Chapter 8 #3
“I like mashed potatoes with skins in it. If you don’t, we can just chop them off now. It’s not a problem.”
Aspen waited until Noah was done drying off before throwing their arms around his neck.
“I was going to use today and tomorrow as a drug holiday–which is something that apparently exists? Doesn’t that sound backwards?
Like a holiday you do drugs on? But no, it’s when you don’t take them for the weekend so your brain can rest or something. ”
Noah had learned more about ADHD in the past few weeks than in his entire life. He’d also begun doing some reading on his own, wanting to be as accommodating as he could.
“I think that’s a good idea, especially since you’re just getting started.”
Aspen sighed loudly and buried their face in Noah’s turkey sweater–another “festive” gift from Aspen.
“Well, I was going to do that, but maybe I should go take them? I don’t want to mess anything else up.”
Noah grabbed Aspen around the waist and lifted them onto the countertop. Aspen didn’t even protest. They just spread their legs so Noah could press in between them in what had become one of their favorite positions–for talking, kissing, and fucking.
If only his mother could see him now. She’d only come to visit once, and it had been…a joy.
Well, this place sure is quaint. At least there’s a kitchen.
You can cook for yourself and not eat all that nasty takeout.
Just because you’re not trying to fit into business dresses and skirts anymore doesn’t mean you can let yourself go.
And for heaven’s sake, make sure to keep this place clean.
No woman is going to want you if you have a filthy house.
Perhaps she would be proud to know he cleaned the countertop after every encounter with Aspen. Very thoroughly.
“Asp. It’s okay, I promise,” he said, cupping their face in his hands. “What if I read the recipe and just give you one task at a time to do?
Aspen sighed, their breath ghosting across Noah’s mouth. “That might help, even though Rachel’s psych tested me for dyslexia as well, cause apparently there’s a really high comorbidity rate? Turns out I don’t have it, I just can’t always focus long enough to retain information.”
Aspen stared off somewhere over Noah’s shoulder as they began tapping their hand absently on Noah’s back. “He…also mentioned something called dyscalculia.”
Noah had heard of that before. It was like dyslexia but for numbers. As if unlocking a vault, memories of helping Aspen with freshman statistics–which Aspen had been retaking as a sophomore–flooded Noah’s mind.
“He thinks I might have a form of it that makes counting big numbers really challenging. It might explain why I count everything in threes and fours…and all the foot tapping and other annoying shit my brain–”
Noah kissed them, softly at first, and then more firmly as they squirmed against his chest. He ran his hands down their back, gripping the soft bits just above their joggers that he liked to grab when they were fucking.
“Oh god,” Aspen groaned, pulling Noah impossibly closer. “Could you just lay me back on the counter and have your way with me. We can order Chinese food or something, I don’t care.”
Aspen might not care, but Noah actually did.
He’d been looking forward to cooking Thanksgiving dinner with them, even before he realized that part of it was just like Charlie had said.
He wanted to do everything with Aspen and make the most of their trial period.
Part of that meant doing domestic shit like this, as if cooking a big meal and falling into bed together was something they did every year–and would continue doing forever.
Forever friends, forever lovers…if only it could be that simple.
“I think I’d like to make dinner–”
“I know, babe, I was just being horny. You can have your wicked way with me while the turkey cooks,” Aspen said, running their lips down Noah’s jaw to his throat, where they placed increasingly filthy kisses.
“Oh, really? Is that the plan?”
It turned out that was indeed the plan. They managed to get the turkey up, prep the rest of the vegetables and sides, which they would cook later in the afternoon, and together, they even made a half-decent chocolate silk pie and put it in the freezer to chill.
“Now, you’re mine,” Aspen said, dragging Noah to the couch.
Aside from the fact that this clearly never would have happened at one of Noah’s family Thanksgivings, there were many other noticeable differences.
There were no awkward exchanges in which his mom said the men of the house didn’t have to cook so long as they cleaned up, but then proceeded to drag Noah into the kitchen to spend the day cooking.
The TV wasn’t tuned to football, which Noah didn’t mind either way, but there also weren’t any raised voices as his dad and brother got drunker and drunker throughout the day.
Aspen had declared they wanted fancy wine with dinner, but thus far they were both sober–at least on alcohol.
“Oh, god,” Aspen slurred, sex drunk after only a few minutes of Noah’s face between their legs.
They were wearing trans tape today, and Noah rested his hand right below their rib cage and pressed down, as he pressed up with his fingers inside them.
“Fuck, babe, yes,” Aspen groaned, thrusting their dick against Noah’s tongue.
A pleasant tingling had started in Noah’s own dick. As he took Aspen in his mouth and sucked, he realized it was his phone vibrating. He ignored it in favor of sliding a third finger inside Aspen.
“You’re so hard and wet for me,” he murmured, blowing a stream of air onto their swollen dick.
“Always,” Aspen gasped, their thighs beginning to quiver as Noah curled his fingers.
His phone vibrated again, and then it began to ring. He stopped thrusting, and Aspen clenched tightly around him. “Don’t stop! I’m so close.”
Eh. If it was important, they would leave a message.
He redoubled his efforts, and by the time the phone stopped ringing and started ringing again, Aspen was shouting into one of the pumpkin throw pillows they’d left on his couch since early October.
“That was exactly what I needed,” Aspen said, as they reached for Noah’s clean hand. He squeezed their fingers before getting up.
“I’m going to wash my hands, and I missed a phone call. I might need to return it,” Noah said.
Aspen snagged him by the wrist, and he paused, looking down at Aspen in all their naked, clearly concerned glory. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” they said, their tone alert and earnest. “You chose to stay here for a reason.”
Noah flipped his hand around to squeeze their fingers, but his phone started ringing a third time, and he knew he had to answer it. He waited until he had the bathroom door shut and the water running to do so.
“Hi, Mom. Sorry, I’m cleaning up from dinner prep,” he said, placing the phone between his cheek and shoulder so he could wash his hands, a little louder than strictly necessary.
“I’m surprised you’re bothering to cook a full meal for yourself,” she said, even though he’d told her several times he would be eating with Aspen tonight.
“It’s not just for–”
“Anyways, that’s not why I’m calling. There’s something we need to talk to you about, and since you insisted on staying there with your friend, we’ll just have to do this over the phone.”
Noah shut off the water and grabbed a hand towel.
This was the only room in the house Aspen hadn’t decorated.
His bed had a fall-themed throw blanket on it, and Aspen had even put a cornucopia on his desk.
He suddenly wanted to be surrounded by signs of Aspen, and this tiny, precious little life they had, even if it was only temporary.
“Okay, I’m all ears,” Noah said as he walked back out to his bedroom. He wrapped the throw blanket around his shoulders and settled in his desk chair.
“There’s no easy way to put this, and this is, of course, for your ears only,” she said.
This was how she began all news about Braxton, as if Noah was going to call the town paper himself.
He briefly had the urge to ask if that included not telling his trial partner, but clearly, that was a horrific idea.
“I know, Mom, go ahead.”
A soft huff of breath was all he got in response.
Noah sat up straighter in his chair. He’d heard that sigh before.
That was the sigh that came before Braxton was sent to rehab after getting caught with cocaine by the high school principal.
Of course, the principal was on Dad’s golf team, so Dad got the call instead of the police.
That was also the sigh Noah had gotten when he’d shown up at home with short hair, which he’d hacked off at a frat party junior year of college.
This sigh meant that things were about to change for their family in a way none of them was going to like.
“Braxton met someone,” she said, and Noah waited for the punch line. Was it a guy? Was his little rebel brother going to throw their family another curveball and come out as queer? “A nice young woman who’s interning at your father’s company.”
Noah squinted at the little orange and red styrofoam gourds on his desk, which were sitting innocuously next to Aspen’s new prosthetic dick. It had arrived on Monday, and they hadn’t had a chance to try it out yet.
“Okay, that sounds nice–”
“Unfortunately, they were not very careful,” she said tightly, and Noah froze.
“Like…with drugs?” Noah asked, afraid that this might actually be the phone call he’d been dreading his entire life.
“With condoms, dear. She’s pregnant.”