Pisces: From Behind That Locked Door (10 page)

"I... I guess I've thought about both. But I didn't even think I'd get to this point so I never thought about it a lot."

"Well, think about it." Stephen resumed pumping his wrist, his fingers tight and his palm slick. "Let me know what you decide."

"When?"

"Whenever you decide. However long that takes."

Jay wanted to think about it right that second, but imagining himself sinking into Stephen's tight ass while Stephen was actually jerking him off proved a dangerous combination. He had to replace the far-too-pleasant image with one of Jeni's face to cool his ardor and reinstate his self-control. "What do you want to do?"

"I don't want to influence your decision."

"How would you do that?"

"Well, if I stated a preference either way, you might find yourself more inclined to agree to what I want. I don't want to risk it."

"What if I stated a preference, and it was the opposite of what you like?"

"That's exactly the sort of thing I don't want you to worry about. Now, I think we're talking too much."

"You're the one who started talking first."

"Ah, you're right. Well, sorry about that."

Jay drove his hips forward, thrusting against Stephen's hand. They both moaned, and Jay couldn't help but do it again. But he wanted to feel more than Stephen's palm. He shifted his hips, grinding down against Stephen's erection. Stephen released Jay's shaft long enough to wrap his long fingers around both of their cocks, pressing their hot flesh together. Jay shivered, the base of his spine tingling with renewed energy. He kissed a trail away from Stephen's mouth, licking at his throat and nibbling on the flesh near his shoulder. Every inch tasted different and the same, every second stretching into a blissful eternity. Stephen made the softest sounds in the back of his throat when he was pleased. Sounds that could have almost been just Jay's imagination, but for the way Stephen's throat vibrated against Jay's lips.

They pushed and pulled each other into a regular, perfect rhythm, their bodies almost moving as one and what would it be like to fuck Stephen? It would have to be more breathtaking than this, and Jay already felt like he'd never catch his breath again. But he wouldn't just feel the glorious flex of Stephen's body beneath him, it would be around him as well, muscles squeezing with each slow stroke. Stephen's mouth was busy as Jay's, though he seemed particularly interested in exploring the tender skin just beneath Jay's chin. He nibbled at it until Jay almost felt raw, then soothed the scraped surface with his tongue, soft words shaping his lips. Jay couldn't hear everything Stephen said, but he caught enough to make his chest tighten.

"God, you feel good. I love the way you... " Stephen's compliment was lost in a gasp as Jay angled his neck to catch Stephen's nipple with his teeth. "Do that. Oh fuck... oh... "

Jay dragged his tongue over Stephen's nipple until his skin was good and wet. His incisor caught against the sensitive flesh, and Stephen's entire body pull taut, his hips rolling.

"I'm going to come if you keep doing that."

"Sort of the goal, isn't it?"

"I want to feel you come, Jay. I want you to shoot all over me."

"Stephen... "

"I'm going to get my mouth on your cock sooner or later. Hopefully sooner." Stephen lost his words again as Jay bit his nipple, using more pressure than he dared before. He held the tip securely and flicked his tongue back and forth over the skin until Stephen was squirming and writhing beneath him, his hand moving as erratically as the rest of him.

"Was there more to that story?"

"Yes," Stephen gasped. "A pearl necklace was the point of that story."

"You want me to... "

"Yes."

It sounded fantastic in theory, and Jay was sure he'd like it, but he felt a small pang of jealousy over the fact that Stephen was so sure of what he wanted. How or why he'd developed his tastes, Jay couldn't even begin to guess. Maybe his first lover had liked to shoot his come all over him? Jay would most likely be shaped the same way by Stephen's various tastes and kinks, but that seemed like a fine price to pay. Or maybe it was more like a bonus. He wasn't going to try to compare himself to Stephen just so he could figure out all the ways he was lacking, but he did wish he knew exactly what he liked, what he wanted from Stephen.

"Are you close?" Stephen rasped, back lifting from the bed, his wrist moving faster and faster, palm slick over their combined pre-come. Jay felt like he must have leaked a gallon when Stephen said the words "pearl necklace." "I'm so close... so... so... "

Jay broke first, his cock jerking against Stephen's. Seconds later, Stephen's come splashed against his cock, creating a big, sticky mess. Stephen pumped his wrist, spreading the warm liquid until Jay moaned and tried to pull away, too sensitive for the continued friction.

"Do you have anything for this mess?" Stephen asked, still sounding a little winded.

"Wait." He reached over without thinking about it and turned on the bedside lamp. The golden light was soft enough not to hurt his eyes. He found the box of tissues just under his bed and passed them over before collapsing against the pillows. Stephen seemed to glow in the low light. Jay couldn't stop his soft sigh of contentment. Stephen looked up and smiled at the sound of it, inspiring a fresh flush of heat over Jay's skin.

"If I lay down, are you going to let me fall asleep?" Stephen asked.

"Mmm, probably."

"It's almost eleven. I've got to head home soon."

The words would have been more disappointing if Stephen hadn't seemed genuinely despondent by that. "I know. But you're coming over tomorrow, right?"

"Yes, I am. What time is good for you?"

"Probably seven. Then I can get some stuff done and clear my schedule."

"Okay. Seven it is."

Stephen finished wiping himself clean, then reached for the hastily abandoned shirt. Jay watched him dress, feeling sleepy and satisfied. He knew as soon as Stephen left, he would pass out. He'd probably have pleasant dreams, too. Dreams where Stephen touched him, and he touched Stephen back. He might have dozed a bit, because Stephen was suddenly filling his vision.

"Sleep well." Stephen kissed his brow. "And for what it's worth, I love to look at you."

Stephen clicked the lamp off, returning the room to its earlier state of darkness.

When it came to love, Jay's experience was limited to impassioned poetry of desire and loss, Gothic novels about betrayal and all-consuming emotion, and of course, Shakespeare. He could quote all the experts, chapter and verse, and knew about the ways love could build or destroy, could inspire creation and death, could even flip a man inside out and change him into something unrecognizable. In reality, Jay had absolutely no knowledge of love and he had no idea what to expect from it. He didn't know that it was possible to be so happy that eating and sleeping became a chore that distracted from the general state of bliss. He didn't know it was possible to smile all day until his face literally hurt. He didn't know that the burden of school and work could be reduced to something no heavier than a minor obligation.

By Tuesday night, Jay had a much better understanding of the literature he'd dedicated most of his life to. He'd always considered love in an academic sense, but love wasn't academic. It was the opposite, in fact, since it couldn't be described with language, it couldn't be quantified, it couldn't be examined, and even though Jay was sure nobody had ever loved anybody like he loved Stephen, he knew that everybody who'd ever been in love could empathize with the tumult of need and lust and fear and pure, undiluted affection.

Stephen showed up thirty minutes earlier than Jay expected, much to his relief. He was heavily laden with those cloth bags everybody used now to save the environment, smiling cheerfully despite his burden.

"There's a farmer's market down in Sugarhouse today. Did you know that?"

"I didn't," Jay said, taking the bags.

"Well, I went straight there after work, and there wasn't a lot of food, but check this out. There was a woman there who had a bit of everything. Plus, I found a guy selling lamb for like four dollars a pound. So I hope you like lamb."

"Sure, lamb's great. Are you going to cook all of this tonight?"

"No, you can't have potatoes and spaghetti squash for the same meal. Too starchy. But if you don't mind, I thought I'd leave some of this stuff here so I can cook for you again."

Jay shrugged. "Sure, I don't mind. I scrubbed the kitchen down for you, so everything in there is ready for handling raw food. Also, I sent Amy away for the night. So we have the place all to ourselves."

"She didn't mind being sent out of her own apartment?"

"She owes me for about the million times I made myself scarce so she could have a bit of privacy." Not that Amy even knew she was making up for all that time. Jay didn't tell her Stephen would be coming over because he didn't want that information getting back to Jeni. He wasn't sure what Jeni would even do with it, but she'd find a way to ruin everything. "So, what do you want me to do? Consider me your sous chef."

"Do you have a mandolin or any other slicer?"

"I have a knife."

Stephen smiled and held his fingers slightly apart. "Can you slice potatoes about this thick?"

"I'm assuming you mean you want all the potatoes precisely that thick?"

"Yes. They need to be uniform to cook evenly."

"I'll give it a shot."

Jay washed the dirt from the freshly harvested red potatoes, scrubbing them under the running water until most of the fine peel was gone. Stephen set about his own prep work, first cutting the lamb into bite-sized chunks, then humming to himself as he sorted through Jay's cupboards and the smaller bags he brought with him. Jay wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he probably wasn't going to find it in that kitchen. He couldn't remember the last time he bought anything resembling seasoning, and Amy was the only one who ever picked up salt because she was the one who used it, much to her annoyance.

"You really don't cook much, do you?" Stephen asked.

"No," Jay said, holding two equally sized knives up to the light, trying to ascertain which was the sharpest. There was apparently no way of knowing.

"Nobody ever taught you?"

"Nope. Not really. My parents both worked swing shift my whole life, so they were gone from two to eleven, five days a week. I stayed with my grandmother, but she was a terrible cook, so we usually ate frozen dinners or went out for McDonald's. Then when I was old enough to look after myself and make my own meals, I never really went far beyond that."

"Your parents always worked that shift? When did you ever see them?"

"The summer, and weekends. Though they were usually busy with errands or whatever they couldn't get to during the week. I don't think I ever tried anything more complicated than frying eggs until I moved into my own place. Who taught you to cook?"

"My mom showed me the basics, but besides that, too many people to even count. I've always been interested in it, so I just started asking people to show me their favorite recipes. My friends' parents, teachers at school, coworkers, other students. I figure everybody has one really interesting recipe that they've developed in their life. Plus, they would show me the little tips and tricks they've picked up over the years." Stephen laid the flat of his knife against a clove of garlic and smashed it with the heel of his hand. "Like that."

"Why didn't you go to culinary school or get a job at a restaurant or something?"

"Because it's a hobby. I enjoy the hell out of it, but I don't think I'm cut out to work in an actual professional kitchen. I'm happy cooking for myself and my friends."

"Are you still asking people to show you recipes?"

"Always. That's going to be the great quest of my life. Honestly, it's amazing I was able to get away from the farmer's market so quickly. I usually fall into long conversations about the best way to prepare squash, and which tomato would be best for a certain dish. But I didn't want to be late."

Jay paused, looking up from the potatoes to study Stephen's face. His brows were furrowed with concentration as his clever fingers peeled the papery garlic skin away. Jay lost track as he watched Stephen smash and peel the strong smelling garlic. He might have stared at Stephen like that for the rest of the night if the object of his attention hadn't asked, "How are those potatoes coming?"

"Oh, good. Almost done here."

Jay wasn't almost done, so he buckled down and forced himself to concentrate. It was difficult because the kitchen was quickly filling with the smell of Stephen's cologne and garlic--a strangely sharp and pungent smell that made Jay's mouth water. He didn't even care about dinner. He wanted to kiss Stephen's neck and gather up the smell until it made him dizzy.

"I can't even eat frozen food anymore. Or anything from a box, really," Stephen commented.

"So does that mean you make all your own food? Breakfast, lunch, and dinner?"

"I eat out a lot now because I don't want that damned stove to blow me to kingdom come. But I prefer to do my own cooking. It tastes better, for one thing. And for another, I know what I'm actually eating. All the preservatives and sugar they use kind of grosses me out. I like to know where my food came from and what's in it."

"I've honestly never thought that much about it."

"Well, here I am to broaden your horizons. Now, we're going to be using all of this to make something like a casserole. It'll have the potatoes and lamb and these herbs and a simple sauce. How do you feel about spicy food?"

"I like a bit of heat."

Stephen grinned. "Good. Me, too."

Stephen explained everything as he worked. He reminded Jay of Paula Deen or Rachael Ray, except in Jay's opinion, Stephen was clearly more talented than either of them combined. He was almost as good as Alton Brown. He had an easy, conversational way of speaking, and Jay listened attentively, eager to learn these things because it was Stephen who told him. He doubted he would ever have reason to use the tips. That would require spending a good deal more time in the kitchen than Jay ever wanted. But it was easy to see why Stephen liked cooking so much. He clearly didn't just do this because he liked the process or the end result. He respected food, was impressed with it, admired it in a way Jay had never conceived of.