A Small Miracle Happened

by Mari Donne

  “Goy’s luck.”

  Chris thought for a moment that Dan had mispronounced “boy,” but Dan told him the word meant “gentile,” which Chris mangled into “gentle” the first time he tried to say it.

  “I’ll be gentle too.” Chris decided it was time to end the game, because if Dan hit nun once or twice more, vomiting or passing out might ensue. He set the vodka, shot glass, and dreidel on the coffee table, then helped Dan to his feet.

  Either out of affection or dizziness, Dan linked his hands around Chris’s neck. After he swayed a moment, he moved closer with obvious intent. Chris found himself stroking the warm, smooth skin of his back. Dan shivered, and Chris felt an echo of the shudder in his gut.

  Even though Dan was of slighter build, they were nearly the same height. Chris liked that. It would be easier to engage in certain activities while standing up or lying down. Now they stood cheek to cheek until Dan’s head drooped. Chris breathed in the herbal scent of his shampoo. He liked the way Dan’s hair was cut. It looked a little messy, not too fussy. Dan didn’t douse himself in cologne or use a lot of product in his hair. He managed to look stylish and well-groomed without appearing to have put much effort into it.

  Of course he started out with the advantage of being beautiful. That probably made it easier.

  Chris sighed with regret. He walked Dan backward into the bedroom, stripped the jeans off, then pushed him down on the bed. Dan grabbed at him, and Chris leaned in for a long, wet kiss before pulling away. “Good night.”

  “Hey!” Dan sat up, then spoke with surprising clarity. “Where are you going?”

  Chris folded his arms across his chest to keep from reaching out to Dan. “I don’t take advantage of drunks.”

  “Who’s drunk? I’ve got a bit of a buzz on, that’s all.”

  To Chris’s astonishment, Dan stood with a minimum of wobbling and faced him without needing support.

  “You seemed pretty giggly out there.”

  “That was flirting.” Dan’s flush seemed due more to embarrassment than drunkenness. “Slightly inebriated flirting, yeah, but if you’re thinking I can’t consent, give me a break. I was careful not to fill those shot glasses. Besides, there’s a lot of implied consent in suggesting a game of strip dreidel.”

  That was a nicely coherent speech, but Chris noted Dan’s words were still slurred. “I need more than implied.”

  “Hey!” Dan said again, in a different tone of voice, taking Chris’s face in his hands. “Did something happen to you?”

  Chris smiled crookedly. “It was a long time ago. In college. Someone wanted to go faster and farther than I did, and I was impaired enough that I had a hard time, uh, enforcing my decision. I was a lot smaller and skinnier then too. But someone came in, and it was okay. I’ve never forgotten what that felt like, though.”

  Dan hugged him and whispered in his ear. “That’s not what’s happening here. But if I’ve killed the mood, or if you just don’t want to—”

  “Are you kidding?” Chris’s laugh was shaky. “Are you sure? If you’re not really drunk—”

  “You be the judge.” Dan sat down on the bed, then snagged a finger in Chris’s waistband. “Let’s see if my tongue is in good working order.” A few seconds later, Chris’s jeans were down around his knees and…oh, Jesus, did Dan have a hot, sweet mouth.

  It took some willpower to tug gently on Dan’s hair and get him to raise his head. “Wait. I…I know you said it was your night to light the candle, but…”

  Dan had the cutest way of trying and failing to look wicked. “We can make up our own rules again and light each other’s.”

  Yeah, that worked. Tossing the last of his scruples aside, Chris finished stripping. Almost as soon as Dan shucked off his briefs, Chris squirmed onto the bed with his feet pointing toward the headboard. This was one of those activities that worked well when guys were of similar heights.

  The lights were on, and he enjoyed his first real chance to visually and tactilely examine Dan’s cock. Sure, they’d gotten off the night before, but that had been little more than a fumble in the dark.

  Dan’s naked body fulfilled the promise it had held clothed. He was built of long bones, tight muscles, and fair skin. That sweet treasure trail of silky black hair led to a dark nest from which protruded a slender, half-erect cock.

  Chris liked playing with a guy who wasn’t hard yet. It was fun to lick and suck, teasing a lover to full arousal. He liked guys who were cut too, which was fortunate as Dan was inevitably circumcised. So he took his time fondling Dan’s balls and using his tongue on the slit at the head before taking the length of the cock into his mouth.

  His concentration was somewhat impaired because Dan was doing much the same to him. In fact he quickly realized that Dan was imitating each of his movements, a bit of playfulness that caused Chris to chuckle, his throat vibrating in a way that made Dan gasp and lose his place in the game.

  “Fuck me, you’re sex on legs. Or in bed. Wherever we are. Gah!”

  Dan’s words surprised Chris. He was pretty sure he’d never been described that way before. It was highly motivating, and he applied himself diligently until Dan gave up trying to reciprocate, moaning in encouragement until he came. Chris wanted to swallow, but he remembered at the last moment that they hadn’t discussed HIV status, and he hadn’t been thinking clearly enough to look for a condom. So he pulled his mouth away, keeping one hand on Dan’s cock until he was done.

  “Gah!” said Dan again. He pounded his pillow with one fist, rolling onto his back, then closing his eyes. Chris was prepared to finish himself off, but as soon as he reached down, Dan rose, crouching over him. “That is one favor I have to return.”

  Dan went about it almost too slowly now that his own sense of urgency was gone. He licked, fondled, and sucked, never staying with one action long enough to draw Chris to orgasm. Then he suddenly gripped the shaft hard, pumping with such force that Chris’s whole body convulsed with his release.

  Dan moved away, then came back with a wet cloth before Chris could start to think about where he’d gone. After Dan cleaned them up, Chris crawled up so that both their heads were lying on the pillows. Dan’s eyes were sleepy, and he looked so smug and satisfied Chris had to chuckle.

  Dan reached out, running a finger down Chris’s stubbled cheek in easy affection. “You don’t have to leave, do you?”

  Chris didn’t want to. “Well, I’m working tomorrow. So many other people wanted the day off, and I didn’t need it…” Didn’t want to sit around thinking about not having an invitation to my own parents’ home. He hated the way that thought intruded on his pleasant postcoital buzz.

  “Me too. Except I’m not doing it to be nice like you are.” Dan snuggled in. “I don’t have much vacation time built up. I’m trying to save up enough hours and comp time to go home over Christmas.”

  Chris relaxed against him. “I thought your family didn’t celebrate Christmas.”

  “We don’t, not really. My parents belong to this group that volunteers at hospitals so that people who do celebrate can take the day off.” He paused for a huge yawn. “But if I add my vacation to the days the company gives everyone off for Christmas and New Year’s, I have enough time to make it worthwhile to fly home.” His voice grew softer. “I’ll be able to see the baby. Anyway, stay here tonight. You only have to run across the street to shower and shave in the morning.”

  Chris could find no reason to argue. Wondering whose baby Dan kept mentioning, he made like the big spoon and slept.

  Chapter Three

  Third night—Friday

  When Dan left work on Friday, he asked himself, not for the first time, if accepting this job had been a mistake. He’d been impressed when he learned the premise of the start-up that had hired him to help with marketing. They sold quality products, including herbs and other organically grown food, and the business plan was solid. But since he’d been on-site, he’d started to realize those promising features were undermine
d by personality conflicts and a lack of management skills among the owners. There were days when Dan thought he could help them overcome those issues. Unfortunately, this hadn’t been one of those days.

  He set those thoughts aside as he pulled up in front of his condo. He smiled to see lights on in the place across the street. In spite of his mild hangover, he’d remembered to exchange phone numbers with Chris in the morning, and a text had arrived just after lunch. My place tonight? You bring the menorah, I’ll supply the dinner. Okay?

  That had been more than okay with Dan. Now he went inside to grab the menorah, matches, and four candles. After taking a few minutes for some primping—damn, if he’d known he was going to meet someone like Chris, he’d have gotten a haircut last week—he trotted across the street, then rang the bell. Chris’s chime wasn’t nearly as discordant as his.

  Chris’s expression was distracted when he opened the door, and he waved Dan toward the living room as he headed to the kitchen. “Why don’t you set the menorah up? I’ve got to get back to the kitchen. I just started heating the oil.”

  It was Dan’s first glimpse inside Chris’s place. The living room wasn’t so much decorated as filled with stuff. The sofa, chair, and tables had obviously been bought as a group, and they were fine in their bland way. The pictures on the walls were mostly framed photographs, and Dan immediately thought of three ways they could be better arranged. The focus of the room was a large flat screen. The cheap shelving crammed full of battered books said more about Chris’s personality than anything else there.

  Resisting the impulse to check out the titles of the books, Dan followed Chris into the kitchen. He stopped in the doorway. The room was messy, but nothing like the lazy and unsanitary disasters he’d found in too many bachelors’ apartments. This was the chaos only a busy cook could create. A cutting board and knife sat next to the sink, and a recently used food processor squatted on the counter next to a plate with some kind of breaded meat on it. A cast-iron frying pan on the stove was the source of the garlicky smell. But it was a bowl of batter that caught Dan’s attention. “What are you making?”

  “Latkes.” Chris had trouble with the word, as if it was the first time he’d said it out loud. “I looked up Hanukkah foods, and these seemed pretty easy. I didn’t have time to make anything fancy with them, so I tossed a salad, and I’m about to put some chicken breasts on. The site I looked at said fried foods are traditional.” He seemed nervous as he set a second frying pan on the stove. “There was something called kugel that looked interesting, but I thought I should stick with just one new recipe at a time.”

  Dan’s jaw dropped. “You can cook? I mean, really cook, not only microwave stuff?”

  “Can’t most people?” Chris looked over his shoulder as he picked up a cruet filled with oil.

  “I can’t. I’ve tried, but I can’t get past toast and coffee, and I still burn those. I live on takeout.”

  “Not tonight.” His assurance obviously restored by Dan’s expression of awe, Chris turned back to the stove. “Pour yourself a glass of wine and relax. This will take at least twenty minutes.”

  It took a little longer than that. Dan hung around the kitchen to admire until he realized he was making Chris nervous, so he offered to set the table. Chris had some nice dinnerware, inexpensive but attractive. The same couldn’t be said for the plastic tablecloth. Dan scolded himself again. He wasn’t trying to be critical—he just wanted to redecorate the place so Chris could relax in pleasant surroundings.

  Yeah. Right. He wanted to make the place over with himself as the centerpiece. It was a habit of his, and a bad one. You only met this guy two days ago. Don’t start picking out china, doofus. You’ll scare him off.

  When Chris set out the food, Dan forgot all about the decor. The chicken was fried but not greasy, and redolent of garlic and rosemary. The salad included fresh greens and tomatoes, with a tart dressing that hadn’t come out of a bottle in the fridge. Really? This guy made his own salad dressing?

  And there were latkes. Latkes with applesauce and sour cream. Dan almost wept at the sight. If he could choose just one comfort food, this would be it. And Chris had gotten the recipe right. They were crispy on the outside and soft in the middle, but not too thick. The smell and taste of them spoke of home and family.

  “These are wonderful,” he said when he came down to earth enough to remember his manners.

  Chris’s expression of anxiety eased into a smile. “Like your mother used to make?”

  Dan laughed. “Father, not mother. Mom is as bad a cook as I am. And these are really close to Dad’s.” He speared another one, telling himself not to overindulge on the latkes because that chicken was simply amazing, and he wanted to eat every bite. “When I was little, my father worked evenings a lot, and we used to mark the calendar with the nights of Hanukkah he’d be home, because we knew we’d get latkes on those days.”

  “Latkes,” Chris repeated. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to say that. I wondered if the T was silent or something. And they’re probably off because I couldn’t find any matzo and had to grind up soda crackers as a substitute. If you can get your dad’s recipe and some real matzo meal, I’ll try again.”

  “My dad would love to share recipes with you. If the baby wasn’t due, he’d do it in person.”

  “I’d like that. By the way, who’s the baby? I mean, whose baby is it? The one you keep mentioning.”

  Surprised, Dan ran earlier conversations through his head. “Didn’t I tell you? My sister is pregnant. Ready to pop, actually. My parents are staying with her. That’s why they didn’t come visit me when they realized I didn't have enough vacation hours saved to go to them.” He sighed, putting as much drama as he could into the sound while casting a flirtatious glance across the table. “So I’ve been forced to spend my time teaching a really sexy gentile how to play strip dreidel.”

  In that cute way he had, Chris looked simultaneously pleased and embarrassed. “It didn’t take me days to learn.”

  “True. You’re a natural.” Dan dropped his head, then looked up through his eyelashes. “We could play again tonight.”

  “Maybe tomorrow. I have something a little different planned, if you’re willing.”

  Chris had latched on to the Hanukkah theme of using oil, and had two bottles of different scents on the bedside table.

  “I thought it wasn’t safe to use oil because it could break down a condom.” Dan paused. “I don’t do it without one. I’m negative, but—”

  “So am I, and I’m careful too. Mind out of the gutter, Dan. I was just going to give you a massage with the oil. If and when you want more, I’ve got regular lube and condoms.” But from the look in Chris’s eyes, his mind had dropped to the gutter too.

  A massage? Dan stripped eagerly. The bedroom was decorated with the same simplicity and lack of style as the rest of the condo. The bed didn’t even have a headboard, but the mattress was covered with clean white sheets, half a dozen pillows, and a really nice duvet in midnight blue. Before lying down, Dan insisted on bundling the duvet aside so it wouldn’t get ruined by the oil.

  Dan melted into those pristine sheets the moment Chris’s big hands landed on his shoulders. Tension he hadn’t realized was there fled at the firm touch. “Where’d you learn how to do this?” he asked at last.

  “I learned for a boyfriend. Well, I thought of him as a boyfriend, but apparently he thought of it as a friends-with-benefits arrangement.” Chris’s tone didn’t change, but the way his hands slid over Dan’s back was suddenly slower, less assured. “He liked me to do this.”

  “What happened? With this so-called friend?” Dan already hated him. He suspected he’d hate anyone other than himself who Chris slept with on general principle, but really? Someone was stupid enough to think of him as only friends-with-benefits material?

  “He got married. He wanted to keep up our arrangement, but I broke it off when I found out he was engaged.”

  Putting this togeth
er with some other hints Chris had dropped, Dan wondered if anyone had ever treated this guy the way he deserved. “He sounds like an asshole, but I have to agree with him about one thing.” He rolled over, startling Chris. Chris pulled back; Dan wrapped his legs around Chris's waist, pulling him down so he could grab his shoulders and tug him close for a long kiss. “You have great hands. But I want more than a massage.” He ground himself against Chris. “I want you to fuck me.”

  Chris insisted on washing his hands thoroughly to get rid of the oil before going further. His big hands felt as amazing probing inside Dan's body as they had on his back. Chris took almost too much care, prolonging the foreplay until Dan demanded more.

  When they joined, they faced each other, Dan’s legs slung over Chris’s shoulders, Chris bending down to kiss him as they moved together, his sandy hair falling over blue eyes that never left Dan’s face. He obviously took his cues from Dan’s expression, moving faster or slower, shifting position slightly, until Dan bit his own lip so hard it stung.

  “You like that?” Chris panted.

  Dan moaned in answer, glorying in the sensation until he could stand no more. He reached between them, working himself until he came, his body clenching around Chris and driving him to orgasm.

  Chris was careful even then, pulling away before rolling onto his back instead of letting his big body fall on Dan like a deadweight. Then he uttered one heartfelt word. “Jesus.”

  “Moses,” replied Dan promptly.

  It took Chris a second to get the joke. He snorted before getting up to take care of the condom and bring back a washcloth. Only after he was sure Dan was comfortable did he roll back into bed, offer one more sweet kiss, and go to sleep.

  Dan tried to stay awake for a while longer so he could enjoy the afterglow, but he quickly faded into unconsciousness.

  Chapter Four

  Fourth night—Saturday