Devon Cream

by Jet Mykles

  “Anything’s fine.” The younger man got to his feet, dumping his napkin beside his plate as he hastened Steven’s way. “Let me help you.”

  Steven directed him toward the refrigerator, then shot Patty a look. She had the grace to look sheepish.

  Little of value was said while dinner was put back on the table. Devon carted drinks and the reheated pasta to the table while Steven took care of the chicken and sauce. Steven served Patty and Devon before himself, as was his wont, and he enjoyed Devon’s hungry stare as he dished sauce over a healthy portion of linguine.

  Devon didn’t wolf down his food exactly, but he wasn’t far from it. Clearly, he’d been taught better manners than that. The napkin was on his lap, elbows off the table, fork and spoon used properly. Steven wanted to ask about his family, but had a feeling it was related to the school thing. Instead he asked about the baseball cards he’d seen in Devon’s stuff. That seemed to be the key. Devon opened right up, eagerly talking about his cards and about the game. If he wasn’t a rabid baseball fan, Steven didn’t know who was. Steven knew a thing or two, as did Patty, but Devon’s knowledge of the game ran circles around them.

  “Do you play?” Steven asked, swirling the last of his first glass of chardonnay and wondering if he wanted a second just yet.

  “Not anymore. I tried for a scholarship in high school, but I wasn’t good enough.”

  Trying to keep things light, Steven went ahead and picked up the bottle, refilling half of Devon’s glass first. “What position?”

  Devon eyed the wine. After a quiet moment, he wrapped long fingers around the glass and picked it up. “First base.” Big brown eyes glanced up and caught Steven staring.

  Startled, Steven set down the bottle and picked up his own glass. “I played center.”

  “Oh?” The excitement was back. “When you were in school?”

  Sip. He took a moment to enjoy the sharp first taste. “Yep.”

  “When was that?”

  Steven sputtered, then glared at Patty when she laughed. “Long time ago,” he said, blotting the moisture from his lips.

  “What? You’re not that old.”

  He gave Devon an amused look. “Oh?”

  “Nah.” Devon set down his glass and picked up his fork again. “You’re like, what, twenty-five? Twenty-six?”

  Steven smiled, batting his eyes fondly at the boy as Patty laughed harder. “You’re sweet.”

  Devon’s fork stalled halfway to his lips, his stare snagged on Steven’s face.

  Uh-oh. Damn, he’d probably just made his sexual preference obvious. Would the boy be self-conscious now?

  “Steven just turned thirty-one,” Patty proclaimed. She ignored his glare, smiling at Devon. “I’ve been trying to tell him that’s not nearly old, but he’s not believing me.”

  Devon recovered, lifting his fork. “No. That’s not old.” He looked strangely thoughtful as he shoved pasta into his mouth.

  Hmmm, maybe not so straight?

  “How old are you, Devon?” Patty asked.

  “Twenty-two.”

  “You see, Steven?” Patty eyed him sweetly. “This very attractive man has just declared that you’re not old. I told you young men could still find you attractive.”

  Steven gave her a warning look, but it was too late.

  Surprised, Devon turned to her. “Huh?”

  Steven shook his head slightly.

  Patty ignored him, smiling at Devon. “Steven’s gay.”

  Devon blinked at her. Blinked again. Sat up straight. “Oh.”

  Steven grimaced at Patty. “You are so tactful.”

  “My middle name,” she proclaimed proudly.

  “Don’t think about it, Devon,” Steven said. “I’m not going to molest you.”

  “What? No, I didn’t think...that.” Devon shook his head, some of that flush creeping up his neck. “I...I just....”

  They waited. Part of Steven wanted to ease Devon’s embarrassment, but the other part wanted to hear what he was about to say.

  Devon ducked his head, but they could see a little smile of wonderment. “I never met any gay men before.” He stabbed a chunk of chicken with his fork. “There weren’t any in my town.”

  Patty and Steven exchanged looks.

  Patty smiled. “That you know of, anyway.”

  Devon paused with the chicken at his lips. “Well, yeah. I guess.”

  “You’re not from around here?” Steven asked. True, it wasn’t San Francisco, but the local GLBT community was rather healthy.

  Devon shook his head. “Not that close, no. It’s actually a little town about two hours away. A really little town.” So close and yet so far.

  “Do you think you might be gay?” Patty blurted.

  “Jesus!” Steven gasped, giving her an outraged look.

  “What? I ask every man I meet that!”

  “True, but Devon doesn’t know that.” He looked to Devon. “Pay her no mind, Devon. She has no verbal filter whatsoever.”

  Devon’s head had shot up, his eyes wide on Patty. “Oh. No, no. I’m not...I mean, there’s nothing wrong with....” Furtive glance at Steven. “But I’m not. Why would you think that?”

  “She doesn’t.” Steven shook his head, consoling Devon even if a small hope crushed in his heart. “Pay no mind to Patty, she’s clearly quite insane.” For good measure, he threw his wadded-up napkin at her.

  Chapter Two

  “Here.” Patty held up a little jar for him.

  Steven set on the counter the vegetables he’d just taken out of the refrigerator. “What’s this?”

  “My sister and I went into this British import shop during my trip to San Francisco. I saw this and thought of you.”

  He picked up what looked like a small jar of mayonnaise and turned it to read the label. He frowned a little. “I don’t....” Then he laughed. “Devon cream?”

  She gave him a look full of fake innocence. “Clotted cream. It’s very popular in the UK. They put it on scones instead of butter.” Her smile turned evil. “I thought you could enjoy it in lieu of the real thing.”

  He set the jar down. “Ha ha, very funny.” On second thought, Devon was due any minute. Steven grabbed it up and took it to the refrigerator.

  “So how is our precious puppy dog?”

  He bent over, rearranging bottles to make room in the back. “What puppy dog?”

  “Don’t try it. Shouldn’t he be here for dinner, or did you finally scare him off in the two weeks I was gone?”

  He turned the jar so that the label was toward the back and put some bottles of juice in front of it. “Why would I scare him off? You’re the frightening one.”

  “I had hopes that you’d jumped him while I was gone and he either capitulated or ran for the hills. Since I didn’t see him....”

  He shook his head at her, slipping a knife from the block on the counter. “He works late today.”

  “You know his schedule?”

  Steven shrugged.

  “He’s eaten here every night since he moved in, hasn’t he?”

  “Not every night.”

  “Most?”

  “Yes.”

  “Has he paid you for any of the food?” Patty periodically bought him groceries -- against his protests.

  “No.”

  “Yet you’re going to continue to feed him.”

  “It’s no skin off my back.”

  She heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Well, at least he’s got a job and isn’t asking you for rent money.”

  Steven started to julienne carrots.

  “Steven?”

  “Hmm?”

  Patty, of course, was not fooled. She came into the kitchen to stand beside him, arms crossed over her substantial breasts. “Tell me you didn’t.”

  “Didn’t what?”

  “Give him money.”

  He could lie, but she’d catch him at it eventually, and there’d be hell to pay. He chose to just remain silent as he continued to slice.
r />   “Steven!”

  He winced. “It wasn’t that much.”

  “How much?”

  “Not that much?”

  “How much ‘not that much’?”

  “It was just a hundred dollars.”

  “What?”

  “It’s his first time on his own, and he was short on the rent.” He kept his attention on the carrots.

  “How did it fall to you to help him out?”

  “Who else does he have?”

  “Oh, his parents?”

  He dumped the rest of the carrots into a bowl and reached for the bell pepper sitting in the sink. “You’ve heard the stories about his dad. He needs to show his independence.”

  “And how’s he going to do that with you giving him money?”

  Steven gritted his teeth. “It was only a hundred dollars.”

  “Sure, now. What about the jacket you bought him before I left?”

  “That was a gift. Besides, he only had one, and it can get cold in the mornings.”

  “And the car you loaned him.”

  He held up the knife for emphasis. “I did not give him my car.”

  “No, just let him drive it while his was in the shop. Did he get it back?”

  Back to chopping. “Yes.”

  “Did you pay for it?”

  His silence spoke volumes.

  “Steven!”

  “All right, Patty, all right. Lay off.”

  “I can’t. You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

  “I’m just helping out a friend.”

  “Oh, please, you’re so besotted with that boy, it’s not even funny. You were from the first moment you laid eyes on him. All he has to do is blink those big brown eyes and purse up those gorgeous lips into a pout, and you’re putty in his hands. And for what? He still maintains that he’s straight.”

  Steven scooped chopped peppers into the bowl with the carrots. “He is straight.”

  “And I’m the Queen of England.”

  “Nice to meet you, Your Majesty.”

  She didn’t laugh at his joke.

  “What? He went on a date just the other night.”

  “Mmmm. Did you pay for it?”

  “No.” Please don’t ask if I loaned him my car. Steven glanced at the clock. Seven-thirty. Where was Devon anyway? He needed to show up so Patty couldn’t continue berating him.

  “Steven.” Her tone was reasonable, a bad sign for him. It meant she actually had a point. “Why do you keep taking care of him?”

  “He needs help.”

  “You’re not his mother.”

  “That would be a good trick.”

  “You’re not his father, his brother, uncle, or even his cousin once removed. Why are you taking care of him?”

  “He needs someone to help him out. He obviously wasn’t prepared for the big world.”

  “Granted. And I don’t condone what his parents did, but you don’t have to take up the slack. You’ve got enough on your plate.”

  Steven grabbed an onion and attacked the crackling outer skin. Burned his brain when he thought of what Devon’s father considered “growing up.” Because Devon hadn’t gotten passing grades in the four years his dad had agreed to pay for, he’d had to leave school. His father, unsympathetic, told him, in no uncertain terms, that he was not moving back home. Nor was he going to get any more financial support from his parents. “The well’s dry. Make it on your own,” Devon’s dad had said, and his mother had not argued. Devon had been lucky enough to find his delivery job, but it wasn’t the highest-paying job in the world. The few things they’d moved into the one-room studio above Steven’s apartment that first day were all that Devon’s parents would let him take, and his old Honda was the same hand-me-down he’d had since high school.

  “Steven.” Patty’s voice broke into his anger.

  “I can’t help it. He needs someone.”

  “Why does that someone have to be you?”

  “I’m the only one that cares.”

  “All the more reason for it not to be you.”

  “How does that make sense?”

  “You’re falling for him.”

  “I am not.”

  “You are so. You can tell yourself that you know he’s straight all you want, but you know that you want him. He’s not only exactly your type; he caters instinctively to the mother hen aspect of your personality.”

  Startled, he looked up. “Mother hen?”

  “God, yes. You’ll help anyone in need. It’s a darn good thing there aren’t more stray animals around here, or you’d be our resident cat lady.”

  He didn’t even glance down to see if either of his cats were in the kitchen. “I’ve helped you plenty of times, you know.”

  She spread a palm over her heart. “For which I am profoundly grateful. For which I have also paid you back in full. I just don’t think that Devon’s going to do that.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I don’t, but the odds are with me.”

  “You—”

  A quick knock and the click of the door opening cut short their conversation. “Steven, you home?”

  “Hey, Devon.” Steven gave Patty a warning look.

  Sighing, she shook her head and opened the refrigerator.

  “Hey.” Devon showed up in the open kitchen arch, still dressed in his brown work uniform. It was perfectly awful clothing, but Devon was to be admired wearing it anyway. His wire-rim sunglasses were hooked in the open collar of his shirt, and his hair was a little matted, indicating that he’d been wearing his work cap not long ago. He smiled, and something in Steven’s chest stuttered. “Do I have time to go up and change?”

  Steven checked the rice steamer. “Ten minutes?”

  Devon nodded. “Back in a jiff. Hey, Patty, welcome back.” He waved and left.

  “Thanks.” When he was gone, she snorted as she opened a can of soda. “Oh, God, I wish you could see your face.”

  “What?”

  She headed for a seat at the table, sipping her drink. “You are so infatuated with him.”

  “Oh, give me a break.” He retrieved a bowl of marinated steak strips from the refrigerator and took it to the skillet waiting on the stove. “He’s fucking adorable, and I haven’t been with another man in God knows how long. At least let me look.”

  “How long has it been?” Patty wondered as he turned on the flame below the skillet. “Was it Ronald?”

  “No. Trevor.”

  “Oh, yes. Trevor. He had pouty lips too, as I recall.”

  Steven had to close his eyes in a brief half-moment of homage to the memory of said lips. Trevor could bring a man to tears with those lips. Unfortunately, he was just as good at doing it through biting, hurtful words as he was through mind-altering blowjobs.

  “He thought he was straight too, didn’t he?”

  “No, that was Ronald.”

  “Ah. Right.” She sipped again thoughtfully. “You two split up at...what? It was before Halloween. Seven months ago?”

  “Eight.” But who’s counting? He poured some oil into the skillet.

  “Damn. That’s a long time. I can see why you’re agitated.”

  “Ha ha.”

  “But we should find you a real boy toy, one who you can at least get some sexual satisfaction out of.”

  He sighed, watching the oil. “You really are too much sometimes.”

  “That’s why you love me. But seriously, jerking off to fantasies about our clueless neighbor is not going to get you far.”

  He considered denying it, but what was the point? She was right, and they both knew it. The rice steamer clicked off. “Could you set the table?”

  “Sure.” She came back into the kitchen to gather plates and utensils. “Does he do this when I’m not here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. At least he’s trained properly.”

  “He’s not a dog.”

  “The jury’s out on that one.”

  D
evon reappeared just as Patty was getting glasses. “Oh, hey, I’m sorry. I could do that.”

  “No, no.” She shooed him toward the table. “I know perfectly well where everything is.”

  A glance showed Steven Devon’s lost look. He did like to help where he could. “Hey, Dev, could you put the rice into a bowl?”

  The transformation of his face into pure delight was breathtaking. “Sure. Which one?”

  “Whichever works.” He averted his face, dumping steak in with the onions rather than watch Devon’s trim little ass in those ridiculous cut-off shorts. Did Devon know there was a hole right underneath a back pocket that showed a delicious patch of creamy skin? He sighed before he could stop himself.

  A hand on his back startled him into looking up into deep, dark eyes. “You okay?”

  Without thinking, Steven caught himself looking at Devon’s mouth. Sweet, luscious lips the color of fresh, juicy watermelon. Ah, shit. He looked back down to watch his spatula. “Yeah, sure. Just a long day at work.”

  A sympathetic pat on his shoulder. “Your boss still giving you trouble?”

  “Yeah.” Hey, it was even the truth.

  “What’s this?” Patty asked. “Is Talon still being a jerk?”

  “Does Talon know how to be anything else?” Steven replied.

  “He rejected Steven’s steak recipe the other day,” Devon explained.

  “Filet mignon,” Steven corrected with a smile. Devon would eat anything, but the distinctions between the types were beyond him. Steak was steak; potatoes were potatoes; cheese was cheese.

  “Right.” Devon shook his head, scooping rice into a bowl. “It was good, too. Mmmm. Had bacon all wrapped around it.”

  He said more, but Steven’s brain had short-circuited on the “mmm” sensual sound that vibrated in the air. Did it vibrate in that broad chest too, maybe in his throat as well? Couldn’t Steven just molest him a little bit? Devon could keep his eyes shut and pretend—

  “Steven?”

  His head flew up. “Huh? What?”

  Devon jumped back, eyes wide in surprise. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” He held up the salad Steven had made earlier. “You want me to toss this with one of those dressings?”

  “Oh. Uh, yeah. Sure. Whichever one you think is best. Wait, no.” He turned toward the refrigerator as Devon opened the door. “The ginger vinaigrette.” Again, his gaze snagged on a lovely sight, this one a sliver of bare skin of Devon’s back, revealed as the t-shirt rode up when he squatted.