by P. W. Davies
“What did I catch you thinking?” Christian asked. He stopped walking altogether, turning to face Peter while reaching absent-mindedly for the inside of his coat. Whatever he sought, he reconsidered, lowering the arm to his side again.
“I was thinking about how good you look tonight,” he said.
The admission made Christian smirk. He nodded westward. “Almost there, love. I think you’ll like this place.”
Once more, Christian offered his arm to Peter and presented him to Philadelphia as if wearing a badge of pride. Peter drifted closer, and finally thought to break the tentative silence. “Where in England are you from?” became the first question. After that, “What brought you over to the States?”
Christian chuckled. “Exeter,” he answered first. The second question caused him a moment’s pause and the charm and humor he wore bore fissures he looked to repair within seconds of them forming. He drew a deep breath inward, leading them to the door of one of the many restaurants dotting Walnut Street. “What brought me to the States is a complicated sort of question, though. You could say I needed a change of scenery.”
“I can understand that.” Peter offered it as one of those things stated from the lack of a better response. Their conversation paused as they entered a finer establishment, and from there the mystique surrounding his date exploded into life again. The maître d acknowledged Christian from pure sight alone and while others waited in the vestibule to be seated, he motioned the pair to the podium where he stood. Peter watched as words were exchanged, brow furrowed as he attempted to hear them talk over the noise in the background. Only every few words made it to his ears.
Usual table. Not available. Something else? By the window. Whatever Christian said next registered with the middle-aged, Asian man as he peered up at Peter, a light of epiphany crossing his features. Whatever Christian’s normal business there, it became apparent this was anything but. “No, absolutely, we have a few tables by the windows,” he declared, loud enough that Peter could hear it. He seemed apathetic as to whether the other people waiting heard him, too. To their credit, nobody voiced an objection.
Peter smiled sheepishly, making note of the way the host plucked two menus as he strolled toward the main seating area. Christian nodded in the direction the host wandered, and something about the interior made Peter feel like he’d been whisked away into a dream. The dim lighting bore warm, orange colors, the dark woods which made up the booths and tables a compliment to the soothing ambiance. The window seating overlooked the lush park beside them, leading Peter to wonder how long people normally waited to be seen there. Both he and Christian were guided to a table, menus placed in front of them before being left alone.
“Wow,” Peter said, situating himself in his chair. He gathered the menu in both hands, lifting the single page up while not bothering to look at it yet. His eyes focused on the sconces on the walls, skimming up toward the fixtures hanging from the ceiling. “I don’t know what’s more impressive, the fact that I warranted this as a first date, or that you make a regular habit out of being here.”
Christian grinned when Peter looked down at him again. “Absolutely warranted,” he said, “And why should anybody accept something inferior if they have a say in the matter?” He raised an eyebrow, but left the question unanswered, in favor of reading over the menu. “Is there anything you won’t eat?”
Peter quickly looked at the text. “Not really. I get this so rarely that I don’t know everything, but I haven’t ever disliked anything I’ve eaten at a sushi place.”
“Good. If this doesn’t sound too prehistoric of me, I might order for us. Only because I know the fare.” His eyes flicked up toward Peter again. “Unless you see anything that looks good to you.”
Silently, he wondered if Christian had stopped talking about food. “No, please. I’m in your hands.”
“Not yet, but maybe by the time the night’s out, if I’m fortunate.”
The roguish smolder in his gaze flustered Peter, as if Christian had a God-given gift for affecting that reaction in him. He felt the compulsion to chide Christian, interrupted only by the server, who laid out napkins and asked for their drink order. Peter ordered a beer and resisted the urge to chuckle when Christian requested something straight out of a gay man’s stereotype manual. The unapologetic way he did only made Peter appreciate it more.
They both watched the server wander away, Christian lingering on the sight of the shapely, redheaded woman longer than Peter did. Peter watched, amused for the moment without pausing to wonder if he should be jealous. “You know,” he said, drawing Christian’s focus back to him. “When I tracked down your attending physician at the hospital, he told me you offered to find a creative use for his stethoscope.” He lifted the glass of water the server had given them, taking a small sip from it. “Are you always this much of a flirt, Mr. Mason?”
The slight furrow in Christian’s brow preceded realization cresting over his face like a wave. “Oh,” he said, and in the moment which directly followed, he leaned closer, half-wincing. “I might not have been completely honest about my name.”
“Which part of it?”
“The latter. I have myself trained to offer Mason as a surname. My real name is Richardson.”
Peter shook his head. He lowered the glass of water back onto the table, reclining back in his chair after he did. “You’re the strangest guy I’ve ever met. You give hospital personnel fake names, pursue people who strike your interest, and yet you have so many secrets. Don’t think I didn’t notice you never really explained what brought you over to the States.”
“Ah. That again.” Christian sighed while he looked to be considering something. The server returned with their drinks and Christian lifted a finger, offering it as a promise that the topic would continue once the waiter had taken their order. As he focused on the woman, his charming veneer returned, presented to her effortlessly, as if he had been engaged in polite conversation with her. A host of items Peter had never even heard of, let alone eaten, came rattling off Christian’s tongue. The server wrote them all down and nodded, fetching their menus before leaving them alone again.
The sudden way Christian turned serious again intrigued Peter. He unfolded his napkin, laying it on his lap while keeping his gaze averted from Peter. It looked like an effort on his part to collect his thoughts. “My father passed,” he finally said. “As you can imagine, it’s not something I typically disclose to people on the first date because it’s rather depressing.”
His eyes flicked up to search Peter. Whatever he sought, Peter felt a slight sense of vulnerability in the action and relaxed into it, his bleeding heart taking hold of the confession. “I understand how that goes,” Peter said. “You’re not sure if the other person’s going to pity you or not when you say that.”
Christian tilted his head. “You’ve lost someone close to you.”
“Yeah.” Peter’s fingers nervously settled on the new glass which had joined the collection of others, bearing the light, amber color of the drink it contained. He collected a bead of condensation with his thumb and took a deep breath. “You want depressing? I was in a car accident when I was thirteen. Both parents died. I barely made it out.” He held fast to a small smile, unable to help the apologetic undertone it bore. “I went to live with my aunt and uncle. Sometimes, when it rains, I still feel the aching in my leg.”
Peter expected him to wince. Inevitably, the other person would lapse into a sob story about a grandparent or relative they watched descend into dementia, often to avoid an awkward silence. Christian, however, maintained an even expression, his gaze almost soothing with the amount of understanding it carried. It almost seemed to reach out, extending a hand as though to say Peter didn’t have to be alone. “Murdered,” Christian said. “My father, that is. I was only a year older than you. You could say I fell between the cracks afterward, but I’d lost my mother at a young age.”
“Any siblings?” Peter asked, finally lifting the be
er and taking a sip.
“One. A well-meaning brother who gets into fights with me whenever we’re in the same room longer than ten minutes.”
“It’s times like these I’m glad I was an only child.”
“An only child and an orphan? Do you moonlight as a vigilante as well?”
An unadulterated laugh burst past Peter’s lips. Christian grinned, the expression containing more delight and less cocksure arrogance, the other man visibly pleased with himself. “No,” Peter said. “I’m afraid my life is owned by the Temple University hospital system right now. At least, until I finish my residency.”
“How good of them to lend you to me for the evening, then,” Christian said, warmth radiating through his smile. Food arrived, and Christian plied him with an additional drink, adding to the heat collecting in Peter’s chest. A moment came when a foot brushed against his foot, interest presented on a platter as if it had to be stated again. For his part, Peter had made himself a promise not to succumb to temptation on the first date. Even if the other man seemed bent to unravel him.
Christian deliberately toyed with a chopstick while he ate. The way his lips pursed around it, his brow quirked, inspired a host of lurid thoughts, made even more palpable when he remembered the taste of their first kiss. Sake sat on Peter’s stomach like a blanket, his mind still coherent, but inhibited by the haze of a pleasant buzz when they left the restaurant. As they headed in the direction of the park, Peter focused on anything that would keep him from succumbing. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a meal like that,” he said, finally settling on the obvious.
Raising an eyebrow at the statement, Christian chuckled when Peter confirmed it with a nod. “You’ve clearly been dating below your league,” he said, digging his hands into his pockets.
Peter did likewise, retreating further into his coat. “Maybe. Especially because…” He trailed off to think. “God,” he said. “I think it has been since around the time I graduated from college. That was before my aunt passed away.”
“Your aunt died too? Forgive me if I’m being insensitive, but you’re a walking Greek tragedy.”
“Yeah.” The word fell from his lips, light and airy, wafting away right after it’d been spoken. He squinted at one of the trees, his eyes fixed on its leafless branches. “Is it strange to say that I forget about that sometimes?”
“Hardly. I’d say that if you didn’t, it would probably weigh a lot heavier.” As they slowed their pace to a stop, Christian lingered a half-step behind Peter. The taller man felt a hand settle on his back and gentle slide up his spine. “At the same time, it explains what I’ve noticed about you from that first night you snuck into my room,” Christian said.
Peter fought off a shiver. “What was that?”
“You have a latent sadness to you. Something like a lost and lonely soul who doesn’t know how to seek what it desires. And you fight against it even when you find it.” His hand continued up to the base of Peter’s neck, coasting downward after that. “Though, in my case, I think you sense the devil offering it.”
He fought the urge to shut his eyes and lapse headlong into relish. ‘So much for my ironclad resolve.’ “Are you calling yourself the devil?” Peter asked.
“Perhaps. I never claimed to be an angel, love. But something tells me that has you drawn to me.”
As Christian situated himself behind Peter, his fingers skimmed toward Peter’s hip and finally, Peter shut his eyes, his body reacting to the touch. A part of him wanted the hand which slid around to tease at his front to continue, even knowing they were standing in the same place visible from the restaurant window, where any of the other patrons could view them. His skin tingled, the cadence of his heart picking up in rhythm. As Christian began to sway, he let himself get lost in the impromptu dance.
“So, tell me,” Christian murmured against the fabric of Peter’s coat. “Are you determined to resist me?”
“Maybe,” Peter said, the volume of his voice as soft. “I feel like I should make you work harder for it.”
“Harder. Fitting word. I won’t embarrass you by seeing for myself just how fitting.” All the same, his hand settled on Peter’s hip, a dare presented for the other man to stop Christian. A challenge offered for him to give in. Peter couldn’t figure out which to obey. Christian’s other hand – the one belonging to the injured arm – joined the act of temptation, fingers teasing at the end of Peter’s shirt. “What does your idea of effort look like in your mind?”
“Another date.” Peter drew a shaky breath inward. “A few more secrets.”
“And what if I’m attempting to tell myself I could trust you with those secrets?”
“I don’t know who else I’d tell, Christian.”
“Not about who you would tell, but how you would look at me after I told you them.”
Peter opened his eyes. The bare confession struck him in the heart, an earnestness to it that disarmed him. He motioned to turn and Christian relented, allowing them to face each other without drifting too far apart. As he peered up at Peter, his brow remained quirked, but his gaze remained steady, presenting something to Peter that the other man couldn’t read yet. All Peter knew was that he’d been given something rawer than facts about another person’s life. He’d been given a glimpse into a soul. One prepared to be rejected.
A guy like Christian fearing that? As implausible as it seemed, it was the truth. The scant amount of space separating them disappeared within a breath and something within Peter craved to do so much more than to explore the man standing before him in body. He sought the soul behind the confession, nudging his foot inside the doorway and hoping to inch it open. You can trust me, he wanted to say. Christian was a man who heard the volume of actions above the hollow noise of words.
And so, Peter bent to make up the rest of the distance between them. Christian’s hand settled on his shoulder, using it as leverage so he could meet Peter in the kiss being offered by the other man. A warm caress of breath preceded the feeling of Christian’s lips and the tenderness of the initial offering sent tingles racing through him. With one taste, he craved more. And so, he motioned to claim it.
The heat and intensity of the embrace that followed carried overtones of lust, rolling from one man to the other in waves. Christian shifted his hand to cup Peter’s face and as their eyes clenched shut, both explored the other with their remaining senses, becoming inundated before either could recognize being swept up in the undertow. Peter’s lips parted, a moan stifled by a tongue darting inside his mouth to dance with his. His hands clung on tighter to Christian, the heady scent of cologne and the sensation of fabric giving testimony to what laid beneath Christian’s clothing. Peter knew Christian wanted him. As one kiss gave way to another, though, he hoped Christian heard the plea latent in his actions.
Give me a chance to show you something you’ve never seen before.
Peter couldn’t be sure, but Christian seemed to be saying the same thing.
Christian exhaled a shaky breath as both backed away from the precipice, recognizing the point of no return standing in front of them. Peter swallowed back the need to kiss Christian again, muttering, “We’re probably going to startle somebody if we keep doing that in public.”
The other man chuckled. “You’re so modest,” he whispered. His fingertips coasted down the side of Peter’s face. “Are you sure I can’t convince you back to my place?”
“Are you going to offer me a drink?”
“Would you believe me if I did?”
“No.” Peter grinned. “But it’d be a noble effort.”
“I never make promises I don’t intend to keep.” Christian surrendered to a mischievous smirk, in open recognition and appreciation of the obvious interest standing in front of him. His eyes traced as much of Peter as he could without surrendering the lack of space between them. “I promised you a tour of some of my favorite places. You can’t leave me until I buy you a cup of coffee.”
“No, you’re r
ight. I absolutely couldn’t.”
“Then, follow me.”
Christian’s eyes danced with delight. He offered his arm to Peter again and together, the two strolled unabashedly toward the edge of Rittenhouse Square. Another heated kiss marked the eventual end of their date, Christian remaining in the taxi they had hired to bring Peter home.
As Peter watched the car drive away, he clutched the coffee he had purchased and frowned.
One more date, he vowed. Just one more. If I can’t hold out after that, then at least I gave it a shot.
Five
“So, are you joining the priesthood?” she asked, a smile crossing her lips as she glanced up from the open file on her desk. Peter sighed when they made eye contact, turning toward the white board after a long, exchanged look and erasing one of the patient names. Chloe laughed. “Honey, you don’t have to pick out curtains anymore to sleep with them. There’s nothing wrong with having a little fun.”
“I know, Chloe. I know that,” Peter groaned. While he’d made a solid attempt to immerse himself in work, the thought of Christian had become a song playing on repeat inside his head. He’d dreamed about him the night before. Another extended shower had preceded him getting dressed for work and this time, when he came, he thought of Christian’s mouth wrapped around his cock, a wicked smile on his lips when he peered upward at Peter.
“If you know that, then why are you staring again?”
Peter shook his head, dismissing the mental image in favor of peering toward the middle-aged nurse again. An echo of her question played back in his mind while he took a deep breath and focused on the rest of the emergency room. A few idle coughs and the shrill cry of a baby interrupted the otherwise quiet evening, none of them Peter’s patients. He’d discharged his last only a few minutes ago.
“Because I want something else,” Peter finally answered. “That’s why. I’ve been biding my time hooking up with people that were interesting enough for a fling. It’s getting old.”
