Just a Game Ch. 02

Pete woke up alone, and the apartment smelled amazing--something delicious was cooking. He tottered unsteadily to his feet and looked down at himself. He was wearing nothing but a t-shirt and a furious hard-on. He pulled on a clean pair of boxers, stuffing himself awkwardly into the fabric tent before trudging to the kitchen. Dean was standing at the stove naked but for his glasses, cooking pancakes and bacon.

"Morning, Sunshine," Dean said when he noticed his roommate in the doorway. His eyes travelled downward to the bulge in Pete's boxers, and he smiled. "Good sleep?"

"Yep," Pete replied with a small smirk. His dreams had been a practically orgiastic panorama of nonstop sex. He looked between Dean and the stove, and his smirk disappeared. "Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you?"

Instantly Dean was stunned, his jaw hanging open as he wondered how to take the comment. For a moment he looked terrified.

"Cooking bacon in the buff?" Pete continued. "You're really asking for it."

Dean let out a long, shaking breath and laughed with relief. "Dammit, Pete--I thought you were talking about last night."

Last Night. In Pete's head, it was in capital letters. Last Night had been something else.

"I won't burn myself," Dean continued. "I put the bacon on the rear burner to keep some distance between the grease splatters and my magnificent flesh. Besides, if I did have an accident and horribly disfigure myself with burning hot bacon fat, I'd at least smell delicious for a while."

At the opposite counter, with his back to Dean, Pete started up a pot of coffee. He smiled absently at Dean's comments, but he had a lot on his mind. "So. Last night. How about that?" he finally forced out, needing some kind of context for their impromptu mutual masturbation session.

Dean stacked four finished pancakes onto a plate and spooned more batter into the hot pan. "Good times?"

Pete stared at the coffee pot as it began to fill at a slow trickle. "Well... you've got some skills, I'll give you that." He chuckled briefly.

Dean grinned. "Was it all you dreamed it could be?"

"Ha. What makes you think I ever dreamed of that?"

"Pff, you wanted me. You were so asking for it!"

Pete turned around, brow furrowed. He stared at the back of Dean's head, unsure if he was still joking around. "How the hell was I asking for it?"

"You were all like, 'Heyyy, c'mere!'" Dean said in an exaggeratedly sultry voice, miming a beckoning finger.

"What?!" Pete sputtered. "You're delusional! I actually didn't say a goddamn thing, if you'll recall--I was pointing at the goddamn lube bottle. I wanted to borrow your lube!"

Dean froze. For a moment he was mortified. "Why didn't you SAY so?" he hollered, turning finally to glare at him.

Pete raised his arms helplessly. "I dunno, I didn't think it was that confusing a gesture--it's not like I did this!" He made a jerking motion near his crotch.

"Shit," Dean sighed, turning back to the pancakes and flipping them. At last he burst into laughter, setting down his spatula and lowering his forehead into his hands. "I seriously thought you wanted to blow me or something."

"Oh, in your dreams, gayboy!" Pete groaned, getting a pair of mugs out of the cupboard.

"Hey--that was not gay!" Dean protested. His amusement left very suddenly, and he shot his roommate an annoyed glare. "Come on, you're kind of a sports guy. Don't a lot of dudes do circle jerks and shit in locker rooms?"

"Uhh--no!" Pete replied, scowling. "Maybe in the porn universe. Not in mine! Besides, you just said you thought I wanted to blow you, and you happily climbed aboard. Not gay? Sure, dude. Sure."

"Getting off is getting off--I wasn't in the mood to be picky!"

"You sure were in some kind of mood, Dean--going out of your way to show off your boner for me! You were totally gunning for it!"

"I was just goofing off! You peed on me, dammit! What about that?"

"You peed on me first!"

"You held my fucking hand!"

"You CUDDLED me--AND you told me I was all sexy and shit!"

"No I didn't--I just said you weren't fat! If you think that's a come-on, you sure are desperate!"

Pete clenched his jaw for several tense moments. Then he burst out, "PUT SOME FUCKING CLOTHES ON--faggot!"

Dean flinched. Pete cringed inwardly. He had no idea why that had come out of his mouth. For the first time since Pete had known him, Dean actually looked self-conscious. His cheeks flushed. He turned off the stove, and fled. A moment later, Pete heard the bedroom door slam. He moped, pacing back and forth in the kitchen for a while. It was very quiet, and Dean didn't return.

Pete checked the pancakes and bacon. They were pretty much done. He filled a plate, poured himself a cup of coffee, and sat at the table alone save for the cats, which tried persistently to get at his bacon until he dumped some kibble into their bowl in an effort to distract them from his own breakfast.

He ate very slowly; Dean still did not return. He sighed, barely able to Bakırköy travesti finish his breakfast even though the pancakes were perfect and the bacon was deliciously crispy. He remembered how he'd been afraid he'd crossed the line when he'd peed all over Dean--well, now he certainly had gone too far. Way, way too far. Probably there would be no more games.

Pete knew it was on him to fix this. He wasn't great at talking about serious things, and he got the feeling Dean was a bit more sensitive than his goofball exterior suggested. This wasn't going to be easy.

He stood at the bedroom door and hesitated. Well, he'd have to go in either way--his morning wood was long gone, and he needed pants. Taking a breath, Pete turned the knob and pushed the door open. Dean sat on his bed, fully dressed and fiddling with his phone. He looked up and smiled brightly.

"What's up?"

Pete cocked his head. "Hey... you okay?"

"Of course." He turned his attention back to his phone.

Pete frowned. He stepped over and sat down next to him. "I, uh... fed the cats."

"Cool, thanks!"

"Well... thanks for making breakfast. It was good."

"Glad to hear it."

Pete took a deep breath and steeled himself. "Dean... I'm sorry."

Dean laughed, but it was obviously forced. "I need to go eat and head to work."

Pete watched him leave and followed after, watching him curiously from a distance. He wandered back and forth aimlessly as Dean finished getting ready for work. Finally Dean disappeared into the bathroom, shutting the door and locking it. That was unusual. Pete listened at the door. He was peeing--just peeing. Dean locking the door just to pee? Pete knew for sure now he had screwed things up badly.

When Dean had gone, Pete felt miserable. He knew he wouldn't make much progress on his job hunt, so he distracted himself with TV and video games, and later went for a long walk. On his way back he stopped at the pub on the corner to have a drink or two, and stayed longer than he'd expected. He also had more than one or two drinks.

When he got home, Dean was not alone. At first Pete had a sickening, momentary terror that he was drunker than he'd thought and had walked into the wrong apartment. In the living room he saw what appeared to be a guy and girl he didn't know, but he realized quickly that the 'guy' was a girl in a tuxedo--a moment later, he recognized her as one of Dean's D