Chapter Twenty-Five Afterglow
I woke up before he did. There must have been a big storm overnight, because when I opened the curtains, I saw the ground, the trees, everything, covered in snow and blinding white. I let him sleep and went to the bathroom for a shower, and when I got out, he was waiting at the door. I hugged him.
“I’ll make breakfast for us,” I said.
“Sure.”
I did the works: pancakes, fried bread, eggs, and bacon, and I made it extra special because of, well, last night. I set the table and filled a plate for him. I was putting it on the table when he came out of the bathroom. But when he went to sit at the kitchen table, he winced and stood up.
“Honey kid? What is it?”
“Just a little sore.” He took his food to the living room and sat carefully on the couch.
“You want some ibuprofen?”
“Didn’t bring any. Did you?”
“No, but I can go out and get some.”
“Don’t worry.”
“I did this to you. I’ll get some.”
I noticed he was shivering. I got the sweatshirt I’d bought him out of my suitcase and brought it back to him.
“Here,” I said. “I bought this for you.”
“Why?”
“’Cause it’s warm, and I figured you’d look good in it.”
I pulled it on for him. His hair stuck up everywhere, so I smoothed it with both hands.
He was growing it out for me, and he looked...
He had no business looking that good. I was so fucking lucky.
I cupped the back of his neck and kissed him.
I wasn’t turning him on—probably couldn’t if he was hurting.
“Stay there,” I said.
I got him a blanket from the bedroom and arranged it over him. Tucking it around his body gave me a chance to touch him everywhere.
“Remember that first night you spent at my place when you asked me if I wanted to tuck you in?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, here you go.” I wanted to muss up his hair, but I’d just straightened it out, so I didn’t. “You want me to build you a fire?”
“Is that a real fireplace?” he said.
“Yeah. Haven’t you ever seen a fireplace before?”
“Sure, on TV.”
I couldn’t tell if he was bullshitting me. I guess if he’d never left the city, maybe he hadn’t seen one before.
The owners of the house had left firewood and instructions out, which I didn’t need.
From my time in Cubs, I knew how to start a fire without matches, but since there were matches, and I didn’t want to waste any time getting out to the pharmacy to get his pills, I used those.
Once I had the fire going, I got him my laptop.
“I have movies on there if you get bored.”
“You driving back to Toronto for those pills?” he said.
“No, but I’ve gotta dig the car out of the snow. I’m gonna be a while.”
I put my coat and boots on and found a snow shovel by the door. And yeah, we really got dumped on. I checked the shed for a snow blower, but there was only the shovel. I did spot a couple pairs of snowshoes while I was checking the shed.
I cleared the snow off the car and dug out the driveway, which was as much of a workout as tap practice.
The rental had all-season tires on, which wasn’t ideal.
At least the road was plowed. On my way to the pharmacy, I passed one of those family restaurants the farmers lined up to eat at, with a sign that read Home-Cooked Food on the roof.
I’d eaten at a bunch of those when I was on the road doing tap competitions. The food was always amazing.
I found a pharmacy and got him ibuprofen and a heating pad.
I wanted to buy him things. I kept thinking about what he’d done for me last night.
I felt more grown up and like I loved him more than I ever had, which didn’t seem possible.
I got antsy waiting in line at the pharmacy to pay for my stuff.
I couldn’t wait to get back to him, and I started worrying something was going to happen to him while I was gone, like the cottage would burn down, and he wouldn’t be able to get out.
I knew it was stupid, but I still worried.
And he was totally fine when I got back. He’d eaten breakfast and washed his dishes, and he was lying on the couch with my laptop on his lap.
“How are you doing?” I said.
“Okay.”
I filled a glass of water and brought it to him with the pill bottle. He swallowed one and drank the water.
“Got you a heating pad too,” I said. I nuked it in the ancient microwave in the kitchen, brought it out to him, and positioned it behind his back. Then I sat on the couch and put my arms around his shoulders. “Better?”
“Yeah, thanks,” he said. “I think I found you a tap company.” He pointed at the laptop screen.
I looked over his shoulder. “Nope.”
“What do you mean ‘nope’?” he said.
“They’re a Toronto-based tap company, and every member is white. They’re all men too. That’s a problem.”
“Why?” he said. “You’re a white man. You’d fit right in.”
“Eddie, there’s no way that company is all white men because they couldn’t find any qualified dancers of color or any women. I’d never audition for a company like that. But I appreciate the thought.”
“It’s your call.”
We arranged ourselves on the couch with his head cradled in my lap, and we watched the pilot episode of Tens on my laptop while I put my hand under the blanket and let it rove over his body, stroking him everywhere.
“You must notice things about TV shows other people don’t. Being an actor.”
“I used to watch TV. Now, I just make out with my boyfriend.”
“Ahem,” I said. “Fiancé.”
He rolled his eyes. “Fiancé, then.”
The episode ended.
“Feeling better?” I said.
“Yeah.”
“Better enough to go out? I found some snowshoes in the shed.”
“I don’t know how,” he said.
“It’s easy once you get the hang of it.”
We went outside, and I got out the snowshoes. I gave him the pair that were in better shape. Then we went for a walk. The muscle memory kicked in, and I made a trail for us across the snow. He kept stepping on his snowshoes, tripping, and falling.
He was struggling to get up, then he quit and lay in the snow. “It’s not easy.”
I went over and pulled him up. “It’s like riding a bike.”
“Or riding you?” He put his arms around me.
I’d forgotten about us being a two-way street.
“Um, Eddie? You’re standing on my snowshoes.”
It took us a minute to disentangle ourselves, and he nearly fell over again.
“Let’s head back,” I said. I could tell he was getting tired.
We couldn’t get close enough with our snowshoes on to hold hands.
“Guess we won’t be doing it against a tree today,” I said.
“Good thing. I don’t want to get frostbite on my dick.”
When we got to the clearing around the cottage, he took his snowshoes off and waded through the snow. I picked up his snowshoes, returned them to the shed, and joined him inside. There was a broom in the entryway, and I used it to brush the snow off his jeans. He found this process hilarious.
“You want to go out for an early dinner?” I asked him. “I passed a restaurant when I was looking for the pharmacy. Looked pretty nice.”
“Will I have to dress up?”
I pictured the farmers eating there.
“No,” I said.
I figured if we went early, we’d miss the lunch and dinner rushes. And I was right. The parking lot was only half-full when we got there.
On the server’s recommendation, we had turkey with cranberry stuffing, roast potatoes, and maple-glazed carrots and hot chocolate with marshmallows.
“You had hot chocolate on our first date,” I said. “You gave it to me when I was choking on my bagel because I couldn’t believe we were actually gonna do it. And we did, but it took eight months.”
“Technically, we still haven’t done it,” he said.
He didn’t say it like it bothered him, just like he was setting the record straight. Or bi. Whatever. I sipped my hot chocolate. They’d made it with real chocolate, not powder.
He laughed.
“What?” I said.
“You’ve got marshmallow on your nose.” He reached across the table with his napkin and wiped it off.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“I remember that date,” I said. “I couldn’t believe I’d found you after so long and that you said yes when I asked you out. Then when you told me you were single, all I could think about was how much I wanted to blow you.”
“You weren’t even drunk.”
“I couldn’t tell you what I was thinking until I was drunk, but I was thinking it stone-cold sober.” I lowered my voice. “I’m thinking about it now, actually.”
He blinked at me.
“You want to order dessert?” I said.
“Maybe we should get something to go.”
“Good idea.”
I insisted on paying for us both, just like I had on our first date. I bought us a couple of butter tarts from the pastry cabinet by the till. Places like this made their pastry from scratch, and they used real maple syrup.
He was waiting for me by the door. We went out into the cold together and got in the car. I started the engine. Then I turned on the heat, cupped the back of his neck, and kissed him. I didn’t care who saw us. I wanted him that much.
“Thanks,” I said.
“For what?”
“For last night.” I kissed him again. “I’m kissing you in the parking lot of this fancy diner.”
“You wanna blow me in the parking lot of this fancy diner?”
“We might get arrested if I do that here.” I put my hand on his thigh and squeezed. Then I put my seatbelt on, put the car in drive, and pulled out of the lot.
“I want you,” I said.
“You wanna blow me when we get back to the cottage?”
“Who says you have to wait till we get back?” I turned down a gravel road and drove until we were surrounded by trees, far enough from the main road that no one passing by could see. I stopped the car, popped my seatbelt, and looked at him. I popped his seatbelt too. “Slide your seat right back.”
He did, with a shaking hand, and his seat jolted backward a foot.
I’d never had sex in a car. Closest I came was in the back of Ben’s van with Brian’s ex. There was a lot more room in the van. This would be tight, but I was going to make it work.
The first thing I did was get my coat off.
Then I climbed out of the driver’s seat and over the gearshift carefully so it didn’t nail my balls, which would have killed the mood.
I knelt in the footwell between his knees.
For the first time in my life I didn’t wish I was taller.
Six-foot-tall Craig would not have been able to do this. But it was still cramped.
“Tilt your seat back,” I said.
He fumbled with the handle while I put a fist on the seat on either side of his shoulders and pushed until the seat ratcheted all the way back.
It was still really tight. The glove box was digging into my back, but I had enough room to work with.
While he watched, I opened his coat and pulled up his sweatshirt. Underneath, he was wearing his blue T-shirt, the one I’d sewn up for him after he’d moved in with me. I ran my hand over it, brushing my knuckles gently down his chest and belly. I stopped at his belt.
It was quiet in the car, apart from our breathing and the jingle of his belt as I loosened it. I thought about playing some music, but I’d already started, and I didn’t want to stop to look for something to put on.
I popped the button on his jeans and unzipped him.
As I put my hand inside, I kissed him, and he melted into the seat, and fuck, he was really, really hard.
That was when I realized I hadn’t made him shoot since before we’d headed to the cottage.
He’d been doing all this stuff for me, and I’d done nothing for him. I hadn’t even proposed.
I better make this good. I better make this the best blow job he’s ever had.
I gave him one of those kisses he liked.
His dick jumped in my hand as I pulled away.
Then I went down on him. I didn’t have much room to work in, and part of me wanted him to finish quickly, but the other part was thinking about what he’d done for me the night before, and I put the discomfort out of my mind, the way I did when I was performing injured in a tap competition.
I focused on his responses, caressing his waist, but not enough to tickle, working him slowly and teasing him with my tongue until his whole body was shuddering.
His breathing grew harsher. He was never very vocal when I blew him.
I guess he’d learned not to be if most of the time he’d had sex, he’d been in someone else’s house with other people around.
So I knew I must have really pushed him outside his control when he gave this long, drawn-out yell that cleared out his lungs.
Then he shot. It was a good thing we were in the middle of nowhere.
If he’d done that at home, all the neighbors on our floor would have heard him.
I made my mouth soft around him and swallowed him down as a gust of wind hit, and the car was quiet apart from the crystalline sounds of snow pinging off metal and glass and him sighing in time with the pulsing of his dick in my mouth.
When he was finished, I pulled off him, clambered up the seat, and straddled him, gathering him into my arms and holding him. He lay there, limp. I’d totally wrecked him. I’d never felt so proud of myself.
I whispered in his ear, “My honey kid.”
His left hand flailed as he patted my back.
“Jesus,” he said, his voice all raspy. “I wanna lick the snow off the ground.”
“Let’s get you back to the cottage. I’ll make you some hot apple cider.”
I climbed into the driver’s seat and put my coat back on. While I started the engine, he tucked his dick into his jeans and zipped up, and I was thinking I should have done that for him because he was still shaking.
“You want me to do something for you?” he said.
“You already did. Making you shoot like that sent me into fucking orbit.”
“Yeah,” he sighed. “Just got back from there...it’s nice.”
We laughed like idiots as I drove.