Chapter 15 #2
I keep my phone in my lap, the screen facing down. “I kinda have to be since my car is here.”
“I could have Garth come pick it up. I can drive you back, peitie tamia.”
I take her hand and give it a squeeze. “Thank you, but I’m fine.”
Her brows furrow. “You’re in a much better mood than when we took off.”
“Happy to be home,” I sigh. “Happy to get finals over with so I can focus on what really matters.”
Smothering myself in Christos’ ass in a few hours.
Terrence calls me as we’re deboarding. “You seriously won’t be back tonight?”
I eye the back of Maude’s head. “Uh, no…”
Terrence grumbles, “Well this is awkward.” There’s muffled chatter over the line.
“Don’t tell me you and the hockey team were going to surprise me.”
“Not much of a surprise now.”
I haven’t heard him so disappointed since last hockey season, back when losing was the Dingbats standard.
“I appreciate the thought. You’re a good roommate.” They announce a flight on the intercom and I press my phone closer to my cheek to try and muffle the sound.
“Man don’t get all mushy on me. You’re one of the greatest athletes in the world.”
“I don’t know about—”
“Of course we’re gonna celebrate that. Right boys?” Shouts and screams crackle over the line. “Also he’s not coming.”
The triumph is overtaken by a wave of disappointment. Someone shouts a husky “What?!”
I get the same feeling in my gut as when a plane hits bad turbulence. “Tell the guys I’m sorry.”
“You can do that yourself,” He’s trying to sound chipper but there is an edge to his voice I can’t hold against him. “See you tomorrow, right?”
I swallow. “Tomorrow.”
“Catch you then.” He hangs up and for a moment everything is eerily silent in the bustling airport.
On the drive back to campus, I blast music, a bizarre mix of psychedelic-rock and music scores I’ve considered using in competition but haven’t figured out the right choreography for.
Soon I’m on Christos’ street, parking a block away from his house as per usual.
By now, I’m sure the neighbors have noticed my car coming around.
A patch of ice on the sidewalk sneaks up on me and I slip, catching myself just before I fall on my ass.
I don’t get a chance to knock before he opens the door and scoops me into his arms and spins us around.
He sets me down in the living room and bends down to kiss me.
In an instant, I forget about the airport, my roommate, and the ice.
He pulls away from the kiss and starts massaging my cheeks with his thumbs. “You’re freezing.”
“I feel plenty warm now.” I kiss the grey freckles on his broad nose.
“Hungry?” He holds my hand and leads me to the kitchen. “I made chicken and a spinach salad with pears and walnuts.”
“Have I mentioned how hot it is when you make me dinner?”
He says nothing, but his ears flap with delight. “I made dessert too, kinda.” He goes to the fridge and pulls out a big bowl of cut fruit; strawberries, kiwi, tangerines, blueberries and pineapple. He grabs something off the top of the fridge. “I got us dipping chocolate too, but that’s optional.”
I take the container, not bothering to read the nutritional facts because I know damn well this isn’t in my dietary plan. “Should we cover them now or later?”
“We can let them cool while we eat.”
He takes the container back and pops it in the microwave. Soon we’re shoving toothpicks into various fruits and dipping them into viscous chocolate, laying them on parchment paper to dry.
“When was the last time you cooked?”
“It’s been a while,” I admit. I roll a pick between my fingers, trying to make the chocolate even on a piece of pineapple. “Not sure this counts.”
His ducks down to grab the pineapple with his teeth. I have to move to avoid getting knocked by his wide head.
Still chewing, he responds, “I say it does.”
“You’re going to spoil the nice dinner you made.”
He offers me a piece of kiwi. I take it, the tart of the fruit and warm chocolate pairing perfectly. His eyes light up.
“You really like feeding me, huh?”
He shrugs. “I like cooking together.”
I haven’t thought about what makes Christos’ heart go pitter patter.
If I should offer to do more about the house I spend so much time in or if he just wants to do things together like go on hikes.
I guess because we’re so physical... Am I a bad boyfriend?
It’s not like we’ve ever made things official. Like we have anyone to tell.
By the time we sit for dinner, I feel compelled to tell him, “You don’t have to do all this for me.”
He’s already cutting into his juicy chicken breast. “I like cooking. Not a huge fan of doing dishes.”
“I could do those,” I offer. “And clean your bathrooms.”
“Are you struggling to find me a Christmas present or something?”
“No, I got you something already. I just want to do nice things for you. I’m nice like that.”
He smiles to himself. “I like gifts. And acts of service. Quality time. Physical touch. Guess I’m greedy.”
“You’re a very chill lover. I love that about you.”
“Careful with that L word there, mister Steele.” He shoves greens into his mouth.
“You watched the press conference?”
He doesn’t bother to swallow before responding. “No work talk in my house, remember? Now eat, I’m starting to feel a bit insulted.”
The chicken is what I’ve come to expect, juicy and inoffensive. The salad is amazing, the walnuts adding a nice crunch alongside the perfectly sliced pears and crisp spinach.
We finish up and I grab his dirty plate. He hands me the pan and a few other things while I’m at the sink. My hands are deep in the sudsy water when he kisses my cheek.
“Not gonna lie, this is doing it for me.”
“I hope you like my actual gift just as much.”
“From you?” He settles his head in the crook of my neck. “I’m sure it’ll be great.”
After dishes, I grab my suitcase abandoned at the front door. “I didn’t have time to wrap it,” I warn.
Christos closes his eyes, then covers them with his hand to really prove he’s not peeking.
I have to rummage through the clothes and the array of Japanese snacks I bought for my other friends before finding the decorated box.
I place it in his lap before telling him, “You can open your eyes.”
He tilts his head at the gift before sliding the box open. Inside is a paper scroll resting on a silky fabric. He picks it up and reveals it, a woodblock print of swallows and a cherry blossom tree.
“The design is old but the woman I bought it from does her own wood block carvings. Your walls are kinda bare.”
The boxes are finally gone but the place still feels temporary, like the hotel rooms I stay in for competitions.
“Hang on.” He hands me the unfurled scroll and runs off to a nearby closet, returning with a toolbox. “Do I put it over the couch?”
We hold the scroll up to the wall in a few different spots, taking turns holding it against the wall and stepping back to admire and judge the placement.
“You know you do have final say,” I remind him as he stands by the kitchen entryway, scroll in hand.
“Yeah, but you have good taste.”
“Sure, but you like my taste, so you must also have good taste.”
A goofy smile crosses his face and I can feel one spreading across mine.
He decides to hang it right there, so it’s the last thing you see before entering the kitchen. We sit together on the couch, his arm around my shoulders, and admire it. “It’s a very nice gift. I love it.”
“Careful with that L word mister—”
He shuts me up with a kiss. Then leans back so I can lay on top of him.
I don’t bother being coy, cupping and squeezing his groin.
Not that I have any plans to satisfy his lust just yet.
Once his cock is threatening to burst the button of his jeans, I have to break the kiss, sitting up far enough so he can’t plant another one on me.
“You want to watch a movie?” I absentmindedly draw a figure eight across his pecs. “It was nice, sitting with you.”
He slides a hand behind his head. “You going to tease me the whole time?”
“That’s a funny way to beg for a handjob.”
He snorts, but his smile betrays him. “You just want to do hand stuff tonight?”
I think, leaning back so my ass presses against his erection. “We could try something new? You could fuck my thighs.”
His brows raise. “Yeah?”
“I know you’re not really into topping, but I have been curious what it would feel like…”
“How curious?” He gives my ass a squeeze. “Like playing with your ass, without me, curious?”
“I guess not that curious,” I admit sheepishly.
He keeps palming my ass. “I’d love to fuck you, Roderick.” His hand slips down, fingers wrapping around the inside of my thigh. “You’ll be so tight around my cock…”
“After the movie.” I lean over to grab the remote. “Let’s see if they’ve got any of those extended director's cuts.”
“Whatever you want…” His hand sides up my body slipping under my shirt. “I’m going to be distracted the whole time.”
I do convince him to sit next to me during the movie. The concession being he immediately unzips his pants. We’re ten minutes into some heist movie before I slip my hand into his boxers, stoking him mindlessly.
His head rolls back, laying on the back of the couch. “That’s good…” He drones. “So good.”
When I stop, he nuzzles into my hair, muttering, “I can still fuck you later if I finish now.”
I try to ignore him, but it’s difficult when his voice is so husky and pleading.
“Come on handsome… touch me more with your perfect hands.”
I hold fast. Waiting till his cock is half-hard to touch him again.
“Shit—” he chokes.
“You want me to stop touching you now?”
He huffs. “Fuck no.”
By no fault of its own, the movie doesn’t hold my attention. Christos is a much better watching experience; his heavy breaths and nostrils flaring, all his grunts teetering to whimpers, his cock twitching in my hands—that’s always when I stop.
At one point he grumbles, “You’re trying to kill me.”