This is a Thanksgiving m/m contemporary where I thought about two lovers who have drifted into seeing each other once a year. Then I had to figure out why. I was surprised when Emerson finally told me the answer.
Blurb and Link
Every year Emerson hosts Thanksgiving with Paul and Liz. But this year things are going to change. Liz warns she is moving. And Paul is determined that his once-a-year fling with Emerson is going to change to something more.
Emerson knew he couldn’t say what he meant. Even if he could, it would overwhelm the man sitting next to him. The man he got for a holiday weekend, once a year. Paul was here for a good time right now and because they’d had a lot of shared good times in the past.
But Emerson was here because Paul’s visit kept him going for the next 363 days until he saw him again.
This was the man he’d been in love with for years.
A wave of familiar longing and loss and horniness sucked him in. He couldn’t say anything like that to Paul. Couldn’t admit to being that needy.
But he could take action.
“This much.” Emerson took a deep breath and leaned forward.
Emerson never moved fast. Quiet, soft-spoken, stay in the background was his style. So what the hell?
One minute Paul was cautiously putting the moves on his old college dorm mate, just the way Emerson had always liked it. The next minute Paul was stretched out on the old leather couch, Emerson on top of him, with Emerson's tongue in his throat, Emerson's fingers flipping open his fly's snap, and Emerson's cock digging hard into his own suddenly painfully eager erection.
Jesus! Paul unlatched Emerson's belt. Sometimes change was very good.
“Leave it. Mine.” Emerson growled—definitely growled—and Paul moved on to undo the buttons on Emerson's flannel shirt. He hoped the no touching rule only meant the belt and below, and only because Emerson was fighting for some control. For now Paul would be willing to go elsewhere to feel some skin-to-skin, any skin-to-skin. But he definitely planned on more later.
The shirt gaped open and Paul licked Emerson's almost hairless chest. He could hear the thud of the man's heart kick up a notch.
The couch creaked as Emerson began to tug on Paul's jeans. Whoever this alien-in-Emerson's-body was, he should have arrived years ago. Paul arched up and pushed against Emerson's body.
“Fuck.” A slightly cold breeze hit Paul's body as Emerson got him naked—or at least with his pants down to his ankles. Naked enough.
Emerson muttered and cursed again under his breath as he shoved his own pants off and then climbed back on top of Paul. Emerson hesitated, just a minute, staring down at him. “Condoms are in the bedroom.”
The bedroom was about twenty steps too far away.
“I'm clean, guy.” Paul looked up at him. “I swear.”
And Emerson, being Emerson, took him at his word. “Got lube in my shirt pocket.”
“I take it you're on top tonight.”
“Any problem with that?”
Paul knew he was giving his newly appointed top a sappy, wide grin. “Not our usual style but hell, I was just thinking I like change. “
“I'll wake you up if you drift off.” One of Emerson's fingers toyed with Paul's ass, slid up between the cheeks, and circled his hole.