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Matty sighed. “We have to wait for presents?”
Renzo didn’t want to disturb his routine much, so a compromise was in order. “Why don’t you go organize all the gifts, and I’ll wake Emil up with some coffee, okay?”
“Andcinnamon rolls,” Matty said.
“Yes, yes. I’ll start the oven.” Renzo gave his brother a gentle shove toward the stairs, and they headed down, Matty’s feet heavy enough that it would be a miracle if Emil slept through it.
Matty hurried to the living room while Renzo threw a pod into his sister’s Nespresso, and he listened for noise on the stairs as he waited for the cup to brew. It was still silent, so Renzo had a feeling Emil was either still knocked out or unsure if he was welcome to come down.
The second part made his heart ache enough that he felt it all the way down to his toes. The last thing he needed was to be wrapped up in a man with issues that could be seen from space, but goddamn if he didn’t want to do everything in his power to make sure that Emil never went another day without feeling like he was worthy.
Like he was…well. A word that Renzo wasn’t sure he could speak. At least, not yet. But as much as he wanted to deny it, he could see it. Emil was the last person in the world Renzo would have envisioned to help heal the broken pieces his ex had left behind, and yet, he was the only one who made sense anymore.
“I’m done!”
Renzo jumped, startled by his brother’s voice, and then he hurried over to the oven to turn it on. “Go ahead and crack the can, then put the rolls on the baking sheet,” he told Matty.
He was nothing like his sister, who spent the night before carefully kneading and rolling dough by hand. Renzo was a grocery store canister kind of guy, and he appreciated that his brother didn’t care what was on his plate so long as it was vaguely circular with icing.
“Go wake Emil up,” Matty ordered. “If you’re late, you don’t get presents.”
Renzo rolled his eyes. “Sell me another one, kid.” But he did grab the coffee cup, and he headed up the stairs, cursing a little when some of the hot coffee spilled on his bare feet. He paused by the bedroom door, then carefully eased it open, where he found Emil sitting up on the edge of the bed.
“Morning, sunshine. Did we wake you?”
Emil snorted. “It’s obvious Matty’s excited about Christmas.”
“Regrets?” Renzo asked.
Emil bit his lip. “Uh…areyouhaving regrets?”
“Would my answer change yours?” Renzo challenged.
Emil passed a hand down his face, then shook his head. “No. I just don’t want to seem like some needy loser who had his first decent Christmas Eve after forty.”
Renzo tried not to wince, but by the look on Emil’s face, he failed. Walking over, he set the cup down on the nightstand, then cradled Emil’s cheeks between his palms. Emil turned his head and nuzzled into the palm that had been warmed by the mug. “You’re not a loser,” Renzo said very softly. He stroked his thumb over Emil’s jawline. “You just had a shitty childhood and a life with no real support system.”
“Except, I kind of am,” Emil said. “Most people don’t need therapy to learn how to process human emotions.”
“More people than you realize probably need therapy for that,” Renzo fired back, stepping closer until he was between Emil’s thighs. He moved his hand, tipping Emil’s face up with a curled finger under his chin. “And the fact that you’re trying makes you brave.”
Emil ran his tongue over his lower lip, then wrapped his arms around Renzo’s waist. “I feel like I’m going to start crossing lines here.”
“How so?” Renzo asked in a soft whisper.
“I’m starting to feel things I promised you I wouldn’t.”
“All you promised was that we could take it slow before we defined things,” Renzo reminded him. And maybe that was putting it a little simpler than he’d meant before, but the truth was, the lines were already starting to blur for him.
Logic told him he needed to pull back.
His heart was telling him that Emil was someone good—someone important. Someone he needed to keep from slipping away.
“Let’s start a tradition,” he said in the silence between them. “Christmas mornings should start with kisses.”
Emil smiled, the grin seeping into his eyes, lighting them up like the dawn. He carefully rose to his feet, slipped into his discarded, ugly candy cane pajama pants, then curled his fingers into the back of Renzo’s shirt and fulfilled their new Christmas tradition. The kiss was a careful, gentle press at first, then Renzo’s mouth opened just a little, and it deepened.
He felt a rush again—the same rush he felt every single time Emil touched him. It was a feeling he wanted to hoard away, to keep for himself and refuse to share with anyone else. And as his dick started to take interest when he heard footsteps on the stairs.
