Chapter Nine #3
Hardly. He smelled spicy and dark and wonderful, like bergamot and rosemary with the slightest hint of espresso and chocolate. Kian wanted to bury his nose into his neck and not move, but the last thing he wanted was to make Bastian uncomfortable with his clinginess.
He shook his head.
“Then why are you all the way over there?” Bastian asked.
Kian knew exactly how to sit, where to go, what to do, when they were at Terroir. He knew better than to ever touch Bastian, always leaving a buffer between them.
But this wasn’t Terroir, so he slid a little closer.
Bastian made a frustrated noise and reached out, crowding Kian against him with the arm he’d slung over the back of the couch.
He reached up and stroked the back of Kian’s head with his fingers, absently toying with the strands of his hair. “This is better, isn’t it?”
Bastian had astonished him more than once tonight, but this was the biggest surprise of all. That Bastian Aquino, head chef of Terroir and not-so-affectionately known by his staff as the Bastard, was a cuddler.
“What?” Bastian questioned, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “I wasn’t allowed before.”
“You didn’t allow yourself,” Kian grumbled, barely able to hide his own smile as he scooped up a bite of risotto and mushrooms.
“Still, I’m going to take advantage of it now,” Bastian said, eating deftly with only one hand as he balanced the bowl in his lap. “If you don’t have any objections.”
Kian laughed because all of a sudden he felt a little teary and more than a little overemotional, and he absolutely was not going to bawl his eyes out on Bastian’s couch over a little cuddling. “Just don’t tell me tomorrow you’ve changed your mind.”
Bastian’s gaze was steady and soft. “You must not know me very well. I’m rather . . . intractable when I’ve set my mind to something.”
“I might be familiar with that particular tendency,” Kian said, sniffing.
“Eat your food,” Bastian said. “Then we’ll go to bed.”
It was after noon the next day when Kian let himself in the house with his key. He’d definitely hoped that Xander would already be gone, or might be at Damon’s, but no, he was right there, at the kitchen table with his laptop and a huge mug of coffee.
“You’re back,” Xander said steadily, not looking up from what he was typing. “There’s coffee on and I brought some bread from the restaurant.”
Kian set his keys on the counter and grabbed a mug from the cupboard. He was definitely a little sore this morning, muscles used in places that felt like they’d only ever gotten occasional use. When he looked up from pouring his coffee, Xander was watching him.
“So, it finally happened,” Xander said conversationally. Like he hadn’t been arguing against it happening for the full two years they’d known each other. “Or maybe you just braided each other’s hair and told ghost stories.”
It really wasn’t any of Xander’s business but Xander was also his best friend. Kian hesitated.
“Please, like I would tell anyone,” Xander added as he rolled his eyes.
“You’re right,” Kian conceded. “You’re not exactly the person I’d go to for hot gossip. And for the record, no, we didn’t braid each other’s hair or tell ghost stories.”
A smile flitted across Xander’s features. “I didn’t think so. Wouldn’t have pegged Aquino as that type.”
“And me?” Kian asked as he sat down next to his friend.
He tried not to worry if Xander was going to see the fairly obvious marks on his neck or if he was going to mention them.
It wasn’t like he and Damon weren’t always practically fucking on their couch, when they had an empty house of Damon’s they could screw in.
“You’re the type, but I can see that’s not all you were up to,” Xander said in a shockingly judgement-free tone. He tilted his head, as if to see the marks in a slightly better light. “Aquino is thorough, I guess.”
Kian fought against the blush, but it rose across his cheeks anyway. “Very,” he admitted.
This morning, as Kian had finally pulled on his clothes for the trip home, Bastian lazing on the bed, watching like a great big tabby, he’d said, “I think I got a little carried away last night.”
There was so much to remember, that it had taken Kian a minute to remember that after eating, they’d ended up making out on the couch, Kian perched in Bastian’s lap, mindlessly rubbing against each other as Bastian had kissed and bit up the sensitive tendon just behind his ear.
“It’s fine,” Kian had said, brushing away his concern. “I’ll just make sure to wear my coat buttoned all the way up.”
But from his own glance in the rearview mirror this morning and the buried astonishment in Xander’s gaze as he looked at the marks, that probably wasn’t going to cut it.
“As long as you’re happy,” Xander said.
Kian had not been expecting such full acceptance of his developing relationship with Bastian. “No more concerned lectures?”
Xander sighed and set his elbows on the edge of the table.
“I know that sometimes I’ve been a shitty friend,” he admitted, “but I was worried. I was afraid he’d take advantage, I was worried he’d use you up and throw you away, but none of that happened.
Instead you fucking pined after each other for years.
Those are feelings with power. Who am I to argue with that? ”
“Yourself?” Kian asked, raising an eyebrow.
Xander laughed.
“Okay, that’s fair,” he said, then hesitated. “It’s only because I’m a friend, and I care about you that I’m asking. You’re okay? Everything is okay?”
“I’m good. Really good.” He suddenly laughed. The realization that the last sixteen or so hours had actually happened was just now hitting him. “I can’t believe that actually worked.”
“What did you do?” Xander sounded amused now. “You sure seemed pissed off, heading off last night.”
“I was. I was furious. Just . . . fucking tired of him getting to dictate the terms of what we were. So I showed up at his house and just started taking my clothes off.”
Xander choked on his coffee. “You did what,” he said when he finally managed to take a breath.
“He wasn’t listening,” Kian argued. “What else do you do with someone who won’t listen to you?”
“Not take my damn clothes off,” Xander said, still laughing.
“Hey, don’t judge. It worked.” Kian flushed. “Really, really well.”
Xander shook his head. “Apparently. Just . . . be careful. Be honest with each other. I know Aquino isn’t easy to deal with, but god knows you’ve figured out the right way to do it. And for the love of god, ask him for my job. You’re already doing the work without getting the credit or the salary.”
Kian really didn’t want to confess that in the last two years, he’d gotten enough raises that he’d been making more as Bastian’s special “intern” than the sous chef at Terroir.
Bastian had made sure he knew his contributions to the restaurant were appropriately valued, even if he didn’t always say it in words.
But then that was Bastian, and Xander was right, Kian had figured out the best way to deal with him.
As for the credit, it would be nice, but anyone who was already in the Terroir kitchen knew to listen to Kian when he asked for something.
He got a wide berth, respect, and he realized, the chafing he’d begun to feel in the last few months hadn’t been over his position in the restaurant—it had been the rut he and Bastian had fallen into.
Now that they’d resolved that, Kian thought maybe he wouldn’t feel so stagnant.
He was only twenty-three. He still had a lot to learn.
He’d become sous eventually, and at some point, maybe he’d even leave Terroir.
But for now, he didn’t feel like rushing the process. He was content right where he was.