Get-Together Summer (8 page)

"Well, that's enough of that," Dirk said, and pulled
out his chair, though he remained standing for the moment, taking
up a pair carving forks. "Let's eat."

Haley immediately grabbed a roll,
grinning sheepishly at the look Dirk gave her. He moved a flattened
chicken onto each of their plates, at first with grace and pomp,
and then laughing, after Haley kicked him under the table. Simon
remained as quiet as possible, watching them bicker amiably over
potatoes and servings of salad -- there were an odd number of
biscuits, but that debate was handled by Dirk cutting one in half
with his butter knife. It was
domestic
, so incredibly mundane after
the things he'd seen them do, and that in and of itself felt
strange. Was there some trick to it, being able to look someone in
the eye after you'd done all sorts of things with them, and still
act normal? He wasn't even involved, and yet he couldn't look at
either of them for too long.

The rest of the meal passed in a blur, going through
the automatic motions of eating and murmuring in response to the
conversation -- they were talking about the movie from earlier, and
all he could really think about was trying to touch Dirk in the
dark theater, wondering if Haley would notice and what she might
do.

And then suddenly Haley was pushing away from the
table to stand, stretching her arms over her head, and the plate
before him was empty except for bird bones and a few stray crumbs
of cheese and a smear of potato patina. He looked up as Dirk stood
as well, the two of them gathering up the rest of the plates, still
gently bickering between themselves. When it came to his plate,
though, Haley paused, looking him carefully over. Simon blinked
back at her, unsure of what she was looking for -- but whatever she
found, she clucked her tongue and took his plate herself.

"Go lie down," she said. She reached down to brush
the hair back from his face, and her fingers felt good and cool
against his skin. "Get some extra sleep tonight if you can."

He huffed, though he couldn't find it in himself to
summon his normal levels of irritation. "But--"

"Unless you want to help with the dishes?" She raised
an eyebrow, then grinned when he closed his mouth again. "I thought
so. I'll let you get away with it tonight, okay? Feel better."

Before he could answer, or even just pull away, she
leaned down and kissed his forehead. Her mouth was soft against his
skin and cool to the touch, just like the rest of her. She lingered
for a moment, and he thought about wrapping his arms around her --
he shifted his weight forward in preparation, then stopped short.
He started to pull back when she hugged him instead, pressing her
hands flat to his back and tugged him closer until his head was
pressed to her throat, her body soft and comfortable against
his.

Then she pulled back and offered him another small
smile before following Dirk into the kitchen. Simon could hear the
two of them talking again, in low voices, again about entirely
mundane things -- where did these dishes go, where was the
detergent for the dishwasher, whether or not it was too late to
head back to the grocery store for some kind of pie for dessert. It
took him a long time to force himself to stand, gripping the arms
of his chair and pushing himself up, swaying a little on his feet.
Rather than cut through the kitchen for the stairs, he went the
long way, through the dark living room and the main dining room,
feeling his way half-blindly in the dark. Up the stairs he went,
taking two at a time and keeping a solid hold of the bannister to
pull himself along. And in spite of his protests before, he went
straight to his bed and dropped onto it, facedown, above the
blankets.

There he lay, as still as possible, breathing warm
stale air, until he finally drifted to sleep.

His dreams were tangled and confused; while they
weren't nearly as clear or deceptive as the one from the previous
night, they were significantly more explicit: everything was awash
in a faint haze of red, though he couldn't see anything very
clearly either -- there was a small room with a single overhead
light and a wide bed. He was on his back with Haley straddling his
hips, rubbing against him without quite letting him in, her hands
on his shoulders as if to keep him pinned down. He wanted to lift
his hands to touch her, to draw her closer and to hold her still so
he could thrust into her, but found himself unable to move. She
continued to tease him with slow easy motions, and while he
couldn't see her face clearly, he could see the curve of her smile,
plump lower lip caught between her teeth.

I love you, he wanted to say, though the words
remained trapped in his throat. I love you, I've always loved you,
I wish I could actually tell you this.

Things shifted then, somehow utterly seamless, and
now Simon was the one sitting up -- kneeling actually, with his
hands on his knees and looking up the long lean length of Dirk's
body. Neither of them were naked, though Simon was shirtless, and
somehow he felt all the more exposed for it. He felt a hand touch
his head and looked up, pressing his cheek into Dirk's palm.

"You want it, prettyboy?"

There was challenge in his tone, but it sounded more
affectionate than anything else. Simon swallowed around a sudden
hard pressure in his throat and nodded. On cue, the zipper of
Dirk's pants undid itself and his cock sprang free, already hard,
the tip of it glistening faintly. Simon licked his lips, nervous
and thrilled, then opened his mouth wide to take it in; it slid in
easily, rubbing against his tongue and filling him completely; when
he breathed in his nose was filled with such a strong musky scent
it was overwhelming. He kept his hands obediently on his knees and
his eyes open, watching Dirk's face as that long cock thrust in and
out of his mouth.

"Fuck," Dirk breathed, a familiar
reverent tone in his voice. "Aw fuck yeah, baby, just like that,
you're so good, shit, look at the mouth on you.
Fuck.
"

Simon tried to swallow, working his throat, and Dirk
thrust in harder, still crooning a stream of filthy encouragement.
Simon's own cock ached between his legs, untouched, but as much as
he wanted to take himself in hand and start jerking off, he
continued to refrain. Some small part of him whispered that
touching himself was against the rules -- he'd have to wait, of
course he was expected to wait, because if he came first, that was
cheating and he'd be disqualified from participating again--

Lights flashed abruptly around him, like those from a
camera; he had to close his eyes after the first volley. He
stretched a little at the same time, trying to show off more of his
body to the unknown audience, pulling back so that only the very
tip of Dirk's cock remained in his mouth, then going all the way
down again (like he'd seen Haley do earlier--).

A hand sank into his hair, pulling him off
completely. He opened his eyes halfway, blinking slowly. His mouth
felt swollen and tender and now almost uncomfortably empty, and
after a moment he had to look away from Dirk's face, at the cock
that was still so close. When he tried to lean in, though, the hand
on his head pushed back to stop him.

"You like that?"

He nodded as best he could.

"You want more of that?"

He nodded again, more eagerly.

"Open wide."

He did, and a small motion caught his eye. Dirk had
taken his cock in his other hand and was stroking it himself now,
hard and fast; a moment after that registered, Dirk was coming in
hot spurts across his face. Simon moaned himself, closing his eyes,
trying to catch as much of it as he could in his open mouth -- and
then he was on his back again, in the small room with just a bed
and a light, and both Haley and Dirk were bent over him, lapping at
him with dedicated enthusiasm. He propped himself up onto his
elbows to watch, hazy, as they kissed each other around his cock
and kissed his cock too, and then he had to close his eyes as his
head fell back and he was coming so hard that it felt a little like
dying in the process.

When he opened his eyes again, it was morning.

With a groan he rolled over away from his bedroom
windows. He started to curl up and cringed at the stickiness
between his legs when he tried. It had been a long time since a
dream had gotten him that worked up, and brief scenes of it kept
replaying in his mind in flashes, but while it still aroused a
faint flicker of interest in him, he felt more embarrassed than
anything else. Even after he'd decided he would give up, he was
still thinking of this sort of thing! It wasn't fair!

Simon nearly rolled himself off the bed in
frustration. Instead, he ended flopped on his back, staring at the
ceiling as if it were the source of his troubles. His overhead
light was the wrong sort o match up to what had been in his dream,
but even so ... !

He squirmed to get a look at his bedside clock; it
read 9:45, earlier than he thought. With a groan he sat up. On top
of what he'd done to himself the night before, he felt like a
complete mess, creeping for his bathroom. He ran the shower as hot
as he could stand, alternately turning his face up to the
needlelike spray and ducking his head, willing the water to wash
away more than just the stains of the night before.

He stayed until the water began to run lukewarm, and
then actually cold, shivering as goosebumps formed up and down his
arms. Only when his teeth began to chatter did he shut the water
off, stepping out and grabbing himself a towel to wrap securely
around his entire body, like a blanket. With his hair still
dripping he wandered back into his bedroom and to his closet,
staring at the neat rows of shirts and pants hung up on display. If
they weren't going out today -- or if he wasn't invited to whatever
adventures Haley and Dirk decided to have -- he would just go for
something comfortable over something fancy. He didn't own anything
more casual than jeans, but a quick rubdown with a towel and
wriggling had him in a worn loose pair, with a thin white
button-down shirt over that. He ran a quick haphazard hand through
his hair with a sigh, leaving it flopped awkwardly on end, then
headed downstairs for breakfast.

When he arrived in the kitchen, Dirk was again the
only person there, in a cloud of bacon smoke and humming to
himself. Simon paused in the doorway, struck by the strong sense of
deja vu. He felt different himself inside, but despite the
superficial changes, everything else seemed completely unchanged.
As such, he remained standing there, sliding his hands into his
pockets and watching Dirk until he was noticed.

It didn't take long; Dirk shook the pan he was
tending and glanced up. He stared at Simon for a few moments, then
broke into a wide smile. "Morning, prettyboy."

"My name's Simon," he mumbled, though without much
rancor this time.

"Yeah, yeah, good morning,
Simon
. You interested in
something to eat?"

"What do you have?"

"We're going traditional today." He gestured to his
pan. "Scrambled eggs and bacon, toast with jam, maybe some fried
tomatoes if I feel like it and there's enough grease after the eggs
are done."

Simon wrinkled his nose. "Grease?"

"It's good stuff!" Dirk took up a pair of tongs,
prodding the contents of his pan. "Seriously, you can't expect to
have good eggs if you don't have some decent fat in the pan too.
Unless you're poaching them, maybe, but that doesn't count."

"Why doesn't it--"

"Bacon fat is like gold or something." Dirk put a
hand over his heart, looking heavenwards for a moment. "And I
promise it'll taste good. You liked dinner, didn't you?"

Actually, Simon could barely
remember how any of it had tasted -- but he
had
eaten it all, so he
nodded.

"So trust my instincts here." Dirk grinned toothily,
smug all over again. "I'll make a breakfast that'll knock your
socks off."

"I'm not
wearing
socks," Simon huffed, staring
down at his feet. As if to punctuate the point to himself, he
wriggled his bare toes against the tile floor.

"Whatever." Dirk shrugged. "Figure of speech." He
went back to his cooking, starting to hum again. He had a nice
voice, hovering somewhere between alto and tenor, not quite out of
range of hearing. Every now and then he half-mumbled a few words to
himself, as part of the song. Simon didn't recognize it.

He remained where he was in the doorway, bracing his
shoulder against the frame as he watched Dirk move. It seemed
utterly effortless to him, checking the pan, grabbing dishes and
lining them with paper towels, avoiding the larger grease bubbles
popping in the heat. Today he was also dressed casually, with faded
gray sweatpants that rode low on his sharp hips, and a loose white
tanktop that rode up now and then when he stretched, exposing a
wide strip of dusky brown skin. Simon watched that until he caught
himself and forced himself to look away -- first down at Dirk's
feet (also bare, long and oddly elegant, along with the rest of
him), and then up at Dirk's face, which looked gently content.

It was on the tip of his tongue to
say something more -- what about what had happened in the theater?
had he even noticed, did he care if he had? -- but he firmly pushed
that aside. Part of him considered starting that up again, maybe
going so far as to press bodily up against Dirk's back as he tended
to the bacon, but
that
was also something he couldn't allow himself. He'd sworn to
be
better
about
this, he thought at himself, with some small disgust. Actively
fantasizing was only going to cause him more trouble in the long
run.