Chapter 6
Eventually, Sebastian leaves. He has to have dinner with his family and has an early class the next morning. They sat on the couch watching a movie, his head in Sebastian’s lap, Sebastian petting him absently the whole time, and it was bliss to be with someone. To not be alone.
Sebastian put his number into Peter’s phone and said he didn’t have classes after Thursday afternoon, so if he wanted to spend the weekend together, they could. “Well, except for Saturday night. I have to go to a birthday party. You could come with me. Be my date.”
“Uh, no,” he said.
“Because you don’t want people to know you’re cradle robbing?”
Peter glared.
Which made Sebastian kiss him and play with his nipples until Peter whimpered in protest and Sebastian came all over them.
Sebastian jerked him off, and Peter came on his stomach, and Sebastian rubbed the whole mess into Peter and was very pleased with himself.
It was hot. Peter definitely felt like a filthy slut then.
Sebastian refused to take a shower with him. “There’s no way I can be in there with you all naked and wet and not have you again. And you are not ready for that. I’m a sadist not a torturer.”
“Is there a difference?”
“You better hope so. Seriously, though. If this fucks you up at all, give me a call. I’m going to check in with you tonight and tomorrow, too. We played hard. Very hard.” He frowned. “It doesn’t always have to be this difficult. If that’s a concern.”
It was the first hint that Sebastian wasn't quite as confident as he’d let on. They played hard enough that Peter broke down.
Sebastian’s concern made Peter smile and feel warm inside. “I’m good,” he said, wanting to reassure him. “It was hard, but it wasn’t that hard. It was hard enough that I know you wanted me.”
“Yeah, but you don’t have to break down every time.”
Peter waved it away. “If it’s a problem, I’ll let you know. Also, I may be asleep if you text me tonight. I’m pretty sure I’m going to sleep really well.”
“Then why don’t you text me before you go to sleep? Can you do that?” he asked, one hand on Peter’s face, his thumb brushing over his cheek again and again.
“Yeah, I can do that.”
He leaned in to give Peter a kiss goodbye.
“You’re gorgeous. You know that, right? Anything you want. It’s yours.”
Peter blushed and watched Sebastian go jauntily down the sidewalk.
Just as Peter expected, he falls asleep early.
He sends a text to Sebastian saying he is going to bed.
Peter gets up at five like he usually does and goes for a run.
He’s oddly conflicted about how healed he is.
There are some bruises and a hickey on his neck, and his hole might look a little red, but frankly he looks at that area so infrequently he isn’t even sure.
He is most definitely tight again. He clenches inside and gets a twinge or two, but that’s it.
He gets a text from Sebastian at seven wanting to know how he is. Basically healed, he texts and Sebastian sends back a :-(.
The problem is that it’s only nine in the morning and he doesn’t have anywhere to be.
He has a few local friends who have been calling and texting now that he’s without a job and politically homeless, so he decides to meet up with one of them for lunch.
Peter’s friend Mark has been dying to take him to a local Indian place for ages, but Peter doesn’t usually want to go anywhere where he has to take the time to sit down. He's had so many goddamn meals at restaurants that he hates eating out.
He is quickly reminded that it’s actually nice to go out with friends for a meal. It isn’t nice to go with lobbyists or narcissists.
The food is great, and they swap stories about the past and their buddies, and he thinks everything is going okay, but then he catches Mark looking at his neck.
“I gotta tell you, Pete, I was worried for you. We all were. But you seem happy. I thought it was quitting the job. But now I’m thinking the reason for your good mood has something to do with that hickey on your neck? Who is she?” Mark asks.
“Uh, well, first of all, it’s not a she.”
“Oh,” Mark says, seemingly unfazed. “Good for you, man.” And apparently that’s the end of that.
“So, is it serious?”
“I have no idea. It’s new. We’re still getting to know each other. But it’s intense, and I definitely like him.”
“Well, now I want to meet him.”
“Ha. No, that’s gonna be a while.” He can’t imagine Mark or any of his friends meeting Sebastian. He looks young. Which makes sense because he is young.
“Well, I’m happy for you.”
“There’s a bit of an age difference,” Peter says uncertainly.
“How much of an age difference?”
“Almost a decade.” God, he wishes he hadn’t said anything. It had slipped out. Maybe he wants to talk to someone about it. And it’s more than a decade. “Actually, it’s a bit more than a decade. Uh, thirteen years. I don’t know why I said that. Well, I do. Shame.”
Mark laughs. He chews slowly, looking at the ceiling. “Okay, I can see that. Someone with experience. I don’t think there’s that much of a difference between thirty-five and forty-eight.”
Something in his expression must give it away.
“Oh fuck. He’s barely twenty-one?” Mark winces, which is a much more appropriate reaction.
“Twenty-two,” he says, because every year counts. “And it is something I worry about,” he says, pissed off at Mark’s judgmental tone. Well, he’s pissed at himself and trying to deflect.
Peter is vaguely self-aware.
“Well, the biggest problem with dating someone young is that you don’t have shared life experiences. You need someone who can understand you when things are difficult. Understand certain stressors of your life and want the same things.”
Physically, Peter thinks they line up pretty well. Sebastian is easy to talk to. Understanding and sympathetic. But Mark is probably right.
“And, you know, are you taking advantage of him?”
Peter barks out a laugh. “No, I am not taking advantage of him. If anything, he’s taking advantage of me.”
“Oh,” Mark says, a little confused.
“He has a lot more experience than I do. He has all the experience. I mean, it’s a relief because I have zero experience, and he’s terrifyingly good at communication. And I am… well, I’m thirty-five and it’s all new. I was getting nowhere before him.”
Mark grins. “So the argument is you’re basically the twenty-two-year-old?”
Peter chuckles. “Yeah, I suppose so. He’s the one setting the pace. Telling me how we do things, and I’m just sort of along for the ride.” And then he blushes.
Mark smirks at him.
“Well, if you think about it, you are kind of a celebrity. And most celebrities date people who are significantly younger than they are. If you go for anyone under twenty, then that’s sleazy and might mean you have issues. Daddy issues probably.”
Peter chokes on his rice. “My father is dead.”
“That doesn’t help your case.”
“The age difference is something that worries me,” Peter says.
“Look, you’re not a narcissistic asshole. It doesn’t sound like you’re coercing him. If you stay together and he’s twenty-five and you’re thirty-eight, no one‘s going to make much noise about it. Sometimes, the right person is the right person, and age really is just a number.”
Peter’s phone buzzes in his pocket. It’s a message from Sebastian. Thinking of you. I’ve got time before I have to go back to class, and I keep thinking about how I just want to breed you up. If you want to send me a picture of what’s left of the marks I gave you, I’ll put it to good use…
“What’s wrong? Is the world ending?” Mark asks.
“No. He wants me to send him something,” he says absently. Mark leans forward, his voice quiet.
“Please tell me you know not to take a dick pic where he can see your face?”
“You know what? I did not know that. I will take that into consideration.”
“Oh Jesus,” Mark says, rolling his eyes. “I can’t tell if you’re joking.”
Peter offers to pay because Mark is running late and has to get back to work. He goes to the bathroom and into a stall to take a picture. What exactly is he supposed to take a picture of? His dick? The hickey? His hole?
He rereads the text. Sebastian wants to breed him.
He leans against the divider, his cock getting hard.
Could they both get tested so they can stop using condoms?
Though that would require Sebastian to be exclusive, and Peter would be a fool to think a guy that hot (and young!) would want to be exclusive with a significantly older washed-out politician.
It’s mostly gone, he types but doesn’t hit send.
He tries to take a picture of his hickey.
It’s pretty underwhelming. No one wants to get off to that.
There are a few bruises around his nipples.
He takes a picture just in case. They're a bit difficult to see amidst his chest hair.
Oh. Is that why Sebastian wants him waxed?
He strokes himself to hardness and takes a picture of his dick. Maybe? He shoves his pants down, foot on the toilet, trying to take a picture of his… Why would Sebastian want a picture of that?
Tell me what you want a picture of, he sends.
The response is gratifyingly quick. You get one guess.
So, it is a dick pic?
Depends. Are you hard?
Yes.
Start with that then.
Peter sends a picture.
Nice. Jack it till you’re wet.
He obeys, pleased Sebastian wants something from him. The tip gets wet and he keeps going, fucks up into his fist and squeezes hard, stripping his cock until there’s a pool of it in the slit, ready to spill over. He sends a picture.
His phone rings. “Where are you?” Sebastian asks.
“I’m… in the bathroom at a restaurant.”
“Send me your location so I can see.”
Peter almost drops the phone, clumsy with sudden lust. He sends his location.
“What are you up to for the next hour?”
“Nothing,” he says.
“Put that hard dick away and meet me at this location,” he says, sending Peter an address. “Do not come.”