by Beth Bolden
“Tell me,” Damon encouraged, and that helped. It always seemed just as Xander was about to get truly fed up, Damon managed to dig himself out of the hole.
“My boyfriend in high school. He wanted all the convenience of a boyfriend. In secret. I couldn’t get him to be honest about me. I just made myself a promise after going through that heartbreak that I wouldn’t let it ever happen again.”
“And you’re afraid it’s going to happen again,” Damon answered.
“Maybe a little, yes.”
Damon pressed a swift kiss to Xander’s lips. “I’ll take out an ad in the paper and tell every single person I meet. I’m not ashamed of you. I’m not ashamed you’re a guy. I just want to keep it professional here.”
Xander already knew he was going to make the conscious decision to trust Damon. After all, Damon had given him no reason to doubt him before this. Sure, he hadn’t told his father about bringing Xander to San Francisco, but based on the comments Rachel had made, Damon didn’t typically share anything with his father.
All he needed to really reassure him was to remember those few days in the city. Damon had been so attentive and wonderful. Loving, Xander could even say. And now this.
That was the kicker, here, Xander thought ruefully. He loved Damon, and he wanted Damon to love him back. Wanted it so much that he was even willing to believe him despite his own ugly history.
He leaned in to brush a kiss across Damon’s cheek. “The rest will have to wait ’til we get home,” Xander said cheekily, purposefully trying to lighten the mood. “I’d better get back in there before they destroy something.”
Damon raised an eyebrow. “Is that a possibility?”
Xander laughed. It felt like the unsettled ground they’d been walking across for the last day or two had solidified. Everything was fine, they were going to be fine.
“God, I hope not,” Xander confided. “Else I should have hired other people.”
“Can you spare one more moment?” Damon asked, sounding so hopeful that it was hard for Xander to deny him, so he nodded his agreement. It would be good to test the new staff’s focus and dedication. Damon was right about that; he did not want to be another Bastian Aquino, micromanaging everyone within an inch of their lives.
“Come with me,” Damon hissed with a naughty grin, and grabbed his hand, dragging him off toward the nearly finished bathrooms David had just put in.
He pulled Xander inside one of them, and locked the door behind him. “What are you doing?” Xander asked, mystified.
“This,” Damon said. He crowded Xander against the door and, without any warning, leaned in and kissed him hard and fast, one hand reaching up to cup his cheek and the other slid down toward his hip, gripping it tightly.
It took Xander a single moment to catch up. For someone who didn’t like PDA at work, Damon was pretty amenable to sneaking off to the bathrooms to make out. But then Damon changed the angle on the kiss and it went from merely passionate to straight-up dirty, and Xander was reminded of how busy they’d been and how much he wanted another marathon night of sex.
“That,” Damon said, breaking away breathless, “was an apology. I’m so sorry. I was an ass. It won’t happen again. Especially now that I know how much it hurt you.”
“It’s okay,” Xander said, curling his hands into his pants so he wouldn’t reach out and run his fingers up Damon’s obvious hard-on. “I know you’re not an asshole.”
“We good?”
This time Xander felt confident in his answer when he nodded. “We’re good.”
“I’d tell you good luck,” Damon said, “but I know you don’t need it. You’ve got this.” He looked like he believed one hundred and ten percent in what he was saying. And someone who looked like that might finally love Xander the way he’d been waiting for.
Xander put a hand over Damon’s heart, just resting it there. He was silent a long moment. Maybe he shouldn’t say it. He’d known it was true for a long time, but maybe it was too soon. Maybe it would scare Damon away. But, he reasoned, Damon should know. Maybe Damon even needed to know. Xander thought he’d been pretty clear that he wasn’t in this to fuck around, but maybe he needed to be even clearer.
“I love you, you know,” he said, and he got the words out with only a tiny waver of uncertainty. And nobody could blame him for that.
“I know,” Damon said, a smile breaking over his face like a particularly spectacular sunrise. “I love you too.”
Xander grinned back giddily, his heart beating madly in his chest, matching Damon’s beat for beat. “I should get back.”
“You should,” Damon said. But he didn’t move either.
“It seems like neither of us is pretty good at this professional-at-work thing,” Damon added after a long moment. He was still smiling.
“It’s okay, I forgive you,” Xander said with another brief kiss to Damon’s cheek. “I’ll see you tonight.” He reached around, unlocked the door and slipped out, feeling like a new man as he headed back into the kitchen.
Damon did love him, he hadn’t been imagining that. And someone who loved him the way Damon seemed to wouldn’t fuck this up, Xander reasoned. He just wouldn’t.
Chapter Fourteen
“I heard a crazy rumor today,” Kian said, walking into the kitchen. Xander almost did a double take, but then remembered that today was Kian’s one day off every two weeks.
“That you didn’t actually have to work?” Xander asked, not looking up from the focaccia dough he was kneading.
“It’s actually a two-parter,” Kian said, pulling out the orange juice carton from the fridge and a glass from the cupboard. “One, you’ve decided to become a baker. Two, you’re not serving booze at your new place.”
Xander punched the rising dough down a bit harder than he probably needed to. “It’s not a rumor,” he said.
It was Kian’s turn for the double take. In fact, Xander was pretty certain he almost spit his juice out. “Billy was actually telling the truth?”
“He was.” Xander punched the dough down again as he remembered Billy’s email response to the job offer he’d sent. It had been polite enough, but there’d been a whiff of incredulity between the lines, like he couldn’t believe Xander was going along with this. Still, he’d agreed to take the position—but only if Xander was able to talk Damon into serving a limited wine menu. Billy even volunteered to help create the list himself.
“I know you care about him,” Kian said, “but that doesn’t mean you have to go along with every crazy scheme he comes up with.”
Xander knew Kian wasn’t talking about Billy.
“That’s rich, coming from you,” he nearly sneered.
“I think it’s worth at least having the conversation. I know Hess has money but you want to be at least commercially viable, you know? How long can his trust hold out if he’s paying to keep you afloat?”
Xander knew. He kneaded the dough instead of answering, each turn and punch down more vicious than the last. He was never going to be able to bake this—the waste of flour and oil and yeast serving Xander’s frustration instead of his stomach—but it felt good to use to hands.
“Being involved should make it easier to talk,” Kian continued.
“Supposedly, yet I don’t see you doing it,” he pointed out darkly.
Kian crossed his arms over his chest, his juice long forgotten. “I don’t see why you keep dragging me into this. We’re talking about you and Hess. Or I’m trying, at any rate.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. Damon has a . . . difficult history with alcohol. He doesn’t want it around. He doesn’t want to serve it.”
Kian’s face did soften a little. He reached out and put a hand on Xander’s shoulder, and he slumped at the touch. “You still need to talk to him. This is your life, too.”
“I had two ideas,” Xander said after a long silence. “I thought about making a menu of non-alcoholic cocktails to divide the focus from alcohol.”
“T
hat’s good. And what’s the second?”
“Donate profits from any alcoholic sales to a substance abuse charity.” Xander stared at the dough. He’d been awake most of the night thinking about the quandary, and he, just like Kian, had known he needed to talk to Damon about it. It was at least worth a conversation.
“So you are going to talk to him,” Kian said.
“It’s the only logical thing to do.” Xander had just been trying to come up with something else to do instead, and had come up with exactly nothing.
“He coming over tonight?” Kian asked, and Xander nodded.
“I’ll make myself scarce then.” Kian put an arm around his shoulders and pulled him into a quick hug. “You’re doing the right thing.”
After Kian disappeared, Xander dumped his overworked focaccia dough in the trash and after cleaning out the bowl, started re-assembling a new batch with fresh ingredients.
The truth was Xander didn’t know if bringing it up with Damon was the right thing. Why did they have to serve booze anyway? People could get booze anywhere. Why did they have to get a drink with their dinner at the Barrel House?
Logically, Xander knew they didn’t. But people were creatures of habit and expectation, and at higher-end restaurants in the Napa Valley, there was always wine.
Maybe someday they could flout the trend, and do whatever the fuck they wanted, but you had to establish yourself before you broke the rules. Especially when you were expecting customers to help pay for your continued existence.
He spent the rest of the afternoon lost in the familiar and reassuring rhythm of baking. Even though preview night was in two days and the opening was the day after that, none of this would keep. At least it wouldn’t be as fresh as Xander demanded it be.
Xander collapsed on his bed after a quick shower, hair dripping onto his bare chest. He shouldn’t feel so worried about this conversation. He and Damon loved each other, and Kian was right; this was exactly the sort of thing they should be able to talk about with that level of emotional commitment. But Damon had always shied away from discussing his alcoholism, like somehow it tainted him and therefore Xander by comparison. Instead he locked it away, behind walls that he hadn’t let Xander see behind yet.
“Now, that’s a sight I could get used to.”
He glanced up and saw Damon in the doorway, smirk on his face. Seeing Damon and knowing they loved each other was still a rush that Xander wasn’t quite used to. He grabbed the towel around his waist and started to stand up, but Damon took the few steps to the bed and put a hand on his shoulder, holding him in place.
“Stay,” Damon said quietly. His dark eyes were intent on Xander, filled with longing and lust and need and desperation and a thousand different shades in between.
Xander raised an eyebrow, questioning Damon’s request, and was rewarded with another flash of bone-melting desire in his lover’s gaze. For some reason, Damon adored it when Xander challenged him in bed; it was guaranteed to stoke Damon’s blood so much hotter and this time wasn’t an exception.
“Brat,” Damon said, affection and hunger layered equally together in his voice as he lowered himself to his knees in front of Xander. He licked his lips in anticipation and that alone would have turned Xander’s knees to jelly even if he wasn’t already sitting down.
Damon peeled back the towel, not in any huge hurry, which definitely meant that he was going to tease and take his time.
“Suck my cock,” Xander said, surprising even himself at how breathy his voice was. “I know you want to.”
Laying a reverent hand on Xander’s bare thigh, Damon leaned in, breath warm on his skin.
“Fucking tease,” Xander swore impatiently as Damon’s tongue reached out and licked right up the underside of his cock.
“You love it.” Damon’s voice was rough and wild, and his hands clamped around his thighs, dragging them open wider.
For someone with zero practical experience when they’d started dating, Damon had taken to blowjobs like a fish discovering how to swim for the first time. He was gentle yet demanding, both of Xander and of himself. Like he desperately wanted to prove to both of them that he wanted it—that he wanted Xander.
“You love this too,” Damon said, one of his hands sliding higher, cupping around his quivering thigh, curling downward, brushing his balls and then lower. He gave Xander’s hole a brief touch, then another. His fingers were damp, maybe even wet, though Xander couldn’t remember seeing any lube when Damon came in.
Maybe he was a magician. Frankly, with the way his fingers and his mouth were teasing him, quick little tantalizing touches that seemed to drive him higher and higher until he was mindless with how much he wanted Damon’s cock inside him, that made sense. Because nobody had ever made him feel this way before—out of control and yet completely grounded with how much Xander trusted him.
It took too long for Damon to even slide a whole finger inside him, and like he sensed Xander’s desperation, he didn’t make him wait nearly as long for the second. By then, the towel was gone, Damon’s shirt was off, his biceps bunching and flexing as he slowly fucked Xander thoroughly with his fingers. The first time they’d done this, Damon had been more hesitant, but now he knew Xander, and he knew what he liked.
“Good?” Damon asked, voice nearly a growl as he practically slid Xander across the bed with his thrusts. “You want more?”
Xander knew he said words. He knew they were probably something pleading, but he wasn’t entirely sure of what he was saying. Sweat dripped into his hair, into his eyes as he held onto the edge of the mattress, moaning as Damon finally began to slide his cock inside him.
“Tell me how it feels,” Damon insisted, a hand smoothing down Xander’s back, burying itself in his hair. He wasn’t rough though. Every touch felt touched with love, with adoration. “Tell me,” he repeated when Xander uttered some sort of complete gibberish.
“Big. Full. Close,” Xander gasped. “So close.”
Damon draped his big body over Xander’s and began to work his hips in and out, in the same driving insistent rhythm he’d fucked him with his fingers. “Yeah, I’m close. I’m in you, and you’re in me,” he murmured into Xander’s damp hair. “God, I love you.”
“So much,” Xander managed to say as he wrapped a hand around his own cock, getting in one long stroke before his orgasm roared through him. Damon gave one last deep thrust before throwing back his head and groaning in pleasure.
They slumped to the bed together, the sheets and blankets shoved to one side. “I like being able to reduce you to single-syllable words,” Damon finally said drowsily, stroking up and down Xander’s back. “Makes me feel like I’m giving you exactly what you need. Not just what you want.”
Xander sighed, the buzz of pleasurable contentment warring with his anxiousness of earlier. The sex had helped take him out of his head a bit, but the residual worry hadn’t dissipated. He knew they still needed to talk.
After Damon slipped out and grabbed a cloth, cleaning them both off, he came back to bed, resuming his earlier position, a gentle hand on Xander’s back. It was easier, Xander discovered, to ask if he wasn’t looking at him. So he gathered his courage and leapt.
“I want you to talk to me about everything,” Xander said quietly. “I love you, and sometimes I think you want to save me from the bad stuff. The stuff you’ve been through. I want to know. I want to help you bear it.”
The hand stroking his back hesitated for a split second, then continued its lulling rhythm. “I don’t tell you because it’s ugly. And you don’t need that ugliness touching you,” Damon said. Xander didn’t miss the undercurrent of iron beneath his words. He didn’t want to share, and somehow Xander was going to have to convince him.
“It’s not ugly. It can’t be when it’s you. All it does is prove to me how brave and strong you are,” Xander argued. At first it had seemed easier not to look in Damon’s eyes when he asked these questions, but now it suddenly seemed impossible to say any of this i
f he wasn’t. He turned over and immediately saw the doubt clouding Damon’s expression. “I love you. No matter what.”
Damon rolled to his back and sighed heavily. “People are telling you that you’re stupid for hitching yourself to a guy who won’t even serve alcohol at his restaurant, right?”
It was not fun getting caught, but Xander reached out anyway, grasping his upper arm, then sliding his hand toward where his heart beat steadily in his chest. “It’s not stupid. But I still want to talk about it.”
“It was inevitable.” Damon sounded close to tears, like he’d been dreading this moment for their whole relationship and now it was finally happening.
Xander reached up and cupped his cheek, tilting his head down so Damon could see his face. “We can’t pretend like it doesn’t exist. I wish we could, too, but that’s not real life. I want this love to be real, and to be real, it has to exist in the real world.”
This time Damon didn’t look away and Xander recognized the look brewing in his eyes as resolve.
“I don’t remember when I started drinking,” Damon said quietly. “I . . . I always did. Always. I remember holidays, Christmas or Thanksgiving or probably even the Fourth of fucking July, my dad leaning over and letting me sip from his glass. Usually it was wine. Sometimes it was a beer. Occasionally a glass of whiskey or a gin and tonic. I got used to it, I liked it. I liked the way it made me feel when I got older, and it felt so normal, like it was something I’d been around forever, like it was a part of the family.”
He took a deep breath, pausing, and Xander laid a hand on his bicep, squeezing gently. “It was a part of your family because of who your family is,” he replied gently.
“I know alcohol isn’t evil. I know some people, lots of people enjoy it and it doesn’t ruin their lives. They don’t start using it because it’s a better parent than their father or because their mom is never around. I know that. Logically, I do get it.” Damon’s fists flexed once, then again. “But sometimes, some things aren’t logical.”
