Page 64 of Damian & Jun, Episodes 9-12
Émeric cleaned up, smiling to himself. “I’m a painter. Makeup isn’t so different from what I do with paint on canvas. And now you have a perfect mask.”
“Do you think of me as a boy or a girl?”
Émeric met Jun’s eyes. “You’re a boy who looks devastating in a dress. And a suit and nothing at all. Clothes are clothes. I’m bisexual, Jun. While this may not be the case for all bisexual men, clothes do not make the gender for me. I enjoy all expressions of femininity and masculinity, no matter the form of the body carrying it. Fashion is transitory. What is male fashion today is female fashion tomorrow. Men wore heels before women.”
Jun raised an eyebrow. “And you enjoy this fashion?”
Émeric smirked. “On you, yes. I would never dress Collin like this. As soft as he can be for Richard and I, Collin doesn’t have a dress-type flare in his body. The two are not the same. You have a taste for the dramatic and the grace and training to pull it off.”
He offered Jun his hand and pulled him up from the couch. “Shall we? I’m bringing my book. I can put your papers in my briefcase.”
“Please.”
They only took one bodyguard, Émeric’s normal number, and opted to walk the three streets to the building where Auntie’s somewhat exclusive café was located. Émeric offered Jun his arm as they stepped out onto the sidewalk.
“Will Collin or Richard mind?” Jun asked.
Émeric shook his head. “Hardly. But we can send them a picture, Damian also.” He tilted his head toward Jun, took a selfie, and sent it to a group chat.
The café was quiet and nearly empty with no open sign on the door. Jun patted his cheeks as he entered. The walk, while brief, had whipped more red into them. He didn’t need a mirror to feel the cold tingle. The long dress coat was amazing. He got why girls used to wear so many of them in certain places. Insulation!
A middle-aged man showed them to a private room off to the side. Jun took off his coat and hung it on the hooks provided. Émeric murmured to the man. The server nodded back, gave Jun a respectful look just to check, and left, shutting the door as he departed.
Émeric sat at the table and opened his briefcase, taking out Jun’s papers and his book. “So, am I still the scary one?”
Jun’s lips curled a little at the edges. He sat primly across the table in the only other chair available. “You’re definitely the scary one.”
Émeric raised an eyebrow. “The dress and the makeup doesn’t soften my image?”
Jun put his elbows on the table and his chin in his hands, leaning forward. “No, this makes you twice as scary.”
Émeric’s eyes twinkled, actually fucking twinkled. He looked entertained as fuck. “How so?”
“Because you know exactly what you’re doing, and you do it on purpose. Most people are going to miss it.”
“But you see through me?”
Jun smirked. Inside, he trembled a little. Having the full force of Émeric’s attention was thrilling and dangerous. This was a man who could take him apart, if he let him. There weren’t as many walls between him and Émeric as two men would normally have. Chances were excellent that at some point— the near future—he was going to consent to letting this man do those things to him.
He smothered his nerves with a jab. “I think, despite all your talk of fashion, you like me in a dress.”
“I do.”
“Why?”
Émeric smirked. “Why do you like wearing it?”
“I’m not a girl.”
“I quite agree.”
“Then why do you enjoy it? Don’t tell me that it’s because you’re bisexual. If you wanted someone to wear a dress, there are girls for miles who would wear them for you.”
Émeric opened his book and looked at Jun over the top of the pages. “The deviance of it, Jun. Why else? Watching you squirm with your desires versus expectations. It can be an opportunity, if you allow it, or it can be a cage.”
There was a knock on the door, and the waiter returned with a serving cart on wheels. He had two ornate cups on saucers with tiny bowls of sugar cubes and equally small plates holding two cookies each.
“Please let us know if you would like anything else.” The waiter took his leave.
