Chapter Twenty-Two
Twenty-Two
“I’m yours, and I always will be.”
—“Eternity,” The Wooden Horse, Act Two
The Oxford dictionary defines casual as relaxed and unconcerned, not regular or permanent. Jonah knew because he googled it. He stared at the words and couldn’t
match any of them to the not-relationship he had with Dexter. The first reason being that relaxed and unconcerned were foreign words in the theatre industry. Jonah would have liked to think of himself as totally Zen and laid-back, but
reality showed he was actually highly-strung and neurotic, and the same went for Dexter, who didn’t stop thinking or analyzing
everything around him for a single second. The second reason came from the fact that they were having sex whenever they could,
which didn’t fit in with the not regular part of the definition. Not permanent, however, seemed to be the only aspect Jonah could agree with. But Dexter fit into his life so seamlessly, and to think he
might one day not be there made Jonah’s palms sweat in the most unnerving way, because Dexter was still a complete and utter
prick.
They sniped at each other often. Little comments here and there, and Jonah couldn’t stop the tiny voice in his head telling him that Dexter’s relentless performance feedback came not from a gentle ribbing but from a desire to actually get under his skin.
The unknown terrified him, and knowing things were happening behind the scenes at the theatre made his stomach tie itself in knots.
He couldn’t shake the preconceptions he had of Dexter before they knew each other, the idea of him, the rival, and although they lessened with each day, Dexter still somehow added new levels of anxiety to their relationship.
For example, Dexter didn’t want anyone to know about them. It came out of nowhere, a casual remark before a show, and it felt
to Jonah like Dexter had stabbed him directly in the chest.
“I just think with things being casual, we should keep it between us. I know Bastien knows, but no one else.” He didn’t ask
if Jonah agreed, he simply stated the rule, and Jonah didn’t want to say that, actually, Sherrie and Omari both knew they
were sleeping together as well.
“I don’t want to be a dirty secret, Dex.”
“You’re not a dirty secret.” Dexter’s stoic expression changed then. It softened, and he ran his fingers through Jonah’s curls.
“I just don’t want there to be any pressure on us.”
Jonah thought of Edward and wondered if he once told Wes he didn’t want anyone to know about them, to keep their relationship
a secret so Jonah would never find out. Did Wes think he was casual with Edward? Is that how it started between them? What
if Dexter was actually seeing someone else?
“Who is putting pressure on us?” Jonah asked, knowing full well he sounded needy, which he didn’t want to be. But there in
the back of his mind stood Edward, making out with Wes over and over again.
“No one,” Dexter conceded. “But they will. People will look at us differently.”
“But people already think there’s something going on between us. That’s exactly what Colbie wanted.”
Dexter stepped away from him with a heavy sigh. “I know. But there’s a difference, isn’t there? People here don’t think there’s
something serious going on, do they?”
“But there isn’t something serious going on, Dexter. We’re casual.” He sounded spiteful, and for once he didn’t regret the tone. Dexter didn’t have an immediate answer to that. Instead, he
smiled, which Jonah couldn’t understand, and simply shook his head fondly.
“Look. I don’t care if people believe what Colbie wants them to believe online. But my actual private life? I don’t want everyone
knowing.”
Jonah couldn’t argue with him. He knew Dexter deserved the right to protect his privacy, but it still hurt.
He half expected Dexter to act differently around him after the conversation, for him to back away completely to preserve the idea they weren’t going home together to give each other totally casual blow jobs before having totally casual sex.
But he didn’t. Dexter flourished in the theatre, he bloomed like a social butterfly, wings spreading, colors vibrant.
He spoke openly with Jonah, gave him hugs before and after the show in front of the others, stayed close to his side during warm-ups.
He remained true to his Dexter persona, and on nights Jonah thought he pulled off an absolutely flawless performance, Dexter would send him catapulting back down to earth afterward, lips twitching as he tried and failed to keep in his critique.
Only, unlike before, Jonah now knew how to shut him up.
A month of getting to know Dexter’s intimate needs and desires meant it only took a lingering kiss to his neck in the dressing room afterward to get him to stop talking; he’d stand, mouth slack as Jonah licked a line up from his collarbone to just below his ear.
All unwanted feedback would be lost as Jonah stepped away, a satisfied smirk on his face.
However, Dexter was also learning the things he could do to make Jonah melt like butter in the palm of his hand. Before heading
onto stage for the start of act two, he always whispered something completely filthy into Jonah’s ear, leaving Jonah motionless,
his fingers rubbing his palms as he tried to think of something, anything, to stop the stirrings Dexter set off inside of
him. He did it so brazenly, in front of the rest of the cast and crew, which only threw his casual and very secretive needs
into disarray in Jonah’s mind. Dexter, with his insatiable smirking and devilish lips, would be the death of him.
The sex could only be described as mind-blowing, but it wasn’t the sex that kept Jonah awake at night thinking of Dexter.
No. It was the way, when they left the stage door, Dex walked just in front of him, shoulders tense, broad and undeniably protective.
Most people followed the new rule and stayed away, but there were a few who still waited, lingering on the other side of the path after security ushered them away, hoping to talk to them, eager for photographs and signatures.
Dexter acted as a shield, eyes scanning anyone in the vicinity who looked their way, and Jonah knew he was keeping an eye out for Wes even though Jonah didn’t think Wes would be stupid enough to return and risk getting into even more trouble than he was already in.
Bastien always looked over at them when they left, smirking at the way Dexter tried to shield Jonah, and then, when Dexter wasn’t looking, he’d make a gesture resembling someone giving a blow job and Jonah would roll his eyes at him and laugh.
The protective side of Dexter turned Jonah on more than he cared to admit. As he lay alone in his bed at night, he often thought
of Dexter’s body covering his, and his hands may or may not find their way into his pants to help him enjoy the image. And
the image often became a reality. Dexter between his legs, tongue mapping his skin while his moans sent shivers down Jonah’s
spine. The nights they performed they always traveled home together, alternately taking the bus or the tube, Dexter whining
each and every time they got on the Northern Line, his lips turned down into the most unattractive frown in the world. They
sometimes wordlessly went back to Dexter’s place, his house immaculately tidy and horrendously white and sterile, and made
out in his bed until they fell asleep. Other nights, they went to Jonah’s, where Dexter seemed more relaxed than in his own
home, and explored each other’s bodies until the early hours before falling into an orgasm-fueled sleep.
The weekends, however, were strange. After Saturday’s two-show days, Dexter seemed to vanish off the face of the earth. On
Sundays he didn’t respond to messages and always avoided Jonah suggesting they make plans for their days off. His elusive
nature carried on into Monday, and, despite Jonah practically begging him to come back to yoga, because it would be hot now
with the couple poses and he could touch Dexter and make him squirm, he never showed up. When Tuesdays rolled around, Dexter
sprang back into life, invading Jonah’s space every second with his loud voice and opinions no one asked for.
It brought unwanted thoughts of what Dexter might be doing with his free time.
It made Jonah nervous, but he tried to put it aside, needed to put it aside.
He needed to be Jonah Penrose, cool as a cucumber, so laid-back he might be asleep, totally not obsessing over Dexter flirting with other people on a Sunday, Monday, or any other day of the week they were apart.
He needed to be totally and utterly A-OK with just not knowing where the hell he stood with the man who frustrated him both sexually and professionally. Absolutely fine with it.
Colbie tapped her fingers on Evie’s desk, pink nails shimmering in the dim light of the office. Jonah sat opposite her, hands
in his lap, palms sweating profusely, and he wondered if this was it, if she was giving him his marching orders. He’d only
been back a month since being forced off work for a week because of Wes and his flying fist, and Evie seemed intent on ignoring
him up until this very moment where she stood behind Colbie, peering at him intensely. She called him into her office, not
mentioning Colbie would be waiting for him; Colbie, whose hair looked brighter than usual, freshly colored, the skin around
her nail beds stained the same vibrant red, and who sat with a face pinched like a raisin as she looked at him.
“I need you to do something for me,” she said eventually, breaking the silence between them with a voice filled with nicotine.
“Niamh has set up an interview for you and Dexter for the London Theatrical Stage magazine. They want the total package: interview, photo shoot, the works.”
“Okay, wow, that sounds great.”