Chapter 4
He awoke with a start. He was in a dark and shadowy room, and it took him a moment to realize that it was his bedroom. His body throbbed sullenly, and he groaned as he moved a little. But he had to go to the bathroom; his bladder was perilously full. He almost wept at the thought of getting out of bed and trying to make it to the bathroom, but he had no choice. He never imagined that he’d miss a convenient bed pan, even though it was humiliating to have to use them.
Peter moaned as he lifted the blankets and slid slowly out of his bed. His whole body was stiff and creaky, aches and pains making themselves known as he sat up. He swung his legs off the side, shuddering and how this made him feel. Tears trickled out of the corners of his eyes as he struggled to push himself to his feet. He bit back a sob as he managed to make it, shuffling toward the door of the bathroom half bent over like an arthritic old man.
Every movement was slow and agonizing. His entire body was a mass of pain as all of his bruises made themselves known at once. Wearily he struggled on, finally making it to the bathroom door. He could have wept tears of joy as he pushed it open and shuffled up to the toilet, pushing down his underwear with a grateful sigh that they were the only piece of clothing that he was still wearing. He moaned again in relief as he started to pee, emptying his overfull bladder in a long golden rush. He flushed the toilet and washed his hands in the sink, looking at his reflection in the mirror. His face was a horror show of fading bruises and stitches. He looked like the Frankenstein monster.
Shivering more in a mental reaction to his appearance than from cold, he turned away and shuffled back out of the bathroom. He wanted to go back to bed, but his stomach reminded him sharply that he hadn’t eaten in awhile. Peter whimpered dejectedly, but finally turned toward the door of his bedroom rather than the tempting bed. He’d throw something in the microwave quick and scarf it down a fast as he could, then he’d go and bury himself under his covers and never come back out again. He grabbed a robe from off of a chair near the dresser and pulled it on with a grimace, needing the warmth from the flannel.
When he opened his bedroom door, he felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck when he saw that his TV was on. It cast a flickering light out over the shadowy living room. He froze, his eyes wide with fear - until he managed to make out a person sitting on his couch. A very large person with a sheaf of flaxen blonde hair flowing over his wide shoulders where he’d released it from its braid. It was only then that his addled mind remembered Jacob Hartmann, his savior and new roommate.
“Hey, Pete,” that deep voice remarked as Jake saw him standing in the doorway of his bedroom. “You’re up. You okay?”
“Yes,” he managed to say in a soft voice, “I just had to go to the bathroom…and I’m hungry.”
“Right,” Jake surged to his feet, and it was then that Peter realized that he wasn’t wearing his shirt or vest anymore. He stared at the broad expense of hard flesh on display, seeing the tattoos gracing both of his pectorals. They went along with the sleeves of tattoos on his arms. The red dye in the ink looked dark and rather scary in the shadows, like dried blood.
“Come and sit down. I’ll make you something to eat,” the biker said, walking over and guiding him to the couch.
“You don’t have to do that,” he said, but Jake forestalled him.
“I told you, I’m your nurse. Nurses feed their patients,” Jake said with a quirky smile. “Now just sit there like a good boy and I’ll take care of everything.”
Bemused, he simply sat there and stared up Jake as the big man padded barefoot into his kitchen. He was only wearing his worn black jeans now, and they stretched tight over his ass. Peter realized that he couldn’t feel as bad as he thought, since he was openly ogling the way the denim stretched over that impressive expense.
“What do you want to eat?” Jake said, making him jump and blush a little.
“Err…there’s some frozen dinners in the freezer. You can just put one in the microwave,” he answered hurriedly.
“Okay. Which do you want? Beef tips in mushroom sauce, chicken breast in a creamy sauce, or meatloaf?”
“Beef tips,” he replied, thinking that something warm but also somewhat soft would be easier on his teeth.
“Right,” Jake put the frozen dinner in the microwave and punched the buttons. “Five minutes to dinner, Pete.”
Peter stared at his bare back, seeing that the biker also had a tattoo on his left shoulder blade. In the dimness he couldn’t make out what it was. He deliberately tore his eyes away from his guest and looked at the television screen instead, seeing that Jake had been watching a rerun of Magnum P.I. with the sound mostly turned down. “Did you…get settled in?” he asked, to break the silence.
“Yeah. I think your couch might take me after all. Might be a bit cramped, but I’ll live,” Jake replied easily.
“Oh, Did you want a pillow and a blanket? There are extras in that little closet over there,” he pointed at the tiny linen closet next to the door of his bedroom.
“Sure.” Jake left the kitchen briefly to fetch himself a blanket and a pillow from the closet, throwing the blanket over his shoulder casually.
The microwave dinged. “Ah, dinner is served,” Jake remarked, strolling back into the kitchen.
He pulled open the microwave and carefully pulled out the hot plastic tray. “Silverware is where?” he asked.
“In the drawer next to the sink,” Peter replied, and the biker opened it to snag him a fork to eat his food with.
“Here we are. Just like mom used to make it,” Jake said as he carried the food over to where Peter was sitting.
Peter giggled tiredly. Jake smiled slightly as he set the food down on the coffee table in front of Peter, peeled back the plastic on top, and stirred it with the fork before handing the utensil to Peter. “Eat up.”
He gingerly poked the fork into the food, lifting a bite to his mouth. Jake sat back down on the couch, taking up most of it. Peter was acutely aware of how close he was, and also just how big he was. That thought should have scared him after what had just happened to him, but oddly enough it didn’t. He felt reassured instead by Jake’s strength and size. He really did feel like he had a bodyguard living with him. He felt safe and taken care of.
Peter ate his food slowly as Jake leaned back on the couch and stretched his legs out in front of him. The biker gazed at the TV screen. “I always liked this show as a kid,” he remarked, watching Magnum drive his Ferrari down the driveway of the estate where he lived, bumming off of the owner. “I always wanted to be just like him. Live in Paradise, surrounded by beautiful people, rent free off of some rich guy. Sadly, it never happened. But still, I’m happy the way I am. The open road before me, the wind in my hair…no bills, no ties, nothing holding me back. That’s real Nirvana.”
Peter had paused in eating his food to listen to this. “Don’t you ever get… lonely?” he asked hesitantly.
Jake nodded. “Sure. Of course I do. But doesn’t everybody? Once in awhile?”
Peter had to agree that this was true. “I’ve never been on a motorcycle before,” he commented as he took another bite of his food.
“You should try it, Pete. There’s nothing else like it,” Jake said.
“I don’t know…it looks kind of scary,” Peter replied, shaking his head a bit doubtfully.
Jake chuckled, a sound that did weird things to his insides. “You’d be perfectly safe. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”
Peter believed him about that, but still the thought of climbing onto an enormous shiny motorcycle made him shiver in apprehension. Seeing his expression, Jake grinned faintly. “Don’t worry about it, Pete. Finish your food.”
He did just that, eating the rest of it right down to the last bite. Eyeing the now empty plastic container, Jake shook his head. “You eat a lot for such a little thing,” he commented. “Where do you put it all?”
“Hollow leg,” he said with a tremulous smile.
The biker threw back his head and laughed. “Well, as long as you don’t give birth to the God if Wine, I’m good with that,” he replied in amusement.
Peter’s mouth dropped open. To hear someone like Jake make a quip about Greek mythology…it was unexpected, to say the least. Jake’s lips quirked up on a one side. “Don’t look so surprised, Pete,” he said. “Even bikers know a few things. Anyway…now that you’re done eating, do you want to go back to bed?”
He considered this question. He was still tired, but at the same time he was wide awake now. “I don’t know,” he said.
“Well, how about sitting here for awhile with me and watching TV? Until you get sleepy again.”
“Okay,” he sat back on the couch, his eyes looking at the TV screen.
“Hawaii looks so pretty,” he murmured. “I’d like to go there someday.”
“So would I,” Jake replied. “But only if I could take my bike. I’d ride everywhere, taking my time, seeing all the sights. Might even try my hand at surfing.”
Peter had an image of Jake standing on a surf board, wearing only a pair of shorts over his huge body. He swallowed heavily, not looking at his companion. “Well, I doubt I’ll ever be able to go,” he said rather hoarsely. “I’m not exactly rolling in money.”
“You never know,” Jake said. “The future is unwritten.”
“Mmm,” Peter murmured, his eyelids starting to flicker. The food was starting to catch up with him. He yawned widely, his body slumping a little. A hand reached out and gently pulled him up against a hard, warm side. He was so far gone that he didn’t react much to being snuggled up against Jake’s bare, hard body. Fingers stroked through his hair, careful of the painful spots on his skull. Peter promptly fell asleep, his head coming to rest on Jake’s shoulder naturally. The biker glanced down at his slumbering companion, then he looked back up at the TV screen. He sat still, with Peter sleeping against him, watching the television as his fingers lightly traced the shape of Peter’s skull.
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