"Why do I even buy you food? You don't need to eat," Tom groused as he handed Cain a beer.
"I need to eat!" the big man protested, "I'm pretty sure anyway."
"You eat like a starving wolf, Cain. If you need to eat, it's probably more like a snake."
"Huh? You mean like without chewing?"
Tom rolled his eyes and looked to heaven for sympathy. "No, you uneducated ogre, I mean just once a month."
Cain nursed his beer and looked at the ground impassively. Tom wondered if he might have hurt his feelings. It was so hard to tell what would hurt him. He has seen buckshot roll off the man, but his stupid binge eating would make him puke. You'd think he'd never eaten good food in his life, the way he put away those huge truck stop steaks.
"So do you not want me to come into restaurants with you anymore?" Cain asked.
Tom thought about it. It was always more enjoyable to eat with company, and sitting with Cain was excellent camouflage. No one paid any attention to him when he was next to a nine foot tall Atlas. The fact that Cain was actually kind of good looking didn't hurt either. It made him great for taking into restaurants, but horrible for taking into clubs.
"I guess you can still come with me, as long as you remember that just because you can eat something doesn't mean you should."
"Ok Tom." Cain said agreeably. He seemed to relax a little now that the threat of restaurant ostracism had been removed.
Tom dropped his hand onto Cain's shoulder and rubbed his thumb absently on the base of the big man's neck as they both drank their inferior American beers. The casual observer might not detect a reaction, but Tom could feel the weight of Cain's focus settle on him, closer than the summer heat. Touch always got his attention, and he never seemed to know what to do with it.
Tom dug his nails into the nape of Cain's neck, wondering if he could even feel the bite. "Come on Cain, let's go inside. Your skin might be mosquito proof, but the little bastards are going to eat me alive."