Confounded: Part III - 13. Chapter 8

--==Mitchell’s POV==--

When we got back to the house, Tom took charge, pointing and ordering me around. ‘Put that there. No, that doesn’t go in the fridge, that goes in the freezer.’ It came to the point that I was getting a little territorial.

“Hey! My kitchen,” I growled.

“Really? Do you know the way, or do you need a map?”

Opening the fridge, he began unloading, setting aside the things he needed for lunch. He pulled a face. “Jesus, there’s nothing here. I can see clear through to the back. Empty shelves. It’s a fridge, it needs to be stocked! You’re wasting energy. Any day now, Greenpeace is gonna do a picket line in here.”

“I usually eat a sandwich at the counter or go out for breakfast,” I defended myself, moving out of the way to give him room. I got a dark look. He was a terror with groceries; best steer clear. It stirred memories of Taylan, being a horror with it as well, that ended up with me not going with him to a store at all, after only two or three times. I let Kit do that. No, allowed Kit to do that. Magnanimous of me, no?

Tom spoke of a sticker that goes onto the fridge, to show where stuff goes, like meat, veggies, fruit. Who knew a fridge had levels of temperature? I sure didn’t. What?

“Nice. Dude, you’re such a cliché. I think I’ll make a salad first because I’m hungry. I’ll make the steaks after we eat that. Out of my way, please. Don’t hover. Go sit. Watch and learn.”

I widened my eyes at him but he was already busy; at this point I couldn’t decide whether to be annoyed by this take-charge attitude or be thankful he was going to make something to eat. At this point, I still hadn't had a crumb of anything; my stomach was growling. I did get coffee, at the store, and more was percolating in the corner on the counter while he was taking over my kitchen.

Tom found an old apron in one of the drawers and put it on. When he turned around, I almost laughed out loud; it was one of Taylan’s. It read This chef puts out...great meals.

“Don’t you have a maid or something?”

Kit had tried to set me up with one; I threw her out about three days into that disaster. I’d wanted to be alone at the time. He hadn’t tried it again. Oh wait, he did. That girl stayed for all of fifteen minutes; I went full ogre on her. As I recall, she didn’t actually set foot inside the house.

“No. I have a service that comes in once a week to clean the house.”

He nodded. “I have that too. Gotta make myself scarce on Wednesdays before 9 and not come back before noon.”

“Yep, same for me, on Thursdays. That’s when I usually go grocery shopping.” I’d forgotten, hence the need to go today.

“Groceries are anything but wine, Mitchy. You need fruit for vitamins, milk for calcium…where’s the milk? I know we got it. I’m thirsty.”

Mitchy? I pointed at the carton of milk in the back of the fridge. To be fair, there was a lot of stuff crammed in there now. No clear shelves now. He squinted. MITCHY?

“Need specs too, Tommy?”

His eyes flashed. Oooh, he didn’t like that.

“Don’t call me Tommy, I hate that. Mischa taught the boys that on purpose, that fucker; I’m not a ‘Tommy’, I’m not a child. And no, my eyesight is still very much 20-20, thanks, just didn’t see it thanks to me filling this thing up the wahzoo.” He took the milk out and got glasses, then poured them, sliding one to me. It was a deft move; it stopped right in front of me without me having to catch it. He gulped his down in one go.

“You are a child,” I smiled, pleased I found a button to push and get a rise out of him. “Well, compared to me, anyway. And you called me Mitchy.” To my memory, no one had ever called me that.

“Dick,” he muttered softly. He got a bowl from one of the bottom cabinets; apparently he still knew where those were. He then got a big knife and started on the lettuce, fast and expertly, like those chefs do on TV; whole items go in one end, coming out finely chopped on the other. Then he glanced up and pointed at me, with the knife. “We agreed to lay off the age digs. Knock it off, Mister. No more Tommy…or Mitchy. Maybe.”

I narrowed my eyes at him and he grinned when he glanced up and noticed it.

Adding herbs, oil and a great many other ingredients I hadn’t even seen we got, he hustled it with his hands. There was something about him doing that, his fingers nimble and sure; he absolutely knew his way around food. He frowned then, looking around. “You got bacon here? Christ, who am I asking; Mr. I’ll-eat-at-the-counter.”

Several minutes later, he had bacon simmering and washed his hands, then started ordering me around again as he dried them with a cloth, to get plates and cutlery. “Go get glasses. Might as well have some wine.”

I don’t think he realized what an effect he was beginning to have on me. This was just his manner maybe, but this bantering/bickering back and forth and his ordering me around had my mind going to places it had no business going. Old places, where I could easily switch him out for Taylan; where I would just reach out, corner him and show him that this…foreplay, and I couldn’t think of a better word for it, would have consequences. Fun consequences, like going full caveman on him. Rub my club, nub! Make him forget all about lunch. Bring him to the bedroom. Or strike that; take him right here.

And then my mind just went for it.

I’ve always enjoyed and had a very active sexlife with Taylan and almost always instigated by him; several times a week had been normal for us and it always started like this; some feisty way of his, provoking me into play and I was always willing to accommodate. And if he wasn’t giving me signals, I would give them. If, for some reason, a week passed without, one of us would come asking what was wrong, we were so used to that frequency. Perhaps it was how Tom behaved now, that I felt it triggering me. I could see myself rip off that checkered black/white shirt, sending those little white buttons flying everywhere, even have them pelt into the pan with simmering bacon, and yank down those tight black designer jeans that were caressing that pretty, enticing butt of his. Stuff his mouth with my ready dripping length, to stop his incessant needling and then, well…there were other uses for olive oil…

Shaking my head to get rid of that very vivid image, I removed myself from the temptation of him as he was, possibly not realizing it, testing how far he could take it, and went into the living room for glasses, giving myself a moment to cool off. It didn’t really work. If he even glanced down there it’d be pretty obvious. I wanted to pounce. Right now.

“God, give me strength,” I muttered, taking deep breaths. My heart was thumping wildly and the images in my mind were very persistent and continuous; I even imagined lusty cries as I knelt behind him and pried those firm cheeks apart, then moved closer and licked his rosy…

I groaned out loud, squeezing my eyes shut one moment, then letting them fly open the next to avoid another image.

“What?” Tom yelled from the kitchen.

“Christ,” I breathed. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In. Out. In out. “I said, I should really look for a nice red. I only have white up here. Red goes nice with Philly Cheese Steak.”
Where that obvious (to me) lie came from, I have no idea, but apparently sounded plausible to him, with a shouted back answer, “Oh, okay. Yeah, yeah, go do your connoisseuring. Anal!”

“I’ll show you anal in a minute,” I muttered, not helping myself. In my mind, I was sliding balls deep into him.

I’d bought myself a few minutes and headed for the wine cellar, a project that had taken quite a bit of time and effort, not to mention money; a quarter million to get it all done. But so worth it. My very own wine cellar, with some bottles that would make fellow connoisseurs envious. Kept at a constant temperature, I had only two short aisles where I could keep a maximum of about a hundred bottles. It wasn’t full, about half, and it wasn’t very big; if there was one dream I had, it was owning a vineyard with a huge cellar, complete with those arched ceilings underground and barrels lining up the sides. Dreams. But this was my pride and joy. My sanctuary.

It could only be entered by entering a code on a keypad; only Mischa and I had the code. Mischa, just in case anything ever happened to me. Sometimes, he’d bring a bottle he knew I’d appreciate and we’d store it together, then go through my stock, write down more ideas for vintages to get and plan a weekend somewhere to do just that. Or we would carefully select one for dinner; discussing what the effects should be. We could easily spend an hour down here between these beauties, the ones in the back already covered with a nice layer of dust, never to be touched except for a very special occasion. Those would be the really pricey ones.

Being here calmed me; like skinny dipping in the pool at night. It cleared my mind. It allowed me to think about the young man upstairs in my kitchen right now, causing these thoughts. He'd probably run screaming from the house if he knew what I’d been fantasizing about just then. It wasn’t normal. I'm 51, for god sake. He’s 30.

Resting my head against the wooden rack, I closed my eyes and just tried to calm the hell down.

“He’s here on his own free will, Mitch.”

Opening my eyes, I frowned. What?

“Knock it off, tall one. No one forced him; no one is forcing you. So you like his company. Apparently he likes yours. Don’t think for him, think about how you feel. Do you feel alive?”

I looked around in the silence. No one was here, but I’d swear Taylan was speaking to me. It had to be him, the amount of sneer was just enough to not sting.

“I’m going nuts,” I said to the silence.

“Myeah, probably. But answer the question.”

“Yes.”

“Well sing hallelujah, it’s about fuckin’ time.”

A ghost doesn’t say ‘fuck’ does it?

“I asked you to promise me you’d not remain alone. And what do you do, you walking alp? You stay alone. You left me little choice but to send him to you, didn’t you?”

“This is not real.”

“Well duh, of course it isn’t. It’s your mind going bonkers, using my voice to get the point across. That’s what you get for staying alone for so long. Couldn’t even have found a one-night stand to take the edge off? Christ, Mitchell…you’ve had wet dreams about me because your body was signaling you to get out and at least fuck once or twice a month. We did it three times a week. Now it’s nothing. You don’t even do Pink’s song justice.” The voice went into a familiar sounding tune, going ‘Na na…drink, just give me the money, it’s just you and your hand tonight…’.” (1)

“Shut up,” I muttered.

Pink had been Taylan’s absolute favorite and I despised that song. He’d known that. I found it crass. He’d always turned up the volume when it came by on the radio in the car and took Kit to her concerts, whenever those were near. And of course, Kit loved her too.

“Not gonna happen. That has about as much chance as a virgin at a Friday-night rodeo. What happened, Mitch? I died, you didn’t. If I’d known you were gonna pull this stunt for this long, I’d have fought harder. Tried to stay. Done one more round of chemo, because that was so much fun. Remember? Hugging the toilet at 3am? I chose my end, when I said ‘no more’. ‘Here but no further, I won’t.’. Now choose yours. What’s it gonna be? Die alone, and think I’ll be waiting for you? Fat chance, man. Liberace is here. You’ve got no chance, might as well take the risk. I ain’t waiting around for you. We had our shot, it was the best. Now take another. Who knows; he might even be better than me.”

“Never.”

“You won’t know until you step out of this self-imposed idea of loyalty. You promised. Now put on your big-boy pants and get back up there. This might feel like an hour, but only a couple of minutes have passed. He’s not gonna think you died down here in this fuckin’ mausoleum you insisted on having. I hate this room. You always took shelter here when I wanted to have it out. Asshole.”

I chuckled. Taylan had called the cellar my mausoleum.

“Move your ass. Take the 2001 Cabernet. Yes, Liberace taught me a thing or two. Don’t forget me but also, don’t forget to live.”

Opening my eyes, I stood still for a long while, wiping them with the palms of my hands. Hearing his voice again, even if it had just been in my head; it’d felt and sounded so real. The silence around me was calming still, with the soft hum of the climate regulator in the background. Whatever that had been was quite surreal. Probably nothing more than my subconscious telling me things, yet it had felt so real that my mind actually went along with ‘Taylan is fine. He’s okay. I’m okay. I can continue.’

It felt okay. And why shouldn’t I enjoy Tomás’ company, just as I had yesterday. Because Tomás was fun, too. His mind was sharp, his humor infectious and he was real. I liked it. I liked the feelings he stirred back to life. And no, he probably wouldn’t be here, flirting with me, if he didn’t feel anything in return. Well, I think he was flirting with me…

**********

When I got back to the kitchen, Tom was putting the finishing touches on our meal, shaking chopped baked bacon into the salad he’d mixed together. The smells in the kitchen were wonderful, though there was a bit of a burn smell. Not much, nothing to cause worry, certainly not Taylan-era burning smells, but the bacon looked a bit black on the edges.

“This is a 2001 Caymus Cabernet Sauvignon from Napa,” I said, showing him the label, “it should complement the texture and fat in the Philly Steaks because of the acid and tannins in the wine.”

He stared blankly at me.

“Trust me. It’s good. I know a thing or two.”

“Still anal.”

Pouring the wine, I ignored him and sat down, watching as he prepared two plates and then took off the apron, came over and set one in front of me.

“Sorry honey, I burned the bacon,” he joked and I chuckled. That was pretty funny!

“It smells amazingly good,” I commented, and it did. It looked appetizing too and I was really hungry.

He smiled indulgently, inclining his head. “You’re welcome. Eat! Enjoy.”

He took the barstool next to me and we began to eat.

**********

I’ve never liked silence during meals; not when someone is there to have a conversation with. I glanced to my side and, with all the added baggage of the cellar-episode fresh in my mind, caught him quickly returning his eyes to his plate. Half a minute later, it happened again and smirking, I nudged him with my shoulder. A few seconds later, he gave me a return nudge and I began to chuckle.

“Sorry honey, I burned the bacon?” I croaked, and then laughed loudly when he guffawed. “That was priceless.”

“I dunno where that came from,” he laughed, wiping the edge of his eye with the back of his hand, “it just popped into my head.”

Holding his gaze, I took a sip of wine. “This is a little crazy,” I said softly.

“Good crazy or bad crazy?”

I took that as a positive sign even if, apparently, he wasn’t sure. He obviously knew what I was referring to, or I had completely lost touch with the living.

“I’m not sure yet but I know I enjoy your company.” Why not go for broke, then, huh? I made a point to make eye contact. “I enjoy it very much. You’re pretty great.”

His cheeks colored a deep red but he winked at me.

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

“This should be awkward. Me and you. Like this.”

“Why?” He responded, similarly seeking eye contact. “Listen, I dunno how things work out. But like I said last night; if I feel something, I’ll get on that roller coaster. Well, I feel something. So why not make it fun. Relax. We have plenty of time.”

I smiled. He had just perfectly worded my own feelings. And it was good to know I was still among the living, then. I got it right, which emboldened me somewhat.

“Maybe you should kiss me. That might be awkward.” It was a risk, saying that. If he didn't feel anything like that, I was about to make a fool of myself.

“It will be, now that you said it,” he answered dryly.

Oof…no fool, then. That was good. That was very good!

“Fine. Maybe later…”

I waited until he took a bite, then slid a hand into his neck and pulled him closer, covering his mouth. He gasped a little. Sliding in, I registered no resistance at all; just ready and willing acceptance. I curled my tongue around and stole his food, then sat back and had a drink of wine to wash it down before I calmly resumed eating.

Calm was not how I felt, though; I hadn’t done that trick in years and I’d forgotten how arousing it was. His mouth was hot, pliant and full of taste; wine, bacon, spices he’d put in the salad...very yummy!

“No tongue should be agile, or long enough, to do that. Ever,” he muttered beside me.

“My tongue and I have a very good relationship; it does exactly what I want it to do, where and when.”

Beside me came what sounded like a soft moan.

“Everything okay?”

“Can you cut down on the innuendo? I’m trying to have a meal here.”

I considered it, or rather, pretended to.

“No, I don’t think I will. And this is still not awkward.”

He chuckled, reaching for his glass and emptying it. And that was a big glass, still full. His plate was empty.

“Sounds like you want it to be awkward,” he said, hopping off the barstool and taking my plate as well. Having one in both hands, plus his glass, he couldn’t stop me from sliding an arm around his waist and pulling him closer. I didn’t get the impression that he minded at all, he didn’t tense or shy away. Dipping, I captured his mouth again.

This was a real kiss. My bottom lip fit perfectly between his and the upper lip of his perfectly between mine. I withdrew, releasing my hold on him.

“Thank you,” I said, nodding at the plates. “That salad was delicious.”

He practically beamed.

“Ready for round two?”

“More kissing?” I smiled, “No objection.”

His cheeks flushed.

“Your beard feels coarse.”

“I’m not shaving it off.”

And that’s when I began to feel like myself again. The old me. The one that had the upper hand, taking the wheel. Like the way I went after Taylan, years ago. I dared to venture out and feel comfortable.

“Okay. Fine. Don’t then. Now; Philly steaks. Get kissing off your mind for a minute,” he chuckled and took the apron again. And then noted the text on it. The look on his face had me laughing out loud. “Oh, you dick! You could have told me!”

But he grinned. And he did put it back on..

**********

He showed me how to make the Philly cheesesteaks, instructing someone not even a qualified novice in the kitchen. I really never cooked, ever, but Tom was very patient, never losing his cool, teaching me how to prepare the meat, cut the onions (there’s actually a trick to it, so your eyes don’t burn) and then make onion rings; and for each finished task, I rewarded him with a kiss. It still wasn’t awkward. It felt natural, easy and he clearly liked it when I touched him, being close. No flinching, no awkwardness, none of that. He accepted it as if we’d never done anything else; actually seemed to enjoy it when I did.

I felt more at ease as time went on. He joked with me, played with me and returned the favor with slight touches, walking around me while his hands were on my lower back, even on my ass once. And when he rewarded me with a first kiss, all on his own, I felt ridiculously good about myself; I’d successfully made my own Philly Cheesesteak. And no complaint about the beard, not even once.

My prepared steaks looked like total crap but they tasted absolutely amazing and he ate his, his plate looking like a just butchered animal. Well, a just butchered, cooked animal.

“You guys used to have a TV in here,” he commented as we finished our, by then, very late lunch. “Consider having one reinstalled here. There are some very good cooking shows that show you how to make an easy meal in no-time. Start simple, but you should really consider it. Don’t get those awful frozen dinners. Promise? They really are unhealthy.”

He seemed to have a bug up his ass about it and voiced worry I wasn’t taking the best care of myself, food wise. He was still convinced that I’d lost weight; it was heartwarming actually, because he seemed to really care. I discovered that he had become somewhat of a health freak. He told me that he’d always hated milk but that his business partner slash manager slash colleague slash friend, John had slowly turned him onto a healthier lifestyle.

He didn’t drink coffee anymore; he asked for green tea, which I didn’t have in the house, then opted for water instead. He only drank the one glass of wine during lunch, no more; very strict with himself. I liked that, I don’t go overboard either. He checked my fridge and pantry and came up with a list of missing items. It seemed like a foot long and compiling it was another half hour of tactile interaction; he then suggested we go get it and was really pushy about it.

“But we just came from the grocery store!” I objected. I really wanted to just sit down with him, relax. Talk. Enjoy his company. Kiss some more? Definitely that.

“So? You need more. That pantry has empty shelves. They should be packed, same as the fridge. You don’t ever want to go in there and discover something is missing when you have guests. C’mon. Let’s go.”

When I didn’t move, he jangled his keys and grinned wickedly. “You’ll get a kiss.”

He made himself scarce the next second, ‘forcing’ me to come along. Crafty too; he was already in the car as I followed him out. But he kept his promise, I did get a kiss.

A real long good one too.

**********

Two hours later, I was the proud owner of a stocked pantry. And vitamins. I now had a whole regimen of it in the kitchen cabinet above the sink. Right behind them, five full packs of green tea and he pilfered a promise from me that I would start taking those vitamins. Every day.

“What are you doing to me,” I groaned, shaking my head, staring at the neat row of little white bottles, “I was totally fine before you came along. Homewrecker.”

“Quit complaining, you like the attention.”

True. I did. More than I cared to admit. That trip to several stores had been a lot of fun, once I got into it. Checking items off the list, adding more as he, or me, sporadically, thought of it; I enjoyed the focus on me. It felt nice, someone looking out for me in this way. I knew Kit and Mischa looked out for me, definitely. Even my dad did. It’s just…different.

We also visited an electronics store and got advice on what sort of TV I might want to get in the kitchen. I made an appointment for them to come in the next week to go over the options as to where they could put it up. It actually was a well-spent afternoon.

Tom glanced at his watch and his eyes widened.

“Shit. I gotta go.”

Hopping off the barstool, he grabbed his keys, then explained as I sent a raised eyebrow his way; that was pretty sudden and the idea of him leaving already was disappointing, “I got a hot date.”

“Come again?”

He had a knack of provoking me into reacting. He said outrageous things at times, just to see what I’d do.

“Silver. I forgot to get her food, I need to go get some. She got the last bit this morning.”

“Funny. That was very cute. Trying to make me jealous?”

“Is it working?” he grinned and approached me and, much like he’d done several times now, he slipped two fingers between the buttons of my shirt. That seemed to be a thing he liked to do; he’d done it every time when we were kissing, stroking the skin on my stomach with the back of his fingers. Felt kinda nice. It was intimate.

“No,” I murmured, gazing down. He got on his tiptoes and offered his mouth. Dipping, I kissed him; and he tasted a little strange, not spicy. Sweet but something else. Probably that green tea...he’d offered a sip but I’d declined; I didn’t like the smell. Its taste, through him, wasn’t unpleasant though.

“Sorry, I didn’t notice the time. The pet store closes at six. I hadn’t realized it was so late already.” He hesitated then. “You wanna meet her? I mean...you could come along. If you want?”

The invitation felt ridiculously nice. Especially because that meant no goodbye. Not yet.

“Sure, I’d like to meet that monster.”

He practically beamed again. I’d discovered that he tended to do that when complimented or when he felt good about himself. I liked seeing it. So different from years ago, when he was so self conscious, unknowing and awkward when it came to accepting a compliment. That it was a nice thing, a good thing. He had no trouble with it now.

“You’ll love her. She’s awesome!” He said with pride in his voice. I also got a hard kiss on the lips.

“C’mon!”

I got my jacket, house keys and phone and followed him out.