The Transitive Property of Attraction Part 3
Henry woke up with a pounding headache and an empty stomach. With the aid of coffee, he was able to make it to the kiosk. He wouldn't have bothered opening for the day, but (as he'd predicted) Pete was already there, wide-eyed and bushy-tailed. Only the idea of Pete manning the fort alone had brought Henry from his deathbed. Left to his own devices, every pretty girl in London would be walking away with Henry's merchandise, gratis.
"All right?" Pete greeted him as Henry staggered into the booth. He growled and sat on a stool in the corner. He alternated eyes, so that one was always open and on Pete. As he slowly began to feel human, Henry became aware that there was something off about Pete. He was smiling and chattering on about nonsense as usual, but he rarely looked directly at Henry. Henry wanted to talk to the kid, apologize for Charles' behavior and his own failure to stay sober enough to prevent such an awkward situation. He could still see Pete's face as he'd sat, frozen. He'd been so lost and out of his element. He probably hadn't realized Charles was gay until he'd made his move.
He shouldn't have left them alone. He knew Charles would try something eventually; he'd just assumed Pete would flap his arms and squawk hysterically until Charles backed off. Pete wasn't exactly cool under pressure. Every time the kiosk got crowded, Pete had a panic attack. When Henry was busiest was when he usually had to send Pete for coffee, lest the kid have a nervous breakdown.
Henry smiled at Pete, charmed in spite of himself by the boy's unguarded nature. There were no secrets with Pete.
"Wot's wrong, Stitch?" Pete asked, looking just to the left of Henry's face, awkwardly full of concern.
Henry dry heaved into the waste basket. He had no idea how long he'd left Pete with Charles. They could have talked about anything. While convinced that Charles was 'the one,' Henry had been willing to try just about anything Charles suggested. Charles was the first man Henry had allowed to top him, go down on him in public, tie him up... there had been an awful lot of first times with Charles. Some things, Henry had no interest in repeating (the ball gag, complicated role play, sex under the stars on what had turned out to be a patch of poison oak), but others he rather missed (bottoming, uncomplicated role playing, nipple clamps). He wondered if he'd ever trust someone that much again.
He'd had so much faith in Charles. Now he was wondering what the titbox had told Pete.
Henry had been watching Pete charm, but completely fail to get off with, every girl who walked by the kiosk. He was flirty and outgoing, but as soon as a girl showed interest, Pete went red and stumbled over his words. He was like a little kid. Whatever experience he had, it couldn't be substantial.
Henry had felt reasonably experienced until the first time Charles had pinned his hands above his head and said, "You're mine." Of course, it was all a game. Henry would have had no trouble breaking free, and Charles had probably used that line on every sympathetic barmaid in town. It was nothing, but it had felt like everything.
Henry tried very hard not to picture Charles using the same line on Pete. Charles would be able to hold both those skinny wrists in one hand, and Pete would be excited, but scared. He wouldn't be able to hold his own against Charles the way Henry could. He'd be so much more vulnerable.
"Have I got shit on my face?" Pete asked, snapping Henry from his reverie. Pete was shyly ducking behind his hair, but looked disappointed when Henry stopped staring. Someday, he'd probably figure out his strange face and become a peacock. For now, Pete had just an inkling of what made him attractive.
xxx
Pete didn't mention Charles for over a month. Things were nearly normal at the kiosk. Henry had accepted the inevitability of Pete. For all the many, many ways he annoyed Henry, he was also quite sweet. He tried, in his childish way, to be a good friend. He brought Henry disgusting cups of coffee that were ice cold because they were at least 50% cream and sugar, and he introduced Henry to horrible electro nonsense via friendship mix tapes (on actual cassette tapes). When Henry tried to discuss things like literature or politics, Pete tried very hard to look interested. He was silly and dippy, but Pete had a good heart. Henry wasn't used to anyone being as open and straightforward as Pete, but it was a nice change from the norm. Pete never had an ulterior motive; he just wanted Henry to be his friend.
Henry had taken more than his usual ten minutes on break, and actually went to get some decent take-away instead of a sandwich from a nearby kiosk. He was trying to give Pete a bit more responsibility. If the idea was that Henry was going to start dating again, he needed to feel confident in Pete's ability to not fall apart at the slightest hiccough in routine.
He brought Pete back some lo mein, so he could do his impersonation of a turtle eating. Henry pretended to be annoyed by it, but it was actually pretty funny.
His stomach dropped into his shoes when he saw Pete's pale face.
"Oh god, what happened?" Henry asked as he approached. The kiosk had not collapsed or burst into flames. There seemed to be no reason for Pete to look so perturbed.
"Nuthin'," Pete lied as he fiddled with his hair. "Just... Charles dropped by, lookin' for you..."
"For fuck's sake," Henry swore. "What did he say to you? Did he make a move?"
Pete opened his mouth and eyes wide. He lied like a child, with lots of energy and no skill.
"He just asked if you were around, said he misses you and all..."
"What did he really say?" Henry asked, getting into Pete's personal space and towering over the smaller man. Henry rarely tried to be intimidating with his size-he was more likely to slouch and try to blend in-but he was having the desired effect. Pete was stumbling backwards and looking nervous, and while it made Henry feel sick, he didn't back off.
"Tell me what he said," he demanded, trying to look like someone who knew how to fight.
"You shouldn't let people hurt you!" Pete squawked. "You're well nice and fit, and girls like you and boys like you..."
"Shut up!" Henry yelled. "I never ever want to hear you mention my sex life again. Ever!"
Pete had gone white and was staring at his shoes. He looked terrified, but he still squeaked out, "Just saying, people shouldn't be hurting you..."
"That's not what I do!" Henry yelled. "That's not what I am. I'm just normal. I like normal things. I want normal things. I'm not talking about this with you. Have you even seen a naked person in real life? Have you ever held someone's hand?"
Pete looked indignant. "Yeah, I seen... I mean, I done it an' all. I had a girlfriend for two years."
"And was she imaginary?"
"No!" Pete squealed. "She got leukemia again and died."
Henry felt like one of those cartoon characters who had failed to notice until it was too late that he'd run right off a cliff. He was flailing in midair. Pete was chewing his thumbnail and looking impossibly young and innocent.
"Did that...? Is that why you're so...?" Henry stammered. If he were a very different person from a very different upbringing, he would have given the young man a hug. "I'm sorry, Pete. I didn't know."
Pete shrugged and started chewing on a strand of hair. "It was well sad. She was so nice and funny. When I met her, she had just finished chemo and her hair was all gone, so she wore wigs. Not regular wigs, but like fright wigs, and a blue Louise Brooks, and a pink beehive... She was loads of fun..."
"So she was already sick when you met her?" Henry asked, two courses in psychology making his brain tick.
"She had just gone into remission, and she was fine for a year before she got sick again," Pete explained, looking almost somber. "She was my first everything."
It was so painfully sad that Henry had a strange urge to giggle. He awkwardly slapped a heavy hand on Pete's shoulder. "I'm sorry, mate. Let's go out, all right? We'll go dancing, meet some girls..."
Pete's face lit up. "We can wear our matching shirts!"
"We don't have matching shirts..."
Henry's stomach tightened as he watched Pete eagerly pull a gift box from his messenger bag. Henry opened the box and felt a tad relieved when he saw the cream-colored shirt. He'd feared worse, like a t-shirt with their faces screen printed on, or worse, a shirt with "Stitch" embroidered on the chest. There was no way in hell he was letting that nickname stick. He'd never submitted to Hank, he sure as hell wouldn't be Stitch.
But he would be in a club with Pete, wearing nearly matching tops. Why? Because some girl Henry had never met had died tragically young. Life was funny that way.
"All right?" Pete greeted him as Henry staggered into the booth. He growled and sat on a stool in the corner. He alternated eyes, so that one was always open and on Pete. As he slowly began to feel human, Henry became aware that there was something off about Pete. He was smiling and chattering on about nonsense as usual, but he rarely looked directly at Henry. Henry wanted to talk to the kid, apologize for Charles' behavior and his own failure to stay sober enough to prevent such an awkward situation. He could still see Pete's face as he'd sat, frozen. He'd been so lost and out of his element. He probably hadn't realized Charles was gay until he'd made his move.
He shouldn't have left them alone. He knew Charles would try something eventually; he'd just assumed Pete would flap his arms and squawk hysterically until Charles backed off. Pete wasn't exactly cool under pressure. Every time the kiosk got crowded, Pete had a panic attack. When Henry was busiest was when he usually had to send Pete for coffee, lest the kid have a nervous breakdown.
Henry smiled at Pete, charmed in spite of himself by the boy's unguarded nature. There were no secrets with Pete.
"Wot's wrong, Stitch?" Pete asked, looking just to the left of Henry's face, awkwardly full of concern.
Henry dry heaved into the waste basket. He had no idea how long he'd left Pete with Charles. They could have talked about anything. While convinced that Charles was 'the one,' Henry had been willing to try just about anything Charles suggested. Charles was the first man Henry had allowed to top him, go down on him in public, tie him up... there had been an awful lot of first times with Charles. Some things, Henry had no interest in repeating (the ball gag, complicated role play, sex under the stars on what had turned out to be a patch of poison oak), but others he rather missed (bottoming, uncomplicated role playing, nipple clamps). He wondered if he'd ever trust someone that much again.
He'd had so much faith in Charles. Now he was wondering what the titbox had told Pete.
Henry had been watching Pete charm, but completely fail to get off with, every girl who walked by the kiosk. He was flirty and outgoing, but as soon as a girl showed interest, Pete went red and stumbled over his words. He was like a little kid. Whatever experience he had, it couldn't be substantial.
Henry had felt reasonably experienced until the first time Charles had pinned his hands above his head and said, "You're mine." Of course, it was all a game. Henry would have had no trouble breaking free, and Charles had probably used that line on every sympathetic barmaid in town. It was nothing, but it had felt like everything.
Henry tried very hard not to picture Charles using the same line on Pete. Charles would be able to hold both those skinny wrists in one hand, and Pete would be excited, but scared. He wouldn't be able to hold his own against Charles the way Henry could. He'd be so much more vulnerable.
"Have I got shit on my face?" Pete asked, snapping Henry from his reverie. Pete was shyly ducking behind his hair, but looked disappointed when Henry stopped staring. Someday, he'd probably figure out his strange face and become a peacock. For now, Pete had just an inkling of what made him attractive.
xxx
Pete didn't mention Charles for over a month. Things were nearly normal at the kiosk. Henry had accepted the inevitability of Pete. For all the many, many ways he annoyed Henry, he was also quite sweet. He tried, in his childish way, to be a good friend. He brought Henry disgusting cups of coffee that were ice cold because they were at least 50% cream and sugar, and he introduced Henry to horrible electro nonsense via friendship mix tapes (on actual cassette tapes). When Henry tried to discuss things like literature or politics, Pete tried very hard to look interested. He was silly and dippy, but Pete had a good heart. Henry wasn't used to anyone being as open and straightforward as Pete, but it was a nice change from the norm. Pete never had an ulterior motive; he just wanted Henry to be his friend.
Henry had taken more than his usual ten minutes on break, and actually went to get some decent take-away instead of a sandwich from a nearby kiosk. He was trying to give Pete a bit more responsibility. If the idea was that Henry was going to start dating again, he needed to feel confident in Pete's ability to not fall apart at the slightest hiccough in routine.
He brought Pete back some lo mein, so he could do his impersonation of a turtle eating. Henry pretended to be annoyed by it, but it was actually pretty funny.
His stomach dropped into his shoes when he saw Pete's pale face.
"Oh god, what happened?" Henry asked as he approached. The kiosk had not collapsed or burst into flames. There seemed to be no reason for Pete to look so perturbed.
"Nuthin'," Pete lied as he fiddled with his hair. "Just... Charles dropped by, lookin' for you..."
"For fuck's sake," Henry swore. "What did he say to you? Did he make a move?"
Pete opened his mouth and eyes wide. He lied like a child, with lots of energy and no skill.
"He just asked if you were around, said he misses you and all..."
"What did he really say?" Henry asked, getting into Pete's personal space and towering over the smaller man. Henry rarely tried to be intimidating with his size-he was more likely to slouch and try to blend in-but he was having the desired effect. Pete was stumbling backwards and looking nervous, and while it made Henry feel sick, he didn't back off.
"Tell me what he said," he demanded, trying to look like someone who knew how to fight.
"You shouldn't let people hurt you!" Pete squawked. "You're well nice and fit, and girls like you and boys like you..."
"Shut up!" Henry yelled. "I never ever want to hear you mention my sex life again. Ever!"
Pete had gone white and was staring at his shoes. He looked terrified, but he still squeaked out, "Just saying, people shouldn't be hurting you..."
"That's not what I do!" Henry yelled. "That's not what I am. I'm just normal. I like normal things. I want normal things. I'm not talking about this with you. Have you even seen a naked person in real life? Have you ever held someone's hand?"
Pete looked indignant. "Yeah, I seen... I mean, I done it an' all. I had a girlfriend for two years."
"And was she imaginary?"
"No!" Pete squealed. "She got leukemia again and died."
Henry felt like one of those cartoon characters who had failed to notice until it was too late that he'd run right off a cliff. He was flailing in midair. Pete was chewing his thumbnail and looking impossibly young and innocent.
"Did that...? Is that why you're so...?" Henry stammered. If he were a very different person from a very different upbringing, he would have given the young man a hug. "I'm sorry, Pete. I didn't know."
Pete shrugged and started chewing on a strand of hair. "It was well sad. She was so nice and funny. When I met her, she had just finished chemo and her hair was all gone, so she wore wigs. Not regular wigs, but like fright wigs, and a blue Louise Brooks, and a pink beehive... She was loads of fun..."
"So she was already sick when you met her?" Henry asked, two courses in psychology making his brain tick.
"She had just gone into remission, and she was fine for a year before she got sick again," Pete explained, looking almost somber. "She was my first everything."
It was so painfully sad that Henry had a strange urge to giggle. He awkwardly slapped a heavy hand on Pete's shoulder. "I'm sorry, mate. Let's go out, all right? We'll go dancing, meet some girls..."
Pete's face lit up. "We can wear our matching shirts!"
"We don't have matching shirts..."
Henry's stomach tightened as he watched Pete eagerly pull a gift box from his messenger bag. Henry opened the box and felt a tad relieved when he saw the cream-colored shirt. He'd feared worse, like a t-shirt with their faces screen printed on, or worse, a shirt with "Stitch" embroidered on the chest. There was no way in hell he was letting that nickname stick. He'd never submitted to Hank, he sure as hell wouldn't be Stitch.
But he would be in a club with Pete, wearing nearly matching tops. Why? Because some girl Henry had never met had died tragically young. Life was funny that way.