by K. C. Wells
“Can you stay a while?” Dean didn’t want him to go yet.
Robin’s smile met his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m yours for the rest of the day.”
“Didn’t Ryan come home last night?”
Robin snorted. “Now you understand why I’m yours for the rest of the day.” He frowned. “But you’re gonna take it easy, okay? A nice, quiet day, with me and the cats.”
Dean didn’t see a problem with that at all. Then he remembered. “Hey. Wait a sec. I have cookies to make.”
Robin narrowed his gaze. “And they can wait till tomorrow. You got anything urgent planned for then?”
“My friends are coming over, but that’ll be in the evening after dinner.”
His response seemed to satisfy Robin. “That’s great. I’ll come over tomorrow and we can make the cookies then. But for the rest of today, let’s do something quiet.”
Dean had an idea. “How about curling up on the couch under a blanket and watching movies?”
Robin tilted his head. “What kind of movies? Nothing too loud.”
“I was thinking more along the line of Christmas movies.”
Judging by the light in Robin’s eyes, Dean had come up with the perfect plan. The only thing that would make it more perfect?
Having Robin in his arms while they watched.
Robin didn’t have a clue what the rest of his family was watching on TV.
His mind was someplace else.
He was aware of Ryan guffawing at parts of whatever it was, and Dad telling him, ‘Not so loud.’ Mom was working on her crocheting, and the shawl/blanket/throw —what is she making anyhow?—was growing.
Ryan’s thoughts were locked on Dean.
If he concentrated, he could still feel Dean’s arm around him as they lay together on Dean’s largest couch, Dean spooned behind Robin. Now and then, Dean had kissed Robin’s head, and that had led to a deliciously slow make-out session, the movie on pause. No heat, but plenty of touching, accompanied by a soft soundtrack of sighs and murmurs. Then it was back to the movie—until the next ‘interval’.
He’d felt warm, safe—and if he were honest, loved.
The logical part of his brain wanted to know more. The hedonist part wanted to tell the logical part to shut the fuck up and not rock the boat, because this was all good, okay? They weren’t harming anyone, Robin wasn’t stressed out about it—
Well, he hadn’t been, until Ryan had asked The Question.
Robin knew the simplest solution was to ask Dean how he felt, but there was a part of him that kept clamoring this was a need-to-know situation, and that right then, Robin did not need to know. That it was better to go with the flow, enjoy it while it was happening…
Asking Dean if he was falling for Robin would break the spell, and Robin wanted to hold onto this Christmas magic a while longer.
Then he realized the room had gone quiet.
Dad regarded him with twinkling eyes. “The rest of us are going to bed. I don’t know what you’re doing on Planet Robin.” Mom was folding up her crocheting. Ryan was nowhere to be seen.
Robin lurched to his feet. “I’ll take the mugs into the kitchen.” As he collected them, Mom laid a hand to his back and kissed his cheek.
“Sleep well, sweetheart.” Then she left the room.
Robin went into the kitchen, Dad following him. He added the mugs to the dishwasher’s load, and set it going, aware of his dad bustling behind him. When Robin turned, his chest tightened to see his dad’s watchful expression.
“Robin… are you okay?”
Robin forced a laugh. “You seem to be asking me that a lot lately.”
Dad nodded, not breaking eye contact. “That would be because you’re not doing a whole lot of talking lately.”
His heartbeat sped up. “Look, Dad, I—”
Dad held up his hands. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m not going to give you the third degree, all right?”
He’s not? Then why did Robin’s heart pound?
“The way I see it,” Dad continued, “if you were in college right now, you’d be living your own life. You wouldn’t have your parents watching your every move—not that we are, you understand.” He chuckled. “Well, maybe your mom is, a little. But I guess that’s how I need to view this present situation.”
It didn’t take a great amount of brain power to work out what that referred to. Robin’s ‘boyfriend’, Ben. The one his parents were studiously not questioning him about, but doing a huge amount of assuming.
And Robin let them assume, because… the alternative.
“You know, it occurs to me that I have no idea what your brother gets up to nowadays—and maybe that’s no bad thing—but he has something you don’t—his independence.” Dad cleared his throat. “Maybe you should have the same thing. So… as long as you’re not in any trouble, and no one is hurting you… I figure I should let you be.”
Aw fuck. Way to go to make me feel even more guilty than I already do, Dad.
Robin couldn’t speak. He didn’t trust himself.
Dad studied him in silence for a moment, and then it must have become obvious to him that Robin was going to let this be a one-sided conversation.
“So while we’re here, just us men…” There was that searching gaze again. “Is there anything you want to tell me?”
Robin finally found his voice. “No, Dad.”
“Oh. Okay.” Dad coughed. “Well, we’re here if you need us.” He gave a sad smile. “Christ, I thought parenting would get easier when you boys got older. I think I traded in one set of worries for an entirely different set.” He came over to Robin and patted his arm. “I was happier dealing with bumps and scrapes and getting you through your first days of school. At least then, all you could break were your limbs. Now I worry about you breaking your heart.”
On an impulse, Robin gave his dad a fierce hug. “I hear even that mends eventually,” he whispered.
“It does,” Dad confirmed, still holding onto him. “But the pain lasts a damn sight longer than a broken tooth or a cut knee.” When Robin gave him a startled glance, he shrugged. “Long time ago. And way before I met your mom, so that makes it ancient history. I hope to God it’s something you never get to experience.” He released Robin. “But I guess that’s part and parcel of being a parent. You want to protect your kids, but you can’t.”
“I think you’ve done a pretty good job so far.” Robin’s throat tightened. “Goodnight, Dad.” He had to get out of there. His emotions felt way too close to the surface.
“Goodnight, son.”
Robin fled to his room, closed the door, and leaned against it, his forehead touching the smooth painted wood.
I don’t want a broken heart either.
Chapter Eighteen
“You’ve done this before,” Dean said as Robin placed a bag of cookie cutters he’d brought from home onto the countertop.
Robin’s eyes sparkled. “Maybe? Anyhow, I’ve brought Santa, Mrs. Claus, Rudolph, a Christmas tree, a star, and a heart. That should be enough.”
“I’m sure, but I was aiming for something a little different this year. You know, for that wow factor?”
Robin gave him an inquiring glance. “What were you thinking of?”
Dean grinned. “I found this great site. They make cutters in unusual shapes. And they had this great one, shaped like a dick.”
Robin’s jaw dropped. “You can not make dick-shaped Christmas cookies. That’s just… wrong.” Dean was having a real hard time trying not to laugh, and it took Robin all of two seconds to cotton on. He rolled his eyes. “You’re yanking my chain. Okay, fess up. What shapes do you usually make?”
Dean coughed. “Round ones.” When Robin stared at him, he groaned. “Look, this really isn’t a big deal. And besides, Suze always makes the most popular cookies.”
“Suze?”
Dean smiled. “Miss Martindale to you.”
Robin widened his eyes. “Oh really? Well, maybe it’s time sh
e had a little competition. And we can do that without resorting to dicks.” He grinned and flexed his fingers. “Let’s do this.”
Dean had a feeling Robin was going to take this very seriously.
“I am sorry about yesterday,” he murmured as he removed the ingredients from the cabinet.
“All that matters is, you’re fine now.” Robin cocked his head. “You are fine, right?”
“Oh, I’m great. I woke up early this morning and cleaned the whole house from top to bottom, with a little unwanted help from Loki.” He didn’t want a speck of dust in sight when the gang arrived that evening. “I’ll make the cookie dough. You can be my chief cookie cutter.” He smiled and leaned over to kiss Robin on the lips. “Not that you are remotely cookie cutter. You’re definitely an original.”
Robin looped his arms around Dean’s neck. “You keep doing that, and we’ll still be making those cookies on Christmas Eve.”
Dean reached down to cup Robin’s ass, molding his body to Dean’s. He stilled. “Are you perpetually hard?”
Robin chuckled. “Uh, hello? Eighteen, remember? That’s pretty much my default state.” He grinned. “Besides, do you blame me? Look what I have to work with.”
Dean smacked his ass. “It’s time to make cookies, sexy man.” When Robin gave a cute pout, he relented. “But if you work really hard, and don’t try to distract me, I’ll save some of the cookie dough.” He fell silent, letting Robin figure it out. It had been his idea, after all.
Robin frowned, but then his eyes widened. “Oh. You are feeling better.”
Dean grinned. “I thought you’d like that. Now let’s get to it.”
“Hey, you’re making the dough,” Robin remonstrated. “And if you don’t work faster, it won’t be your dick that gets ‘decorated’,” he air-quoted. His eyes twinkled. “Or should that be ‘dickorated’?”
Talk about an incentive.
Robin sat on a high stool, watching as Dean emptied the cookie mix into a bowl. Dean gave him a speculative glance. “I’m curious. Does your mom know you’ve taken her cookie cutters? And if so, where does she think you’re taking them?”
Robin sighed. “I said I was going to a friend’s house to make Christmas cookies. Her imagination will fill in the gaps.” He lowered his gaze, staring at the warm red floor tiles.
Dean paused in his task. “Deep down, how do you think your parents would react to… us?” And what exactly is us? Because they were way past older guy giving younger guy his first sexual experience. All the indications were that Robin preferred not to tell them.
Dean couldn’t blame him for that.
“I suppose my biggest fear is that they still see me as a kid.” Robin jerked his head up. “They’ve always been supportive, don’t get me wrong. And Ryan nailed it. They think I’m the mature twin. So maybe I’m underestimating them. I mean, Dad is giving me more responsibility in the business. He doesn’t treat me like a kid.” Robin met Dean’s gaze. “Do you think I’m wrong not to tell them?”
Dean took a deep breath and went with the truth. “My biggest fear? That they see me as some… sicko who has gone after their baby. That they think I’ve taken advantage of you, because you trust me as a teacher. And that I’ve abused that trust.”
Robin’s face flushed. “Hey, wait a minute. I was the one who did all the pursuing, wasn’t I?”
“Most people won’t see it that way.”
“Well, fuck them.” He bit his lip. “And you know I don’t mean that.” He lowered his gaze again, clearly deep in thought. Dean got on with his mixing, his stomach clenching. After a moment, Robin raised his head. “Yeah. I’m not telling them anytime soon.”
There was an implication in his words. Robin isn’t treating what we have as casual.
But then, neither was Dean.
Dean had to admit, his cookies had never been prettier. The stars were done in red, with tiny blobs of white for snowflakes. Robin had taken the round cookies and covered most of them in red icing, leaving a central bit shaped like an eye, which he’d then covered in a flesh tint. Dean had no idea where he was going, until he realized Robin had taken black icing and drawn a belt above the flesh color. A splash of white at the top, a white trim…
“Oh my God. That’s Santa’s belly.”
Robin chuckled. “You like it?”
“No—I love it! Poor Santa needs to lose some weight. Mrs. Claus is overfeeding him.”
Baking paper covered the countertop, and the cookies were laid out in rows. A good morning’s work. Then Robin peered into the bowl with a grin.
“Hey, would you look at that. There’s some cookie dough left.” He glanced over at Dean, his eyes glittering. “I love eating dough.”
Dean had a very good idea what he’d be eating it off. “I’ve got the munchies too.” And he knew exactly where he was going to smear that dough. He glanced at the windows. “You know what I’m thankful for right this second?”
“No, what?”
Dean grinned. “Blinds.”
Robin gazed through the front window. “It’s stopped snowing.” Outside, the world lay hidden beneath a fresh white blanket, so bright it hurt to look at it.
“It’s too late to go skiing,” Dean called out from the kitchen where he was placing the plates from lunch into the dishwasher.
“I wasn’t thinking of skiing.” Robin smiled to himself.
Dean walked into the living room and came to a halt behind him. “I don’t have to be Einstein to know what’s on your mind, dirty boy.” He nuzzled Robin’s neck, and Robin’s dick instantly took an interest.
His dick could wait. It had already had its fun with the cookie dough.
Now he’d gone and done it. Robin had only to close his eyes and he was back in Dean’s kitchen, sitting on that stool while Dean licked dough from his hard-as-fuck cock. Bending over that same stool while Dean rubbed a fingerful of dough over his hole, then proceeded to remove every last bit of it with his tongue.
Who knew baking could be so fucking hot?
“You’re trembling.” Another nuzzle to Robin’s neck.
“S-stop that,” he protested weakly. When Dean snuck a hand around him to cup his crotch, however, Robin covered it with his own, pushing his erection into it.
Dean’s chuckle tickled his ear. “Your lips may say ‘no no no’, but your body is saying ‘take me to bed and fuck me.’”
With a huge effort, Robin broke free of Dean’s embrace. “Well, guess what? Maybe you don’t speak Robin as well as you think you do, because I wasn’t thinking about sex at all.” He grinned. “What I had in mind was a snowball fight.”
Dean stilled. “Seriously?”
Robin turned around to face him. “When was the last time you did that? Hmm?”
“You don’t think it might look a little odd? Us playing in the street?”
Robin pointed through the window to where four people were already chucking snowballs around, dodging and laughing. Not one of them was under twenty. “Yeah. You’re right. Looks totally odd.” He chuckled. “Oh, I get it. You’re a lousy shot. Well, if you’re scared of losing…”
Dean’s sexy, husky laugh sent shivers through him as he leaned in close to whisper, “Challenge accepted. Bring. It. On.”
Minutes later they were out in the street, where Robin began scraping together enough snow for his ammunition. When Dean came too close, Robin whirled around to glare at him. “Back off. I’m not ready yet.”
Dean grinned. “Aw, too bad. I am.” And before Robin could react, he stuffed a handful of snow down the back of Robin’s jacket, before sprinting away laughing, out of Robin’s reach.
“You bastard!” Robin shivered, squirming as ice trickled down his back. He scooped up as much snow as he could and gave chase. “Get back here.”
“Uh-uh,” Dean hollered. “And watch your mouth. You’ll have my neighbors complaining.” He scooted along the side of the house, and Robin followed. “I don’t want snow down my back.”
&nbs
p; “That isn’t where I was gonna shove it,” Robin called out. He turned the corner into the little back yard, and was immediately pelted by snowballs.
“Ambush!” Dean yelled gleefully, before ducking behind the shed in the corner.
That did it. Robin was not going down without a fight. “Get your ass out from behind there.”
“Sure.” A second later, more snowballs came sailing over the shed roof, landing at Robin’s feet.
“Is that the best you can do?” Robin taunted, grabbing handfuls of snow and compressing them.
“I haven’t even gotten started yet.” Dean emerged from behind the shed, armed with a couple of snowballs, and Robin let loose. He flung his ammunition, aiming for Dean’s head, then launched himself into the air, knocking Dean to the ground. Robin grabbed more snow and shoved it down the front of Dean’s jeans, doing his best to avoid Dean’s hands as he tried to grab hold of Robin. They rolled on the snow, neither of them giving any ground, until their jackets and jeans were wet, and Robin’s icy T-shirt clung to him. He managed to get Dean under him, then sat astride him, pinning his wrists to the ground.
“You give up?”
“Never!” Dean’s eyes gleamed.
Robin laughed. “Oh yeah? And how are you gonna get out of this one?”
Dean shoved at him, and sat upright, locking his arms around Robin’s waist. “By coming up with a better idea.” Then his lips were on Robin’s, and while Robin might have been freezing his ass off, heat raced through him.
“What idea?” Robin murmured against Dean’s lips, before claiming his mouth in a hungry kiss. Suddenly he didn’t want to play out in the snow.
He wanted to play indoors. With a whole lot less clothing.
“You and me…” Dean gave him a long, leisurely kiss. “Taking a bath.”
Okay, that stopped him in his tracks. “Really?”
Dean nodded. “Bubbles, candles, me scrubbing your back…” Another kiss, only this one was sweeter. “And any other bits of you that need a thorough washing.”
