Boy Meets Love [3] D/s BoyxBoy

Thirty

I flew to Las Vegas for the first few days of the week and they flew by. It was radio silence from Greg but Ollie and I had been texting almost constantly. We'd talked about Dare and about some general sub etiquette questions. I'd begged him to give me some cooking lessons and had invited him to my place once I was home to hang out. I was at the airport on Thursday morning when he mentioned Greg for the first time.

Ollie: Your Sir is driving me crazy. You OWE me so big!

Chris: Tell me!

Ollie: As if I could. Wouldn't though, you deserve the surprise.

Chris: It has to do with me?

Ollie: DUH. He's coming to dinner tonight as usual and I... never mind. When are you home?

Chris: This afternoon.

We were interrupted by Greg and I wondered if he somehow knew we were talking about him. The timing freaked me out a bit.

Doctor Love: Chris, would you like to go on a date tomorrow evening?

I really needed to change his contact name. So THIS is what Ollie and Greg were up to? Did he say 'date'? I reread. Yep. Oh my god.

Chris: I'd love to Sir.

Doctor Love: I will pick you up at 6:30. Will you be available to come over on Sunday afternoon to play?

Chris: Yes, I'll be home. Looking forward to it.

Doctor Love: I'll see you tomorrow evening.

I had to tell Ollie! Halfway through typing I realized that he probably already knew. I didn't care, I was excited.

Chris: We're going on a DATE tomorrow :)

Ollie: Thank God you're free and said yes so this will be over soon. I'm only gonna say one thing, he is TRYING. Okay? Go easy on him.

Chris: Obviously. I'm thrilled. What are we doing?

Ollie: You'll have to ask him and his spreadsheets. Dinner I think first. Gotta run, it's volunteer day. Fly safe.

Chris: Do good works, get a cute shirt ;)

*** *** ***

I had no idea what to wear. None. I pissed even myself off when I tried on three pair of black pants, two of which were literally identical. I finally vowed to not look in another mirror for the rest of the night. I was ready at 6:20 and pacing, already sweating through my shirt. This was ridiculous, it was Greg. After the things we had done, dinner should be a breeze. I hadn't seen him in weeks though and I didn't want to wait another second. Was it going to be awkward? Probably. Would we even get along outside of the Den or would it be a total disaster? I was nervous.

The doorbell rang at exactly 6:30 and I forced myself to open the door slowly even though I wanted to throw it back and jump into his arms. He was wearing a tie. A tie. And slacks. And holding flowers. Flowers. His hair was perfect and he was a little bit scruffy. He looked tired and as nervous as I was. "Hello Sir."

"Hello Chris, these are for you." He handed the bouquet to me and I took a good look at them. "You're supposed to invite me in while you put those in water."

"Right you are. Come in please" I asked, stepping back. "Make yourself comfortable." I turned and headed into the kitchen, grabbing a vase. "Sir? Did you pick these out?"

"Oh, yes. I hope you like them."

"There's one of everything I've ever seen, how could I not?" Seriously it was the most random selection of flowers I'd ever seen. There was no rhyme or reason.

"I tried to convince Ollie that I should get roses, that they were proper. He was adamant that I not though and we had several tense conversations about it. He said I had to get what I thought you would like or what reminded me of you. Nothing seemed right when I went to the florist so I selected the best of each kind."

"They were very thoughtful, thank you."

"If you tell me your favorites I will bring them next time."

"I like these just fine Sir, they're as crazy as I am."

He didn't answer, just turned and started wandering around the perimeter of the living room. He stared for a while at a random painting on the wall. "This is original?"

"Yeah, a friend of mine did it."

"That explains a good bit." He sat on the couch as I finished with the flowers and took them to the table. I made one last trip to the men's room to make sure I looked my best and he was looking at a small notepad when I came out. "Are you ready to go?"

"I am."

He turned the page, then put the pad into his pocket. "I hope you like Italian."

"I'm part Italian Sir, how could I not?"

"I don't think your nationality necessarily dictates your food preferences."

He was struggling so hard. "You're right. I love Italian though."

"Good."