by Sarina Bowen
“He’s gone for the day,” Mr. Pratt says. “Could you handle it for me? Thanks.”
I look down at the pile of other requests on my desk and nearly snap. But I’m distracted from my misery when my phone lights up with a message.
Roderick: Hey! I think you forgot to defrost that chicken I was supposed to cook. It’s still in the freezer? We could get takeout instead!
That’s all it takes to make me forget all my work troubles. Because Roderick is home and thinking about cooking our supper, and part of me is already there with him.
I don’t even recognize my life right now. It’s full of hot meals and couch cuddles and blowjobs. We eat together every night now. After dinner, we watch TV on the couch, until Roderick leans in to trace my ear with his tongue, or lifts my T-shirt up to kiss his way across my abs. And then—after we exhaust ourselves—we curl up together in my bed and pass out. He sleeps spreadeagled on the bed, limbs everywhere.
Every morning, when his alarm goes off at some unholy baker’s hour, he rolls over and hugs me before getting out of bed. His sleepy hand trails though my hair, and I feel his warm chest against my ribcage as his knee hooks over mine. Clumsy with sleep, I reach over and give him a quick squeeze. He kisses me on the jaw and leaves, but I can still smell his skin on the sheets after he goes.
Having Roderick in my life is like having a fire in the hearth. He warms me even when I can’t see him.
A couple years ago I watched my cousin Griffin fall head over heels for Audrey. The two of them were so right for each other that I wasn’t even envious. But I thought—that will never happen to me. Now I wonder if I was wrong.
Too bad I’m too distracted by my man to defrost a chicken.
Kieran: I did forget. I’m sorry. I’ll buy takeout if you want to order something. Looks like I’ll be here for a while. The Christmas rush is on. And Junior fucked off early.
Roderick: If I ever meet that guy, I’m going to spit on his bagel.
Kieran: Gross. Remind me to stay on your good side.
Roderick: He gets paid more than you, and does half the work.
Half is generous. But I probably shouldn’t complain. A job is a job.
Roderick: I have a radical idea. Let’s go out to dinner. It doesn’t have to be anywhere fancy. But wouldn’t it be fun to let other people bring us food? I think we’re due a small extravagance. Like that noodle shop in Montpelier.
I smile at the screen, because Roderick texts like he talks—in idea bursts. And he’s still going.
Please?
I’ll be your best roommate.
I’ll make it worth your while later.
He adds a wink emoji and then an eggplant. And I laugh.
“Kieran!” Mr. Pratt’s voice barks. “Can I have those revisions? I have plans tonight and you’re just staring at your phone.”
I set it down hastily. I never used to goof off on my phone, because I never had a confidante. “Coming right up,” I say, grabbing the computer mouse to open the file.
I quickly discover that Deacon didn’t save a new file when he gaudied up my Christmas tree, and he didn’t make a new layer either. I’ll have to start over.
Maybe the old Kieran would have sat here fuming, but this one has had it. “Mr. Pratt,” I call, standing up to give him a piece of my mind. Something has got to give. I’m so sick of this.
“Yes, Kieran?”
I’d intended to argue, but instead, I hear myself say, “Would you write me a recommendation? I’m applying for a design program, and there’s scholarship money at stake.”
He blinks in surprise. Maybe we both do. But I have to make a decision about this—my application is due in ten days, and I can’t work here forever.
“Sure, kid,” he says eventually. “Sounds like a good opportunity. If you can get me a damn Christmas tree in the next fifteen minutes... I’ll make you sound as talented as Van Gogh.”
“Yessir.” I hustle back to my desk to redesign a Christmas tree.
Still, I find a few seconds to reply to Roderick, holding the phone surreptitiously underneath a file folder.
Kieran: Let’s eat out. Is eight too late?
Roderick: I’ll be there with bells on.
But not actual bells.
That sounds awkward.
WTF does that mean, anyway?
Smirking, I hide my phone and hurry through the rest of the day’s work. I can’t wait to go out for noodles with the guy who makes all the rest of this bullshit worth it.
Roderick
“This is the best idea I ever had,” I say after slurping another noodle into my mouth.
After he takes a sip of broth, Kieran looks at me with an expression of patience and warmth that I’ve never seen him bestow on anyone else. “We should do this every week, if we think we can afford it.”
“Deal,” I agree immediately. “Although I wasn’t sure you’d come.”
He lifts his bushy eyebrows in surprise, “Why not? I like food. And this place doesn’t break the saving-for-college budget.”
“Well…” I glance around the room, taking in the other diners. At this hour, it’s a mix of young professionals. “Someone might look at us and assume we’re on a date.”
“That doesn’t bother me,” he says evenly. As if he weren’t blowing my mind right now. “I don’t care what strangers think.”
“Really.”
“Nah.”
I plop a lovely piece of fatty pork into my mouth and chew, buying myself a moment to think. I used to drive my ex crazy when I’d ask him questions about coming out. Why not now? Will you ever be ready? And every time he’d put me off, I’d hear the subtext beneath the excuses: It’s you, Roddy. You’re not worth the trouble.
I still have those emotional scars. Kieran baffles me, but in entirely different ways.
“Well…” I say. “It’s just that you haven’t told anyone close to you that you’re into men.”
“Nope,” he agrees, sipping his beer. “I also haven’t told them that I might try for a college degree. Or that I’ve started painting again. Everything is on a need-to-know basis.”
“But why?” I press, even though I’ll probably regret it.
He wipes his mouth on a napkin and then looks down at his bowl. “My family is weird, Roddy. We don’t tell each other the things that matter. We only talk about the things that don’t. We never share.”
“But what would happen if you did?” I whisper, hoping he won’t hate me for asking. “I’m not judging you. I’m just trying to understand.”
He sits back in his chair. “If I tell all my truths, then it could make other people tell theirs. And some of that stuff is ugly. I really don’t need to hear everyone else’s secrets. It’s better this way.”
“You don’t want to make them say it out loud? What they’d think about you and me?” I clarify.
“Exactly. It’s just a bad idea. Because then it’s too real, and I’m stuck laboring on a farm for a man who openly hates me. And if I stop helping, I’m bailing on my mother and my brother.”
Well, heck. I have never navigated that particular minefield. My parents’ disapproval is more or less in alignment. I take another bite and try to think. “I’ve met some of your extended family, though, and they seem pretty great.”
“They are,” he agrees. “And as long as I toe the line, I get to keep the good people in my life. I don’t ever have to find out whose side they’d be on if they knew how things really are at my house. And anyway—why I should go first? Nobody else tells the truth. Why me?”
“Because it might set you free?” I say softly.
He makes a face. “It might, or it might not. I could be the guy who broke the truce and blew the whole family sky high.”
“It’s a risk,” I concede. Sometimes I forget that Kieran was living at home when I met him. Independence is still new to him. After a little time passes, he might realize that his father—or whoever—doesn’t control him anymore.
“B
esides,” he says, pushing his empty bowl away. “School might not work out. I might be a shit painter. And you might leave Vermont. Then I would have stuck my neck out for nothing.”
My chopsticks pause on the way to my bowl. Because he’s right about that last thing. I’ve made him no promises. I was so careful not to. “The thing is, Kieran?” I take a breath and gather my courage. This usually ends badly. But I’m already used to being the guy who cares too much. “You’re the kind of guy who’s worth sticking around for. Just so you know.”
He gives me a slow blink. “I am?” It doesn’t sound like he believes me.
“A hundred percent. So just… Think it over.”
The waitress picks that moment to approach our table, ruining the moment. Of course, she does. “Can I bring you boys any dessert? Or another drink?”
We ask for the check, because it’s getting late, and neither one of us wants to overspend. Kieran tries to pay, but I insist on splitting it. “I didn’t ask you out to dinner to make you pay.”
“I know that,” he says. “But I really needed a night out, and I didn’t even know it. And you just had that car-repair bill.”
He’s right about the car-repair bill. It was ghastly. And the shop warned me that other issues are lurking on the horizon. But I still won’t let him pay. I plunk down my half and close the bill wallet.
“Suit yourself,” he says. “We’ll just come here again next week, then.”
Outside, the storefronts of Montpelier have been decorated with white lights and fake snow, because we don’t have the real stuff yet. “I love Christmas,” I gush.
“Why?”
“What do you mean, why? Lights. Carols. Wrapping paper. Christmas cookies.”
“Okay—I understand the cookies.” He bleeps the locks on his truck. “The rest of it never turns out like it does on TV, though.”
Of course he’s a hundred percent right. I’ve never had a Christmas that even came close to fulfilling my Hallmark fantasies. But I can’t quit hoping. “Do you think we’ll get more snow soon? I haven’t had a snowy Christmas in a few years.”
Kieran’s lips quirk up in a smile. “You’ll get your snow, probably. And nobody makes better cookies than you.”
As usual, the praise makes me light up inside. “Play your cards right, and you can have all my cookies.” Somehow this comes out sounding flirtatious. I have a gift. Kieran’s smile only widens. Then he leans in and gives me a long, slow kiss, right here on the street where anyone might see.
I’m stunned, truly. But not too stunned to kiss him back. When it’s over, all I can do is gaze up at him in wonder. Did that just happen?
“Roderick,” he says gently.
“Huh?”
“You know you drove your own car, right?”
“Um, yup,” I stammer. “I’m parked in the municipal lot.”
“You want me to walk you over there?” His eyes twinkle.
I shake myself. “Nope, I’m good. See you at home.”
“You sure will.” The low, hungry tone he uses sends me hurrying off to my car.
Forty minutes later we’re in our favorite place—Kieran’s bed. He’s half on top of me. Kissing me. Grinding his hot body against mine. Everything is wow.
Maybe he’s not a talker, but Kieran has other ways of showing me how he feels.
One of his rough hands coasts up my chest, then pins my hand against the mattress. His other hand strokes down, over my abs, onto my groin. He gives my dick a slow stroke that makes me moan. Then his fingers dip down to play with my balls.
I’m loving every minute of it. But we could do even more. “Kieran,” I breathe, thrusting into his hand. “Would you ever want to fuck me?” I don’t always bottom, but lately I’ve been dreaming about it.
“Maybe,” he grunts before kissing me deeply.
Maybe. What does that mean? Does it mean yes, but not now? Or no, and he’d rather not talk about it? Does he hate the idea of anal? Maybe it’s too gay for him.
Although that seems unlikely, because he’s presently licking his way down my body and—ungh—weighing my cockhead on his tongue. Kieran has been practicing this with the dedication of an athlete who’s angling for a spot on the blowjob Olympic team.
And why can’t I ever just be happy with what I have? A hot, kind man is giving me head. I don’t need to take it further. I don’t need him to love me.
But I want him to, damn it. And I’m scared that I’ll always want more than Kieran Shipley can give me.
He lifts his head suddenly. “Where’d you go?”
“Nowhere,” I promise. “My squirrel brain just took over for a second.”
He gives me a slow smile. “Squirrel brain?”
“Yeah! Don’t you have one? When your thoughts chase around in circles and distract you from what’s really important? Like a great blowjob?”
“Not so much. No.”
“Of course you don’t.” I flop back onto the pillow. “You probably spend all day thinking sturdy, mountain-man thoughts. All that time you’ve spent outdoors makes your beard thick and your biceps strong and your head clear. Got it.”
He chuckles. “I don’t know about that. But—” He leans down and licks the length of my cock. “—when you’re here in my bed, you’re all I can think about. And after we fall asleep? I dream about you.”
Well, that’s exciting. My squirrel brain doesn’t get a chance to react to that, though, because Kieran rubs his thumb across my taint and swallows my cock. Not even a hot mess like me could ruin the moment. I’m too busy fucking his mouth as he sucks and strokes until I’m gripping the sheets, muscles quivering.
I’m not ready for it to end. “Not yet, hunk,” I beg, tugging on his hair. “You’re too good at that now. I’m going to disgrace myself. Come up here.”
He releases me with a smug grin that looks exceptional on his rugged features. He puts a muscular forearm on the bed and scales my body like some kind of flannel-wearing, cider-pressing Vermont superhero. Those powerful shoulders alone are enough to make me pop a woody whenever he walks into the coffee shop kitchen.
He looks me right in the eye before giving me a deep, searing kiss that leaves no space for ambiguity. Kieran doesn’t say a lot in words. But each of his kisses tells me just what I needed to hear.
I fumble a hand off the bed and onto the floor where I’ve strategically placed a bottle of lube, just in case tonight was the night. I flip it open and spill some into my palm. Nudging him until he slides halfway off my body, I grasp his dick in my lubed-up hand and stroke.
“Mother of—” he gasps, startled. “Fuck.” For a split second I think he doesn’t like it. But then he looks down at my hand around his cock, his eyes flashing, his color deep, and he makes a hungry, broken sound of pleasure.
Oh, hell yes. I stroke faster, craning my neck up to give him my mouth, too.
With a groan, he cups my hand in his, gathering both of us up in his long fingers. Pressing himself up on one hand, he begins thrusting earnestly.
“Ohhhh,” I moan under his kiss. “So hot when you do that.” I almost can’t stand it—the heat and the friction between us, and Kieran’s deep, driving grunt every time he thrusts against me. “I’m going to…”
Yup. I’m done. I dig my heels into the mattress and give him all my struggles—every ounce of soul-deep yearning erupts onto his hot body.
And it’s beautiful the way he follows me with a happy groan and a long shudder. Then we’re just two sticky guys, chests heaving, mouths chafed from aggressive kisses.
His heart thumps messily against mine. And I know I’m falling for him, whether I’m ready or not.
Kieran
It’s Monday again—our day off and my favorite day of the week. We slept in and fooled around, as is our habit. But now we’re both up and showered and Rod is standing in the kitchen, proving himself to be a study in contrasts. He’s got some loud punk music playing, and he’s dancing around yelling along to some lyrics that seem
to say “stick it to the man, stick it to the man” over and over again, as he pipes delicate icing onto a gingerbread cookie.
There is nowhere I’d rather be right now.
“Kieran!” he yells over the music. “Look!”
I cross the kitchen and peer over his shoulder at the cookie in front of him. “What the hell is that? A Christmas…polliwog?” That can’t be right.
“Dude, it’s a sperm.” He glances at me like maybe I need to get my eyes checked. “I mean, I did a good job on the tail.”
“Yes, you did.” I chuckle. “But I don’t know how many of those you can sell.” Lately Roderick is obsessed with getting the Busy Bean’s revenue up. He wants to prove his worth.
To me, he already has.
“They’re not for Christmas! They’re for Audrey’s baby shower. She said there was no reason to be boring. There’s going to be a cornhole competition with sperm-shaped beanbags.”
“Wait—really? I thought she and Zara were just joking.”
“Nope!” His laugh is gleeful. “I’m just playing to my audience, working with the baby-making theme.”
“So you’re feeding everyone a happy-faced sperm. Do sperm smile?”
“Mine do,” he says, craning his neck to kiss the corner of my mouth. “I could give you a demonstration.” He nuzzles my jaw, and I feel goosebumps rise up on my back.
It turns out that I like being touched. A lot. I’ve gotten very used to having his hands on my body. I step in close and kiss his neck. He smells like shampoo and vanilla cookies.
My phone rings, and since it’s in my shirt pocket, we both hear it. Roderick steps away, and when I look at the screen, I curse. It’s my mother, and I have not returned any of her recent calls. Rod turns down the music, and so, of course, now I have to answer.
“Hello?”
“Kieran. I’m so glad I caught you,” my mother says. “I was hoping you could come out and cut a Christmas tree for us. You always pick such a good one. And Christmas is almost here.”
