Dinner for One (25 page)

He feels Bastien stiffen as he releases, heat spilling over his stomach and side, no doubt trickling down onto their sheets. Bastien doesn’t seem to care. He huffs and collapses, wrapped around James like an octopus. “Happy Birthday,” he says, voice delightfully hoarse. He kisses the side of James’s face and then his mouth when James turns his head.

“Best birthday present ever,” James tells him.

“That’s not your present,” laughs Bastien, slapping weakly at his chest. “I’m not that cheap.”

James wraps an arm around his waist, squeezes him tight, and then tries to shift him slightly to the side so he’s only halfway on top of him. “I told you, I’m not getting a year older.”

Bastien props his chin on James’s shoulder, digging the point in. “We’re not doing a party. We’re not even going to leave the house. I’ve got a whole day planned for you.”

“That’s still aging me a year.”

Bastien laughs and attempts to roll away. “You’re so vain, oh my God. We’ll pretend you’re turning thirty-five again if that makes you feel better.”

James tugs him back. “I was thinking thirty maybe.”

Bastien’s laughter grows louder. “Let me up,” he says. “I made you breakfast.”

“When did you have time to make me breakfast?” He shifts, trying to find the alarm clock on the nightstand to see what time it is.

“While you were snoring away and before I decided to wake you up.” Bastien takes advantage of his distraction to slink from the bed. “I’ll be right back.” He glances at the mess he’s made on James. “I’ll bring you a cloth first.”

“I can clean myself up.”

“Don’t get out of bed. No moving until after breakfast.”

He salutes him. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

Bastien throws the cloth at his face when he comes back with it and flees the room before James can try to get him back. He returns with a laden tray of cinnamon apple crepes, muffins, and pancakes. James grins. He’s caught on to James’s love of that particular combination. He’d only eat cinnamon-apple flavored things if he could get away with it. Bastien constantly tells him despite there being apples in it, it’s not exactly healthy. He thinks that’s debatable.

They sit side by side in bed, pressed together from shoulder to hip, and split the wonderfully decadent birthday meal Bastien prepared for him. There’s a fruit bowl to the side, and Bastien plucks a strawberry from it, holding it to James’s lips. He takes it with his teeth, then proceeds to lick the juices from Bastien’s sticky fingers. He returns the favor with a piece of watermelon.

Breakfast takes far longer to consume than it normally would.

Once they manage to drag themselves from the bed, they head to the living room to lounge on the couch in nothing but sweats, legs entwined, as they lie at opposite ends and read. It’s nice and relaxing, requiring very little effort or movement on either of their parts. Now that they live together, quite a few days off are spent like this. James nods off for a little, and wakes to find his book on his face and his feet in Bastien’s lap. The television’s on, the volume low, and when he peeks over the edge of his book he can see Bastien mouthing along to the subtitles for
Friends
. He kneads Bastien’s thigh with his feet, smirking when Bastien wraps long fingers around his left ankle and squeezes gently. “About time you woke up,” he says. “I was afraid I’d have to repeat this morning.”

He scoffs and tries to dig his cold toes against Bastien’s bare stomach. He laughs as Bastien squirms away, protesting James’s harsh treatment. “Was this morning such a chore for you?” asks James. “See, I remember you
begging
just yesterday—”

Bastien throws himself on top of James, knocking his book to the floor. He presses a hand to James’s mouth, his cheeks gone apple red. “Shush, you,” he scolds.

James licks his palm, huffing out a giggle when Bastien’s nose scrunches up in disgust. He raises his eyebrows, and Bastien slowly starts to withdraw his hand. “You were on your knees—” The hand goes right back over his mouth.

It’s hard to breathe around his laughter and Bastien’s hand.

“Are you going to behave?” Bastien asks, failing to look serious, but he’s making an effort, so James will give him that.

He shakes his head. “Never.” It comes out distorted and unrecognizable, but the narrowing of Bastien’s beautiful eyes shows he got the message.

“And to think I made you a cake,” sighs Bastien. “I guess I can call one of your siblings to come eat it. It’s chipotle cinnamon chocolate with a French vanilla cream frosting and candy on top. I’m sure they’ll enjoy it.”

James freezes. He widens his eyes imploringly. Bastien removes his hand. “Candy on top?”

Bastien smirks. “Mhm. Lots of candy and icing.”

“I suppose I can behave. If you promise to let me eat this cake now.”

“You don’t want to wait till after dinner?”

“We can eat some now and then more later.”

Bastien pets his stomach, fingers tracing his abs. “What about your poor waistline?”

“I have an idea for how we can work it off.” He winks.

James can see Bastien choking back the laugh. “I suppose I’d be amenable to that.”

“Oh do you?” He smacks Bastien’s ass. “Bring the birthday man his cake.”

“I’ve created a monster,” sighs Bastien. “I remember when you used to be polite and sweet.” His voice cracks at the end, giggles escaping. James wants to kiss his entire face, trail his lips over the dimples and his laugh lines, the wrinkles in his forehead when he makes that expression.

Bastien clambers from him. “You have to take a picture of this cake before you can eat it,” he says, expression mock stern. “It’s gorgeous, okay, and I want to put it on our bakery Instagram.”

“That can be arranged,” he says, rolling his eyes. He’s a food critic, and he’s never taken so many pictures of his food in his entire life. Bastien is addicted to pictures of food. James might need to arrange an intervention in the future. He’s even made James an Instagram. He’d had to sit through a half an hour lecture on the merits of tagging efficiently. He still doesn’t understand it.

Chloe leaps from where she was perched on the back of the couch to follow Bastien into the kitchen. She’s the most spoiled cat he’s ever met. He can hear Bastien cooing to her and telling her the cake isn’t for her and then offering an apology cookie from the bin he keeps for her now.

“You’re going to make the cat fat!” James yells. He’s going to have to listen to a spiel at the vet about how Bastien’s ruining her health. They’re going to be one of those couples who walks their cat down the sidewalk to make up for all the treats they give her.

She gives him the evil eye when she trots back in, cookie clamped in her jaws. She turns her back to him to eat it. Bastien follows a moment later, a massive covered cake tin in his hand. James sits up, crossing his legs in front of him. He’s trying to act casual but really he’s excited and wants to rip the cover off to see what Bastien made him.

He’s never had a chipotle cinnamon chocolate cake before.

The cake gets set on the coffee table, and Bastien leans over it. He grins up at James. “You ready?”

“Yes.”

He whips the cover off like he’s doing a magic trick, and in a way he really truly is. The cake is insane. It’s gorgeous. It’s perfect. He can’t even…. He’s at a loss as to what to say. He’s aware his mouth is hanging open.

The cake is shaped to mimic the New York Rangers symbol, and the icing is colored to match: blue, white, and red. In the middle, in red icing, the word Rangers is written in fancy script. At the top of the cake is a goalpost made out of Twizzlers, connected by Junior Mints at the joints. The netting is made out of sliced Twizzlers, painted over with white frosting. There’s a little edible goalie in front of it, wearing a Rangers jersey. At the bottom of the cake are two more edible figures, cinnamon sticks with two jelly beans on the end made to look like hockey sticks in their hands. The pucks are Mentos.

“Do you like it?” Bastien asks.

James answers the only way he can think to. He wraps his fingers around Bastien’s wrist and tugs till he’s plastered against him, fallen into his lap. He kisses him hard and messy, licking into his mouth. When he pulls away, Bastien is smiling dopily and flushed. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Duh.” He shifts him to the side, reaching for his phone. “I’ve got to take a picture of this.”

“I love you,” says Bastien, lips pressed to his bare shoulder, the words formed against his hot skin, laughter bubbling around them. “Happy birthday.”

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