Mr & Mister Danvers: Initiation - 10. EPISODE 9: OSCULATION

EPISODE 9: OSCULATION

Hours after a long night at work, I laboured through clearing tables of creamy pan-seared salmon spaghetti and glazed skirt steak fajitas while wearing a face mask for protection against the corrupting gestures of people breathing too close for comfort.

Even after the pandemic had passed, the charity event’s hostess was still worried about contaminating her gathering with germs and viruses.

The silver lining was that I hadn’t been asked for my number by people who wanted to invite me out on a date or to supper.

Sometimes I get asked—it’s a lie; I get asked a lot—and the promise of anonymity has taken its place, and there has been no chance for the guests to see my face.

Although the boring downside of this shift was that Danny wasn’t around, so I didn’t have anyone to share my interesting day with.

I kept checking my phone throughout the night to see whether Nathan had texted me or if I could have missed a call.

I even tried contacting him at three in the morning while riding the bus home, but no one picked up.

Even though I wouldn't presume that he had abducted my child, the silence wasn’t reassuring.

He's probably sleeping in his car right now, as the sun will be rising and burning in a few hours.

My keys jingled as I twisted the doorknob, hurriedly opening the door when I arrived home.

To my horror and delight, I was feted by my child napping on the blonde Viking’s lap.

The brand new television, an 80-inch TV mounted on the wall, was tuned in and muted into a cartoon called Fireman Sam that Brady couldn’t get enough of.

I gathered the remote beside Nathan and turned off the telly.

At the dining table, several open takeaway boxes redolent of Italian food were left sitting cold.

I gathered the top lids, closed the plasticware, and shuffled the container inside the fridge.

Standing in the kitchen, I looked across and saw another shiny object in my house.

It was difficult to discount the black, leather, L-shaped sofa, on which my father appeared to be sleeping thoroughly on the end while covered in a thick duvet and two pillows.

The coffee table, the room's focal point, had been permanently shifted to the side since the sofa was so large and had taken up the whole length and width of the apartment.

Since his back problems prohibited him from snoring, my father would occasionally toss and turn while he slept instead.

But his loud snoring echoed wonderfully in my ears.

He must have fallen soundly asleep, since I could hear him nodding off.

Before I woke Nathan up so I could inquire as to what the hell was going on, the blue striped pyjamas he was wearing were form-fitting and were cropped above his ankle.

I had forgotten I had bought this paired set at a flea market in Notting Hill; my son was dressed similarly.

The two blondes appeared to be father and son, sleeping next to one another, wearing similar outfits, the smaller one's head resting on the larger one's lap while the latter's feet reclined on the sofa.

There was only one thing to do as I bit my lip at how adorable they looked in their matching pyjamas.

I grabbed my phone and quickly took a picture as a memento of this historic night—the night I brought a man home with me together with my family.

I gently tapped his shoulders.

He grumbled, then yawned, and just as he saw my face, he smiled warmly and said, "Welcome home."

"But this isn’t your home."

"It could be, if you let me in."

It was both annoying and seductive how he constantly seemed to say the right thing at the right time. "We need to talk," I said.

He managed to elevate Brady's head, and he placed a pillow beneath it.

He motioned for us to speak outdoors, looking quite spiffy in his jammies, like I was a guest in this house inspecting his new crib as he sat on the concrete bench.

I stifled a chuckle at how at ease he was in the midst of our impoverishment and everything he was not, as he tapped on the empty seat next to him and said, "Come, sit.”

"Why do you look so comfortable and relaxed in my own house?"

"It’s a sign that I’m meant to be here."

"Oh, shut up," I said, laughing as I stood in front of him. "Nice outfit by the way. You look—"

"—emotionally stunted?"

"No. Adorable."

"Hmph. I wasn’t going for that. I was hoping for sexy.”

He exhaled without the slightest discomposure and crossed his arms.

“I hope you don’t mind that I rummaged some of your clothes. I saw these pyjamas when I was changing Brady, and they came with a matching adult top and trousers. I couldn’t resist."

"It’s alright. As long as you don’t stink." I bent down and began sniffing him to add some humour. He lifted his armpit and jutted it forward so I could smell him better.

"So what do you think? I want your opinion."

I took a step back and said, "Erm, I was joking."

He stood up and pulled up his shirt. "How about this then?"

"Er, no-no, I’m-I’m good." I could smell the scent of an old library, a peaty aroma, or a dank earthiness from his body. For a split second, he turned me on. "You don’t smell."

"Very well. I trust your assessment."

The street was unusually quiet and had that chilly feeling you get in the wee hours of the morning.

A few blocks away from our flat, we could hear a busy junction filled with the noises of buses, cars, and pedestrians, as well as the affably lamentable white noise if you’re not used to living in the city.

He returned to his seat and gazed at the cluster of hydrangeas, whose leaves were drooping from a lack of water and sunlight.

"Your tree is in trouble."

"I know. It may look like it’s dying, but it’s been like that ever since we moved here. Untouched and it still lives—very resilient that one." I then sat on the bench and said, "So, tell me, what did you do?"

"I didn’t do anything." His hands were raised to show a spasm of innocence, and I believed this admonition was put on to throw me off. "I’ve been a very good boy, you see—carrying the patina of a good carer for your family. You should applaud me for being one."

"Well, you more than took care of them. There’s literally a new sofa and a very large TV sitting in my living room right now. So how do you explain that?" I shrugged with an air of resignation. "Where the hell did you get those?"

"Oh, that," he said, scratching his ears and lackadaisically turning his head towards the street. "I don’t know where it came from. Someone probably misplaced them."

"Someone misplaced them—that’s your excuse?"

"Yes. A big truck delivered them and accidentally had them put in this house. It's not my fault if some random truck decides to mistakenly deliver their goods to where I am. I’m not a keeper of their schedule."

"Really?’

"Yes, really. You can ask your son. I’m sure Brady won’t tell. It’s our secret."

"You think my kid would keep secrets from me? That’s where you’re wrong."

"Wanna bet?"

"Er—no." I curled my lip, expecting he had unlocked the secret to my son; if you ask Brady to keep a secret, it will be a secret he’ll keep till you offer him some chocolate ice cream. I'd offer some sacrifice once he wakes up later, so he’d tell me what's up with their deal. "But how were you able to have the sofa and the TV delivered? The shops are already closed."

"Mister Danvers…" He sat solidly, his posture straight out of a military handbook. "I’m a person of unimaginable means. If I need to have something delivered, it gets delivered. So stop asking where I got it because I’ll never tell. All you need to know is that I wanted to help you. If these things help unburden you somehow, then consider me happy."

"I swear, I have no idea what your deal is—you know—with helping me...because what you’ve done so far is too much. Like it’s unheard of.”

“No it’s not.”

“It is.”

“But I barely did anything.”

“Oh, you did a lot.”

He puckered his face. “Not really.”

“Yeah, really.”

“I doubt that.”

“Doubt less, cause buying a sofa and a T.V. for a stranger is too much.”

“You’re not a stranger, so doubt all you want. But it’s not much.”

“It is too much!” I exclaimed.

He placed a finger between my lips and said, “It’s not. Trust me. I would’ve done more.”

I flicked his finger as a reprimand.

“Can we just agree to disagree that you did a lot and that I’m thankful. So—yeah, thanks.”

He was truly testing my patience, but at the same time, I find him refreshingly entertaining.

He smiled and said, "I almost forgot. As for your dad, since I’m sure you’re going to ask about him, we brought him to the hospital for a quick surgery."

My eyes leapt open. "A surgery?"

"Yes. He was given a lumbar epidural steroid injection to help ease the spinal nerve root inflammation and irritation in his lower back. At first, I thought Jimmy would require staying overnight at the hospital—but I’m sure you wouldn’t want that. The next best thing was to get him the most comfortable bed and seating for his recovery. Er, it somehow spiralled after that."

"Jimmy?"

"Your dad and I are on a first-name basis now. I might soon start calling him dad."

“Yeah, in your dreams.” I rolled my eyes and wanted to get to the bottom of this. "Spiralled how?"

He bobbed his head briefly, though the quiet of the streets added a grave impact to his serious eyes.

"You’d be living in a new apartment if it were up to me. Way bigger than this. I don’t want to sound rude, but this house isn’t fitting to be lived in by three people, let alone a man with a child. But, I was certain you would’ve killed me if I decided on your behalf." I stopped moving as he held my arm, shaking me from the boldness of what he’d said. "Don’t worry. I stopped at the television."

I pulled away and said, "But yo-you just met me? Why are you really doing this?"

He didn’t say much.

In fact, he just smiled and explained, "I’ve decided I like you."

"You decided?"

"Yes. I would have needed to make a decision to come to that conclusion. Reason states that we’re incompatible given the state of your situation, which is that you’re broke, poor, and destitute."

"You do realise you’re insulting me?"

"I’m highly aware," he said, stoic as he was, like I was talking to a goddamn tree. "But I like you very much—for some unexplained reason. This must be love. Is this love? Or is this too soon?"

I waved my hand and enunciated, "No. Nope. You’re not in love with me. Let's get that out of your head. Don’t confuse lust with love."

"I do find you very attractive, though. In fact, I’ve been wanting to kiss you since we first met this morning. Physical attraction and the evidence of infatuation must mean I’m in love with you. That must be it."

"Oh god."

"Well, that explains everything. I must really like you then." He tilted his head to the side. "You look like you’re about to pass out. I’m joking. I was joking Greg." His face was stern without an ounce of knowing that he was kidding. "But I do like spending time with you. Isn’t that enough?"

"That doesn’t answer anything, Nathan."

"It’s not supposed to."

I thought of asking the one thing that’s been bugging me since the thought fluttered in my mind.

"How wealthy are you? I’m curious since you’ve been chucking at me that you’re rich ever since I met you."

"You don’t want to know. You’d probably stop talking to me if you found out. Can we just keep it a mystery for now?"

His brows furrowed; he really was worried.

"Nope. I’m not like that," I said. "I’m not that shallow."

Concerned that he had given me more than enough assistance to last me a lifetime, my eyes continued to linger on the ground after that.

I didn't enjoy this overwhelming feeling at all; in fact, I didn't like the voice in my brain that kept yammering at this question that I should have asked but was too terrified to.

With both arms on my knees and my head fixed intently on the ground, I pondered it as he looked at me troubledly.

"There has to be a catch. There has to." I threw the words in the air without consideration.

"There’s none," he said, swiping his hair, both hands settling on the back of his head.

"Just tell me the truth. There has to be some catch. Are you sure you don’t want me to sleep with you?"

His eyebrows slightly frowned, a discomfort I was trying to push further.

"No. It’s not like that."

"If I’m being truthful, sex is the only thing I can offer you mate. Like, you don’t even want a good jobby? Or a handjob perhaps? Like anything I could do to repay you since you know I can’t afford every bit you’ve given me," I said, chuckling in a general air of malaise while he pushed himself to smile.

"You don’t have to do any of that."

I didn’t believe him.

So I said the most realist thing I could throw at him to finally end this cloak of veneration, this facade he’d been flaunting that he was a good man—the kind of man you’d lose yourself in.

If there was a moment to see his true colours, this was it.

That was that moment.

"I could fuck you if you want," I offered coldly. "Set a date, and I’ll be there. Tell me how many sessions you want before I can fully pay my debt."

He turned to me and repeated his answer: "There’s no catch Greg. I just like you."

"You’re speaking nonsense, mate."

"Are you punishing me for wanting someone like you?" he said, smiling tranquilly as he pinched the corners of his mouth in an act of defiance. He kept cupping his mouth until he leaned back and settled, gazing at the sky. "It would hurt me if you did. In fact, you’re hurting me right now. And it’s not because you were given the power to do so. You just do. So stop, frigging, hurting me. Because if you do go on with these questions, I might, er, I might…"

"If you want to leave, then leave," I said. "No one’s forcing you to be here."

“I’m not going anywhere. You seem to mistake me with other men. I’ve never quit anything I’ve started, Greg. Never. Until you truly want me to go, then I’ll stay."

He smiled like the stars that twinkled in the night sky—stars that fell and rose only to vanish in the light of all things possible and appear when you’re lost, searching for that one way out. I prayed to God that he was real. I’d be deuced if he was fiction.

In that moment where he looked me in the eyes with nothing but his soul in his sleeves and the anguish of a forlorn man, I urged him to do the one thing that would seal the deal, this contract binding him to me as I am to him.

"Okay then. Since you don’t want anything from me, how about a kiss? One kiss in exchange for everything you did today. How about that?"

"Sorry? But a kiss. That’s hilarious. A single kiss doesn’t equate to everything I’ve provided you so far. So no. I’m not kissing you."

His mouth was tensing up; I could see he was nervous.

"Come on. Kiss me. Don’t be a wuss. Just do it mate."

"Are you sure?" He said, his eyes gleaming in the cold of the dark. "Is this what you want?"

I leaned back on the wall, my shoulders loose and having lost the tightness they formerly held, as my head turned to him and I said, "Yes. Do it now before I change my mind."

"But what if you don’t like it?"

"I won’t say anything; how about that?"

"What if you found my breath too malodorous or you thought my lips were too cold?"

He was making me anxious with all his questions.

"Just bloody do it or let’s call it a night. Stop being a stodgy idealist and just bloody snog my face, will you? Geezus Christ, it’s like pulling teeth."

"Alright. Just so you know, I’m a very good kisser, so you might need to prepare yourself."

"Wow. I am humbled by this confession."

“I’ll be doing it now. 3...2...1...”

He leaned down and gently fitted his mouth over mine.

It was a gentle touch to our lips—a quick one.

His breath was a little stale with a hint of coffee he’d probably had earlier, and as he huffed and puffed within the closeness of our mouths, I gazed up and saw his eyes encircling my orbs, then down to my puckers, and back to my eyes, where he stared fervently with a hint of lust and gratuitous affection.

And without warning, he pulled me hard against him and kissed me.

He kissed me so hard that he forced his tongue inside my mouth deliberately and forcefully, cutting off my protest as I fought back and pulled away.

We stared at each other, two men in lust with just a thin layer of propriety to shield us from improper decorum.

"What the fuck are you doing mate?" I said, incensed that he’d forced himself on me. “I said kiss me, not assault my mouth.”

"I’m very sorry. I didn’t mean to. But I just couldn’t help myself."

I thought he’d leave and storm out of embarrassment, or I’d throw his sorry arse for forcing his tongue in my mouth.

But with the way the sweat trickled down his forehead, the way the lingering scent of warmed coffee dabbled through his breath and into my mouth, the way he looked all nervous like it was his first time, and the way I could smell him and feel this warmth, this scalding heat from his own oxygen, I was more than mad that he’d allow my protestations to win—for if he wanted to kiss me, he’d better do it properly, and a good mouth fucking was all I’d hoped for.

"Fuck it," I said, disregarding the consequences of what this would mean further on.

I eagerly pressed the back of his head, fingering the waves of blonde, and pushing his face closer to my mouth.

Coming back with another stab of aggression my mouth sorely needed, his tongue flicked against mine, and the aftertaste of coffee began mixing with my saliva so that it had breached a certain flavour of sweetness I could only afford in his mouth.

His hands gripped my hair, and as he pulled back my head, yanking me out of breath, he lunged his mouth onto my neck—nibbling, sucking, his tongue marking me as the pinnacle of his obsession.

A corrupted moan slipped from my mouth, his other hand holding me by the bottom, feeling the cusp of my back down to the ridge of my spine with his fingers breaching the inner layer of my underwear and slipping a finger through the crack of my taint.

To the surprise of the lust he had stoked willingly, I pulled away and saddled myself on his lap, my arms clasped around his neck, as I lurched my legs on his hips, feeling the rigid hardness of his venerable cock of this venerable man under the thin layer of his pyjama pants.

A lock of blonde hair hung loosely over his forehead.

I brushed it with my hand as I cupped his face and swirled a finger inside his mouth, teasing it, prodding it, and inevitably allowing this invader, this invading tongue, to conquer me as I felt the swells of his cock engorge further.

As soon as I touched the fabric separating me and his throbbing member, he grunted and kissed me harder.

We were both panting and breathing a little unsteadily.

Our tongues darting in and out became the restless language we spoke.

Mercilessly grinding my hips with the hard outline of my cock needing to bust loose outside my tight underwear, our cocks were touching underneath the fabric of my jeans and his pyjamas as I felt his hardness prickle against mine.

I hadn’t kissed anyone for the longest time since my last relationship.

After five years of being sensory deprived, I found this occupation to be more savage than sex; I wanted our tongues gnashing more than ever, and I could easily feel myself about to cum with just his lips on my mouth, flickering and lashing out.

He released me as suddenly as he had seized me.

I opened my eyes, missing his mouth on my lips and the hard bristles of his beard.

"What’s wrong?" I asked.

"I’m worried. I don’t want to be just your casual hookup."

I pulled his head over mine and said, "We’re not. Now kiss me."

But he was adamant in his stance that he would give me a case of the blue balls.

"I more than like you. I’m willing to wait. I’m willing to get to know you better. I’m willing to see how this turns out. Are you willing to do the same?" He bit his lips, then stared into mine and drove his head into my mouth as we began making out for a rough five seconds before pulling up for air. "Dear Lord, we have to stop. Your lips are highly addicting."

He kissed my lips for the last time and caressed my cheeks, as I was suddenly missing out on his taste.

When I glanced to my left, a shadow of a little human emerged.

Brady, scratching his eyes, looked gloomed out of neediness; his eyes beetling and his mouth pouting with a little scowl could only mean that he wasn’t keen on seeing his dad with another man—a man whose name starts with Nathan.

"Daddy," he called me out, "Why is Nathan eating your face?"

The startled man quickly stood up from his seat, plopping my arse on the ground as I landed on my hips.

"Er, well, I was just whispering something in your daddy’s mouth."

"Sorry, but I’m not stupid. Daddy said only me and grandpa can get his kisses. So why were you kissing him? Please explain?"

Brady’s hands were on his hips; this kid wouldn’t let up. He’s too smart for his own good.

Nathan pulled me up from the ground and whispered, "I didn’t realise you have a tiny bodyguard."

"Oh trust me. He’ll whack you if he sees you doing something inappropriate."

"How about we do another inappropriate thing some other time? After dinner perhaps? And countless dinners after that? What do you say?"

He placed a hand on my cheeks just as I felt a smaller hand latch onto my wrist and began pulling me.

"Daddy, let’s go to bed. I’m sleepy."

"Alright, I guess this is a sign for me to skedadle." After that session of snogging his face as the best snog in my life, why would he leave now? "I’ll wait until you’ve put him to bed," he said, reassuring me.

Minutes later, he was already inside his car, his hand outside the window, holding my hand.

Our eyes gazed back and forth like we were high school sweethearts, love-torn by our opposing families.

We looked like two grown men exchanging surreptitious glances in the dead of the night carting out hidden messages with our eyes.

"You can stay here until the morning if you like," I offered.

I really wanted to shag him.

He had throttled my lust into overdrive, and that’s saying something about our unbridled chemistry.

"I have surgery in a few hours. If I don’t operate, the man will die."

I foolishly tossed his hand inside the car and said, "Yeah-yeah, I get it. You’re just running away, aren’t you?"

He quickly grabbed my hand, putting it close to his face, inhaling the tips of my fingers with an obsequious devotion, and whispering to the silly frown I had sported on my hopeful face that he’d stay.

"Don’t be mad. I promise to call you. Now, do you promise to answer your phone when I call?" I nodded and bit my lower lip. "Do you promise to talk to me?" I didn’t answer. He grabbed my face and kissed me quickly, his head leaning forward out of the car window.

It was a quick peck on my lip, and something skipped inside of me for a moment.

"Fine. I’ll answer your calls."

"You better. I know where you live, so there’s no escaping me."

I grinned and said, "Yeah. You’ve already made it impossible to escape you."

Perhaps he was the man I'd been looking for all along—this six-foot-seven surly Viking, who usually scowls, is very serious, and seldom smiles.

And just like that, he drove away, and he was gone.

As I returned to my life, I never expected that this chance encounter with this odd creature would open up possibilities I’d never imagined experiencing.

To have love, money, and security were the things I had only dreamed of having.

But like Pandora’s box, along with the nice bits that came with the things I’d never wanted to have, having met this Nathaniel Worthington, this mysterious stranger, this man tied to my future...came with the betrayal of a friend, the death of a loved one, and dastardly revenge for a heart torn asunder.