him should he ever gain enough courage to mention them. Making sure the day went well was the only way to pacify his mother.

As for April, no point worrying about upsetting his sister. His leaving her in sole charge of any extraneous arrangements had put her in a mood bad enough to outlast the celebration. Both women might claim to empathise, but he sensed their irritation. He heard it in his mother’s sniff, and he had winced every time April plonked another serving dish on the table. Again, he bore the blame of her having to help in the kitchen though it wasn’t his fault their mother regulated anything food-related as women’s work.

Not for the first time, Jay envied Dean. Jay’s family, though loving, appeared to have a warped sense of order where nothing deviated from a pre-conceived plan set out way before he knew how to walk. They did things a certain way—either by theirs or by some countrywide ‘tradition’ no one else knew about, Jay and April joint victims. Jay’s family were supportive in a warped sort of way. Dean’s kin accepted life didn’t always adhere to the best design.

Jay longed to tell Dean how lucky he was. Dean’s relatives would have wished either of them good luck with taking a course, and meant it. They would have asked how it had gone the moment he walked in, despite what plans they had going on. If unable to spare the time to talk, they’d have said when and where they would listen. They would have wanted to know the details. His parents’ backing often manifested in a grunt from his father, and a swift inhalation from his mother—air sucked up her nose, like a vacuum. While they insisted they didn’t care their son had ‘turned out to be gay’, their encouragement remained, he wanted to say translucent, though his choice of word might seem peculiar to many.

Dean watched him. Waited. A thumb brushed over the spot between Jay’s eyes. Whatever the next couple of days brought, Jay had all he needed right here.

Sex in the hotel would be better, more anonymous, require less need to worry about the bed creaking, but no, he couldn’t last another night.

While away, Jay had practised a leer as good as perfecting a come-hither suggestive stare. He tried it out, pleased to receive the reaction he wanted. Surprise, delight, and you asked for it flittered over Dean’s face, punctuated by a growing erection. Too bloody right he asked for it. Not everyone grasped that, but he liked what he saw, knew where he stood with Dean, understood him, believed in how Dean felt about him and loved how Dean made him feel. Equally certain how he affected the big man, he didn’t care what others thought they knew. The importance here was the honesty between them.

The big man, now braced on his hands and knees and stripped to the waist, leant over Jay, a feast for his senses. Jay couldn’t help his gaze travelling, lingering where Dean’s fly gaped. Soft curls, a touch darker than the unruly light brown hair on Dean’s head, peeked out from behind the opening of Dean’s jeans. Jay wouldn’t be able to note the gold highlights that matched the hair on Dean’s head unless he got up close and personal. The man’s erection pushed at the tight white of his underwear, and Jay’s mouth grew moist. The palm of his right hand itched. No way for him to tell with which he wanted to grasp Dean’s c**k more—his hand or his lips. Taking in air required conscious effort. No doubt, he wouldn’t get a chance before Dean ploughed inside him.

He placed a hand on the big man’s chest, a gesture of stalling. Jay needed a few more seconds yet. Impossible to put into words why. Maybe the enforced absence caused his mind to race. Maybe stress or tiredness. Right now, even s*x seemed unlikely to silence his thoughts, the torrent almost painful, making it feel as if his brain swelled. The question that bothered him most shone the brightest.

Was Dean happy?

The willingness to have s*x almost anywhere while heartening didn’t provide a good answer. Happy to have s*x didn’t translate to happiness generally. The big man continued to struggle with the idea of his being gay. Dean possessed a strong will, but, unlike Jay, hadn’t grown up gay—not knowingly anyway. Doubt and denial were emotions Jay understood. Many GLBT people did. If not realisation then acceptance for many was a gradual process.

What must it be like to face those tendencies later rather than sooner? To deal with acceptance and confront the world—all of his friends and family—at once made it not so surprising Dean squirmed at times. He existed under the scrutiny of others. Even examinations from Jay, though he tried to refrain from pressurising. Yet Dean still refused to withhold or disguise his affection. He probably didn’t know Jay noticed. Jay loved him for it. He loved Dean.

Jay almost shook his head but held still because of Dean’s patient expression. Not for the first time, Jay tried to navigate through a labyrinth of uncertainty, but had he ever picked such an inappropriate moment as this? Unfair and pointless. The concepts and emotions he tried to grasp slipped away.

“What’s wrong?” Dean frowned, pushing a little now against the hand Jay had laid against him. Jay pushed back.

Laughable. Not many could hold Dean at bay, would be able to stop him doing anything—not with physical force, anyway. Dean held off, waiting because Jay wanted him to. Dean would never do anything he didn’t want. Dean would never hurt him…and so Jay had a little fun now at the big man’s expense. The other man’s frustration became palpable. All that wonderful restraint trembled under Jay’s hand. The air he drew in filled Jay to the brim, as if he pulled in all that physical energy along with the man’s fragrance. Lust possessed a perfume. Desire darkened Dean’s eyes, made his muscles tense, but love…love kept him at bay, waiting for Jay to move his hand away. He wanted to, but he wanted to bathe in the heat of Dean’s gaze, too.

“Just taking a moment to take it all in,” Jay rasped out, strangely asthmatic.

Blue eyes closed to slits, gaze examining, flicking around in the intimate space between them before Dean looked to Jay’s face, eye contact steady. Full lips crooked to one side, smile slow, building. His body relaxed a little under Jay’s touch. His expression turned soft. A beam of light from the bedside lamp struck one of Dean’s pupils, creating the vision of Jay’s reflection. Real, imagined, or illusion, it didn’t matter. The image fled, but left the impression of Jay on his back, shirt open, compliant…and ready. His concerns he should set aside for another day, a more suitable time, and place.

Now.

Yes, now. Now, Dean could do what he wanted with Jay.

A final thought assaulted him—procrastination wouldn’t solve anything—before Dean popped the last of the buttons on Jay’s shirt and they followed the others already scattered. They were going to have to find them, in the sheets, or on the floor—wherever they’d disappeared to—or have some explaining to do to his mother.

One of Jay’s shoes lay off somewhere on the floor; the other dangled from his toes. The bulge at his crotch threatened to burst through the zip of his trousers. His n*****s flushed an all too familiar shade of rosy pink. Hard to credit, but Jay swore his n*****s were larger and darker since he’d started having s*x with Dean. Must have something to do with the other man paying them so much attention. Maybe if he didn’t jiggle and shriek so, Dean would take pity on him. Couldn’t help his reaction, though—Dean knew too well how to make him wriggle. Whom did he try to kid? Dean got off on making Jay flail around, and Jay got off in having little choice.

At this point, they didn’t have much time for foreplay—had to rise early, and despite his interest, Jay’s eyes were starting to sting and his lids to feel heavy. He blinked at Dean, trying to stave off his eyes watering. Lack of time might be a good thing if they were to have any chance of keeping quiet…but Dean made an art of foreplay. Even when both men could barely wait, Dean didn’t know the meaning of ten seconds or ten minutes. Two weeks apart had to mean they were both going to need nothing more than a few strokes. The heated look in Dean’s eyes might make Jay explode, scorning him as it did, torching his lungs, making each inhalation combustible.

Two weeks apart—the s*x must be volatile. Always was, anyway. Impossible to grow used to being looked at that way. Those blue eyes flicked around now, Dean admiring him as if he were beautiful. While never shy about his features, Jay had never given his reflection much consideration until he witnessed this expression on Dean’s face many times over. Dean appeared to be a man drinking in all he saw.

Hell, the mere sight of him turned Dean on, the open admiration arousing Jay in a way surely narcissistic. The shame he should feel over such a reaction refused to materialise, Jay far too busy wondering if he might one day orgasm from Dean’s gaze alone.

“You’re trying my patience,” Dean muttered, pressing against Jay’s hand, making it clear that, although only a few seconds had passed since he scattered the last of Jay’s shirt buttons, he’d waited long enough.

Dean dropped on top of him, and Jay whimpered. Dear God, he whimpered! Dean dipped his head in a now-familiar way that said, “I want you, I need you, I’ve got to be inside you,” and Jay’s world turned black and blue as his body pulsed with need. Dean pressed a hot searing kiss to his neck and Jay unravelled. So much for sleep. When he managed to open his eyes they still stung, but his head and body demanded two separate things, and his body intended to keep him wakeful.

“Hands up. Clasp the headboard,” Dean whispered, and no matter how much Jay wanted to touch Dean’s exquisite expansive chest, he obeyed without thought. His grip on the hard wooden slats shook off the last of his languor. What the hell was he doing? When had he developed a taste for Dean’s dominance?

Stupid question for it had always been there. What others saw as Dean being overbearing, a dickhead to all intents, had always attracted Jay. Dean was one of the lads, one of many attributes Jay found attractive. The characteristics that appealed to Jay were often those that made Dean so unattainable, or so Jay had believed.

Dean plucked something from the nightstand and waggled it at him. The simple design of the tube contained plain lube, not the flavoured kind.

A question popped into his mind along with the idea of unbalancing Dean’s equilibrium. “Did you bring the strawberry?”

Dean made a coughing, choking sound. “Yeah, I brought the strawberry. We’re going to have to put off using it. It’s a waste when I can’t wait to be inside you.”

Logical enough, though Dean might also be stalling.

“I wasn’t planning on using it tonight.” Jay sought to ease the man’s embarrassment—not that Dean would admit to feeling any. He’d told Dean to bring the strawberry-flavoured edible lube for a specific reason and not for an act he intended to perform here tonight under his parents’ roof—not owing to shame, but because they’d definitely get too rowdy. Convincing Dean to do several intimate things with him that was part of many a gay relationship had taken time. Jay couldn’t get enough of Dean coupled with the sour-sweet smell and flavour of strawberries. He’d originally purchased the lube to help Dean over his embarrassment, not because he didn’t like Dean as nature created him, but a slicked-up and strawberry coated Dean drove him equally crazy. Drove Dean crazy, too, once he got over his initial and recurring reluctance. Seeing Dean vulnerable, offering up his body, letting Jay do what he liked despite his self-consciousness…nothing could be more arousing.

“Do you hate it?”

Dean’s intense expression tightened to a frown. “Are you f*****g kidding me?” Dean whispered.

On which subject? “Because of the question or because I ask it now?”

“Both. What are you talking about and why now?” The only thing going through Dean’s mind, if his expression told all, was a quiet simmering disquietude. His gaze demanded Jay explain what was going on.

“The lube. I’m talking about the strawberry lube.”

Dean flushed.

“Do you hate that something you find embarrassing turns me on?” At the mention of embarrassment, Jay grew warm. If he blushed now he’d look like a right hypocrite.

“I don’t…hate it, or that it turns you on.” Dean spoke with care.

“But you’d rather not do it? I don’t want you to, not if you don’t. I mean, you wouldn’t want me to either.”

“Fine time to discuss this.”

Dean had every right to complain and his voice contained a desperate note, but Jay couldn’t leave the topic alone. “Maybe it is. You’re not about to storm out of the room.”

Dean’s lips twitched. “True.” His gaze swept over Jay. “I’m a captive audience, apparently.”

As good as, though that one glance simmered Jay’s blood. His c**k lurched in protest at the delay, but maybe his subconscious was at play for him to choose this moment. Dean could go to the kitchen, but he couldn’t sleep on the couch without questions arising and with the promise of s*x playing out, he wasn’t going anywhere. Good opportunity to force him to talk.

People assumed Dean inconsiderate in their relationship, but Jay hadn’t given enough thought to the repercussions of talking Dean into what he wanted until they spent time apart. He needed an answer. If Dean detested Jay kissing him in a rather intimate way, he should never have persuaded him. Even if Dean appreciated the sensation of rimming, reacted with enthusiasm, it didn’t mean he was happy. While Dean took pleasure from Jay’s lips and tongue action, he required coaxing. For someone like Dean, so self-assured—Jay had assumed too assured to be influenced—his reluctance indicated deeper emotions. They had enough issues with which to deal; he didn’t want to add to Dean’s problems. Chances were Dean agreed simply to please him. Why hadn’t Jay realised sooner?