John had just finished with his teeth when he heard Dave calling for him. "I'll be right there," he called back. He quickly ran a comb through his hair, pulling out the tangles. There was no time to get dressed, he thought as he yanked the door open and headed back to the kitchen. "What can I do to help?"
"Um. Open that cupboard." Dave pointed behind him. "There's jelly and honey and stuff in there. And get a coupla knives too."
"Okay." John opened the door and set the items out on the counter, then opened drawers until he found the knives. "Forks?"
"Why?" Dave flipped the pancakes as he spoke.
"Um, to eat the pancakes with?" John asked with a grin.
Dave shrugged, and grinned -- you really could tell Carter had never needed to do dishes. Still he was in a magnaminous mood. "Okay, a fork if ya like."
John grabbed two forks. "What about plates?" he asked, turning around to look at Dave. And that's when he noticed how empty the kitchen was of furniture. Except for one stool at a counter. John slowly shook his head as he tried to remember if a table had been there before. But he couldn't remember spending time in Dave's kitchen the other times he had been there and that made him feel a little stupid. How could he have even spent the night before and not noticed something that obvious? The only answer had to be that a table had been there, in the kitchen, where it belonged and it was now gone. "Dave, where's your table?"
"There's a coffee table in the living room." Dave deliberately didn't answer the question he knew was being asked, as he filled up his mug from the coffee machine.
"Okay," John slowly replied. He turned back around and looked at the jars of condiments, trying to figure out how to carry them to the living room without losing his warm blanket.
Dave flipped the final pancakes on top of the pile on the plate, grabbed a honey jar from Carter's collection and stuck it under his spare elbow, before picking up the mug of coffee to carry through.
John walked carefully as he followed Dave to the living room, where he unceremoniously dumped the rest of the condiments and the utensils on the table. "You never did say where the plates were."
Dave slid down under the coffee table, and leaned his back against the sofa. He didn't usually eat breakfast in here. Breakfast was at the counter and dinner was on his knee in here -- still he could improvise. "Sit down. One plate's plenty." Dave demonstrated as he spoke, by grabbing a knife, and spreading honey on the top pancake before rolling it up in his fingers to begin eating it.
John was shaking his head before any words came out. "No. We need another plate. And I'm sure there are leftover napkins from the pizza place somewhere." John looked around the room for the paper bag and grabbed it, smiling as he pulled out some paper napkins. "You know, Dave, manners are not a bad thing."
Dave turned away, and shrugged. "Fine when you need 'em I guess. Don't need 'em here." He stuffed the last of the pancake into his mouth before Carter returned.
John shook his head, but he was smiling. "Never mind. I'll find the plates myself." He returned to the kitchen and started to open cabinets. As luck would have it, the first cabinet contained a bottle of whiskey. John frowned, remembering the alcohol on Dave's breath the night before. But taking a drink or two wasn't a bad thing, right? He closed that door and kept opening cabinets until he found a plate. Then he poured a glass of milk and grabbed the butter before heading back into the living room. Trying to tote it all and keep covered wasn't easy and John briefly contemplated getting dressed before attempting it, but then he remembered the way Dave was eating and figured that if he wanted any pancakes he had better not delay any longer
Dave spread honey over the next pancake on the pile, then hearing Carter return shuffled over sideways a little, to make sure there was room for Carter under the table too.
John set his glass of milk down, then his plate with the butter. He frowned at the idea of sitting on the floor. Definitely not a good idea with his back acting up. So he sat on the couch, but close to Dave. "Did you want some milk?" John asked. "I can go back and get you some."
Dave didn't much like having a knee that close to his nose -- it was just asking for trouble. He patted the floor by him. "Thought you wanted to sit at a table. And, no, I'm fine."
John glanced down at the floor. It might not be so bad, he thought, if he didn't sit like that for a long time. He got to his feet, then sat down on the floor, carefully stretching his legs out under the table and making sure he had the couch behind him to brace his back. So far, so good, he thought. He grinned at Dave, then speared a 'silver dollar' pancake and plopped it onto his plate, smearing butter all over it before putting another one atop that and repeating the process several times. A lot of corn syrup went over the large stack and John sighed happily as he cut out a wedge and shoved it into his mouth, nodding at how good it tasted.
Dave raised an eyebrow at all the extra dishes Carter was creating. They seemed excessive for just one breakfast - still he seemed happy, and that was good. Of course -- a minor problem was that Carter now had a full half of the pancake stack on his plate -- but...Dave reached for the jar of jam and spread it carefully over his top pancake before rolling it up and beginning to eat it. It was good. Good and hot. A good breakfast for a snowy morning with someone sitting by your side. Dave sat back, his mind half on all the things he'd been intending to do today -- boring chores like shopping, and a bit of cleaning, and posting Mike's birthday present. He wondered what he'd be doing instead, with Carter here.
"This is really good," John said. "And since you cooked, I'll clean up, okay?" John thought that sounded like a fair trade. Anything to keep Dave from trying to teach him how to cook again.
Dave perked up at that. "Sure." He could probably pull a mug or two out of his bedroom if he looked hard enough, too. Though maybe not - he had done that tidying yesterday. "You got anything planned for today."
"Not really. Thought I'd hang out around here...if you don't mind. Not much to do with it snowing like this anyway." John said. "You?"
Dave shrugged. "Just day off stuff." He reached for the butter, and smeared it thickly over his next pancake. He'd need to do the letter to Mike sometime before the present went off, but it wasn't urgent.
John nodded. "When's your game?"
"This evening. At eight."
His mouth full of pancake, John could only nod. He felt a small spasm in his lower back and shifted uncomfortably on the floor. Now, if he could figure out a way to lie flat on his back on the hard floor and eat at the same time, then it wouldn't hurt so much. He wiped his mouth and hands. "Do you have to be there early for extra practice or anything?"
Dave nodded. "Half hour warm up or something would be good. Usually practice Thursday, but it's a social league so..." So anything went, and timetables changed.
"Where do you play? Cause if it's an outside rink I don't think you're going to be playing tonight," John commented as he reached for his milk.
Dave grinned. "Don't freak out. It's indoors." He looked up, and saw snow falling steadily outside the window. " No point getting there more than 1/2 an hour early though, it's booked by others."
John nodded, then realized he had run out of ideas for hockey game talking. What to talk about? "Ah, you like cars, even though you don't have one?"
"What?" That had come straight out of nowhere.
"I saw that you have a book on muscle cars. Figured you must like them or something," John said. The book had been on the shelf near the snapshot of Dave and Mike.
"Nah. That's for Mike. Don't touch it 'kay?"
"You're sending a book on cars to a guy in jail for car-jacking?" John blurted out.
Dave shrugged. "He likes cars. No point sending him a book on ballet dancing." Besides if it was on a topic that he was interested in, maybe Mike would read it, instead of just looking at the pictures. Dave was sure he could persuade Mike to get his high-school equivalency somehow -- it was just a matter of finding a hook to get him started with. "It's shrink wrapped, 'kay. That means they'll let him have it -- don't always with the other ones. So don't open it."
"I wasn't planning on opening it, Dave, so don't get your drawers in a knot," John said, feeling slightly offended that Dave would think that he would open something without asking first.
Dave shrugged, and looked away from Carter. Then said, by way of explanation, "No sense getting stuff just to have it sent back."
"I'm sure he'll like it, and hopefully they'll let him have it." John shifted a bit to his right to try to ease his back and he bumped into Dave. "Sorry," he muttered.
"It's okay. And, yeah. Hopefully." Very hopefully. And far more immediately Carter was bumping into him -- sitting hip to hip. Dave turned, then really noticed that Carter was still wrapped up in his bedspread. "You dressed under that?"
"Uh, no," John said as he tried to find a more comfortable position. "You said the food was ready and I was hungry, so..."
"Yokay." Dave waved munificently at the table. "Eat up." He, himself, was getting full. The pizza he'd eaten in bed had taken the edge off his appetite.
John had been half-afraid that Dave would be upset that he wasn't dressed and not having to hear any comments about it was a relief. John dug in and quickly finished off his pancakes. As he scraped the last bit off his plate he eyed the remainder, trying to gauge if he was hungry enough to eat them. He was. "Sure you don't want the rest?" John asked as he started to pile more on his plate.
Dave started to butter one in token response to the insinuation he couldn't eat any more, but his heart wasn't in it. "Go for it."
"Thanks." John didn't bother with buttering all of them. This time he just slathered it on the top pancake, then finished off the bottle of syrup. "So, how come you don't drive?"
Dave frowned. "Hey. I DO." There was nothing wrong with how he drove. Nothing much anyway. "I've driven your Jeep, you..." Dave remembered the scratched door and finished lamely, "know that."
"I mean, how come you don't have your own car and all. You've got a driver's license, right?" John had never thought to ask if Dave had one, he had just assumed he did.
"Well kinda." Dave shifted a little uncomfortably, not really wanting to get onto this issue.
"Kinda? Just what does 'kinda' mean, Dave?" John asked, hoping that Dave had more sense than to be driving without a license.
"Well, you're allowed to drive with a license from another country, aren't cha? So I do, really."
John shook his head. "I think that you can only get away with that for a short time. Something like thirty days or so." John turned to face Dave, not caring that the quilt gaped open. "I can't believe you allowed me to let you drive my Jeep."
"Hey, I passed the test. Grenada's a real country. It counts." And it did. Kind of.
"But it's not the same as having a driver's license from Illinois," John explained, sighing. He shook his head.
"It's just as good." Except he'd passed the test in St George's, not on the freeways around Chicago -- and the traffic hazards weren't quite the same.
"But hardly legal. You've been here well over a year now." John suddenly grinned. "Guess it's a good thing you like riding your bike or else you'd be risking getting a ticket every time you wanted to go somewhere."
"Started to get a US one in Louisiana." He'd never finished though, there'd always been something more fun to do with Joe. And time had somehow slipped away until all he'd wanted to do was leave that town behind.
John sat back, wrapping the quilt tightly around his body as he contemplated his pancakes, not feeling hungry any longer. "Louisiana isn't Illinois. You really should have said something when I told you to drive the Jeep. What if there had been an accident or something?"
"Hey, you didn't ask. And Grenada DOES count."
"It doesn't count after you've lived here for over a year, Dave. Jesus, why don't you take that Grenada chip off your shoulder? Not every comment is said as a put down of where you went to med school, you know." John pulled his legs up and found that to be a little easier on his back.
"Yeah. Well..." Dave stared at the table in front of him. Grenada had been good -- everyone at the med school there was there because of *something*. They'd all been equals, a kid from the rougher parts of New York had been just as out of place as someone from the Midwest, not like college with all those rich kids who had spent all their lives expecting to go, and being paid for out of their parents bank account. In Grenada everyone had been equal under the Caribbean sun. "It was good there."
"I'm sure it was. Everything seems good down in the Caribbean," John replied. "But that doesn't mean I'm going to let you drive my Jeep again."
Dave felt his face go red. "Fine. I'll pay for that scratch okay. How much was it? I'll get my cheque book now." Dave jumped up and started looking for his wallet.
John wasn't sure why that comment made Dave angry or what else he was talking about. "What the Hell are you talking about? What scratch?"
"On your precious Jeep." Dave looked around the room -- his wallet wasn't on the shelf he normally put in on. Oh yeah. It would have been in the pocket of his jeans. The jeans that had been kicked off very quickly last night, and were now somewhere the other side of the coffee table. Dave walked over to them, and knelt down to feel though the pockets. It had to be somewhere, there, he'd got it. Dave retrieved it. "How much?"
John snorted and stretched his legs out, extending them a bit to push at Dave. "Nothing. So put your check book back."
"How much? My money's as good as yours." Dave crouched down and started to make out the cheque -- pressing on the coffee table. Carter was footsing him, Dave dropped a hand to rub at the ankle. "How much?"
"I told you, nothing. They fixed it for free because it's still under warranty." John slipped down a bit on the floor, ignoring the throbbing in his back and pushed a little harder with his feet, hoping to knock Dave over.
"That's a load of crap. You told me it would cost. How much?" The foot was pressing at him. A good foot, a sexy foot. Dave lurched slightly then righted himself.
"It's not a load of crap. It's still under warranty and it was free." John frowned and peered under the table, then saw that his problem was that he was aiming too low. "It was a superficial scratch anyway. No big damage." He moved his foot and aimed for just below Dave's knee, pushing extra hard. "So, put the check book away, Mr. Wombat."
"You said it would cost." And he'd made it sound like it would cost a lot. "Big bucks." A sudden push made Dave overbalance backwards, and he ended up -- after a cat like manoeuvre, nearly lying on the floor -- only raised up on his elbows.
John grinned as Dave went backward. "I was yanking your chain when I said that. It's been fixed since early this week. Took them all of fifteen minutes to do whatever it was they did to it. Looks good as new. Better than new. So, you got off lucky."
Dave wrinkled his nose at Carter's grin. But he didn't want to stay angry -- it wasn't worth the effort. "You got off lucky you mean."
John laughed. "Why? *You* were going to pay *me*, remember?"
"Because...because..." Dave floundered, then he saw inspiration in the form of a cushion on a nearby chair. He reached for it and launched it at Carter.
John was still laughing when he saw a cushion headed his way. He reached out to catch it and the quilt puddled around his waist. "Try it again," he said as he launched it back in Dave's direction.
Dave deftly caught the cushion, then did a feint with his right, and launched the cushion back a second later with his left.
John had been trying to recover himself when he suddenly found himself with a lap full of cold milk -- courtesy of the cushion that was half on the coffee table and now half in his lap. John pushed the blanket away before the milk seeped through to his skin. "Hey! That's cold. You could've broke the glass."
Dave stood up and walked to loom over Carter. "Awwww. A little bit cold is it for you? Poor, Carter." Dave glanced down and saw that even the redwood was calm. "Poor maltreated little, Carter."
"Hey, it's your quilt and floor, not mine. I only volunteered to do your dishes, not to clean your apartment," John replied. He started to get to his feet and grimaced as a pain shot down from his back and over his hip to his left leg. But he forced himself to get upright regardless. "I'm going to get dressed before you start throwing the leftover food around, too." John grinned. "Although, if you decided to do something like that, I'd be better off naked, wouldn't I? Less messy."
Dave frowned as he saw a look of pain flash across Carter's face. He rewound events in his head for a moment -- Carter had been doing a lot of wiggling. "No you're not. Come here." After a second, Dave repeated. "You chickened out. That means I won. Come here."
John regarded Dave warily, wondering what he was going to do to him. But John was sure he couldn't reach the bathroom before Dave caught him, even if he was feeling fine. John walked over to Dave. "I'm here. What do you want?"
"Kneel down. Lean against the sofa." Dave wiggled his fingers to limber them, and warm them up. If Carter's back was hurting then he'd be able to do something about it.
"Excuse me?" John glanced down at Dave's pants, trying to see if he was hard.
"Go on. Get down. I'm real good at these. Some of the guys on the team like them after games."
John hoped that he and Dave weren't thinking the same thing. "You want to...?"
"Yes. Doofus. You're slow this morning, aren't ya? Get down."
Okay, so they *were* thinking the same thing. John turned and did as Dave asked, not sure what to expect. The lube was back in the bedroom, although Dave could use the honey as lubricant. He felt very exposed to Dave in that position and he could feel himself starting to get hard as he anticipated what Dave would do next. "Okay. Have your way with me."