A Daddy for Benito by Joe Satoria

11. BENITO

It was too warm to be wrapped in Harry’s arms. I woke two hours later. He was a snorer. I hadn’t realised last night, possibly because I was absolutely shattered, and I’d managed to fall asleep on the sofa and he carried me into bed and stripped me from my clothes.

I wanted to repay him for the hospitality. Nobody took my post seriously, except for him, and he sent me a dick pic to remind me of who he was. Granted, the dick pic probably sold me on it. It was my favourite part of a man’s body, and they had them for a reason. And that reason was to please me, like you give a hamster a water bottle tube in their little cage. Harry was soon going to be my water bottle and his flat was my cage.

It had been a while since I had lived in a flat that was silent and still in the morning. I lived in flat shares, most of the time they were terrible. People were loud in the evening, people were loud in the morning, and people were just so loud. There was none of that here. I possibly missed it, because it usually occupied the morning a little while I vented about how annoying they were. Four people in one flat. Most of them students, so they never had any good food in the cupboards for me to steal.

Harry, on the other hand, he had food. He had grown up food. Mushrooms. I didn’t see the students I’d live with buy those. Perhaps a lie, I didn’t like mushrooms, so I avoided eye contact with them, even though they were oddly phallic with their mushroom caps.

In another pair of Harry’s underwear, rolled up at the waistband. They were comfortable, especially with summer and the heat. The last thing I wanted was to be sweating up a storm. Going through the drawers in the kitchen, I found his apron, and another, beneath it. Covered in a plastic coverall.

A pink Sailor Moon cooking apron. I stood with it in my hands for a moment, frozen on the spot. He already had this prepared for me. A light moisture of emotion built up behind my eyes. He’d obviously bought it for me. It matched the pink from the maid outfit too.

Back to my thoughts as I put the apron over my mostly naked body. I had to make Harry something for breakfast, for welcoming me so well, and basically giving in to everything I asked for. There were a couple of things I knew how to make, especially where mornings were concerned. Most of them involved cracking and scooping out the shell from the eggs into a bowl. It wasn’t my strong suit, but at least it was something I’d done before.

But before I could even think about what to make him, I needed to eat something first. In the fridge, I grabbed at a six-pack of yoghurts, it was the second pack he’d bought yesterday. I ate the first lot yesterday after the pasta with tomato sauce Harry had made.

They were small pots; it wasn’t like a tub of ice cream. I could devour a single yoghurt like this in thirty-seconds flat. And I did—six times.

Scrambled egg. You couldn’t go wrong.

There wasn’t a microwave.

I’d made them in a pan before, but that wasn’t something I was willing to clean. I didn’t like to make work for myself, but Harry said it himself, he liked to clean, or at least, he liked to make sure everything was cleaned his way, whatever that meant.

Four eggs cracked into a bowl. Remembering to scoop out the shell I got inside. Semi-skimmed milk. A pinch of salt. A sprinkle of black pepper. Whisked with a fork. This was usually the step I would just put the bowl into the microwave, blast it for ninety-seconds, scramble it up, and then blast for another ninety seconds.

In a heavy pan from beneath the side, I added a little olive oil.

“Here goes,” I said, holding my hands in prayer. “Please, Sailor Venus, bitch, I need you to come and make sure I don’t kill everyone in this place.” I glanced to Sailor Moon on the apron. “No offense, I just think Sailor Venus would be better.”

Turning the hob on, a large flame grumbled, hitting the bottom of the iron pan. Immediately, I poured in the contents of the egg mixture.

“Let me do that,” Harry spoke. Appearing from the doorway. He was completely naked. He had been standing, listening. He was quick to stand beside me. “Probably best if I do it, I don’t want you to kill everyone.” Oh. God. He had heard everything I said.

I tssked my tongue at my teeth. “Yeah, well, not until I’m in your will,” I said.

“Can you get me my apron?” he asked, immediately stirring the scrambled egg mixture in the pan. “I wasn’t listening for long, but it was a nice thought.”

I grabbed his apron. It was a boring plaid red and white look, plain compared to mine. “Did you buy this for me?”

He smiled. “I saw your posts,” he said, “I had to do a little research, and by that, I mean, I googled the show and then went through like five pages to find something you probably didn’t have.” He looked me, up and down, multitasking while also still pushing the wooden spoon around in the pan. “Go on then. Put the apron on me.”

This was supposed to be something I was doing for him, making breakfast, waking him with it. He might have got food poisoning, but then he’d be off work for a few days, at least. I wasn’t ready to meet Alexi tomorrow, and I certainly wasn’t ready to leave this place now I was here.

Putting the apron over Harry’s head and then tying it around his waist. I pulled the string tight, turning it into a pretty bow above his ass. He had hair on his cheeks, not thick hair, but it looked like a nice place to rest my head in future.

“How come you didn’t use the microwave?” he asked.

“You don’t have one.”

“Yeah, you have to open that cupboard above the side,” he said. “It’s hidden. Makes everything look nice and clean that way.”

“It would’ve been nice to know that before.”

“Maybe there should be a no open flame rule too,” he chuckled back.

It would’ve been funny if I hadn’t already been worried about the open flame. “So, are you making me breakfast now?”

He stopped what he was doing and turned to me. “I thought you’d just have a yoghurt or something.”

“I already ate them.”

“All of them?”

I pressed a hand to my lips, wondering if there was any residue remaining. “I was hungry.”

“I thought that would be enough to last you a few days.”

Shrugging. I told him it was one of the only foods I ate. It wasn’t my fault he didn’t take that seriously or listen to what I had said. “You can buy me some more later, as a reward for making you breakfast.”

He smiled and nodded. “It’s the thought that counts.” He continued to stir the wooden spoon in the pan. “Do you like the apron?”

“It’s nice,” I said. “What do you usually do on Sunday?”

“Nothing much,” he said, “I work Monday to Friday, so I like to catch up on everything else on the weekend.”

“Like?”

He shrugged.

I leaned against the counter. “Do you go out drinking? Do you spend time with friends? Do you have board game nights?”

“Whoa, what’s with the twenty-one questions?” he chuckled.

My eyes scanned the dining-kitchen room. There wasn’t any aspect of it that felt lived in. “Just trying to get to know you,” I said. “So, what’s your usual weekend look like?”

“Sometimes I meet with friends, but Warren’s been busy with Alexi, you know.”

I didn’t, but I was meeting with him tomorrow, so hopefully that would clear some things up. “I’m just trying to think, because you don’t watch TV, or wear clothes, do you spend your weekends in a nudist colony?”

Harry choked at the comment, his eyes wide, his face blushing in the heat above the pan. “You didn’t even put any bread in the toaster,” he said.

“That’s a yes to nudist colonies?” I asked. He didn’t like to get dressed or wear underwear. “I don’t mind, I think you look great.”

He pulled the pan from the heat. “This flat is my nudist colony. Why should I be dressed when I never have guests? And then with the clothes you wear, ugh, they have to be washed.”

Humming, I nodded. “Sounds like you’d fit in with a nudist colony.”

Squinting, Harry looked me over. “Are you trying to tell me something?” he asked. “What do you like to do on your weekends? Because I think you might be suggesting a bathhouse, right?”

Running my tongue across my teeth, I winked at him. He was blushing even deeper. “I thought you’d love that.”

“I would, but I don’t want to share you,” he said. He caressed a hand up my arm. “Do you want me to make you some scrambled egg on toast?”

My lips smacked together. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“Sit at the table then.” He pressed his pursed lips at my cheek, kissing me.