Strays

by Garrett Leigh

  “Come on, come on. Pick up.” Lenny twisted the phone cord around his finger as he counted the rings. “What the fuck is he doing?”

  No answer was forthcoming. An automated voice mail kicked in, but Lenny hung up, since Nero rarely checked his messages. If he saw the missed calls from Pippa’s, he’d likely come downstairs—except he wasn’t in the building today. He’d gone to Vauxhall with Tom to meet his new kitchen team.

  Excitement and panic warred in Lenny. The Vauxhall project had come to life in the past week, but with Cass’s deadline for menu options looming, the prospect of a new start there seemed far away. What the fuck am I going to cook?

  Lenny picked up the list he’d made of available ingredients. None jumped out at him, especially without the option of bunging something on the grill and hoping for the best. Ha. Maybe you are a carnivore after all. Lenny shuddered. Fuck that. He’d spent weeks grilling all kinds of meat to a perfect medium-rare and filleting more fish than he’d ever heard of, but the temptation to eat them just wasn’t there—

  The office phone rang. Lenny eyed it, assuming Steph would pick it up in the bar, but it rang and rang until he couldn’t take its noise a second longer. He snatched the receiver. “Hello, Pippa’s?”

  “You almost sound like Steph.”

  Warmth flooded through Lenny as Nero’s gravelly voice reached his ears. “I sound like a girl?”

  “No, you sound like you give a shit.”

  Lenny snorted. “Won’t matter if I give a shit if you don’t help me.”

  “Why?” Nero’s tone sharpened. “What’s the matter?”

  “The gas is fucked. We’re running a limited menu, and Cass asked me to come up with the veggie dish.”

  Nero laughed. “That all? Thought you was gonna say something was proper fucked up.”

  “It is proper fucked up,” Lenny grumbled, though he knew all too well what Nero had likely been imagining. “There’s nothing in the fridge but beetroot and rabbit.”

  “Ah, now, that ain’t true. There’s a whole case of summer squash, and a load of pea shoots.”

  “I literally have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Fuck’s sake. What kind of veggie are you?”

  Lenny glanced at the clock. Shit. He didn’t have time to pry sense out of Nero. “You know what kind of veggie I am—one that lives on chips and ice cream when you’re not around to feed me.”

  “I’m always around.”

  “Not here now, are you?” Silence. Lenny tapped his fingers on the desk, for the millionth time that morning, feeling Nero’s absence like a missing limb. “What would you cook?”

  More silence, then Nero sighed. “I’m not gonna tell you what to cook. You’ve been in the kitchen long enough to know how to put together a dish with whatever we have, and if you don’t . . . well, I’m wasting my fucking time, ain’t I?”

  Nero hung up. Lenny stared at the phone and wondered if he’d imagined the weary disappointment in Nero’s voice, or the anxious resolve that notion ignited in his bones. Nero seemed to expect bad shit to happen, and the only time it apparently surprised him was when Lenny fucked up something simple in the kitchen. “Come on, mate. You know this, don’t you?”

  Did he?

  Lenny thought back over the many long days he’d spent shadowing Nero in the kitchen, pictured the methodical way Nero worked through the fridges and dry stores, using every ingredient available so nothing went to waste. For a man who claimed he couldn’t make decisions, he was pretty fucking efficient. “Start with your star element and work through the dish from there.” Lenny still wasn’t altogether sure what that meant, but the fridge seemed as good a place to figure it out as any.

  He slipped back into the kitchen, dodging Cass’s questioning glance. In the fridge, he claimed the summer squash—which looked like something from a Ladybird book—a bunch of sage, some lemons, and a healthy amount of butter. From the dry store, he took pine nuts and scoured the shelves for pasta. Among the regular stuff, he was surprised to find a case of corn pappardelle. Result. Lenny was far from a professional chef, but gluten-free pasta was one thing he knew how to handle.

  He added it to his box of tricks and returned to his bench. Cass appeared at his shoulder and peered curiously at the ingredients he’d laid out.

  “So that’s why Nero ordered this crap. Thought he’d gone fucking mad.”

  Lenny clanged a giant pot onto the counter. “No one’s using that hob, right?”

  “Right. I’ll get it for you.” Cass vanished briefly, returning with a portable electric hob that seemed more suited to a Delia Smith TV show. “Did you ask Nero to order this?”

  “What?” Lenny glanced up to meet Cass’s quizzical stare. “What’s Nero got to do with pasta?”

  Cass shrugged, the beginnings of a knowing smirk twisting his lips. “He’s done every order here for the past two months, and as long as I’ve known him, he’s thought this gluten-free shite was bollocks.”

  “So?”

  “So . . . I happen to know a certain baby-faced waiter-turned-chef that don’t like wheat.”

  Lenny poked his tongue out. “I’m not baby-faced, so I don’t know who the fuck you’re talking about.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Cass pushed off the counter and started to turn away. “Just get yourself together and have a sample dish to me by eleven thirty.”

  Cass left Lenny to his pasta, and seemed halfway impressed when Lenny presented him with a bowl of roast squash and lemon-sage scented papardelle a little while later. The dish went on the menu and flew out all through lunchtime service. Lenny had barely had time to blink before Cass was turning the order screens off.

  “Clean down, folks,” he said. “Lenny, come and find me in the office when you’re done.”

  Lenny knocked on the office door. “You wanted to see me?”

  Cass spun around in his chair. “I did . . . I do. Take a seat.”

  Lenny sat in the spare chair, which was actually a three-legged stool that wobbled a lot. “Sacking me?”

  “Far from it. I’ve been talking to Nero about the Vauxhall project. He said you might want to go with him?”

  Lenny nodded slowly. “Maybe. I don’t know what I’d do, though. I’m not much of a baker. Nero carries me here. It’d be unfair to expect him to do it over there too.”

  “So work out front. Run the serving team for us.”

  “Run it?”

  “Why not?”

  “Er, ’cause I’ve never run anything in my life.”

  “Not true. You ran every shift you worked at Misfits. Couldn’t help yourself.”

  Lenny winced. “Didn’t make me any friends.”

  “That’s because you had no authority to boss people about. I’m offering it to you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you deserve a chance to put your life back together.”

  It sounded so simple, but to Lenny’s jaded ears, even with the memory of Nero’s arms still burning a path around his waist, it seemed like a distant dream. A pipe dream. “What if I fuck it up?”

  Cass sighed. “Mate, do you honestly think me and Nero ain’t sat in this office and fretted about every step forward we’ve ever took? But we’ve both done bird and come out the other side. If we can do that, you, my friend, can do anything you want.”

  It took Lenny a moment to translate the East-End slang. “. . . done bird.” Nero had been in prison? Jesus. What the fuck for? But instinct told him that once Cass realised he’d let slip something that Lenny hadn’t known, he’d clam up, and the painful ignorance that surrounded Lenny’s infatuation with the man who’d saved his sanity would remain.

  Lenny sighed. “You’re as dark and mysterious as Nero.”

  “No, I ain’t. That motherfucker’s got shades on me.” There was laughter in Cass’s eyes, but it faded fast enough for Lenny to worry what his own face was doing. “How you two getting on, anyway? Nero’s a grumpy sod, but he’s salt of the earth, really. I’d trus
t ’im with my life.”

  Lenny didn’t doubt it. Reticent and obtuse Nero might have been, but his kind, gentle ways had carved a path to Lenny’s heart. “We get on great when I’m not being the world’s worst agoraphobic veggie, and he’s not in one of his growly moods. I just . . .”

  “Just what? Wish you knew him better?”

  Lenny wondered when he’d become so easy to read. “Yeah, that pretty much sums it up. We’re . . . close, but I don’t know how long that can last if he won’t let me in.”

  Cass was silent for a long moment, tapping his fingers like an ex-smoker with an itch to scratch, and then his own sigh echoed Lenny’s. “I can’t tell you shit about Nero, ’cause I don’t know the half of it, but be patient with him. He’s not used to letting people in.”

  “He lets you in.”

  “Yeah, but only so far. I reckon you already know him better than I do.”

  There was nothing Cass could say to convince Lenny that was true, but the opportunity to debate it was curbed by the appearance of the man himself, leaning tiredly in the doorway and looking anywhere but at Lenny.

  “All right, mate?” Cass rose up enough from his chair to punch Nero’s arm. “We were just chinwagging about you.”

  “Why? Got nothin’ better to do?”

  “Clearly not. Did the tables arrive for the dining area?”

  Nero shrugged. “How the fuck would I know? I was too busy trying to figure out what made you hire that band of bellends you’re calling a kitchen team.”

  If Cass was offended by Nero’s bad temper, it didn’t show. He merely grinned. “Don’t matter who I employ, you’re never happy until you’ve got ’em all writing lists in their sleep and scrubbing the walls on a Saturday night.”

  “So? It’s gonna take this lot longer than most.” Nero finally looked at Lenny. “How’d the big veggie adventure go?”

  “Good—”

  “Great, actually,” Cass cut in. “He sold out. Who knew that weird corn-pasta shite would be so popular?”

  Nero rolled his eyes. “Everyone. Loads of guests ask for a gluten-free option when we have a pasta dish on.”

  “Must be why I don’t cook pasta. Fucking ball ache.” Cass slapped Lenny on the back. “Speaking of which, I’m gonna close for the rest of the day while the gas fellas come in and stomp all over everything. Lenny, mate, you might as well chip off now.”

  “Seriously?” A few weeks ago, Lenny’s heart would’ve sunk, and then clawed its way back to his throat with a tattoo that roared in his ears. Any empty hours in his day had driven him half-mad, but now, with the crippling anxiety he’d brought to Pippa’s all but gone, the prospect of a night off was exciting.

  I want to go dancing.

  The thought came suddenly and unbidden to him, and his foot tapped reflexively. It had been months since he’d last hit a club and danced till morning. Did he even remember how?

  A weighted silence crept into Lenny’s consciousness. Nero was staring at him, his expression one Lenny had seen before, usually when he’d zoned out and missed an important instruction. “Um . . . pardon?”

  Nero shook his head. “Never mind. I’m gonna head back to Vauxhall to work on the bus. I’ll see you later, yeah?”

  And with that he was gone, striding away before Lenny found his tongue.

  Lenny stood and drifted to the door, frowning after Nero’s retreating back while Cass’s shrewd gaze burned a hole in the side of his head. “What’s up with him?”

  “Fucked if I know,” Cass said cheerfully, like Nero stormed out on him all the time—perhaps he did. “Reckon you can probably fix it if you get a wriggle on, though.”

  “Eh?”

  “Get after him, numbnuts. He only came back here looking for you.”

  Cass’s words made no sense, but he didn’t have to tell Lenny twice to be wherever Nero was. Lenny dashed out of the office, unbuttoning his chef jacket as he went. If he hurried, there was a chance he’d catch Nero before he got on the Tube.

  He barged into the staff room, shoving his trousers down his hips. The prospect of riding the Tube alone was faintly terrifying, but the need to be close to Nero was far stronger. He’d missed Nero’s quiet presence, his gravelly voice, and deep, throaty chuckle. The heat of his strong, leanly coiled body as he—

  Lenny collided with a warm mass that felt remarkably like the one lighting up his imagination. His nose hit a hard shoulder, and his elbow lashed out and caught Nero in the face. “Jesus!”

  Nero glared, though he appeared unmoved by the glancing blow to his cheekbone. “Why are you running around like a maniac?”

  “Why do you think?” Lenny snapped. “Chasing after you, aren’t I?”

  “What the fuck for?”

  Put like that, Lenny had no idea. He rubbed his nose with the heel of his hand. “I was going to ask you if I could grab my paints and come to Vauxhall with you, but if you’d rather be a dick and go on your own—”

  “Ah, I see. So you need me to hold your hand?”

  Lenny raised an eyebrow as Nero’s ill humour hit home. “Have I done something to piss you off since I saw you this morning?”

  “If you’d pissed me off, you’d know about it.” Nero turned back to the stacked oven cloths he’d clearly been sorting when Lenny had barged into him. “I’m just tired, mate. Got a lot on.”

  Lenny didn’t buy it, but he’d been around Nero enough to know there was little he could do to ease the set of his jaw. Sighing, he went to his locker and stripped off his chef jacket, and the thin white T-shirt he wore underneath. He usually went into the cubicle to change his trousers, but Nero’s glowering presence behind him made him feel reckless.

  He dropped his chef trousers and bent to retrieve them from the floor. Nero slammed the washing machine shut. Lenny heard the door close, and disappointment bloomed in his belly. He wasn’t quite sure what reaction he’d hoped for, but Nero walking out on him was like a kick to the chest. Loser. What the fuck did you expect? That he’d fall for your great seduction and—

  “Fuck this.”

  Lenny’s chest hit the lockers, his nipple ring clanging against the cool metal. He snatched a breath, but Nero stole whatever words he might’ve had by yanking his head back, claiming his mouth in a searing kiss. Jesus. Lenny’s pulse jumped, and his dick hardened. He deepened the kiss, dragging his teeth over Nero’s lips, and tried to turn, but Nero held firm, kissing him over and over until Lenny’s head spun from lack of oxygen.

  Nero broke away, holding Lenny’s fist against his chest. He glared down at Lenny, his eyes a perfect storm of lava and ice, then seized Lenny again, shoving him in the direction of the cubicle.

  Inside, he kicked the door shut. Locked it. Lenny swallowed. Something was brewing in Nero’s chaotic gaze, but the danger was hard to gauge. Did Nero need Lenny to match his fire with an inferno of his own? Or was he on a precipice he desperately needed Lenny to pull him back from?

  “Nero—”

  “Don’t.” Nero shook his head. “I don’t want to fucking talk.”

  Of course he didn’t, but that didn’t mean he didn’t need to. Or did it? As Lenny stared at Nero, losing himself in his molten eyes, he had no idea. I never know what he needs.

  The realisation stung. Nero had fast become Lenny’s best friend—his only real friend—but what had Lenny done for him?

  Fuck all, except inconvenience him and eat him out of house and home.

  The guilt in Lenny’s veins burned, but, like he’d read Lenny’s mind, Nero shook his head, his message clear. I don’t want to talk.

  Well, fine. There were other ways of communicating. Lenny wrenched himself from Nero’s grip and shoved him square in the chest, walking Nero backward until their positions were reversed. Nero tensed, like he was bracing himself for the same bruising kiss he’d claimed from Lenny, but Lenny’s hands on his face were gentle, his lips light, and the slide of his tongue easy, like the summer drizzle glittering the windows.

  Nero’s t
all frame melted slack against the wall behind him. Lenny moved closer, wrapped his fingers around the base of Nero’s skull, and kneaded the last of the tension away. “There you go,” he whispered. “You don’t have to fight me for it. It’s yours, whenever you want.”

  “It is, or you are?”

  “I am, Nero. What do you want? What do you need?”

  The fire in Nero’s eyes reignited. He licked his lips, and lowered them to Lenny’s ear. “I want to suck your dick.”

  Lenny had expected silence. He shivered and breathed deeply, inhaling Nero’s warm, spicy scent. “You wanna get on your knees for me? Now? In here?”

  “That a problem?”

  As if. Lenny had dreamed of this ever since Nero had confessed his desire to bottom, and in moments like this, fucking Nero wasn’t so hard to imagine. He wants this.

  Lenny backed away and hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his underwear. He inched them slowly down his hips, giving Nero time to change his mind. But it didn’t happen. Nero’s hands replaced his and stripped him bare, and Lenny sucked in a breath that seared his lungs. They’d been naked together before, but in the cramped cubicle Lenny had never felt more exposed.

  Nero dropped to his knees and took Lenny’s cock in his mouth like he’d done it a thousand times before.

  “Fuck!” Lenny shoved his fist in his mouth and his knees buckled, his balance saved only by Nero’s unyielding grip on his thighs. He gazed down. The sight of Nero kneeling between his legs didn’t quite match up with the man who’d shoved him face-first against the lockers, but as Nero took Lenny’s dick deep down his throat, Lenny didn’t much care. Nero Fierro was a perfect contradiction, he had to be, or Lenny was fucking dreaming, and the premature release rushing mercilessly through his veins belonged to someone else.

  He leaned forward, bracing himself on the wall, and fucked Nero’s mouth, gently at first, but then harder as Nero opened his throat and tilted his head, submitting in a way that Lenny couldn’t quite believe. “Why do you like this so much? What does it give you?”