Title: Sweat and Tiles
Author:
soupypictures aka skye
For:
shadow_shimmer. I hope you enjoy this! If you don't...I'll try again? ;)
Rating: R (language, some “sexuality”)
Pairing: Peirsol/Hansen
Genre: angst and some snark, romance.
shadow_shimmer didn’t want: men written as women, sappy fluffy romance, food play bondage. I hope I got all of that right.
prompts: cintronella candles, air conditioning.
Notes: Let me just say that if you know a name and a county, you can find a house. And so as best as I can tell, Brendan DOES have a kidney-shaped pool. Anyway. Mo-Pac is IH-35, probably the biggest death trap in Texas. Austin traffic is rotten, from what I’ve experienced. None of that’s really important. It IS important to thank your beta, though, so I’m now thanking
sodiumlight. You’re a doll.
Aaron was bored, tired, and all-over ready for a change. Practice was getting monotonous and with a showing at Worlds that was gold-medal winning but short of world record-breaking, life was looking bleak. Not to mention hot. August in Austin, Texas was not his ideal choice of a place to stay. But his friends were here, his school was here, and it was away from family. Family can be lovely when they think you’re someone you’re not…but these days… he couldn’t handle it.
He sat in his car, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, wondering what to do. Call Brendan, was the first thing that came to mind, and so he did.
“The air conditioner is out again,” was how he was greeted.
Aaron dropped his head back against the seat and sighed. “Nice way to greet your friend, bucko. What do you want me to do about it?”
“Help me fix it? All the places I’ve called can’t send anyone until next week. Fucking Texas and its fucking heat. Why do people choose to live here, again?”
“Southern hospitality,” Aaron answered, starting his car. So what’s got Brendan going this time? Has to be something more than the A/C. “I’ll be over in about twenty minutes, I’m at school.”
“Stay off Mo-Pac, there’s a wreck and it’s all backed up. An SUV got t-boned by one of those buses.”
“Alright, make that thirty minutes. See ya, bro.” Knowing Brendan’s pool was probably green with algae and housing a large colony of mosquitoes, Aaron prepared himself for the definite smell of citronella to assault his senses upon arrival. “Fucking Texas and its fucking mosquitoes.”
***
Brendan isn’t as confident as he looks. He’s not as innocent, either. Fans meet him; he smiles, shakes hands, gives hugs, takes pictures, and even has a genuine interest in people. But away from all of that, away from the spotlight and the screaming girls and the water and the clocks, he’s different.
He’s sitting there now, slouched like the swimmer he is in a deck chair, no shirt, sweaty, and with about two days’ worth of stubble on his face. He’s sunburned, hot, and pissed.
Come to think of it, Brendan’s like that a lot of the time. He’s never really angry with anyone, but he’s always angry about something. It’s kind of a hard trait to get by, but seeing him with the kids at swimming camps, or watching him oblige teenage fans with photos makes me remember that he does a lot of covering up and you have to let go sometime. And sometime ends up being with me a lot. Most of the time I feel fortunate he confides in me, but it’s times like these, when he’s in a bad mood for more than one reason, that I almost regret it.
“Don’t you knock?” he asked me, smacking at a mosquito on his arm that somehow survived the heavy scent of citronella that blanketed the whole yard. That’s a bloody one.
“What, you weren’t jerking off back here or anything. Unless you don’t want my help, then I’ll leave.” I winced at the phrasing of my words. Oh, that’s sweet. “Need help jacking off?” Sure, man.
“I called one of those places and got them to put me on with a guy who knew what he was talking about. I told him what was going on and he said I’d need a new unit. But of course, they can’t install one for two weeks, and they’re the quickest in the city. I went up into the attic and found an old window unit.”
“So you need help installing a window unit?” I asked incredulously. “Oh man, I didn’t think you were that bad.”
“It’s twenty years old, kid.”
“Don’t call me kid.”
“Don’t act like one.”
“Those candles are making me sick.”
“Would you rather get West Nile?”
“You could think about cleaning up your pool, then you wouldn’t have breeding grounds for the mosquitoes.”
“I’m never home to clean it.”
“So pay someone.”
“I don’t get paid enough for a pool boy.”
“Bullshit. I get paid enough for a pool boy.”
“You don’t have a pool.”
“So? Goddamnit, Hansen, stop being so ornery. You’re bringing me down and I was having a perfect day. I’ll help you, but only if you blow out all those candles.”
“Deal.”
***
It always seemed that I was calling Aaron over to fix something. He was more used to heat than I was and I always managed to break my A/C unit in some way. Or overdose the pool with shock. You’d think a world-class swimmer could keep his pool’s pH right, but no. I really have no talent for anything DIY.
It also doesn’t help that watching him sweaty, shirtless, and doing manual labor is one of my favorite pastimes. I’d never thought of myself as gay until I saw Aaron, and after years of being unaccepting of my own sexuality, I’d finally allowed myself to enjoy it. And boy, looking at Aaron as a gay man is much more rewarding than as a straight man.
“Hey, Peirsol, want some water?” I asked from my bed. We’d decided to install the window unit in my bedroom, since I spent a good nine hours there every night, more time than I spent in any other room of the house.
“Beer,” he grunted, pushing up the window.
“You’ll get dehydrated drinking beer.”
“So?”
“You’re barely legal!”
“Again, so? And I’ve been legal for a year now!”
“Fine.” I rolled off my bed and dragged myself to the kitchen. Heat makes everything so slow, doesn’t it? Opening the refrigerator, I sighed in happiness as the cool air hit my body. “If you get too hot you can always come stand in front of the fridge!” I yelled back to him, reaching for a couple beers.
I heard a crack and a pop and the lights in the house shut off. “Oh fuck!”
“What the hell just happened?” I yelled, still standing in front of the now-unpowered refrigerator.
“If you’ve still got the fridge open, shut it! Save the beer! I think I accidentally killed the electricity!” Aaron came skidding into the kitchen, a frazzled look on his face.
Goddamn he’s hot, I thought to myself, kicking the refrigerator door shut and holding a beer out for Aaron. “Well, that’s pretty shitty.”
He rolled his eyes and took the bottle from me. He twisted the cap off and took a long pull. “Go see if your neighbors have power.” He gestured at the front door with the bottle.
“Alrighty, boss. You’re the one who fucked up.” I opened my own beer and took a swig.
“Hey, you probably set your A/C unit to fifty-five and burned the damned thing up.”
I made my way to the front door, knowing he was right. I looked outside and didn’t see any lights on in any houses on the cul-de-sac. “Negative! No electricity!”
“No need to yell, I’m right here,” came Aaron’s voice over my right shoulder. I shivered despite the heat. “I don’t think I did anything that could’ve put the whole neighborhood out,” he mused, taking another drink of his beer.
“I’ll get the weather radio. Maybe there was another accident on Mo-Pac that knocked it out.” I slid (literally slid, we were both slicked with sweat) past Aaron, holding my breath. Oh God. Maybe next time I’ll just call Crocker and we can fumble our way through this. I reached the kitchen and rummaged through drawers until I found my battery-powered weather radio. Something my mom had recommended I get in case a hurricane came through. I hadn’t bothered reminding her that Austin was far enough from the coast that it may as well be in Oklahoma. Well, almost in Oklahoma.
I turned it on and found a station that was coming in relatively clear. I listened for a while, sitting on the cold tiles of the kitchen floor. Apparently, another SUV had been hit by another bus and ran straight into a pole, knocking out the electricity in a ten-mile radius. Traffic lights and everything were out for an indefinite amount of time. “Maybe you should call Crocker and make sure he’s alright,” I called out, hoping Aaron had heard me. I hadn’t seen him since I’d gone searching for the radio.
“Already done! He’s fine, but he’s stuck on Mo-Pac. No way off. Anyway, he said there’s−”
“Another accident, and it hit a light-pole, knocking out the electricity in a ten-mile radius.”
“Uh, right.” Aaron appeared in the kitchen. “Why are you on the floor?”
“It’s a hell of a lot cooler. I thought for a minute that we should open the doors and windows for a breeze, but then there’s the mosquito problem. I’d rather be hot and sweaty than bitten.”
“Agreed.” Aaron lay down in the doorway, stretching his long body on the tiles.
“I have a battery-powered little TV thing if we get bored enough.”
“Any battery-powered fans?”
I laughed a little. “Ah, no.”
Aaron groaned. “Go figure.”
***
He looks damn hot, I thought, trying to keep my attention focused on the rapidly heating tile underneath my body. I’d almost had a heart attack upon finding Brendan sprawled on the kitchen floor, a thin film of sweat covering every exposed piece of skin. I laughed inwardly at the unintentional double meaning of my words. What would he do if I repeated them out loud? Probably deck me and throw me to the skeeters in the backyard, I answered myself.
“Aaron?”
“Yeah?”
“Tell me a story.”
“What?”
“Nevermind.”
“‘Nevermind’ my ass. Come on.”
“I just wanted you to tell me a story. I’m fucking bored and nothing’s on TV yet.”
“Oh. Alright. Um…what kind of story do you want?”
“One I haven’t heard. Tell me something about Worlds that you haven’t told me yet.”
I thought for a moment. I’d spent a lot of my time with Brendan and/or Ian, and the rest of the time I’d been swimming or sleeping. Oh hell, I could just make something up. “Right before the hundred I was in the locker room showers. You know I was nervous about that one, I didn’t feel good that morning, so I decided to just take a cold shower. Thought it might calm me down.
“Rogan came in, said he wasn’t feeling too swell either. That made me feel better, but he could have just been bluffing, psyching me out.”
“Markus doesn’t do that.”
“Sometimes he does, when he feels really malicious. Anyway, that’s not the point. I’d already put on my suit. I probably shouldn’t have been getting wet with the suit on before I swam, but oh well. Maybe that’s why I didn’t end up breaking a record.”
“Don’t get hung up on that, Air.”
“I’m not,” I lied. “Markus mentioned something about my suit, and I shrugged it off. Then in comes Welsh.”
“Uh oh.”
“Yeah, ‘uh-oh.’ Suddenly, I found myself pressed up against the wall with Matt’s tongue down my throat.”
“What?!”
“Yeah, I know. I don’t get it either. But hell, he wasn’t so bad a kisser.” I smirked, then looked over at Brendan. He was sitting up on his elbows. Looks damn hot like that, too.
“Are you serious?”
“About what?”
“The…the whole thing!”
“No, I lied. I made it up. But it was a good story, huh?” I laughed as he lay back down.
“Damn, I wish I had something to throw at you.”
“There’s a beer bottle right there, but I don’t think you want to injure your backstroker.”
“I hate relays.”
I laughed heartily then, and Brendan joined me. “Me too. You know why?”
“Why?”
“Cause that means I can’t deck Lezak every once in awhile.”
Brendan’s laugh again filled the kitchen and I smiled to myself, enjoying every second of it.
***
Four beers later for each of them, they were still lounging on the kitchen floor and had become slightly inebriated.
“I feel like I’m fixin’ to die,” Aaron said languidly, holding a melting ice cube to his forehead. He’d taken off his shirt and shorts due to the heat, which left him in a pair of boxers.
Brendan choked on his beer and spit half of his last mouthful across the kitchen. “’Fixin’?’ Where’d you learn that one, cowboy?”
“Oh shut up.” Another pull. “I can’t help it anymore. It seeps into you, ya know? Besides, I didn’t make fun of you any of the four times you’ve said ‘y’all’ in the last two hours.”
“It seeps into you,” Brendan repeated, smirking around the opening of his beer bottle.
***
“Ya know those skirts girls wear these days? All flirty and breezy and lookin’ like any moment you’ll catch a peek?”
I nodded absently, trying to remember the days when I’d thought I liked girls. Oh, there they were. “Yeah, I liked those.” Past tense, hope Aaron doesn’t notice.
“And then there are those fags who cross-dress, think skirts on men are dead sexy.”
I winced at the dirty word.
“I don’t get it. I think that I’d want a man who dressed like a man. Love the cock, want the cock, not a cock dressed up like a vag. Actually, I know I’d want a man who dressed like a man, acted like a man, smelled like a man. Why the hell else would you be gay?” He stopped like he was waiting for a response from me.
“Uh, interesting theory.”
“Mmm.” I dimly saw him finish off another bottle. “Let’s move to the living room. The fucking floor is sweating.”
I almost fell three times trying to stand, and each time blamed it on the heat, sweat, and beer. In actuality, it was Aaron’s effect on my body making it hard to walk right. And it didn’t help wearing only boxers.
“Hot damn, you’re clumsy for a breaststroker.”
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” I retorted, glad for the fading light that created convenient shadows.
Aaron leaned against the doorway, nearly draping himself around the wall. “I have no idea, but it sounded good.” He nearly fell into the living room and he giggled like a drunk kid. Well, he is a drunk kid, now isn’t he? “Who’d you think would be the clumsiest person? What stroke, I mean?”
I shook my head at his ridiculous question and found my way to the living room, collapsing on the tile in front of the fireplace. Who uses a fireplace in Texas? “Butterfly. Well, no. Michael in general. Ian’s not a clumsy guy.”
“He’s really a backstroker, you know.” Aaron stumbled onto the coach, landing draped over it on his stomach.
“Ian? Are you on drugs?”
Another giggle. “No, boy, just high on life. I meant Michael.”
“As much as he wants to be, he’s not.”
“I really think it’s freestylers.”
“Okay, let’s hear it.”
I heard him shake his head more than saw it, but it was still clear in my mind’s eye. Those blonde curls going everywhere, sticking to everything they touched. Oh man, there it goes again. “Okay, explain why I think those guys are clumsiest of all.” He was silent for a moment. “Well first, you guys look so graceful in the water. And man, I feel graceful. And I know Ian doesn’t fall all over himself−”
“Unless he sees a pretty girl.”
“−Yeah, girls make him clumsy. But anyway, that leaves freestylers and doesn’t Gary just make you want to hurl?”
“I don’t want to talk about Gary.” I turned my head to the side so I could stare at the space where he lay. It was so dark outside I couldn’t actually see him anymore, just make out his outline. Make out with his outline. “I’m not sure I like you when you’re drunk.”
“I love you when I’m drunk. You should return the favor.”
“I’m not so sure it’s a favor,” I said jokingly.
“Then I’m not so sure I love you.”
“Then fine. I, however, will never dress my cock as a vag.” I can’t remember what possessed me to say that, but I did, and I almost regret it.
“What’re you insinuating?” he asked me, a warning tone edging into his voice.
Oh shit. Hurt his manhood with that one. Oh God, I want to hurt his manhood. “Nothing, man, it was just a joke.”
***
“What would you say if I told you I was gay?” I asked desperately, wiping sweat from my eyes. Maybe that wasn’t the only salty liquid blurring my vision. I hope you aren’t saying what I think you’re saying.
“If you said you were gay, I’d probably say ‘I knew it.’ “
I can’t see you, Bren, but God, how I want to. “And if you didn’t say that?”
“Maybe I’d say ‘Goddamnit, Air, why didn’t you tell me sooner?’ “
“And if not that?” His answers were making me feel more and more despondent. Oh, that word’s almost at the caliber of “insinuating” as a “too long to use drunk” word.
Silence.
“Bren?” He said something, but so softly I couldn’t hear. “What was that?”
“I said, ‘Would you fucking kiss me, Peirsol?’ “
My breath caught in my throat and I coughed. Was I hearing him right? Was the alcohol in my system playing games with me? Does Brendan Hansen want to kiss me? “Bren−”
“Oh, don’t bother. I shouldn’t have said anything.” I heard him moving around and saw his shadow shifting against the wall.
“No, please. Don’t leave.”
“What do you want, Aaron?” He sounded tired, and I noticed I was exhausted, too. “I don’t have the energy to explain anything to you−”
“So don’t try! Now tell me, was that the beer talking?”
“I said I don’t want to explain−”
“Was it the goddamn beer?”
“If you want it to be.”
“And what if I don’t?” I challenged, sitting up and swinging my feet to the floor. The leather coach was sticking to me. “Answer me!” I heard a crash and realized he’d knocked a lamp to the floor. He must have been backing away from me. “Brendan!”
“If you don’t, then it wasn’t! I meant every goddamned word! Fuck, it’s like…it’s like waking up every morning with this perfect dream in your head and you know you can’t have it. Because for every one person who understands, ten thousand don’t. And even though you’ve got closer friends than half the world can claim, you can’t tell either cause one wouldn’t accept it and the other’s the one you’re in love with!”
I stood up and took a step towards him just before the lights flickered on. The ceiling fan above us started whirling and I distantly heard the refrigerator click on. Cool air jetted through the vents in the ceiling.
Brendan was standing across from me, a sweaty, half-dressed mess; head cocked to the side like it always was after a race. Tired. He’d said his piece, and now it was my turn.
“Well, looks like the A/C still works,” I mumbled. Nice one, hotshot!
“Oh, fuck, Aaron.”
“’Fuck Aaron’? Okay,” I said nervously, wiping my hands on my boxers and sitting down again. Out with it! He just confessed his love for you, Peirsol! my head yelled at me. No more ambiguous statements. “Listen, Bren, I think that−” Say it! “−I think I need to go home.” Shit.
Brendan visibly sagged. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Alright. Um…I’m going to bed. I need to cool off. See ya.”
I watched helplessly as he trudged off to his bedroom. I gathered my shirt and shorts and shuffled to the front door. Why am I such a little girl?
***
Brendan threw himself across his bed, trying to shut off his brain. It was too much. It was just the heat. And the beer, he thought to himself. No, that’s a lie. It was all Aaron. Aaron and his goddamned hair. And hands. And legs. And smile. And eyes. And holy shit, I’m going to cry.
“Come on, be a man. This is girl shit. Get over it. Breathe. It’s okay. You’re not going to die just because he doesn’t feel the same way you do. At least he’s not straight,” he said out loud, covering his eyes with his forearm. “Breathe in seven. Hold eight. Out four. Okay. See? You’re fine.”
***
Aaron was hyperventilating in his car. Everything you can possibly want is right there for your taking. What the hell is wrong with you? “Breathe, boy, breathe,” he ordered himself, and slowly his breathing returned to normal.
His phone rang. Ian. “Oh no, this isn’t the right time, man.” He pressed “send” and held the phone to his ear.
“Hey Air, it’s Ian.”
“Caller ID, man.”
“Oh, right. Anyway, I just got off Mo-Pac. I’m alright. Just thought I’d call in. Will you tell Bren?”
“Ah, sure.”
“Are you still over at his house?”
“Sort of.”
“Sort of?”
“In the driveway.”
“You were leaving?”
“Actually, no. I’ve gotta go, man.”
“Whoa whoa, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing, bro−”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“Bren and I had an argument. I think I should go back in and apologize.”
“You aren’t supposed to argue with him!”
“I know, I know, I just…I was so scared, you know?”
“Aaron, just be yourself. I know…I know how much you want this.”
“Thanks, man. I’ll try. And Ian, I’m sorry about all of this, I know you didn’t want it to happen.” Aaron hung up, wiped his bands on his shorts, and opened the car door. Gotta do it this time. Just be yourself.
***
I was cold for the first time in eighteen hours. The A/C was going full-blast, and I remembered it was last set to about fifty-five. Wrapping a comforter around my body, I made my way through the house to the thermostat. “Seventy-five,” I muttered, clicking it over. The A/C immediately shut off.
“Bren?”
I turned around, tripping on the comforter. I fell into the wall and after regaining my balance, stood up straight. “What the hell? I thought you left!”
“I’m sorry for not answering your question.”
“What question? I never asked you any question.” I pulled the blanket around myself tighter. With Aaron wearing his shorts and unbuttoned shirt, I felt underdressed in my boxers and blanket. Exposed.
Aaron was suddenly very close and I couldn’t breathe again. I was backed up against the wall, the thermostat digging into my shoulder. “You asked me if I would kiss you, and I never answered.”
His arms were on either side of mine, his four-inch height advantage abruptly apparent. “And?” I breathed, feeling a lot like a teenaged girl waiting to be kissed by her long-time crush. Be a man, I thought, scolding myself for at least the tenth time that day. “Are you going to lead me on or−?”
I’d never been kissed by another man before. In fact, I’d only kissed a few women in my entire life, and all had been the submissive type. I felt like I was being owned by Aaron, held between drywall and his body with nowhere to go. Not like I’d want to go anywhere - it felt like heaven in that position.
His mouth left mine and I groaned at the unwanted loss of contact, but took grateful gasps of air. “Oh God.”
“Just call me Aaron,” he whispered, kissing me again.
I shrugged the blanket off my body and slid my arms around Aaron’s waist to tug him closer. He shifted his support from his hands to his forearms and the full length of his body was pressed to mine. Every single inch. “Jesus, Aaron,” I sputtered, pushing at his chest. “Hold on. Hold on.” He stepped away from me and I took a few deep breaths.
“Brendan, if you don’t want to−”
“You know damned well I want to,” I said roughly, motioning at my boxers. I put a hand to my forehead and wrapped my other arm around my stomach. “I just…” Looking at him standing there, my image of perfection, with a lost glint in his eyes and no place to put his hands, I felt lost myself. Here it is, the thing I’ve been fantasizing about for years, and I want to push it away.
But I’ve always been one to push things away. Attachment nearly killed me in 2000, the attachment to Sydney I’d built and then had yanked away. That was the last time I’d wanted something so bad it hurt. But then there was Aaron.
Golden angel boy in Sydney and pretty illegal, but I hadn’t been thinking about him then like I do now. Now, with something I’ve told myself I don’t want, am not attached to, nothing, I’m looking at him like he’s something I can’t have. Even though he’s just as hard as I am, and I have no doubt in my mind he wants to do a lot more than kiss by the thermostat.
“Dammit, Bren, say something.”
“C’mere,” I said softly, holding my arms out for him. He came to me and I tucked my chin over his shoulder, arms around his torso, and hands splayed over his back.
“I’ve got this thing for you, Bren,” Aaron whispered. “I can’t explain it. I want to touch you all the time, watch you all the time, hear your voice all the time. When I watch you swim, I get this rush. I caught myself thinking ‘there goes my man!’ one time, and that’s when I knew it was a thing, and not just a thing. I want…I want to be yours, Bren, and I want you to want me like I want you. God, holding you…it’s better than I thought it would be.”
“You sound like a girl, Air,” I chuckled, holding him tighter.
“Me? You’re the one crying!”
“Am not!” I protested, but half-heartedly cause he was right. Not out and out sobs, but yeah, my face was definitely wet. I slid the tips of my fingers under the waistband of Aaron’s boxers.
“Boy, don’t cry,” he was saying. “Please don’t cry. That’s why I don’t like girls, man!”
And then his mouth was on my neck, then shoulder, then back again, and we were walking away from the wall. He was walking, I was stumbling, and I said, “No, this is why you don’t like girls,” pressing my hips to his.
Who would have thought the grace he had in the pool would transfer to…oh, Air, I can’t think when you do that.
“Speechless for once?”
“Have you…have you done this…before?” I breathed, letting my head fall back, holding Aaron’s hips to mine with my hands.
“Only in my dreams.”
“You must have gotten in a lot of practice,” I teased, backing him into the wall beside my bedroom.
“Plenty,” he admitted. “Though I wish I could’ve practiced on you.”
“Now’s your chance.”
And my room had never been so hot.
***
Cooking had never been my forte, but when I was ten my mom had insisted I learn how to make myself pancakes. “I’m tired of making them for you. Figure it out.” So I had, and to this day it’s about all I can make.
Better than nothing, especially when there’s no cereal in a house that’s not yours and you’re starving for more than one reason.
Stumbling around Brendan’s kitchen at ten o’clock the next morning with a slight hangover and sore joints, I found that besides beer, Brendan wasn’t stocked in much of anything. Some shredded cheese, some moldy tortillas, half-had bottles of Gatorade. I resigned myself to a quick trip to the corner store.
“Quick trip” turned into a half an hour of shopping. Corner store was closed, and Wal-Mart was the only thing reasonably close. I about threw up from my headache by the time I’d gotten all of the groceries. “I’mma teach you how to keep a good kitchen,” I muttered under my breath, loading the last of the groceries into the trunk of my car.
I arrived back at Brendan’s at around 11:45. He was sitting on the front step with a cell phone in his hand. My cell phone in his hand. I opened the car door and he started in on me.
“Hold up one second!” I interrupted, climbing out of the car. “I went shopping at Wal-Mart for breakfast! You can forgive me one lapse in judgment in exchange for pancakes.” A nod, an okay, and I carried the groceries inside.
But he wasn’t okay. Brendan was sitting at the table, his head in his hands, by the time I got the bags in the door. “Aaron, I thought you were gone.”
Oh shit. “The only reason I left is ‘cause you’ve got nothing to eat in this house and I’m starving.” I started arranging the ingredients in an orderly fashion. “I promise that if I’m ever gone before you wake up, I’m feeding myself. And then I’ll feed you. See? Easy.”
“It scared me, man.”
“Yeah, and you’re scaring me thinking I could actually leave you like that. What do you take me for?”
“I guess I’m just not−”
“Okay. Here’s the deal.” I sat down across from him at the table and took his hands in mine. Oh, how I love those hands. “I won’t leave you. I promise. I’m not anything else other than a best friend who’s in love with you. I’m not looking for anything else other than you being you and you loving me. Okay? Okay. Now, no more of this girl shit. I’m hungry.” I squeezed his hands, stood up, and started mixing pancake mix with milk and all that other good stuff.
“Aaron, next time just take your phone.”
I looked back over my shoulder at the man sitting at the small breakfast table. He was genuinely worried about me leaving him and it looks like nothing I said was going to make any dent in that worry. “Brendan, I don’t know what to say to you to convince you that I won’t leave you. Do you?”
“No.”
“Have you been left by someone then?”
“No.”
“Okay, then what the hell is it? Cause this isn’t gonna work until you can get that baggage straight.”
***
“How could…how could you like me?” I said softly, cursing myself as soon as the words left my mouth. Well, he wants the truth, right?
“What?!” And the pancakes were left to their own devices as Aaron sat across the table from me, again.
“I don’t understand how you can be attracted to me. And that makes me wonder how you could stay with me. And I know that we’ve just had…just had one night…and shit, Aaron, what the hell am I talking about?” He didn’t look like he knew what to do. His hands were sitting on the table and I watched them tapping and thought about what he’d done with those hands last night…I squirmed in my seat and looked back up at Aaron’s face. “I’m sorry−”
His hands were now around mine and I felt the need to squirm again, but I held back. “Why are you sorry? I’m the one who should be sorry. Last night you told me all the reasons you wanted to be with me, and I can’t even reciprocate? I just told you that I did want to be with you, that I want you, that I ache when I see you, but I didn’t tell you why.”
“It’s not necess−”
“It is goddamn necessary. You woke up thinking I was gone and you were a one-night stand cause of what I didn’t say! That’s my fault.”
“Aaron−”
“Your eyes. Your arms. Your abs, your pecs. Your mouth, your jaw. Your hair. Your hands. God, how I love your hands. Your humor, your advice, your stroke, your grace…I could go on until I named every single thing about you. But it should suffice to say that I love it all cause you make me feel like I’m a good person. So in the end, it’s really selfish, but damn Brendan, I just want to be with you for as long as you’ll stand me.”
“No one’s ever said anything like that to me.”
“Well it’s about time.” Aaron stood up, came to my side, kissed me gently, then returned to the kitchen counter. “Excuse me, but I am still starving. And I have to save my masculinity somehow.”
“What, by cooking?”
“Don’t you know that all the best chefs are men? And anyway, I need something to distract me from you. You do realize that you’re wearing my boxers, right?”
I looked down and yeah, he was right. Oops.
“And both choices are equally appealing. ‘Food, or Brendan?’ I could go over the pros and cons, but it’s easier to say ‘one is absolutely needed for survival and the other I just think I need.’” Aaron abruptly stopped mixing and turned back to me. “Therefore, the pancakes can wait.”
Fin.