Hound Dog & Bean (30 page)

All he had to do was be around Dean and his heart raced and his spirit expanded inside him. His fighting inner voices all calmed down, and some deep empty place inside of him seemed to fill with light.

Was he falling in love?

Danger!
a part of him screamed.
Run! Danger!

But he could no more run away from Dean—at least not for more than three days or so—than he could grow wings and take flight.

He rose early the first morning of their campout and went to the car and got the grill and the two gallon jugs of water, brought them to the camp, and made sausages and boiled eggs. Just as he was going to wake Dean, he heard the tent’s zipper and Dean slipped out, naked and glorious and oh,
so
fucking sexy. “Looks great,” Dean said. “
Smells
great.” He stretched and yawned and it was all H.D. could do not to crawl over and suck Dean’s cock.

“I’m starving,” said Dean. “First things first, though.” He walked a short distance away and peed, the arching urine sparkling in the early morning light of the rising sun. He came back and sat next to H.D. on one end of the cooler. There wasn’t much room, but that was okay. They ate and sometimes fed each other, and H.D. felt a pounding in his chest that nearly terrified him.

Green Man’s Grove
, he thought.
That’ll help
.

After they were finished, they cleaned up. It was easy since there were no real dishes to do except for the little coffee pot Dean had brought. He made their coffee pretty much the same way he did at The Bean; he’d just ground the beans before they left. But even here in the woods, he was an artist and their brew was utterly delicious. Sharing it together was sweet and familiar and made H.D. feel good despite any nervous feelings he had.

“What do you want to do now?” Dean asked.

From the look on Bean’s face, H.D. knew what he wanted, but he had something else in mind. “There’s something I want to show you,” H.D. said. He grabbed their towels and pulled two lovely tie-dyed pieces of cloth from his backpack.

“What are those?” Dean asked.

“Sarongs. They’re all the rage around here. A way to cover up and hardly be covered up. They’re street legal. We probably don’t need them, but just in case.” He unfolded them and showed them off—one in blues and yellows and greens, the other all purples and lavenders with rings of black. He was pleased when he saw Dean liked them.

“They’re beautiful, Hill. Where did you get them?”

“Made ’em,” said H.D.

Dean looked at him, agog. “You did? Hill! These are stunning. I thought your artistic talent was confined to bathroom graffiti!”

“We have lots of things to tell each other, don’t we?” H.D. said and winked. One last thing. He pulled two strings of Mardi Gras beads from the bottom of his backpack, one red and one gold. “Which one do you like?”

“One’s for me?”

“Sort of….”

“Sort of?”

“You’ll see, Dean. Patience.”

“Then I’ll take the red,” Dean said. “Because gold should be for you.”

H.D. felt that flutter in his chest again and approached Bean and placed the red string over his neck, then the gold over his own. It was tricky with all his dreads, but he did it.

After that, he took Dean with him farther along the side of the lake until they passed under a grove of trees. Wind chimes hung here and there, along with crystals on strings and chains. They came upon a waist-high pillar, and atop that was a statue of a nude woman, her face looking up into the branches overhead.

“This is Gaea’s Haven,” H.D. explained. “The witches have their rituals here, worshipping the goddess.”

“I see,” Dean said.

“Different strokes for different folk, huh?” H.D. asked. He himself worshipped nothing. He wasn't sure he believed in anything except—well. Life itself. He felt “Life” whenever he hugged Yggdrasil, the giant cottonwood. He felt it when he looked into the deep-brown eyes of Sarah Jane. There was a depth. Like a portal into someplace sacred. He saw it in Dean's eyes. Something…. Something…. Divine. Something…. There were no words that didn't sound hokey. He was afraid Dean might laugh. He would die if that happened. Dean's opinion of him mattered. He tried not to let it matter but knew it did. It bugged him that it mattered.

But then H.D. would look in those eyes, deep and golden brown (God! Like a dog's eyes! Why hadn't he thought of that before?), and he somehow knew Dean would never laugh at him. He knew it like he knew a dog would never bite him. Only humans did that. Marilyn Monroe had said that, and as drama queen as it sounded, it was truth.

“You’re right,” Dean said abruptly. There was a ring of pretty little benches that circled the statue, and he sat on one of them. “It’s really nice here. It’s peaceful. I could see getting married here, you know? If people want to worship the goddess, well—what you said. Different strokes.”

“You’re quite a man, Dean,” said H.D.

“So are you. Thanks for sharing this with me, Hill.”

“Oh,” he said. “This isn’t it. What I want you to see is farther on. Come on.” He held out his hand, and when Dean took it, H.D. pulled him to his feet.

“What next?”

“You’ll see.”

There was a small opening in the trees, a path that went deeper into the woods. They walked along and somehow H.D. knew Dean was staring at his ass, and it brought a smile to his face.
You’ll have it soon enough, my….
Then stopping the thought even as it formed, he changed it to
You’ll have my ass soon enough, Dean.

It was a narrow path he took Dean down, once more with over-reaching branches sheltering them from the direct heat of the sun. It reminded H.D. of pictures he’d seen in books of hallways in Catholic churches, with their pillars and arching ceiling. But this place was the only church he was interested in. Then, just as he began to wonder if maybe something had happened to it, they came around a bend, and there it was.

The Magick Gate.

I
T
WAS
lovely. Bean had never seen anything quite like it. Somehow, some
one
had bent branches and thick vines into a huge hoop in the trees ahead of them. The path led right through it. It was like some kind of portal. From it hung dozens of strings of beads, medallions, chains, crystals, feathers, and all kinds of lovely items. More wind chimes hung from the branches surrounding it, and on the ground were scattered more crystals, along with polished stones, marbles, small statues, and all manner of coins. “Wow, Hill. It’s…. It’s magical.”

H.D. nodded. “It’s called the Magick Gate.”

“How appropriate,” Bean said. “And you look so damned sexy standing there in it.”

H.D. leaned on one hip, placed a hand into the frame of branches, thrust his crotch out ever so slightly, gave a little wiggle. “Oh, yeah?”

“
Oh
, yeah,” Dean returned.

“Come here, baby,” he said.

Dean came. They pressed themselves together, kissed lightly, and just as he felt himself starting to get hard, H.D. stepped back. He slowly pulled off his beads, then reached up and tied them into the twisted, cable-like vines of the Gate. He nodded at Dean. “It’s an offering to the fairies,” he said.

One of Dean’s eyebrows rose. “An offering to…?”

H.D. shrugged, afraid this was the moment Dean would laugh at him. Well, then fuck him.
Fuck him
. “The fairies,” he said challengingly.

Dean shrugged. “Why not? There’s something about this place. I like fairies as much as anything.” He pulled the string of beads off his own neck and did just as H.D. had done. Looped them up and through the gate.

In less than an instant, any anger H.D. felt was gone. The rush that went through him thrilled him and scared him at the same time. He wanted to grab Dean and kiss him. And he wanted to turn tail and run back down the path as fast as he could.

Dean made the decision for him. He pulled H.D. into his arms and kissed him. H.D. didn’t run.

After a moment, H.D. pulled away. “Come on. Before we fuck right here.” He grabbed Dean’s hand and pulled him through the gate. They had gone all of five feet when a second, smaller path diverged from the main one. “This way,” he said, and fingers intertwined, they started down that second trail. It was a bit more winding and climbed ever so slightly, steeper, then back down again, until finally it broke out into a small grassy area.

They were here. Green Man’s Grove.

The first time he’d been here, H.D. knew there was something special about the place. It was in the flowers that grew along one side of the whole area: bright yellow sunflowers and purple coneflowers and white daisies. There was a knee-high circle of stones about twelve feet across. He knew someone had to have made it in the last few years, but it had a feeling about it. Something that made it feel ancient. At one end was an altar made from slabs of stones. The trees offered just enough shade that inside the circle was a soft carpet of moss that felt good on bare feet. There was a small opening on the east side, and H.D. knew before he’d even entered that first time to kick off his sandals.

He turned and looked at Dean, and was struck by the expression on his face.

“Wow,” the man whispered. “I don’t believe it. Wow.”

With that he led Dean into the circle, took the towels and sarongs from around his neck and Dean’s, and made a small bed for them. Then he pulled Dean down and wrapped him in his arms. “I want you. Take me, Dean.”

“B-but is it okay?” he asked. “Would we be… dishonoring this place?”

“The witches say that their goddess tells them that ‘All acts of love and pleasure are My rituals.’”

“I see,” said Dean. “Then we would be honoring this place if…”

“… if you fucked me,” H.D. said.

“Then who am I to argue with the goddess?”

T
HE
REST
of the weekend was pure joy. They swam; women saw Bean naked and he was okay with that. They walked naked in the sun and made love every chance they got. It almost hurt to pack and leave, but all good things must come to an end.

They waited until the last possible moment on Sunday afternoon and hung out a few more hours on the beach before heading first to the shower house to clean up—they soaped each other up, and despite a sign saying it would be breaking the rules of etiquette, ducked into the one handicapped shower stall (and closed the curtain) and made love one last time—and finally headed home. It was hard to put regular clothes on after days of being naked or nearly naked, but they had to. They considered wearing just their sarongs, but they wanted to stop at a steakhouse they’d noticed in Bonner Springs on the way in and have dinner.

Once more the magic was on their side; their waiter was gay and treated them like kings. He got a great tip.

They stopped by Elaine’s and picked up the kids on the way home. It was becoming clear that Rammstein was staying with H.D. and not getting adopted out.

“Did you kids have a good time this weekend?” Elaine asked them as she handed Rammstein into H.D.’s arms.

“We did,” H.D. replied.

“Definitely,” Bean agreed.

“Letting your tallywhackers bounce in the breeze?”

Bean blushed and H.D. grinned and bobbed his eyebrows. “They did a lot more than that.”

Elaine held up her hands and closed her eyes. “TMI.”

“You asked!” H.D. exclaimed.

“Forgive my stupidity,” she said.

They each gave her a kiss on the cheek and headed to the car, H.D. having to hold both dogs while Bean drove the short distance home. The dogs were a handful.

While they were carrying things in, the phone rang. “Would you get that?” Bean called out. He was on the back porch, heading down the steps into the lawn so he could hose out the cooler. No waiting. It could be disgusting by tomorrow.

“Sure,” said H.D., although Bean couldn’t hear him. “Hello,” he said, answering the kitchen phone.

There was a pause on the other end. “Hello? Deanie?”

“Nope. This is H.D. Who’s this?”

“This is June Alexander, Dean’s mother. Are you the boy he’s been seeing?”

For a moment, H.D. didn’t know how to answer. This was “the parent.” This was the bank president. The charity host and society lady. This was Dean’s mother. For some reason, he couldn’t talk.

“Hello?”

“H-Hello, Mrs. Alexander.”

“Oh, darling, please! It’s June. Mrs. Alexander is that disagreeable old woman that mothered my husband.” She gave out a laugh that actually startled H.D.

“Okay.” He swallowed. “June.”

“Did you boys have a nice camping trip?”

She knew where they went? No. Probably not. Not
really
. “We did,” he answered.

“Yes, Father!” she yelled and H.D. held the phone away from his ear. “It’s the boyfriend. He sounds nice.”

Boyfriend?

“I’ll ask! I’ll ask!” she shouted. Then, in a quieter voice: “Father—my
husband
—wants to know if you two did any fishing.”

Not for fish
, he almost said, then stopped himself.
Be good. And don’t freak out. She’s just his… his mother
. “No. But we did a lot of swimming.”

“Oh, that’s nice. Deanie loves to swim. He was on the swim team in high school. Even won a few things, I believe.”

You believe? You don’t know?
“I didn’t know that. I’ll have to ask him about it.”

“You know, you naughty boy—we haven’t seen nearly as much of Deanie as you have lately….”

Boy, that’s the truth!

“You’ve been monopolizing his time.”

“Sorry, June.” What else did he say?

“Don’t be sorry. Young love is blossoming. It must have plenty of sunshine and plenty of water to grow properly.”

H.D. couldn’t help but think of sunshine and water on their naked bodies and the kinds of growing that had gone on. It was only then that the word “love” registered.
Love?

“I’ll ask! I’ll ask! Sorry, dear. Father was just asking when we’re going to finally meet you. It’s been over a month. Isn’t it about time?”