Sweet Meals

Chapter 14

The room is bright, my back against something cold. I open my eyes, my head throbbing with an upcoming headache.
What happened?
There's someone next to me who holds my hand, kissing it. I hope it's Peter.
Everything hurts. Why does it hurt? It's numbing.
Finally, the bright lights subside, and I can see their faces. Peter sits beside me, Marcus stands next to him, and Paul stands at the end of the couch, watching me with a smirk. I can see his lips moving, but I can't hear anything. There's this ringing in my ears that continues to deafen out the noise.
Everything goes dark again, and this time, I open my eyes and feel myself on a familiar feeling surface. A couch. Our couch? When did we get home? My head hurts so much. How did I get here?
"John?" Someone walks over to me. I recognize his footsteps. Peter kneels beside me, placing the back of his hand against my forehead. "Hey, how are you feeling?" he softly asked me, turning my head so I was facing him. He pulls his hand down, but I stop him by kissing his skin. He smiles and presses his lips against my forehead. "Can you move? Come... Let me help you sit up."
I nod slightly, and he pulls me up. I lean with my bare back against the back of our couch, panting softly. Why is it so hard to move? My limbs feel so heavy. "For how long was I out?" I finally managed to ask, but it came out as a slurred sentence.
Peter chuckles softly and sits down beside me, leaning against me with his head on my shoulder, his fingers tracing patterns on my toned chest. "Just a few hours. Marcus allowed me to stay home to take care of you." He kisses my neck. "Paul shot you with a tranquilizer, and Marcus got over a police car to bring us home."
So, he shot me? He has a gun? Well, he's dead in my opinion.
"If he even dares to touch you, I'll skin him alive and take him apart piece by piece while he's still alive," I whisper, kissing his head. "Did he touch you?"
Peter looks at me. "He didn't, Cheesecake." He pauses before asking, "What was that at the table? You two were arguing like an old couple." Old couple? Hell no.
"It's nothing, Pudding." I nuzzle into his fluffy bush of hair. "Let's just say that Paul and I weren't exactly best friends during my time in the mental hospital," I tell my love. "He was more like... How do I say this? A survival buddy, perhaps?" I chuckle softly.
"Really? Why did you never mention him?" Peter asks me, sitting on me, straddling my lap as he pushes my back against the couch. "He seems like an important person to talk about if he was your little 'survival buddy.'" Is that a hint of jealousy I catch in his tone?
Looking up at him, I smile, resting my tired hands on the back of his waist. "He didn't sound THAT important to me." I nibble at his chin. "Are you jealous because I spent time with him over there and now again in the free world?"
His cheeks flush, and he pushes my head back, his palm flat against my face, his fingers poking my eyes. "S-shut up, Cheesecake! You're so embarrassing!" He flinched when he felt something poking his bottom. "A-and keep your business in your pants, you pervert!"
Laughing half-heartedly, I wrapped my arms around his back, pulling his clothed chest against my bare one, making him shudder and turn as red as a tomato. "I thought you liked it when I rewarded you with a sweet, sweet treat..."
"N-not on the couch! W-what if Marcus comes to check on us?"
"You said he's at work, so you better pray he's still there."
He tries to push me away but fails. I was already tugging at his belt from behind and slightly pulling his pants down with a small struggle because it was too tight around the waist. "I wish I could just rip off your damn pants and take right here and now," I growl against his lips, looking him in the eyes. I glance at the collar of his shirt before starting to unbutton it, struggling with my eagerness to just tear it all. He doesn't even fight back anymore; his worries turn into soft pants and whimpers.
But just when I'm about to take off his shirt, I hear the doorbell. Fuck...when was the last time I fucked that little ass of his?
Peter curses under his breath, his nails clawing at my shoulders. "Why now?" he mutters, being as frustrated as I am, maybe even more. Well, I mean, he's the one who has his pleasure being taken away. I am happy because he enjoys it when I take control, plus I also enjoy just fucking his brains out while he begs for more. I suppose it's logical that he's pissed off.
I want to get up, but my body still feels numb. I lay back against the back of the couch, letting out a soft sigh. Peter looks at me and kisses my forehead, whispering, "I'll get the door, baby." He gets up from my lap and walks to the door. I grab a pillow and put it on my lap to hide my little friend down there.
"Oh, hey! How are you doing? Come in!" Peter says with quite the cheery voice.
I can recognize the three people who walked inside without even looking over my shoulder at the door.
"How's it going, buddy?"