by K. C. Wells
“You know when we had that long chat about sex the other day?”
Robin grinned. “Sure, Teacher.”
Dean laughed. “Forget about what’s in your jeans for a sec. I’m being serious here.” Robin straightened his features, but there was still a wicked glint in his eyes. “Okay, another part of real-life sex is making compromises.”
“Is that when I wanna do doggy and you wanna do missionary?” Robin snaked his hands around Dean’s waist, and Dean reached back to grasp him firmly by the wrists, pulling Robin’s hands to his sides.
“You are incorrigible.”
Robin gave him a cocky smile. “Is that another word for horny?”
Dean kissed the tip of his nose. “Compromise means there might be nights when your engine is revving—like now, obviously—but mine wants to shut down.”
Robin blinked. “Oh.”
Dean gave a slow nod. “Now you’re getting it. And I’m not saying I don’t want to take you upstairs to bed—because God knows, I want that—but I have something I need to do this evening, and I was hoping you’d help.”
“What is it? How can I help?”
Dean crooked his finger. “Step this way.” He led Robin into his small dining room, where he’d laid out the boxes, glue, tubes of glitter and card he’d need.
Robin’s eyes lit up. “Oh wow. What are you making?”
“Christmas cards. I always make my own.” Dean opened one of the boxes to reveal the cutouts of reindeer, Santa, snowflakes, Christmas trees and baubles. In another box he had cotton wadding for snow, and sheets of rhinestone gem stickers that he used as tree lights. There was also gold ribbon and twine, and anything else Dean could think of. Then he opened the wooden box containing his stamps and ink pads.
“You have everything,” Robin declared in obvious delight. He pulled back a chair and sat, surveying the supplies and smiling.
Dean chuckled. “I guess this means you want to help.”
“Of course. How many are we making?”
Dean joined him, pulling his phone from his pocket. “I have a list.”
“I think this is awesome.” Robin let out a happy sigh.
“And probably nothing like what you had planned when you chose that ensemble,” Dean commented wryly.
Robin bit his lip. “Can I be honest?”
Dean put down his phone and reached across the table to cover Robin’s hand with his. “I thought we agreed—no more ‘skiing lessons’, remember?”
“Yeah. Well… I sorta had a plan for tonight, but this…” Robin’s eyes sparkled. “This is great.”
Dean couldn’t help himself. He leaned over and kissed Robin on the lips, his hand on Robin’s neck, the kiss as soft as a whisper. “I am so glad you’re here.”
“Me too. But you know what we really need right now?”
Dean couldn’t wait to hear. “What?”
Robin’s smile was adorable. “Christmas songs.”
“Oh, I think we can arrange that.”
“In that case…” Robin grinned. “Farm boy… put on that music.”
Dean’s heart did a happy dance. “As you wish.”
Chapter Seventeen
“So where is everyone?”
Robin smiled to himself. Ryan’s home for the holidays. “I’m in here,” he called out. Moments later, Ryan flung open his bedroom door, dropped his bags on the floor, and flopped onto Robin’s bed beside him, still in his thick jacket.
“Hey bro. Where are the olds?” Ryan grinned. “Why can’t I smell dinner cooking? I’m starving.”
“Dad complained that either the washing machine or the drier was eating his socks and underwear, and then Mom said it was about time he bought new ones. So they’ve gone shopping. And you can’t smell dinner because we’re eating out tonight. Dad’s taking us because you’re home. Like it’s a special event,” Robin teased.
His humor went right over Ryan’s head. “Cool. Where are we going?”
Robin rolled his eyes. “Duh. Which place do we always go to when it’s your choice?”
Ryan’s eyes gleamed. “Yay. Little Thai Kitchen. I’m drooling already.”
Robin glanced at his bags. “Those look heavy. You already done your Christmas shopping?”
A derisive snort gave him his answer. “They’re stuffed full of laundry. I thought why bother doing it before I come home, when Mom will do it for me?”
Robin chuckled. “Ah, but you’ve been out in the world for three months. Maybe she kind of assumes you can do your own laundry.”
Ryan gaped. “Really? Fuck.” Then he grinned. “Seeing as they’re not around right now… give me all the details.”
“What details?” As if Robin didn’t know.
Ryan lay on his back, his arms folded under his head. “You and Mr. Q. So… did you do a little lap dance for him last night?”
“If you must know… we made Christmas cards.” Robin had really enjoyed himself. By the end of the evening, they’d made twenty cards, and he’d loved every minute. Working together, the strains of Christmas songs in the background, and Loki jumping up onto the table to lend a helping paw…
A perfect night.
Ryan burst out laughing. “Yeah, right. I’m weak.” Robin gazed steadily at him, and the laughter came to an abrupt halt. “Bro… Seriously? Tell me he at least fucked you before or after the cutesy card-making session.”
Robin didn’t break eye contact. “We didn’t fuck,” he said simply. “Not last night.”
Ryan sat up. “Okay, we need to talk.”
Robin was not about to be interrogated. “Yes, we do, so start talking.”
“Huh?”
Robin folded his arms. “Don’t try to weasel your way out of this. We need to discuss this whole ‘I fuck guys but I’m not gay’ thing. So you’re bi now?”
“Er, no. I’m straight. And it looks to me like you’re the one doing the weaseling around here. Because from where I’m sitting, this is way more than you getting laid.” Ryan locked gazes with him. “Tell me I’ve got it all wrong. Tell me you’re not falling for the guy.”
Fuck. Robin’s throat seized up.
Ryan nodded slowly. “Yeah. It’s like I figured.” He let out a groan. “Dude, he’s not your boyfriend, okay? He’s only—”
“Only what?” Robin could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears, and his stomach tightened. “What do you know about this? Absolutely nothing.”
Ryan widened his eyes. “Whoa. I think I touched a nerve.” He took a breath. “This is serious, isn’t it?”
“It is for me,” Robin croaked out.
“Yeah, but what about Mr. Q?”
“His name’s Dean, okay?” Robin blurted, his mouth dry.
Ryan held up his hands. “Okay, okay. Then what about Dean? Does he feel the same way? Is it more than just sex for him too?”
“How should I know? It’s not exactly something I can come right out and ask him. ‘Hey, Dean? I think I’m falling in love with you. Are you falling in love with me too?’” Jesus, it was so much simpler back in grade school, when girls used to pass him notes in class.
Do you like me? Circle yes or no.
God, this was such a mess. Admitting how he felt was like peeling off a bandage. He didn’t want to see what lay under it, but he knew he’d have to face it eventually.
Ryan huffed out a breath. “Okay. Forget everything I said about not falling in love with your first, because we’re way past that now.”
Robin struggled to breathe evenly. “Have you ever loved someone?”
Ryan shook his head. “Never felt that bad about anyone.” He reached over and laid his hand on Robin’s knee. “But even a dumb ass like me can see you’re all messed up. I don’t want you to get hurt, bro.”
“Has the wanderer returned?” Dad called out.
Robin swallowed. “Discussion over.”
“For now. Because we haven’t even gotten to the tricky parts yet.”
“There are tricky parts?” Robin said with
wide eyes.
“Yeah.” Ryan inclined his head toward the door. “Like, what they’re gonna say, for one thing. Because you can’t keep this a secret forever. Not in this village.”
Robin did not want to think about that.
Ryan got up off the bed. “Now I’m gonna grab a shower, find something clean to wear, and then we’re gonna go have dinner with the olds like there’s nothing wrong.”
“I didn’t think there was anything wrong, till you got—”
“Bullshit,” Ryan interjected. “You might be able to kid yourself, but not me, bro. And just so we’re clear? Whatever goes down with Mom and Dad… I’ve got your back.”
Robin got up and hugged his twin. “Thank you,” he whispered.
“Anytime.” Ryan released him. “Now come help me decide what to wear. After all, gay guys are hot on fashion, right?” His eyes gleamed.
Robin whacked him on the arm. “Go say hello before they come looking for you.” He forced a smile. “Mom is so gonna love on you. Her baby’s home.”
Ryan grinned. “Not gonna complain if it gets me dinner at Little Thai Kitchen.” He picked up his bags and hightailed it out of there. Robin didn’t want to be in his shoes when he tried to get Mom to do his laundry. At least going out for dinner would mean no more conversations about Dean—until they got home, of course.
I really didn’t need Ryan dishing out a dose of reality.
Except he knew it wasn’t Ryan’s fault. Robin had been doing a really good job of avoidance, that was all. But maybe Ryan had hit on the one question he couldn’t ignore anymore.
How does Dean feel about me?
Okay, so there were clues—maybe. But he could be reading those all wrong.
Couldn’t he?
Robin ate the last bites of toast, and got up from the table.
“Got somewhere to go?” Ryan inquired with a glint in his eye.
“Yeah. I’m going skiing.”
“Ryan? Leave your brother alone,” Dad said suddenly from behind his magazine.
“I’m not doing anything,” Ryan protested. “I’m only asking a simple question. Maybe I’d like to go skiing too. Can I tag along?” He gave Robin a shit-eating grin.
That little fucker…
“You have laundry to do, young man,” Mom announced. “About two months’ worth, by the look of it.” She wrinkled her nose. “I dread to think what you’ve been wearing to your classes.”
“Aw, but Mom—”
“But Mom nothing.” She gave Ryan a stern look. “If you think you’re going to sit around the house and do nothing for three weeks, think again.”
Robin tried his best not to grin but it was a losing battle.
“But Robin gets to go skiing?” Ryan’s eyes bulged.
“Robin worked all last week and he does chores.” Dad’s look was equally stern. “In fact, your brother had done his chores this morning by the time you crawled out of bed, so if he wants to go skiing, he can.” Dad glanced at Robin. “Are you meeting up with friends?”
“Yeah. In fact, I need to go. They’ll be waiting for me.” Well, one friend in particular.
“Have a good day. Will we be seeing you for dinner?” There was that by now familiar sparkle in Dad’s eyes.
“Maybe not,” Robin hedged. He wanted to spend as much time as possible with Dean. He glanced at the table. “Ryan can clear the dishes, right?”
Ryan’s mouth fell open, but Mom got in there first. “Of course he can. You get along. Have fun.”
Revenge sure was sweet.
It wasn’t the easiest thing in the world to cycle with skis, but Robin managed it somehow. This was the second time he’d done it, after all. The most important thing was not to run through any passersby with them. He biked along the road, his heart singing along with the birds in the trees. The latest snowfall report promised a great morning on the slopes, and he couldn’t wait. His phone buzzed in his jacket pocket, but he wasn’t about to stop. It could wait till he got off the bike.
As he approached Dean’s house, he scanned the driveway for any sign of activity, but Dean wasn’t to be seen. Robin wheeled his bike up the path, the skis balanced on the handlebars. He leaned the bike against the wall along with his skis, and went to the front door.
Then he remembered he had a message. He pulled out his phone, and frowned when he saw Dean’s name.
Hey. No skiing today. Got a migraine. Sorry.
Aw crap. Poor Dean. Now and again, Mom got migraines, and he knew what a bitch they were. Everyone would tiptoe around the house, while Mom lay in her bedroom, the drapes pulled, with an icepack on her head. Dad would look after her, bringing her liquids, making sure she ate something.
But Dean’s got no one to take care of him.
Robin stared up at Dean’s bedroom window. Fuck all over that. He’s got me.
He tried the front door, expecting it to be locked. When it opened, Robin wasted no time. He crept the house and removed his boots and jacket. Then he tiptoed upstairs, pausing at Dean’s door. As silently as he could, he pushed it open.
The room lay in semi-darkness, but Robin could make out Dean’s dressed form on the bed. He went over to it and peered at Dean. “Hey there,” he whispered. “Don’t try to talk, okay? I’m here to look after you. Have you eaten breakfast?”
“No.” The word was so faint Robin struggled to hear it. “Couldn’t face it.”
Okay, that was bad. Dad used to ensure Mom ate something because otherwise the painkillers upset her stomach and didn’t work well.
“I’m gonna go downstairs and make you something. But you have to promise to try to eat it, all right? It really will help, I swear. Have you taken something for the pain?”
“Tylenol, about an hour ago.”
Dammit. That meant a couple more hours at least before he could take more. “Has it gotten any better?”
“A little. I sent that text. Couldn’t have managed that an hour ago.”
“Okay. I’ll be back.”
Robin crept out of the room and made his way downstairs. Once in the kitchen, he found a can of chicken soup in the cabinet. That was better than nothing. He set about heating it, his mind going over what else he could do to help. He hadn’t seen a glass on the nightstand, so Dean probably hadn’t drunk anything since he’d taken the Tylenol. And speaking of which, the packet stood next to the sink. Shit. Extra Strength. That meant an even longer wait. Then he reasoned it also figured the pain might go faster.
When the soup was ready, Robin poured it into a mug. That would be way easier to handle than a bowl and spoon. He grabbed a glass from the countertop and took both items upstairs.
Dean hadn’t moved from his original position. Robin placed the mug on the nightstand, and went into the bathroom to get water. He put the full glass next to the soup, then stroked Dean’s arm. “You need to eat this.”
Dean squinted at him, and it wasn’t difficult to see he was in pain. “Can I smell chicken soup?”
Robin smiled. “Nothing wrong with your nose.” He sat carefully on the edge of the bed. “Come on. Let me help you sit up a little.” He stuffed pillows behind Dean as Dean propped himself up on his elbows. “That’s it.” Robin took the mug and held it out with its handle facing toward Dean. “Take this. I’ll keep hold of it till I know you’re not gonna spill it all over the comforter.”
Dean lay back against the pillows and wrapped his hands around the mug. “I’ve got it.” He sipped a little of the soup, and his stomach gurgled. Dean let out a weak chuckle. “I guess I do need this.”
“Less talking, more eating.”
Dean’s lips twitched. “And there’s that bossy streak again.”
Robin got the feeling the painkillers had finally kicked in. “Finish it, all of it. Then you’ll drink some water, and then you can sleep a while. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
Dean sipped a little more of the soup. “Sorry about the skiing.”
Robin stroked his thigh. “There’ll be othe
r times. What matters now is getting rid of your migraine.” He stared at the mug. “More, please.”
“You can’t spend your Saturday looking after me,” Dean protested.
“Says who?” Robin beamed in approval as Dean finished the soup. He took the mug from him, and handed over the glass. “Now drink this, and then I’ll leave you alone.”
Dean drank half the glass before giving it back, his fingers brushing Robin’s as he did so. Robin placed the glass on the nightstand, then leaned in to kiss Dean’s forehead as lightly as he could manage. “This is me kissing the pain away,” he whispered, before helping Dean to lie down once more.
As he straightened to leave, Dean caught his hand. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Robin couldn’t resist the call of those lips. He kissed Dean on the mouth. “Get some sleep,” he murmured as he pulled back. Then he crept out of the room and down the stairs. Lady strolled into the hallway as he reached the bottom, and he picked her up.
“Your daddy doesn’t need kitties right now, so you come with me.”
Robin glanced toward the ceiling, praying the painkillers would do their job.
Dean sat up and rubbed his fingers over his scalp. He’d awoken that morning from a horrible dream where he’d been in pain, only to find it was no dream. Thank God that’s gone.
He glanced at the nightstand where the mug and glass sat. Robin’s here. Then he realized lunchtime had been and gone. I hope he fed himself too. He couldn’t hear a sound from below. Dean walked to the door and opened it, to be greeted by the faintest sound of the TV. He went downstairs into the hallway, noting Robin’s skis lying on the floor by the front door. A pang of regret lanced through him, but he pushed it aside. Robin was right—there would be other times.
Dean pushed open the door to the living room, to find Robin curled up on the large couch, Lady beside him, and Loki in his lap. The TV was on, its volume low, and The Simpsons was playing.
Robin looked up and smiled. “Hey. You feeling better?”
Dean nodded. “The pain’s gone. Have you eaten something?”
Robin inclined his head toward the coffee table, where an empty plate and glass sat. “I made myself a sandwich. Of course, I had to fight Loki for it. Little bastard wanted my bologna.” He rubbed under Loki’s chin, and the kitten purred.
