Author's Note: this story is posted to Literotica for the purpose of entertainment and feedback. I do not give content or trigger warnings, proceed at your own risk. Anything that has more than one chapter will be considered slow burn by this site's standards, but i usually post quickly.
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We can't be at the right house.
I blink at the wrought iron gates as they swing open, the carriage lamps on either side gleaming softly in the twilight. Damien doesn't seem to notice my stunned expression as he pulls up in front of the sprawling Mediterranean style mansion, the tires crunching softly on the white gravel drive. The air is heavy with the scent of night-blooming jasmine and woodsmoke when he guides me out of the passenger seat, and from somewhere inside the house, I can hear classic rock blasting.
"Oh, cool, Darren's home too," Damien says happily. I'm sure my face looks funny, because he gives me a mischievous grin and grabs my sweaty hands, dragging me towards the huge double doors.
"Relax, Penny. No one's going to bite you. I mean, unless you ask."
A nervous giggle escapes me as we enter the house, and I instantly fall in love with the high arched ceilings and the sand colored tiles under our feet. There's nothing in the wide entryway other than a mahogany console table with a vase of fresh flowers on top, but it's somehow warm and welcoming. There's something that smells amazing cooking deeper in the house, and I don't need Damien's guiding hands to find the source.
Whatever mental image I had of Dave being an accountant disappears as we turn the corner into the kitchen. The man standing at the restaurant style range is massive, his back and shoulders tanned and bulging with muscle as he boogies in time to "Born in the USA". There's a tattoo on his bicep that looks like it has something to do with the military, and the white kitchen towel shoved in the back pocket of his well worn jeans draws my gaze down to- nope. No, no, no. I am not going to stare at my best friend's boyfriend's butt. I tilt my chin up to focus on the back of his head as Damien rounds the granite topped island and peeks over his shoulder.
"Ooooh, tortellini soup? What did I do to deserve you?" He buzzes a kiss across the other man's cheek and dodges a friendly swipe at his behind.
"Who said it's for you, mooch? Darren said he wanted something light for dinner. I made soup. And salad. And other stuff."
Damien pouts, and the man mountain turns around, wiping his hands on the towel before reaching over the island to offer me his hand.
"You must be Penny." His blue eyes have smile wrinkles at the corners, and his brush cut hair is sun streaked. He shakes with me firmly, and I find myself grinning back at him. Damien lounges against the worktop behind him, filching grapes off a huge wooden platter of cheese, fruit, and nuts. His hazel eyes are alight with laughter as he watches me struggle to keep my eyes on his partner's face.
"You have a beautiful home," I squeak out. Dave's smile widens, his slightly overlapping front teeth giving him a boyish charm. I wouldn't call his face beautiful- not like my friend's exotic mix of features, but he's interesting to look at.
"We like it," he says easily. He turns his head to greet the man walking into the room from the open French doors. This must be Darren, with a scowl on his face and his dark brown hair sticking out in wild directions, like he's been pulling at it. He throws his cell phone onto the counter and stalks past me. I shiver against a sudden chill, pulling my sweater sleeves down over my hands.
Dave barks something in a language I don't know, Italian, maybe? Damien replies rapidly, and picks up the fruit plate, hoisting it to his shoulder as he heads for the outdoors. I shift, wanting to run to his side, away from the tension that entered the house with Darren.
Glass clinks, and then a long-fingered hand appears over my shoulder, placing a wine glass in front of me. I reach for it hesitantly, looking over my shoulder.
"I'm very sorry." I didn't expect Darren to have a British accent, and I fumble my glass, scattering ruby drops across the pale counter. Dave swipes his towel over it as Darren steadies my hand. His fingers are warm against my skin, and his smile is apologetic, even if his dark eyes are unreadable.
"Penny, isn't it? I really am sorry," he says. "I have a client that always manages to put me in the worst mood, every time she rings. If I made you think I was unhappy to see you, please, don't. Damien has done nothing but talk about how wonderful you are. It's my pleasure to meet you, finally."
"Th-thank you, uhm, Darren, right?" I stutter. Damien talks about me? Until thirty minutes ago, I didn't even know he lived with two men! The thought makes me pause. Are they roommates? Friends? Or did I stumble into one of those poly relationships straight out of one of my guilty pleasure reads? I gulp down far too much wine, too fast, and start choking.
"Easy there, darling." Dave is suddenly in front of me, pushing Darren out of the way and handing my glass off to him. His arm encircles my shoulder, lifting my hand over my head to help clear the liquid from my airway. I'm probably as red as the wine at this point, from embarrassment and a lack of oxygen. He rubs my back in soothing circles until I can breathe again, then steers me out onto the huge patio.
Damien turns away from the fire pit he's been coaxing to life and hurries over, his expression full of concern.
"I'm fine," I say, but he rolls his eyes and shakes his head, whisking me away from the other men. Dave laughs softly beside me and offers me a seat on a cushioned lounger that's softer than any piece of furniture in my apartment. Before I can protest, Damien's putting a plate full of sliced fruit and cheese in my hand and Darren's pulling over a table for my wine glass.
