Served With a Twist
Page 13
Cut hadn’t seen Gray since their first encounter, and the driver’s personality hadn’t improved a bit. They barely acknowledged Cut when he got into the car, but watched him in the mirror as they had last time.
There wasn’t as much hostility in their gaze, due in large part to Samson being alert and mostly keeping his hands to himself. Still, their dislike read loud and clear from the constant looks in the mirror, making sure they weren’t fooling around.
Wait until Gray saw where they were going.
The ride to Cut’s place was blessedly short. Gray got out to attend to Samson’s door. Once Samson was clear of it, they let it close in Cut’s face. Cut bit back on his annoyance, and let himself out.
Gray stuck close to Samson’s side like a protective pet, their gaze glancing about. “Are you sure this is the right place?”
“Yes, this is it.” Samson looked to Cut for confirmation. “Right?”
“Yeah.” He could take someone like Gray sneering at where he lived, but any kind of negative reaction from Samson would crush him.
Thankfully, he only gave off an air of curiosity as he took in at the beat up old buildings. It was one of the oldest parts of the city and had been used as mandatory housing for the first settlers who helped build Izanami after the automated drones laid down the foundation. A lot of people lived in places like this. Surely, Gray did as well? Their dislike of Cut went deeper than his status and living situation.
Samson took up his overnight bag, somehow juggling that and his meaty, every day bag, no doubt full of files to work to take care of for the weekend. “That’ll be all for the evening, Gray. You can go.”
Gray grimaced, sweat condensing on their brow. “What time am I returning for you? Right before the curfew?”
Samson sighed, lifting his overnight bag high on his shoulder. “If I need you, I’ll call you.”
Gray’s hand moved towards Samson’s arm, like they wanted to grab him. They knew better, their hand left hovering, grasping at nothing. “But…”
“Go home, Gray. Please.”
The driver finally conceded, and returned into the car, but not before they scowled at Cut. They drove off without a backwards glance.
They went into the building. It was too old and utilitarian to have something as high tech as a check in desk or security staff at the entrance. Each residence had its own system of locks, and peephole cameras, which, while not top of the line, did the job. Cut had never been robbed here and had never heard of it happening to anyone else, either.
He led Samson past all the doors that looked the same as his until he stopped in front of number, 327. He wanted to give a disclaimer, a set of things he couldn’t be judged on, but he didn’t. Being open didn’t work like that. He unlocked the door, and the lights came on. “This is me.”
From the far end of the short entryway, you could see the whole of the residence. The other rooms radiated out from the living room like stubby fingers from a wide palm, so no tour was in order, but Samson was free to make himself comfortable.
Samson set his bag down in the bedroom, and then doubled back to peek in the branches of the apartment. There weren’t many: bedroom, bathroom, kitchen. Into the corner between the kitchen and the bathroom, there was a small desk affixed to the wall that could be flipped up or down with a matching chair. Cut left the desk down for the extra surface, sometimes eating at it. He was done in under a minute. “I love your place,” he said as he turned about, noticing something new every time. Cut wrinkled his nose. That couldn’t possibly be true.
“I didn’t know you kept plants.” He was standing beside the little shelf between the bedroom and bathroom that held most of Cut’s toiletries. There were two small plants there, their leaves hanging down over most of the important things.
“I wouldn’t call it keeping so much as managing not to kill. They’re gifts from a friend of mine.”
“They’re still beautiful. Do they flower?”
“Not that I’ve seen.” Though Cut was a less than attentive plant parent. He made sure they were watered and got a few hours under the sun lamp each week, but he didn’t pay them much attention beyond that.
“That’s a shame.”
Samson went to his bag and pulled out a few items. “I’m going to go change, but the groceries should be here soon. Listen out for them?”
“You ordered groceries?”
Samson retreated to the bathroom, the only room with a proper door. He shouted through it. “They wouldn’t keep in the office, and I didn’t want Gray hanging around any longer than necessary. I hope that’s OK?”
He was on top of things as usual. “It’s totally fine.”
Cut should change out of his work clothes too.
He went to the bedroom and pulled out his usual house wear. A pair of shorts and a shirt too beat up to wear outside.
“I’m pretty sure they’ve got a thing for you,” he shouted loud so his voice carried to the next room. He stripped down to nothing and got his shorts on first. He bunched his shirt in his hand and was starting to put his head through it when Samson rounded the corner.
“Who’s got a thing for me?” His voice trailed off as he scanned Cut from head to foot. He lingered on Cut’s chest a few beats before turning away.
“I should have knocked. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He’d seen Samson in many states of undress, yet Samson had only seen his bare cock. At the time he thought nothing of it, but he knew it was unequal. He’d let him look more later if he liked.
He pulled on his shirt and joined Samson in the living room.
“Gray.”
“What?” Samson’s mind was obviously elsewhere. It was flattering, really.
“Your driver, Gray, has a thing for you.”
“Oh, no. No. We’ve worked together for a long time, and they’re just a little protective. I’m not sure they’re into anyone like that.”
“You didn’t see the way they glared at me on the way over here. Or the first time I took you home.”
“...They did?”
With anyone else, Cut would have accused them of fishing for compliments. But Samson likely didn’t know. He didn’t think it possible for anyone to be into him, and so, any overtures Gray might have made before now went unnoticed. Poor Gray, pining away, waiting for Samson to notice.
Not that, Cut was rooting for Gray here. He wouldn’t make the same mistake.
The doorbell echoed through the apartment. The groceries finally arrived.
Samson went to meet them and Cut sat on the couch to stay out of the way. The hand off of groceries should have taken two-minutes—five tops, but when ten had passed and Samson hadn’t returned, Cut crew curious. He leaned over the edge of the couch, peeking down the narrow hallway towards the front door.
“Just a coffee? Surely that’s OK?” A gruff male voice whispered.
“No, I’m sorry. I really have to go. My groceries are getting warm.”
The other person sucked their teeth. “I hope you order from us again soon. I can see you then at least.”
Good boy, Cut mused to himself.
Samson shut the door. He turned back towards the apartment and jumped when he noticed Cut watching him. Cut had to laugh at that.
“You alright?”
“Yeah. That guy was so pushy. I hate guys like that.”
He hated pushy people? Yet he wanted Cut to order him around. Well, alright then.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Samson said. “It’s different. I asked you for this, I know you…”
“Fair enough.” Cut didn’t need convincing. It was what it was. “So what did he want? Trying to get your card?”
Samson laughed. “The keyword is try.”
Packages choked the narrow hallway around their feet. Samson said he wanted to spend the night, but there was food here to last several days. Cut pitched in, shuttling things into the kitchen. He hoped
he had space for it all.
“See? You’ve got suitors lining up left and right. It’s only a matter of time before someone scoops you up.”
Samson frowned, deeply and moved into the kitchen without another word. That must have been the wrong thing to say, though, for the life of him, Cut couldn’t figure out why. The delivery guy had obviously been trying to pick him up.
“We could have gotten takeout and saved you the trouble.”
“It’s not like we’ve got any plans this evening. And I want to do this.”
“Why?”
“Sous vide.”
Cut rolled his eyes at having the safe word pulled on him. “Fine. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Keep me company? I’m always cooking by myself. I don’t have people over much.”
That, Cut could do.
He pulled a chair up to the doorway where he could watch and talk without getting underfoot. He wasn’t sure what to talk about, but he’d think of something. He didn’t want to force it. For now, Samson seemed content to just have Cut nearby. They were of one mind on that.
“What are we having tonight?”
Samson shook his head. “It’s a surprise. I don’t want to ruin it.”
If Samson wasn’t telling, maybe his ingredients would. Onions. Meat. It looked like there was a long loaf of bread there too. Not enough to venture a successful guess on. Ten dishes came to mind that included those ingredients. He supposed he’d have to wait.
“Have you always been into cooking?”
“Oh, forever. I used to help my mother sometimes. I even wanted to open my own restaurant as a chef, but…” Some of the light faded from his eyes. “My father wouldn’t hear of it. He’s a hard man to disappoint.”
“No kidding. We’ve all got our share of daddy issues. For example: mine left pretty early on, then had the nerve to up and die.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Cut waved it off. “Don’t be. I hardly knew him, and my mom replaced him easily enough.”
“That’s what I’m sorry about. Parent-child relationships are rarely easy, and when one of them is difficult, everything gets more complicated.”
“But we turned out OK in spite of both our folks, so there’s that.”
Samson only hummed an acknowledgement.
Cut couldn’t have asked for a better segue than this.
“I met your father the other day.”
Samson dropped a bowl. It clattered to the floor sending shredded cheese everywhere. Cut got and fetched the broom as Samson numbly picked up the bowl.
“How did you know it was my father?” He put the bowl in the sink, a fine tremble in his hands. Cut swept up, pretending not to notice.
“He introduced himself as such, and I saw him before when I stopped by the Cupboard looking for you. He and your brother were there for lunch.”
“I didn’t know you came by. Victor should have called me. It would have given me a chance to breathe.”
“I’ll remember for next time. I didn’t know about your relationship with them then. I thought I shouldn’t interrupt.”
Samson leaned on the sink, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. Then, he got more cheese out of the fridge and started to cut it to replace what had hit the floor. He worked quietly, shredding it by hand and then successfully transferring it to the stove where he dumped it into the pan with the meat and onions.
“What else did my father say?”
“He had someone from the bar following you. This regular, Herschel. Then he started having him watch me too. He knew that I started working at Deyaa. First he offered me money to leave you alone, then more money to be his man on the inside. He didn’t say what he wanted exactly, only that he needed me to be available to send him what he asked for.” Samson didn’t need to hear everything his father said all at once. One thing at a time.
“Can I ask what you told him?” Samson kept his eyes down, focused on the food. He sounded utterly miserable, but that wasn’t stopping him from completing the task he’d set for himself.
“I told him,” Cut said, kneeling to get the last bit of cheese. “That I needed to think it over.”
“Oh,” He couldn’t keep his voice from dipping in disappointment. “Have you?”
“I knew what I was going to choose as soon as he asked.” Cut put the dustpan and broom away. He squeezed between Samson and the sink at his back. He wrapped his arms around that thick waist. The larger man gasped, going stiff for a second. They were going to have to get him used to receiving Cut's affection outside of the bedroom. Cut wasn't used to giving them out, so they'd learn together.
“What are you...?”
“I chose you. How could I pick money over your trust? We started this out with the promise of payment, but it was never really about that." Though, Cut admitted how nice it was to see so much money so regularly. “We never really talked at the bar and you never seemed interested, so when the chance arose to be with you, in any way, how could I turn it down? I never thought we’d end up here. I know it wasn’t the greatest start, but…" Maybe he should shut up.
The stove clicked as Samson turned it off. "I had this weekend all planned. I was going to make this big dinner, and we'd have dessert, watch a movie maybe. I was waiting for the perfect moment to tell you how I feel... But you beat me to it." He covered one of Cut's hands with his. "I want to be with you. Not only in the way we've been doing it... But I want to keep doing that too. I still want to call you Mr. Cut. Does that make sense? I’m fucking this up."
“It makes perfect sense.” Cut got up on his toes and pressed a kiss to the back of Samson’s neck. It was going better than he ever dreamed. “Let’s, uh, talk more about this when you’re done in here.” He shimmied out of the kitchen and put the chair back in its place against the wall where it waited for what little company he entertained.
Samson finished up and brought the food out on the simple dishware from the cabinet. He handed Cut his plate before he sat beside him.
“This is…”
“Cheesesteaks. It’s a sandwich.”
Cut saw that.
“I wanted to make something you liked, and you always seem to order sandwiches for lunch and you really liked steak when we had it at the Cupboard. Plus, who doesn’t like cheese?”
“Except I’m lactose intolerant.”
Samson’s jaw dropped. “I’ll make something else.” He reached for the plate, but Cut moved it out of his reach.
“I’m kidding. Kidding! You’ve got to lighten up. I’m only going to get worse from here.” And though there was a limit on how much dairy he could tolerate, he’d eat every bite, consequences be damned. This was more than food. Samson had poured his feelings into this. Cut wouldn’t waste a bite.
They spent a few silent moments eating. It was messy, greasy, and amazing. Like cheap food, but even Cut’s unrefined palette could tell everything was high quality. “Is it possible for you to make something bad? Everything I’ve had is so good.”
“I admit I try a little harder when I cooked for you. Plus everything’s pretty simple. I can make something more complicated tomorrow.”
Yes… They’d get to sleep together again. But would they sleep together? There was no pressure, but Cut definitely wanted it. His mind was full of possibilities, all of them more vanilla than what they’d done so far. Did Samson even want that? Then there was still the matter of Samson’s father to address.
Samson insisted on taking all the plates to the kitchen, and returned with two glasses full of dark beer with a fat scoop of ice cream floating on top. It was decadent and smooth. Cut had to be careful. He’d end up weighing a million pounds if he kept eating like this.
Their bellies full, Samson snuggled up close to him. Cut put on something to watch, but he didn’t pay much attention. Putting their feelings out in the open made everything so strange. Were they formal lovers now? Did things have to change?
“I have a confession,” he said, staring up at Cut through those long lashes. “Will you hear it?”
“Go for it.”
“I started going to Hole because of you.”
Cut quirked a brow. “How do you mean?”
“I was on my way home from a meeting. I was in the car, and I happened to pass you walking on the street. You went around a corner, and I doubled back until I found you. I followed until you went into the bar. I had Gray drop me off at home and came back on my own later.”
Cut couldn’t remember when Samson first started coming to the bar. Just one day, he was there, sitting at a chair away from the bar, and then, later, he starting sitting at stool number five.
“What made you want to chase me down?”
“You were smiling, broad and wide. You were walking fast, like you were late going somewhere, but you were still smiling about it. There was this handsome guy, running, sweaty, and happy about it. I had to know where you were going. And once I found the answer… I just kept coming back.”
Cut didn’t believe in love at first sight--he wasn’t even sure he believed in love, but that sounded close to it.
“I’d been trying to work up the nerve to talk to you since, but I was stuck in my own head. What if you didn’t like me? What if you weren’t into guys? Then, there was the thing with… what I like. I talked myself into thinking there was no way you’d be into that. That night you came across me in that alley… That was the first time. I’d made up my mind that if I couldn’t be with you, I’d get you out of my system. It was stupid not to just talk to you to begin with. That’s pretty pathetic, huh?” He gave a deprecating laugh.
“I’ve got a couple of things to confess, too.” Cut rested his hand on Samson’s forehead. “Your dad told me you’d been watching me for months. That’s why he looked into me more. I didn’t believe him, but I guess now I have to. But as I was watching you, as much as you were watching me. I had no idea you’d noticed me, let alone thought about me outside of wondering where your drink was. Yet we wound up here anyway. I guess we’re both pathetic.”