I snap my head up to find Frank standing in front of me. The clothes aren’t as bad as I thought, partly because the joggers don’t come all the way to my ankles. Frank still swims in them, but he’s done some creative maneuveringto make it work. My chest warms watching him. But it’s the way my cock twitches that really gets my attention.
“I was so out of it that night I took a bath, I swear I thought I dreamed that your bathtub is that magnificent. Now I know it’s all true. I’m gonna be fantasizing about being in it again.”
My tongue nearly falls out of my mouth. I’ve had that exact same fantasy, only in mine, he’s not alone. It’s plenty big enough for two people and to allow me to wash him slowly.
“Sorry, maybe I shouldn’t say that.”
“It’s a very nice tub.” The image of him soaking, his naked body stretched out, is burned in my mind. “So, I thought maybe we could do snacks and a movie?”
“I love that idea,” Frank says. “It’s a family tradition to watch a movie on Thanksgiving night.” I see a hint of sadness in his eyes as he says it, one I’d do anything to take away from him.
“Do you have a particular movie in mind?” Between all my subscriptions, I can make almost anything happen. There are a few options pulled up on the screen, featuring my usual blend of car accidents and exploding bridges.
“None in particular.” Frank bites his bottom lip. I wish I could do something to stop that terrible habit. Maybe give him something else to do with his mouth. “It’s always a Christmas movie.” He almost whispers the last part, but I hear it well enough to start making plans.
“Lucky for you, I love Christmas movies.” It’s an overstatement, but I think he needs the reassurance. Whatever we end up with, I’m sure I’ll like watching it with him. I flick through the menus, exiting out of the action films andlooking for Holiday Classics.
“Really?” He looks like I told him I secretly worship trees in the forest.
“Of course. It’s the best thing about the month of December.” Not quite, but close. I love enjoying the seasonal things. Though my go-to Christmas movie isDie Hard. Tomorrow, I’ll break out the small number of decorations I keep in a back room, turning this place from boring into medium Christmasy. It’s a personal tradition on the day after Thanksgiving to make sure to put them up. If I don’t do it, then it doesn’t happen. Then they come down on December twenty-sixth. “Go sit and see if anything gets your attention. I’ll grab snacks.” I hand off the remote, unwilling to make the selection. If there’s a family tradition, I want him to be able to carry it on. I hope it’s nothing too atrocious.
Frank still looks skeptical, but I leave him to go grab a bunch of things. It takes three trips from the kitchen to the living room before I get everything settled on the coffee table.
“I did eat dinner,” Frank teases.
“Well, whatever we don’t eat will keep for another day.” I hand him a plate. The usual snacks might not require it, but there’s also Thanksgiving food that may need a little more support. My mom sent me home with enough leftovers to feed a platoon. It’s like she thinks a small army lives at my house. Years ago, I could eat all of this and not notice it on my waistline. Those days are long gone.
Frank eyes the stuff on the table. I can see the mental work he’s doing to decide what might or might not be edible for him. I hate how much effort it takes for him to do something simple like enjoy a movie with food.
“So, the popcorn I made myself. It’s plain, with a bit ofsalt. The chips and salsa are straight from the packages, which are still in the kitchen if you want to see them. The stuffing is vegan, as are the mashed potatoes. You can blame my purist mother who doesn’t like to add anything to the food except turkey gravy. My father thinks she’s crazy, but she swears it’s better this way.” He adds his own butter, plentifully, while staring directly at her and making it uncomfortable for everyone. After forty years of marriage, some might expect him to give up, but nope, he asks what’s in them every year and gets the same answer.
“I can eat everything on this table?” His eyes well up, and for a moment, I freeze, not knowing what to say. Did I fuck it up? “This is… thank you.”
I let out a breath. “It’s nothing.” None of this even went out of my way. Sure, there are other items I could get out—including dessert—but it’s not fair to eat them in front of him. If we’re still hungry later, I can find more. Something tells me we won’t get to that point.
“No one ever makes sure I can eat the food.”
I don’t… I don’t know what to say to that. It’s one of the saddest things I’ve ever heard. I don’t have any food allergies, but my mom is allergic to shellfish. We never take her out for seafood or have it in our home. I’ve had plenty when I’m not with her, but it’s not worth risking her health simply because I like lobster. Sure, getting rid of that many items isn’t as simple as avoiding one restaurant, but the sacrifice should be worth it for anyone who cares about him. “They should.”
I turn back toward the TV, afraid my feelings for Frank are about to boil over. We sit quietly while he scrolls through the options on the screen until he finds a movie he likes, a cartoon I don’tthink I’ve seen before, featuring a range of Christmas characters. It’s not really my thing, but Frank seems excited.
“Okay?” he asks.
“Of course.” I’d let him watch anything tonight, especially if it put that big grin on his face. The one I’ve come to adore.
Chapter Thirteen
FRANK
I’m notthe most perceptive guy. Most days, I only get subtlety if it comes in the form of a bulldozer. But my senses are tingling, and I’m pretty sure they’re telling me that Matthias is interested.
In me.
I know, it’s ridiculous. He’s got this whole life put together, and I’m… well, me. I’m not a complete mess, but most days, I’m holding the pieces together with duct tape and a prayer. Today included, since I sounded pathetic enough to get myself an invite over to his place on a holiday when he would clearly rather be organizing his sock drawer than watching this movie.
Except, I think he’s enjoying it. Maybe not the actual movie, but being on the couch with me. At least, I think that’s what it means when he keeps inching closer. Each time he reaches for something on the coffee table, he manages to get his tree trunk thighs half an inch closer to me.
At this rate, he’ll finally be touching me sometime around February. I don’t have that kind of patience.
