Chapter 10

Tate

 

 

Reece had instructed Tate to dress casually for their event the night before, but to bring a fierce look for day two with the caveat of wearing shoes comfortable enough to do a little walking. Tate had packed a fitted, long-sleeved, purple off-the-shoulder cropped sweater and high-waist skin-tight velvet pants. For shoes, he’d chosen black leather ankle boots.

Tate had followed Reece’s instructions. He got up at six a.m. to get ready, showered, then added a bit of product to his natural, soft, tight curly hair, brushing down the tapered edges. He’d let his hair grow out a bit over the fall and winter so he had something to work with. After putting on some deodorant and rubbing cocoa butter into his skin, Tate slipped into a pair of black lace briefs that rode low on his hips and exposed his butt cheeks, striding back to the bedroom.

Tate pulled the bench at the foot of their bed—the one he’d made love to Reece on last night—to the cherrywood desk where he’d placed a vanity mirror from the bathroom on top. Perching on the bench and staring into the mirror, his eyes were drawn to the reflection of Reece’s sleeping form in the bed behind him. He smiled, remembering their night together before focusing on his own face to evaluate how much work he had to do this morning. 

Luckily, Tate had indulged in eyelash extensions, so he didn’t need to add any fake lashes. He had left his makeup case on the makeshift vanity the night before, so he flipped it open and retrieved his tweezers. And after cleaning up his eyebrows, he went to work on his beard, switching on his electric shaver after laying a hand towel down on the surface to catch the hairs.

Reece had confessed he loved the look of Tate’s groomed beard with bright lipstick, so Tate had been humoring Reece a bit, shaping up his light beard when they stepped out and running through all the deep red and orange matte hues he had on hand. It was a pain in the ass to keep the beard groomed, but Tate had to admit, his man had good taste. It looked damn good.

Then he pulled out an assortment of palettes and bottles along with a brown suede makeup brush pouch and got to work on his face. He went for a smoky eye with gold lids, loving the smell of the cakey powder as he applied it.

Once he’d finished his eyes, he added a two-in-one moisturizer and primer to his entire face then a color corrector to his nose, chin, and the area right above his forehead. He poured two different color foundations onto a round, steel mixing palette and grabbed a couple of brushes. Turning his head this way and that, he contoured his cheeks, nose, and jawline then filled in the gaps with a highlight to make his cheeks pop and jawline sharp.

“You look like a contestant in Drag Race right now,” Reece rasped from the bed. Tate laid his brush on the vanity and looked up in the mirror just as Reece sat up in bed behind him, the sheets sliding down his tight abs. Dried semen speckled Reece’s abs and Tate’s dick stretched his lace panties at the sight.

“Boy, don’t worry about what I’m doing. You better get showered and dressed so we aren’t late,” Tate said in a teasing tone, reaching for one of his blending brushes.

Reece grunted but threw back the sheets, exposing his semihard flesh to Tate as he headed toward the shower.

Tate turned back to the mirror, glad that the distraction in the form of his boyfriend was out of sight as he blended all the makeup he’d applied and followed that up with the application of powders to accentuate his highlights and contours. After adding his blush, he dusted his skin with setting powder.

By the time Reece had finished showering and walked back into the bedroom with a towel around his waist, Tate was painting his lips a deep plum. Tate looked up in the mirror at a reflection of a riveted Reece sitting at the foot of the bed. It wasn’t the first time the man had sat seemingly enraptured while watching Tate put his face on.

“You look bangin’, baby,” Reece said as he scooted off the bed, took the step to reach Tate, and wrapped his arms around Tate’s shoulders from behind, kissing him on the neck, gazing at Tate’s reflection in the mirror with a soft look on his face.

After they both slipped on their clothes, it didn’t take them long to pack up and check out. Then they were on the 80 East, heading toward the Bay Area. Reece looked over at Tate occasionally with a wide smile.

“I don’t know if I should be afraid or excited,” Tate said, sipping the coffee they’d picked up from a drive-thru.

“Definitely not afraid,” Reece answered confidently. “I just don’t know if you’ll be into it or not. Dani said you’d be—”

“Wait, what? Dani?” Tate asked, his brows shooting up.

Reece glanced at Tate before switching lanes and lifting a shoulder. “I gave her a call at the shop to help me with our second outing of the weekend, and she swore you’d love it. It was my idea, but I wanted to run it by her.”

Now Tate was going nuts in the passenger seat, trying to figure out where Reece could be taking him, but when they made their way to the Oakland Convention Center, he had to admit he never would have guessed.

“The Sullivan Sister’s Black Hair & Beauty Expo West!” His jaw dropped as they drove past the sign to the designated parking area. He was floored. Tate turned to his boyfriend, who was grinning but rubbing the back of his neck, a nervous gesture.

“Is this okay?” Reece asked.

“Okay? Aside from you, naked, tied to the bed with caramel sauce drizzled all over you, it’s my damn fantasy,” he answered, excitement bubbling.

Tate had considered attending this year and bringing along a few of the girls, but it was Valentine’s Day weekend, after all. The girls at the shop had all claimed to have plans, and then Reece had proposed going away. Looking back, he realized that the other stylists had probably known about Reece’s plans to bring him here.

This was one of the biggest hair shows in the country, certainly bigger than the regional and local events and competitions he’d participated in. He didn’t think he was good enough to compete in a Sullivan Sister’s show yet, but he hoped to work up to it in the next few years. He was excited to see what the seasoned competitors were doing.

After they had parked and made their way through security, they navigated to the main floor. The main part of the convention was packed with vendors at various booths. Pop, rap, and R&B music competed throughout the space, and Tate admired all the creativity on display. Models milled around with bright red, blue, pink, and green bobs, weaves, and wigs. They paraded alongside gravity defying hair sculptures and more classic glamour looks with long curls and formal up-dos. And alongside the mazelike walkways of the convention floor were booths run by vendors trying to entice attendees to try their products or stop and watch their demonstrations.

Tate glanced at Reece whose eyes were huge as he scanned the room. To Tate, this was beautiful chaos.

“Holy shit,” Reece mumbled, eyes wide as they swept over the scene. “I know you’ve competed in hair shows. That’s why I had a hunch that you’d be into this, but what exactly happens at a hair show? This is definitely more intense than I was expecting.”

Tate inclined his head, wrapped his arm around Reece’s, and walked toward the perimeter of the floor intent on seeing everything. “Stick with me, babe. I’ll show you the ropes.”

He stopped at various booths and ran his fingers through weaves of varying lengths, colors, and textures. He perused several different hair dyes, shampoos and conditioners, and relaxers, and even let a vendor spray some of their natural hair care moisturizer on his own curls.

All the while, Tate kept a running commentary to explain what the products were for to Reece who was still looking around taking in all the sights quietly.

“You could have at least given me a heads up to bring some extra spending cash,” Tate complained good-naturedly. He hip-checked his boyfriend as he grabbed his bag full of several bottles of hair moisturizer he’d purchased to try at the shop.

Reece wrapped an arm around Tate’s waist after grabbing the bag from him. “Dani warned me that you might say that, but I didn’t want to tip you off.”

Tate leaned over and kissed his cheek, snuggling against his neck for a moment before pulling away. “Well, I suppose it was worth the surprise, so I forgive you.”

As they made their way to the middle of the floor, they approached several demonstrations where people were getting their hair barbered, cut, and styled on the spot. Tate found the cut and color demonstrations really helpful, and when it was over, they had about five minutes to walk over to the runway show in another room.

The show started with the freestyle competition where about twelve models were sitting in chairs on stage, capes draped over them, their hairstylists at the ready behind them. Once time started, each beautician went to work, fast and furious, cutting, curling, and pinning their model’s hair.

“Damn, those tool belts around their waists look so heavy,” Reece mumbled beside Tate. 

“They’re called aprons silly, well—half aprons—and they are heavy. You have to put all your tools for the competition in there.” The beauticians had about half an hour to cut, comb, and style their models. The judges evaluated technique and creativity. Color was allowed, but it had to have been done before the competition, and hair extensions couldn’t be used.

Watching the different rhythms and styles of each beautician fascinated Tate, and he was particularly riveted by a young woman on the end who mixed barbering with styling, whipping out her electric razor and shears. Tate watched her model’s hair shape up into a soft-looking Mohawk with designs etched into the shaved sides of her head and the actual Mohawk falling into loose curls in deep shades of red. Elegant but badass.

The thirty minute competition flew by, and in the end, Tate’s favorite competitor took third place, which Reece agreed was bogus—in their minds, she was the best stylist on the stage. Tate made a note to reach out to her. She worked at another shop in Sacramento that he’d heard might be closing down soon and he wanted to poach her.

After the freestyle, it was Tate’s absolute favorite event: the fantasy category.

The theme was “It’s a Zoo in Here” and all the hairstyles were inspired by zoo animals. Tate wished at that moment that LJ was with them. Watching the parade of models dressed up as zebras, giraffes, and peacocks made him think back to one of the first meals he’d shared with Reece and LJ when they’d talked about her field trip to the zoo. He looked over at Reece’s beaming face and felt momentarily short of breath as he considered how much Reece had come to mean to him. Tate never could have imagined that the man and little girl he’d eaten dinner with would become so central to his life, but here they were…

Tate took tons of pictures and even some video to show LJ later and made sure to capture images of the woman whose hair had been done up like the body of a flamingo. Overall, it was a pretty spectacular show. The peacock inspired look won first place, but Tate made sure to grab a picture of him and Reece with the flamingo on Reece’s phone so he could show it to LJ when they returned home.

About forty-five minutes later, they hopped back into the car, loaded down with shopping bags full of hair care products, and headed toward the Bay Bridge to cross into San Francisco.

Reece was once again grinning, but Tate had started to feel guilty. Reece had taken the lead in planning their first Valentine’s Day, and while Tate had packed his gift for Reece with him, he hadn’t helped plan any of their weekend getaway.

“What’s wrong?” Reece asked, gaze darting between the navigation system and the road. “I can practically feel you thinking over there. What’s on your mind?”

Tate shrugged. “Just feeling some type of way that you’re doing all this for me and I didn’t even help. It just makes me feel…I don’t know, a little uncomfortable.” It sounded silly once he said it out loud, but Tate didn’t understand his feelings himself.

Reece nodded. “You know what your problem is, babe?”

“Oh, I have a problem?” Tate asked jokingly. “Enlighten me.”

“You don’t know how to accept people doing nice things for you. I wanted to do this for you. This weekend is my gift to you. The whole point of a gift is that it’s given without expecting anything back. Let me give this to you, and just accept it graciously. Okay?” Reece glanced over at Tate.

Tate breathed in then let go. “Okay, Reece.”

The Airbnb Reece had booked for the night was gorgeous. It was a top floor studio apartment in the heart of the Castro District. It was spacious for a studio with an amazing kitchen, a huge quartz island, hardwood floors, and floor-to-ceiling windows with a stunning view of the historic Castro Theatre sign and the rolling hills of San Francisco in the background. The plush California king bed with richly colored throw pillows and the bohemian chic decor warmed Tate with the earthy reds, oranges, browns, and creams in mismatched prints and materials. He couldn’t wait to sink into that huge bed next to Reece.

Once they’d dropped off their bags at the apartment, they set out on foot to stop by a grocery store. Reece had planned for them to stay in for dinner and then maybe hit a few bars or clubs later in the evening. They walked the neighborhood hand in hand, stopping at the Bi-Rite in the Mission to pick up the fancy ingredients Reece insisted he needed for their dinner. 

After they got back to the studio, Reece whipped up a seafood pasta and an arugula salad as Tate sat watching him from the couch, sipping his chilled prosecco.

“Can I help with anything?” Tate asked, though he didn’t actually want to assist. He loved watching Reece work in the kitchen. The way his hands wielded a knife so confidently. The way he bunched his long-sleeved shirt at the top of his veiny muscled forearms, lightly dusted with hair. Seeing the man maneuver around a hot stove and cutting boards with a cup towel tossed over shoulder really did it for Tate. Apparently, he was developing some kind of cooking fetish, because he’d never been so turned on watching someone sauté vegetables.

“Why don’t you get into my duffle and pull out that black canvas bag I packed. There are a few things in there that need to go on the table,” Reece instructed as he lifted the pan from the open fire of the gas stove and tossed the shrimp before gingerly setting the pan back down over the fire.

Tate retrieved the canvas bag and pulled out two thick, short round candles and flat candle holders for them to sit on, along with two packs of tea lights. When Tate looked up, he caught Reece’s gaze, his eyes glowing with humor, warmth, and something Tate didn’t quite recognize.

“Go on. Light ’em up, baby. Dinner will be ready in about five,” Reece said, his voice low and hungry for more than the meal he’d just prepared.

Reece set the basket of sliced baguette on the table next to the bowl with the arugula salad and another dish filled with fragrant and steaming fresh pasta as Tate finished placing the candles in various spots around the single room in areas that he felt were safe.

Reece dimmed the lights, and soft, flickering candlelight bathed the cozy room. Tate drew in a sharp breath at how beautiful it was, turning in a slow circle to take it all in. When his eyes met Reece’s, he was so overcome with joy he could barely speak, his happiness fizzing up and making him dizzy.

“Th-thank you,” Tate stammered a bit on a whisper. There was no reason to whisper, but the moment inspired a kind of reverence in Tate. It must have done the same for Reece because his “You’re welcome, Tate,” wasn’t much louder than Tate’s words had been.

The two took their seats then toasted to their first Valentine’s Day together before digging in. Tate had never tasted pasta so good.

The linguini was tender, nothing like that cheap stuff in boxes his mother had cooked growing up. Reece had bought the pasta fresh and told Tate it would change his life. He’d been skeptical, but as he groaned around a mouthful of the buttery noodles, he was fully on board.

The shrimp and chunks of langoustine were succulent on his tongue. He dipped the fresh baguette in the light butter, white wine, and lemon sauce marveling at the explosion of fresh herbs and garlic that hit his palette.

“Mmmmh, nnnh, god.” He moaned around another bite, swiping his tongue out along his bottom lip to catch the excess juice.

The clatter of silverware against glass pulled his attention toward Reece whose brow was furrowed and he fidgeted in his seat as he picked his fork up again.

“You okay over there?” Tate asked.

Reece laughed. “I’m fine. Are you okay? Sounds like that pasta is giving you a better orgasm than I ever have.”

Tate wiped his mouth with one of the cloth napkins Reece had found in the swank kitchen. “Damn near. I like all your cooking, but this is otherworldly, babe. I mean, like, hella good.”

Reece preened, sitting up a little straighter in his chair. “Well, I’m glad you like it.”

“Like is an understatement. More like love,” Tate said. And as the candlelight flickered across Reece’s beautiful smooth skin, Tate knew he wasn’t only talking about the food. 

Tate thought about all the love and care the man had put into this weekend—all for Tate—expecting nothing in return but Tate’s happiness, and he realized, for the first time in his adult life, he had something he loved more than doing hair.

Before that monumental realization overwhelmed him, Tate directed Reece’s attention to the card on the table which contained the gift Tate had gotten for him. Reece was thrilled with the five sessions at a culinary school that offered baking and pastry courses and got up from his seat to hug Tate and kiss him senseless, his face split in a huge smile.

After finishing their meal, they decided to stay in. They’d had a late night and an early morning, and the freestanding tub in the corner of the studio apartment was too tempting to pass on. It was a tight squeeze for the two of them, but they were both slim enough to fit, their laughter and chuckles quickly turning into sighs and moans as they explored one another’s bodies.

Soon after, the white sheets of the vast bed were soaked, bathwater glistening on their skin in the soft light as they moved together. Reece blanketed Tate, deep inside his body, mind, and heart. And Tate clung, pulling Reece closer, wrapping his arms and legs around the man, claiming Reece’s lips the way Reece claimed his body. As Reece cradled Tate, his hips pistoning between Tate’s thighs, Tate wished there was a closeness beyond the press of their bodies—he wanted Reece to be a part of him all the time; he wanted to carry Reece’s spirit with him always. And when Reece’s relentless lovemaking finally sent him over the edge, Tate cried through his release, his love for Reece bubbling to the surface and overflowing. After his own orgasm, Reece brought Tate back down with soft, sweet kisses all over his face and chest, gentle caresses up and down his shaking thighs, soft words of love and praise in his ear. Reece’s soothing words stopped and his touches paused when Tate whispered, “I love you,” before drifting off, not staying awake long enough to hear if Reece said, “I love you back.”