G.G.’s eyes came up. He had pretty eyes. That wasn’t the kind of thing Trevor would notice right away, and especially not from a distance, but the light hazel made him think of tea, warm fall colors in a clear glass. The real kind of tea, not like what Trevor drank.
G.G. grunted. “The bandage is harder than I thought it would be. Managing the tape is difficult with one hand.”
Still not asking. That was a thing with G.G.
People didn’t ask for all kinds of reasons. Trevor went for the most obvious first.
“Asking for help can suck,” he remarked gently. “Maybe especially from someone you don’t know well yet.”
G.G.’s eyes narrowed. He ground out the words, “Some people would say I shouldn’t need help.” He sounded angry, but if he was, his anger was there and gone. He let out another breath, not exactly a sigh. “It’s only the tape that’s troubling me.”
Still not asking. Because he didn’t think he should, maybe, not because he didn’t want to.
Trevor mentally counted to five. Then he said what he was thinking in a level, clear voice. “Would it be better if I told you I was going to take care of it for you?”
Pretty hazel eyes closed for a moment. What could have been a shiver went through G.G.’s body.
Trevor waited until G.G. was looking at him again before he continued. “You know, so thatsome peoplewould have nothing to worry about?” Trevor was hot all over but he kept the nerves and excitement out of his voice. “In that case, I’d be happy to nip at your heels.” He inclined his head and lowered his voice to add conspiratorially, “That sounds nicer than bullying you.”
“It’s not bullying,” G.G. answered quickly. “It’s… it’s not bullying.”
Trevor wanted to give him kisses, all over his cheeks and on his mouth and down his neck. So many. All the time. If Trevor got to start, he’d never stop.
Kisses were not necessarily what G.G. needed or wanted, however, so Trevor didn’t allow any of that into his voice. “Ethical bullying?” he suggested evenly. “Consensual bullying?”
G.G.’s shoulders moved with another sigh, but he turned back toward Trevor, his mouth soft as if he could have smiled.
Trevor made himself be serious, just for the moment, just to be clear. “Is that a yes?”
G.G. stepped back to open the door wider and allow Trevor into his home again.
Trevor stepped over the threshold with way too much excitement for something that wasn’t even a coffee date. He also had no real clue what to do next, except, of course, the thing he’d offered to do.
“The kitchen again?” He moved slowly in that direction, glancing back to make sure G.G. followed, leading G.G. through his own house.
G.G. watched Trevor just as carefully but didn’t object, not even when Trevor held the kitchen door open with his body so G.G. could go in first, and then said, “Get the bandages while I deal with this.”
The bandages, if G.G. had bought more—which he should have—were probably in the same place; on the counter next to two still-open pill bottles. Trevor smiled to see those, and then smiled wider when G.G. went around the other side of the island to get the bag off the counter before returning to the nook, where he sat in the same spot and position as the last time.
Good boystayed safely in Trevor’s mouth. He turned to get out of the doorway and put the dish down, then quickly washed his hands. Reminded of his nicer clothes by the splashing water, he unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves as he crossed back to G.G. He focused on the bag of bandaging supplies rather than G.G.’s suddenly riveted stare.
G.G.’s kitchen might as well have been the yard in the full heat of the noon sun. Trevor paused, deliberately this time, to readjust his cuffs under G.G.’s interested attention, and then laid everything out, including, pointedly, all that was left of the gauze, before going back for the scissors.
He carefully cut the old bandage off rather than peel away the gnarled strips of tape, then threw all of that away.
“It’s looking better,” Trevor told G.G. approvingly, keeping his gaze on his work and not meeting G.G.’s wide eyes. He felt G.G. shiver, but G.G. said nothing, so he took G.G.’s fingers in his hand to examine them. G.G. must have tried to clean his fingernails as best as he could. The dirt had probably bothered him enough to attempt a left-handed manicure. “Did you soak your fingertips to try to soften the dried blood under the nails? Clever. And the wound isn’t nearly as red as last time. You’ve done a good job not using this hand as much. I know that must have been difficult.”
“Trevor,” G.G. whispered hoarsely.
Trevor kept his hands steady even if he was shaking inside. He fixed the new nonstick pad over the cut, then began to wind the last of the gauze around G.G.’s hand.
The kitchen door pushed open. Trevor didn’t glance over, but saw the white and gray floof out of the corner of his eye as the floof came closer and then stopped next to G.G.
Trevor fixed the gauze in place with several neat pieces of medical tape before stepping back. “Thank you for not moving. You can give that cat the pets it wants now.”
Their eyes met. Trevor thought about giving G.G. some pets but in the end only gathered up the supplies and took them back to the counter.
When he turned around, G.G. was, in fact, scritching the cat under the chin.
