“That young?” Damie couldn’t remember a damned thing about being six, much less knowing he was different. “Shit.”
“Yeah.” Sionn matched Damie’s sharp exhale with one of his own. “I had shitty taste in guys even back then. That asshole’s in jail for boosting draw checks from old ladies. The boy I tried kissing. Not my da. Although he could be keeping the asshole company for all I know. Haven’t heard from him since then.”
“Probably blow-up doll guy’s cousin or something. The asshole. Not your dad.”
“Probably.” Sionn laughed softly. “Tell you what… I haven’t had anything to eat, and I’m guessing Leigh hasn’t shoved anything fried down your throat yet. How about if we head over to Dot’s and get something to eat. My treat.”
“That sounds like a date.” Damien tried laughing off what he said to take away the fluttering hope burning up his chest. “I don’t know….”
“Only a date if I kiss you, Cowboy.” Sionn’s grin was a sly, wicked thing that sent naughty whispers through his mind. “And since you’ve just found out you’re gay that might be rushing things, but I’m willing to give it a go if you are.”
THEY didn’t kiss then. For almost a week and a half, Sionn brought him out coffee and spent the morning with him, talking and laughing. Something inside of Damien kept nagging at him to stay quiet about his cracked-open brain, but the Irishman’s smooth calm made it a challenge.
But, God, he just wanted to hand his life over to Sionn and say, help me, fix me… save me.
Today’s coffee came with donuts, fat, plump, yeasty balls filled with fresh crème and glazed to perfection with a dusting of cinnamon sugar. Picking up the pastry, Damien studied it for a moment, wondering the best way to attack it, when Sionn nudged his arm with a finger.
“Just eat it. They’re good. I got them from Golden Gate Bakery, near my place. Picked up some egg tarts too. Those are like Heaven wept into crust. You’ll be loving those, boyo.” Sionn nearly moaned when he bit into his, and Damien watched with interest when the man’s long tongue lapped at the crème spooge he’d gotten on his hand. “Sometimes, Dee, it’s like you’ve just landed on this planet. How have you lived in California and not had In-N-Out? Thank God that’s done. I’d have mourned your life if you’d passed without having one.”
The pub owner had nearly choked on his disbelief when Damie admitted he didn’t remember ever eating at the iconic California burger chain. Within moments of his confession, he found himself sitting in Sionn’s red Jeep Cherokee and holding onto the chicken grip as Sionn threaded through the pier’s tight traffic. He’d wanted to complain about the loss of tips, but the first bite into his juicy, double-stacked burger shut him right up.
From the tingling want building up in his belly as he watched Sionn eat, Damie decided he was going to have to make do with the donut because his mouth wanted a lot more than baked goods and sweet, frothy crème. So he bit down and let his tongue orgasm around the treat.
“Oh my fucking God.” His groan of pleasure lit a fire in Sionn’s silver-gray eyes, and the man smirked back at him.
“Good, yes?” Sionn harrumphed with satisfaction at having been proven right. “Told you, boyo. Nothing like anything you’ve ever had.”
The crème went everywhere, and Damien tried catching it as the thick froth oozed out of the donut, but it escaped through his fingers and spread over his chin.
“Fuck.” The napkin he grabbed was too small to do anything but catch up a bit of the mess from his hand.
“Hold on now,” Sionn murmured. “Let me help you with that.”
The small piece of paper Sionn used mopped up a bit of crème, and Damien leaned in, angling his chin up. He kept his eyes down, trying not to overtly inhale the woodsy green cologne Sionn wore or stare at the faint stubble scruffing the man’s strong chin. He already knew Sionn’s eyes were flecked by pale sky-blue specks around his pupil with a black ring running around his irises, but Damie didn’t dare stare into them, not when the man’s breath whispered over his jaw and his fingers scraped crème from Damie’s cheek.
There must have been a dollop of crème left somewhere, or maybe Sionn had more than a bit of it when he’d bitten into his donut, because when his lips met Damien’s, their kiss tasted of milky sugar and hot cinnamon.
It ended before Damien could breathe again, and when Sionn pulled back, he heard himself whimper mournfully. Dabbing his mouth with the edge of his thumb, Sionn took his time inspecting his work, then nodded at the dumbstruck guitarist before picking up his cup of coffee again.
“There you go, boyo.” Sionn went back to staring into the fog with a satisfied smile on his handsome face. “And if you’re wondering, these donuts taste so much the better with you on them.”