Chapter 12 #2
“There’s a word for that—demisexuality,” Tom said, gaze steady and supportive. As a doctor in a family practice, his dad had obviously dealt with so many different kinds of situations, even physical ailments that had treaded closer into mental and emotional. Of course he’d know about it.
“Yeah, and I’m pretty sure that’s what I am,” Trevor admitted, and it felt so good to finally say it out loud. He’d essentially said everything but the word to Lane but it was different, admitting it to his dad.
“Hey, you know I love you no matter what,” Tom said, coming over and pulling him into a tight hug.
Trevor hadn’t expected anything different, but it still felt good to hear. To have that final bit of reassurance. “Yeah, I know,” he said into his dad’s shoulder. He pulled back and grinned. “But aren’t you like, obligated, to say that?”
“I should be,” his dad said wryly, “but in this case, I do actually mean it.”
“I know,” Trevor said.
“Does—”
But his dad didn’t get anything but the first word out before Delia and Lane came back into the kitchen, her bright laughter preceding her.
And Tom shut right up, no other parts of his obvious question forthcoming.
It was on the tip of Trevor’s tongue to ask—no, to demand—what he was going to say. Had it been something about Lane? Did Tom suspect or even assume that Trevor’s confession had had something to do with Lane?
It had, and Trevor was both grateful that he hadn’t had to lie to his dad, because Lane wasn’t ready to tell them the truth yet, and disappointed because, suddenly, instead of being terrified by it, he was eager to do it, again.
He and Lane didn’t stay much longer. It was late, and they had practice early tomorrow. They discussed their big dinner plans tomorrow—they were taking Tom and Delia to one of their favorite restaurants in Toronto as a big special welcome to the city.
After hugging their parents one last time, they headed back downstairs and they both pulled out scarves and hats, Lane tugging his all the way down, nearly over his eyes, as they walked out into the cold weather.
“We’re going to have to figure out the PATH between their building and ours,” Trevor said, teeth chattering as they finally turned the corner, the entrance only a few hundred yards away.
“I’ll ask Michael,” Lane agreed, referring to the Blue Jays player who owned the condo.
Trevor knew he should tell Lane what he’d told his dad, but it was hard to get started, and he was still working on it when they finally ducked into the blissfully heated entrance.
Lane, of course, noticed, though. They were in the elevator, on the way up to their floor, when he turned to Trevor. “You and Tom both looked pretty serious when we walked in. Is everything okay?”
For a split second, Trevor was tempted to prevaricate.
To tell Lane that he’d been trying to convince his dad to hire a contractor to redo the tile work in the guest bathroom.
But they were together now, in a relationship.
And Trevor knew that wasn’t the kind of thing you did in a relationship, even if you were afraid. Especially if you were afraid.
“Yeah. It’s good. I was just . . . um . . . talking to him about something. Not us,” Trevor added quickly, when Lane’s brows came together, like he was worried. “About me. That I’m demi.”
“Yeah?” Lane said, and reached down, tugging Trevor’s hand out of his jacket pocket. Squeezing him. “He took it well, yeah?”
“Well, yeah, it’s Dad. He’s chill like that,” Trevor said.
Pleased, too, that Lane was also chill about it.
Obviously Trevor liked him—he’d said so, pretty blatantly, more than once, and had been the one to bring up that he wanted to make things more official between them besides just fooling around in bed—but the demi admission made it even more obvious.
Trevor wouldn’t want to do anything with Lane if he didn’t have real feelings for him.
Lane didn’t ask though, if Trevor had confessed anything else. Trevor told himself that it was because Lane trusted him to keep up his end of their agreement, but it was hard to not worry that maybe Lane didn’t ask because he didn’t want to know.
“I swear I didn’t tell him about us,” Trevor burst out the moment the apartment door closed behind them.
Lane raised an eyebrow as he hung up his jacket. Took Trevor’s and did the same as Trevor toed off his shoes. “I didn’t think you did. You said you didn’t, and we talked about it.”
“I know, but—”
Lane caught him around his waist and dragged Trevor against him, holding him in place with his big, strong arms, so he couldn’t run.
Couldn’t freak out. Trevor didn’t know how Lane had figured out that if he was touching Trevor, it was basically physically impossible for Trevor to panic too much about anything.
“But I trust that you’re not going to just open your mouth and have it all fall out,” Lane said.
“I wasn’t even tempted. I actually . . .” Trevor pulled back and bit his lip. “I actually wonder if he knows.”
“What?” Lane didn’t look like he was freaking out, but surely he was, anyway. Just more subtly than Trevor could catch.
“He kept asking questions about how it was going, living together.”
“We’ve been doing that since this summer,” Lane said, a confused frown on his face.
“I know,” Trevor said. “Which is what I told him.” Well, sort of anyway. He’d only been that chill about it in his imagination. But then Lane had to know that, because Lane knew him.
“Anything else?” Lane took him by the arm and Trevor went easily, as he tugged him over to the couch.
It felt so easy and right to curl up against Lane’s big warm side.
“I think he was going to ask me something else, before you guys came back to the kitchen,” Trevor admitted. “We’d just finished talking about me being demi, but the moment you showed up, he clammed right up.”
“How would he know?” Lane finally asked.
And Trevor could only shrug. He didn’t know how his dad would know. They’d barely ever been around together in front of their parents—mostly because of Lane and his avoidance tactics—but as observant as Tom generally was, Trevor could definitely imagine him putting it all together, eventually.
“Well, it’s a moot point,” Lane said. “We’re eventually telling them anyway.”
Trevor was sort of tempted to ask if this meant that Lane was okay telling them sooner rather than later, but he’d been the one to push them into relationship territory.
He’d been the one who wanted to tell their parents.
He knew Lane liked him a lot—obviously, considering their history and the sheer time length of the crush Lane had on him—but there was a part of Trevor who wanted Lane to come to him for once.
To show Trevor, satisfying that bone-deep need inside him, that he wanted him. That he needed him, too.
So he didn’t ask. Instead, he let himself sink more completely into Lane’s comforting embrace. Enjoy the quiet simplicity of just sitting together like this, not needing to do anything, not needing to even say anything.
Lane didn’t bring it up again until they were getting ready for bed.
“What are you going to tell him if he asks?” Lane wondered as Trevor finished washing his face.
He’d still been kinda inhabiting the other bathroom and other bedroom, but after their conversation a few days ago, he’d stopped worrying about how much space he was taking up and just finished moving the rest of his stuff in.
The guest bedroom closet was a good overflow for his clothes, but other than that, Trevor had finished staking his claim on his half of Lane’s personal spaces.
“If who asks?”
Lane huffed out a breath. “If Tom asks if we’re . . . well, you know.”
Trevor couldn’t help the laugh that burst out of him. “If we’re you know?”
“Shut up,” Lane said, but he sounded endeared and his eyes were undeniably fond as he gazed at Trevor who was snuggling under the blankets.
“Maybe I just want you to say it,” Trevor said. Wondered, with a sudden painful clutch of his heart, that maybe Lane couldn’t.
But he wants this, Trevor reminded himself. He’s wanted this for so long.
“Okay,” Lane said smoothly, “what are you going to say if Tom asks if we’re together?”
“If you’re my boyfriend?” Trevor asked, enjoying the way Lane’s face lit up at the word. The opposite of how he’d worried Lane might react if he used that word. After all, Lane had never had a boyfriend before. Of course, neither had Trevor.
“Yeah,” Lane said, and shuffled closer on the mattress, tipping his forehead against Trevor’s.
“I don’t know,” Trevor admitted.
“You don’t want to lie,” Lane stated, and Trevor shook his head. He didn’t, he never did, lying was definitely not something he ever enjoyed, but about this? About something as important as Lane had become to him?
“I mean, I guess I don’t want to either,” Lane said slowly.
“Even if it’s faster than you’re comfortable with?”
Lane shrugged. “It already feels like I’ve spent too long not being honest.”
“I guess we’ll cross that bridge if we come to it,” Trevor murmured. Pressed a quick kiss to Lane’s mouth.
But Lane had other thoughts on his mind than a brief good-night kiss. His hand slid around the back of Trevor’s neck and pulled him in for a longer, hotter, much more leisurely kiss.
“What do you think?” Trevor said, a little dazed when Lane finally pulled back.
“I think,” Lane said seriously, “that you should call me your boyfriend again, and we should definitely have sex about it.”
Trevor swallowed hard, cock thickening in his boxer briefs. “Yeah, boyfriend.”
Then Lane’s mouth covered his again, and that was the last talking—the last thinking—that Trevor did for quite awhile.