When I turn the corner onto my block, I can see my truck sitting in the driveway. I'm relieved that it's there, and can only hope that Chris is still there with it. I pull the bike up past the truck, directly through the garage door that I'd left open. I haven't been gone that long, and I wonder if Chris is even awake. If he wasn't, I'm sure he is now; the echo of a V-twin engine in this small garage would be enough to wake the dead.

As soon as I kill the engine, Lucy's excited barking can be heard from the house. I set the kickstand down and then slowly climb off the bike, the leather of my jacket creaking slightly while I stretch my arms above my head and twist side to side to loosen up my back a little. I break up fights on a daily basis, and sometimes even partake in them even though I know I shouldn't; yet it only takes one night with this kid to prove how mortal I really am.

I'm a little apprehensive walking toward the door, which leads from the garage straight into the kitchen. Is he still here? Is he gonna be pissed off that I left? And what's worse… what if he's gone? I spend about five seconds contemplating these things until I decide fuck it; it's my house, and I'm not gonna stand outside starin' at the door like a scared little girl.

I walk through into the kitchen, and am whole-heartedly greeted by Lucy, just like every other day. Going to one knee, I stroke her head and scratch behind her ears, but I'm looking elsewhere. Right away, I spot Chris sitting at my kitchen table, and my heart immediately starts beating a little faster.

He's wearing nothing except a pair of my boxers. His hair hasn't been combed, and it looks like he's just stumbled out of bed. It's a sight that I quickly come to love, and I hope that this won't be the last time I see it. He's scrawling something in a notebook that's open on the table, though he stops writing as I walk in, looking up at me with a smile.

"You have a motorcycle," he declares proudly, as if he had just solved some world wonder.

"Yeah," I chuckle, looking at him curiously, but he just grins to himself and goes back to writing whatever he's writing. I remove my jacket and toss it across the other chair, and then peer through the glass window of the oven.

"You didn't eat your breakfast."


Moving closer to him, I put my hands on his bare shoulders and lean down, nuzzling into his hair. His skin is still sleep-warm to the touch and he still smells like sex. That, mixed with his own distinct scent, is almost overwhelming. I have to move away before I pick him up and throw him down across the kitchen table.

"Didn't take a shower, either."


"Why not?"

"Well, Steve," he begins matter-of-factly, setting his pen down on the table and looking up at me with a semi-serious expression. "I do intend to eat my breakfast. And, I do intend to take a shower. But, I intend on doing both of those things with you."

Well, fuck. I couldn't argue with that if I wanted to. "Sounds good to me."

"Shower first. Why don't you go warm it up, and I'll join you as soon as I'm done here."

"What're ya doin', anyway?" I ask, moving in again, this time to try to peer over his shoulder. He promptly places his hand over the notebook paper, swiveling away from me.

"I left my journal at home. I have to write some things down before I forget them."

"You're makin' a diary outta my notebook?"

"It's not a diary; it's a journal."

"Can I read it?"


"Aw, that's all right. I bet I already know how it starts. 'Dear Penthouse'…"

"Fuck you!" he laughs, tearing out a blank piece of paper and wadding it up, and then chucking it in my general direction. I dodge into the hallway before he can make a proper target out of me, grinning to myself as I head to the bathroom. I spare a moment to think of how strange this all is. I haven't even known this guy a week, only spent one night with him, and already the banter comes easy and comfortable.

I turn the water on in the shower and disrobe, folding my clothes and stacking them on the bathroom counter. I've already had a shower, of course, but fucked if I'm gonna let Chris' little invitation go to waste. Besides, the hot water does feel good; I'm still a little tensed up after the confrontation with my best friend, not to mention all the physical activity of last night.

About five minutes later I hear Chris pad into the bathroom, and he climbs into the shower with me after another moment. The shower's not huge, but big enough for both of us to fit comfortably. He smiles at me as we switch positions and he leans into the spray of the water, soaking his hair.

It's at that precise moment that something occurs to me, and before I know it, I'm laughing so hard I have to put a hand on the shower wall to steady myself. Chris is scowling and looking at me like I've sprouted a second head.

"What? What the fuck is so funny?"

"It's you… with all that fuckin' gorgeous hair o'yours… and I don't have any shampoo!"

He looks momentarily disappointed, and then rolls his eyes, and then he's laughing right along with me. "Well, I guess I'll have to use soap, then. I've gotta wash it. I think there's come in it."

His words just increase my amusement until I'm nearly doubled over and he just shakes his head and rolls his eyes again, smiling. He leaves me to my laughing fit, grabbing the bar of soap from its niche, and starting to lather up his hair. When I've recovered enough, I stand upright again and move in front of him, gently taking the soap from his hands. He looks at me in surprise as I lather my hands up, set the soap aside, and then work my fingers into that thick hair. His surprise quickly melts away while I massage his scalp, and he closes his eyes and nearly falls into me. I let him lean his weight against me, delighting in feeling him relax as I run my fingers downward, squeezing the suds out at the bottom.

I trail my hands, still lathered with soap, across his shoulders and back, leaning down to press a kiss to the dark bruise I'd left on his neck the night before. He squirms and shudders against me, and I can sense his extreme relaxation slowly morphing into something a little more potent. I pause to soap up my hands again, moving back far enough so that I can get in between us, sliding my hands across his chest and stomach, and then down his arms. He blinks down at me when I hit my knees in front of him, washing down his legs. Putting a hand to the shower wall to keep his balance, he first lifts one foot and then the other, letting me wash him thoroughly. I very purposefully keep from touching his growing hard-on which is right at face-level, and the memory of how good he tasted last night makes it hard for me to retain any willpower at all.

I trail my hands from his feet up the backs of his legs, and watch his face while I tease the tips of my fingers into his crack. He gasps, wriggling slightly against my hand, and then frowns and bites down on his lip.

"I'm a little sore," he says, quiet words that are almost muffled completely by the falling water.

Hearing that, I quickly get back to my feet, not wanting to do anything that's going to hurt him. He smiles at me and wraps his arms around my neck, pulling me in for a kiss. He delivers it hot, wet, and deep right away, and I know I've got him more than a little turned on.

I lean him backward into the spray of water, letting it sluice down his body, washing away the soap from his hair and skin. His eyes are closed and his lips are parted and, if you'll allow me to wax poetic for a moment, he looks absolutely fuckin' beautiful.

I watch him for a little while as he enjoys the feel of the hot water, before deciding I'd give him something else to enjoy. Placing one hand on the back of his neck, I let the other slide down his body, wrapping my fingers around his erection. He gasps at the unexpected feeling, his eyelids fluttering as I start to stroke. I use the hand at the back of his neck to pull him closer toward me, and then lean down, licking the water from his neck and shoulder while he leans his head back and moans.

My hand is still slick with residual soap and it slides easily over his skin. I use what I'd learned last night, pressing fingertips against his sensitive spots and delighting in the sounds he's making. He's so responsive, even during a simple handjob, that it nearly drives me crazy. He's shuddering against me and arching his hips toward my hand, his breath hitching in his throat. I'd like to linger in this moment for a while, tease and experiment, but I can feel the temperature of the water slowly cooling, and I know this little interlude is going to have to end, much sooner than I'd like.

I start pumping him faster, completely enveloping the head of his cock in my hand with every stroke, and I feel his arms tighten around me. His breath comes faster and he's starting to tremble now, and I know that I've got him right there.

"Oh, god, Steve," he breathes, and my name on his lips makes me harder than I think I've ever been. His hands find my face and he pulls my mouth away from his neck so that he can kiss me again. His lips crash into mine and he kisses me desperately while he comes, crying out, the sounds of his orgasm muffled against my mouth. I stroke him through his climax, not being able to hold back a groan of my own at the feeling of him coming all over my hand.

Finally, he breaks the kiss, needing air. We cling to each other and he looks at me with lazy, half-lidded eyes and gives me the most amazing smile I think I've ever seen.

We rinse off once more before the water goes completely cold, and then I turn off the taps. Pulling the shower curtain back, I reach for a towel, but apparently Chris has other ideas. He steps out of the shower, still soaking wet, and then grabs my hand, pulling me along with him. The move takes me by surprise, enough so that I nearly slip and fall against him. Surprisingly, he counters my weight easily, turning me around so that I'm leaning against the edge of the sink counter. And then he's on his knees in front of me and my cock is in his mouth before I even have time to form a thought.

"Oh, fuck!" I hear myself say, although it doesn't really sound much like me at all. I'm grateful that he had the foresight to lean me against the counter before his surprise attack, because my legs are already shaking and threatening to give out. My hands, seemingly of their own accord, find their way into his wet hair and he moans as I tug on it, sending a vibration through me that goes straight up my spine.

I know that this isn't going to last long. I was already on the verge of coming while I was jerking him off, just from hearing him say my name the way he did. But I want to hold out as long as possible, not wanting to end the feeling of his hot mouth sliding up and down my shaft. His hands are working me, too; stroking at the base of my cock while he swirls his tongue around the head, fingers dipping lower to lift and massage my balls. Really, though, it's the look he gives me that pushes me over. His eyes roam upward, finding mine, and he watches me with pure lust on his face, his cheeks hollowing as he sucks harder.

I thrust into his mouth a few times, grabbing harder at his hair, and he takes the hint, deep-throating me like a pro. I groan raggedly and he pulls back just before I'm about to come, replacing his mouth with his hand, fingers stroking quickly over my head. I realize what he's doing and force my eyes to stay open… there's no way I could allow myself to miss this visual.

He's still watching me as I come; the first shot landing in his open mouth and coating his lips. His tongue darts out, licking off what it can reach, and the sight makes me groan. His hand continues milking me for all I'm worth and I shoot twice more, leaving sticky trails all over his face, the last bit dribbling down over his stroking hand.

I pry my fingers out of his hair and brace my hands on the counter behind me, panting for lost breath as I look down at him. Naked, dripping wet and on his knees in front of me, covered in come. It's almost enough to make me hard again right then. Especially when he grins and licks his lips again, making a low sound in his throat that almost sounds like a purr.

An idea occurs to me and I grin back down at him, my hands fumbling on the counter behind me for the clothes I'd left there. Finding my jeans, I withdraw my phone from the pocket, and flip it open. He laughs when he realizes what I'm doing, and my fingers are shaking as I point the phone toward him and snap what has got to be the most incredible picture I'll ever take in my life.

"You're a pervert," accuses the man who is practically dripping with my come, as he stands up and grabs a towel off the rack, wiping his face and hands clean. I set my phone aside and then stand there and watch him as he discards the towel, and then uses a clean one to wring the water from his hair and dry the rest of himself.

"What?" he says when he catches me watching him, smiling a little as he retrieves my boxers and slides back into them.

"Ya keep this up, and I'm gonna start holdin' ya personally responsible for doin' my laundry. You're gettin' all my towels dirty."

He smirks and hands me the damp towel he'd just used. I begin to dry off what's left of the water on my skin, although most of it is already dry, or all over the bathroom floor.

"I think that'd be a small price to pay for the last twelve hours," he says to me over his shoulder as he walks past me and out of the bathroom.

I warm up the breakfast I'd made for him (French toast and bacon, to satisfy your fucking curiosity, Rocky), and sit with him while he eats, insisting that I'd already had breakfast. It's a lie, but my stomach is still so knotted up with excitement and nervousness over this whole thing that I'm not the least bit hungry. I think to myself, again, that I'm acting like a stupid schoolgirl with a crush, but there's not much I can do about that now.

We don't talk much while he eats. He seems to be in complete bliss over the food, and I wonder to myself how long it's been since he'd had an actual home-cooked meal. I like to cook, there's something therapeutic in it I guess, and I'm excited all over again by the thought of all the things I could make for him.

As I sit and watch him eat, I let myself wonder about him. Where does he come from, what's his life like? I decide not to ask, though; I know it's unfair to ask for something I'm not willing to give back, at least not yet. The conversation I'd had with Rocky earlier comes back to taunt me, and I hear his words in my head. Just how much can I give to him?

My thoughts are interrupted by my phone buzzing in my pocket. Goddamnit. They sure do have some timing, don't they? He looks at me curiously and I stand up, dropping a kiss on the top of his damp head and telling him to eat, I'll be right back. Lucy jumps up from the kitchen floor and follows me as I step out into the garage to take the call.