If It Aint Love

Maybe wait until morning and the world will become more bearable.Until then, he and Peter can help distract each other a little bit.Whit was mentally prepared to walk in the rain for a while, but Peter beckoned a taxi to stop, which made Whit silently happy.The man may have lost his job, but apparently spending his last penny on pleasure doesn't bother him.Whit was taken aback when Peter gave the driver an address in Gramercy Park, and then remained silent for the entire drive uptown.Peter sat next to him, also silent, and Whitt wondered if he had acted too impatiently and forced Peter to take him home.He had been hunting freely in the Bowery for a long time, and had met all kinds of men before, but it was the first time he had earned an invitation from a rich family like Rockefeller or Vanderbilt.

Note ①: Gramercy Park, a closed small private park block in Manhattan, New York, only the residents have the keys, and the general public is prohibited from entering.

His doubts grew as the taxi pulled up in front of a large house.The surrounding houses are neatly built, and the quiet light from the windows isolates the neighborhood from the night.Only Peter's house was dim, except for a night light at the door.Whit followed Peter up the stairs, thankful in his heart for the darkness around him.He was even more reassured to be able to enjoy the shady pleasures of staying out of the sight of high society.He was so used to the miserable world that he forgot that not everyone was broke.

Or maybe the family actually went bankrupt, too.An alcove light lit by Peter shone into a spacious living room with barely any furniture, and Whit's eyes fell on the marble mantelpiece and silver sconces without candles.A silver-framed mirror hung over the mantelpiece, reflecting Whit's somewhat abrupt, blurred reflection.His clothes were ragged, and the thick mud on his shoes stained the gleaming hardwood floor.He looked around and saw only more dark, empty rooms.Were rich people's houses always this eerily quiet?He's been there a few times in the middle of mansion dinners, lunches, or other gatherings in order to write blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah for magazines, but he never takes those occasions to heart and never thinks of them as parties At the end, the conversation stops, the music fades, and even the reflection of the marble cools down.

Peter shivered aside, as if he felt something.Then he actually smiled, "This place is old and rundown, isn't it. They sold most of the furniture, and this house is next. Honestly, I'm relieved that way." He looked into the dark Stepping forward, he turned his head and smiled resolutely at Whit, "Let's go to the kitchen," he shook the whiskey in his hand. "Get some glasses, and maybe some food, if you've got an appetite. The kitchen is a pleasant place, even in such an empty house."

"Do you live here alone?" He had a dozen questions he wanted to ask, so he picked one to start with.The lonely sound of his and Peter's footsteps echoing through the house seemed enough to answer.At the end of the hallway was a short flight of stairs leading down to a dark, cold kitchen.But when Peter turned on the lights, the reflection of the brass lamps and green floor tiles brought a touch of warmth.He took out two wine glasses from the cabinet and put them on the dining table. Under the light source, the arc of whiskey pouring into the crystal glasses was so smooth, as if they were a perfect match.

"I live here alone," said Peter, "and no one will bother us."

The man seemed eager to reassure him, but Whitt sensed that the other was also a little absent-minded, as if the one-night rendezvous had been run out of habit rather than genuine enjoyment.Maybe he's just trying to pass the time and wait to see if something...other things happen next.

Whit decided to take a break, too.He pulled up a stool and a bottle of whiskey and asked casually, "Divorced?"

Peter's eyes widened. "I've never been married. Always single. What about you?"

"Even if I wanted to, I couldn't afford it."

"Do you want to get married?"

Whit smiled, "I don't want to yet. Anyway, I don't lack companionship recently." At least not more than other substances. "are you hungry?"

Peter seemed to have just remembered his previous promise, and rushed to the refrigerator to open the door.Although the rest of the house was empty, the refrigerator was filled with wine, fruit, pastries and an assortment of dishes.Too much for a man living alone, and Whitt amused himself as Peter set plate after plate of food on the table.

"Did you cook these?" Whitt opened the largest pot and immediately found the treasure; roast chicken and potatoes. "You could feed half New York City."

"I don't know how to cook. Some were cooked by the housekeeper yesterday, and some—someone just brings things here from time to time."

"Let's warm these up." With Whit's hunger now, eating it cold wasn't a problem, but a hot meal was worth the wait.He picked an orange from a whole basket of oranges. "Were you going to have a party?"

Peter lingered in front of the stove, apparently not knowing how to use it. "No. Well, I guess you don't know much about these things either?"

The pair scoured the cheese, biscuits, oranges and cakes before Whitt pulled the hot, crispy roast chicken out of the oven.Peter didn't eat much, but Whit's appetite seemed to please him.When they were full, the table was already covered with chicken bones, empty plates and various food scraps.The long-lost feeling of fullness made Whit satisfied, but the mess on the table made him feel ashamed, "Let me tidy it up for you, but don't make your housekeeper disgusting, so I decided to resign."

"Don't worry, yesterday was her last day at work." Peter looked at the mess on the table and smiled dryly. "It's okay to tidy up later. Want to see the other rooms? I was going to take a good last look and reminisce about the old days." He added a little embarrassedly, "I just don't want to do it alone."

Whit laughed. "Exploring alone in an old empty house. I wouldn't do it. Are you going to move to a smaller place? It seems to be a trend to do it lately."

Peter left the kitchen light on and walked up to the last step of the stairs by the light source without closing the door. "I haven't figured it out yet. I'm thinking about Angle Point."

"Anker Point? Where is it?"

"A small town in Newfoundland."

"Really? What's there to do there?"

"Cod fishing, I guess."

"Sounds like a cold and lonely place."

"I think so too."

"Then why go? You can easily experience the cold and lonely feeling in New York." Whit snorted.

Peter just smiled, and Whit had grown accustomed to the sad curve of his lips, as if the smile couldn't reach the corners of his mouth. "Don't you ever want to go to some isolated coast and see if the feeling of the cold wind blowing on your body will feel more lonely than walking in the crowd? Be alone with the wind and the sea, and convince yourself that the world is just a broken place. Surrounded by vast, icy waters that will swallow you up if you are not dried first by the wind..." He stopped on the landing. "Do you think the people there are sitting in their boats thinking about the stock market crash and real estate sales? Do they care what the rest of the world thinks of them?"

"No way. I guess they're just thinking about getting back to the fire to keep warm before frost builds up on them."

The sad look on Peter's face surrendered to the humor, softened even a little by a moment of gratitude. "Yeah, warmth and peace is all I want. It's like going back to being a kid. I always remember those moments when I was safe and protected. What about you?"

"Of course I do. Who doesn't remember a few things from the past?" They walked to the main staircase, and Peter turned on the light.Electricity caused the crystals on the chandelier to burst into light instantly, reflecting on the handrail of the winding staircase and the thickly carpeted steps.Under the dazzling light, Whit found that Peter's eyes were still blue, which was close to black, the same as in the dim shabby house of the Homeless Home. "I think I can save you the commute to Newfoundland," Whitby said, hoping his advice would work, "I went to the beaches of Coney Island in February, and the experience was nothing to write home about. "

"Did you get any inspiration?"

"Yes. If you want to throw yourself into the sea, you'd better pick a summer."

"It was that bad at the time?"

"It's just as bad now. It's just a matter of getting used to it." Whit forced himself to smile. "I guess you won't be as lonely as you are now on an isolated coast. At least there you can hear your own inner voice and argue with it to see how lonely you want to be. Would you You can appreciate that things can turn around, but you have to live and give them a chance." He avoided Peter's sympathetic gaze and looked around. "This house is so big. What's your favorite place?"

Stairs lead to a large platform that leads to the left and right.At the place where the long corridor on the left suddenly turns, a lonely door is half open, and there is a dim light inside.Peter seemed unable to bear a moment of darkness.Whitt could imagine the oppression of living in the most isolated corner of the mansion.This doesn't feel like a home, or even a sanctuary.No wonder Peter would rather settle on a hard mattress in a homeless home.Sometimes crowds can bring a little comfort.

There is more furniture in the bedroom than Whitt imagined, but the decoration style is low-key; the bed is covered with quilts, a mahogany wardrobe stands in the corner, and there are several pictures of foreign scenery on the wall. The only irregularity is the chair by the window Wrinkled black suit.Whit sat in the chair and looked out the window at the garden in the night.He pushed the cushion aside to reveal the blazer. "Are you sleeping in this?"

Peter's laughter sounded a little hoarse to Whitt's ears. "Only once." He picked up the suit, tied it up and stuffed it into the corner of the closet.Whit leaned back, looking around the room.

"Only once? That's better than me." To say that would be an understatement.Whit has fallen asleep in the coat more than once over the past few months.He unbuttoned his coat. "In a few days I'll have to get silver polish to deal with the stain on this coat." At the edge of his vision he catches a door, apparently leading to the bathroom. "Can I take a shower first?"

Peter opened the door, and it turned out to be a spotless bathroom.He made Whit relax as if he were in his own home, and Whit lay back in the ceramic tub, letting the warm water surround him, his skin barely visible under the water.He couldn't remember the last time he had a good scrub.Since he lost his apartment, bathing was a matter of rags and sinks, and he was unwilling to sell his body for a penny just to go to the public bath.

He has always been unwilling to sink to this point, but perhaps the situation is not much different now.He neither refused the big meal, nor the opportunity to take a bath, nor the bed.Unless Peter changed his mind later.

This is also the mystery that Whitt cares most about.This quiet man flirted with him vaguely in the homeless home, but when he returned home, he became more and more silent and difficult to see through, making Whit wonder what Peter wanted.Perhaps his silence was simply shyness or inexperience; but from his demeanor Whitt was almost certain that this was not the first time he had sought company in a corner where no one knew.Maybe Peter just needs a little encouragement.

"You can come too, if you want."

The bathroom door was ajar, but Peter was still standing on the other side of the bedroom, looking out the window thoughtfully.He came to the door only after hearing Whit's proposal, and glanced into the bathroom, his hesitation made Whit laugh out loud. "If you're just looking for someone to chat with, just talk to me. Don't wait, don't get hurt."

"Would you like to stay and chat with me - if I just want to talk?"

Whit shrugged. "It doesn't matter, I'm not in a hurry." But his heart couldn't help being stung by a trace of disappointment.If Peter got cold feet, there must be a reason for him.Whit suddenly felt qualified to ask all the questions in his heart. "Why do you live here alone?"

Peter took a step back, lips pursed into a line.Then he let out a breath, eliciting an unconvincing smile. "I've got to have somewhere to live, don't I?"

Whit submerged himself fully in the water, then surfaced with a splash.He brushed the wet hair from his forehead, "there are a lot of people who have nowhere to live—so, no, that's not the reason. There's no reason for a man to live alone in such a big house except to show off I do. But I don't think you look like that."

"Not like someone who lives alone in a mansion, or someone who doesn't like to show off?"

"It's not like that."

Peter sat down on the edge of the tub, "What do you think I look like?"

Whit was overjoyed, and decided not to satisfy Peter's curiosity, which was finally aroused. "I'm still putting together the answer. Ask me in the morning, if you haven't chased me away by then." He stretched his legs in the water, giving Peter a good look at what he had just refused. "Want to come in? The water is still warm."

Peter just laughed, then got up and walked out of the room.Whit heard a radio signal from the bedroom, the end of a news program.He snorted lightly.Well, at least he's had a full stomach.Even though he had expected more, this was the best thing that had happened to him in a long time.

Peter reappears holding a towel that looks bigger and heavier than a blanket.He walked to the bathtub and spread the towel. "stand up."

Whit stood up in surprise, then shivered again from the cold.The warm towel quickly wrapped him up layer by layer, and he sighed. "This towel is heaven." The soft cotton brushed against the sensitive skin on the back of his neck, and he shivered again, but this time it wasn't from a cold.He met Peter's hesitant but curious gaze, then smiled slyly. "Are you sure you just want to chat with me?"

Peter curled his lips.He leaned in and pressed his lips to Whit's, just lightly enough to provoke a deeper desire.When Whit grabbed Peter's shirt and chased the kiss, he backed away, his eyes wandering over the calm water.Whit held on to the soaked shirt, and he tugged lightly, "Don't you like it?"

Peter smiled weakly, but the smile disappeared quickly, as if he couldn't hold it any longer. "I think this place is haunted." He twisted away from Whit's hand. "I'll go find you something to wear."

He pretty much ran out, leaving Whit to shower himself--and shutting down any other possibilities.Whit hasn't given up yet, he wants to convince Peter even more now, and he has to figure out why that man made him think he had a chance earlier.

After drying his body, combing his hair, and shaving his beard after a long absence, Whit picked up a stack of clothes that Peter handed over from the door of the small room, and put them on.The silk pajamas brought a tactile sensation he hadn't experienced before, making him want to explore and be caressed even more.Damn, stop complaining.A chance to rest in peace on clean sheets was precious enough, after all he had put up with cramped beds and rough blankets for so long.Having said that, seeing Peter sitting far away on the other side of the bed, leaning against the pillow and flipping through a magazine, he couldn't be content with just snuggling and a good night's sleep.

The sheets were soft and cool, and Whit moved slowly towards Peter until he could lean against Peter and look at the magazine, as if he was really interested in what was on the page. "Don't you have today's paper?"

Peter pursed his lips slightly. "I haven't read much newspaper lately." He offered the magazine, and Whit shook his head in refusal, and he threw the magazine on the bed.He turned sideways, watching Whit intently. "Do you feel comfortable here?"

Whit was surprised at first, and then shrugged, "Then do you think homeless homes are comfortable? People always have to take time to adapt to a new environment, but a good environment is definitely easier to adapt to." Peter did not close the window, and as the night The tulle curtains fluttering in the breeze caught Whit's eye. "I really didn't expect to be on this street, this block tonight, if that's what you're asking. But over the years I've gotten used to seeing every good thing as a small miracle. I don't expect or pray for them to happen, I just enjoy every moment of them. Do you understand?"

"Am I a little miracle?" Peter asked half-jokingly.

"You could be a big miracle," Whitt imitated the other's tone. "After waiting for so long, it's finally my turn."

Peter's smile softened. "Please don't expect things from me. I'm tired of people expecting things from me." He lay down on his back and looked at the ceiling. "I'm not as impressive as this house or this street. I don't have any useful skills, just flashy things. I'm not even good at that," he trailed off. Then met Whit's gaze. "I've been to that hotel--I guess you call it the Homeless House--several times before. You were the first person I invited here."

"You never—"

"It's not here. I go back to their apartment with those people. But we never chat, just..." He sniffed, "I liked that feeling at first, as if I was consciously alive..." Peter put one hand on his chest, "When my heart is beating wildly, my muscles are sore, and I can hardly move, the thoughts that have been circling in my head all day will calm down, become blurred and irrelevant. I can also relax. One breath."

"and after?"

"I wish that feeling lasted forever. But I was just repeating the same night over and over again, just to find a few minutes of peace at the end." Peter shook his head. "The two bodies are as close as possible, and they are rubbing against each other like drilling wood to catch fire, but from beginning to end, I am always alone. What's the use of being awake?"

Whit swallowed, mentally erasing the picture Peter was describing. "Then why did you take me home? You don't know me."

"I don't know," Peter murmured, "for a few minutes I felt as though I knew you."

Whit couldn't help laughing. "That's right, isn't it? Deja vu." He moved closer to the person beside him, leaned on Peter's pillow, and looked at the ceiling.The intricately shaped vine corolla trim is dyed light blue by moonlight, bringing a fairy-tale atmosphere.In fact, the whole house has that feeling—it even has a melancholy and handsome prince living there. "Perhaps you do know me. Sounds like we're both down in the world."

"I may have sunk deeper than you."

Peter was laughing at himself, but the unbearable emotion in it made Whit hesitate.Peter might have hoped he would respond with a nonchalant joke, but Whit, driven by curiosity—and perhaps other emotions—did not respond to Peter's expectations. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Peter was talking eloquently just now, but he didn't answer this question at this time.The silence between the two made Whit unable to move, and he wanted to know what kind of secret the other party was keeping tight-lipped.The silence continued to spread, only the faint ringing of the bell in the hall could be heard just after one o'clock.At last Peter let out a trembling breath.Whit turned his head and saw a little tear on Peter's eyelashes.Peter noticed his gaze and quickly turned his face away.Whit moved over and leaned against the opponent's shoulder. "Never mind, who hasn't cried once or twice in years? Not that I know of. I just passed a bunch of people yesterday waiting to pick up jobs at the docks, and hell half of them cried like babies. "

"Please stop," Peter finally said, and then he laughed--there was a choke in the laugh, but it was a laugh anyway.He turned his head and kissed Whit, which was unexpected, and Whit let him kiss for a good five seconds before recovering and responding to him.Peter may not feel that Whit's consolation is an antidote to his depression, but his previous restraint has disappeared with this kiss.He tore off Whit's pajamas without unbuttoning them, and ran his hands over his skin.

Whit was already worn out by the wait, and he didn't know how much longer he could last--but he didn't have to wait any longer, because Peter overwhelmed him and undressed him in a split second, as if realizing that he had let Whit It's easy to go back.Even so, he still tasted every inch of Whit's sweetness and hardness with his lips and tongue, and after a lot of torture, he firmly engulfed his entire cock with enthusiasm.His movements were relentless, and Whitt was left struggling on the sheets, gasping for breath as a wave of raw pleasure swept over him, almost paining him, blurring his vision.During the orgasm, he felt Peter's mouth still covering him, causing him to tremble and twitch again and again in pleasure, while Peter's hands released their grip on his waist and hips, stroking his abdomen upwards, Gently resting on his chest.

When Whit was able to breathe again, he was still speechless.He took Peter's hand and gave it a gentle shake of thanks.Peter got up on his knees, undressed, and before Whitt was surprised, Peter lay down on top of him, with his back against his chest.He took one of Whit's arms and folded it across his chest, and whispered coyly, "It might be a little embarrassing, but—do you mind?"

"You can come however you want," Whit replied with a smile.The feeling of Peter's body in his arms was exciting, and he really felt all right.He ran his free hand across Peter's upper stomach, feeling the muscles tense, and Peter groaned and bent upward, craving more contact.Whit's palm then slid across the pleasingly flat lower abdomen, all the way down, and finally wrapped the pair of soft-touch testicles.Peter arched under his caresses and fell back on top of him, his head thrown back on his shoulder.Peter straightened his hips, and Whitt smoothly slid his thumbs down his heavy shaft until a low sob encouraged him to possess himself completely.

Whit gently stroked Peter's erection, and waited for Peter to grab his hand before he responded to the other's request and soothed vigorously.Every time Peter jerked his hips, soft skin squeezed against Whit's cock, and Whit felt himself hard again.He belatedly realized that his hand had firmly pressed Peter's chest, but the other party did not stop him, but instead climbed onto Whit like a drowning man.Peter seemed to be holding his breath and managed to catch his breath.Whit rolled over with the trembling Peter, a raw pain in his body driving him towards the hot and humid hole.Pressed into the mattress, Peter struggled to separate his legs, his fingers gripping the blanket.Whit didn't want to hurt the other person, and kept controlling the speed of his lower body, but the muscles wrapped around him tightened, silently conveying joy, so that he was finally released in the other person's body, and fell exhausted on top of his too quiet bed partner.

"Sorry," Whit said softly, "I'm usually not in such a hurry."

Peter's laughter was muffled under the quilt.He turned to Whit and gave him a reassuring kiss.Peter didn't make fun of him.Only then did Whit figure it out, "You think if we go to bed as soon as we walk in, I'm going to leave without looking back? I thought you were shy, or just not interested in me."

Those eyes, deep as midnight blue, stared at Whit. "Is that what you think? God, I'm sorry. I just wanted to know more..." His embarrassed and weak smile turned into a wry smile. "How do you usually deal with things like this?"

"Lately I've been taking everything I pay." Whit kissed him. "And as long as it's a miracle, no matter how small I am, I won't refuse it."

flat.Crosby ② crooned on the radio on the bedside table, and the night air was getting cooler.Wrapped in a quilt and the warmth radiating from Peter's body, Whit walked slowly into the land of dark dreams, letting his complicated thoughts scatter along the way.Someone once said there was no such thing as luck, and maybe he was right.But at this moment, he felt that he was a lucky one, and he had no intention of changing his mind.

Note ②: Bing Crosby, a pop singer and actor who became popular in the United States in the 1930s.

Dawn may bring everything back to its original shape.But he has learned a valuable lesson from the difficult past: Worrying is just asking for trouble, and leaving tomorrow's troubles for tomorrow.