Chapter 5
Sebastian is in Peter’s kitchen, banging things around. He’s making a pot of coffee, and there’s a pan with butter in it, and a bowl of eggs mixed with milk that he’s dipping the bread into before placing it into the pan. “You’ll eat French toast, right? I put bacon in the oven.”
And then Sebastian goes to get two mugs, puts cream in both. He opens the sugar bowl. “How many?” It’s a little surreal having the young man who just brutally fucked him now act like he’s Peter’s boyfriend. Or mother.
“Uh… two. Please.”
There’s another condom on the counter. Why is it there?
Sebastian dumps two spoonfuls of sugar into the mug, stirs it, and then turns to present the coffee to Peter.
With a smile no less. His cheeks are flushed.
Those cheeks, satiny and full of youth, and he’s looking at Peter softly…
but also like he might suddenly take Peter to the ground and ravage him.
Is Sebastian imagining it, too?
Are you going to have me again? It’s a simple question. He could ask.
Peter is standing there like an idiot, aching and hurting inside, feeling both really good and really vulnerable. If Sebastian did decide to fuck him again, Peter isn’t sure how he’d react to that. He wouldn’t say no. He’s very afraid he’d give in without making a single, token protest.
What exactly would that be like? To be fucked again when he’s sore and emotionally vulnerable. What if he started crying? Had to beg the man to be sweet to him?
“I think I need to go to therapy,” Peter says and takes a sip of coffee. He is definitely having fantasies of terrible things happening to him at this young man’s hand.
One encounter and Peter already feels different. There is a before and an after Sebastian. The world is brighter, and Peter is fragile.
All of the work and political bullshit seem very far away.
Sebastian has stripped him to the bone. To his soul.
Sebastian has exposed him, broken through the strange exterior that’s covered him his whole adult life, and he feels more at peace than he has in years.
Peter hadn't thought he’d ever have that again.
And he has no idea what he’d be, how he’d feel or react if Sebastian wanted him again. Who would he be if Sebastian carried on, revealing another layer of Peter’s soul? Is there anything there? Or is this it?
How much of this is real versus a maladaptive coping mechanism from the fallout of his political career?
“Being a politician was terrible. Except for my assistant—who has already taken another job and for more money—there isn’t a single person I worked with that I ever want to see again.”
And no one has called him. He was a traitor to his party as far as they’re concerned, and this is his punishment. Being left alone.
He laughs.
Sebastian looks at him with a raised brow. “You okay over there?”
“I’m free. It’s very strange.”
What is left inside Peter anyway? Who is he? Does he have to be anything more than a plaything for the sadistic young man in his kitchen? Surely he can be a thing for a weekend. Maybe a week.
Reevaluate afterward. He needs to lie low anyway.
If he could have anything, be anywhere, it’d be for this to continue. To see what this monstrously charming young man would do to him if he had nothing but time and Peter’s willingness.
What if he told Sebastian to do his worst?
Peter wants to know himself. And he could know himself through the sensations he experiences.
Sebastian could show that to him. It makes Peter terrified of himself.
He looks at Sebastian’s groin, the hair on Peter’s arms rising at the very idea that he might find Sebastian hard.
Sebastian has underwear on. Must have gone back upstairs when Peter was in the bathroom, and he didn’t even notice.
Sebastian isn’t hard. Which is… that’s something. He isn’t relieved, and he should be.
“I should put something on,” Peter says.
“No. Naked is good. Come here,” Sebastian orders. The smile is still there, but there’s something about his eyes or his posture or… Peter’s heart beats fast as he gets closer.
“What do you say, baby doll?” Sebastian prompts and kisses his jaw.
“Thank you,” he says as Sebastian kisses his neck.
Sebastian takes a breath in, nose pressed to Peter’s collarbone.
Peter tries not to whimper. “You smell like you got fucked six ways to Sunday. What a fucking whore you are. You couldn’t go out on the street smelling like this, you know.
Not unless you were looking to get fucked again.
My pretty whore,” he says and smacks Peter on the ass.
Peter yelps and waits. He eyes Sebastian’s mouth.
“You’re not looking to get fucked again, are you?”
He can’t speak. Can’t say no. What does it mean that he’s willing to try, wants to have this man inside him again?
“Of course not,” Sebastian murmurs, answering for him. “Nice things now. Kiss me. Cuddle into me. I hurt you, but I make it better, don’t I?” Sebastian says, voice rough.
“Fuck, I don’t know.” Peter’s voice is shaking.
Sebastian takes the coffee from him and puts it down on the counter. His hands slide around Peter’s ass, cupping his cheeks. Then Sebastian squeezes gently, and it’s enough for Peter to feel a tugging at his rim.
He presses his hands to Sebastian’s chest, clutching onto him, needing him closer.
“You’re lovely. I want to chain you up and keep you. I’d let you sleep in the bed, Peter. I don’t keep good sluts on the floor. Do you know why not?”
“Sebastian, I… Why not?” He tucks his face into Sebastian’s neck and sighs in relief.
“Because sluts need to get fucked. That’s what they’re for, sweetheart. And I’d always want you close.”
Peter manages a nod. He’s in way over his head.
He’s wandered into something he can’t begin to comprehend.
Sebastian isn’t like normal people. Sebastian is the human equivalent of heroin.
Peter had a taste, and now his brain is permanently rewired.
He’s an addict. He doesn’t know how he’d ever go back to not wanting this.
Him.
“Arms around my neck, filthy thing.”
“Sebastian,” he whispers and obeys. “Not filthy,” he says, pressing kisses into the underside of his jaw.
“It’s a compliment. I like you filthy. Smelling like come and sex. You smell like my little slut. Do you not want to be my slut anymore?”
Peter shudders. It’s awful. It’s so awful, and he’s hard again. Sebastian pulls him closer, feels Peter’s cock against his stomach.
Sebastian chuckles. “That’s what I thought. Filthy fucking slut,” he says affectionately, kissing Peter on the nose.
He moves briefly, flips the piece of toast in the pan, and then grabs Peter again, pulling him close. It’s safety.
“Do you know how to cook?” Sebastian asks, his hand rubbing circles over Peter’s lower back.
The change in subject throws Peter off. “I… not well.”
“You’ll need to learn then. Choose a recipe every couple of days and make it.
I’ll help you choose one if you want. You’ll take a picture of it when it’s done and send it to me.
This here? French toast is easy. I love it.
I could eat French toast twice a week for the rest of my life and be happy.
And after fucking you and giving it to you like you need it, I’m hungry.
Always make sure you have what you need to make it for me.
Berries are nice. Keep frozen ones, too.
And orange juice in case I want a compote.
Fuck it, start getting champagne, too. If I’m here on Sunday, we can have brunch.
Mimosas are awesome. Do you need to write this down? ”
Then he moves again. Toast out of the pan and onto a plate, and another one dipped and put down to cook. Peter reaches for his coffee and has a sip. He stares out the window. It’s nice out back. Sunny but cold. Sebastian expects him to have things on hand for him. During the week and the weekend.
“Are you joking?” Peter asks, not turning around.
“No, I’m very serious. Disobey and you will not like the consequences,” he says. There’s a hint of a smile in his words. “Maybe you should disobey. Fuck, I’d hurt you so good.”
Peter’s stomach flips, and his hand clenches like he might be about to get into a fight. He risks a glance. Sebastian is beautiful. He needs to see Sebastian’s face as he’s getting fucked. He has to see the moment when he comes because Peter feels so good inside.
It’s a horrible idea.
He shouldn’t want it again. Who is he now? Peter looks out back again, blinking against the vivid light.
“You need to plant. Your yard is a disgrace.”
“I don’t… I never had one growing up.” It’s hard to keep up with Sebastian. His happy exuberance. Peter’s never felt stupid. Sebastian runs a hand through his hair. Peter can see him out of the corner of his eye. He’s like an unpredictable animal, and Peter is keeping tabs on him.
It reminds him of being deployed. Standing around a dusty village, everything looked fine and calm, peaceful. And then a car would blow up or a man would pull out a gun. They always had to be vigilant.
Sebastian’s hair is just this mop of brown curls that are all over, even on his forehead. All from Peter touching him and the exertion of the sex they had.
Peter reaches up to touch his hair when he comes close, and Sebastian leans into his hand, letting Peter touch him as much as he wants to.
He makes a sound, like a purr, and bumps into the touch.
Peter's lured in, and before he knows it, he’s trapped against the counter and his balls are resting in the palm of Sebastian’s hand.
“Your pupils went wider. And you’re leaking against me. So fucking easy. I’m really glad. I love you being a slutty, needy mess, you know?” he says, like it isn’t a big deal to just say that. “So, you didn’t have a yard growing up. What, is that an excuse?”
“I… no. Maybe.”
“You’re gonna get that yard sorted out or you’ll be in a cock cage till Halloween.”
“You… um, you think we’ll still be doing this at Halloween?”