The comparison was fairly ludicrous, but for some reason it made more sense than Lenny could say. He slid off the bed and dropped between Nero’s legs, taking his still half-hard cock in hand. “If that’s the case, I should probably teach you the way you taught me.”
Nero swallowed. “How’s that?”
“By making you watch.”
A little later than planned, Lenny left Nero in bed—when has that ever happened?—and drifted downstairs with Nero’s gravelly moans lingering in his mind. Fuck, he’s hot when he comes. Well, all men were, really, but Nero was in another league—captivating, enthralling, and the fourteen hours Lenny had to spend without him now felt like a year.
Lenny got changed and went to the kitchen. He pushed the door open and the haunting strains of Morrissey vocals reached his ears. The Smiths? What the fuck? Then he remembered Cass, the only man who’d dare breach Nero’s unwritten code of fevered silence in the kitchen.
“Morning, kid.”
Speak of the devil. Lenny turned to face him. “I’m not a kid, you know. I just dress like one.”
“Nah, with that blond hair you look like that lad from the Milkybar advert. Anyway, come here. I haven’t seen you for ages.”
Cass enveloped Lenny in the kind of hug that would’ve turned him to mush had he not had Nero’s embrace to compare it to. Lenny laid his cheek on Cass’s chest. It was firm and warm, but he felt nothing close to the inferno Nero’s arms often wrapped around him. “Your heart skips,” he said absently.
“Yeah?” Cass released Lenny, still grinning. “Must be giddy with excitement.”
“If you say so,” Lenny deadpanned, channelling Nero before he caught himself. “They’re called ectopic beats. Not stressed out, are you?”
“Nope. Was pissed as a fart last night, though, if that makes any difference.”
“That could do it.”
“If you say so.” Cass cocked an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Anyway, that’s enough of that nerdy bollocks for one day. Nothing wrong with me that not getting arseholed won’t fix. You ready to roll?”
As he’d ever be. Lenny trailed Cass to the main-line section and went to work setting up the kitchen according to Cass’s rules, which turned out to be vastly different from the regimented order Nero demanded. Gone were the neat lists, penned in Nero’s gorgeous handwriting, and in their place came the radio, lots of bad singing by the team of chefs who arrived throughout the morning, and a million cups of builder’s tea. And then, as Cass got ready to fire up the chargrill, a power cut stopped the whole kitchen in its tracks, plunging it into darkness before the dim emergency lights came on.
Cass fruitlessly jiggled the ignition switch on the grill. “Fuck’s sake, the gas too? How does that even happen?”
Lenny had no idea. He guzzled the last of his most recent mug of tea and carried on slicing cod into neat fillets Nero would’ve been proud of.
Cass disappeared, presumably to investigate. Lenny took advantage of his absence to allow his mind to drift back to his early morning encounter with Nero. Blowing him had been incredible, but he couldn’t help wondering how it would feel to slide his own dick into Nero’s mouth. Nero seemed more at peace with touching Lenny than his comments about stage fright implied, but as hard—ha—as Lenny tried, he still couldn’t picture Nero as a submissive lover. Would he let Lenny fuck his mouth?
“Ah, Nero said you were a dreamer.”
Lenny jumped a mile and, for the second time that morning, spun around to find Cass grinning at him like a friendly snake. “Am not.”
The retort was out before he remembered Cass was his boss, not the man who’d trained him, cared for him, and ultimately shared his bed with him, but Cass’s grin merely widened, and Lenny realised that he lacked the irritable edge Nero wore like a second skin.
Lenny finished chopping the tomatoes for the fish stew Cass was planning to make with the cod. “Did you fix the power?”
“Nope. Got the generator going, but we’re fucked for gas.”
As he spoke, the lights came back on and the extractor fans whirred to life. Lenny glanced around the kitchen, trying to remember which appliances required gas. “So what do we do with no grill or burners?”
“Fry shit. Bake shit. Make salads. At a push I can dig the portable hob out of the cellar, but it’ll only do one of us.” Cass banged on the counter and called the chefs close. His plan was simple. “Old-school fish and chips with the cod. Debs, take your peas and whizz ’em up for mushies. Jolen, roast up that chicken and make a Caesar salad. I’ll do some steak tartare shit with that filet. Still need a veggie option. Lenny?”
Lenny blinked. “Huh?”
Grinning, Cass ruffled Lenny’s hair. “Can you fudge a veggie main for me? And fast? We haven’t got long to put this together.”
“Erm . . . okay?”
“Good. Get to work and find me when you’ve got it sorted. Sooner the better, so we can get the menus printed.”
“Come on, come on. Pick up.” Lenny twisted the phone cord around his finger as he counted the rings. “What the fuck is he doing?”
