In addition to cooking together, Bayani has convinced John to grow out his beard, and John allows Bayani to tidy it up for him every Sunday. It’s one of Bayani’s favorite rituals, smoothing the shaving cream over John’s cheeks and throat and using the straight razor to shave away the stray stubble, then shaping the rest of his beard with a small pair of scissors and rubbing balm onto the bristly hair when finished. Bayani is an artist when it comes to shaping John’s facial hair, and he adores the intimacy of the task, the trust John places in him, and the way John watches Bayani the entire time with a rapt attention.
On one such Sunday with Bayani sitting on the vanity and having just finished with John’s grooming, he catches sight of himself in the mirror. The cuts on his face have healed, but they’ve left behind two pink, slightly raised ridges that disrupt his otherwise smooth, brown cheeks. Bayani traces one of them, from the corner of his lip to the top of his jaw.
“What are you thinking?”John asks Bayani in the mirror’s reflection.
“He ruined me,”Bayani says. He did it in so many ways.
“He hurt you,”John agrees,“but he didn’t ruin you.”
“My face,”Bayani insists. He never thought of himself as a vain person, but he hates looking at himself in the mirror and seeing the evidence of Emile’s abuse.
John stands so that he’s right behind Bayani and traces his fingertips over Bayani’s cheeks. He turns Bayani’s head slightly so that he may lean down and kiss the scar, one side of his face and then the other. John is so solemn and serious about it that it feels like a sacred rite.
“I see triumph,” John says. “I see a brave boy who battled a monster and survived. I don’t see what he did to you. I only see you, Bayani, and you’re so very beautiful.”
John hugs him from behind, dips his head so that he may nose along Bayani’s neck, the other scar Emile left him. John’s beard brushes the hollow of his throat and Bayani can’t help the few tears that slip out. Bayani loves this sweet, strong man, loves him with all his heart.
* * *
Bayani loves John.The realization is so simple and yet so profound. But the sentiment is like a balloon inside him, slowly inflating until Bayani feels as though he might burst with it. He wants to express his love for John, more than just through cooking and caring for the man. He wants to give himself to John, all of him, earnestly and without reservation.
But John sticks to his rules.
Bayani has seen John’s arousal poking against his fly, has brushed up against him not-so-accidentally when John was hard as a wooden pylon. Bayani masturbates to fantasies of John every night while ensconced in the man’s own bedding and surrounded by his smell, so thick he can sometimes taste it. Bayani doesn’t bother to be quiet about it either, always hoping the big man will take the hint and interrupt Bayani’s nighttime activities to finish what was started.
One of Bayani’s favorite fantasies is really rather simple. Upon hearing Bayani’s sounds of self-pleasure, John enters the bedroom shirtless with his pants undone and his cock out. John watches Bayani touch himself for a few moments, then orders him to get on his hands and knees. John’s voice is gruff and no-nonsense with a ring of authority that speaks to Bayani on a bone-deep level. Then, with hardly any prep and just enough lube so that Bayani won’t tear, John shoves his thick cock inside him. Bayani sweats and writhes on John’s massive erection–burning, aching, and stretching so impossibly wide–but he takes it all, like a good boy. John praises him for it, then proceeds to rail him until Bayani is limp as a rag doll in his arms,
Around this time in the fantasy, Bayani usually has two fingers shoved deep inside his hole and his other hand around his cock, pumping furiously. Fantasy John grips Bayani so tightly that he leaves a few bruises; maybe he even bites him in a sort of primal claim. Bayani would like to be marked in that way by John, and a bit of rough handling would be just fine if John were the one doing it.
The fantasy ends with both of them coming at the exact same time, as is the nature of fantasy sex, but in real life, Bayani comes alone.
Even with all the masturbating, Bayani can hardly contain his arousal around John in real life. It overwhelms him at the most inopportune times, like when John is feeding him a spoonful of sauce to sample or when Bayani is restocking the display cabinets with cuts of meat and John lays a hand on his shoulder and tells him,good job. Bayani wants to be good for John, so very good. He wants to obey the man’s every order, sexual or otherwise. Sometimes Bayani will simply be watching John with his reading glasses on, squinting at his computer screen, and John will glance up and give him a broad smile and Bayani’s heart will melt in a puddle on the floor and his knees will weaken with an intense desire to submit.
But John is a master at deflection, always gently redirecting Bayani’s attention or removing himself from the premises altogether. Bayani would beg if he thought it might crack the man’s stubborn resolve.
One evening, spread out on the couch together with their bellies full of food and their legs overlapping, Bayani tells John about the crush César has on the girl who works as a cashier at the market down the street. César hasn’t admitted to it, of course, but he asks Bayani if she’s working everytime Bayani returns from shopping, then not-so-coincidentally remember something he needs to get.
“You’re starting rumors,”John signs.
“Rumors based on fact,” Bayani replies.
“And you?”John asks.
“Me what?”Bayani asks playfully.
“Do you have a crush?”
Bayani gives him a look that is only partly exasperation. “You’re my crush, John.”
John smiles softly. He crooks his middle finger and his large knuckle knocks his chest over his heart to signify that the feeling is mutual.
“I don’t believe you,” Bayani teases.
“It’s true,” John insists.
“Prove it. Kiss me.”Bayani leans toward John and puckers up, but instead of giving Bayani his mouth, John kisses his two fingertips and places them against Bayani’s lips.
“One day I will kiss you, and I promise it will be worth the wait,” John says. “Sorry, I don’t know how to sign it.”
