SIX
1160 Words
“What would you like to eat?” Brandon asked, glancing at Wilson as he moved around the tiny kitchen, gathering ingredients.
Wilson was sitting at the table by the wall, wearing a pair of jeans—the only thing he deigned to put on after his shower.
His injured, rippled torso drew Brandon's eyes, and his hand shook slightly as he reached for a spice jar.
With his hair cut short, his cheekbones appeared sharper, his features even more chiseled than before.
Brandon had a lot of pressing questions to ask Wilson but decided to give him the space to get comfortable and talk about everything when he was ready.
Frowning, Brandon took a closer look. Wilson looked thinner. He had lost some weight.
Ignoring his staring, Wilson leaned back in the flimsy chair Brandon bought at IKEA, stretching out his long legs.
His feet were bare and strikingly masculine. “Anything you're comfortable with,” he said lazily, watching Brandon with a heavy-lidded gaze. “Just don't set the house on fire,” he added.
Brandon rolled his eyes at him before a smile crept on the corners of his lips. Wilson reminded Brandon of an unquenchable fire.
An indestructible element. Better still, a predator patiently stalking its prey.
He swallowed, placing the pan on fire as he began to cook mac and cheese.
Unlike him, Brandon was wearing jeans, thick socks, and a sweater.
Being fully dressed made him feel less vulnerable, and more in control.
The whole thing occasionally seemed unrealistic to him. If it weren’t for the slight soreness between his asshole, he would’ve been convinced that he was hallucinating.
But no, his lover—the man who had become the center of my existence for so long—was there in his tiny apartment, dominating it with his powerful presence.
Brandon worked around the kitchen with ease, stressless throwing the dish together. He has been a mother and father figure to his sister all his life, and cooking was an easy thing for him.
“Where's Britney?” Wilson questioned as he observed Brandon.
“Out. All the girl wants to do is party and hang out with her friends. I don't blame her, though. Young adults,” he added.
“What are you, then?” Wilson teased. “Old adult?”
Brandon glared at him before heaving a sigh. He got back to stirring his mac. Wilson knew how to push Brandon's buttons.
After the mac and cheese got ready, he dished a plate, placing two spoons for them, and joined him at the table. Brandon still felt a pungent confusion.
One second he wanted to scream with joy that he was alive, and the next he wanted to kill him for putting him through torture.
And through it all, at the back of his mind, was the knowledge that neither of those was an appropriate response for the situation. By all rights, he owed to inform the police about his survival.
Wilson didn't seem a bit fazed. Apart from the cuts on his smooth skin, he looked more like he had just successfully closed another business deal rather than walked out of an explosion that dismembered people.
He was comfortable and self-assured in Brandon's house, as he would be in his own house or during their vacation.
He picked up his fork and began to dig into the food, while Brandon joined him.
They looked like newlyweds with no worries. Taking each bite, he looked at Brandon, a mesmerizing half-smile playing on his beautiful lips.
“What now?” Brandon asked, his eyes piercing Wilson's.
“Nothing.”
“Why are we at my house?” Brandon quietly asked as the warm cheese melted in his mouth.
His mouth twisted slightly. Still holding Brandon's gaze, “because I never really visited you.”
“And now is the right time to be here?”
“Aren't you a curious kitten, baby?”
He took another forkful, “because it will be your last day here. You're moving in with me,” he casually announced.
Brandon calmly dropped his fork. “What do you mean by that?”
Wilson continued munching on his food. “Until I get to the bottom of this, this house isn't safe for either you or Britney. You've seen that those after me would stop at nothing to harm and hurt those close to me. Please, let's not argue about this. It's not even up for debate. You're leaving this house with me.”
Brandon tried to process the information. For some reason, it was a lot to take in and his brain was finding it difficult to take it all in. “So, does that mean that Britney is moving in with us?”
“No, baby. I'm transferring overseas to continue with her studies. Then, we can have the house to ourselves,” he winked, wiping his mouth with a tissue. “Thank you for the food. It was delicious.”
Sliding down, he kissed Brandon, then took the empty plate, which he ate a larger portion out of, to the sink.
He washed the dishes, and then cleaned up afterward.
Brandon sat on his chair like one who has been electrified. Not moving or talking. Just zoned off to space.
Wilson, done with cleaning up, got back to Brandon, his muscles flexing.
Although he looked thinner, he still looked great. His abdomen was toned, giving him a fine V-line.
“Don't think about it much. We'll be fine.” Wilson reached for Brandon's slender face and caressed it with his thumb, lingering a bit on his wet, red, and plump lips.
Staring at them made him want to fill that mouth once more with his c**k.
However, he was too exhausted for that. Besides, they had pressing issues to discuss.
That snapped Brandon back to reality. “But, I want my privacy. My space. My identity. I'll be just fine here--”
“Brandon,” Wilson sneered, “it's not up for debate. I almost lost you once. I'm not giving room for that to ever happen. Now, be a good boy and drink some water. You look dehydrated,” he commanded.
Brandon found himself obeying, which made Wilson smile. “Good boy. Always listen to Daddy.”
Brandon gave a small nod before meeting Wilson's mesmerizing gaze.
“Those eyes hold countless questions. What do you want to know?” he pressed while holding onto Brandon's hand?
Brandon gave a small thought, biting his bottom lips. He hesitated at first but as if he had been given a passcode, “how did you survive?” Brandon quickly let out.
Wilson's smile disappeared, and his hand balled into a fist, letting go of Brandon's, his teeth gritted and the darkness in his eyes gone.
It was replaced with vague darkness, dilating his pupil. Brandon has seen those eyes before, and he knew what they meant.
- Writer
