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“Ow!” I wince, pulling away from him and hissing slightly. “*Jesus*.”
Zane just chuckles, holding himself behind me. “Since when are you Christian?” he teases.
“Shut up,” I grunt through gritted teeth, looking back at him. I’m bent over the bathroom sink, naked, with Zane using a pair of tweezers to pull a tick off of my ass — a motherfucking *tick*. “This is so fucking stupid,” I mutter to myself. Somehow this is more embarrassing than when Zane got a splinter through his shorts.
“Chill out,” he tells me, the smirk in his voice irritatingly apparent. “It’s not a big deal.”
“If I get Lyme, it’s your fucking fault,” I fire back. He was the one who initiated sex during our little picnic yesterday. That meadow is the only place I could have possibly gotten a tick a few inches from my goddamn asshole.
“You’re not gonna get Lyme,” he assures me before giving one more sharp pull. I grunt before he stands up behind me and pats my ass. “Got him,” he says, wrapping up the tick in a piece of toilet paper, smushing it between his fingers, and then flushing it down the toilet. Then he sets the tweezers on the counter before smiling at me. “Wanna check me for ticks?” he adds with a sly little grin.
I just push my hands into his bare chest, causing him to laugh. He quickly grabs my wrists, though, tugging me into him and pressing his lips against mine. I kiss him back, but barely — and when he starts pinning me against the counter, I stop him. “Mmm. Zane,” I mutter, turning my head away from him. “I’m not in the mood anymore.”
He laughs. “You don’t have to be so embarrassed.”
“I’m not embarrassed,” I tell him, though that’s only somewhat true. “It’s just… super unsexy.” Zane and I were in the middle of some afternoon foreplay, kissing and grinding and undressing slowly. Once we were naked, I sucked him off for a few minutes and then got on top of him. I worked my cock against his while his hands roamed my backside, and he spent ample time on my ass. That’s when he noticed the tick.
“Shame,” Zane says. “I have a huge parasite fetish.”
“God, you’re so annoying,” I mutter, and he laughs, kissing me again — but he respectfully keeps it short.
“C’mon,” he says. “I’ll make you food. That always cheers you up.”
I try not to smile, but the way he looks at me makes my lips betray my attempt. I laugh slightly before following him out of the bathroom, dodging his efforts to swat at my hand after I give his ass a good slap. We stay naked as Zane whips up a quick stir fry and I put together a small salad with the remaining spinach we have left over in the fridge. Zane looks oddly sexy when he cooks, especially after he donned an apron with nothing on underneath. I sit at the table with my freshly-prepared salad, grinning at the sight of him.
“Is it weird that I’d fuck you in that?” I comment.
He chuckles as he pushes chicken and vegetables around in the stir fry sauce. “That could be kinda hot,” he says, grinning back at me as he pulls the pan off the stove and brings it over to the table, pushing food onto each of our plates. “I don’t do food in the bedroom, though. Sorry.”
“I support that lack of kink,” I say with a little smile, thanking him as he fills up my plate. I watch him as he brings the now-empty stir fry pan to the sink, rinses it off, hangs up his apron, and rejoins me at the kitchen table, naked and hungry.
“How is it?” he asks as he sits down, licking his lips after seeing me take a bite.
“Good,” I say, mouth full of broccoli and bell peppers. Zane has a particular style when it comes to stir-fry. It always tastes like home to me. “So,” I say, wiping my lips with the back of my hand, “Baba called me.”
He glances at me as he adds balsamic to his salad. “Yeah?”
“Yup. Wants to know ‘if and when’ you’re gonna talk to Seth.”
“Ugh,” he groans, setting the dressing down with a little more force. “Can we not talk about my father right now?”
“We’re going to have to eventually,” I say. Seth hasn’t reached out to Zane yet, either. Rashida says he refuses to even talk *about* Zane, seeming to prefer pretending his son doesn’t exist. But it’s been quite a number of weeks. How much longer can this stalemate last?
“Or,” Zane says, stuffing his mouth with a forkful of spinach, “we could just never speak to him again.”
“Zane,” I say, giving him a look.
“Oh, come on. No one would miss him.”
“Don’t say that,” I mutter, but is that far from the truth? I know *I’m* not particularly close with Zane’s father, but still, he’s practically family. I know he means a lot to Zane whether or not he likes to admit it. It’d be all too easy to just write him off, and all to easy to regret it. “Be serious for a second.”
“What if I am?” he asks me, looking irritatingly sure of himself. “What if I’m fine with being disowned?”
“That doesn’t make it right,” I tell him, giving him as steely a glance as I can.
“Let him be wrong.”
“What about your mother?”
“What about her?” canlı bahis he snaps, clearly exasperated by the conversation topic. I must look surprised, because he reels it back in, shaking his head to calm himself. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He sighs, running his fingers through his hair as he picks at his food. “I’ll think about it.”
“I’m not trying to attack you, here,” I tell him.
“I know, Khalid.” He grumbles a bit, and I hope I didn’t kill the mood by bringing up his father. But this affects more than just their relationship. Then: “Do you think Baba G will ever tell my father?” he asks, looking at me. “Or *you*, for that matter?”
I smile. “I don’t have to tell him,” I say, standing up to grab a glass of water. “I still like girls, remember?”
He sneers at me. “Fuckin’ cheater,” he mutters, grabbing me around the waist before I can walk away. “I’m gonna drag you down with me,” he says, and I laugh, trying to get out of his grip. But he has a good hold on me.
I just grab his chin and tilt his face towards mine. “I fuckin’ dare you,” I tell him, leaning down and kissing him deeply. My lips on his distracts him enough for him to slacken his grip on me, and I grin and quickly slip out of his reach.
He grunts slightly, looking me up and down as I laugh and head to the cabinets to grab myself a glass. Just as I’m filling it up from the tap, I hear Zane speaking. “You know,” he starts to say, “there is *one* thing that would convince me to talk to my father.”
“Yeah,” he says, and I can almost feel his eyes on my backside without having to turn around. “You could let me tap that pretty ass of yours.”
Even though he’s playing around, I feel my face get warm, and I quickly turn around so that my ass is not completely presented to him. “Fuck off.”
“What?” he says with a cheeky grin, chewing slowly on his food. “I know you’d like it.”
The thing is, he’s right. I *would* like it. In a weird way, though, that kind of scares me. Ever since that first time Zane made me cum with his fingers inside me, we’ve been including a lot of that in our play (even sharing one of Zane’s vibrators), to the point where I’ve started specifically asking for it. Now I rarely cum without a finger in my ass. But a whole cock? *Zane’s* cock? As intimidating as his size may be, that’s not what worries me. What worries me is how much I’ll fucking love it. I can already imagine that sensation so vividly that sometimes I give myself hard-ons at inappropriate times of the day. I know my reservations are problematic, since I’d consider it embarrassing, or emasculating, or a sharp jab to my pride. Once I undo that thinking, though…
“So, you’d talk to your father if I agreed to let you fuck me?” I ask.
He shrugs, grinning.
My instinct is to say no. I’ve been avoiding the temptation to say yes for a while now. He’s only ever flat-out asked me once prior to this, and I didn’t give him a clear answer. He just told me to think about it and left it at that. But maybe this is a good opportunity to kill two birds with one stone: I could throw away my inhibitions, and Zane could, at the very least, get closure. I bite my lip a bit, wondering if this is the kind of decision I want to be making.
“Shake on it,” I say, offering my hand out.
He raises a thick eyebrow. “You’re gonna make me walk all the way over there?”
I roll my eyes before rejoining him at the table, sitting in my seat and extending my hand again. “Shake on it,” I repeat.
He looks amused, eyes switching from my outstretched hand to my face. “You know I wasn’t serious, right?”
“Well, I am,” I tell him.
“I’ll give it up if you swallow your pride and at least *try* to fix this.”
He stares at me for a long time before taking my hand between both of his. “I’ll talk to him,” he says, gently pushing my hand back towards me, “but you don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.”
“Well, I don’t want you to,” he says, smiling slightly. “I don’t want your cherry to be a bargaining chip. I want to fuck you when and *only* when you want me to.”
My heart swells a bit. Again and again, Zane casually displays his ethics, his well-meaning soul, his warm nature. I’ve never felt pressured by him. If I say “no” to something, he takes it at face-value and doesn’t fight me on it, regardless of what he may want to do — which I could learn from. I think that’s what I appreciate about our dynamic the most: there’s no pressure to perform or act a certain way. I can just be myself with him, the self that he already knows and loves. I don’t know why that notion affects me so much, but I can physically feel something shift in my core. I love him. I *love* him.
“What if I don’t ever want to?” I ask, half-teasing, half-curious to know the answer.
He just shrugs. “Then I’ll have ripped fuckin’ fingers,” he says with a grin, wiggling his fingers teasingly in front of my face. Immediately, I start cracking up. Zane shares the laughter with me, bahis siteleri but little does he know that I’ve already decided that his patience is to be rewarded — soon.
~ ~ ~
At the sound of us entering his home, Baba meets us in his living room with his typical radiant smile before roping me into a loving embrace. “Oh, my son,” he says theatrically, hugging me tightly. “It’s been years since I’ve seen you.”
I snort in his ear. “Don’t be so dramatic, Baba,” I mutter, laughing. I usually see him every week, but between work and my relationship with Zane, it’s been closer to two weeks since we last had time together.
“Visit me more often and I wouldn’t be,” he says, pulling back. “Let me get a good look at you,” he adds as he takes my face in his palms and studies my face as if for an inspection.
I grin slightly. “Do I pass?” I tease.
He just rolls his eyes and pats my cheek in response to my “insubordination” before moving away, glancing towards Zane. “Teach him to love his father,” he mutters playfully. “And to eat more.”
Zane laughs. “I make sure he’s fed pretty often,” he says coyly, grinning at me as he leans down to accept Baba’s hug. I scowl at him, which only makes him chuckle.
“Well, clearly you are not feeding him enough,” Baba says, pulling back with a genuine smile. I just rub my palm across my face, shaking my head.
“Anyway,” I cut in, wanting to stop this discreet double entendre before it gets even more out of hand, “are you almost ready to go?” I ask Baba. “We’re gonna be late.”
“Yes, yes,” he says, waving me off. “I just need the koshari.” And with that, he rushes off to the kitchen.
I glance at Zane, looking him over. “Did you leave the wine in the car?” I ask.
He looks at me before closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead. “Shit.”
I groan. “Don’t tell me–“
“It’s at the apartment.”
I shake my head. Zane’s forgetfulness strikes again. Maybe *he’s* Baba’s son. “Forget about it,” I say. “It’s fine.” But in reality, it makes me more nervous than I already am. The wine (a terrible Chablis) was supposed to be a peace offering to Seth. Zane finally feels ready (or, at least, as ready as he’ll ever be) to face his father. But we’re being bold by doing a surprise attack. Baba was invited for dinner, and by extension, so was I. However, Seth doesn’t know that his son is making an appearance, and his favorite brand of wine would have at least somewhat assuaged his inevitable outrage.
Baba comes out of the kitchen with a lidded tray in hand, nodding at the two of us. “Ready?”
And so, the three of us make the short walk over to Zane’s childhood home. In order to distract ourselves from the growing tension, I ask my father about his latest boyfriend, Raul, and it pleases me to see him try not to smile too much. “Things are good,” he says, but I can tell by his expression that things are, at the very least, *very* good. I’m happy he met someone that he’s sticking it out with for longer than a couple weeks. Baba deserves the world and then some.
But that joy fizzles out a bit when we get to the house. Standing under Seth’s grand porch brings out a collective nervousness in the three of us, with Baba fidgeting with the tray, Zane biting his nails, and my leg twitching uncontrollably. I’m not a believer, but I may or may not be sending prayers up to the heavens right now.
Rashida answers the door after Baba rings the doorbell, and we’re all momentarily relieved. She smiles at us — but is particularly excited to see me and Zane. “Boys!” she says, stepping forward to hug each of us individually. “My goodness, what a surprise! How have you two been?”
Zane and I both glance at each other. No one knows that we’re dating yet. We decided to wait for our little trial month to pass before we made any official announcement to Baba or Rashida. “We’re pretty good,” I say vaguely.
“That is good to hear,” she says brightly, holding her hands together. “Oh, I am so happy you–” But then she stops, her smile faltering a bit — and I’m sure I know why: she hears Seth in the other room, asking if it’s my father at the door, and was probably reminded of the tense situation. Now she looks just as nervous as the rest of us, but I’m sure it’s difficult for her in a way us men couldn’t understand. She has to somehow straddle this fence if she wants a relationship with both her husband *and* her son.
Seth shouts again when no one responds. “Gamal?!”
“I’m here, sahbi,” Baba says, and Rashida steps aside to let my father in.
Rashida drops her voice when it’s just us two boys left on the porch. “Are you sure this is… the right time?” she asks warily.
“When would be the right time?” Zane asks, and his mother doesn’t have the answer to that question. “You don’t know how much it took me to bring myself here. If I don’t face him now, I never will.”
Rashida seems to be searching for words, maybe a compromise or even an escape from this situation. But in the end, she sighs and steps bahis şirketleri aside, gesturing for us to enter her home. Here goes.
We step into the foyer. I don’t even give myself a chance to be put off by the glittering chandelier hanging above us, or the oversized portrait of some ancient pharaoh hanging before us in its extravagant frame, or the lush, incalculably expensive rugs that lead the way to different parts of the house. Seth’s borderline-profligacy that usually irks me isn’t even a thought in my head, because I’m focused on the threat at hand: the beast himself, lounging in his den.
I’m about to follow Rashida into the living room when Zane suddenly grabs my arm. When I turn, I study his face. He looks like he’s going to be sick, giving me a pleading sort of look. In response, I smile warmly and touch his side to tell him that I’m here for him, and that seems to be enough.
We enter the living room quietly enough for Seth, who’s in the middle of laughing about something on the television that he’s showing Baba, to not notice us right away. Not until he looks over Baba’s shoulder does he see our tall forms standing in the archway — and then, silence. The quiet seems to stretch on forever, and both Baba, Rashida, and I switch eye contact with each other as we all wonder who’s going to draw their sword first.
Seth sounds calm when he speaks, but he’s evidently seething. “What are you doing here?” he murmurs.
“This is my home,” Zane says, and it’s with such confidence that I can’t help but be proud.
Seth growls threateningly. “Your *home*?”
“Yes,” Zane says.
Seth sneers a bit. “You revoked that privilege the night you disrespected me, boy.”
“By being honest?” Zane demands.
“By being an abomination!” Seth yells, completely losing his cool. Up until this point, the conversation was at a level tone, but all of a sudden, things explode. Even I wince, but Zane actually steps forward, shouting back at his father. I keep a hand on Zane’s shirt to keep him from getting too close to Seth. I don’t need him accidentally tempting his father into yet another physical altercation, because this verbal argument is harsh enough. They just yell over each other so loudly that I only catch snippets of each debate, like “What kind of father are you?” and “You’re no son of mine!” Words like “shallow”, “disgusting”, and “disappointing” are spit out, but half the time, I miss who’s spitting where.
Just as I’m thinking up a way to diffuse this nonsensical situation, Baba steps forward and does something completely out of his character: he yells. He clenches his teeth before shouting “Enough!”
All of us pause as Baba, looking particularly angry, looks back and forth between his best friend and my best friend. Then, his eyes settle on Seth. “Gamal?” Seth asks, confused.
“He is your *son*!” Baba says furiously. “How *dare* you treat him this way!”
Seth blinks, momentarily stunned by Baba chastising him before he gets angry and defensive again. “He’s no son of mi–“
“Yes he is, you ignorant fool,” Baba says, and Rashida holds her hand over her mouth. It’d be almost comical if Baba weren’t so genuinely angry. His face is flushed. Maybe he just can’t take the arguing anymore. “And I’m your friend, am I not?”
“I– Yes, of course,” Seth says, blinking, “but I don’t see why–“
“I’m gay,” Baba admits, and now it’s my turn to gasp. “Are you going to disown me too, brother?”
The tension now is almost worse than when Seth laid eyes on his son. Zane’s father clearly doesn’t know what to think, how to respond, because he stares at Baba open-mouthed and wide-eyed. Finally, after several seconds, he speaks. “No you’re not,” he says, in denial.
“Yes I am,” Baba says confidently. I don’t think I’ve ever admired him more than in this moment, coming to Zane’s defense by standing up to his friend. But I’m nervous. I even step forward, positioning myself so that I’m ready to physically defend my father in case Seth decides to start swinging.
But suddenly, Seth softens, his shoulders slacking as the tension leaves his body. “Tell me it’s not true,” he murmurs.
Baba seems to calm down seeing Seth lower his defense a bit. “It *is* true,” he says calmly. “I always have been.”
“All this time?” Seth asks. “And you never told me?”
“How could I?” Baba murmurs gently.
We all wait for him to get defensive again, to say something problematic — but after another long pause, Seth simply falls to the couch and begins crying. I stare in shock. Even Zane doesn’t know what to do, and we both just stand there as Seth puts his hands against his eyes and cries. “What have I done?” he murmurs.
It’s evident that none of us are sure what to make of this statement. Still, both Rashida and Baba move to sit beside Seth, his wife going as far as putting a comforting arm around him. Zane and I just look at each other, stunned and confused. I’m the one who gestures for us to leave the room. There’s no point in us standing around awkwardly.
We escape to the kitchen, both taking breathers away from the situation. “Wow,” I murmur softly.
“Yeah,” Zane says, grimacing slightly as he glances back at the living room. “What just happened?”
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