25. Diesel
25
DIESEL
“ T hanks,” Diesel heard Zero say just before hearing the sound of the motel room door close.
What the fuck?
Slowly, Diesel opened his eyes and waited for his vision to focus. Hunched over the tiny table next to the window, Zero was opening a paper bag and pulling out multiple Styrofoam containers.
Zero appeared to be razor-focused on the contents, searching among things he couldn’t seem to find. There was a sweetness about his look—eyebrows scrunched together as he dug through the bag and its contents.
“What’s all that?” Diesel whispered, barely able to lift his head. God, why did eating rotten food wreak havoc on your body?
Turning, Zero’s face lit up, giving him a warm smile like he was happy to see that he was still alive. He placed the item he had just lifted back down into its brown-paper prison.
Diesel had no idea what time it was or how long he’d been sleeping. All he knew was that the room was dark, and he had puked another two times before finally falling asleep, dead to the world.
“Dinner! Thought you might want to try eating some toast to help get some solids into you.”
Diesel groaned. He had no desire to eat. Just the thought of food made him want to be sick.
“None of that,” Zero responded as if anticipating Diesel’s resistance. “You need to shut up and start letting people take care of you.”
Diesel’s heart stopped in his chest. Take care of him? No one had ever taken care of him before, other than Matteo and, occasionally, Jared when he was feeling extra generous.
There had been one time when he was twelve, that his mother and stepfather had decided to go to the monster truck show when he had been sick with a temperature of one hundred and two. At the time, Diesel didn’t realize how strong a fever that actually was, but what twelve-year-old really knows what a high temperature is anyway?
As he grew older, he came to realize the reality of those actions; his parents were monsters and never really gave a crap about him.
Reluctantly, Diesel nodded.
Zero picked up a container, some toast, and a bottle of water before joining him on the bed. Reaching over, Zero placed the soup and the bottle of water on the nightstand.
Carefully, Diesel forced himself to sit up and waited patiently for Zero to pass him the food.
“Not today, my little ball of sunshine .” Zero swatted his hand away and began feeding him toast like he was a little kid or something. “Save your strength.”
“I can feed myself,” Diesel grumbled, trying to regain some of his manhood and self-esteem. His body refused to obey his commands.
“I know you can, but I’d like to keep these sheets clean and dry,” he cracked, lifting the lightly buttered toast toward his mouth.
Fine. Feed me like I’m two years old.
“Take a few bites, then we can see how the food settles. At least this will give you a base in your stomach.”
Diesel wasn’t quite sure how he should feel. He didn’t like giving up control to someone else. It almost made him feel weak and out of sorts. But it was also nice knowing that he had someone else around to take care of him. That he could relax and not worry and just focus on getting better.
He didn’t have to do everything for himself.
It felt… kind of nice.
Moving the bread closer to Diesel’s mouth, Zero suddenly froze and stared.
“What? What’s wrong?” Diesel asked, wondering if the man had changed his mind about taking care of him. He couldn’t blame him. Having to feed him and watch him be sick was a lot for any person to take in.
“It’s staring at me.”
Okay. Now he was even more confused.
“What?” His voice pitched upward, having no clue as to what the man was referring to.
“Bruno. I swear his eyes moved when I started bringing the bread closer to your face.” Zero’s eyes flicked up toward Diesel’s. “Does he bite?”
Diesel chuckled. The guy was pure idiocy.
“Only if he’s hungry.”
Turning his attention back to Diesel’s chest, Zero’s eyes narrowed as if challenging the protector inked there.
“Look, Bruno. Your master is not feeling well, and I need to get some bread and water and soup into his skinny little ass before he shrivels up and dies of gas station sandwich syndrome . I promise I won’t hurt him, so please don’t bite my hand off.” Zero continued to approach Diesel’s mouth with the piece of toast.
“Fuck, you’re an idiot,” Diesel couldn’t help but acknowledge. He gave a slight chuckle before his stomach barked back at him.
“Hey, I’m not takin’ any chances around that thing. I’m still trying to figure out a way to smother it while we sleep tonight.”
“That’s definitely one way to get your hands bit,” Diesel warned, taking a small bite of the bread being shoved between his lips. He really didn’t feel like eating, but it was nice having someone take care of him. So he would soldier on and pray that he kept the food down.
The smirk tugging at Zero’s lips did all sorts of weird things to the butterflies that were beginning to take up residence inside his belly.
After two tiny bites, they tried some chicken soup. He ate a few spoonfuls before Zero placed the soup down, suggesting that they wait a bit to see how the food settled.
The man was right. The cramping in his stomach had stopped, but he didn’t want to take any chances. His throat was still sore from being sick, but the warm broth seemed to be helping.
“You should go check on the doc. There’s no point in wasting this opportunity just cus I’m an idiot and decided it was a good idea to eat a gas station sandwich.”
Zero straightened and shot him a glare. He bent over the bed and grabbed Diesel by the jaw.
“First off, don’t ever call yourself an idiot again. I hate hearing people talking down about themselves. The world is full of enough hatred and meanness; we don’t need to be doing that to ourselves as well.” Diesel wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so he remained silent. “Secondly, I set up a dashcam to record the doc’s activities while you were sleeping earlier. I can review the footage tomorrow to see what we missed.”
Relief settled in Diesel’s stomach. At least tonight was not a complete loss.
“Okay, so what do we do now?” Diesel asked, watching Zero clean up the mess from his somewhat dinner.
“Now we watch squiggly TV.” Zero grabbed the remote and squeezed in next to Diesel on the bed.
It was in that moment that Diesel realized there was only one bed in the entire room.
“Sit up a bit,” Zero ordered.
Diesel did as he was told and froze when he saw the man slide his arm behind his body.
“Come. Lean here and relax.”
Diesel allowed himself to be pulled down so that his head was resting against Zero’s chest. Behind him, he felt Zero pull his body firmly against his.
“Comfy?” Zero asked as he flicked on the television.
Diesel nodded, unsure if he was or not. His head was screaming for him to pull away and insist that Zero sleep on the floor, but his heart was telling him to relax and let the man take care of him.
That feeling, that need to be taken care of, was so foreign to Diesel. He was so used to always having to rely solely on himself.
Then there was his dick. His dick apparently hadn’t gotten the memo that his internal organs were splattered all across the motel parking lot and the motel bathroom. Instead, the fucker was preparing for war by flooding himself with blood and preparing itself to invade whatever hole was available.
Not now, Big D. Talk about inappropriate timing.
Sinking his body into Zero’s warm embrace, Diesel finally decided to relax and let his guard down. This was nice. This was comfy. This was… sweet .
“Now. What shall we watch on TV?” Zero asked, beginning to flick through the channels.
Diesel didn’t care. He was warm and comfy and loved the feel of Zero’s warm body pressed up against his.
He wasn’t sure how long they lay in silence watching old re-runs of I Love Lucy . Eventually, sleep came to claim him, and he willingly gave in to its welcoming embrace.