Chapter 10 #2
“If I’m capable of waddling to one after you finish stuffing me again,” Danger muttered.
While there was nothing overtly sexual about what he’d said, Ocean’s weed-mellowed mind, and the fact that he could practically feel the tension crackling between them with the same intensity as a violet wand, instantly went there.
Nostrils flaring, Pope appraised Danger, a slow smirk creeping across his face.
“Are you forgetting that I’ve seen how well you can manage?” Pope remarked before ducking back inside again.
For the second time that night, Roan’s snickers morphed into out-of-control giggles he tried to muffle behind his hands.
“Fucker,” Danger muttered beneath his breath, but only after the sliding glass door had closed behind Pope.
Curious, Ocean peered past Roan to stare at him. “What would he have done if he’d heard you?”
“Probably put me over his knee,” Danger admitted.
“And you’d just let him?” Roan asked, nearly cracking heads with Ocean as he leaned forward to stare at Danger, too.
Danger shrugged and pulled another joint from his pocket. “No reason not to.”
He left it at that, like he didn’t care one way or the other, but his eyes lingered on the door, and he knocked his lighter off the arm of the chair when he reached for it.
Pope returned with a tray, four plates, and four round glasses with stumpy stems. There was a bottle in the middle of the tray, but Ocean couldn’t read what it said once they’d all relocated from the deck chairs to the ones situated around the wide wooden patio table.
He passed out the plates, then poured an inch in the bottom of their glasses before sitting and swirling the liquid around in his.
“Why do people do that?” Ocean asked, studying him. “Swirl their alcohol around that way instead of just drinking it?”
“Got me,” Danger replied before taking a swig.
No swirling, just a straight-up gulp, nose twitching, like he was fighting back a grimace. Roan didn’t even try; he gulped, then his face screwed up, his nose wrinkled, and his eyes watered before he forced himself to swallow it.
“Cognac is meant to be sipped,” Pope cautioned.
He didn’t laugh at them, though; he just swirled the glass a few more times before bringing it to his lips.
“As for why people do that, it’s to open it up, whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean,” Pope replied. “The smell gets more intense when I do it, and it makes for a decent enough distraction when I’m at some of the more tedious functions I’ve been called on to attend.”
Ocean swirled it, just to see if the smell changed, and was surprised when it grew stronger, but also spicy and kind of sweet and earthy, like fall. It took him another minute of slow swirling, curiosity taking over as he stared into the flames, making the amber liquid sparkle.
“It smells like fall in the woods but with caramel-covered marshmallows.”
“Hold the fucking phone?” Roan said, spoon poised between his dish and his lips, heaping scoop of strawberries, cream, and cake threatening to topple off. “They make caramel covered marshmallows?”
“I don’t know if they make them,” Ocean replied, picturing his mother seated in front of the campfire, a bag of marshmallows in her lap.
“But my mom used to toast marshmallows for us, then dip them in melted caramel before she’d let us have them.
They were so good. Sometimes she’d roll them in cocoa crispies, and holy shit, they were amazing. ”
“We?” Roan asked.
“I had a younger brother,” Ocean explained.
“He passed away when he was three. He was born with a heart defect, but nobody caught it. One day we were playing, and he just stopped and fell down and wouldn’t get up.
I tried to pick him up, but I wasn’t big enough, so I ran inside to get our folks, but he was already dead. ”
“I’m sorry,” Roan said, reaching for his hand.
“So am I,” Ocean replied. “I miss being a big brother.”
He slammed the rest of the liquid in the glass, the burn easing some of the sting of remembering that day.
“Sometimes I wish I had a sibling,” Roan admitted. “Only it would have been even more crowded at my grandparent’s place. My folks sucked, so wishing them on anyone else seems kind of cruel.”
“I wouldn’t say mine sucked,” Danger said as he polished off his glass too.
“But they are so out of touch with reality sometimes that it blows my mind that they can even function. They still think it’s the summer of love.
They had a rotary phone in the living room for fuck’s sake and wouldn’t even buy a microwave.
If it was recorded after cassette tapes fell out of favor, chances are they’ve never heard of it, and Pops still calls the cops fucking pigs and spits on the ground whenever one of them stops him.
My grandparents were just as bad. The whole family living off the grid in what might as well have been a commune. ”
“Sounds like my mom’s folks,” Ocean said. “We used to drive up into the hills to visit them in the commune before she passed, but it was always kind of trippy since it was a clothing-optional kind of place.”
“I’d have died seven times over if I ever saw one of my grandparents naked,” Roan remarked, waving as Pope went to refill his glass.
“I’m good,” Roan said, wind blowing his hair in his eyes as he peered across the table at Pope refilling Ocean’s. “If I drink too much, I get goofy.”
“Same,” Ocean said, picking his up and swirling it. “And handsy too, but I’m going to drink it anyway.”
“Drinking and getting handsy is never a good idea,” Pope said. “You never know when the wrong person is going to play along.”
“Yeah,” Ocean murmured before sipping the strong drink. “I know.”
He still killed it all, and a third when Pope poured it before carrying the bottle and their empty dishes back inside.
“And now I’m stuffed again,” Roan declared, laying his head on the table. “But that was soooo good.”
“I don’t know if it was the cognac or the fact that I’m cross-faded as hell, but I’ve never tasted strawberries that were so…strawberry.”
Giggling, Roan wiggled around in his seat. “Isn’t that what they’re supposed to taste like?”
“Just so you guys know,” Pope said when he returned to find them all laughing, another joint being passed around the table. “None of you are going anywhere tonight.”
“Kinda figured,” Roan replied, giggling more. “I’m fucked up.”
“We all are,” Pope said, picking up the guitar again. “And a marvelous time it’s been, too.”
Pope didn’t make them try to pick songs this time; he just started playing Simple Man, and Roan sang along with him again.
So fuckin’ perfect. The night, the music, the steady roll of the waves in the distance.
He’d been drifting since before his mother passed away, always searching for something to fill the missing pieces left by the family he’d lost. Sometimes, when he was alone out on the dunes, he screamed at the stars, telling them over and over how unfair it was that they’d taken so much away from him.
Yet hadn’t his mother told him more than once that there was always balance, always some gift waiting if you dared to look for it? Well, he’d dared when he’d decided to make this trip, and once again she’d been proven right.
One song blended with the other, Roan yawning loudly in the middle of a song, the dying flame in the firepit making his face glow redder when he flushed and yawned again. He quit singing after that and settled in to listen as Pope played another song.
“I think it’s time I show you to the guest room,” Pope said. “Unless you have an issue with sharing.”
Ocean jerked and brushed the hair from his eyes to see how close he’d come to sliding out of his seat. Straightening up in the chair, he saw Roan with his head pillowed on his arm, sleepily watching the last flame flicker.
“I’m good with that,” Ocean muttered.
“Me too,” Roan said. “Though it might be easier to just toss me a sleeping bag.”
Chuckling, Pope tucked the guitar away, then helped Roan up from his seat.
“I’m good right over there,” Danger declared, pointing to the trio of deck chairs still pressed together like a wooden bed.
“Get your ass inside!” Pope told him.
Danger might have grumbled beneath his breath, but he followed them in, though he sprawled on the couch instead of following them through the den.
“It’s inside,” he declared and got comfortable.
Ocean and Roan followed Pope down the hall to the guest room and a king-sized bed with plenty of space for the two of them.
“See you at breakfast,” Pope said before closing the door, leaving them to clumsily strip and flop across the bed.
“Did you see the way they were staring at each other tonight?” Ocean whispered as they got comfortable, one of Ocean’s arms draped across Roan’s hips as he spooned up behind him.
“Just like back in the dungeon,” Roan murmured.
“We just gotta keep looking for ways to get them together,” Ocean replied.
“It was your idea to look for us in the clubhouse before you took off to ride, wasn’t it?”
“Nah, Pope suggested we ask you guys to join us before I could say anything.”
“Cool.”
When Roan didn’t say anymore, Ocean closed his eyes and let his head sink deeper into the soft, fluffy pillow. Just as he was about to tumble off the edge of consciousness, Roan’s voice jarred him back to the dark room and the man in his arms.
“Need to tell you a secret,” Roan whispered.
“Okay.”
There was a pause, like Roan was having second thoughts about revealing whatever it was he’d been about to share.
“I’m a little,” Roan finally blurted.
Snickering, Ocean hugged him and pressed a kiss to his shoulder.
“I know.”