The Family We Make

by Dan Wingreen

  “Jesus Christ, of course you look more edible than the food,” Spencer muttered. Tim laughed. Spencer groaned. “I need to fucking sew my mouth shut…”

  Tim pushed off the wall and walked over to him. Soft fingertips scraped their way across the light stubble on Spencer’s jawline from his neck to his chin and back again. “But if your mouth is sewn shut, I can’t do this.” He leaned in.

  “I haven’t shaved since five thirty this morning,” Spencer murmured in apology.

  “I like it.”

  The barest hint of pressure under his chin had Spencer tilting his head up.

  “You like that my beard grows like a Chia Pe—mmph!”

  The kiss was short, but the tongue-to-kiss-time ratio was ridiculous, and Spencer was a little breathless and more than a little turned on by the time Tim pulled back. Spencer blinked as Tim plucked the corn out of his hand.

  “Hard or soft, a simple ear of corn could never taste better than you.”

  Spencer stared in disbelief. “How the fuck can you still be smooth when you’re holding corn?”

  “You thought that was smooth?”

  “Uh, yeah. Super smooth. What else…” Spencer’s eyes widened. “Oh. My. God. Please tell me you said that with the corn, so I’d call you corny.”

  “If I did, you didn’t live up to your end.”

  Spencer nearly moaned. How the hell did he get so lucky? “I don’t know what’s better, your kisses or the fact that you give me puns. With props. How the fuck can one person be so awesome?”

  Tim laughed again, though Spencer didn’t miss the slight flush to his cheeks. “It’s a talent.” He gave Spencer another quick kiss.

  “Stop that,” Spencer snapped before pushing up for a kiss of his own. “I’m gonna ruin dinner if you keep distracting me.”

  Tim peered over his shoulder. “You’re not cooking anything right now though.”

  “Trust me, I’ll find a way.” Spencer summoned up the willpower to step away from Tim. “What are you doing here anyway? You said you were gonna show up at—” Spencer sent a quick, panicked glance toward the clock; nope, Spencer still had time. “—five. You”—he poked Tim in the chest—“are early.”

  Tim grinned sheepishly. “Yeah. I…forgot.”

  “You forgot I told you eight times to come at five?”

  “I’m used to eating a lot earlier on Thanksgiving,” he said, shrugging. He tilted his head and held up the ear of corn again. “I could help?”

  Tim looked so bashful and boyish and just uncertain enough to be heartbreakingly adorable and—No! Self. Control. If you start kissing him now, you’re never gonna get this dinner ready.

  “Can you boil corn and make pork?” Tim nodded. Spencer smiled. “Then you’re hired.”

  Tim smiled back and got to work. He was, of course, much better at the whole cooking thing than Spencer, which was a relief, but it also kind of made him feel a little inadequate. Ever since he realized Tim was going to be alone on Thanksgiving, he’d wanted to give him the holiday and everything that came with it. Food, family, embarrassing moments brought on by too much wine—Tim deserved it all. It was an old instinct, ingrained deep inside Spencer by societal expectations and even deeper by ancient, out-of-date hunter/gatherer instincts. He wanted to bring down a bison with a single arrow and cook the meat over an open fire. He wanted to raid the neighboring village, kill their warriors, and steal their bountiful crops. He wanted to provide for his fucking man.

  “Do you have any butter?”

  Spencer froze.

  “Spencer?”

  “Shit.”

  It was probably a good thing Tim didn’t really need to be provided for.

  Luckily, it didn’t take long for Spencer to get over it because, in the end, it was just outdated instincts and pressure from society. And who the hell wanted to provide when it was so much easier to assist.

  “Where’s your mixing bowl?”

  “Right here.”

  “Knives?”

  “Got ’em!”

  “Can you put this in the microwave for five minutes?”

  “Sure.”

  “Stand still for a sec?”

  “Oka—mmph!”

  Spencer hated to think in clichés—though he’d been slowly getting used to it recently—but he and Tim fell into making dinner together like they’d been doing it for years. They flowed around each other in the tiny kitchen like choreographed dancers, Tim taking charge and directing while Spencer followed those directions and somehow managed not to screw anything up. Spencer had barely skimmed the surface of what it meant to be in a relationship with someone, but he didn’t think they were this easy for most people. Especially when they hadn’t even been together for a month.

  The ease continued once dinner was on the table, and Connor had been summoned out of the depths of his room. This wasn’t the first time Tim had been over for dinner since they started dating, so Spencer hadn’t really been too worried about him and Connor getting along. Still, this was their first Thanksgiving together—Spencer’s first ever holiday with a boyfriend. He couldn’t help that his heart did a warm flippy thing when they talked and laughed and passed the food around like they’d been doing it together their whole lives.

  Like a family.

  So yeah, Thanksgiving dinner ended up being a huge hit. Connor was—more or less—comfortable with Tim and Spencer being obviously couple-y; Tim was relaxed and happy, and not even a tense phone call from his mother halfway through dinner could spoil his mood for long. For the first time in Spencer’s life, he got why his mom had always insisted on big family get-togethers even though they almost always started off with yelling and tears. Spencer would cry over burnt turkeys any day if, at the end, he got to spend time with his two favorite people; if he could see them laugh and tease each other and smile and fit in each other’s empty spaces the way family should. At one point, Spencer almost couldn’t breathe because of the sudden onslaught of holy shit this is everything I ever wanted.

  The feeling stayed all throughout dinner and well into dessert—which had been provided by Tim’s boss, Sarah, who Spencer had met the week before when he went to surprise Tim at work during a day off at school. She was nice—incredibly Texan, but nice. Although she did seem to be under the impression they’d been dating for a lot longer than three weeks. Amazing baker, though, even if Tim claimed her cupcakes weren’t half as good as his mother’s. Which made Spencer glad his boyfriend was being weird about even telling his mom they were dating because if he tasted anything better than these cupcakes, he’d end up inhaling them so fast he’d need to get his stomach pumped. As it was, he ate so much he was barely able to roll himself out of the kitchen and onto the couch with Tim after Connor had his fill of family time and disappeared up to his room to play video games for the rest of the night.

  It was different than what he expected, what happened after Connor left. Spencer had meant to groan and hold his stomach and make jokes about how he was never going to eat anything again, and Tim had better like fat guys because there was no chance he was going to be able to hang onto what little figure he had if Tim kept bringing home irresistible desserts. Spencer didn’t even get the beginnings of the first word out of his mouth. The moment Connor left, the atmosphere in the living room changed, like a plug had been removed from the bottom of a bottle. The room got smaller, the space between them sucked away into the ether until there was nothing left but stillness and silence and the gentle press of hair and skin as they curled up on the couch. The only contact between them were the two inches of forehead pressing together as they laid their heads against the backrest. They’d had moments like this before. In the backs of cabs and in movie theaters and even on this very couch a time or two. This moment felt different though. At least to Spencer. He imagined this is how his parents must have felt after their own holiday dinners when their relatives went home, and Spencer left to play his own video games, and the chaos of the day faded away until nothing r
emained but the satisfaction of having given their family something special.

  It was a feeling Spencer could lose himself in. One he wanted again and again with Tim and with Connor for the rest of his life.

  Conversation, when it happened, came in fits and starts. A “Did you get tomorrow off?” here, and a “Did you finish your grading?” there. Tim going back to school came up, again, as it tended to do, and Spencer ground his teeth together, as he also tended to do, when he thought of why Tim hadn’t already finished; a conversation they’d had a week or so ago, and one that still got Spencer’s blood boiling when he thought of it. He cooled himself off by thinking of Tim’s stunned face after getting off the phone with the doctor whose grad program he was currently signed up for; apparently, Tim’s Professor Dickhead never bothered following through with his threat to blacklist Tim, mostly because he already had a well-known reputation around the Illinois psychiatric community as an unprofessional lecher. There wasn’t a single credible professor in the state who would take his word on anything. Not only that, Tim’s new teacher at Illinois State was so appalled by what happened to Tim he’d accepted him on the spot and promised to bring the issue to the attention of the dean of CSU, who he’d gotten to know a bit through various academic get-togethers over the years. With any luck, Professor Asshole would soon be Professor Unemployed.

  “So, I talked to Dr. Payton again the other day,” Tim was saying. “I think I might actually be able to do this.”

  The wonder and awe in Tim’s voice made Spencer’s heart clench. “I know you can.”

  Tim smiled. “Thanks. But—”

  “Fuck buts.” Tim quirked an eyebrow. Spencer rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean. You’re gonna be awesome. Best psychology doctoral student since whoever the most famous one of those is.”

  Tim laughed softly and lightly stroked Spencer’s cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

  Spencer knew because they’d already had that conversation too. The one where Tim confessed how directionless and alone he’d felt after graduating college when he thought he had nothing in front of him but endless weeks and months of the same life he’d left behind in New York, except this time with no one to come home to at the end of the day, and how meeting Spencer and Connor had changed everything for the better.

  Spencer had immediately turned into a sloppy, teary, emotional mess. Tim had kissed him anyway. What a fucking keeper.

  “What about you?” Tim asked. “Any news on your new room?”

  “It’s not mine yet,” Spencer said quickly.

  “It will be though,” Tim said, with all the confidence Spencer had just shown in him but could never have in himself.

  “Cass hasn’t heard anything recently; he could have changed his mind. And even if he hasn’t yet, no one’s switching rooms until next year, so he’s still got a lot of time.”

  And that wasn’t even mentioning all the crap he’d have to deal with from his jealous colleagues when it finally came out he was one of the frontrunners. Although, maybe the resentment had already started, if the dirty glares he’d gotten from a few of them the day before Thanksgiving break were any indication.

  He made a mental note to check for buttered floors or suspiciously landmine-shaped lumps in his desk chair on Monday.

  “You’ll get it,” Tim said. “You deserve it.”

  Spencer snorted. “If only we all got what we deserved.”

  “I think you did.” Tim pulled his head back just enough so they could meet each other’s eyes and smiled again. This one was small but bright and more than a little bit teasing. “Don’t you?”

  Spencer’s lips twitched. “Maybe.”

  “Maybe?” Tim sighed. “I guess I’ll just have to convince you.”

  Spencer was still trying not to grin when Tim pressed his lips to Spencer’s.

  Their kiss started out the way all their kisses did, slow but deep, building and building. This time, though, something changed. Maybe it was the angle of Tim’s lips, or the faint aftertaste of wine on his tongue, the first taste of alcohol Spencer had had in fifteen years. Or maybe it was the night itself, the creeping sense of family, and I want this, and please don’t let this ever go away covering the two of them like a blanket. Whatever it was, their kiss changed from something familiar into something new. Something a little bit rougher, a little bit needier—a little bit more. Where before Spencer or Tim would have pulled back, they found themselves racing forward. Fingertips traced cheeks and jaws, then trailed lower over necks and shoulders. Spencer gripped Tim’s bicep and shuddered as he felt Tim’s hand slide over the back of his shirt, high at first, then lower and lower and lower…

  “Oh God.”

  “What?” Tim murmured against his lips.

  “You’re—oh!” Spencer’s breath hitched as Tim’s fingers slipped under the hem of his shirt. He’d forgotten what it felt like, having fingers on his skin. “Shit.”

  “Something wrong?”

  “Nonono,” Spencer moaned. Fuck, he was harder than he’d ever been in his life. “Touchmetouchmetouchme.”

  “Okay.” Tim slid his hand into Spencer’s shirt, his fingers hot against Spencer’s skin. He stroked Spencer’s back, up and down, tracing his spine with soft fingertips, lifting Spencer’s shirt higher and higher with each caress. “God, you’re so smooth.”

  Spencer let out a noise that was closer to a giggle than he’d like to admit. “Gillette knows their shit.”

  “You shave?”

  “Mmm.” Spencer licked Tim’s lips. “Have to.” He gasped when Tim licked his tongue back, then moaned when he sucked it into his mouth. This is the filthiest fucking kissing ever. I love it. “Look like a carpet otherwise.”

  Tim pulled back, his eyes glazed like…well, like one of the fifty or so donuts Spencer had eaten earlier, and didn’t that just make him feel sexy… “Do you—” Tim cleared his throat. “—do you shave…everywhere?”

  “From the neck down,” Spencer said, flushing slightly. Oh God, is that a problem? Is he one of those body-hair guys? He might have asked, but from the way Tim closed his eyes and groaned, he thought he might have his answer already.

  “Fuck. I need. God, I need to…”

  “Yeah.” Spencer nodded, though he had no idea what he was agreeing to. He’d be okay with anything if it got Tim’s lips back on him. “Do it.”

  Tim surged forward and, yep, there were the lips. Spencer opened his mouth the moment he felt Tim’s tongue. I could do this forever…

  And he might have, too, if the feeling of fingers tracing their way across his stomach hadn’t snapped him right out of his lust-induced haze.

  “Ah! Um. No—” He pushed Tim’s hand off his belly and yanked his shirt down.

  Tim stilled, his expression concerned. “What? Is this too much?”

  “No! You just…you don’t need to touch…there.”

  “You don’t like it?”

  Spencer grimaced. “I’d rather get a little farther before you get totally turned off by my fat.”

  “Are you kidding right now?”

  Well, at least he’s not trying to tell me I’m not fat. That’s…something, I guess. “No?”

  Tim studied him for a long moment, then sighed. “Spencer, there is nothing about you that turns me off.” His eyes flickered down toward his own lap. Spencer followed his gaze without thinking and— Oh, that’s a pretty big hard-on filling out those pants.

  “I think you’re hot,” Tim went on. Spencer scoffed. “You are. And since I’m not you, that means my opinion is worth twice as much.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  Tim ignored him. “And this.” He gave Spencer’s belly a quick caress ending with a gentle squeeze. “This is really sexy to me.”

  “You’re fucking kidding me.”

  Tim raised an eyebrow. “Do you need me to pull it out and show you how hard I am for you?”

  Spencer…stopped. Just…fucking stopped. “
Oh, my God. Yes, please.”

  Tim’s lips quirked. “Yeah?”

  Spencer nodded rapidly. Safe to say, his lust was making a roaring comeback. “Fuck yes.” Shit, who cared if Tim had been lying about finding his pudgy stomach hot? Spencer hadn’t seen anyone else’s dick in the flesh in like ten years. Not even his many insecurities could stand up against a decade of desperation. “Wait, no, shit. We’re still in the living room.”

  “Upstairs?”

  “Ye-es!” Spencer’s voice caught as Tim lightly ran his hand across the erection filling out Spencer’s suddenly way-too-tight jeans. Fuck, he’s gonna kill me. “Now. Right now, or I don’t care how traumatized Connor might get. You’re gonna come all over me right fucking here.”

  Tim’s pupils were blown as he stared at Spencer in what could only be described as shock and awe. They both stilled, breathing heavily and staring into each other’s eyes…and then the moment broke, and they scrambled off the couch and all but ran to the stairs.

  “Shh!” Spencer grabbed Tim, stopping him before he could start to gallop up. “Kid’s room is right at the top. We need to be quiet, or he’ll come out.” Tim stifled a laugh. “What?”

  “Nothing,” Tim said, clearing his throat. “I just got this image of you as Elmer Fudd going, ‘Be vewy, vewy qwiet,’ and sneaking past Connor’s room on your tiptoes.”

  “Elmer Fudd? Really?” Spencer raised an eyebrow, then shook his head. “And people say I’m the old one.”

  “No one says that but you.”

  “Doesn’t make it untrue.”

  “Do you want to argue? Or do you want me to come on you?”

  Spencer bit back a groan as, somehow, his cock got even harder. “Shit. Okay. Yeah. Just…ah, fuck it. Be very, very, quiet,” he deadpanned.

  It was a goddamn miracle Tim’s hysterical, barely muffled giggling didn’t give them away.

  *

  Somewhere in the back of Tim’s mind there was a very vivid picture of exactly what it would look like if Connor opened his door and saw him with his hands down Spencer’s pants.