Tethered Master Trent (MxM...xM?) | Random Updates

12.The Drop

April 2002

I burn the second pancake that morning since my mind's stuck in the scene I've shared last night with Erik.

With the window widely open, I hope the air in the kitchen will clear before Erik comes down for breakfast. He's usually up at six thirty but now it's seven and he still hasn't left his bedroom.

Maybe I should check up on him.

I flip the last pancake and give it ten seconds before I take it out of the pan. Setting the table lasts only another twenty seconds so I rush to remove my apron and hang it by the door before heading to the stairs.

Footsteps, equal and harsh against the hardwood grab my attention and I'm stuck looking up at Erik who's coming down the staircase.

He looks pale but otherwise, the same stern and emotionless expression guards his face.

"Good morning, Erik," I say smiling and trying to sound perky.

"Good morning," he lets out dryly.

As he always does, so I suppose Erik being late means that he's almost human and can sometimes deviate from his usual schedule, and not that something might be wrong with him.

I watch Erik head to the front door, no doubt to get his paper- The coffee!

There's a fresh pot I've made and it's just waiting for me to pour it in Erik's usual cup. I set the coffee on the table and fiddle with the purple lilies I've chosen as decoration.

My fingers anxiously twitch. This is the first time I've woken up before Erik and dealt with breakfast so all I really want to hear is one measly word of approval from him. Just one. Maybe two. A whole sentence would be great.

When he enters the kitchen I freeze in anticipation looking for any sign of surprise or validation upon his face. But those charcoal eyes say nothing. His lips don't even make an effort to smile.

I smile though. And I tell myself that Erik's probably just groggy from sleep and hasn't noticed the pancakes, the lilies or the coffee I have waiting for him.

With a loud rustling, he unfolds the newspaper and takes his usual seat at the table.

"The coffee's hot, so be careful," I say as I occupy my chair, and face Erik. The lilies get in the way, so I slide the vase to the left and am able to see his face.

No reaction other than a nod to my words.

That's fine. He's reading. He's distracted. I try to hold back the tears pooling in my eyes.

When I woke up this morning I felt like shit. Frankly, I didn't even know what I was feeling but putting in the effort for a perfect breakfast sounded like an awesome idea.

I catch myself thinking of last night's scene again. Bathroom play, involving mainly me ramming inside Erik's water-filled ass. Have I done it right? Did I mess up the scene somehow? I have this dark bundle of emotions, all tangled up and heavy, ever since I've opened my eyes this morning. Guilt, lack of focus, a sort of despair that's foreign to me and resentment — at Erik and at myself. For what, I can't exactly say. I just feel down. Like I'm dropping and there's no bottom to break my fall.

"I've made breakfast for us today," I speak up with hopeful high-pitched tones, trying to sound proud and happy.

Maybe he'll like the pancakes...

The newspaper cuts through the air as Erik abruptly sets it on his lap, wrinkling the perfect pages.

"Trent," he utters my name with a frown. "In all the years we've been living together, have I ever, even once had anything else other than a black plain coffee in the morning?"