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Authors: A. M. Riley
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off, but then Peter smiled. A satisfied, smugly victorious smile, and a second later his hand slid up my thigh and made my dick grow again.
This time I waited until I'd dragged him into the bedroom.
So, I found myself on the wagon, so to speak. Any time I might rethink that decision, I'd remember Jonathan. Like a specter hanging over me whenever I thought to stray.
I stuffed the sweater behind a cushion on the couch, then went into the bedroom, where I crawled under the covers again with Peter, wrapped my arms around his hot little bod, and pressed my nose into his neck. His heartbeat was like a shuffling dance step. KA thump KA thump thump that lulled me and soothed me and I drifted off into the coma I call sleep.
* * *
When I woke Peter was coughing up a lung.
Chapter Four
“You can't go into work.”
Peter raised his head from the sink to look at me in the mirror. Since he couldn't see me, it was weird and he turned around. His eyes were red, the rims a pink color. His nose was red and swollen. His lips were chapped, and he'd only scraped half the shaving cream off so he looked like a moldy old ceramic garden gnome standing there in his boxer shorts.
God help me, I wanted him anyway.
“I hab to go,” he said. He turned back to the mirror and continued with his shave. “Nancy needs me.”
“I'm sure she can handle it. We can't move until dark anyway.”
“It's nod that,” snuffled Peter. “I jus' hab to go, Adam.”
“You have a fever.”
“I toog some pills.” He wiped his face with a towel and pushed past me, thumping back down to the bedroom, sniffling and wiping his nose with his arm as he went.
Okay, I'll admit part of my motivation was making him break his lunch date with Jonathan.
“You need bed rest.” I got up close behind him. My fingers tangled with his while he tried to button up his shirt. “Lots of bed rest,” I growled against his ear. Then I unzipped his pants twice before he slapped my hands and said, “Adam…” in a tone of voice I knew better than to argue with.
So I withdrew to the living room. Some time back, Peter had taken the trouble of having louvered wooden blinds installed in the big picture window. It turned the room into a virtual cave. So yours truly could sprawl on the couch with the remote in hand and sulk.
Peter followed me, looping his tie with practiced fingers and saying, “Stop sulking.”
“Spend all my time in the dark waiting for you to stop working,” I groused.
Peter ignored this, going to the hall closet and bringing out his trench coat and hat. It was for the rain, of course, but it made him look like a real honest-to-God Dick Tracy.
“You forgot your gun,” I told him, thumbing the button on the remote idly.
“I didn't forget it, for Chrissakes.” He stomped back into his bedroom to get it.
The news began with the now-familiar image of Orville Suits speaking to the press about Lake's death. He was now “assisting the LAPD with the investigation,” I noted. I flicked past that channel to the local morning news, which showed a stream of traffic from the vantage of a traffic helicopter.
“There's a mess on the 101,” I called to him. “You'll be sitting in a parking lot if you leave now.”
Peter reemerged from the bedroom. “I've got to go now , Adam.” He had on the trench coat.
I idly wondered if I could get him to wear it without any clothes underneath some time. Of course, that thought only made me crankier.
“I might as well be a bat,” I whined, pressing the button on the remote so the channels flew by.
“I'll see you later,” he said. He was busy with his keys, so he didn't catch the glare I shot at him.
“You still have a lunch date?”
Peter frowned at the waspish sting in my words. “Adam, you said you'd try to get along with him.”
“I am trying.”
“If last night was your idea of trying…”
“He gets on my nerves.”
“I'll bet the feeling's mutual. It's only lunch.”
I pressed the remote
This time I waited until I'd dragged him into the bedroom.
So, I found myself on the wagon, so to speak. Any time I might rethink that decision, I'd remember Jonathan. Like a specter hanging over me whenever I thought to stray.
I stuffed the sweater behind a cushion on the couch, then went into the bedroom, where I crawled under the covers again with Peter, wrapped my arms around his hot little bod, and pressed my nose into his neck. His heartbeat was like a shuffling dance step. KA thump KA thump thump that lulled me and soothed me and I drifted off into the coma I call sleep.
* * *
When I woke Peter was coughing up a lung.
Chapter Four
“You can't go into work.”
Peter raised his head from the sink to look at me in the mirror. Since he couldn't see me, it was weird and he turned around. His eyes were red, the rims a pink color. His nose was red and swollen. His lips were chapped, and he'd only scraped half the shaving cream off so he looked like a moldy old ceramic garden gnome standing there in his boxer shorts.
God help me, I wanted him anyway.
“I hab to go,” he said. He turned back to the mirror and continued with his shave. “Nancy needs me.”
“I'm sure she can handle it. We can't move until dark anyway.”
“It's nod that,” snuffled Peter. “I jus' hab to go, Adam.”
“You have a fever.”
“I toog some pills.” He wiped his face with a towel and pushed past me, thumping back down to the bedroom, sniffling and wiping his nose with his arm as he went.
Okay, I'll admit part of my motivation was making him break his lunch date with Jonathan.
“You need bed rest.” I got up close behind him. My fingers tangled with his while he tried to button up his shirt. “Lots of bed rest,” I growled against his ear. Then I unzipped his pants twice before he slapped my hands and said, “Adam…” in a tone of voice I knew better than to argue with.
So I withdrew to the living room. Some time back, Peter had taken the trouble of having louvered wooden blinds installed in the big picture window. It turned the room into a virtual cave. So yours truly could sprawl on the couch with the remote in hand and sulk.
Peter followed me, looping his tie with practiced fingers and saying, “Stop sulking.”
“Spend all my time in the dark waiting for you to stop working,” I groused.
Peter ignored this, going to the hall closet and bringing out his trench coat and hat. It was for the rain, of course, but it made him look like a real honest-to-God Dick Tracy.
“You forgot your gun,” I told him, thumbing the button on the remote idly.
“I didn't forget it, for Chrissakes.” He stomped back into his bedroom to get it.
The news began with the now-familiar image of Orville Suits speaking to the press about Lake's death. He was now “assisting the LAPD with the investigation,” I noted. I flicked past that channel to the local morning news, which showed a stream of traffic from the vantage of a traffic helicopter.
“There's a mess on the 101,” I called to him. “You'll be sitting in a parking lot if you leave now.”
Peter reemerged from the bedroom. “I've got to go now , Adam.” He had on the trench coat.
I idly wondered if I could get him to wear it without any clothes underneath some time. Of course, that thought only made me crankier.
“I might as well be a bat,” I whined, pressing the button on the remote so the channels flew by.
“I'll see you later,” he said. He was busy with his keys, so he didn't catch the glare I shot at him.
“You still have a lunch date?”
Peter frowned at the waspish sting in my words. “Adam, you said you'd try to get along with him.”
“I am trying.”
“If last night was your idea of trying…”
“He gets on my nerves.”
“I'll bet the feeling's mutual. It's only lunch.”
I pressed the remote
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