by KC Burn
Tony shuddered. "I know it's healthier than some of the other options, but chicken on pizza seems like a desecration. I'll eat it, though, if you love it."
The vehemence made Dean smile. "Nah, I won't force you to eat desecrated pizza. I like veggie just fine." And veggie was better for his waistline, although he did occasionally splurge on pepperoni.
Dean pulled out his phone and ordered a pizza, changing his normal order to a large. A medium usually lasted Dean two or three meals, but Tony had already demonstrated a much bigger appetite. Dean would be lucky if he ended up with any leftovers at all.
Still unsure of the exact protocol, Dean found and queued up The Village.
"Let's wait to start it until the pizza gets here."
"Uh. Okay." Dean pressed pause. Were they supposed to talk or something now? He and dating were only nodding acquaintances. The conversations he'd had with Tony on the phone were less stressful. He didn't have to worry about how close to sit or if he was going to spill beer down his sweater. The silence stretched out awkwardly, and Dean stopped caring about potential spills. He needed something to keep his hands occupied, so he grabbed his beer and swallowed a large mouthful.
He licked his lips, and Tony's gaze fell to his mouth. Again, he could swear Tony wanted to eat him alive, but he'd already said he wasn't there for sex. Dean was tense and so fucking confused.
"I like your apartment."
"Oh. Thanks. It's maybe bigger than I need, but the price was right and it's close to work."
"How was work today?"
Tony asked this every time they spoke, and every time, Dean was taken aback by the question. He was quickly growing used to someone caring, Tony's apparent interest smoothing away some of Dean's fears like a river wore away sharp rock edges.
They spoke a bit about work, and Tony told him some funny stories about his niece's pageant—Dean still hadn’t gotten them all straight. Then, Tony looked around. "Where are your photos?"
He almost didn't understand the question. "What photos?" He wasn't a photographer. He hadn't even taken a selfie with his fancy smartphone. No need, since he didn't have anyone to share them with.
"You know. Pictures. Your family. Birthday parties."
With just a few words, his stomach knotted up, killing his appetite. He wanted the pizza to show up now, just to get him out of this awkward interrogation, but at this point, he wouldn't be able to eat a bite.
"I don't have any family." The words were curt, and if he had to force out the second half of that statement, that he'd never had a birthday party, he'd probably puke.
"Oh. I'm so sorry." Tony grabbed his beer, set both of them on the table, and pulled him into a hug. For several moments, Dean remained stiff in Tony's arms, but with the undemanding warmth of Tony's body and the spicy scent of Tony's soap assailing his nostrils, his walls crumbled a little more. Muscles suddenly rubbery, he wrapped his arms tight around Tony's waist and reveled in the comfort that came from human contact, comfort that had been denied to him for as long as he could remember. When his eyes burned and his vision got blurry, he sniffed and pulled away. A hug was already too far down this slippery slope he'd traveled with Tony. Tears would be beyond humiliating.
"Did you want to tell me what happened?"
Afraid any words would trigger the tears that still blurred his vision, he just shook his head frantically.
"Okay, okay." Tony had let him pull out of the hug, but kept touching. Just as the opposing want and fear became almost overwhelming, threatening to tear him apart inside, a loud, angry buzz made them both jump.
"What the hell was that?" Tony's gaze leapt around. "Was that the fire alarm?"
A smile threatened to emerge, and smiles were better than tears, so Dean let out a watery chuckle as he stood. "Nope. That's the entry buzzer." He stabbed the button to let the delivery guy into the building and turned back to Tony, who looked like an irate, scalded cat.
"How can you stand that?"
Dean shrugged. "It's an old building. I got used to it. The fire alarm is quite a bit worse. Tends to go off late on Saturday nights when the college kids start smoking up."
Tony lifted an eyebrow. "And you would know this, how?"
The welcome interruption put Dean's emotions back in their customary place—for now—and this time, his smile didn't run the risk of accompanying tears.
"Please. Out in the hallway, I can practically get high just from the second-hand smoke." For a change, Tony's expression wasn't hard to read. "Honestly, it's a pretty good place to live, and because I'm at the end of the hall, I'm actually isolated from a lot of the noise. And the view is great."
A knock on the door kept him from striding over to the windows and flinging open the curtains to prove it.
The second he took possession of the pizza, the scent of tomatoes and garlic hit his nose, and his stomach twisted again, this time in hunger.
"God, that smells good," Tony said. "Let me grab some plates."
Plates for pizza. Was that date-like, or the influence of a mother who made her own sausage? Dean could barely recall what his own mom looked like, never mind whether or not she'd been a good cook.
At the end of the movie, the credits rolled, but Tony didn't want to give up his spot on the couch. For a moment there before the pizza had showed up, it had looked like Dean was going to fly right the fuck apart, but they'd managed to dial back the tension. God. He really hoped there wasn't something traumatic in Dean's past on Christmas, because then Tony was just being a huge asshole with his little Christmas dare.
At some point during the evening, Dean had relaxed enough to... well, Tony couldn't call it cuddling. He had the feeling that Dean didn't have any experience cuddling. It had been more like prototype cuddling, but Tony would take whatever Dean wanted to offer. Nevertheless, Tony wasn't ready for their date to end.
"I can totally see why you drew the parallel with Black Creek, but the movie was totally creepy, even if I did see the ending coming."
Dean's shoulder moved against his in a shrug. "Maybe that's my fault. I might have given too many hints."
"Or maybe I'm just super smart," Tony teased.
"Uh-huh. That must be it. I'm kind of surprised you didn't want to watch a Christmas movie."
"I told you before—I can enjoy doing other things. But if you really want to..."
"No Christmas movies."
"Not even A Christmas Story?"
Dean rolled his eyes and made a sound akin to a cat coughing up a hairball.
Tony smirked. "Okay, okay." It was in Tony's top list of holiday movies—not that he could rank them to save his life—and it was a bit of a tradition to watch it at some point on Christmas Day, but he wasn't going to force it on Dean. Not yet. Maybe in a few years, he'd have worn down Dean's objections. "I've got something else in mind instead of another movie."
He didn't let that confused frown sit on Dean's face for more than a second. Those lips of Dean's had distracted him throughout the entire movie and probably made him assess the storyline more favourably than he would have otherwise.
Shifting their cuddled position slightly was all Tony needed, and he pulled Dean close.
"Mr. Murphy." Tony's lips skimmed Dean's while he whispered, "I definitely have something else in mind."
Then, the time for words was done. Tony fitted his mouth to Dean's and let his hunger bleed into the kiss. He wanted this man and wanted to make this good for him. He just had to somehow keep their clothes on, because he hadn't lied to Dean. As much as he wanted to get naked with Dean, getting there too soon might be disastrous. Freaking Dean out might result in him shutting Tony out completely, and Tony would be left on Christmas Day with nothing but regrets.
Dean moaned a little and moved his hands up to Tony's shoulders, which was enough for Tony to send his own hands roaming... nowhere X-rated. But this was the first time he'd had more-or-less free access to Dean's body, and he was ready to start mapping Dean.
Getting nak
ed wasn't on the agenda, no matter how hard his cock got, but he wanted—needed—to be closer to Dean.
Apparently, Dean was completely in accord with that plan because in a swift, non-fumbling fashion, Tony ended up lying atop Dean, who'd stretched out on the couch.
Tony couldn't resist thrusting his hips, just a bit, giving Dean's erection a gentle rub with his own before settling down between Dean's legs.
He pulled back, admiring Dean's wet lips and half-closed eyes. "You've got a great couch."
Dean's lids fluttered and his eyebrows drew together in a faint frown. "What?"
"Couch. Fits both of us really well."
"Mmm. Yeah. It does." Dean slid his hands up under Tony's sweater, sending a shiver down his spine that had nothing to do with a chill.
Nuzzling up against Dean's neck, Tony breathed in the scent of Dean, seasoned with a little bit of soap, aftershave, and pizza. Made him smell so delicious, Tony couldn't resist taking a nibble.
The wiggle and groan he got in response only spurred him on. He could do this all day and night, tasting Dean's neck, feeling his pulse pounding under his tongue, breath tickling his ear. The tiniest hint of stubble rasped against his lips, and he rubbed the side of his face against Dean's cheek. Beard burn might annoy some people, but Tony loved that little reminder of pleasure. Given his propensity for getting tattoos, it wasn't much of surprise that he liked lovers' marks.
He'd heard of electricity between people, thought he'd even felt it before, but kissing and touching Dean was explosive. Just as spending time with him was like coming home after a lifetime of wandering the earth. There wasn't much more Tony could ask for in a man.
Dean's fingers dug into his back, coaxing him closer. Unable to resist, he bucked his hips, making them both groan. Tony snuck his hands under Dean's sweater, demanding his own equal skin time. The faint fuzz along Dean's belly leading up to his chest made Tony's mouth water just thinking about nibbling on that firm flesh.
Skating his fingers upward, he tweaked Dean's nipple. The sound that escaped Dean wasn't a word, and Tony fucking loved it.
Almost before he realized it, he was rocking his hips rhythmically against Dean's, who met his movements like they'd choreographed this dance. This time it was Dean doing some throat licking and biting. Tony threw his head back to give Dean unfettered access, while their hips never stopped moving, never stopped seeking release.
Dean started to tug at Tony's sweater and managed to bare his middle. He grappled with his resolve, like wrestling an eel, but managed to hold on.
"Not that easy, remember?" Tony whispered in Dean's ear.
The irritated growl he got in response made him smile, even as it made him want Dean all the more. Shifting so he could look Dean in the eyes—sexy eyes with blown pupils making Tony's grip on his resolve even more slippery—he smiled.
"We'll get there. Soon. But for now, I want to make out with you on your big, wide couch." Tony made sure to inject a teasing note in his voice, because he wasn't rejecting Dean and didn't want it to be misconstrued as such. But even if this could be considered a third date, and well past the time for having sex according to many of Tony's acquaintances, rushing wouldn't give him the result he wanted. Which was having Dean around long-term, not just for a quick fuck.
"Then you'd better get on with the kissing."
Oh, thank fuck. Dean wasn't too annoyed with him.
"Yes, of course, Mr. Murphy." Dean bucked under him, another indication that Tony's odd term of endearment made them both hot. One day, Tony would say the same thing when he stripped Dean out of a neatly pressed shirt and business-like vest and indulge in his favourite suit-porn fantasy with the man gifted to him by the Yuletide spirits.
For now, though, he had some kissing to do.
Tony fastened his lips to Dean's, tongue immediately pressing for entrance. Dean opened for him in the most gratifying way, but not at all passive. Dean fought for entrance to Tony's mouth even as he writhed underneath him, his hands roving against the skin of Tony's back. Besides being a hell of a lot of fun, there was something decadent about just kissing and humping with all their clothes on. Reminiscent of being a horny teenager, but now they were horny adults, and Tony had never wanted anyone like he wanted Dean.
It could have been minutes or hours, but Dean pulled away, cheeks flushed, eyes wild.
"Tony, shit, Tony."
Tony froze for a moment, trying to figure out what was wrong, when Dean's hips thrust up against him, hard, rocking them. Dean's body stiffened under him, then shuddered.
"Oh, fuck." Tony curled his upper body over Dean, hips bucking erratically as his cock pulsed, shooting his load in his jeans. Dean's orgasm had thrown him over the edge, and he wouldn’t have been able to stop from coming even if he'd wanted to.
Dean trailed Tony to the door. He was so fucking confused, mostly because there hadn't been any fucking. Again. He wasn't even sure he could call what they'd done sex, but it at least settled the question about whether Tony was attracted to him or not. But he didn't understand Tony's behaviour. He'd never had any man act like this before. He rarely invited men into his apartment, but when he did, they spent all their time in the bedroom then left after a couple of naked orgasms occurred. Most times, that was the last Dean saw of them. Guys who wanted relationships were pushier, wanting to stay the night, wanting to spend all their free time with him, hemming him in and making him breathless—in the "I'm going to suffocate and die" way, not the way alluded to in romance novels. Then again, until he'd met Tony, Dean had been certain that sort of desire was a crock-of-shit literary device. But the way Tony looked now, eyelids slumberous, lips full, face and neck slightly beard burned, did funny things to his respiration and heart rate, even though his cock was completely sated.
"Are you sure you don't want to stay?" Dean couldn't believe he'd asked again. Especially since he didn't want to talk about his childhood. If Tony stayed, he might ask more questions and just the thought of answering threatened to dispel his current relaxed, good mood. Besides, they both had to work the next day, even if neither of them had an early start.
"Naughty, naughty, Mr. Murphy. Trying to tempt me. I told you, I'm not that kind of boy." Tony softened the rejection by curling his hand around the back of Dean's neck and offering another quick kiss. As he pulled away, he let his fingers glide along Dean's cheek and neck. Shivering from the light caress, Dean clamped his lips together to avoid asking—yet again—for Tony to stay.
Tony smiled and turned away. Dean watched him saunter toward the elevator, admiring that sexy denim-covered ass that he'd yet to see or touch without cloth interfering. As soon as he was out of sight around the corner, Dean shut and locked his door. While tidying up the admittedly small mess the two of them had made while decimating the pizza—Dean had been right, there weren't any leftovers—he couldn't believe how different his apartment felt without Tony in it.
When he'd become manager at the pharmacy, he'd leapt at the increase in salary and ditched his roommates to get his own apartment. For so long, nothing had been his. Not in foster care. Not in the student housing. Not in the house he’d shared with four other roommates.
Once he'd had the wherewithal to purchase items for himself, his roommates never thought twice about borrowing or taking or touching, usually without asking first. This apartment had become his sanctuary. Nothing left or got moved. Nothing got ruined. He took care of the few possessions he had—the television was one of his most prized luxuries, even if it wasn't the biggest, newest, or flashiest one.
Nothing had changed about his apartment, only his perception. Tony had brought a warmth to his hermit cave that Dean didn't know how to duplicate. He suspected it had something to do with Tony's personality, which sometimes seemed larger than life, but also his quiet acceptance of Dean and all his oddities. He wrinkled his nose. But if that warmth depended on the presence of another person, he'd better not let himself get used to it. Because people didn't stick around. People we
ren't dependable. The only person Dean could count on was himself.
Didn't stop him from taking another whiff of the fragrant roses and smiling.
The grey scudding clouds, heralding snow flurries at the least, didn't affect Tony's good mood at all. Whistling a couple bars of “White Christmas”, he sauntered along the sidewalk to Dean's pharmacy. Yesterday's ambush visit to Dean's apartment had gone better than he'd expected. Dean hadn't turfed him out on his ear and had accepted his presence with surprisingly little fuss. Tony's conviction that Dean was meant to be a part of his life was only strengthened by how comfortably they fit together... both sexually and otherwise.
He'd intended to solve a few mysteries about Dean Murphy, not discover more. The lack of pictures in Dean’s apartment, and the way he'd looked like a cornered animal when Tony had asked him about it had been unexpected, and Tony wanted answers. Curiosity wasn't the only driving force, either. Tony never wanted to see that haunted, defeated expression on Dean's face again. Not when he was so quickly—maybe too quickly—falling for a guy he knew so little about. But he was going to find out everything. One day, he'd wear down those prickly defenses. He'd wait years if he had to. Dean was worth the wait.
The bells over the pharmacy's entrance jangled sweetly, and Tony stopped once inside to admire—again—the spectacular decorations. He was going to drag Dean's Christmas spirit out of the closet, somehow. It was there, it had to be.
He smiled at one of the teenaged cashiers who may or may not have been working the first time he came in before he wandered toward the back of the store. If he didn't lay eyes on Dean in a minute or two, he'd ask someone, but he suspected Dean would prefer if his employees had no reason to gossip about him.
The lineup at the dispensary counter was hopping. Not too far away was a door labelled "manager", ajar just enough to let Tony determine Dean wasn't in there with another employee or on the phone. Tony nudged it open a bit more.
Again, Dean wore a crisply pressed shirt—pale peach this time—and another tailored vest in a bronzy-brown shade. His hair was perfect, and Tony had an almost crippling desire to rumple him, erase the frown on his face. But as fast as the desire arose, he realized that Dean had let him see something not many people probably got to witness. A rumpled, comfortable Dean in his home element, and sharing that gift with just any random person in the store wasn't on the menu.