St-st-stuffed

by Anyta Sunday

  Karl gave a one-shouldered shrug. “But you’re right, too. I like to cook. It’s not all about becoming successful.” Paul slid a hand over the counter and picked up Karl’s coffee. He brought it to his lips and sipped. When he’d drained the cup, Karl refilled it with a grin. As he handed it over, Paul asked, “Do you have plans for Thanksgiving?”

  Karl laughed. “Yeah, like I have family welcoming me over with open arms.”

  “Sure you do, Karl. You’re having it with us. Okay, I’m going to preface this with a request . . . ” He took a sip of coffee, raising to his lips as if some kind of protection. “I’d like it if you cooked. It’d be us three, Tirone, Gillian, and Charlie’s grandparents: Sue and Timothy.”

  Karl’s stomach had dropped to the floor and wasn’t coming back up. Request aside, or heck, even including it—that was the kindest thing anyone had ever said to him. Right now, he wanted to lean right over the counter again and kiss him, soft like the last time. Only this time knowingly. But he stuck to Paul’s wishes, smiling instead. “I’d like that.”

  Karl picked up the hot-cocoa and toast and took it in to Charlie.

  “Thanks!”

  Karl ruffled his hair. “Sure thing. You want more, just shout. Actually, better not shout; just come ask me, okay?”

  Charlie nodded, his eyes latched to the screen. Karl made his way back to Paul. He plucked the cup out of Paul’s hands and sat on a bar stool, one away from Paul. “So, what are your plans for the day?” He took a gulp of the now luke-warm liquid.

  “Not really sure yet.” Paul got off the stool and snatched the cup back with the cutest grin Karl had seen. “I thought about going to the park and walking from there to the waterfront. Maybe eating a piece of cake in a café or something. I’ll ask Charlie what he’d like to do.” Paul glanced at his watch and when he spoke, his tone grew bitter. “And sooner the better. I hate to waste the only real time I have with him.”

  Karl gauged Paul’s expression and risked asking, “The only real time?”

  Paul raised a ‘don’t be stupid’ brow. “Dinner and putting him to bed hardly counts. And I don’t just want to be the one to discipline him. I want to be a real part of his growing up. The fun stuff, too.” Paul gave him a small smile. “I think you were right about it being too early for heavy discussions.” He shook off his sudden reflective mood.

  Karl thumped a hand on his back. “Go on, then. Go. And good luck prying him from the television.”

  Paul groaned. “Sometimes, I swear I hate the TV. Then, other times, it’s a life-saver.”

  A long overdue yawn escaped Karl as he agreed with Paul. He stood up and stretched, catching Paul’s gaze on his torso. He extended the pose longer than he needed to—and with a wicked internal grin.

  “What are your plans?” Paul quickly asked.

  “Long shower.” Other than that, he wasn’t sure. He passed Paul, pausing at his stool, and whispered, “I’ll think of you.” Karl admired the red glow brightening Paul’s cheeks. He chuckled and continued down the hall.

  “That’s no fair!” Paul called after him. He turned to see the guy coming toward him with a confidence Karl had lacked last night. He hid the surprise that Paul’s hushed next words gave him. “You can’t turn me on like that when I have to behave the entire day, while you get to—no. No shower. Clothes on, you’re coming with us.”

  “What? But—”

  “Quick-smart.”

  Karl scowled as he pulled on some clothes, but the annoyance was barely surface deep. There was something hot about Paul’s demand—that they’d damn well enjoy the benefit of it later. And, actually, it felt nice to be invited on a family outing. Of course, he’d have to keep his distance, but spending time with both Charlie and Paul—he didn’t know how it got better than that.

  Hmmm. Maybe he would cook tonight, too.

  12

  Variable

  KARL’S HANDS SNAKED over the mattress, air skittled over his naked chest, and he wanted to press Paul into him—keep them both warm. The edge of the bed curved into his palm . . . wh-what? Still half-asleep, he cracked his eyes open.

  Of course. He was in his own room.

  Yawning, he stretched and sat up, eyeing the empty half of the bed. Better this way. He couldn’t imagine how cranky he’d be without a wink of sleep. Dozy, he padded into the bathroom and relieved himself. After washing up, Karl went to leave but hesitated. Backtracking, he stopped at the door leading to Paul’s room. Inching it open, he peered into the room to see Paul curled on his side.

  Karl thought about tip-toeing over there and sneaking in next to him, wrapping him in his arms like he’d imagined only minutes before. But Paul seemed so at peace. For a minute, Karl leaned against the doorframe and watched the steady rise and fall of his side.

  Quietly, he shut the door and made his way back to bed, where a comforting sleep claimed him for the remainder of the night.

  A ticklish breath on his neck and the murmur of his name awakened him. Paul kneeled at the side of his bed, a large cup cradled in his hands. A glance at the side-table clock he’d recently purchased surprised him by flashing 10:20. He sprung into a sitting position. How could he have slept in? It was a Monday. "Bananas!"

  He flung the comforter aside, preparing to jump out of bed. Charlie needed to be dropped off hours ago. Paul was so late for work. Wait a sec. Why wasn’t he upset? For that matter, why hadn’t he woken him earlier?

  A slow smile spread on Paul’s face. Karl registered the guy wasn’t in a suit. Rather, a faded pair of jeans and simple navy shirt. "Chill, Karl. Here, drink this." Paul handed him the cup.

  A warm mouthful of coffee slid down his throat. "Thanks." It came out a question.

  "You look like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t. It’s all right, Karl, I dropped Charlie off to pre-school. He’ll have a short day while we shop for Thanksgiving supplies."

  Karl set the cup on the side table. "You have the day off?"

  "Yep."

  "Why didn’t you tell me that last night?"

  "It was a last minute thing. I don’t have much work scheduled for today, so I’m pushing it until tomorrow and taking today as a holiday."

  "What made you want to give up one of your holiday days to shop? You know I would’ve done it."

  Paul got to his feet and, gesturing for Karl to bunch over, sat himself on the bed. "Don’t be mad, but I-I came in here this morning. To wake you, thinking your alarm wasn’t working or something. But, well, you looked so out-to-it and cozy—I couldn’t bring myself to wake you." How the hell did Paul think he’d be mad for that? Crazy man.

  Paul rested his shoulders back against the wall, looking out toward a gap in the curtains. "Well, I left you a note in case you got up, telling you I was taking care of Charlie. When I got back and you were still sleeping, something inside just signed-off the workday. Wanted to be with you instead."

  "Damn." Karl felt like he would tear open at the force of the smile that erupted through him. Yes, through him. His whole body tingled, almost to the point of shaking. Exactly what he imagined a smile to feel like. "That’s so sweet."

  Paul laughed, and each peal felt like it was undressing him further. Karl curled his knees up into his chest.

  "It wasn’t really that sweet. Sweet would have been letting you wake up on your own. But I got impatient." Paul looked at him, grinning. "I can’t remember what I used to do to occupy myself. I was just sitting in the lounge flicking through books, itching for you to finally get your cute ass out of bed."

  Karl twisted, moving so he knelt, facing Paul. He raised a cheeky brow. "Cute ass, huh? I would’ve gone for hot, but if cute makes you flush like that, then cute it is." He grabbed Paul’s hands and slapped them on his ass. "Can you think of any other descriptive words—"

  Paul cut him off, attacking him with a passionate kiss that had them both suddenly horizontal. Each fought for dominance, laughing at each twist and turn. Wow, this felt good, and natural—differ
ent from the times before. No angst or hesitancy behind it.

  Karl tugged at Paul’s buttons, quickly making him shirtless and evening things up. As he tugged at Paul’s zipper, hot breath rushed into his ear with: "No words can describe how f-fucking amazing you feel."

  The slight stutter somehow made it not only hot, but also endearing. Like it was definitely Paul saying it—no one else would have been able to. Not like he did.

  Karl felt so warm, and Jesus, was he turned on. Only he had to keep himself in control, they hadn’t done more than hand jobs, and at the rate they were going, Karl felt very much like skipping some steps.

  He pushed back against Paul’s chest, breathing hard.

  "Why are you stopping?" Paul asked, frowning.

  "Because I don’t want to stop."

  He chuckled and pulled him to close the gap between them again. "That makes no sense."

  Karl smiled, but shook his head. "You don’t get it, Paul, I’m so hot for you right now, I want to fuck you until you scream."

  Paul swallowed, hard and loud, his face brightening. He bit his lip.

  Karl moved off him again. "But I’m not going to do that."

  "Uh, I’m not ready for that . . . yet." Paul grabbed Karl and, in a smooth sweep, pinned him onto the bed. He nibbled at his ear. "But I have another idea . . . "

  * * *

  Shit. He was afraid he was going to be adjusting himself all day. He couldn’t stop thinking about just how hot they’d been together. And Paul’s hot, wet tongue. The way he’d circled and . . . He shivered. Again.

  "You okay?" Paul asked, backing the Lamborghini into a parking space. Up on the top level of the lot, this time.

  What a question. Hell yeah. And absolutely not. How on earth was he going to shop sporting this bulge? He should’ve worn loose pants. Stupid! He glanced at Paul. "Fiiine." The vowel came out a shudder. Why did Paul have to keep sliding his tongue over his bottom lip like that? If he didn’t know better, he’d think Paul was toying with him.

  Maybe he was toying with him.

  "Right, you have the shopping list?" Paul asked.

  "You said you took it."

  "When did I say that? I asked you whether you had it before we left. You said. ‘Right.’"

  "What?" Karl shook his head, and climbed out of the car. "You said: ‘Have the list!’ As in I’ve got it, let’s go."

  "No—" Paul’s door shut. "It was a question. Didn’t you hear my voice rise at the end?"

  "Well, crap. Let’s just make it up as we go then. Most of the recipes are in my head anyhow."

  Paul jammed the keys into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. Karl looked from it to the large grin on Paul’s face.

  "You rat." Karl snatched it off him, but there was a definite smile on his face.

  "Just messing with you." Paul glanced around the parking lot. They were far from the nearest person. "Right." And Karl heard the sudden nervous twang. "Let’s do this, then."

  Karl pushed the trolley down the wide but crammed aisles. He’d already bumped into two people so far and had one basket rammed into his side. This was no way to shop. There wasn’t the time to check out the quality of the ingredients. It was grab and go.

  Paul wasn’t helping.

  He darted around, keeping as much distance between them as he could. He’d even chuck things into the trolley, so he wouldn’t get caught between Karl and shopper X.

  Strange, the contrast. How distant Paul acted in public, compared to how close—how very close—they’d been just hours before. And it hadn’t been just physically close. Open was a better word.

  Karl watched Paul grab stuff off the shelves, only occasionally daring to glance his way. What went through his mind? Obviously, he was conflicted by this—them—but was there something more Karl could do to make him better with it? At the moment, the only way he knew to help was by allowing and understanding the need for distance.

  It would just take time. And there were moments, no matter how fleeting, when Paul would extend a glance, or brush fingers against his. Before he’d snap back into distant mode. That boded well. Right?

  But it was a little frustrating. Except that, if Karl thought about it, Paul acted exactly how he had with Will—before.

  Will had been so patient. The first guy he’d had a relationship with who hadn’t also been in the closet. Also the first and only to yodel. Karl shook his head at the memories, re-focusing on how he’d acted in his past relationships. Funny, the contradictions. He’d not been out, but he’d always been the one to initiate something. Like a part of him didn’t care what people thought. As long as his parents didn’t know.

  He’d been hot and cold. All over the place. So he had no reason to be even remotely frustrated with Paul.

  Except that he was. He wanted to show Paul off, walking down the street hand in hand. And hell, he really wanted to kiss the grin that came over his face when the guy laughed at a joke on a cereal box.

  But those feeling were ridiculous, because they’d only known each other, what, three months? And they’d only started this . . . thing four weeks ago.

  Paul checked his watch and threw a couple of boxes into the trolley. He wanted to pick Charlie up after his lunch nap. Karl checked the time. Which was still a couple of hours off.

  Karl stared at the silver watch-strap as Paul unloaded their shopping onto the belt, thinking how every time, before they did anything, Paul would take it off.

  A trolley wheel met his heel. Impatient idiot.

  Finally, they burst outside. Cool wind rushed over them.

  "That confirms it," Paul said as they headed for the car, "I really hate shopping."

  "This time of year, it’s lethal. Damn, I even think my heel’s bleeding."

  Bickering, they loaded the car. Paul visibly relaxed as soon as the doors shut. He sank into the chair, and closed his eyes. "Let’s get this stuff home, and since we have some time . . . " Paul rubbed his lips together, a sneaky grin quirking a dimple. "We should make burgers for lunch."

  Right. There in that grin lay the proof. The guy had definitely been toying with him!

  Oh, he so was not going to get away with it.

  * * *

  Everything set. The turkey, the side dishes, the cranberry sauce. Dessert was in the fridge. Karl ran an eye down the list once more. Excellent, they were scheduled to eat at seven.

  Paul, Gillian, and Tirone laughed as they set up the table in the lounge, and Karl smiled. The belly-deep sound Paul made had a zinging effect on his skin. The little hairs would stand on end when they were close—like the laugh physically passed through him as well.

  Tirone waltzed into the kitchen and met Karl’s gaze with a sheepish grin. "Gillian keeps pinching me to find some matches. Paul said to try the kitchen, he wasn’t sure if there are any."

  "Try the pantry." The guy had never outright apologized for his drunken behavior, but he’d said his apology over and over in the look he always gave Karl. Karl smiled back, trying to make it more comfortable between them again. He wanted to get on well with Tirone, because Paul thought highly of him. And he really did seem all right enough.

  "You’re lost in thought there." Gillian’s voice came from his right.

  "Ah, just making a mental note I’ve everything organized for dinner."

  "Well, it smells incredible." She moved to the oven and peeked into the pots. "God, I haven’t eaten in forever in preparation for this."

  Tirone snorted behind her.

  She whirled around. "What was that for?"

  "You stuffed an entire caramilk bar into that mouth of yours on the way over here."

  "It’s not carbohydrates, it doesn’t really count. And you’re just upset you couldn’t have some."

  "There aren’t any damn matches here. And I only wanted one piece."

  "You made me promise you not to give you any!"

  Karl chuckled under his breath. Took the gas lighter and handed it to Tirone. "Use that."

  The
two stalked out of the kitchen, their voices quieting between walls.

  A shout rumbled down the hall. The sound had Karl’s heart racing. Charlie! He whipped out of the kitchen, and raced to him. Dropped to his knees, and swept the hopping boy into his arms. "What’s the matter?" He prayed the kid hadn’t twisted his foot or broken it somehow.

  "My foot won’t wake up."

  Karl let out a guttural (mainly relieved) laugh.

  "Nathan told me yelling would work."

  "I think he was yanking your chain." Jeez, kids were clever even at four. "It’ll be right soon, okay? Now, go wash your hands, dinner will be served very soon."

  Charlie hobbled past him. When Karl turned around, Paul was standing there. He nodded and said something to Charlie, and when the boy was out of sight, latched his gaze on his. A smile played at Paul’s lips. As if, instinctively, they were both moving toward each other.

  The doorbell ringing fizzled the—moment out. Paul glanced at the hand he’d just rested on Karl’s arm. Dropped it. "That’ll be Sue and Timothy." And he hurried away.

  Sue, tall and elegant, didn’t strike Karl as particularly motherly. She was friendly enough, sure, but the long, pristine set of nails she had on her, made him wonder if she ever picked Charlie up.

  Timothy, on the other hand, he had less problem imagining around kids. Though it was possible the bald spot had something to do with that. Just like his Pop’s. Or maybe it was the abracadabra type smile he donned. Sort of looked a match for Charlie’s she-sha magic. It wouldn’t have surprised him if Timothy had given Charlie the idea to begin with.

  "How very modern of you to be a male nanny," Sue said, sitting herself across from Charlie as Karl prepared a plate of food for the boy.

  "Um, well, this is a temporary job." Karl’s heart beat faster as he said that, and for some reason, he wished he could take it back. Instead, he smiled politely. "I hope to be a chef, someday."

  Paul slunk into the seat between Karl and Charlie, taking over from Karl. "He’ll make an excellent one, and soon we’ll all be dining at his restaurant."

  Timothy flashed him a mighty smile that Karl could have sworn was his Pop’s. An eerie moment passed over him as he wondered if maybe it was somehow. How stupid was he to think that might be a sign Pop wanted him to reach his dream? It was really stupid.