Food for Thought (10 page)

“It feels nice,” Emmett purred, still petting it. It wasn’t really that thick, just dark brown and surprising.

“Good. I used to wax religiously, but I finally got… I don’t know, pissed. Love me, love my pelt, I guess.”

Emmett kept rubbing his chest and leaned over to kiss him, morning breath and all. “Love your pelt,” he said and then slid his hand from the forest, down the happy trail, then through the bushes to the big tree at the end. “Love you.” He wrapped his fist around Keegan’s filling shaft and stroked slowly.

Keegan moaned, the kind of sound a man
should
make when waking up with a hand on his cock, and arched against Emmett. “Mmnn…. God. More. More more more….”

Emmett kissed him, then dragged his mouth down the same pathway his hand had taken, ending up face-to-face with Keegan’s one little eye.

Oh yeah. He licked the head first, again and again, making sure the rough part of his tongue circled the flared part of it, enjoying the knead and pull of Keegan’s fingers in his hair.

“Haven’t you teased me enough?” Keegan whined, and, well, he had a point there.

Emmett opened his mouth wide and pulled him in, smiling around Keegan’s shaft as it filled his mouth, sliding easily to the back of his throat.

Long-forgotten skills—amazing.

He pulled back, slurping, and Keegan grunted. “We didn’t buy lube.”

Emmett released him with a little pop. “Nope.”

“Then swing your ass up here over my head, Em. I got some catching up to do.”

Emmett did as ordered (and wasn’t a crisp, clear order
so
much better than a hopeful guess?), and while he kept up the pressure and suction on Keegan, Keegan took him in hand and started some pressure and suction of his own.

One stroke, one suck, one suck, one stroke, and suddenly Emmett was trembling, knees shaking, body coming apart.

“No no no no—not yet!” he begged.

Keegan let off, and Emmett moved, reversing himself so they were face-to-face.

Emmett grinned at him, and Keegan smiled sleepily back.

“I needed to kiss you,” Emmett said.

Keegan nodded. “Absolutely.”

Jeez, Emmett had even missed morning breath. Keegan’s mouth was warm and moist, open and needy, and Emmett wandered into the kiss, finding urgency again in Keegan’s sweet mouth, in the warmth of his skin, in the wrap of Keegan’s fingers around his cock.

And in the hard velveteen glide of Keegan’s cock against his palm.

Keegan groaned and thrust harder, precome adding heat and slick, and Emmett pulled away, wanting Keegan’s bitter-salt flooding his mouth.
Sweet
—the taste of precome clean and masculine, the smell of Keegan a little sweaty but nice—thrilled him, left him breathless and shaking with want. Keegan’s loud “
Oh
my
god
!” came right before the flood of come, and Emmett swallowed some and lost some around his mouth, and the taste, coupled with Keegan’s still active hand, sent him right over.

They lay there for a couple of moments, Emmett’s boxers around his knees, his head pillowed on Keegan’s thigh, his cock still leaking right under his pillow. (And thank God for hotel sheet service!) Emmett caught his breath and started to giggle.

“What?” Keegan asked, but not like he needed the answer.

“I’m just happy,” Emmett said, and then Keegan started to laugh into the sunshiny morning too.

B
Y
THE
time they got back to Folsom the next day, they were practically shouting at each other.

“I can’t come over tonight
why
?” Keegan demanded again.

“Because, I’ve got some things I want to—”

“Yes, things! But… what sort of things? I thought we’d
done
all your things. What other things do we have to do? I’d like to do some
sexy
things—can we do some
sexy
things? Because yesterday was phenomenal, but we got interrupted before it got world class, and I’d like to make that league. It’s been a while for both of us—don’t you think we can make world class? Wouldn’t you at least like to
train
for that event?”

“Of
course
I do!” Emmett shot back, holding on to his good humor by a thread. “But….” Oh God. So hard to put into words. “Don’t you get it, Kee? We talk all the time. But I haven’t
done
anything for you except pretend I was straight and not let you date anyone else because I was a needy bastard. Can you just… I don’t know. Give me a day? Can you give me a
day
so I can show you?”

“Show me what?” Keegan asked suspiciously as they turned onto their little suburban street.

Emmett pulled the car into his driveway and hit the garage door button. The door opened and he pulled inside, wondering how much tuna he was going to have to buy before George let go of her grudge for two overnights so close together.

“Show you that I mean it,” Emmett said, as the garage door closed behind them. He shut the car off and vaulted out before the heat could choke them dead, and then reached in back for the duffel bag, which he figured was largely filled with his clothes anyway.

“Mean it how?” Keegan was still glaring, so Emmett opened the door as quickly as he could. A Keegan in the air-conditioning was probably less irritable than a Keegan in the two-million-degree garage.

“C’mon. I’ve got root beer. And ice cream.”

Keegan fought against a smile. “It’s like you think I can be bought.”

“I
know
you can be bought. Which job do you want? Putting the clothes in the wash or making the root beer floats?”

“I’ll take option
C
,” Keegan declared. “Brushing your cat until we’re both wearing a fur coat.”

Emmett groaned. “Option
C
it is. Go to town. Knock yourself out. Lint roller in the junk drawer, where you put it.”

“You know, when I move into this dump, you’re going to have to give me real chores to do. You’ll just get pissed off if you do all the housework.”

“You’re damned sure of yourself, aren’t you?” Emmett asked, mostly because
dammit
, some stuff should be done right.

“Nope,” Keegan lied. “I just have hope.”

“Well, I just hope you can wait a
whole day
to see what I have in mind.”

“Yeah, but I work tomorrow. I don’t get home until nine.”

Excellent. “Good!” Emmett said, feeling smug. “I’ll make you dinner. And dessert.”

Keegan harrumphed, which might or might not have been an acknowledgment that Emmett had offered something he’d enjoy.

“I would really love your ass on a platter for dessert,” he said lasciviously.

Emmett shrugged. “Possibly. But that would be tough to share with your roommates.”

“No sharing!” Keegan snapped. “It makes me stabby!”

Ah, God. Keegan really
was
the antidote to silence, and Emmett loved him so hard it hurt. He passed Keegan as he walked down the hall but not before he wrapped an arm around his waist and kissed his cheek.

“Just trust me, Kee. It’s like the sex. It’ll be worth the wait.”

“Fine. Clean your house. I’m going to torture your cat.”

Emmett disappeared into the bedroom and Keegan went after George—who was standing in the kitchen and meowing piteously over a half-filled bowl of food on her special placemat. Emmett ran around, doing laundry, making his bed with what he’d left in the drier, and finally, making root beer floats in the kitchen.

Keegan looked up from his chosen chore, where George lay sprawled, right in front of the sink, white stomach spread out for the world and four black paws hanging limply at her side.

“You’ve drugged my cat?”

“I drugged her with
kindness
. Now move over—I haven’t had
nearly
enough sweets for the day.”

Emmett smiled and scooted over, so Keegan could stand next to him as they leaned against the counter.

Keegan took a slow bite of vanilla ice cream and root beer, sighing into the nummy-nummy soul of the dessert. “You’re really sending me home?” he asked, sounding a little forlorn.

Emmett leaned over so their heads touched. “Do you want to move in with me?”

“You haven’t seen my house.”

“You won’t let me.”

“It’s a shithole.”

“Why haven’t you fixed it?” Emmett looked around his living room. “You helped me fix mine.”

Keegan had helped him pick the blue and green couches, and had chosen the brilliantly colored landscapes for the walls. One weekend, after Keegan’s breakup and before Christine, they’d gone to the Renaissance Faire in Folsom and Keegan had helped him pick out a stained-glass hanging piece that Emmett had placed up near the skylight. The house itself had been all about white and cream and ecru—but that wasn’t good enough for Keegan.

Keegan took another thoughtful bite of ice cream. “I was going to,” he said after a moment. “I mean, when we first moved in, I had all these ideas, and things I was going to do. I was going to really make it nice. But… I mean, the guys aren’t all bad, you know? But… I don’t love them. They… they were acquaintances. Not really… you know. Not you. Not even how you feel about Vinnie. I… it was just easier to help you make your place nice. Because I loved it.” He took another bite, and dropped the other shoe. “Because, you know. I loved you.”

“Yeah,” Emmett said softly. “So, you know. Maybe it’s time I came over to your house, and asked you out on a date.”

“We’ve already fu—”

Emmett bumped him, hard, and glared.

Keegan managed to look a little ashamed. “Okay, yeah… well, let’s just say the barn door is open and the cows are out, okay?”

“Yeah. But I haven’t seen the barn yet.”

Keegan snorted. “Well, you will if you come over to ask me out.”

“Good. Maybe I’ll get to know the animals too.”

“Why is it important to you?” Most of Keegan’s ice cream was gone, so he started to mix up what was left with what was left of the root beer. Emmett thought next time, he’d put it in the blender and make it a freeze.

“Because,” he said, in answer to Keegan’s question. “Because. Because we’re going to be a family of two, Kee. And a lot of it can be us having sex, but I want it to be official. Getting caught by my girlfriend doesn’t count.”

“So, you’re going to drag me to Chico someday soon?”

Emmett nodded. “Yeah.”

“Okay then. I wanted you, I got you. Bring it on.”

When they were done with dessert, Emmett walked Keegan out his front door, across the rosebush hedge that separated their houses, and across the rather ragged front lawn of Keegan’s house. It was the same suburban floor plan as Emmett’s, plus an upstairs, so it held four bedrooms instead of two.

And it had considerably more spiders in the front foyer.

Emmett looked around gingerly at the webs in the yellow light of the porch lamp, and Keegan curled his lip.

“This was your idea, remember.”

“Yeah. Don’t worry, Kee. Just give me a chance to make the grand romantic gesture, okay?”

And to his surprise, Keegan nodded. “Do you know, I’ve
never
had that? I haven’t even gotten flowers.”

“Well, I haven’t had a chance to give them.”

“I’ve never gotten kissed at my porch, either,” Keegan said thoughtfully.

“I’ve never taken anyone home from a date before.” Emmett could feel his smile stretching his cheeks, and it was a welcome alternative to what he had been doing.

“Okay. So, clarity. It’s clear we need to make this official, and real, and—”

Emmett kissed him. It was clear he needed to do that too.

T
HE
NEXT
day, after Emmett got home from a
very
uncomfortable day at work, he showered, got out Granny B.’s cookbook, and started to cook to clear his head.

Yes, Christine had talked, and yes, everybody was looking at him with a little bit of horror. He figured since they all knew
other
gay men, he was paying the price of his dishonesty and he’d have to live it down.

So, not a great day, no, but he came home armed with the antidote.

First he started the shortbread, but it had occurred to him that maybe mixing the almond paste inside wasn’t such a great idea. He had no idea how that would cook, so he made little divots in the dough every two inches, and baked the shortbread that way. When he got it out of the oven, after it cooled, he filled the divots with the almond paste, and then drizzled the melted dark chocolate on top, and
then
sprinkled almonds on it.

And then he took out a pen and did the unthinkable.

He put a notation in the cookbook.
This works fine, because I don’t know how it would cook the other way.
He didn’t put his initials in it—nobody else had—but he figured this was perfect. This way, he’d become a member of the family.

He didn’t make the beet porridge, because it was pretty work intensive, and his cabinets already weren’t going to be the same, but he did find a recipe for sour cream pork chops that looked carb-intensive enough for Keegan. He figured he needed to buy a more modern cookbook with stuff that wasn’t so fattening in it—because he could work out all he wanted, but he never had been able to keep up with Keegan’s runner’s metabolism.

But today’s meal wasn’t
for
weight loss. You didn’t come home in the 107 degree heat of a blistering July and heat your kitchen because you were looking to eat right.

You did it to be kind to someone. You did it for love.

The day cooled into a decent summer night, and some of the breezes off the lake actually made it into his little hillside suburb, so he opened his windows, and then, while pork chops cooked on a timer, he brought a chair out to his porch and worked on his laptop.

He saw Keegan’s beat-up Mini pull in and disappear into the two-car garage. (Keegan had been lucky to get a space—the other roommates were usually parked there first. Emmett had noticed a certain “survival of the fittest” mentality that Keegan had done nothing to contradict.)