Taking You Home

by Cooper Davis

I can’t help laughing a moment. “Baby, is that why you’re putting on the breaks?” I still hold him close by the waist, practically drawing him right onto my lap where I sit on the floor.

  He laughs softly, too. “I guess it’s silly, but I’m really excited about you opening my present.” My heart beats a little bit faster; I can’t believe I’m with someone who wants to please me so damned much. Who wants to give me so damned much of himself.

  “Sure, Max,” I say, my voice coming out strange and thick. I can’t think of anything else to add, nothing that will sound meaningful like I want.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” he rushes to explain. “I-I want, well, you and all…”

  “I know that.”

  “Because I wouldn’t want you to think…”

  “Maxwell, get over yourself and open this damned thing,” I say, shoving my own foil wrapped gift his way.

  He nods, settling beside me on the floor, and begins opening it. The wrapping unfolds delicately, until he’s clutching a small leather-bound book within his hands. His dark eyebrows draw together, as he thumbs through the volume, fanning the blank pages.

  “Is it a diary?” he asks, clearly confused. I reach for it and turn to the front page.

  “Here, look.” I show him my inscription. Maxwell’s Kitchen: A Book of Treasures. “It’s for your recipes. The ones you come up with yourself.” Then I flip to the first few pages, where Louisa has recorded some of his originals in her very neat handwriting.

  For what seems like forever, he doesn’t say a word, just stares down at the pages, tracing his fingertip over my writing, then Louisa’s. When he looks up again, he gives me a fabulous smile, leaning close to kiss me. “Thank you, baby,” he says, his voice hoarse in my ear. I rarely get any endearments out of him; maybe he’s afraid I’ll laugh them off or something. So when I do, I know his emotions are at a fever pitch.

  I close my arm around his waist, holding him against me for a long moment. “Lots of blank pages, so you can fill them up when you go to cooking school.”

  “I love you, Hunter,” he whispers in my ear, resting his cheek against my shoulder. “You are so kind to me.”

  For some reason, his words remind me of what a bastard I was earlier, of how impossible and mean I was in the face of his unconditional love.

  “Maybe every now and then,” I mumble, stroking his hair. He doesn’t budge, just folds his arms around me, snuggling close.

  “Oh, you are very good to me.”

  “Not today.”

  He doesn’t miss a beat, just rubs my lower back. “You were hurting. I knew that.” How does he understand me so goddamned well? I shift a bit, trying to slip out of his grasp, but he won’t let me. Just stares hard into my eyes.

  “You were hurting because of the orphanage,” he presses. “I never should have let you go with us.”

  I shake my head, dismissing his concerns. “Maxwell, I never spent time anywhere like that. No big deal, really.”

  “But it reminded you of losing your parents.”

  I don’t answer him for a long time. Try to decide if I’m really ready to be this honest yet.

  I choose a different tact, and while it’s not what he wants to hear, it’s still something I need to say. “I shouldn’t have made that comment. About you being such a girl.”

  “You’re changing the subject.”

  “I didn’t want to hurt you. About Maxine and…all that.”

  “How could you possibly?” he asks in a sharp voice. “The only thing that hurt me was knowing that today made you remember losing your parents.”

  “Maybe.” I shrug noncommittally.

  “Okay, well when are you going to talk to me about it? I’ve known you almost five years,” he says, slightly breathless. “I’ve been your lover all these months, and you’ve never once opened up to me about losing them.”

  “Never talk about them period. It’s not you.”

  “But I’m your lover,” he says again, eyes growing wide with emotion. “If you can’t open up with me about it, then I’m not sure we’ll ever really be a family.”

  God, he’s shot me right in the heart with those words, felled me like a giant to the freaking earth. I can only stare back at him, blinking, fighting tears.

  “I want children, Hunter,” he says finally. “I want to make a family with you. But how can we possibly do that if you can’t face Christmas?”

  “Don’t you fucking get it, man?” I shout, not even worried about how loud I am. I’d planned to tell him everything, but now that the moment’s here, the feelings come storming out of me, boiling over like hot poison. “That’s when it happened.” The words are out before I can stop them. Just out there, hanging, shooting him right back in the heart. “They died on December eighteenth. How’s that for a goddamned holiday memory?”

  He lifts a hand and slowly strokes my hair. “That must have been so hard,” he whispers, nodding, as hot tears spill down my cheeks uncontrollably.

  “My mom was pregnant,” I admit in a hoarse voice. “I was gonna have a little brother.”

  “Oh, Hunter,” he murmurs. “I’m so sorry. So sorry that you lost your family.”

  “Thing I remember most are all those presents under the tree. After the funeral.”

  I stare into the distance because I need him to know what I’m not able to verbalize. That once they were gone and buried and my life had ended, the toys were still wrapped up, waiting for a Christmas that would never come. The things they bought for a little boy they loved, the things they knew I’d hoped for since summer. Memories I’d never share with them.

  “No wonder the holidays are so difficult,” he acknowledges, still stroking and petting me. Soothing me. In one burst of movement, I bury my face against his strong shoulder.

  “I hate this time of year, Maxwell. You have no idea. I can’t ever seem to shake this shit.”

  The funeral home with its giant artificial trees and tacky manger scene. The scent of flowers mingled with fresh pine; a sickly sweet smell that has haunted me all my life.

  “We can make it new together,” he promises softly, kissing me on the cheek. “That’s what we can do, Hunter. Make it our very own. Like you said earlier, about starting traditions.”

  I nod, blinded by the tears, as he just kind of rocks me in his arms. “I never told any of you,” I say. “I couldn’t.”

  “You could always tell me. You just weren’t ready.”

  For what seems an eternity, he comforts me beneath the twinkling lights of that tree, etching a new Christmas memory into my heart. One where a strong man holds me until I sleep, beating back all the demons that would have my very soul.

  One where I’m loved like perfection until the ghosts fade away, that’s the Christmas memory Max Daniels makes for me beneath that tree.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Staring at myself in the bathroom mirror, I understand why Max wanted me to open this particular present tonight. Ralph Lauren satin pajamas. Royal blue. Damn, baby, you know how to dress your fag up right. I feel kind of faggy in them too, so I adjust the pants, pulling them lower down my hips. Anything not to seem like such a bad imitation of Thurston Howell the Third. I mean, Maxwell can pull this look off without batting an eyelash. But me? I’m an Iowa kid who grew up sleeping in long johns on cold nights and buck naked in the summertime.

  Another glance in the full-length mirror, and I unbutton the top, opening it across my chest. A soft tuft of dark hair appears, and funny enough, I get a little more comfortable with the get-up. I do actually look kind of sexy. Maybe even fuckable, though I’d never have bought something this flashy for myself. Max looked pleased as hell when I opened the package up too. Apparently, when he imagined the pajamas on me, he had to disguise his hard-on right in the middle of Neiman’s.

  So he wants me as a boy toy for Christmas? No problem,
I can deliver.

  My hair’s wet from the shower and I rake my fingers through it, trying to comb it into a neater mess. Maxwell’s waiting for me in the bedroom. The room they gave us is something of a suite, with bathroom and fireplace included. When we came to bed, we discovered that Leah had turned on the gas logs for us. Damn, I couldn’t help wondering if she didn’t want me to do her brother right in her very own home.

  With one final, appraising glance in the mirror, I open the bathroom door. I find Maxwell sprawled in front of the fire, with nothing but a bath towel hiding his natural gifts. His hair is soaking wet, spiky and delicious, but his body is what I can’t tear my gaze away from. He’s lying on his stomach, kind of just warming himself, the towel contoured to his muscled physique, outlining every last glorious detail.

  I step toward him, giving my pajama pants a tug because my groin tightens at the sight of him. He gives me a coy glance over his shoulder, closing the men’s magazine he’s been reading. Details or something like that. “Wow, Hunter. You look really…lovely.”

  I cough, feeling my face burn as I walk toward him. “Why not brand me queer right off the bat, baby love.”

  “You are queer, sweet cakes.”

  He rolls onto his side, propping his head on his elbow. I drop to my knees beside him. “I feel a little ridiculous,” I admit, fingering the hem of the silken top between my rough fingertips. “Like a girl or something.”

  “You look like one gorgeous man to me.” He slips a hand beneath the shirt and gives my stomach a gentle rub, just a loving touch to reassure me.

  “So, I’m macho enough to pull this look off, huh?” I ask honestly.

  “Hunter, macho has never been your problem.”

  “No, that would be you. My problem, I mean. Wanting you for all these years.”

  “You complaining?” he asks, his expression growing a little uncertain.

  I close my eyes, shaking my head. “No, baby. No complaints out of me. Never.” Truth is, I’m feeling such a glow of love that I swear I must be shining from the inside out. I’m fairly certain he must be able to see that.

  Slowly, I open my eyes again. Maxwell doesn’t say a word, just watches me for a moment. His gaze flickers with a strange mix of erotic need and compassion. I know what he’s thinking; he’s worried I’m still upset, too upset to make love like he obviously wants. So I take his hand and draw it between my legs, letting him feel how aroused I am. Having opened up with him about my past, all the pain, has only stoked my need to epic proportions, even with how weird I feel in this Ralph Lauren get up of his.

  His golden eyes narrow hungrily, as he slowly strokes the length of my erection. Without my boxers on, the silken material just glides across it, causing me to quake with desire. “Oh, baby,” I murmur, aware that I’m kneeling eye level to him. That he’s staring right at the swelling bulge in front of my pants. He rolls onto his back, beckoning me to follow, so I straddle him, as he continues the caresses.

  Everything grows hushed between us; he’s more silent than usual, maybe because we’re in his sister’s house, or maybe because of how tender and intimate we’ve been tonight. I’m not sure, but I follow the lead he’s establishing, planting my knees on both sides of his chest, so that I’m facing him. Without a word, he tugs on my waistband, drawing it low until my cock springs free. There it is, exposed perfectly to him and he doesn’t waste a moment. His fingertips close around my shaft, and he draws it right between his lips.

  My whole body stiffens at the contact, my back arches as his warm mouth closes around my tip. God, it’s almost more than I can take, his tongue teasing me, coaxing me like this. He lifts his head, sucking me all the way into his mouth, which causes a sharp hiss of pleasure to form on my lips. I lift onto my knees, thrusting forward, anything so that he can take me deeper.

  My heart pounds its way right out of my chest, my hands claw at his muscular shoulders. Despite myself, I begin thrusting my hips, even though what I really want is just to feel more of me within his mouth. He clasps my thighs, stilling my motion, and for a moment my eyes open, locking with his hooded ones. I cover his hands with my own, and our fingers thread together.

  I’m dangerously close, about to lose it all; I make a little groaning sound, one I hope will cue him in to my state, but it’s too late. Suddenly my whole body quivers and I feel my warmth shoot into his mouth as I find my release. He takes all of me, until I’m left panting, my hands splayed across his chest.

  I grow limp within his mouth. “Sorry, I-I meant to…” I murmur, pulling out.

  He shakes his head firmly. “I wanted to do that.”

  “I wanted to make love.”

  “We’re not done,” he whispers, giving me a threatening glance. “Not by a long shot.”

  I gulp, feeling a little wicked as he pushes me off of him. “Stay there,” he commands, leaving me by the fire. He rises gracefully to his feet, wiping at his mouth; I wonder if I taste as good to him as he always does to me. Salty perfection.

  I tug my pants upward, as he tosses pillows onto the floor. What does my little seducer have in mind?

  All the mounds of soft throw pillows now spread before the fire, creating a bed of sorts, a bed of tassels and soft velvets and plush crinolines. Once he’s done with his handiwork, Max turns to me, the towel falling loose from around his hips. Then there’s only him, my beautiful Adonis brought right to Earth.

  “Lie down, Hunter,” he instructs me, and my mouth goes dry. “On your stomach.” He doesn’t mince words, not one bit. Baby knows what he wants, and he’s about to go right for the gusto.

  I nod like the dutiful lover I am, slipping to my knees, and he’s right behind me, urging me downward onto my stomach. “I’m going to make love to you, Hunter. Long and slow,” he promises, slipping one confident hand low around my waist. “That’s why I wanted you…relaxed. To begin with.”

  “Oh, okay,” I mumble, swallowing hard. I feel my cock stiffening already, as he drapes his body low across my own. I’m spread across those soft pillows, sliding against them, with the fire warming my body as he forces his erection between my legs. There’s the sensation of him, pushing hard against the satin there, the sensation of only that thin slip of material separating us at all.

  Our hips cradle together and he begins a rocking motion, all the while kissing the nape of my neck. This is love making as I’ve never quite known it with anyone before, not even him. I mean, between the fire and the satin that’s covering my body and the pillows, I feel a little like I’m in some Arabian sex fantasy. Like he’s my prince, and I’m being made part of his harem. Initiated by firelight and seduction.

  “Hunter, relax,” he urges me. I didn’t even realize how I’d stiffened beneath him. He slides the satin pajama top all across my torso, using it to pleasure me. Reaches between my legs and caresses the hardening length of me.

  My eyes press closed, as he slips one palm beneath the top, stroking my chest. Teasing my nipples until they’re taut against the cool material. Then, as I rest my cheek against the pillow, he’s unbuttoning that shirt, until there’s just my bare chest resting against all the sensual fabrics.

  His gentle fingers thread through my hair, stroking it back from my cheek until our eyes meet in the near darkness. “Are you comfortable?” he whispers. “Tell me how you feel.”

  “Amazed,” I sigh, closing my eyes. “Amazed by you, Maxwell.”

  “I love you.”

  “God, don’t I know it.”

  “Feel it, Hunter. That’s what I want.” Then he’s pulling my pants completely off of me, and I’m just bare beneath his lithe body. I have a passing thought that we’ll mess with Leah’s pillows, me coming and all that, him coming inside of me. But he’s already anticipated that problem, because he coaxes me upward with one hand, sliding a soft sheet beneath us both. “Boy Scouts’ motto,” he murmurs in my ear. “You know, be pr
epared.”

  I’m about to make a snappy comeback when I feel his preparation right where it counts. Cool fingertips stroke me, massaging lubricant into my opening, and I can’t help but squirm at his touch. My hips kind of writhe as I feel one finger push inside me, followed by another. Then, he urges me upward and slips another pillow beneath the sheet, underneath my hips, so that I’m raised just like he needs me to be. So that I’m poised and ready to take everything he’s got for me.

  Staggered breaths pass between us as he lowers atop me again. A loving hand rubs my shoulders, caresses my arms as he pushes all the way inside me. I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until I’m full of him, then I kind of sigh and moan all at once. My cock throbs against the pillows as his weight settles atop me. He’s so thin and gentle that he’s easy to take this way. I buck a bit, eager for all of him, and he’s pleased at that. “Yes,” he breathes in my ear, licking it with his tongue. “Yes, love.”

  I’d never let him call me that outside this room, but it sounds beautiful right now. Especially when he presses up against that place inside me, the one that feels like sheer ecstasy when he goes deep into me. When he does it a second time, I can’t help but groan damned loudly. “Oh, Hunter, yes, yes,” he murmurs. “Ah, yes.” His hands wind through my hair, and he begins talking. Just talking and talking; cooing in my ear and loving all over me. I can’t say a goddamned thing. I’m utterly speechless because of what he’s doing to me.

  Speechless, but about to come all over this sheet. Our hips grind together, desperately rocking, and I feel how hard his sinewy thighs are, how very masculine. My eyes close and I think of what an odd mix he is, completely male, yet soft and beautiful at the exact same time. Makes me needy as hell for him.

  That’s my last thought before my whole body shudders beneath his. Before I lose myself in Max Daniels’s arms one more time tonight.

  Satin. Head to toe, slippery, draped across my body. That’s what I feel as I turn over in bed, feeling for Maxwell. I blink back the morning light. The bed’s empty, there’s just me and these luscious pajamas he gave me last night. He made me put them back on for sleeping, said I deserved a night of indulgent rest. Apparently that’s what I got, because he’s already up and out of our bed.