Ben's Bakery and the Hanukkah Miracle

by Penelope Peters

  Wait, that’s stupid, his cock is currently ramming the back of my throat. Too much for a first date!

  “Ben,” gasped Adam, his fingers tightening. “I’m—”

  Ben sucked hard one last time and pulled off just as Adam came with a shout. He managed to catch it all on his shirt and the cup of his hand.

  Adam’s legs were shaking. Ben rose slowly, his knees stiff enough that he was once more grateful they’d managed to make it upstairs before he gave in to his desires. Adam caught Ben and pulled him in, wrapping one arm around his waist to hold him close.

  His breath was warm and sweet on Ben’s cheek. “That was—”

  “Yeah,” breathed Ben, nuzzling against the beard. It was still soft and prickly and delicious, and Ben would have liked to start up all over again.

  But he could feel the dampness on his shirt soaking through to his skin, and mostly, he just wanted to revel in the moment.

  “Come on,” he said, but didn’t move.

  Adam chuckled. “I did.”

  “Ha,” snorted Ben. “I meant, I’ve got a double-shower head.”

  “Oh!” Adam’s eyes glinted. “Now you’re talking.”

  They had to go through Ben’s bedroom to access the bathroom; Ben tried to refrain from the blush that rose to his cheeks when he saw the haphazardly-made bed, but Adam graciously ignored it. As soon as they were in the tiny bathroom, Ben busied himself turning on the water, balancing hot and cold to find a good temperature.

  He could hear the soft rustling as Adam removed his clothes and dropped them, half-folded, to the floor.

  “No, don’t do that, water’s going to get everywhere,” Ben said, lifting his voice above the echoing water. “Just put them in the bedroom.”

  “All right.”

  The moment Adam stepped out of the bathroom, Ben shed the rest of his clothes as fast as he could, kicking them into the corner and stepping behind the curtain before Adam could return. His heart threatened to pop right out of his chest and go running down Mass Ave. It might have been less painful if it did.

  Stupid to be shy now, he thought as Adam came back into the bathroom. He closed the door with a soft click.

  “All right?” asked Adam.

  “Yeah, come on in,” said Ben, wishing his voice didn’t squeak so badly.

  Ben kept his face to the spray while Adam shoved the curtain aside and stepped in behind him.

  “Ahhhhh....”

  “Not too hot?”

  “Nope. Could be hotter, even, but your skin’s already going pink.”

  “Yeah, well,” said Ben, blushing even harder. “Not all of us are dark and swarthy.”

  “Dark and swarthy, huh?” Adam chuckled. “I admit, this isn’t the bathroom I’d have expected to see.”

  “Me neither,” admitted Ben.

  The shower was admittedly as awesome as it was out of place, and Ben thanked GD every day that the previous owners had invested real money in making the bathroom fabulous. The shower was just big enough for two people and no more. It was beautifully done, with gorgeous grey-and-black tiling, a built-in bench, plenty of shelving for bottles of shampoo and soap and anything else anyone could want. There was a fogless mirror on one end, and then, of course, the showerheads; two of them on opposite sides of the stall, with a single rain shower head in the center of the ceiling.

  It was easily the best thing about the apartment, which never heated properly in the winter or cooled adequately in the summer. It had an aging, persnickety oven and an even more questionable fridge. The windows stuck, the floor creaked loud enough to wake the dead, and there were nights where Ben was convinced it was haunted.

  The shower made living there worth it.

  Adam was being very quiet; when Ben sneaked a peek over his shoulder, he saw why. Adam stood under the spray on his end of the stall, eyes closed as the water cascaded down his face and shoulders, over his neck and down his chest.

  Ben averted his eyes the minute he realized he was staring. It wasn’t the hairiest chest he’d ever seen – but it was easily among the most muscular. Adam’s shoulders were wide, with deep pockets on either side of his neck. His pectorals were squares of muscle that still looked soft and comfortable for head-resting, and the definition made it easy for Ben’s eyes to follow the line of hair down past Adam’s navel to the treasure trail leading to his soft but still very thick cock glistening in the stream of water.

  Ben’s eyes snapped back up just as Adam let out a contented sigh. He lifted his arms – very muscular, thick arms, with the same smattering of black hair and a particularly soft-looking tuft in the pit – and ran his hands through his hair, slicking it back. “Tell me you have an infinite supply of hot water, because I could stay in here forever.”

  Yes, please do, thought Ben, keeping his eyes squarely on Adam’s shoulders.

  Which was also stupid, considering that all the interesting parts that Ben refused to gawk at had already been in his mouth.

  I am not a shy and retreating virgin, for crying out loud!

  “Not exactly, but long enough,” said Ben. “Um. I could wash your back?”

  Adam squeezed his eyes closed, chuckling to himself. “Wait. You’re not shy, are you?”

  “No!”

  “I mean, five minutes ago you were sucking my—”

  “I just think everyone deserves a good back scrub,” said Ben, desperately wishing Adam would shut up.

  “Fine,” said Adam, still chuckling as he turned around. Ben gave a quiet sigh of relief and reached for the loofah and the liquid soap. “I forget not everyone’s used to a locker room.”

  “I remember locker rooms. Just... not that kind of locker room.”

  Adam pressed his hands against the tiles as Ben began to scrub against his back with circular strokes. Ben smiled as Adam made an appreciative noise, arching his back against Ben’s hands. “What kind of locker rooms are those?”

  Ben paused. “Well. Hockey locker rooms.”

  “They’re not all pornos, you know.”

  “Oh Lord,” groaned Ben. Adam’s laughter echoed in the stall. The water and soap were making his back smooth and slippery. Ben’s hands skimmed lightly over the skin, enjoying the curve of tight muscles and lightly freckled skin.

  “You had something here,” he said softly, running his finger over the scar on Adam’s back.

  “Yeah, got a mole removed when I was twenty-two. Benign, luckily.”

  Ben nodded, running the loofah over Adam’s shoulders as the muscles flexed in response.

  “And here,” he said, running his finger along a longer, thinner scar that snaked around his waist.

  “Pile-up on the ice when I was fourteen,” said Adam. “It wasn’t deep, but it was a hard spot to reach and I was too shy to ask for help, so it ended up scarring. I was lucky, though – that’s the worst injury I ever had when I played.”

  “Lucky,” whispered Ben.

  Adam nodded, oblivious. “Yeah, I was.”

  Ben bit his lip and kept washing Adam’s freckled shoulders. “Didn’t think Canada had enough sun to get freckles.”

  Adam’s voice was thick. “My mom liked summer vacations on the beach. I think I’m probably clean enough now. I can do yours?”

  Ben hesitated, and then dropped the loofah over Adam’s shoulder. “Okay.”

  Stupid, really, to be flushing as he turned around, looking up into the spray. Adam’s hands had already been all over his cock. There was something more intimate about a shower, though – with nothing but water and soap between them. Everything wet and slick and warm...

  Ben almost jumped out of his skin when Adam’s hand touched his side. He was gentle enough in that half-second before Ben felt the drip-drip-drip of the soap on his back, as Adam squeezed it out of the loofah without it touching his skin.

  “Tell me if it’s too much,” said Adam softly.

  “It’s fine,” breathed Ben.

  Adam lightly pressed the loofah to Ben’s back and began t
o run it gently over him. Ben had to work at settling into it, but it wasn’t long before his thoughts wandered and he’d reached out to hold the tiles to keep himself up.

  Adam’s fingers drifted over Ben’s back. “Not many scars on you,” he said lightly.

  “Just where you aren’t looking,” said Ben, conscious of the way his stomach was tightening. “I had my appendix out when I was twelve. Burned my wrist pretty bad on the oven two weeks ago, too.”

  Adam chuckled. “I’ll be extra careful when I get there.” He paused. “You’re skittish.”

  Ben tried to laugh it off. “Stupid, right?”

  “No,” said Adam. “Blow jobs and jerking off is one thing. This is...”

  Something else. The shiver went straight down Ben’s spine in a good way.

  “I got the impression from your friend – Sheldon, right? It’s been a while for you. For this.”

  “Yeah.” Ben turned his face to the side so he could take a breath that didn’t involve swallowing water. “He makes it out like I haven’t been laid in a century.”

  “You look good for a hundred years old.”

  “Dork,” said Ben. Adam chuckled. His hands weren’t just warm, they were hot. They felt so large on Ben’s back, pressing on the muscles in exactly the right places with exactly the right pressure. “You’re good at this.”

  “Hockey locker rooms,” said Adam seriously. The shower was quiet for a moment, and then Adam continued. “Well. I’m honored. Thank you.”

  Ben went still. “What for?”

  “Letting me be the first,” said Adam quietly. “I can’t imagine it was easy, letting that guard down.”

  Ben chuckled. “Easier than you’d think. Easier than I thought.”

  “Good.”

  The shower went quiet again. Ben liked it; the drumming created a comfortable white noise, and Adam’s massage was soothing. He let himself close his eyes, relaxing into his stance, relaxing under the spray of the hot water. When Adam spoke again, asking permission to wash his arms and legs, he didn’t even have enough consciousness to respond; instead, he held out his arms, spread his legs, let Adam clean him without turning around.

  Then he felt Adam’s hands pause at his knee, loose and gentle.

  “This looks like it was bad.”

  Ben’s head spun in the warm air, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe.

  “Yeah,” he gasped. “It kinda was.”

  Please don’t ask, please don’t ask, please don’t ask...

  Click-click-click went the pipes.

  “That’s the water heater,” said Ben, still a bit dizzy and hazy. “We should probably get out before we end up freezing by accident.”

  Adam pulled his hands away. Ben almost regretted it, even if his blood pressure began to lower automatically.

  “Sure,” said Adam as if it was easy. “You operate the shower, I’ll get the towels.”

  Adam waited outside the stall with a large bath towel tied around his waist, and a second towel opened for Ben to step into. Ben hesitated a moment – naked naked naked running through his head.

  Oh, whatever, he thought crossly. Because it was stupid. Because Adam had already seen his scars. Because Ben was a grown-ass man and he was over his injury and it was time to move on already.

  He stepped out of the shower, fully expecting that Adam’s eyes would drop.

  To his great surprise – they didn’t. Adam wrapped the towel around him, holding Ben close for a kiss.

  Ben’s heart surged, even as he felt a twinge of... something.

  He’s not going to ask, thought Ben. He figured out I don’t want to talk about it.

  And you know what? That’s fine. This is only temporary anyway. He’s only here for a week, neither of us are under any impression this is anything more than a convenient fling. I don’t need to know his secrets, and he doesn’t need to know mine.

  We just have to have fun, that’s all. Hang all the rest.

  “Stay,” Ben whispered.

  Adam sighed into Ben’s hair. “I can’t. The kids.”

  Ben stifled the sigh.

  “For a little while,” conceded Adam.

  Chapter Four

  On the fourth night of Hanukkah...

  Adam hadn’t meant to fall asleep.

  Ben’s bathroom was fantastic, and his sheets soft and warm, with the added advantage of having Ben as his personal space heater.

  Ben’s mattress, however, was horrible. Adam woke up shortly before midnight with what felt like three springs digging into his spine. How Ben managed to sleep at all was a mystery.

  Ben didn’t have black-out curtains and his bedroom faced the street. The light coming in through the windows had the yellowish glow of streetlights softened by snow. There was blinking too – the red and green reflected from the other restaurants and shops that hadn’t turned off their holiday lights. At least it was quiet, apart from the faint sound of voices as people tumbled half-drunk out of the restaurants at last call, heading home or to someone else’s home.

  Adam could hear them shouting to each other – not the words themselves, but the sound of their voices, cheerful and maybe a little slurred. He didn’t need the words to know that below, men and women were flirting with each other, teasing and testing and trying to assess each other’s motives before making their moves.

  He listened and watched Ben’s face, slack in sleep, his mouth open against the pillow.

  Ephraim Bernard’s voice echoed in the back of Adam’s head.

  “You know your orientation doesn’t matter to me, Adam, and it wouldn’t have mattered to your mother. The only thing she cared about was that you not be lonely.”

  “I don’t have time to be lonely, Dad. And if I am, I’ve got about a dozen kids who need attention.”

  “Not the kind of companionship we have in mind, son.”

  Over ten years since the car crash that killed his mother – but Ephraim Bernard still referred to he and his wife in the present-tense with as much ease and joy as he ever had. As if Naomi Bernard was still there, hovering behind his shoulder, still voicing her opinions as she watched Adam stumble from one rink to the next.

  Adam sometimes wondered if it was a comfort to Ephraim, to keep their combined opinion in the present. He hoped so, even if every time he did, it was a painful reminder to Adam that they could never be really sure what Naomi would have thought.

  One thing Adam was sure of was that Naomi Bernard would have liked Ben. She would have admired his determination and his diligence. She would have been appalled at the lemon cream sufganiyot and cried with laughter at the eggplant latkes. She also would have liked him all the more for making them in the first place. She would have joyfully helped him reconnect with his Jewish roots and fed him with advice.

  Whether or not she’d have wanted him for Adam, though...

  Adam slipped out from the bed. It took a few minutes – and the help of headlights from a few passing cars – before he found all his clothes. With one last look at Ben sleeping, Adam went to the outer room to dress, so as not to wake Ben up.

  I should, though, thought Adam as he dressed. Or leave a note, if he won’t wake up. Leave lots of them, so he doesn’t think I’ve hit and run.

  Adam was still sleepy enough that it wasn’t until he had the t-shirt on that he realized it was too tight. He cursed, stumbling as he tried to find a light switch, not that it would help. If he’d grabbed Ben’s shirt, his must still be in the bedroom.

  Once the light was on, Adam realized he hadn’t had a good look at the room before. It was a nice little room – emphasis on the little – with one narrow window overlooking the street, a couch that looked far more comfortable than fancy, and shelves and pictures hanging everywhere. There were throws and pillows and soft things everywhere, as well as stacks of books on the floor and the coffee table and surrounding the lamp. Adam counted himself lucky that he hadn’t knocked any over.

  There was a cut-away to the kitchen, with two tall s
tools forming a make-shift table at the counter. A laptop sat on one of the stools, with a printer wedged on a stack of crates. And still more books, still more pictures, with a kitchen that looked very-well used just visible in the shadows.

  It’s snooping, Adam scolded himself, even as he leaned in close to look at the pictures. He invited you into his bathroom and his bed, not his life.

  It was obvious which kid in the pictures was Ben: he was laughing in nearly every one, surrounded by people and in the process of doing something, whether it was hiking or camping or dressed to the nines. There were parties, beaches, fields, national monuments in the background.

  Adam stopped when he saw the Bar Mitzvah pictures. A gangly, gawky Ben, aged thirteen, his chin dotted with what were probably air-brushed pimples, wearing a yarmulke and matching tallis that looked too big for him.

  “It fits you much better than it fits me.” Ephraim’s quiet pride for his son’s Bar Mitzvah had outweighed his pride for his son’s accomplishments on the ice rink – but not by much.

  “Of course it does, Adam has more muscles than you did at thirteen.” Naomi had been just as proud, the epitome of the hockey mother, the one who supplied him and his teammates with the orange slices and bandages and cheerfully obnoxious home-made signs of support in the stands.

  Ben looked happy in his Bar Mitzvah picture, as if he was pleased to be there. Adam had smiled in his Bar Mitzvah pictures, too. He’d been relieved that the synagogue’s schedule had an open Saturday that didn’t also coincide with a hockey game.

  Adam almost missed the picture; it was lower than eye-level, full of people standing with their arms around each other, each one wearing similar skin-tight clothing. The background, however –

  The group stood on the ice in the middle of a rink, wearing what was clearly a skin-tight uniform of sorts. Ben was just on the side, wearing the long-bladed skates that speed skaters used. The smile on his face was much wider than the smile he’d worn for his Bar Mitzvah.

  Ben looked ridiculously young, with baby fat still on his cheeks and longer, ruffled hair. He could have been twelve, compared to the other guys, especially the one standing next to him, who Adam thought was the same guy from the other night. (Sheldon, that was his name.)