Authors: Kracken
As Donny crawled into his own bed and fell into exhausted sleep, he tried to fit himself into that image of Peter, sprawled out wide on his back. He’d have an arm and leg thrown over the big man, he decided, tucked up close to his warmth and strength. Peter would cradle him there with one arm all night long. It was an indication of his complete exhaustion that Donny didn’t even interject any hot sex into the scene. Even his fantasy’s craved sleep, was his last thought until he woke the next morning.
Peter could make pancakes. As Donny pulled up his loose shorts and entered the kitchen, he blinked blearily at the sight of the man flipping the things on a skillet and looking pleased with himself.
“Shouldn’t you be sleeping in, taking it easy, enjoying your day off, all of the above?” Donny muttered as he poured himself a cup of coffee and motioned with it at the pancakes. “Need help?”
“When I have a day off, I like to enjoy every minute,” Peter replied as he motioned Donny away, “and, no, please don’t help. I want to be able to eat these. Sit down and I’ll have them ready in a moment.”
Donny sat at the kitchen table and watched the man concentrate on the pancakes. He found a smile, scratched at the stubble on his face, and then sighed.
Peter straightened a little and asked, without turning, “Something wrong?”
Donny replied without thinking, as he looked into his steaming coffee cup, “Just thinking that this is very domestic, and how lucky people are in a relationship. Pretty soon, I’m going to be on my own, eating soup out of a can, and I’m going to really miss this.”
“I can’t say that I’ve ever had a domestic moment like this in a relationship,” Peter admitted.
Donny frowned. “No? Why not?”
Peter was quiet a moment and then he replied, as he dished pancakes onto a plate, “Dan says I’m very… trusting.” Donny had the feeling that Peter was going to say, gullible, but that was harder for a man to admit. “The people I thought I was having relationships with, were actually taking advantage of me or were just…”
“Just?” Donny prompted when Peter trailed off.
“Having flings; one night stands,” Peter finished. He turned with the plate of pancakes and put them on the table. He looked embarrassed, and lost in thought, as he added, “I’m not a good judge of character.”
Donny felt angry at those people who had used Peter. He stabbed at the pancakes and loaded his plate with them as he said, “You deserve better than to be treated that way.”
Peter smiled as he sat down and pushed the syrup and butter, already on the table, towards Donny, “Thanks. I’m sorry that I unloaded like that. You’re a great guy, Donny, not the kind of person to treat someone like that. I’m sure you can find someone, eventually. Someone who will make you pancakes in the morning.” He smiled, but it was brittle.
“I’ll have a hard time finding someone to put up with the fish smell,” Donny joked to deflect what he was really thinking, that, not too long ago, he had been one of those kinds of people; users and only interested in one night stands.
“I could get used to it,” Peter said as he put pancakes on his own plate. He realized in the next second, what he had just said, and ducked his head. “Uh, I meant… some things you can get used to… when… well, when you…” He stopped, clutched at the syrup bottle with a big fist and then said cautiously, not looking at Donny, “Forget it, I’m being stupid.”
“Forgotten,” Donny replied softly, but he didn’t really want to forget Peter’s words. What had he meant? That he could get used to the smell to be with him? That someone else might think it was worth it to be with him? Was it just a badly phrased attempt to cheer him up?
‘Thanks for the pancakes,” Donny said, ignoring the desperate inner voice that begged him to climb onto Peter’s lap and demand that the man to take him, all of him, and keep him.
Peter cleared his throat a little, not lifting his eyes from his plate. “They’re not gourmet, just plain pancakes.”
“They taste great,” Donny assured him after a bite, though he couldn’t have said what they tasted like. His mind was too busy criticizing his lack of initiative.
“Thanks,” Peter replied softly and then darted eyes at Donny nervously. “I can make you some lunch as well? I was thinking of some chicken.”
“Chicken?” Donny was shaken out of his contemplation of what Peter might feel like planted deep inside him, what the man’s big hands might feel like on his ass, and what those muscles could do when it came to wild positions. He pushed on his hard on with the flat of his hand, even though the table hid it. “You can cook chicken?” His voice came out sounding strangled.
“I have pre-cooked frozen chicken,” Peter admitted. “A little canned sauce and an oven can make it seem like I just cooked it. You can take some of the left overs to work with you for dinner.”
How long had it been since he had hooked up with a man outside of an alley? Donny’s body was saying that it had been too long.
“Okay, no chicken?” Peter said with raised eyebrows. “I can think of something else to cook.”
Donny pulled his mind away from thoughts of tasting Peter to realize that he had dropped the conversational ball. “Sorry, chicken is fine. I was just… well, you don’t have to bother.”
Peter was quick to say, “It’s no bother.”
They were quiet while they ate their pancakes, the silence punctuated by the sound of silverware on plates, and then Donny said, wondering when his hard on was going to go down, “I think I’m getting over the flu.”
Peter perked up, blue eyes looking relieved. “You do?”
That tone asked for an explanation and Donny suddenly realized that, his having a hard on, and pornographic thoughts about his benefactor, weren’t good ones. As he mopped up the last of the syrup with his last piece of pancake, Donny replied, “My face doesn’t feel ready to explode with snot. I guess gutting seafood agrees with me.” That came out more sour than he intended, but he couldn’t hide how he felt about the job.
Peter grimaced over his bite of pancake.
“Sorry,” Donny said quickly. “That wasn’t very good breakfast conversation.”
Peter chuckled, but then looked more serious. He reached out and patted Donny’s hand lightly, before standing up and taking the plates. “I can understand your frustration. Dan’s been searching the entire area to find you a better job. It’s only a matter of time.”
“Have I told you how much I appreciate what both of you are doing for me?”
Peter looked warmly pleased as he turned to the sink. “You have.”
“I’ll keep repeating it, anyway,” Donny chuckled and then was up and heading for his room. He didn’t want to miss his opportunity to hide a still jutting hard on. “I’m going to get the bedroom, and myself, cleaned up,” he said as an excuse.
Peter said something in acknowledgement, but Donny was already closing the door and taking out his erection. He glared at it and gave it a few punishing pumps of his fist. “You and me have to have a talk,” he growled softly. “Peter is off limits.”
His erection stayed hard, in defiance. Donny flopped onto the bed on his back and gave it its way. Legs spread wide, and body pointed towards the door, he felt like he was offering himself to Peter. That fantasy alone had him shooting his load in moments. Pancakes and an orgasm, Donny thought sourly. It would have been a perfect morning if Peter had really been a part of the orgasm.
Cleaning up his body as well as the bedroom didn’t take as much time as Donny hoped. He found himself reluctant to face Peter again. He napped until the smell of lunch finally forced him from his seclusion.
It might have been his imagination, but Peter seemed to look at him with some reproach, as if he had failed to keep his end of a bargain. He was putting plates on the table as he said, “Did you get some extra rest?”
Donny nodded as he sat down at the table. He was glad that he had been handed an honest excuse for avoiding the man.
Already dressed for work, which had meant putting on clothes that Donny didn’t mind getting ruined, and not looking forward to another grueling afternoon of gutting fish, Donny wished that his pleasant lunch with Peter could last longer.
The man was pleasant; Donny decided, as they ate a very good meal, despite it’s having been preprocessed, and talked about small things. Peter was relaxed, never sarcastic or critical, and a good listener. When Donny noticed that he wasn’t mentioning his work, he wondered about it.
“I suppose you like to leave work at work?” Donny decided.
Peter, who had been discussing chicken seasonings, had to take a moment to switch mental gears. He looked guarded and replied simply, “Yeah.”
“I can understand,” Donny said, “You probably see a lot of things go down during your shift. When you get home, you want to forget about it so that you can enjoy off duty hours.” He felt a pang of guilt as he added, “Taking your work home, and letting it live with you, hasn’t been easy, has it?”
Peter struggled with something. It was clear on his handsome face, his square jaw working as if wanting to speak. His blue eyes roved the apartment for a moment and then he finally replied, “It’s been nice, actually.” He coughed as if he needed to clear his throat and then looked embarrassed as he said, “You’re probably the one who wants to get out of here as fast as possible.”
Donny blinked in surprise and then asked, “Why would you think that?”
“Compared to your former life, I must be… this place must seem small and… Well, it must be pretty boring for you.”
Peter’s stumbling, self deprecating, speech had Donny rushing to reassure him. He couldn’t stand that look on Peter’s face, an expression that said, louder than words,
I’m boring and I don’t measure up
. “I like being with you. You’re a great guy.”
Hope bloomed on Peter’s face like sunlight coming up over the waves of a beach in the morning; glowing, golden, and pure. Donny found himself swallowing hard, everything forgotten except the need to lean towards the man sitting next to him and capture those warm lips in a kiss. Peter’s big arm came up and his large hand cupped the back of Donny’s head, bringing the kiss in for something deeper.
Perfect, hot, wonderful, electric, right in every way shape and form, the kiss was everything that Donny could have hoped for. Breaking that kiss and throwing himself out of his chair to the front door was the hardest thing he had ever done. As he went out of it, slamming it behind him in Peter’s distraught face, he cursed himself for taking advantage of Peter’s low self esteem and naked need. He had promised himself and Dan that he wouldn’t use Peter and he had so easily broken that promise.
Donny found himself touching his lips as he left the apartment building and hit the sidewalk. Jogging towards the bus stop, he was afraid that Peter would try and follow him, wanting an explanation. The man didn’t follow, though, and Donny had time to sit on the bench at the stop and rein in his chaotic thoughts.
He couldn’t go back. That was a given. He had stepped over the line and he didn’t trust himself any longer not to take it further. Every fiber of his being wanted all of Peter, now, and it wasn’t going to settle for anything less if the man came within reach. He would call Dan, Donny decided, and ask him for a place to stay temporarily. He would also ask the man to get his things from Peter’s apartment.
Dan was going to be furious with him, Donny thought despondently as the bus arrived and he boarded and took a seat. As if it pulled away, he didn’t wonder about his own future. He worried about what Peter was thinking now. He wondered if the man was hurt. His self esteem might have taken a final blow, because of Donny, and he might never recover.
“I am such a stupid ass hole,” Donny muttered and ignored the nervous looks of the other passengers on the bus.
Chapter Seven
Work was another long grueling evening of being elbow deep in shells and fish guts. The sous chef was in an especially bad mood, shouting about replacing them all with a one armed monkeys, who would, in all likelihood, get product into his restaurant faster than they could. Donny noticed that his fellow workers ignored him and never seemed anxious about losing their jobs. He supposed that even if they were less proficient than a one armed monkey, the sous chef couldn’t afford to fire them. Only the desperate wanted their jobs.
“Hey.”
Donny looked up from his personal hell of fish ready for gutting, and saw the man across from him tipping the edge of his shelling knife near his forehead in a
‘hello’
gesture. He was working on oysters, opening them and leaving the contents inside for the kitchen staff to arrange and place on someone’s dinner table raw. His bare hands were cut and he was ignoring the bits of blood spotting everything.
“Hey,” Donny replied uncertainly.
No one else was looking up from their work. A few looked as if they were in a drug haze, motions somewhat uncoordinated. Others were scowling and miserable. Just like the day before, no one spoke or acknowledged their coworkers existence. Getting a cheerful greeting now, was confusing Donny.
“I didn’t catch your name,” the man said apologetically. Middle aged and balding, he had a beer gut and hairy arms. Despite his friendly manner, he didn’t have a face that looked as if it had even a nodding familiarity with anything other than angry, sour expressions.
“Donny Kirkpatrick,” he replied automatically and then wondered, briefly if he wanted anyone to know that he was the mayor’s son. Did he really care whether he embarrassed his father?
“Irish?” the man guessed.
“Partly,” Donny replied, wondering where the pleasantries were leading.
The man chuckled and then said, as if they were the best of friends, “Guess you get tired of that. I haven’t found any good drinking buddies around here, just the coke heads.” He jerked his chin at their coworkers, who didn’t appear to mind the slur. “If you want, we can hook up after and have a few at the local bar?”
He wanted something. Donny was sure of it. He knew the tone, knew the hard lines around the mouth that spoke of inner tension, knew the small talk that was meant to soften up a target. “Sorry, but I have a lot to do after work,” Donny replied.