by Lotus Oakes
“It’s as good as anything I’ve ever had. Better, maybe.” She tilted her head to look at him, her expression still open and fond. “He’s going to teach me, too. Maybe by the end of this vacation I’ll be able to make something like this.”
He looked at the flattened chickens, pursing his lips together. Other than their shape, they looked as perfect as anything he’d seen in a cookbook or magazine, and now that he could smell them as well — garlic and lemon and something else savory-sweet — he had to admit that his mouth was watering just a little. He tried to imagine Haley doing the same things as Dirk, sweeping in and out of the kitchen with confident ease, beaming over her accomplishments. He couldn’t quite, though at least the general thought of it was pleasant. “That’d be nice …”
“Of course it is,” Dirk declared, reappearing with a plate piled high with gently-steaming bright gold biscuits. “What are we talking about again?”
“Cooking, of course,” Haley sat up in her chair, eyes focused on the biscuits. “That’s everything, right?”
“There are vegetables too,” Dirk said, holding the plate up when it looked like she would take it from him. “Hands off this till I get back, or else.”
“Or else what?”
“Or else this’ll be the last plate of these you ever see.” He fixed her with a stern look, but the corners of his mouth were twitching, like there was a suppressed smile lurking there. For her part, Haley sighed loudly, but her voice also sounded on the edge of amusement, and she sank back into her chair, holding up her hands to show him they were both empty. Dirk turned to Simon now, though he continued to watch Haley sidelong. “I’m counting on you, man. Don’t let her have any of these, or else there’ll be none left for the rest of us.”
Surprised, Simon blinked and pointed to himself. “Me?”
“Unless there’s someone else here with us, you.” Dirk shook a finger at Haley again, warning, and returned to the kitchen. Bemused, Simon looked at her as well.
“Are they really that good?”
“I like them,” she said, and jostled his elbow with hers a little, playful. “So if you don’t, I get the extra.”
“All right,” he agreed, somewhat bemused. “I don’t care.”
“More for me, then,” she said, then raised her voice. “Dirk!”
“Just be patient, baby,” he called back; a moment later he returned with two more large plates, one heaped with pale creamy potatoes and one piled with various shades of green, speckled with white lopsided blobs (“Goat cheese,” Dirk said, at Simon’s dubious look) and thin scarlet slices of strawberry. Simon had to admit, when everything was placed together like that, it all looked genuinely impressive. He’d been to his share of fine restaurants — his father in particular thought of himself as an epicure and would insist on trying the best of whatever he could, whenever he could, so on all family vacations, there would be at least half of the nights blocked off for various restaurants and their varieties of tasting menus and other special treats. In the grand scheme of things, Dirk’s homemade meal probably wasn’t something he’d ever find in a world-famous restaurant, but the pleased look on his face, and the smile on Haley’s as she looked at him in return, made it all seem far more special, somehow.
“Well, that’s enough of that,” Dirk said, and pulled out his chair, though he remained standing for the moment, taking up a pair carving forks. “Let’s eat.”
Haley immediately grabbed a roll, grinning sheepishly at the look Dirk gave her. He moved a flattened chicken onto each of their plates, at first with grace and pomp, and then laughing, after Haley kicked him under the table. Simon remained as quiet as possible, watching them bicker amiably over potatoes and servings of salad — there were an odd number of biscuits, but that debate was handled by Dirk cutting one in half with his butter knife. It was domestic, so incredibly mundane after the things he’d seen them do, and that in and of itself felt strange. Was there some trick to it, being able to look someone in the eye after you’d done all sorts of things with them, and still act normal? He wasn’t even involved, and yet he couldn’t look at either of them for too long.
The rest of the meal passed in a blur, going through the automatic motions of eating and murmuring in response to the conversation — they were talking about the movie from earlier, and all he could really think about was trying to touch Dirk in the dark theater, wondering if Haley would notice and what she might do.
And then suddenly Haley was pushing away from the table to stand, stretching her arms over her head, and the plate before him was empty except for bird bones and a few stray crumbs of cheese and a smear of potato patina. He looked up as Dirk stood as well, the two of them gathering up the rest of the plates, still gently bickering between themselves. When it came to his plate, though, Haley paused, looking him carefully over. Simon blinked back at her, unsure of what she was looking for — but whatever she found, she clucked her tongue and took his plate herself.
“Go lie down,” she said. She reached down to brush the hair back from his face, and her fingers felt good and cool against his skin. “Get some extra sleep tonight if you can.”
He huffed, though he couldn’t find it in himself to summon his normal levels of irritation. “But—”
“Unless you want to help with the dishes?” She raised an eyebrow, then grinned when he closed his mouth again. “I thought so. I’ll let you get away with it tonight, okay? Feel better.”
Before he could answer, or even just pull away, she leaned down and kissed his forehead. Her mouth was soft against his skin and cool to the touch, just like the rest of her. She lingered for a moment, and he thought about wrapping his arms around her — he shifted his weight forward in preparation, then stopped short. He started to pull back when she hugged him instead, pressing her hands flat to his back and tugged him closer until his head was pressed to her throat, her body soft and comfortable against his.
Then she pulled back and offered him another small smile before following Dirk into the kitchen. Simon could hear the two of them talking again, in low voices, again about entirely mundane things — where did these dishes go, where was the detergent for the dishwasher, whether or not it was too late to head back to the grocery store for some kind of pie for dessert. It took him a long time to force himself to stand, gripping the arms of his chair and pushing himself up, swaying a little on his feet. Rather than cut through the kitchen for the stairs, he went the long way, through the dark living room and the main dining room, feeling his way half-blindly in the dark. Up the stairs he went, taking two at a time and keeping a solid hold of the bannister to pull himself along. And in spite of his protests before, he went straight to his bed and dropped onto it, facedown, above the blankets.
There he lay, as still as possible, breathing warm stale air, until he finally drifted to sleep.
His dreams were tangled and confused; while they weren’t nearly as clear or deceptive as the one from the previous night, they were significantly more explicit: everything was awash in a faint haze of red, though he couldn’t see anything very clearly either — there was a small room with a single overhead light and a wide bed. He was on his back with Haley straddling his hips, rubbing against him without quite letting him in, her hands on his shoulders as if to keep him pinned down. He wanted to lift his hands to touch her, to draw her closer and to hold her still so he could thrust into her, but found himself unable to move. She continued to tease him with slow easy motions, and while he couldn’t see her face clearly, he could see the curve of her smile, plump lower lip caught between her teeth.
I love you, he wanted to say, though the words remained trapped in his throat. I love you, I’ve always loved you, I wish I could actually tell you this.
Things shifted then, somehow utterly seamless, and now Simon was the one sitting up — kneeling actually, with his hands on his knees and looking up the long lean length of Dirk’s body. Neither of them were naked, though Simon was shirtless, and somehow he felt all the more exposed for it.
He felt a hand touch his head and looked up, pressing his cheek into Dirk’s palm.
“You want it, prettyboy?”
There was challenge in his tone, but it sounded more affectionate than anything else. Simon swallowed around a sudden hard pressure in his throat and nodded. On cue, the zipper of Dirk’s pants undid itself and his cock sprang free, already hard, the tip of it glistening faintly. Simon licked his lips, nervous and thrilled, then opened his mouth wide to take it in; it slid in easily, rubbing against his tongue and filling him completely; when he breathed in his nose was filled with such a strong musky scent it was overwhelming. He kept his hands obediently on his knees and his eyes open, watching Dirk’s face as that long cock thrust in and out of his mouth.
“Fuck,” Dirk breathed, a familiar reverent tone in his voice. “Aw fuck yeah, baby, just like that, you’re so good, shit, look at the mouth on you. Fuck.”
Simon tried to swallow, working his throat, and Dirk thrust in harder, still crooning a stream of filthy encouragement. Simon’s own cock ached between his legs, untouched, but as much as he wanted to take himself in hand and start jerking off, he continued to refrain. Some small part of him whispered that touching himself was against the rules — he’d have to wait, of course he was expected to wait, because if he came first, that was cheating and he’d be disqualified from participating again—
Lights flashed abruptly around him, like those from a camera; he had to close his eyes after the first volley. He stretched a little at the same time, trying to show off more of his body to the unknown audience, pulling back so that only the very tip of Dirk’s cock remained in his mouth, then going all the way down again (like he’d seen Haley do earlier—).
A hand sank into his hair, pulling him off completely. He opened his eyes halfway, blinking slowly. His mouth felt swollen and tender and now almost uncomfortably empty, and after a moment he had to look away from Dirk’s face, at the cock that was still so close. When he tried to lean in, though, the hand on his head pushed back to stop him.
“You like that?”
He nodded as best he could.
“You want more of that?”
He nodded again, more eagerly.
“Open wide.”
He did, and a small motion caught his eye. Dirk had taken his cock in his other hand and was stroking it himself now, hard and fast; a moment after that registered, Dirk was coming in hot spurts across his face. Simon moaned himself, closing his eyes, trying to catch as much of it as he could in his open mouth — and then he was on his back again, in the small room with just a bed and a light, and both Haley and Dirk were bent over him, lapping at him with dedicated enthusiasm. He propped himself up onto his elbows to watch, hazy, as they kissed each other around his cock and kissed his cock too, and then he had to close his eyes as his head fell back and he was coming so hard that it felt a little like dying in the process.
When he opened his eyes again, it was morning.
With a groan he rolled over away from his bedroom windows. He started to curl up and cringed at the stickiness between his legs when he tried. It had been a long time since a dream had gotten him that worked up, and brief scenes of it kept replaying in his mind in flashes, but while it still aroused a faint flicker of interest in him, he felt more embarrassed than anything else. Even after he’d decided he would give up, he was still thinking of this sort of thing! It wasn’t fair!
Simon nearly rolled himself off the bed in frustration. Instead, he ended flopped on his back, staring at the ceiling as if it were the source of his troubles. His overhead light was the wrong sort o match up to what had been in his dream, but even so … !
He squirmed to get a look at his bedside clock; it read 9:45, earlier than he thought. With a groan he sat up. On top of what he’d done to himself the night before, he felt like a complete mess, creeping for his bathroom. He ran the shower as hot as he could stand, alternately turning his face up to the needlelike spray and ducking his head, willing the water to wash away more than just the stains of the night before.
He stayed until the water began to run lukewarm, and then actually cold, shivering as goosebumps formed up and down his arms. Only when his teeth began to chatter did he shut the water off, stepping out and grabbing himself a towel to wrap securely around his entire body, like a blanket. With his hair still dripping he wandered back into his bedroom and to his closet, staring at the neat rows of shirts and pants hung up on display. If they weren’t going out today — or if he wasn’t invited to whatever adventures Haley and Dirk decided to have — he would just go for something comfortable over something fancy. He didn’t own anything more casual than jeans, but a quick rubdown with a towel and wriggling had him in a worn loose pair, with a thin white button-down shirt over that. He ran a quick haphazard hand through his hair with a sigh, leaving it flopped awkwardly on end, then headed downstairs for breakfast.
When he arrived in the kitchen, Dirk was again the only person there, in a cloud of bacon smoke and humming to himself. Simon paused in the doorway, struck by the strong sense of deja vu. He felt different himself inside, but despite the superficial changes, everything else seemed completely unchanged. As such, he remained standing there, sliding his hands into his pockets and watching Dirk until he was noticed.
It didn’t take long; Dirk shook the pan he was tending and glanced up. He stared at Simon for a few moments, then broke into a wide smile. “Morning, prettyboy.”
“My name’s Simon,” he mumbled, though without much rancor this time.
“Yeah, yeah, good morning, Simon. You interested in something to eat?”
“What do you have?”
“We’re going traditional today.” He gestured to his pan. “Scrambled eggs and bacon, toast with jam, maybe some fried tomatoes if I feel like it and there’s enough grease after the eggs are done.”
Simon wrinkled his nose. “Grease?”
“It’s good stuff!” Dirk took up a pair of tongs, prodding the contents of his pan. “Seriously, you can’t expect to have good eggs if you don’t have some decent fat in the pan too. Unless you’re poaching them, maybe, but that doesn’t count.”
“Why doesn’t it—”
“Bacon fat is like gold or something.” Dirk put a hand over his heart, looking heavenwards for a moment. “And I promise it’ll taste good. You liked dinner, didn’t you?”
Actually, Simon could barely remember how any of it had tasted — but he had eaten it all, so he nodded.
“So trust my instincts here.” Dirk grinned toothily, smug all over again. “I’ll make a breakfast that’ll knock your socks off.”
“I’m not wearing socks,” Simon huffed, staring down at his feet. As if to punctuate the point to himself, he wriggled his bare toes against the tile floor.
“Whatever.” Dirk shrugged. “Figure of speech.” He went back to his cooking, starting to hum again. He had a nice voice, hovering somewhere between alto and tenor, not quite out of range of hearing. Every now and then he half-mumbled a few words to himself, as part of the song. Simon didn’t recognize it.
He remained where he was in the doorway, bracing his shoulder against the frame as he watched Dirk move. It seemed utterly effortless to him, checking the pan, grabbing dishes and lining them with paper towels, avoiding the larger grease bubbles popping in the heat. Today he was also dressed casually, with faded gray sweatpants that rode low on his sharp hips, and a loose white tanktop that rode up now and then when he stretched, exposing a wide strip of dusky brown skin. Simon watched that until he caught himself and forced himself to look away — first down at Dirk’s feet (also bare, long and oddly elegant, along with the rest of him), and then up at Dirk’s face, which looked gently content.
It was on the tip of his tongue to say something more — what about what had happened in the theater? had he even noticed, did he care if he had? — but he firmly pushed that aside. Part of him considered starting that up again, maybe going so far as to press bodily up against Dirk’s back as
he tended to the bacon, but that was also something he couldn’t allow himself. He’d sworn to be better about this, he thought at himself, with some small disgust. Actively fantasizing was only going to cause him more trouble in the long run.
And yet …
He hugged his elbows a little more tightly and continued to watch Dirk pull down more plates, deftly portioning out servings for each — and yet he was still a bit surprised when Dirk turned to him, one eyebrow raised. “You want any?”
“What?” He blinked, then blushed, shrugging one shoulder up to his ear. “I guess.”
From the corner of one eye he could see Dirk’s dubious expression, but instead of commenting on it he went and fetched a third plate. “Go get your cousin, then. She’s still lazing around.”
“Why me?” he protested, but turned anyway, shuffling down the hallway and for the stairs. He took the stairs two at a time, not unfolding his arms, and made his way to Haley’s bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, and he knocked once before peeking in.
The blankets were strewn haphazardly across the bed, pooling at the corner and nearly dropping off. Haley was sprawled on her back, one arm thrown over her head and the other draped across her body, her fingers brushing her hip. One leg was bent up at a coy angle, and the other was stretched out, toes loosely curled. She wore a thin white nightgown that had hitched up all the way to her hips; he could see the elastic band of her panties (also white), barely more than a shadowed contrast against her skin. One breast was half-exposed from her twisted position, but though he could see the faint shadow where her nipple must be, he couldn’t see it outright properly.
He knocked again, louder, unable to quite pull back or look away. “Haley.”
She squeezed her eyes more tightly shut for a moment, sighing, then rolled slowly to face him. The movement brought her legs back together, creating a small shadowed vee, and pulled the top of her nightgown down just fractionally, exposing more of the creamy curve of her breasts. Simon swallowed hard and finally stepped back out of the room, knocking for a third time, not quite banging his fist against the door. “Haley! Breakfast’s ready.”
