Macarons at Midnight

by M. J. O'Shea

  There was a rustling noise as Henry obviously rolled to his feet and moved through his apartment, then leaned against the windowsill. “Holy crap, you are.”

  “What, did you think I was joking?”

  “Yeah. Come on, I’ll buzz you up.”

  Tristan was about to protest, but Henry had already rung off and he didn’t want to be an idiot. So he pushed the heavy front door open and jogged up to the door to the flat, where Henry was leaning against the open doorframe looking far too sexy for a man in Batman pajama bottoms and a black tank top. Tristan found himself being dragged into a slow, lazy kiss, and while his eyes were closed and his fingers occupied with the skin on Henry’s sides, the door thudded shut behind him.

  “Sorry, I shouldn’t be calling this late.”

  “Tristan, it’s barely ten,” Henry said with a laugh. He pressed another kiss to the corner of Tristan’s mouth. “And besides, I’ve missed you this week.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. Work has been insane, and I couldn’t get out of the project… mmph.”

  His apologies were stifled with warm kisses, and he couldn’t help but smile against them. He had no clean clothes, nothing to wear in the morning, and that didn’t matter at all. Staying the night here was all he wanted in the whole world.

  “You don’t mind me interrupting your evening, then?” Tristan asked as Henry kicked the door closed behind them.

  “You’re not interrupting if I was secretly hoping you’d come over anyway.”

  “Oh.”

  There really was a half-finished pizza on the table, and the evidence that Henry had had a few beers too. The pristine, perfect apartment apparently housed a secret: its inhabitant was a man after all.

  Henry let go of Tristan’s shirt and wandered through to the kitchen. From one cupboard, he retrieved two short tumblers, from another, a bottle of expensive-looking whiskey. Tristan knew it was expensive because he didn’t recognize the label, and the bottle was made of thick, square glass.

  “My dad always celebrates big successes at work with whiskey,” Henry said. “I think we should continue the tradition.”

  Tristan nodded. “Sounds good to me,” he said with a grin.

  He watched as Henry expertly poured a generous measure into each glass, then pushed one toward Tristan and raised his own.

  “To… success,” Henry said, a slow grin stretching his dark pink lips. “Forging new relationships. To getting on in life. A leg up.”

  “A leg over,” Tristan added. Henry snorted.

  “Later. To being with someone on a Friday night when there’s no one else you’d rather turn up on your doorstep, a little drunk and bedraggled but still adorable.”

  “I’ll drink to that.”

  He did.

  The whiskey was warm and rich, and Tristan wished he knew a bit more about the stuff so he could properly appreciate it. On a good day, he could just about tell the difference between Jack Daniels and Glenfiddich, but that’s about as far as it went.

  He set the glass back on the marble countertop and leaned in for a whiskey-flavored kiss. Henry’s tongue stole into his mouth, and Tristan hummed, appreciating the taste of fine liquor much more when it was licked from his lover’s mouth.

  One of Henry’s hands wrapped around the back of Tristan’s neck, and the other reached down and grabbed a solid handful of ass cheek.

  “Can I get you anything else?” Henry asked in a low voice, rubbing their noses together.

  “Blow job?”

  I have to stop saying the first thing that comes into my head, Tristan berated himself internally. Henry kissed the soft arch of Tristan’s Adam’s apple.

  “Hmm. I’m sure I can manage that.”

  “Actually, I’d really like a shower.”

  Henry drew back a little and rubbed the back of Tristan’s neck. “Long day?”

  “The longest. I’m probably disgusting right now. Sorry.”

  “You don’t need to apologize. Help yourself. I’ve got some clothes you can change into.”

  Tristan leaned in and laid a grateful kiss on Henry’s lips. “Thank you.”

  “No worries. I’ll watch the end of my show, then we can put a movie on, if you like.”

  PERFECT, HENRY thought to himself as he unpaused the TV and kicked his feet up onto the coffee table. He could just about hear the sounds of Tristan clattering in the shower, and an errant thought about Tristan moving in floated through his head. Not yet. Maybe one day they’d be ready for that, but for now, it was just a nice fantasy.

  Henry was only five minutes from the end of the show. He relaxed and watched the ending. Tristan was still in the shower when the end credits started to roll, so Henry cleaned up the remains of his dinner and stowed the pizza in the fridge for later, then went into his dresser to find some lounging-around clothes for Tristan.

  What he was not prepared for was Tristan emerging from the bathroom completely naked, whistling softly to himself, rubbing his hair absently with a towel.

  “What?” Tristan asked, a laugh in his voice when Henry stopped and stared. “You’ve seen me naked before, Henry.”

  “I know. This is just… an unexpected treat.” Henry crossed the room and fit his hands around Tristan’s hips. The skin was still warm and slightly damp. “I like the way you’re put together.”

  “I’m only six feet away from your bed. You hardly need to talk me into it.”

  Henry licked his way into Tristan’s mouth. The towel fell to the floor with a damp thud.

  There was something very erotic about Henry being clothed and Tristan naked like they were. It meant when their erections rose, Henry’s cock pressed against the thin fabric of his pants, and Tristan’s was free to thicken until it was standing almost vertical, sandwiched between his belly and Henry’s.

  Since Henry had promised a blow job, he dropped to his knees and sucked the warm, sticky head of Tristan’s cock into his mouth. He could taste salt beneath the clean soap and he burrowed his tongue in the tiny hole, hoping to find more flavor there.

  When Tristan’s knees buckled, actually buckled, Henry felt very pleased with himself, and pulled away enough to look up into Tristan’s eyes.

  “Will you fuck me?” he asked, his voice low as his thumbs skimmed slowly over Tristan’s hip bones.

  “Yeah.”

  As Henry rolled to his feet he kicked his pants off, then let Tristan tug the shirt up, off over his head. They crashed to the bed in a tangle of limbs, mouths fused together. While Tristan was doing his best to drive Henry insane, petting the soft skin behind his balls, Henry reached over for his nightstand and fumbled blindly until he found first lube, then a condom.

  “Please don’t tease me,” Henry begged as Tristan uncapped the lube and smeared some on his fingers. “I don’t want to wait.”

  It was true, but he wasn’t normally this wanton. The days since they’d seen each other last had stacked up quickly, and Henry hadn’t let himself think about how much he missed seeing Tristan all the time.

  There would be time for responsible conversations about sex later; right now, all Henry wanted was the very raw, very real and primal need in him to be sated.

  “Please,” he begged again, then sobbed as Tristan pinned him to the bed with a hand in the middle of his chest and used two fingers to press back against his hole.

  “Like this?” Tristan demanded.

  “Yes. Yes.”

  It was almost too much, the wickedly twisting fingers and sudden emergence of Tristan’s dominating side, and Henry wanted to whimper in relief when those fingers found his prostate and rubbed it hard. Henry thought he might have to beg again, and then Tristan pulled back and fumbled with the wrapper on the condom, eventually fishing out the latex and rolling it down his cock.

  Instead of asking or offering anything, Tristan used some more of the lube on himself, covering the condom until it was slick and shiny. He cocked an eyebrow, waited for Henry’s nod, then caught Henry’s knees in the crook of his
elbows and folded them together.

  “Fuck,” Henry groaned as the blunt head of Tristan’s cock kissed his hole. “Fuck.”

  “Okay?”

  “Yeah. Oh my God.”

  Tristan grinned, then caught his bottom lip between his teeth like he was concentrating hard. It was strangely hot, the way Tristan put so much effort into everything. Henry reached for his cock and gave it a few hard tugs as Tristan slowly pushed inside.

  It had been a while since Henry had last been in this position, and a very long time since he was last with someone who had made him feel so good. Tristan was slow and sure, taking his time until Henry was begging—again—for more.

  When he leaned in close enough to share kisses, Henry thought he might lose his shit and it would all be over way too soon. Instead, he wrapped his free hand around the back of Tristan’s neck, keeping their faces close together as Tristan picked up the pace.

  From this close, Henry could see and feel and hear everything. They kissed, sloppy and needy as Tristan angled his measured thrusts and found Henry’s prostate each time.

  “I just… need….” Henry grunted and Tristan seemed to understand. Just a little bit more, and Fuck, yes. There. Oh God.

  “Tristan.” Henry groaned the name, dragging out the sound as his spine arched and his body came undone and his cock sprayed hard all over his body.

  Tristan came silently, eyes screwed tightly closed as his body trembled and shook and Henry kissed him through it.

  “Fuck me,” Tristan said when he was done. Henry laughed breathlessly and helped untangle themselves from each other, stretching languidly as Tristan tossed the condom. They rolled back together, and Tristan pushed Henry’s hair out of his eyes.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Good. Really good.”

  “Good,” Tristan echoed, and leaned in for another, slower kiss.

  AMARETTI COOKIES

  Honeyfly Amaretti Cookies are deliciously crisp and nutty,

  perfect with a cup of strong black coffee.

  3 cups blanched slivered almonds

  1½ cups white sugar

  3 egg whites

  1 teaspoon almond extract

  Preheat your oven to 300°F and line baking sheets with parchment paper.

  First, you’ll want to grind the almonds in a food processor until fine. Add sugar and blend for another 15 seconds. Add egg whites and almond extract and continue to blend until the dough starts to form around the blade.

  Use a teaspoon to round dough into balls and place on the baking sheet at least 1½ inches apart.

  Bake in the oven for 20 to 30 minutes or until golden brown. Allow the cookies to cool completely on the sheets before removing.

  Chapter 9

  I DON’T want to leave….

  Henry stood under the warm, sluicing showerhead and stretched his neck from side to side while the conditioner rinsed out of his hair. He’d wrenched something dragging a heavy tray of cinnamon rolls out of the oven earlier. Must be getting old. Sometimes it was hard not to feel a little old with Tristan. It wasn’t that he was so young; it was more that there was something about him, like he hadn’t quite grown out of that gawky, coltish adolescent phase. He was still all long limbs and dorky enthusiasm. Henry loved it, but he wondered if Tristan wouldn’t be happier with someone more like him.

  “What’s up, babe?” Tristan murmured. He stepped into the shower behind Henry and slipped his arms around Henry’s middle. Henry tipped his head back against Tristan’s shoulder and reveled in the closeness of warm skin, water, and soft, springy muscle. Tristan squeezed him closer. It was impossible not to relax into his embrace. Tristan’s body had felt more and more like home lately, like the place he came back to at night when he’d had a long, annoying day. Like the place he wanted to wake up in every morning for as long as he could.

  “Nothing. Just been a long day, and I don’t really feel like going to my parents’ house.”

  After Tristan’s surprise visit on Friday evening, he hadn’t left. Instead of going home, he’d borrowed Henry’s clothes, which didn’t really fit, but neither of them cared, and helped out with the early morning duties at the bakery. With two pairs of hands instead of one and some serendipitous foresight the day before, when he’d done a ton of advance prep work, Henry managed to get enough stock made to last the day. They left early, just after the bakery had opened, and gone back to Henry’s apartment and back to bed.

  Tristan turned Henry around and plied him with a long, steamy kiss. Henry moaned into it and pushed closer. He let Tristan tug on his hair. The kisses multiplied, like they usually did, and turned into touches and the two of them panting and moaning under cooling water.

  “Hey, I’ve gotta go, I’m going to be late.” Henry wriggled in Tristan’s arms. He laughed breathlessly.

  Of course they’d been in the shower far longer than he’d meant to be, which seemed to be a theme of his life lately, along with being in bed longer than he planned, taking longer to bring trays from the back room when he had a certain visitor…. Henry was quite okay with it. Extra time for kissing was becoming a way of life, which was perfect except when his entire family was probably already sitting in his parents’ drawing room waiting for him.

  Their skin slipped together, slick with soap residue and water. Henry really didn’t want to leave. He tipped his face back for another kiss.

  “I thought you had to go, babe,” Tristan said. He had a dirty grin on his face that made Henry want to start all over. He wiped the glass partition on his shower and looked at the wall clock. “Aren’t you going to be late?”

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck. I don’t want to.”

  Tristan nuzzled into the wet part of his neck he’d obviously found that turned Henry into a pile of mush. “What do you want to do instead?”

  “Eat dinner with you in bed,” Henry grumbled. “And pretend to watch a movie while we fool around.”

  Tristan looked crestfallen. “And why do you have to go to your parents’ place?”

  Henry grumbled. “Because I got out of it the last two times. At least this dinner will have a purpose. I get to tell my mom I have a super-hot boyfriend who I have lots of hot sex with so she stops trying to hook me up with society guys named Rolf and Byron.”

  “Byron, even?”

  Henry couldn’t help but chuckle at the mock horror on Tristan’s face. “Yes. That one breeds Arabians and has an estate in Connecticut and a pedigree longer than any of his horses.”

  Tristan fake shuddered. “Ooh. Connecticut, pedigrees, how awful.”

  “Bugger off.”

  “Did you just say bugger off to me? Seriously?”

  He hadn’t even meant to. Henry laughed and shoved at him. “Shut up. It’s your fault.”

  Tristan tickled him. “You’d better get out of the shower if you don’t want to miss your car,” he giggled.

  “Then stop touching me.” Henry still leaned forward for another long, breathless kiss. “I’m getting out of the shower. Now. Stay in here until I’m dressed but be naked when I get home, okay?” He really had zero willpower when it came to miles of beautiful milky white skin right there, waiting to be touched.

  “I think I can handle that.” Tristan grinned at him and wiped a tendril of hair from Henry’s face. “I was going to make some cupcakes, though. I need the practice. Should I be naked when I bake them as well?”

  Henry couldn’t help it. He saw a naked Tristan in his kitchen with an apron and cupcakes and frosting. “I hate you.”

  HENRY WAS literally running by the time he made it out of his apartment. He took the steps two at a time and made it down the stairs on the stoop just in time to catch Ollie. His hair still dripped down his collar, and his mother would most likely be annoyed by the lack of thought that went into his clothing choices, but at least he wasn’t as late as he could’ve been. Henry shuddered at the memory of Tristan strolling out of his bathroom, naked and damp, just as he pulled on his shoes. He’d wanted to say “s
crew it” to the whole night and spend the rest of it licking that damn frosting off his skin.

  Ollie pulled over and stepped out to open the door. “Evening, sir.”

  “Hey, Ollie. How’s it shakin’?”

  Ollie gave him a fond head shake. “I’m well, sir.”

  Henry slid into the interior of the car without any further comment. He looked up at the windows of his apartment and thought of Tristan up there, finishing toweling off and sliding into his bed for an after-work nap. And then frosting. Fuck. Henry tried to push the pictures out of his head. There was no way he’d manage to make it through the dinner unless he got his mind out of bed and onto his family.

  His happiness from earlier slid away as the car weaved through traffic toward uptown. It wasn’t that he was particularly unhappy at his childhood home, he never had been; he just wasn’t happy. Wasn’t where he wanted to be.

  THE CLOSER he got to his family’s townhouse, the more he tensed up. Henry felt his shoulders pulling closer to his ears, caught himself grinding his jaw, and tried to freaking relax. He knew it was impossible. Everything that stressed him about his family seemed to amplify about a million percent whenever there was another person in his life who could be affected by them and their world. It hadn’t ever gone well. Henry wanted to keep Tristan away from it for as long as possible. Trixie had already asked a few very pointed questions. He didn’t think he had much of a chance of keeping the distance for a whole lot longer.

  Henry took a deep, fortifying breath when Ollie pulled up to the house. It looked the same as always. Pale stone, ornate metal awning, wrought-iron fencing, and just about zero inviting warmth or charm. Hudson had opened the door for him already, and he stood there still and silent like some sort of aging gargoyle standing guard in front of his castle.

  “Hey, Hudson.” Henry tried to keep his voice light. Where he typically got fond but exasperated smiles from Ollie, from Hudson it was all stoic-mannered silence.