Call Me Back Again

CHAPTER 4

"John?"

A pointed knock on the door nearly ruined the moment. Thankfully, John only had to close his eyes to see the object of his desire as clearly as if he was standing in front of him. Just remembering how he - Paul - had sipped that wine, savoured it with the tiniest of frowns, and then looked as if it was the best thing he'd ever tasted, was enough to make John float on cloud nine. He'd never been happier to decant, and it was entirely possible he'd poured a bit more into that glass than he was supposed to...

"John!" Ringo's voice was more urgent now, and rather than knock, he had resorted to kicking the door. "Are you wanking?"

"No," John replied too quickly, his voice a mixture of guilt and petulance. "Only a little."

A short bark of a laugh drowned out the familiar sounds of pots and pans being banged about. "I'll have none of that in my kitchen, son," Ringo chastised him from the other side of the door. "It's not sanitary."

"I'm not actually in the kitchen, am I?"

"Save it for someone who cares, Johnny. Order for table six will be on the pass in three minutes. So stop tossing yourself off and get back to work. I mean it, mate." And by the sound of his voice, which had dropped to the low end of its spectrum, Richie did mean it.

"I'm not having a wank," John managed feebly, reluctantly stopping the very activity he was rightfully being accused of. He wasn't going to finish anyway, not now that he was completely distracted. In fact, if anything, he was getting softer, not harder. Unable to bite back a frustrated groan, which he supposed just as easily could have been interpreted as something else entirely, he tucked himself in and leant his head against the wall. So much for getting off on the mere thought of what he, when given half a chance, might do to that delightful creature out there on the patio...

"Yeah, you're just really happy to be taking a shit, right? Hurry up, mate. And for fuck's sake, wash your hands. We're supposed to be a respectable restaurant." The head chef's voice trailed off as he walked away, but not fast enough for John to miss the last, dejected addition to his rant. "Sort of..."

Grinning, John sorted himself out, taking extra care to douse himself in deodorant before exiting the loo because even though he hadn't actually come, he still reeked of sex, not to mention sweat, since he hadn't had a chance to shower between that shopping excursion and leaving for work. Sure, he smelt as if he'd just fallen into a vat of Lynx Dark Temptation, but the fumes had seemingly killed what was left of the reason he'd locked himself up, so he wasn't walking around with a stiffy the size of the Blackpool Tower anymore. Mission accomplished, John supposed, although he felt sad about getting there without the fireworks, so to speak.

Now all he could hope for was for those big bedroom eyes to not look at him again with the same intensity that got him into that predicament in the first place. Which, sadly, was probably too much to ask since all this Paul fellow had really done was order food and comment on the wine. John hated to think what might happen if the bloke would actually do anything remotely flirtatious. Cream his pants on the spot, most likely, he mused as he pressed a cold, wet paper towel to the back of his neck. Fucking heat wave and its effect on his libido...

The mere smell of him as he re-entered the kitchen made Richie turn around with a look of disgust on his face, though there was a definite twinkle in his eyes. "You're hopeless, John."

"You haven't seen this bloke, Rings. Even you would get hard looking at him." He glanced at his reflection in the shiny, scrubbed aluminium of the hob and ran a hand through his curls. "It should be illegal to be that attractive. Nobody can blame me for falling in love. I have, you know. Fallen in love, I mean."