Forbidden Fruit

Pete entered the room just as Patrick took the first crunching bite of the excessively large green apple clutched in his hand. Pete stopped in the doorway and watched as his friend chewed, taking a moment to marvel at the way the sun shining through the window managed to make what hair was visible underneath his hat to look so angelic, his feet perched on the edge of the coffee table in front of the couch upon which he lounged, knees bent so he could balance the book he was reading on them. Poised to take another bite, he noticed Pete leaning against the frame, and did a double take.

“What?” he asked, muffled around a mouthful of apple, a quizzical look on his face.

“Nothing,” Pete mumbled, shrugging, mentally shaking himself out of his momentary reverie, and walking over to plop down next to Patrick, who continued to contemplate him with a furrowed brow until he sat down, shrugging to himself and giving Pete a shrewd look before returning to his reading.

Pete attempted to distract himself with another book littering the table, trying to make it look like this was what he had come into the room for in the first place. This worked vaguely until he heard another crunch to his right, and he furtively looked over, worried he’d be caught staring again. Patrick detected the gaze this time, too, though. Exasperated, he raised his eyebrows and said, “Seriously, dude!” regarding Pete appraisingly. “Is my consumption of this apple offending you?” He was beginning to get mildly irritated.

“No, just… must you… so loudly?” Pete inquired innocently enough, however lame the question may have sounded, endeavoring to mask the truth about why he kept looking over. Seriously, that apple had no right to be so noisy. Or juicy.

“I didn’t ask you to sit by me.” And spitefully he took another vigorous bite, making as much noise as one possibly can eating an apple, returning once again to the book in his lap.

Pete, however, continued to watch through slightly narrowed eyes, unconsciously licking his lips and tilting his head to the side like a curious puppy.

Patrick, attempting vainly to ignore his neighbor, once again became immersed in his novel. He stole another chunk of apple into his mouth, a considerable amount of juice dribbling down his chin. Without looking up from his book, he instinctively reached up to wipe it off with the back of his hand, and was startled when Pete’s hand quickly darted out to stop him, grabbing Patrick’s wrist before it could even get halfway to his mouth.

Patrick’s eyes flicked from the hand constraining his arm to Pete’s face in alarm. Pete’s breath was shallow and his heart was pounding as he whispered, “Can I try your apple?”

Patrick gave him a fearful look that clearly said “I seriously question your sanity,” but he very hesitantly extended his free hand holding the apple towards Pete, afraid of what might happen if he didn’t, taking note of the frenzied hunger in Pete’s eyes. Pete leaned forward cautiously, mouth open slightly and hovering next to those lips, so shiny with apple juice, then, without warning, he slowly licked the liquid from Patrick’s chin, closing his eyes as he savored the combined taste of skin and fruit, making his own skin crawl with satisfaction. He took a deep breath, wanting to remember, devour the flavor, before allowing his eyes to flutter open. Patrick’s expression had softened considerably, and he whimpered pathetically, “Oh.” The apple rolled off of his hand and fell to the floor with a thud, Pete straddling him in the same instant. Without hesitation, he leaned in and attacked the younger man’s mouth with his own, licking the tang of the fruit out of every nook and cranny of Patrick’s mouth. With Pete sucking on his bottom lip, Patrick let out a minute moan, inviting another assault on his mouth and a hand to tangle into the back of his hair, lifting his hat off his head to join the apple on the floor. When Pete decided he was done (without consulting Patrick, who would gladly have allowed the kissing to carry on), he pulled back and rested his sweaty forehead to the one in front of him, panting heavily and smirking. “I love apples,” he breathed.

“Yeah,” Patrick agreed breathlessly. Best. Apple. Ever.