Chapter 5
Peter awoke to sunlight streaming in through the blinds of his apartment. He blinked, and after a moment realized that his cheek was resting on something hard and warm. Lifting his head a little, he saw that it was Jake's chest. The biker had apparently fallen asleep sitting up; his chin was nearly resting on his chest, which rose and fell evenly with his breathing.
He'd spent most of the night sleeping on Jake. Peter felt his cheeks heat from a combination of belated shyness and decided arousal, not a comfortable mix. He let his eyes trail down the broad, massive chest with its soft coating of very light blonde hair, lingering on two wide flat male nipples(one of which had a stainless steel ring piercing it), then tracing down to where the hair disappeared under the black leather belt. He felt his breathing pick up as he stared down at the mound under Jake's jeans, and he unconsciously licked his bottom lip. Then he made a small sound of pain as he encountered the stitches closing one particularly large split, and he winced.
The sound he made woke Jake up. His eyes opened, revealing the intense metallic-colored irises. He looked directly at Peter, who was now dark red from embarrassment. The biker smiled lazily. “Good morning, Pete,” he rumbled. “Did you sleep well?”
He cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah,” he admitted huskily. “I've never...slept on top of anybody before this,” he admitted.
Jake's smile widened. “Never? You've been missing out,” he teased. He reached out and pushed a strand of Peter's soft brown hair off of his forehead. “How are you feeling?”
“Not bad. A little better,” he said. His body was throbbing sullenly, but the intense pain of yesterday seemed to be fading.
“Good. Now all we have to do is get some food into you,” Jake gently set him aside so that he could get up off the couch. “I can cook scrambled eggs and make toast,” he remarked. “That sound okay?”
It sounded just fine to him. He nodded. Jake stretched luxuriously, making poor Peter have to gulp to contain his drool. “Your couch is comfortable,” he noted lazily as he scratched at his belly.
“Err, that's good,” Peter said.
“And you make a great blanket,” the biker went on, his lips quirking up on one side. “All soft and warm.”
He blushed, squirming. Jake chuckled and ambled into the kitchen to open the fridge. “Not much food in here,” he noted.
“I was on my way to my parents' house for the week until...” Peter began, trailing off as he remembered the beating.
“Ahh. Okay. I'll run to the store real quick,” Jake said as he closed the refrigerator.
“Do you need money?” Peter asked, looking around for his wallet. But of course, it was in the bedroom in his pants...
Jake snorted as he strode over to pull his t-shirt back on over his head. “I told you I don't need your money, Pete,” he remarked.
“But I...you're buying food for both of us...” Peter began uncertainly.
“That's right, for both of us. I can afford to feed a skinny thing like you, Pete. No worries.”
Peter looked unhappy. Seeing his expression, Jake sighed. He tucked his t-shirt into his jeans. “Pete, there's a reason I can go wherever I want with no job to support me,” he said. “I'm independently wealthy.”
His jaw dropped. He stared up at Jake with wide eyes. The biker chuckled again, crossing his arms over his massive chest. “I'm not 1% wealthy,” he told Peter in amusement, “But I'm pretty well off. My grandfather left me a good bit of money in a trust fund. He intended that I go to college and become a captain of industry, but I had other plans. I discovered a love for bikes when I was sixteen, and that never faded. I left home and started exploring America when I was eighteen, and I never looked back. My family is very disappointed in me, but they have my Harvard-educated lawyer sister to be proud of. They don't need me. So you see, Pete, I can afford to buy us groceries.”
“Oh,” he said, not sure what else to say.
Jake shrugged. “Don't fret about it, Pete. Just concentrate on mending and don't worry about anything else. I'll see to everything while you're getting better.”
He didn't know what to say to this, but it made a strange feeling of warmth coil in his belly. He hadn't had anyone to take care of him since he'd left home after college. Jake smiled at his expression. “Just sit there and watch TV while I'm gone. Although first...do you have to go to the bathroom?”
He did. The biker saw the answer on his face and came over to help him up off the couch. He groaned in the back of his throat; he was really stiff. Jake began to help him over to the tiny bathroom behind a door in the living room, with him stumbling and limping along and happy to let the bigger man hold him up. Jake opened the door and ushered him into the tiny bathroom. “When you're done, yell,” he told Peter. “I'll help you back to the couch. You can relax while I buy the stuff for breakfast.”
He nodded and carefully eased himself down onto the toilet, needing to do a number 2 first this time. Jake shut the door and left him to his business, which he was grateful for. The horrible memories of the bed pans he'd had to use in the hospital would not fade for some time to come.
Peter thought about what Jake had told him about being wealthy and having a trust fund as he went to the bathroom. It staggered him. You just didn't expect some tattooed biker to be rich. Although he supposed that Jake would need some source of income; those bikes weren't cheap, were they? He had the sneaking suspicion that they were actually quite expensive, in fact. But he'd always heard that most bikers made their money running drugs or guns or other illegal things. Still, those were motorcycle gangs, not a single biker like Jake seemed to be.
He finally finished going to the bathroom, and washed his hands before he croaked out a call to the man waiting outside. The door opened, and Jake eyed him. “All done?”
He nodded. The biker stepped forward and reached out to help steady him with one large hand. Once more he was guided along, this time back out into the living room and over to the couch again. Jake got him settled onto it, then handed him the remote control. Then he walked into the kitchen briefly to bring Peter a glass of water. “That'll tide you over until I can get back,” he said as he set the glass down on the coffee table in front of Peter.
“Thank you,” he said gratefully.
“No problem. I'll be back in a bit,” Jake strode out the door of the apartment with his usual energy, leaving Peter in the silence and stillness of his now almost empty apartment. It was as though Jake filled the whole place, and with him gone Peter felt anxious and unhappy. It wasn't just the worry that the men who'd beat him would return to hurt him again...it was that he felt compeltey safe when Jake was around. He'd never had any problems being alone before, but now fear was threatening to choke him as he blindly clicked the remote to turn on the TV. Maybe the sound and images would help to keep his irrational fears at bay...
It didn't work that well. He finally curled himself up into a ball, with his arms clutching at his drawn up knees, his fingers turning white as he gripped tightly at his robe. He felt himself start to shake a little, and a soft sob escaped his throat. He was such a weakling! He couldn't even be on his own anymore without being overwhelmed by fear. He closed his eyes, feeling tears running down his cheeks as he gave into his despair. Was this what it was going to be like for him forever after this? How would he live if that were true? What would he do? He rocked a bit, crying softly. He hated being like this. He hated being a slave to fear. Those men might have stolen his life after all, even if they hadn't killed him. And he hated that most of all.
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Peter awoke to sunlight streaming in through the blinds of his apartment. He blinked, and after a moment realized that his cheek was resting on something hard and warm. Lifting his head a little, he saw that it was Jake's chest. The biker had apparently fallen asleep sitting up; his chin was nearly resting on his chest, which rose and fell evenly with his breathing.
He'd spent most of the night sleeping on Jake. Peter felt his cheeks heat from a combination of belated shyness and decided arousal, not a comfortable mix. He let his eyes trail down the broad, massive chest with its soft coating of very light blonde hair, lingering on two wide flat male nipples(one of which had a stainless steel ring piercing it), then tracing down to where the hair disappeared under the black leather belt. He felt his breathing pick up as he stared down at the mound under Jake's jeans, and he unconsciously licked his bottom lip. Then he made a small sound of pain as he encountered the stitches closing one particularly large split, and he winced.
The sound he made woke Jake up. His eyes opened, revealing the intense metallic-colored irises. He looked directly at Peter, who was now dark red from embarrassment. The biker smiled lazily. “Good morning, Pete,” he rumbled. “Did you sleep well?”
He cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah,” he admitted huskily. “I've never...slept on top of anybody before this,” he admitted.
Jake's smile widened. “Never? You've been missing out,” he teased. He reached out and pushed a strand of Peter's soft brown hair off of his forehead. “How are you feeling?”
“Not bad. A little better,” he said. His body was throbbing sullenly, but the intense pain of yesterday seemed to be fading.
“Good. Now all we have to do is get some food into you,” Jake gently set him aside so that he could get up off the couch. “I can cook scrambled eggs and make toast,” he remarked. “That sound okay?”
It sounded just fine to him. He nodded. Jake stretched luxuriously, making poor Peter have to gulp to contain his drool. “Your couch is comfortable,” he noted lazily as he scratched at his belly.
“Err, that's good,” Peter said.
“And you make a great blanket,” the biker went on, his lips quirking up on one side. “All soft and warm.”
He blushed, squirming. Jake chuckled and ambled into the kitchen to open the fridge. “Not much food in here,” he noted.
“I was on my way to my parents' house for the week until...” Peter began, trailing off as he remembered the beating.
“Ahh. Okay. I'll run to the store real quick,” Jake said as he closed the refrigerator.
“Do you need money?” Peter asked, looking around for his wallet. But of course, it was in the bedroom in his pants...
Jake snorted as he strode over to pull his t-shirt back on over his head. “I told you I don't need your money, Pete,” he remarked.
“But I...you're buying food for both of us...” Peter began uncertainly.
“That's right, for both of us. I can afford to feed a skinny thing like you, Pete. No worries.”
Peter looked unhappy. Seeing his expression, Jake sighed. He tucked his t-shirt into his jeans. “Pete, there's a reason I can go wherever I want with no job to support me,” he said. “I'm independently wealthy.”
His jaw dropped. He stared up at Jake with wide eyes. The biker chuckled again, crossing his arms over his massive chest. “I'm not 1% wealthy,” he told Peter in amusement, “But I'm pretty well off. My grandfather left me a good bit of money in a trust fund. He intended that I go to college and become a captain of industry, but I had other plans. I discovered a love for bikes when I was sixteen, and that never faded. I left home and started exploring America when I was eighteen, and I never looked back. My family is very disappointed in me, but they have my Harvard-educated lawyer sister to be proud of. They don't need me. So you see, Pete, I can afford to buy us groceries.”
“Oh,” he said, not sure what else to say.
Jake shrugged. “Don't fret about it, Pete. Just concentrate on mending and don't worry about anything else. I'll see to everything while you're getting better.”
He didn't know what to say to this, but it made a strange feeling of warmth coil in his belly. He hadn't had anyone to take care of him since he'd left home after college. Jake smiled at his expression. “Just sit there and watch TV while I'm gone. Although first...do you have to go to the bathroom?”
He did. The biker saw the answer on his face and came over to help him up off the couch. He groaned in the back of his throat; he was really stiff. Jake began to help him over to the tiny bathroom behind a door in the living room, with him stumbling and limping along and happy to let the bigger man hold him up. Jake opened the door and ushered him into the tiny bathroom. “When you're done, yell,” he told Peter. “I'll help you back to the couch. You can relax while I buy the stuff for breakfast.”
He nodded and carefully eased himself down onto the toilet, needing to do a number 2 first this time. Jake shut the door and left him to his business, which he was grateful for. The horrible memories of the bed pans he'd had to use in the hospital would not fade for some time to come.
Peter thought about what Jake had told him about being wealthy and having a trust fund as he went to the bathroom. It staggered him. You just didn't expect some tattooed biker to be rich. Although he supposed that Jake would need some source of income; those bikes weren't cheap, were they? He had the sneaking suspicion that they were actually quite expensive, in fact. But he'd always heard that most bikers made their money running drugs or guns or other illegal things. Still, those were motorcycle gangs, not a single biker like Jake seemed to be.
He finally finished going to the bathroom, and washed his hands before he croaked out a call to the man waiting outside. The door opened, and Jake eyed him. “All done?”
He nodded. The biker stepped forward and reached out to help steady him with one large hand. Once more he was guided along, this time back out into the living room and over to the couch again. Jake got him settled onto it, then handed him the remote control. Then he walked into the kitchen briefly to bring Peter a glass of water. “That'll tide you over until I can get back,” he said as he set the glass down on the coffee table in front of Peter.
“Thank you,” he said gratefully.
“No problem. I'll be back in a bit,” Jake strode out the door of the apartment with his usual energy, leaving Peter in the silence and stillness of his now almost empty apartment. It was as though Jake filled the whole place, and with him gone Peter felt anxious and unhappy. It wasn't just the worry that the men who'd beat him would return to hurt him again...it was that he felt compeltey safe when Jake was around. He'd never had any problems being alone before, but now fear was threatening to choke him as he blindly clicked the remote to turn on the TV. Maybe the sound and images would help to keep his irrational fears at bay...
It didn't work that well. He finally curled himself up into a ball, with his arms clutching at his drawn up knees, his fingers turning white as he gripped tightly at his robe. He felt himself start to shake a little, and a soft sob escaped his throat. He was such a weakling! He couldn't even be on his own anymore without being overwhelmed by fear. He closed his eyes, feeling tears running down his cheeks as he gave into his despair. Was this what it was going to be like for him forever after this? How would he live if that were true? What would he do? He rocked a bit, crying softly. He hated being like this. He hated being a slave to fear. Those men might have stolen his life after all, even if they hadn't killed him. And he hated that most of all.
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