Chapter Twenty-Two #2
Nash flips the packet over. ‘Well, that date is close enough to being this year that I’ll take the risk.’
Christopher watches as Nash navigates the kitchen, setting a pan filled with cold water on the stove. He tears the packet open, and tips the powdered cheese, rice and dehydrated vegetables into the water.
‘Let’s not get food poisoning right before Christmas,’ Christopher says, peering into the pan.
‘We’ll nuke it. It’ll be fine.’
‘While . . . erm. While we wait for that, I was wondering . . . if we could perhaps discuss what happened last night?’ Christopher stares resolutely at the wall as he speaks.
Nash glances at him. ‘About us having sex, you mean?’
‘Well. Yes.’ The heat of his cheeks burns.
‘What do you want to talk about?’
That’s a good question, really. It just feels as if he’s surrounded by unknowns here. He tries to find the words for the feelings that swarm him, but the words flee his tongue. There’s not been enough time to really process any of this, and that’s half the problem.
Nash must see him drowning, so softly offers, ‘Do you want to not do it again? Because that’s fine.’
‘No,’ Christopher blurts, surprising himself, but finding it is actually true. The little grin on Nash’s face is intoxicating. ‘I’m just worried it’s a bad idea.’
Nash tilts his head, like a dog listening for command. ‘Talk me through the bad.’
‘It just complicates things.’
It hangs in the air for a little while, and Christopher is half waiting for Nash to ask him if he’s catching feelings so that he can furiously refute it, but Nash doesn’t. Perhaps that can of worms is best left unopened. Like the beans.
‘That’s true,’ Nash says slowly. ‘So why don’t we set down some boundaries?’
‘Like what?’
‘Well, other than the very obvious points of consent in the moment, we can stop doing this if it becomes not fun for anyone for whatever reason.’
Christopher nods along.
This does all sound reasonable, and he absolutely does want to sleep with Nash again.
But there’s a pang in his chest that won’t shift.
Perhaps it’s just the knowing that this can only be finite.
After all, he has got the chance to spend the next few nights with the man of his literal dreams, while also knowing that that same man will be leaving the country when the snow lifts.
That’s got to be doing a number on his overtired brain.
‘Yes. Right. That makes sense. But also . . . we didn’t talk about what you want and don’t want. ’
‘Christopher,’ Nash says, a little too softly. A little too tenderly. He looks up at Christopher, and God, he could sink into Nash’s green eyes.
* * *
Nash
Nash wondered when this would come up, but then, Christopher really seemed to know what he was doing when they first fucked, and had taken directions well enough to keep him focussed on what Nash liked.
After all, it’s been no secret that Nash is trans, as Christopher obviously knew who he was from the off.
That role on Parental Units had landed in Nash’s lap specifically because they were looking for a trans teenager to play his character, Luke, and because they’d seen his various x many weeks on T videos on the early days of YouTube.
His transness has been on public record for so long that sometimes Nash forgets he still has to come out with some people.
Still, he’d purposefully left out his testosterone gel on the bedside table, just in case everything wasn’t obvious enough.
He stirs the ancient packet risotto, which is just about starting to smell like real risotto he might want to eat.
‘Am I the first trans guy you’ve slept with?’ he asks, and Christopher nods. ‘But you’ve slept with men and women, right?’
‘Not loads of either, but yes. You’re not the first trans person I’ve slept with.’
‘Well, everyone has their own preferences,’ he says, trying to keep this as matter-of-fact as possible.
‘Your mouth on my cock was pretty good. Penetration is a maybe, we can talk about that if you want to do it, else we can just use hands and mouths. I also like to top if you are into that, but I don’t have a strap with me. ’
This conversation is always awkward, but the way Christopher is trying to be so serious and stay present in the moment, rather than turning into a gigantic beet like he normally does, is kind of endearing. ‘I don’t have one either,’ he says, which Nash takes to mean a strap.
‘Oh well, that’ll be someone else’s first with you. Is there stuff you don’t like?’
Christopher blinks a few times, as though this might be the first time someone has asked him. Fuck, he hopes it’s not. ‘Err, not that I can think of. I’ll just say, in the moment.’
‘Are you sure, Calloway? You’re not really a say it in the moment kind of man.’
He smiles, a little embarrassed. ‘I will endeavour to be.’
The watery risotto starts to bubble, and Nash turns the heat down, beginning the laborious constant stirring you have to do even with the packet stuff.
‘And,’ Christopher continues, ‘just tell me if I’m not doing anything right or saying the wrong thing.’
‘I will.’
The thing is, as uncomfortable as Christopher looks, Nash would quite like to kiss him after this.
Too many cis guys don’t take a moment to ask basic questions about his body and his wants, which is one of many reasons why he doesn’t seek them out anymore.
But against all the odds, Christopher keeps standing out.
And it’s not that alone that makes Nash want Christopher more, but it does make him respect him more. Perhaps even trust him more. There’s a lot of trusting he’s had to do in the last few days, so why not let them have fun, too?
Nash is just about to reach up and grab Christopher’s collar, push him up against the kitchen door, when his phone starts to buzz. At first he thinks it’s the timer going off, but in fact it’s Kurt.
Time to face the music and forget about making out with the hot English man for a bit. There’s nothing like his impending work crisis to numb his desire.
‘I need to take this,’ Nash says, staring at his phone. ‘Can you deal with the risotto?’
‘Yes, just stir, right?’ Christopher responds.
‘Until it looks like risotto, yeah.’
Nash dips out of the kitchen and pulls the bedroom door closed. ‘Hey Kurt. Not sitting on my doorstep today, are you?’
‘Not today, unfortunately for your doorstep. Happy Christmas Eve.’
‘And to you. Are you driving home?’
Kurt grew up in the Bay Area, where his entire family still lives, even his many siblings – Nash tried to memorise all their names at first, but they just keep sprouting up, like hydra heads. In the end he just resolved to pretend he knows who anyone is whenever he needs to.
‘Yeah, man. The car’s loaded with gifts and I am ready to hug my Bubbe. Auntie Catalina is cooking this year, so you know it’ll be a good one.’
‘So, you’re making me your last work call of the season?’
‘God, no offence, but I hope so. Look, I know they pushed back negotiations, which is a good thing for both of us. But I also know they’ll be back in the office and ready to talk on the 29th, which means you and I need to be on the same page by the 28th, right?’
‘Right.’
That’s an even bigger relief. This weather has to let up soon. He’ll be back in LA way before the 29th. His mind whirs over the logistics, and he half wishes he could click off the call to check the forecast for the next few days.
‘Is there anything else you want to say?’ Kurt nudges him.
‘Not right now,’ Nash says, a little too shortly. His mind is still thinking about flights.
He can hear a kind of frustrated groan from Kurt’s end. ‘Dude, I know you think you’re very subtle and clever, but I always know when something is up. You go all squirrelly and quiet—’
‘I do not.’
‘You do. I wouldn’t be a good agent if I didn’t notice when you were quietly pissed or worrying about something, as looking after you is a major part of my job.
We’ve been working together for what, fifteen years now?
You’re like a little brother to me, and anything you want to tell me, well, we can work with it.
But you gotta tell me what it is before we go back to the table, capiche?
I’m not asking you to tell me now, so you’ve got the next few days to make a bullet-point list, a mind map, anything. But you do need to do something.’
‘Okay, Kurt. I’ll try.’
‘Good. I hope whatever that situation you were dealing with has resolved itself?’
‘Err. Yeah.’
‘Are they cute, at least?’
Nash can’t help but laugh. ‘Am I that obvious?’
‘Probably not, but I know you. You’re a romantic who hates to admit they are, and you love a fixer-upper, so I put two and two together.’
Well. He’s not entirely wrong.
‘Go have fun. Happy holidays.’ Kurt says, after a pause.
‘Merry Christmas, Kurt. Have a good one.’
When he gets back to the kitchen, Christopher has plated up the risotto and topped it with some fresh parsley leaves picked off a plant, and some grated Parmesan.
His back is still to Nash, so he takes a moment to just watch.
There’s something so domesticated about all this that it’s doing something strange to his insides.
He’s been wanting this, quietly, for so long.
Someone to make dinner with. Someone to make dinner for.
The thing about being a workaholic is that you can always put those relationship wants on the back burner by pretending that you’re ‘just too busy for it right now’.
He can tell himself that, maybe one day, when the film industry or wherever he ends up next inevitably gets a little fed up with him, it’ll be different.
He’ll have more time for his people then, right?