Dave had to wonder just how much Desmond Chase was still holding back, and what would happen to them both when he was fully unleashed.
Marco came back, a glass water pitcher in hand. “Are you ready to order, gentlemen?” he asked as he poured. Condensation dripped from the pitcher, vanishing into the brown paper and leaving a dark streak that started to pale almost as soon as it was formed.
"We are.” Des handed Marco his menu. “I'll have the manicotti you mentioned in the special, and a garden salad with the house Italian dressing. My guest will have ... the task of picking the next wine."
Dave looked at Des and grinned. To Marco he said, “Another bottle of the same will be fine, Marco, thank you. Also, the Fettuccini Dianne, with a half portion of the Linguini Maria to start. House salad, extra garlic bread to share."
Marco nodded and darted away, not writing anything down.
"That's not what you were going to say, was it?” Dave grinned wider. “But your save was masterful."
Des, looking more than a little embarrassed, shrugged. “Apparently some things have become very ingrained. I apologize."
"Don't. You not only caught yourself, but gave me the choice of wine instead of ordering everything for us both.” Dave laughed softly and reached across the table to take Des’ hand. “Doesn't it get tiring sometimes?"
"To be the one always picking and choosing?” Des looked down at their hands and rubbed his fingers along Dave's. “It can, I suppose. But the rewards are astounding. Also, if I'm weary of doing things like that, Wyatt and I talk and refine our roles until we find out what's wrong; I'm built to be what I am."
"It means a lot to me that you'd consider being something else to me,” Dave said softly. “Even if it's only for one dinner date, one evening."
"I have hopes that it will be more than that,” Des said, meeting his gaze directly. “One night is hardly enough time for a conversation to be born, let alone anything else."
"True.” Dave squeezed his fingers. “But it's a good place to start."
Des smiled and nodded. “Just so.” He let go of Dave's hand as Marco brought the second bottle of wine to breathe and poured out the last of the first. “Try the breadsticks,” Des invited. “They're fresh baked, of course, and I think these ones have cheese in them."
"Nice.” Dave took one and started eating, wondering if perhaps he'd ordered too much food. Archie would be delighted if there were leftovers, he supposed—or Wyatt. He grinned. “You know, I've never been on a date and had to wonder which partner would get to have the box to go."
Des looked amused. “Obviously it depends on whose leftovers we're talking about. May I ask you something?"
"Of course. That's kind of why we're here, right? So we can talk and not just be messing around."
"Well put.” Des laughed and picked up his second breadstick. “Are you in love with Archer?"
Dave nodded. “Yeah. I am. I'm pretty sure he loves me, too. We don't really talk about it much."
His head tilting slightly to the side, Des sipped his wine. “May I ask why not?"
"Sure, you can ask. I'm just not sure I can answer.” Dave chewed at his bread while he thought about it. “It's just never been said, I guess. We—or at least I—went through a period of wondering if it was really, finally, actually real love, and not saying the word in case it either wasn't, or from fear of being the only one actually feeling it. Then it just didn't seem to need saying. Actions speak as loudly as words, and we've said some other words that are pretty important."
"Really?” Des sounded intrigued and he was leaning forward again. “What words would that be?"
"Oh, the big ones. Always. Forever. Together. We talk about things in the far future, with the understanding that we'll be there together. That kind of thing."
Des nodded. “Wyatt and I do that. But then, we also tell each other ‘I love you’ fairly often. In my case, I've found I like hearing it as an adult; perhaps to make up for not hearing it when I was a child."
"You didn't feel loved?"
Des shook his head. “Quite the contrary, actually. I was adored. I just never heard the word ‘love’ all that often; by which I mean at all. My uncle—Oh, right, I never got to tell you about my uncle."
"I'd like to—oh, hey. Marco, this looks amazing.” Dave smiled as their salads arrived along with his half order of linguini. “Des, help yourself, please."
They ate for a few moments, both sharing the linguini before Dave prompted Des about his uncle again.
"He raised me.” Des gestured with his fork and started his salad. “It was a very peculiar childhood, actually. I have no memory of my parents, and I'm sure that at some point when I was very young Uncle Charles must have told me that they'd died. I can remember making up huge, elaborate fantasies about them—they were spies, or magicians, or war heroes, depending upon what book I'd read last. Books were a prime focus of my life."
"This doesn't surprise me."
Des smiled. “I imagine not. The store was his, as was the house. I grew up there, used the mass market books for building blocks until someone took pity on Uncle Charles and brought a big box of interlocking bricks to the store. Anyway, he ran the store, I lived with him—he was my father's brother—and we were quite happy. I had endless books to read, a stream of customers who kept ‘that poor man’ supplied with cookies, and I could more or less do as I pleased."
Dave ate his salad and pictured a very small Desmond, wearing a suit, building mountains at the back of the store and then falling asleep in a corner behind his book fort. “It sounds like a nice way to grow up."
"It was interesting.” Des rolled his eyes. “Charles was an eccentric. He made sure I could read by four, do various maths by seven, but he didn't see the value in schooling. He was actually very surprised when the truant officer arrived and said I actually had to go. He asked me if I wanted to or if I wanted him to fight it, even homeschool. I was seven then, new to long division and hating it. I'm pretty sure he never actually forgave me for wanting to go to regular school. He said it served me right when I complained about having to learn geography."
Dave laughed. “That's fantastic."
"He was.” Des smiled a little sadly. “He died when I was twenty-two. Then I took over the store and life moved on. I think he and Wyatt would have gotten along particularly well."
Dave opened his mouth to make some comment about agreeing—as if he'd really know—but a phone started to ring and Des was reaching into his pocket with a frown.
"I'm sorry, Dave,” he apologized as he took it out. “Oh. It's Archer."
Dave felt his eyes widen. Archie wouldn't call without a good reason, and he would call Dave first. Maybe. Maybe it was one of those courtesy call things to a dominant personality? Dave stopped eating and watched as Des answered his phone.
"Archer? Is everything all right?” Des leaned back slightly in his chair, still frowning. He looked more concerned that upset, Dave thought, and even that faded in a moment. “No, no. Not at all, it's fine.” He nodded at Dave and then smiled, looking mildly amused. “I mean, it's fine. Tell me what you hear. A loud restaurant, correct? You're hardly interrupting at a key moment."
Dave was surprised to find his wine glass empty, so he filled it again, and then Des’ as Des spoke to Archie.
"I assure you,” Des said, beginning to sound both amused and increasingly exasperated, “it's fine. Please, can we move to the part where you tell me why you're calling?"
Dave laughed softly and sipped his wine, then rolled his eyes when Des handed him the phone. “For me?"
"For you.” Des raised his glass. “Thank you."
Marco arrived as Dave leaned back in his chair. Dave nodded that he was finished and Marco could take the plates. “Archie.” He held onto his glass and listened to the phone, warm from Des’ face. “What's up?"
"God, I am so sorry."
"Des said it was okay, right? It's okay. We both know you're not calling to check up on us, and
you wouldn't call to be a pain, so just say what's on your mind.” Dave nodded at Des, who was nodding back and then thanking Marco for the freshly ground pepper. “Hang on, Arch.” Dave took Marco up on the offer of parmesan and then said, “Okay, go."
"You forgot your phone here,” Archie blurted.
Dave immediately patted his pockets. “Damn. I'm sorry, Arch. My fault. Crap."
"Yeah, I know it's your fault,” Archie teased. “I just found it. Listen, here's the thing—I'm on my way out. You have your keys?"
Dave nodded. “Yeah, both doors."
"Cool. I'm putting the bar on the patio door, so use the security door and come inside. I'll leave it on the kitchen counter. Listen, babe. I'm not going to bring anyone home, so if the lights are off, I'm not home and it's cool. If they're on, I'm home and it's cool. I know you want downtime and I get that—you don't even need to say hey."
Dave resisted the urge to roll his eyes again. “I'm going to at least say hi, doof. I wouldn't walk into your place and then just leave."
"I know.” Archie laughed. “I'm just trying to make this easy on you, right? No strangers in my bed, you don't need to stay and chat. Okay?"
"Okay. Thanks, Arch. I shouldn't have left it, anyway."
"That's the truth. Hey, how's supper?"
"Pretty awesome, actually.” Dave looked at the plate in front of him and realized Des was waiting for him to finish. “And the date's pretty amazing, too."
"Figured. He's a great guy, babe. Have fun; I'm out of here."
"You, too. Have a good time.” Dave looked at Des and suddenly had the urge to tell Archie the important words. “Thanks again. For everything."
"I want to hear all about it in great detail,” Archie said with a laugh, and then the line went dead.
Dave passed the phone back to Des, shaking his head. “Sorry about that. I left my cell at Archie's and he knew that I'd need it before morning. I don't have a landline, and my cell is kind of my life, so that was the call to tell me it'd be okay to pick it up later."
Des nodded and put his phone away. “He was very apologetic; I got the impression that he had to work himself up to calling. Is he always so protective of boundaries?"
Dave and Des both started to eat again and Dave nodded. “We both are, really. We've never once tread on each other's toes or made assumptions; this is a new situation in that he knows who I'm out with. Actually, it's new in that this isn't an hour long hook up. I think he's trying very hard to be respectful of both of us. He likes you a lot, you know."
Des smiled. “I do know. Archer and I had a run in once many, many years ago. The first time we met, actually. It took us both about ten minutes to size each other up and decide that we'd both been played by a SAM. Er, a smart ass masochist. We left together and that was that. A bottle of good whiskey later, we were fast friends."
"I want to hear that story someday.” Dave grinned and raised his glass. “To old friends and new."
"To old friends and new."
As a toast it might not have been terribly original, but Dave meant it. They spent the meal talking about books and wood, and Des told him a few more stories about growing up with his uncle. Dave managed to avoid talking about his own family very much; he found it a lot easier to remember the happy times before he'd injured himself playing football, dropped out of college, and then come out of the closet, than to discuss the current reality. He spoke with his family, but things were tense and strained in a way they hadn't been before then.
The food remained wonderful and it was almost with regret that they finished the second bottle of wine over dessert. “I hope you didn't drive,” Dave said as Marco took the bill and Des’ signed credit slip away, leaving mints behind. It was rather impressive, the way Des had managed to sign the bill and add the tip without letting Dave see the total—all the while making it look perfectly natural and not like he was actually preventing Dave from seeing.
"I had a feeling I'd have to leave the car if I did.” Des’ grin matched Dave's. “Wyatt dropped me off on his way to the party."
"I hope we manage to find a cab as easily as that."
"I doubt it will be a problem.” Des smiled and took Dave's hand as they left, and then he pointed to the line of cabs at the curb. “It's a fantastic block for getting a ride."
Laughing, Dave picked a cab at random and they got in. The drive wasn't long, and they continued their conversation about the best scenic drives they'd been on versus the longest stretches of highway that had absolutely nothing to enjoy. The cab driver cheerfully joined in, and Dave found himself almost giddy with laughter when they reached Des’ house.
"I think I'm a bit drunk,” he said as Des let them in and they started up the stairs. “Sorry."
"I know I am. Do you realize we drank two bottles between us and I weigh a fair bit less than you? I'm probably more drunk than you, if we get down to it."
"I'm hoping to get down to it.” Dave paused, almost at the top of the stairs. “That was out loud. Oh, dear."
"And here I thought trying to get you into bed was going to be awkward.” Des laughed softly as he walked, turning down the hallway at the top of the stairs. “This is the part where I'd offer you a drink, but..."
"We've already established that we're exceedingly mellow already,” Dave finished. He followed Des into the living room, which he hadn't seen before. “Oh, this is nice."
"Thank you.” Des went to the stereo and pressed a button; the music started right up, clearly pre-selected. Dave couldn't even begin to guess what it was, other than something with a blues undertone. It fit the room, which was furnished with heavy wooden pieces and decorated in earth tones. Bright spots of color were found in the paintings on the wall and a few brass statuettes.
Dave sat on the couch and looked around. “The art looks original."
"It is.” Des sat next to him and leaned back, his shoulder brushing Dave's. “I don't buy a lot of art, but I make a point of not displaying anything that I don't care for. Even the prints have meaning to me. A time or a place where I felt something."
Dave turned slightly to face him. “I like that. I'm glad that you're able to indulge yourself that way."
"Do you see it as indulgence?"
"A bit. But in a good way.” Dave reached out and cupped Des’ jaw, his gaze drifting between Des’ mouth and his eyes. “It's a choice I like. It suits you, more than using your income to buy salt and pepper shakers, for example."
Des laughed, clearly startled. “You think the most fascinating things, in the most peculiar patterns. Your mind is a playground."
"You should try the rides.” Dave winked and moved closer, looking for a kiss.
"Not awkward at all."
Des leaned as well and they both sighed into the kiss. Des didn't seem to mind Dave's hand guiding, and Dave had no intention of breaking contact. One kiss flowed into the next for long moments, the music playing counterpoint. Neither Dave nor Des rushed, but the gentle touch of lips eventually became the questing taste of tongues and then the touch of hands.
Dave felt even drunker when he finally pulled away, blinking slowly. They'd kissed their way through at least one song on the disc, perhaps two, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could sit still on the couch without devouring Des’ mouth, without tugging on his tie and rushing headlong into something that deserved more time than a fast fumble on the couch.
"Come with me,” Des said quietly. He stood up and offered Dave his hand. “Please."
Dave took his hand and went with Des. He could see very well that Des was as hard as he was, but even without that evidence, Desmond's intent was clear. His voice was tight, and he led Dave farther down the hall, into a bedroom that already had a lamp lit by the bed.
Dave stepped into the room and let out his breath; it was a guest room, obviously so, and for some reason that made him relax. He hadn't even realized he'd been tense, but the thought of not making love in Wyatt's bed released something unnamed in him.
&
nbsp; Des smiled at him. “We thought this might be easier."
"You're both brilliant.” Dave smiled back and then pulled Des to him and kissed him hard, shoving his tongue into Des’ mouth as he gathered Des’ shirt up in his hands.
Des laughed into the kiss and shoved him toward the bed. “I like this shirt."
"Me, too. Take it off.” Dave leaned back on the bed, propping himself up on his elbows.
"Is this going to be a struggle?” Des stripped off his tie and tossed it on a chair by the door, then crawled onto the bed over Dave's legs. “The awful back and forth to get undressed? The fighting with buttons and snaps and zippers? Or is it going to be a discovery?"
Dave looked up at him and smiled. “It's going to be whatever it is. I just want to enjoy it. To enjoy you and find out what you like."
"Discovery.” Des smiled and bent down to kiss him, his hands sliding over Dave's shoulders. “I like the way you taste."
"I like the way you feel.” Dave's hands settled on Des’ hips and held him there as he rocked against him. “I like that you're not shy."
"I've never been accused of being shy. Pushy, yes. Shy, no."
Dave laughed and rubbed once more. “Pushy is kind of your thing, though."
"Kind of, yes.” Des slid to the side and they both moved up the bed, their legs tangling together as they lay facing each other. “Kiss me more."
Dave kissed him.
It took them a long time to undress, trading touches and kisses and even bites as shirts were shed and trousers peeled off. Dave felt like every inch of his back had been explored and every scar had been licked. His knees, his chest, his abdomen, each part of him was caressed and surveyed. Of course, he did the same to Des, from the scattering of fine, blond hair on his chest to the silky curls at his groin and the smooth skin of his inner thighs.
Twice they had to stop, panting, and be very still so one of them wouldn't get lost in the moment. The third time, Dave reached the new bottle of lube by the lamp and handed it to Des. “Please."
"My pleasure.” Des nodded and took it, his green eyes bright. “Thank you."