TheDevilNinja's note for Chapter 3:
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand welcome, Chapter 3. Since I decided after many years to finally pull finger and get this hosted somewhere, I have recently made a few changes, so those of you who can pick out writing style might notice some differences. I am currently (end of March 2009) halfway through Chapter 8.
You probably know by now that one of my characters is bisexual. This chapter deals somewhat extensively with this, expanding on detail from Chapter 2. From here on out there is significant content dealing with aspects of his bisexuality. There is a depiction of a sexual encounter with a woman in this chapter which I have kept comparatively un-graphic, but that's relative, I suppose, so I hope it doesn't put you off.
This will be a major theme in several chapters of the work (chapters 3 and 7 particularly), plus numerous references throughout. Why, you ask? Because I put a little of myself into each of my characters; and this is where Damien's main character point comes from.
If you like, feel free to drop me a line on alongweekend@gmail.com -- I look forward to chatting to you.
Thanks for reading -tDN-
- Damien's Tale, part 1.
Chris turned back to him. "I'll need your towel when you're done, yeah?" Damien nodded and put it on the side of the bathtub. "I should have brought my bag as well -- it's got all my shit in it." Chris said.
"Don't stress," Damien replied, "you can use my stuff." He handed Chris his bottle of bodywash; Chris nodded his thanks.
At that moment, Simon knocked on the door, opened it and without looking around, said "Breakfast will be ready in about 10 minutes, chaps, okay?" Damien responded, and Simon shut the door again. Chris could see Damien reflected in the bathroom mirror while the story continued.
"We met at the opening night function thingy, basically. I had my eye on the other girl, that Spaniard who was up at our office in November for the first training phase. We flirted and everything the entire time she was here, so I thought I'd make a move," Damien said. Chris nodded as he turned to face the mirror and slipped his briefs off. Damien seemed at first to not notice, but Chris definitely saw his eyes flick and take in the scene. Abruptly, he turned to face Damien, who was caught unawares as Chris threw the damp Armani gear at him. "Hey! That's disgusting!" Damien said, mildly accusatory.
"Your own fault for splashing them," Chris smiled. He stood, completely naked, and motioned for Damien to continue with the story. He could see Damien was having a tough time trying to keep eye contact, and after a few seconds gave him a break and stepped into the shower. He adjusted the temperature slightly upwards, and leaned in to let the water pummel his shoulders and ease the omnipresent tension a bit.
"Anyway," Damien continued, "it turns out Isabella -- the Spaniard -- has hooked up with another guy from her own office and she was completely cold towards me. I'm talking colder than a frozen nipple, man." Chris winced. "Luckily, I got the hint soonish enough to only slightly make a complete arse of myself." They both laughed. "So anyway, on my other side is Nicoletta from Naples, quite shy and demure and becoming and shit like that. But smiling, and laughing at all my jokes and seeming to quite enjoy my company. So I figured, hey, why not? So we got to chatting and stuff and had far, far too much wine. I was sure she was interested, and I was a little smashed as well, so I was completely bulletproof; not to mention wallowing in my earlier failure."
"And of course, all lasered and self--tanned up with nowhere to go," Chris chipped in from under the stream of hot water.
"Piss off. So anyway, we're all there pretty late into the night. Eventually, I tell her I've had enough and I need to hit the sack. She agrees; three others likewise, unfortunately. We say cheers to everyone else and mosey out, still chatting. The other three make for the lift; we end up on the landing on her floor, chatting still for another twenty minutes or so. Eventually, we decide to go get some fresh air and head out to the pool deck. It's kinda chilly out there -- it's winter up north, of course -- so we head back inside, still chatting about God--knows--what. So we decide to go up to the skytop lounge cocktail bar, alongside the hotel gym up on the roof.
"She's less trashed than I am at this stage, I can tell, but I reckon I'm good for another one. We get to the roof, and end up checking out the gym rather than the bar. It's a beautiful place -- spectacular view from their roof; loads of glass. It's deserted; but the door is open and according to the hotel staff it's a 24--hour gym annexed to their pool, so we go inside. She says she has to take a piss; I made some wisecrack about the ladies' changing room and so she dares me to go into it."
"Not much of a dare if the place is deserted," Chris observed. "Although, you with dares..." Damien laughed.
"She couldn't know that. Anyway, I lead her to the ladies. She quickly goes into a cubicle and does her thing; I'm outside looking at the hydrotherapy pool -- a Jacuzzi, basically. When she comes out, she tells me to come away from the edge because I'm so drunk that I'll drown if I fall in. So I tell her suavely to please rescue me and pretend to step in. We're both laughing our heads off. Suddenly she says the water looks so inviting and it's such a pity we have nothing to swim in. So I say--"
"Oh, God," Chris groaned, "you stole The Line!"
"Borrowed, old chap," Damien admonished. "It's such a good line. Anyway, I said so we'll swim in nothing, then.' She looks a little surprised, so I take off my jacket. She smiles, and tells me to stop teasing her. I tell her I'm dead serious; but only if she's keen. I can see she's not one hundred percent on this -- it was only later that I realized it was probably because of the fiancé. It hadn't even occurred to me to ask at that stage if she was single, because I can't imagine an attached woman would give me this much face-time. If there were any contrary signals at all, I missed them. Eventually she nods, and says I have to go first. Dude, I must have set a new record for shucking kit -- I was there in my jocks in like five seconds flat. She begins undressing as well; by the time she's in her underwear only, she says to me that's not naked.' So I got naked and hopped in to the water.
"I let her finish undressing and get in before looking back -- only polite, I thought. Anyway, we sat there for like half an hour or so, turning the bubbles on and off and just shooting the shit and that; and then without warning, she scoots over to me and kisses me. I respond; and then she had her hand in my lap and I had my fingers all over the fucking place. As soon as it started, though, she pulls out of it and goes back to sit opposite me. I figure okay, she thinks things are moving a little quickly, no problem, maybe just the booze; at least I'm in with a shout. After another ten minutes or so, we reckon it's getting late so I hop out and find us some towels. Gallant, huh? She got a good eyeful at that stage, and I hadn't quite deflated from earlier I don't think. Then I excused myself to go for a tactful piss as well. By the time I got back, she was out and dressed. Well calculated by me, I thought."
"Very chivalrous. I gotta ask," Chris replied from the shower, scrubbing his crotch with what Damien thought was a little too much vigour, "is she hot?" Damien sighed, jaw hanging.
"Yeah, dude. Hot hot hot. Long dark hair, quite dark tanned skin, sharp brown eyes and in excellent shape. And a decent 34-C as well. And her tan is not an all-over one." Damien, Chris and Alec all agreed that no matter the gender, an all-over tan was not nearly as sexy as a Speedo or bikini tan. "And she's got a beautiful accent and her English is better than mine" -- a feat in itself, Chris thought -- "and she's really intelligent and thoughtful." He paused. "And fun. Great sense of humour as well. It's very much a complete package." He paused again. "Oh fuck, I think I'm in love."
"Not my cup of tea personally anymore, but I can see why you were keen. Wow," Chris replied. Damien watched him intently through the glass as he soaped his body. Chris really was in the form of his life, Damien thought; Alec had not been kidding. I'll need to ask Matt to write me a gym routine as well, Damien thought, if that's the benefit. He could not see that much detail through the glass, to his disappointment; he could sort of make out the outline of Chris's knob, though, and it certainly appeared impressive. He knew Chris was the largest of them when they were kids; presumably he had won the lotto again as they grew older. Damien hoped for a better look as Chris came out of the shower.
"So then what happened?" Chris returned Damien to the conversation with a bump.
"Well, I'm still all bulletproof and all, so I carry on like nothing has happened. I dropped the towel and dressed -- she didn't even turn away or anything -- and we went back to her room. I just got her there, said `good-night; see you at breakfast' and went to my room to sleep. Had a good night with all the wine. She phoned me in the morning and invited me to have breakfast with her so I met her downstairs. The entire firm got bused to the office for the training sessions and we ended up in the same working group for the first two days; then different groups for the last two days. We had lunch together every day, and supper together twice. There was a function in the middle of the week and also on the last night before we left which we attended together. She is quite into the fitness and whatever -- quite a couple of us were, in fact -- so we spent quite a bit of spare time in the gym. And a movie one night as well after dinner."
"Sounds idyllic," Chris said. That, Damien thought, was an excellent choice of words. "Can you do my back as well, since you're here and I'm a lazy sod?"
"A horny sod, more like it," Damien countered, more on the money than Chris would care to admit. As he had before, Chris opened the door and handed over a sponge.
"So that was the quarter point," Chris said. "Tell us about the full one." Unlike Damien, Chris was not speaking over his shoulder.
"The full point... jeez." Damien briefly buried his face in his hands at the recollection, and felt briefly bad that he could see -- and looked at -- Chris's penis through his fingers. It was only brief because there was an instant flash of envy for the rather large piece of flesh hanging before him, its creamy colour complemented brilliantly by the dark blonde bush behind it. Unlike his own, Damien noted, Chris's tan, though faded, was more even; and also unlike his, Chris had not shaved his scrotum, although it did appear that a certain amount of trimming had taken place. All this occurred to him very quickly -- he marveled at the speed of thought -- and within a second, he resumed his tale with Chris none the wiser; at least, so he hoped.
"Well, I found out about the fiancé through someone else the morning after the Jacuzzi incident during a coffee break. I mentioned it casually to her; she concurred. But even though that's all true, we still got closer and closer and I guess I kind of enjoyed the whole `other man' scenario. I'm not proud of that, I suppose, but in fairness, it was purely platonic after that first night; at least, physically. Anyway, the intimate conversations and the movie and the late night chats and stuff, we connected, like a bad cliché. On every level. If not for the fiancé hanging over my head, I'd have thought we were in love.
"I guess it was the logical next step to take the whole thing to the edge as far as we could in the time we had, like fucking star-crossed lovers of old in a relationship doomed by consequence. Utter bullshit." He shrugged. "It was like an unspoken agreement -- after the closing night dinner thingy with everyone from work in the hotel, we headed up to the rooftop bar. Everyone went for drinks; we went into the gym, straight to the Jacuzzi and did our thing. No foreplay, nothing."
Chris gave a low whistle.
"Yeah," said Damien.
"It must be pretty cool, having sex in a Jacuzzi, in a pretty public place," Chris said, turning around as much to hide his swelling cock as to let Damien start scrubbing his back. "It certainly would add to the suspense of the whole thing."
"Yeah," Damien said again.
"That's quite a story. Hot Italian bird, engaged, bumping uglies with you in a Jacuzzi," Chris replied. "I'd probably get so turned on I'd blow my nut before even really getting started."
"Yeah." Damien carried on scrubbing. Chris waited a little while before responding.
"Is there more? I get the impression you want to say something else."
"Well, yeah, kinda. The recollection is hitting me quite hard and I'm just mulling it over, really." Damien stepped back. "Done. All nice and clean and pretty." Chris turned the water back on and stepped under it, still keeping his back to Damien.
"Thanks, old boy. Look... I appreciate you telling me all this stuff. If you have more you want to say, cool. If not, also cool. Either way, it's not getting out of here, yeah?"
"Yeah. Cool. Thanks." Damien sighed. Chris, confident all the swelling had gone, turned the water off and stepped out of the shower. He met Damien's gaze and held it for a while.
"Well, if that's the end of it, do you mind me asking if she was any good in the sack? Well, the Jacuzzi, anyway." He grinned; Damien smiled back wanly. "I presume you took her around the world and back?"
"Yeah. You have to, really. Didn't even take that long, either -- presumably the illicitness of the whole thing turned her on too. And yeah, she was good. I don't know how much you remember about sex with girls" -- Chris's first sexual experiences, years before when he was still hoping to turn out straight, had been with a girl -- "but damn, it was fabulous. Smooth, and fairly tight." They both grinned. Chris began to towel himself off.
"So that was it, then? Must have been kinda weird, afterwards, knowing that it was all over," Chris said. Again, simultaneous expressions of guilt and triumph flashed across Damien's countenance.
"Yeah, well, no, not really. You see..." Damien grimaced. "God, how do I put this politely? Um..." he broke off, flustered. Chris chuckled.
"Dude," he said, "don't stress. You don't have to answer to me." Damien still looked fairly exasperated, and Chris laughed even louder. "Okay, let me guess -- you did it again. Twice. On the floor of the ladies' change-room and in the lift on the way back to your room." He laughed some more and then realized Damien was not joining in.
"You're halfway there. She...well, we kinda spent the night in my room and kinda... you know... fucked a lot more, like... you could... the night of six more times." Damien managed, blurting out the last few words. He averted his eyes. Silence crashed about them and reigned for a good fifteen seconds.
"Jesus. Nice one," Chris managed when he got his mouth to work again. It was all he could come up with. "That's... a shit-load of condoms, Big D." Damien shot him a look, guilty and reproachful. "You did... take care of things...? Oh, God." Realisation crashed in. "Dude..."
"I did not fuck off to France carrying enough condoms for seven rounds, Chris," Damien snapped. "That's beyond optimism; that puts the `ho' in holiday." He looked pretty pissed; Chris switched tack.
"Of course not -- you buy them there," Chris responded. "You only take...?"
"A pack of three, or thereabouts, of course. Should be enough to tide anybody over, under normal circumstances."
"Well yes. Nobody expects to score seven in a night, really; except Arsenal playing Everton," Chris replied. "Wow. How many times you nut inside her?"
Damien glared at him. "That's immaterial."
"Not to mention sticky."
"For fuck's sake!" The look Damien shot at him that time was priceless.
"Well, I don't really know what else to say, Damien!"
"It's not a fucking porn where you spaff all over her face, man. What the fuck is wrong with you? Real women don't actually enjoy that. Yeah, I came inside her. Seven times. Four times without needing to tie something off."
No wonder he's so out of sorts, Chris thought. "I'm sure she's protected against pregnancy -- most women are these days; especially if she's a Catholic," he said, inventing wildly.
"Says who?" Damien's reply was combative. "You're just making shit up now."
"Well, okay. But seven times? Dude, your cock must be raw!"
"Christopher," Damien was caustic, "you're not taking this seriously." Chris nodded.
"Yeah, I know, but I don't have to. And I don't know what to say, man," Chris replied. "Except... well, dude, you should have fucked her up the bum, man!"
"Show some fucking respect!" Damien snapped. He looked so pissed off that Chris burst out laughing. Although his friend was clearly beyond agitated and well down the path to distraught, he couldn't help himself.
"Dude, don't laugh, please. I'm coming unglued," Damien's response was subdued. By now, the anger seemed to have passed into the calmer waters of sadness; the look camped across Damien's brow sobered Chris up quickly. Without thinking any further, he dropped the towel and pulled Damien into a hug.
"Damien, unfortunately there isn't anything you can do about it now, son," Chris said. Damien nodded, still looking miserable. "We'll have to hope for the best."
"It was so stupid."
"A little careless, is all. That's what emotion does, man. It's nice to know there is still some passion out there in the world," Chris said. He believed it, too. There was, too often in his opinion, a distinct lack of it these days; he often wondered what the state of the world would be like generally if more people gave a shit about things. He knew deep down that it was a double-edged sword -- the merciless killings of doctors performing abortions, for example; passion taken a little too far in that instance -- but did have an earnest belief that it could do so much good in the long run.
"Yeah." Damien paused, then after a long while shook his head. "Still fucking stupid, though. And not just the sex -- the whole thing was ridiculous. What was the fucking point -- ruining it for her because I couldn't have her?"
Chris let go of Damien, aware that perhaps his total nudity and Damien standing only in his underwear might lessen the effect of the pep talk. "Dude, you seized the opportunity. By the throat, admittedly; sometimes, you gotta do what you gotta do, man. Nobody's going to blame you for that. If you just had sex once, that's like... I don't know... ooh you naughty horny little sod. But jeez, seven times in a night, knowing the consequences? Come on. It must have been something worth it."
"Yeah, maybe." Damien sounded unconvinced.
"It's not going to make it any easier now, Damien. But if you believe it, it should in the long run." Chris believed that, too. "Now, I need to ask -- what happened in the morning?"
Damien grimaced. "Well, I was obliged to play it chivalrous and told her the ball was in her court. If she would rather go back to her fiancé and make like nothing had happened, it was her call. I really wanted to tell her that it did matter to me, though; almost demand that she consider my feelings as well, but I didn't. She seemed grateful to avoid a scene." Damien sounded a little bitter still. "Anyway, I left to take a shower and when I came out, she had gone. Completely, I discovered at breakfast -- checked out and everything. We left the next morning for the spa and that was that. Haven't yet had a chance to get hold of her again."
"Might it have lasted?"
"No. Of course not. I have no plans to move to Italy; she's not heading to Joburg. And she's engaged -- there's no way it was ever likely to last."
"Well, then, why are you so bothered by it? I mean, I presume you've done the one-night thing before... did you want it to last?" Chris asked gently.
"She was almost perfect. What's not to like?"
"Do you want to try to make it work? I mean, maybe you need to get on the phone. You'd have a fiancé to deal with first, of course, but if it's worth the effort..."
"I'm not convinced she's keen, to be honest," Damien replied quietly. "I suppose that tells me everything I need to know."
"You opted to accept it at the time," Chris said. Damien nodded. "I don't blame you for being pissed off. But I know you're looking at it from her side as well."
"Yup," Damien replied. "Always doing the right thing, I am."
"Personal sacrifice. A very noble thing," Chris said.
"Whoop de fucking do." Damien wasn't in the mood for altruism and hated the sound of what he was saying earlier. Giving up your own happiness for someone else's sake was bullshit -- another double-edged sword. Why couldn't they give up theirs for you for a change? Chris understood it fully, he knew that; another theory the two of them subscribed to. He wondered briefly what Alec would have to say about it all, this and... the other stuff. Damien did want to tell him; but it could wait for later. Not with Nick and everyone else around, and not even Matt. He had nothing against those guys, but he didn't particularly want to have them chipping in on this thing, not yet.
At the end of the day, he knew it boiled down to him avoiding a decision. Chris had eventually decided on homosexuality fairly early on -- even after Damien's own admission, he had adamantly claimed to be straight for a good year or more; one day, seemingly out of the blue and completely plastered, he had admitted otherwise. Like Damien, bisexuality had been Chris's call that day; and that had ended a further year down the line. Alec had been the only one of them to go gay immediately; Damien actually never understood that.
With Chris, the desire for normalcy had been apparent; uniqueness aside, he didn't want to be different to everyone else and was afraid of the consequences of his admission from family, friends and strangers alike. It was later when he realized that in fact women were never going to have even thirty percent, let alone fifty, of his interest and had made the necessary announcement, albeit reluctantly.
Alec, too, had not said anything other than straight following Damien's own admission, either. In fact, Damien recalled, Alec had not said anything one way or the other. Damien knew that in the end that it was in his best interest to wait for them to make the call, in their own time. He had known about Alec; and had suspected Chris quite strongly. The fact that they'd accepted him for what he had turned out to be was enough to keep him patient.
As far as his own sexuality went, he'd had a physical interest in boys for a long time by the time he called it; but still was heavily turned on both physically and emotionally by the infinite variety of girls as well. He'd opened up to the others in their final year at school, only sixteen at the time on account of him being a year younger than most of the guys in his class. It was almost three years to the day when Alec finally came out; Chris had said his second piece some six months prior to that. While the others had made a definite call -- late for Chris, but committed nevertheless -- Damien still was unable to decide one way or the other. "The best of both worlds," was how he flippantly described it; deep down, though, he knew that achieving any sort of happiness was going to be difficult. How could any lover possibly put up with that? It is hard enough to keep your partner's eye from wandering toward a rival of your own gender; how on earth could anyone possibly cope with competition from both sexes?
From his own perspective, for that very reason, Damien would seriously struggle to have a relationship with any other bisexual person, of either gender, so he understood where other people might be coming from. There were other issues, emotional ones, at play of course; there always were. But still... And "decision" wasn't the right word to use, either, and just cheapened the whole thing. He learned and understood more and more about bisexuality as he got older, but to date had yet to find anything other than a purely physical response to a guy.
To further complicate the issue, he managed to fall for Nicoletta, a girl who would probably have wanted nothing to do with him had she known the truth about him; and who was untouchable by her own choice because of the ring on her finger. Yeah, the initial flirting had been cool; the development of true feelings, if they ever were, was something else entirely; the `other man' had its appeal, at first. But now, especially with Laurent... what a fucking mess.
He could see Chris, now dry but still hanging on to the towel, watching him, an apologetic smile playing across his lips. Damien fought the urge to really look critically at him, to take in the sight of his body, opting instead for respite from his self-pity and to go on to fight another day. "Put some stuffing clothes on, you," he said gruffly.
"Says you. Anyway, I can't. They're in the lounge, with the rest of my shit. I just came in to keep you company, remember?"
"Well put your jocks back on, at least. You'll catch a cold." Damien sounded like his mother.
"Can't. All wet," was the reply, mildly accusatory. Damien shrugged.
"Well, put the fucking towel on, then. For shit's sake, how am I supposed to look at that fantastic thing of yours and not suffer massive ego damage?" He grinned; it was infectious. "Fuck me, what I'd do for one of those..."
"Well, given your success rate in the last two weeks, I'd say it was unfounded," Chris replied, smiling back, and tying the towel around his waist as Damien caught a last glimpse of his flaccid six inches.
"Of course. A hot Italian bird-"
"And a nice French boy, don't forget."
"How could I? Young Laurent -- nice kid. He's in great shape, too. It was er... it would have been nice to get to know him a little more intimately." That was untrue, Damien thought -- he'd purposely lied by omission to Chris about the extent of what had happened with Laurent, for various reasons. He really was a lovely guy, brilliant blue eyes and a solid but slender body, almost devoid of hair. He had a quick wit and a wonderful temperament as well, all of which only complemented his impressive sexual prowess. Damien had gone to town on him; he'd willingly reciprocated. They had fucked each other like the fate of the world depended on it.
Damien fished about inside his luggage. "Supposed to be fairly pleasant today, yeah?" He retrieved a stylish pair of Billabong boardshorts, white with red panels, from the gut of his large duffel bag and a matching t-shirt which he quickly put on while Chris sorted out his hair. The discarded clothing -- Chris wouldn't have referred to it as whiffy, regardless of Damien's opinion -- was folded up and stuffed back inside. Eventually, Damien was ready to go.
"Dude, quit your fucking titivating and let's get a move on, man," he said. Chris grinned back at him as they headed out of the bathroom. "We've gotta eat, and still drive as well. We don't have all bleeding day!"
"Don't hate me because I'm beautiful, Big D." Damien snorted; Chris held up a warning finger. "Don't say anything I'll make you regret later, hey."
The smell of bacon and eggs and various other things pervaded the morning air as they made their way back into the lounge. By this stage, the place was buzzing -- Max and a seemingly disgruntled Nick had both made an appearance and were sitting on the couch; Simon was in the final stages of dishing everything up. The television was on in the background as well, broadcasting all the previous evening's important sports results. The guys had started to watch one of the international soccer matches during the course of the night, but once the third bottle of wine was opened, and the second six-pack had been discarded, interest in the high-stakes, yet dull, qualifier had fallen off rather rapidly.
"Good heavens," Nick's cultured baritone -- private school all the way -- cut through the telecast, "look what the cat dragged in!"
"Fresh from a tête-à-tête in our bathroom. Delightful," Max chipped in. Damien grinned; Chris managed very briefly to look annoyed.
"Morning guys. Nice to see everyone again," Damien said, crossing to shake hands with the other two. Nick was looking quite good, Damien thought -- he'd dropped a few kilos since Christmas, certainly, and he'd clearly also been putting in some time with his body. He'd also let his hair grow out a bit -- gone was the buzz-cut which had prevailed last time, which had made him look like a shaven hamster -- and this newer, more complex shape was shot through with streaks of lighter brown. He certainly looked agreeable sitting there in his plaid boxers and a black Nike vest.
"Damien! How was the flight? Simon says you were in transit for days!" Nick said. Damien filled him in briefly on the flight path.
"Did you get to come in on our stylish new Airbus?" Max's quiet tenor always sent a pleasurable shiver down Damien's spine -- it was, in his opinion, a voice ideal for whispering sweet nothings into your ear.
"Nah; not on the way home. Did on the way over, though; but it was an elderly Jumbo and three 737s for the return hop." Max nodded. He'd not changed much since Damien saw him last -- still looked like something from the bottom of a scruffy pile of skinny, disjointed body parts. It all added to his charm, though -- while not the most beautiful man on the planet, by some distance, he had a striking double-take factor, and the second look was always worth it. His hair was quite long and could do with a trim; he needed a little more meat on his bones. He did have the most startlingly green eyes, though, beneath the dark blonde mop of his fringe; and an honest, open face in which they were housed. He too was wearing a pair of plaid boxer shorts, with a pale blue t-shirt on top which, like so many others relegated to the role of sleeping gear, had seen better days.
"You enjoy your shower?" Nick asked, impishness overt in his voice, winking at Chris. Max stifled a chuckle and became heavily interested in examining his feet.
"Well, we spent ages waiting for Simon to join us, but he didn't come," Chris replied. "In the end we were obliged to just get clean and come through. Disappointed, of course." That got a laugh from Simon in the kitchen over the open-plan counter. Nick inclined his head, acknowledging temporary defeat while Max looked on, bemused.
"Touché," Max responded. Chris bent down to retrieve his own bag from alongside the couch he'd crashed on, and fumbled in it for something to wear. As he pulled out a pair of boardshorts and a shirt and underwear and prepared to drop the towel, Nick said, "Er... I'm not sure I can deal with that monster this early." Damien wondered briefly how many people had seen it, and exactly how and why they had. Chris laughed.
"Sit down, man. I'll hide behind the couch. Just don't turn around." He went behind them to dress quickly. While the event appeared to pass largely unnoticed, Damien did see Simon react to the proceedings, and grinned to himself. He walked over to the counter and stood across from Simon.
As far as one could impress at breakfast, Simon had done just that. While it was essentially a fry-up, Simon and Alec had come up with a pretty impressive arrangement -- grilled tomatoes, scrambled eggs, pork sausages, mushrooms, the mandatory bacon. In addition, Simon had turned his hand to herbed hash-browns, the golden colour contrasted with several splashes of green. Loads of vibrant colour as far as the eye could see, an arty lay-out on the plain white plates and a mouth-watering selection of aromas backed up by the visual aspect of the meal all appealed quite heavily to Damien. Simultaneously, two thoughts struck him -- one, airline cuisine be buggered, and he for one quite enjoyed it, for a reason unknown to everyone, himself included; and two, no more watching of BBC Food. Max approached the counter to take in the scene.
"Simon's turning out to be quite the chef, huh?" Max said, eyes roving all over the counter. Simon grinned at the compliment.
"I have a couple of things planned for the weekend," he replied. "Mixed up things I've picked up here and there; and some stuff I'm trying to pioneer. All good, though -- real dude food, as you three would say."
"Gotta love dude food," Max replied. Damien nodded.
"Nothing quite like it," he said. He glanced about the room briefly. "Hey -- where the hell are Alec and young Matthew?"
Max scowled at him. "Matt sleeps like he's dead. Even if he's been up and about, he can drift off in like two minutes. Alec went to wake him."
The sound of laughter drifted across the room as Nick and Chris exchanged what was presumably an in-joke of some sort. Max regarded them both and shook his head. Damien looked at him, wondering what was going on.
Simon said, across the counter, "How's your head this morning, Chris?" Chris shook it, which got a chuckle from Simon.
"We stayed up a mite on the late side and had perhaps one or two units too much last night," Max offered, by way of explanation. "Chris and Nick did a number on me and Simon, that's for sure. Looks like they came off best; not by that much, though, so that's all right. And cheerful Nick owes me fifty bucks on last night's result, so that's all fine." Nick grimaced at him from across the couch,
"Bloody crooked Swiss referee!" Nick said. "So much for neutrality, the entirely non-impartial little bastard. I'm guessing that ended after the war." He shook his head.
"Indian war signals. That's what did us in," Simon said. Damien whistled softly and winced. "Yeah, we know that," said Simon. "Retrospectively, of course." One thing that Chris had picked up at the university was the ability to consume vast amounts of alcohol -- his campus was in the heart of the wine-lands, after all; and of course his own research had application to vintners all over the world, so a certain amount of indulgence was expected, encouraged and, in part, came with the territory. Simon, on the other hand, didn't tend to drink all that much; not very often, either. Max would binge occasionally; Nick aimed for steady-state and drank a fair amount quite frequently. Matt would drink often as well, but limited his intake to at most two units at a time on a normal night. Alec was very much in the middle. It was no real surprise to Damien that Chris and Nick had beaten the rest in a drinking game. As far as his own consumption went, he always had wine and some beers and spirits and other assorted items in the fridge in his flat, but didn't tend to get annihilated on them that often.
"Perhaps Cardinal Puff will pop his head in sometime this weekend," Damien said, loud enough for Chris to hear.
"As long as it's early in the evening, he's welcome," Chris countered. "But not a post-war visit; that I cannot allow." Damien smiled to himself.
"Chris and the Cardinal have never really seen eye to eye. At least, eye to bloodshot eye," Damien told Max. "He can't remember the rhyme; and he can't handle beer after spirits."
"Well, then," Max replied, "tonight perhaps His Eminence will pay us a visit. Always nice to know these things, huh? Thanks for the heads-up, Damien." Damien inclined his head in acquiescence. Simon finished up with the last plate.
"Grub's up, chaps," he said. "Someone want to go dredge up the other two?"
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