Ditching the backpack, David put the beers into the cool ice and wandered into the bedroom. The first thing he noticed was the bed, which was made and the sheets looked freshly laundered - he could still see an indentation from a clothes peg. The second thing he noticed was the clean floorspace, which while not technically unheard of, wasn’t exactly normal. Both of these things were noticed in passing, however, a quick glance as he took in the differences to normal. They paled next to the sight of Patrick standing before the mirrored door of his wardrobe, barefoot in form fitting black pants, a baby pink shirt buttoned up and a skinny tie knotted around his neck. He was struggling to get cufflinks in.
‘Are you dressing up for me, Mr Gormon?’ David asked, leaning against the door frame. ‘I mean, I know how you normally look, and I’m already aware you clean up well.’
‘So that means I shouldn’t try?’ Patrick asked, his voice slightly on edge. ‘Damn these fiddly things. I could have sworn I had enough time to get them in but���’
‘Here, let me,’ David said, relenting and walking over. Taking Patrick’s hand, he lined up the folds of fabric and pieced the four buttonholes with the silver and opal cufflinks that probably hadn’t been used since their school formal. It was a simple, deft motion borne of long practice, and David wasn’t entirely prepared for how it made him feel. He was slower in putting in the second cufflink, and when he was done, Patrick’s hands gripped his gently.
‘That was���um���’
This kiss was different. Less alcoholic for a start, but also more certain. More wanted. More accepted. Suddenly David found his back up against the bedroom wall and Patrick’s body was pressing up against his, and he had his tongue in Patrick’s mouth and Patrick was sucking on it just like it was���well, longer, larger, thicker, harder and attached to a different point on his body. One hand pulled Patrick closer to him and the other swept through the other man’s hair, feeling the wispy softness of it mixed with the slightly gritty film of hair product.
Patrick pulled back then, his face flushed and eyes dark. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I had thought we were going to eat first.’
‘I thought you wanted me naked in that bed with clean sheets,’ David said with a touch of disappointment.
Patrick grinned, and pushed his hair back into a semblance of what before had been artfully messed, but was now more messed and less artful. ‘Oh I do, but I intended to feed you first and some of what I’m cooking is timed.’
‘Or you’re just not going to sit through dinner with haystack hair?’ David asked.
‘Well, we can’t all have perfect Asian hair that looks good no matter what you do with it.’
‘You should see it in the morning when it gets long,’ David muttered.
‘I have. You just slick some water through it and it behaves. Do you have any idea how long it takes for me to-‘
‘Yep,’ David said with a grin.
Patrick laughed then, and the tension that had been between them disappeared as though it had never been there. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Time for food.’
‘I brought Fat Yak,’ David said as he let Patrick usher him into a chair.
‘Cool. Do you want to be fancy and have a glass or we drinking from bottles again?’
‘Bottles are fine by me,’ David said. ‘It’ll go with your shoes.’
‘I’m not wearing shoes.’
‘Exactly.’
First course was a ceviche of barramundi with chilli, coriander and lime topped with flying fish roe served in a brandy tumbler on a salad of pickled cucumber. It was fresh, summery and made David’s mouth water. ‘This is pretty good, Patto,’ he said. ‘Remind me why you stopped working in kitchens again?’
‘Unsociable hours and abusive chefs, mostly,’ Patrick said with a shrug. ‘And you know, spending too much time at work and not enough time with my���uh���partner.’
‘Oh yeah,’ David said. ‘Story of my life.’
‘You don’t work weekends,’ Patrick pointed out.
‘Don’t I?’
‘Okay, well, you’re not supposed to.’
The steamer basket was next, but David peeked, leaning over the kitchen island while Patrick pulled eight large white steamed buns from it, sliced them open and filled half of them with barbequed pork in a sticky red sauce with spring onion, rocket, crunchy bacon bits and a sliver more chilli, and the other half with crispy sliced duck breast with a skin that was almost crackling, fresh cucumber, hoisin sauce and a touch of spring onion again.
‘Cha Sui Bao and Peking duck?’ David asked around the not unpleasant beer buzz he had going.
‘As sliders,’ Patrick said with a grin. ‘I was going to do steamed dumplings that would have been faster to serve but it’s almost too hot for yum cha.’
‘It’s never too hot for yum cha,’ David disagreed.
‘It might be if you have to sleep in the same apartment as the yum cha was cooked in and it’s a warm night,’ Patrick said with a grin.
‘You weren’t actually going to kick me out after, were you?’ David asked as they migrated back to the dining table.
‘Well, no, but I’m not going to make you stay if you don’t want to.’
David grinned. ‘Okay, we’ll talk about it later. Or just fall asleep and not talk. Whatever works.’
Patrick smiled, and it was such an open, happy smile that David’s breath caught as he felt it filling him up inside, and making him feel slightly gooey. That was probably the alcohol. Still he couldn’t quite shake feeling elated at how well the evening seemed to be going.
‘Zhang. Earth to Zhang, come in Zhang,’ Patrick was saying.
‘Huh?’
‘Stop over-analysing and start eating.’
Shaking his head, David did just that, and as the flavours exploded on his tongue he felt his throat tighten almost in pain as saliva flooded into his mouth. ‘This is fucking good,’ he said after he’d finally managed to unclench his jaw enough to swallow.
‘No, that’s later, after dessert,’ Patrick said blandly.
‘Shut up, Patto, you know what I mean,’ David said. ‘You should be selling this stuff. Seriously. I mean, you could easily open up your own place on the back of these.’
‘Right, because I want to become an angry, sweary chef with a giant business loan and chain smoking co-workers.’
‘You could always do a food truck,’ David suggested. ‘I only know one Dim Sum food truck in Melbourne at the moment.’
Patrick looked thoughtful as he chewed on a piece of spring onion that had worked its way free of the slider. ‘That could work. I’d never get the loan for it, but it’s something to work towards.’
‘Why wouldn’t you get the loan?’ David asked, trying to work out whether licking his fingers was acceptable and then deciding that yes, it definitely was.
‘I don’t have a steady job for one,’ Patrick said.
‘But that’s the point. This would be your job,’ David said, carefully licking a splatter of hoisin sauce from his index finger.
‘Yes���um���’
David stopped and looked up. Patrick was staring almost hungrily at him, eyes intent and mouth slightly open. ‘Patto, focus.’
Patrick shook himself, almost messing up his hair. ‘Sorry, I was��� but, damn that was hot.’
‘You just need a business plan,’ David said gently. ‘They’re usually helpful in talking to banks.’
‘Yeah. They didn’t really cover that one in the kitchen,’ Patrick said, looking away.
‘That’s okay,’ David said. ‘I wrote them for five years before transferring into my current job.’
Patrick looked up, ‘I can’t ask you to do that, Dave.’
David shrugged. ‘You didn’t. I offered. And it’s not as if you wouldn’t do the same for me if you could.’
This time, Patrick grabbed David’s hand and licked the last of the barbeque pork sauce off his fingers.
‘Hey, I wanted th
at,’ David protested weakly.
‘I’ll make you more,’ Patrick promised solemnly.
‘Do we have to have dessert?’ David asked.
‘No,’ Patrick said nonchalantly, getting up and heading to the kitchen. ‘But if you don’t want your egg tarts, they’ll probably go bad.’
‘You made egg tarts?’
‘Flaky pastry and everything.’
Dessert happened.
David had never quite worked out where the phenomenon that was egg tarts had come from. It wasn’t an Australian thing, as they were eaten throughout the Cantonese speaking areas of South East Asia, and there was a certain similarity to the Portuguese egg tarts that sometimes cropped up around the place, but in other places, egg tarts simply were. Sure you could get them in places like BreadTop and some of the other bakeries, but sometimes the bakeries got it wrong, putting the filling into shortcrust pastry casings that went limp and soggy with the wetness of the custard filling.
He didn’t know where Patrick had got the recipe but these were real egg tarts, the good ones that were probably made with lard and butter to get the pastry that soft and flaky. The outside of each tart reminded him of an open rose, pastry petals breaking off even as he delicately lifted the treat from its paper casing. Somehow, Patrick had mastered the timing of the egg tart perfectly, so that the pastry was cooked, crisp and golden brown, but the sweet, yellow, eggy custard in the centre was just firm, still glistening, and tasted like it must surely have been steamed not baked.
‘You know, you could probably just sell these off a truck,’ David said, wiping crumbs from the corner of his mouth. ‘Like the American Donut truck at the Vic Markets.’
‘It’s a thought,’ Patrick said. ‘Maybe I’ll look into doing a trial run at a craft market or something.’
‘Go on Masterchef,’ David suggested.
‘Fuck, no,’ Patrick said. ‘I don’t want cameras invading my entire life.’
‘Come on, you’re hunky, good looking, have a down-on-your-luck story the public will fall in love with. Get to the top 10 and the banks will give you whatever you want.’
‘Can I try it the other way first?’ Patrick asked. ‘I really��� I’m not really���no.’
David chuckled. ‘I’m teasing you, Patto.’
‘Mostly,’ Patrick said darkly.
‘Well, it would be good branding,’ David said with a shrug as he polished off the last of his beer.
Patrick laughed. ‘I’m sorry, Dave, I grew up on a farm, remember? You say branding and I think of a hot iron searing into flesh.’
‘Hah, you and your implements of farming torture,’ David said, stretching. ‘You know I think I’m just at comfortably full,’ he said. ‘Not stuffed, but any more food and I would be.’
As he relaxed, his calf brushed up against Patrick’s leg and they stopped, staring at each other.
‘So um���’ he started.
‘Yeah���’ Patrick breathed.
‘You um���’
‘Ah���’
‘Fuck this is stupid,’ David exclaimed.
Patrick deflated. ‘Yeah,’ he said morosely. ‘I shouldn’t have. I mean, I didn’t-‘
‘Why is it all so bloody awkward?’ David continued. ‘You’d think it would be simpler. I like you, you like me. Why can’t it just���? Look. Okay. What do you want to do now? Just say it and damn the awkward.’
Patrick hesitated. ‘I���want to kiss you.’
David smiled. ‘Okay, that can be arranged. And what else.’
Patrick closed his eyes. ‘And everything,’ he said softly. ‘I just don’t know how this is supposed to go.’
David smiled and stood up, holding out his hand. ‘It goes however we want it to.’
The kiss was passionate and sudden and tasted vaguely of buttery crumbs and sweet custard. By the time David had pushed Patrick up against the bedroom wall his shirt was somewhere in in the living area and Patrick was struggling with his cuffs.
‘You normally just pull your hands straight out of your sleeves,’ Patrick said accusingly.
‘Your hands are bigger than mine,’ David said with a grin, giving Patrick another kiss.
Patrick growled and tugged at his cufflinks, and managed to work them free. All but ripping his shirt off, Patrick pulled David back into his arms. Bare skin met bare, slightly sweaty skin and then they were a tumble of limbs creasing Patrick’s freshly laundered bed sheets. They tussled for control for a while, but Patrick was bigger, and soon had David on his back, and was kissing his way down the column of David’s neck, down his chest and abs and pausing as he came up against the waist of David’s shorts and the straining bulge of his erection. Patrick’s mouth lifted, his fingers hesitated and David could feel the heat from his palm sinking into his crotch.
‘Go ahead,’ David said softly.
A sound that was somewhere between a groan and a whimper squeaked from Patrick’s throat and a hot hand grasped his shaft.
‘Oh God,’ Patrick groaned as he stroked David through the thin materiel of his shorts.
David gasped as thick fingers slipped beneath the waistband of his shorts and brushed against his cock, pulling the head above the waistband and out into the warm night air. Then Patrick’s head moved, and a warm, wet, tongue lapped over the head of his dick. David groaned and dug his fingers into Patrick’s hair as his best friend unzipped his shorts, all but shoved his shorts and briefs down, exposing him to the air and swallowed him down. Patrick’s initial hesitant exploring of his cock became more confident, and Patrick grunted with pleasure as David squirmed beneath him. Then Patrick’s fingers were cupping his balls and rubbing the sensitive skin below them and David bucked his hips just that little too hard and Patrick gagged, and pulled off, coughing.
‘Sorry,’ David said, pulling Patrick up the bed towards the pillows. ‘Are you sure you haven’t done this before?’
Patrick grinned, and in the dim light coming through the door from the lounge room, David could see that he was blushing. ‘Never. Promise.’
David gave him a long, lingering kiss. ‘Thought about it a lot, huh?’
‘You have no idea.’
David grinned. ‘I’m starting to.’
He reached down to help Patrick out of his pants and paused, looking up quizzically. ‘Everything okay?’
Patrick laughed, and his voice had just a tinge of hysteria. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve been hard all night just thinking about this, but��� now that we’re here I’m just-‘
‘Straight?’
‘No! Terrified.’
‘Terrified?’
‘I don’t want to do anything wrong.’
David paused, kicked off his shorts and underwear and then helped Patrick strip into glorious nakedness. ‘You’re not going to do anything wrong,’ he said. ‘It’s just you and me and whatever we end up doing. Do you actually know what you want to do?’
Patrick turned David’s head back towards his own and gave him a fervent kiss. ‘Everything.’
David grinned and trailed his right hand down Patrick’s body to his groin. ‘Okay. Shall we see if I can wake Patrick Junior up then?’
Patrick didn’t get a chance to respond as David went to work, and as Patrick’s thick cock rose to attention, the musky smell that was sex and sweat and Patrick, and suddenly all of it was his and—
Patrick bucked as he teased the length of his cock with fingers and then used the very tip of his tongue on the sensitive skin just below Patrick’s cock head.
‘Fuck!’ It was a breathy sound, and glancing up, David saw Patrick’s head was thrown back, his eyes were closed and his fists were clenching handfuls of bedsheets. David grinned and blew gently across Patrick’s prick, watching him twitch as saliva mixed with the clear flow of precum and ran down to soak into Patrick’s groin and trickle down between his cheeks. David paused, one hand on Patrick’s abs and one resting with fingertips just under his testicles. He waited until Patric
k relaxed and looked at him, and then he slowly slid his fingers lower, and lower. ‘Should I go on?’ he asked, his voice husky.
Patrick swallowed and nodded. ‘Please.’
Patrick’s breath hissed out beneath his teeth as David’s fingers slipped inside of him and David felt his friend relax around him. Crooking his finger, he found the spot inside of Patrick and pressed up as he leaned forward kissed Patrick tenderly on the lips. ‘You’ve definitely done this before.’
A large hand held David’s head still as Patrick returned the kiss with interest. ‘Toys.’
David stilled, and a slow grin spread over his face. ‘You’re going to have to show me those sometime.’
Patrick grunted and pushed himself back against David’s fingers. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Can I���I mean you���will you���?’
A range of possibilities flitted across David’s imagination and a range of replies from sappy to snappy rose in his mind. He settled for the most direct one.
‘Condoms? Lube?’
‘Bedside table. Second drawer.’
When David finally slipped inside Patrick, it felt like coming home.
Then it felt like coming, because, well, it sort of was.
They lay together in the sweaty darkness, panting, and David slowly pulled himself out of his friend. Boyfriend? Lover? For a brief moment he saw his Facebook page. Relationship status: It’s Complicated. He chuckled as he tugged the condom off his penis and dropped it into the bin at the foot of the bed.
‘Wet wipes, second drawer,’ Patrick said, reaching out and pulling a dark hand towel out from underneath the pillows.
Queermance Anthology, Volume 2 Page 12