The Bistro
© 2003 by Sean Michael
All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address Sean Michael, 2515 Bank St., P.O. Box 40001, Ottawa, ON, K1V 0W8.
Printed in Canada.
ISBN: 978-1-988028-01-9
Previously published by Torquere Press electronic edition / 2003
2nd Edition / June 2015
The Bistro
By Sean Michael
The Bistro was small, but crowded. Cloth tablecloths and napkins. Real flowers. Real candles. And the most delicious smells. Richard could understand why Damen had suggested the place; it promised to be a gastronomical pleasure. He glanced irritably at his watch. Even if the date itself was a wash.
Damen was forty minutes late. Perhaps it was for the best; their first date had been boring and he’d ended it on a light kiss and promise for a second date, despite his better judgment. This lack of promptness only confirmed that Damen was not in the cards for him.
He had just decided to go ahead and order without the boy when his cell phone rang. He raised an eyebrow at the number. “Hello, Damen.”
The boy on the other end apologized profusely, gave one sad excuse after another and finally hung up. Richard erased the number from his phone and returned it to his pocket. The little twink could go blow himself.
Just then a waiter went by with a couple of plates, the succulent smell evaporating his bad mood immediately. There was nothing like a well-cooked meal to brighten one’s mood, and, if it was served with style and flair, in a welcoming atmosphere, all the better.
A half hour later he was happily making his way through the veal piccata, almost moaning in orgasmic ecstasy. He couldn’t remember when he’d last had such a well-cooked meal.
A soft laugh caught his attention, a slim back and sweet ass standing at a table in the center of the room. Another low comment and the table broke into peals of laughter, a thin, fine hand motioning to the waiter and giving some soft-spoken instructions.
He briefly caught the man’s profile -- short-cropped blond curls, close-cut beard. The man was young, to own a place of his own.
The young man reminded him of someone...
He watched the owner move through the room, stopping periodically to check dishes as they left the kitchen, tweaking a garnish here and there. Richard never got a full-on look of the man until he turned, heading for his table, when he saw a pair of bright green eyes and high cheekbones.
Stephen Dean. Now there was a name from the past. It had to be... eight years since they’d parted, Stephen insisting Richard didn’t love him enough. Stephen had wanted some sort of white knight sweep you off your feet adoration. Richard still wasn’t sure what was wrong with steady and true, but he’d accepted long ago that he couldn’t give Stephen what he needed.
Stephen had done well for himself. Very well.
Stephen’s eyes widened as their gazes met and then a pleased smile crossed the thin face and he held out his hand. “Richard. How wonderful to see you! It’s been ages!”
Richard wiped the corners of his mouth and stood, taking Stephen’s hand in his own. Warm and dry and soft, Stephen always did have wonderful hands. “It has been awhile -- I see you’ve realized your dream, and very impressively, too, if I may say so.”
Stephen still blushed so prettily. “Thank you. I’m very proud of my little Bistro. Please, take your seat. Are you enjoying your veal?”
“It’s wonderful. I can only think of one other time I’ve had a better meal made of it.” He sat and casually waved a hand at the other chair. “Did you want to join me? Catch up on old times...”
“A better meal of it?” Stephen looked at the chair and shook his head. “I would love to, but I have a dessert course to check.” Those eyes -- so very bright and green -- looked over at him. “If you
© 2003 by Sean Michael
All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address Sean Michael, 2515 Bank St., P.O. Box 40001, Ottawa, ON, K1V 0W8.
Printed in Canada.
ISBN: 978-1-988028-01-9
Previously published by Torquere Press electronic edition / 2003
2nd Edition / June 2015
The Bistro
By Sean Michael
The Bistro was small, but crowded. Cloth tablecloths and napkins. Real flowers. Real candles. And the most delicious smells. Richard could understand why Damen had suggested the place; it promised to be a gastronomical pleasure. He glanced irritably at his watch. Even if the date itself was a wash.
Damen was forty minutes late. Perhaps it was for the best; their first date had been boring and he’d ended it on a light kiss and promise for a second date, despite his better judgment. This lack of promptness only confirmed that Damen was not in the cards for him.
He had just decided to go ahead and order without the boy when his cell phone rang. He raised an eyebrow at the number. “Hello, Damen.”
The boy on the other end apologized profusely, gave one sad excuse after another and finally hung up. Richard erased the number from his phone and returned it to his pocket. The little twink could go blow himself.
Just then a waiter went by with a couple of plates, the succulent smell evaporating his bad mood immediately. There was nothing like a well-cooked meal to brighten one’s mood, and, if it was served with style and flair, in a welcoming atmosphere, all the better.
A half hour later he was happily making his way through the veal piccata, almost moaning in orgasmic ecstasy. He couldn’t remember when he’d last had such a well-cooked meal.
A soft laugh caught his attention, a slim back and sweet ass standing at a table in the center of the room. Another low comment and the table broke into peals of laughter, a thin, fine hand motioning to the waiter and giving some soft-spoken instructions.
He briefly caught the man’s profile -- short-cropped blond curls, close-cut beard. The man was young, to own a place of his own.
The young man reminded him of someone...
He watched the owner move through the room, stopping periodically to check dishes as they left the kitchen, tweaking a garnish here and there. Richard never got a full-on look of the man until he turned, heading for his table, when he saw a pair of bright green eyes and high cheekbones.
Stephen Dean. Now there was a name from the past. It had to be... eight years since they’d parted, Stephen insisting Richard didn’t love him enough. Stephen had wanted some sort of white knight sweep you off your feet adoration. Richard still wasn’t sure what was wrong with steady and true, but he’d accepted long ago that he couldn’t give Stephen what he needed.
Stephen had done well for himself. Very well.
Stephen’s eyes widened as their gazes met and then a pleased smile crossed the thin face and he held out his hand. “Richard. How wonderful to see you! It’s been ages!”
Richard wiped the corners of his mouth and stood, taking Stephen’s hand in his own. Warm and dry and soft, Stephen always did have wonderful hands. “It has been awhile -- I see you’ve realized your dream, and very impressively, too, if I may say so.”
Stephen still blushed so prettily. “Thank you. I’m very proud of my little Bistro. Please, take your seat. Are you enjoying your veal?”
“It’s wonderful. I can only think of one other time I’ve had a better meal made of it.” He sat and casually waved a hand at the other chair. “Did you want to join me? Catch up on old times...”
“A better meal of it?” Stephen looked at the chair and shook his head. “I would love to, but I have a dessert course to check.” Those eyes -- so very bright and green -- looked over at him. “If you
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