by Noah Harris
Barry looked away modestly at the question, feeling his cheeks turn slightly red. He certainly wasn’t anything anyone would remotely call a foodie, or even a huge fan of fine dining, but he couldn’t deny the appeal of a lavish home cooked meal. He thought about how thrilled he’d be if Xanathen tried it. Regardless of the quality of the food or if something went wrong, he would love just to feel that he was worth the effort. Then again, he couldn’t picture a man from a deserted island even considering something like that. He hadn’t been surrounded by movies and shows his entire life like Barry had. His idea of romance was different.
“See?” Guy concluded as he led Barry along patiently. “Listen, I know some recipes that’ll knock both your socks off. Even I can eat fish if they’re cooked like this, they’re that good. We’ll make this work.”
From that moment, the grocery store instantly transformed into a hall of greater learning. They seemed to stop at all the things Barry would normally pass by without a second glance. Guy introduced him to new ingredients he’d never noticed before. It seemed like every little thing had a rich purpose behind it. There was a method for preparation, for picking out what goes with what, and finding exactly the right thing to compliment another.
Barry found himself in awe as Guy calmly pointed out the appropriate spices and carefully explained them with gentle but clear passion. His interest wasn’t dictated by the loudness of his words or by how determined he was in letting someone else know he liked it. His method was that of a calm, collected teacher. His voice made Barry think of a burgundy leather chair in a well-furnished study. He explained everything with enthusiasm, even letting a smile creep across his face as he watched to see if Barry understood. He would give a knowing grin and move on once he did. If he didn’t, he would stop and explain it in another way until Barry got what he meant. Barry felt a little foolish. He must have been completely obvious if Guy could tell when he understood things without him even saying. Still, there was something a little liberating about not having to be the one to be doing the teaching for a change.
He had been in this country, in this world, for as long as he could remember but he never even thought about little things like food pairings or the proper way to eat cheese. He thought just cooking the food was enough. To Guy, no, food had to be an experience. Like putting on glasses for the first time, Barry could see all the little details in the world around him. There were so many things he had just passed by before and felt a shocking wave of disbelief that he never actually tried any of it.
“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Guy would laugh warmly, “I’m just a little older. I probably started trying this around your age.”
“I never told you my age,” Barry said, raising an eyebrow.
“True. I was guessing, what about…twenty-five?”
“Yeah. Right on the money. Wait, older? You look around my—”
“Thirty-four,” Guy interrupted.
Barry was silently stunned. He certainly didn’t look that much older. There wasn’t much in the way of wrinkles or lines on his face, save for some small folds around his heavy eyelids and the dimples surrounding his smile. As he concentrated on him quietly, he began to see him as older. While he physically didn’t give much away about his age, his mannerisms and the air he kept about him suggested years of experience.
Barry’s cart filled up with new things he never thought he’d needed before, as he himself became filled with excitement. He glanced over to Guy’s cart. It rattled with the sound of clinking glass bottles with several varieties of wine piled on top of each other. He swore by a couple of the vintages (even throwing a couple in Barry’s cart), while a couple he chuckled at saying he had never tried them before as he dumped them haphazardly in the cart with the rest. He seemed intrigued by their labels. As Barry looked over, there were a couple that he didn’t remember picking up.
“You drinking all that by yourself?” Barry asked cautiously.
“Ha! Nah,” Guy shook his head, “If I was gonna drink any wine by myself, it wouldn’t be the stuff here. This is stuff I get for company.”
“You must get a lot of company.”
“A little here and there, small gatherings for work mostly. You wouldn’t believe how much these people drink. But I like to taste the wine just for fun.” He pulled a tiny booklet from his back pocket and handed it to Barry. As he flipped through the pages his eyes ran over a maddening quantity of notes, all scrawled in chicken scratch. From what he could make out, it was a list of wines, all followed with some sort of grading system. As Guy took it back he added, “It’s a little hobby of mine. You should join me sometime!”
“I’m not much of a wine guy, but yeah sure. Sounds interesting.”
“Great. I’ll let you know when the next one is,” Guy concluded as he pushed his rattling glass collection onwards.
The cars were loaded with groceries and the two stood near their respective vehicles. Barry looked at Guy’s car and chuckled internally. It was an old station wagon, complete with the wood paneling. It had been worn from years of use, nearly faded away and the bottom was tinged with a hint of rust. He was pretty sure he had seen old photos of his parents with a car just like this one.
“Right. Sending you that recipe now. I like that page. It’s super easy to follow.” Guy said as he clicked one last button on his phone before sliding it into his pocket. “Let me know how it goes, alright?”
“Yeah, I will.”
“Catch ya later, then,” Guy gave a friendly wave along with a smirk. His steely eyes glinted in the setting sun.
Barry nodded and waved as he piled into his now fully-loaded car. As he drove home, he was filled with a kind of excitement he had never felt before, as he continued to glance back at the food. There were so many new things he was going to try; he’d never felt so keen to cook before. He wondered if it would all taste as good as Guy said it would. It certainly sounded like it would. It was explained with such conviction, he couldn’t believe it wouldn’t. Most importantly, he hoped it would show Xanathen how much he cared. Hopefully this could be the start of a new page in their relationship.
The sun had already set by the time Deryl and the others dropped Xanathen off in front of the building, their car squealing as it peeled off into the distance. Xanathen blended in with the darkness for a moment before entering and making his way through the hallways. He steered away from the elevator like he always did, instead opting to walk up the stairs.
His mind wandered with each flight of steps.
First floor. Deryl says those videos are becoming more popular.
Second floor. If that monetization goes through, I can get some money out of this.
Third floor. What would I do with money?
He stopped in the stairwell as he thought, then continued up at an even faster pace.
I could use money to get something for Barry! Would that make him happy?…What would he want?
Fourth floor. Would he be happy if I just gave him money?
He energetically climbed up the last of the stairs, emerging past the door and the elevators and reaching home. He paused at the door with a feeling of trepidation. Will he be happy at all? he wondered. With a grunt, he opened the door into the dark apartment. He frowned with disappointment. It seemed like Barry wasn’t even home.
His nostrils flared as they were greeted with an unfamiliar, but pleasant, smell. He flicked the lights on, the living room flooded with light and he was greeted with an exclamation from Barry.
“Oh! You’re home! Turn those back off!”
Xanathen’s eyebrow arched but he did as he was told, once again cloaking the room in shadow. A flurry of footsteps greeted him and he felt a small warm hand grab his. He could just about see the silhouette of Barry’s figure in the darkness as he pulled him along and sat him down at a chair. He could see the outline of the table and chairs and still let Barry do as he wanted but now with a level of amusement.
There was a flash of light from a lighter,
igniting two long candles and filling the room with a dim glow. Their faces were illuminated in a warm yellow light. Barry had cleaned up since he last saw him that morning. His white button-up shirt hung over his chest, free of any wrinkles or stains, and was met with black slacks. He scrubbed up rather nicely. Xanathen’s gold eyes flickered in the candlelight as he looked at Barry, his pupils expanding just a little.
Barry turned around and faded into the kitchen, followed by the sound of his voice and the beeping of the microwave.
“You got home later than I expected, so I gotta nuke dinner. It’ll be ready in just a second,” Barry called out.
“That’s alright,” Xanathen replied, still taking in the area around him. His eyes narrowed as he looked down at the table and the white cloth that was draped over it. “Why the candles? Are we having trouble with the lights?”
“Nope, lights are fine.” The microwave beeped again and Barry returned, placing a plate filled with food in front of him. He continued to scurry back and forth, getting things out of the kitchen and placing them on the table. The table was soon filled with small portions of all sorts of new foods he had never experienced before. Barry wore a soft smile as he pulled out a bottle of wine and poured some into each of their glasses.
“Oh. Alright. Thank you,” Xanathen said as he reached for his silverware.
“I did this because, well, I…” Barry trailed off, trying to find the words he wanted to say. Xanathen looked up from his food and gave Barry his full attention. “…I’m bad with words. I…I’m sorry. I acted like an ass. I could’ve explained myself better and…We could’ve talked this all out like adults. I mean…” He gritted his teeth as he put his face in his palm.
I hate what you did around my parents, he thought. I hate that they still won’t talk to me. I wish you’d take my concerns more seriously. I just wanna go back to the way things were.
He knew he had to say these things. At least, he felt he needed to. As ugly as they were, they were the things that were eating away at him. His eye peeked through his fingers, revealing Xanathen’s face framed by his two blurry fingers. His golden eyes dazzled as the candlelight reflected in them, and they widened with a sense of awe but also tenderness. Barry felt himself melt from the sweetness of that face.
“I just wanna go back to the way things were,” Barry said simply as he looked up from his hand. “I wanna get past all of this. I’m sorry. About everything.”
“Barry,” Xanathen’s face stretched as he smiled, reaching out for Barry’s hand. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“I wanted to. I wanted to show that I’m sorry, and that I care about you,”
“Just the apology is enough,” he laughed as he pushed himself closer to Barry, pressing his cheek to his. “I accept. Thank you. This is very touching.”
Say sorry back. Barry thought, letting his body go limp at Xanathen’s touch. Say sorry back. Apologize.
“Here,” Barry said, reaching for some of the other food on the table. “You gotta try this first. A friend of mine introduced me to it. You gotta eat it like this. It makes the flavor pop.”
Barry began to demonstrate and show Xanathen everything he had learned that day. From the little bits he remembered about the wine, to why it goes well with the fish, and everything in between. He felt silly trying to reiterate all that Guy had taught him, when he still felt he knew so little. It was the same as telling a joke he had heard and not being able to remember the punchline. Still, he continued to try his best to teach Xanathen. Despite feeling slightly awkward, Barry gave into it willingly and let himself bask in the tastes and aromas. Xanathen humored him as he mimicked his actions. He was only playing along with it. It was plain to see he didn’t really savor the tastes or understand any of what Barry was trying to accomplish. As soon as anything hit his tongue, it was ravenously snapped up and gone.
The dim lighting grew softer as the evening unfolded. The two chatted about silly things like nothing had happened, relaying sweet nothings back and forth over their reheated dinner. It almost felt like things had gone back to the way they once were.
The hungry grin on Xanathen’s face showed that he wasn’t satisfied just yet. His large hands grew more agile as they began to trace over Barry’s body. He pulled him close and onto his lap, entangling him in his strong embrace. Barry’s eyes flashed over to the candles, which had burnt down to waxxy puddles, as his lips met the moist lips of Xanathen. He never felt he had been able to relate to something as much in his entire life. He could feel all his inhibitions give way as the two of them let themselves caress each other. It had been so long, it was almost nostalgic. He felt his skin erupt in a heatwave as Xanathen’s hands tenderly grazed along his smooth body. He felt at home in the loving grasp of his dragon and felt his toes curl in excitement as Xanathen gently gave a low, rumbling growl. Everything seemed right; almost.
Even as Xanathen got to his feet, scooped Barry into his arms and carried him off to bed, Barry could barely hear the nagging voice in his head. As he was laid down on the mattress and stripped of his clothes, he felt nothing except a sharp feeling pricking at his mind. As wild and skillful as Xanathen was when it came to setting Barry’s libido aflame, his focus still wandered elsewhere. Xanathen had torn off his shirt to reveal his sculpted muscles, a sight Barry drooled over with giddy excitement, he could feel himself giving in to a carnal desire. His body ached with a fiery want to have Xanathen explore his tired, stressed body and make it feel whole again. It seemed to move of its own accord the more Xanathen played with him. He was possessed by desire alone. As he cried out in ecstasy as Xanathen thrust strongly into him and continued to pull him onto his mighty loins, he was brought out of the moment with the annoying thought:
You should’ve said something.
The two lay sprawled out on the bed in a deep haze of satisfaction. Xanathen’s arm, like the trunk of a tree, lay heavily across Barry’s waist as he slumbered contentedly. The consistent, but loud, snoring kept an easy tempo as Barry looked back at him with a peaceful smile. There was a wavering look of concern in his eyes as he watched his beloved man sleep.
I really should say something… Nah. I’ll be the bigger man and get over it, he thought as he drifted off to sleep along with him.
Chapter Six
As Barry glanced away from the dark crimson wine that rippled in his glass he could only wonder one thing: How do you make sitting look cool?
Guy sat across from him at the dining room table, leaning into the back of the chair as he sat right on the edge. At a glance it looked like he was sitting on thin air with one leg draped gracefully across the other. His short leather boot didn’t bounce up and down with nervous pent up energy, but rather swayed back and forth calmly like the tail of a cat. His fingers curled neatly into a thin ball and pressed against his narrow cheek as his silvery gray eyes stared intensely at the red liquid that filled his glass.
“Not bad. Subtle, fruity bouquet. Dry, but not too dry,” Guy murmured thoughtfully as he placed the glass delicately on the table and began to scribble away in his little black book.
Barry felt his face heat up with a slight wash of embarrassment. No words that came to his mind when describing the wines he tasted sounded quite as eloquent. He could only think of ‘good’ and ‘bad’, but for the life of him he couldn’t really think of why they were considered that. He barely drank the stuff and certainly couldn’t decipher what made a wine ‘good’. He couldn’t tell the difference between where it was bought or the year it was made, or anything like that. To him it was all just wine.
As Guy placed the pen back down he glanced up at Barry with a soft grin, “Truth be told, a lot of wine-os act like there’s a difference between years and makes and all that. It’s just like having a favorite food: you like what you like. I just like writing it down.”
“Oh,” Barry replied simply with a breath of relief as he took another swig from the glass, emptying it, “I don’t really like this one.”
&n
bsp; “Fair enough.” Guy chuckled heartily. “Hey, careful there. You don’t wanna drink all of it if you’re just tasting it. Unless you wanna get drunk.”
“You’re the one that poured that much!”
“Force of habit.” He shrugged.
Several bottles of wine stood on the table, all corked up and tried. Most of them were already sampled and put away out of sight. Clustered together they had made almost a glass skyline of some alcohol-filled city at the center of the table.
It had been another day where Barry was off-duty. He and Xanathen’s interests had pulled them in separate directions again; Barry wanting to relax at home and Xanathen, with his newfound friends, was pulled out into the world to make more videos. That’s fine, Barry thought. Xanathen was allowed to have his friends and hobbies. It was good for both of them, he felt. Barry could develop his own friendships while he was at it.
Guy had been a curious guest from the moment he had arrived. He wandered around the apartment looking at everything with intrigue in his eyes. Barry wasn’t sure what he could possibly be looking at. All there was to see was the abundance of nothing that plagued his home. There were no pictures on display, no knick-knacks to gather dust, not even much of a collection of movies or books. Still, Guy remained considerate as he stayed in the living room area and investigated.
“Nice place,” he said.
“Thanks, I guess. Not much to look at,” Barry replied.
“Nah, it’s minimalist. I dig it. Has a good energy to it. Not like my place at all,” Guy looked around again and turned back with a smirk. “But if you want, I’d be more than happy to rent some storage space here.”
The wines came out and the glasses were taken from the cabinet. Barry sheepishly pulled them out and washed them. He wasn’t sure what he was more ashamed of, the fact that he’d only ever had the two wine glasses, that he had got them from a thrift store, or that he had only ever used them once before today. He wasn’t even sure why he bought them in the first place. He remembered going through the aisles of the thrift store, Xanathen observing every little thing with wide-eyed curiosity. His golden eyes seemed pulled in by the glint of light on the multitude of used glass on display. He wondered why they were different than the glasses they had already bought, asking if they had a different purpose or made things taste differently. Barry couldn’t really respond to that other than to say, “That’s just what you drink wine out of.” He wasn’t sure why, but he couldn’t think of drinking wine out of the “It’s Cat-urday!” mug that rattled in the cart without thinking there was a serious drinking problem involved.
