by KC Burn
Tony grabbed his butt cheeks, kneading madly but letting Dean control the action. For someone who’d been so persuasive about dating, Tony was proving to be incredibly accommodating in bed.
But Dean couldn’t sit there forever. He needed to move, desperately, even though he was so close to the edge. He pumped his hips, up and down, faster and faster, accompanied by the sexy slap of skin on skin. Tony arched up into each downward thrust, getting that fat dick as deep as it could go, making them both pant and groan.
Between Tony’s cock pounding into him and the visual display of Tony’s tattooed body writhing beneath him, Dean wasn’t going to last long. Except he wasn’t sure how he was going to bring himself off. They were fucking fast enough that he didn’t think he could lift one of his hands off the bed to stroke his cock.
“Oh, fuck, Tony. Close.” And yet, not close enough.
Tony stared up at him intently, pupils blown out in desire. He took one hand off Dean’s ass and grabbed Dean’s dick, stroking in a slightly arrhythmic counterpoint to their hips. A few strokes was all it took. Dean’s muscles locked, and he spurted stripes of white across Tony’s belly.
With a growl, Tony arched up hard, his hips stuttering as Dean’s ass clenched around him.
Dean held onto that moment, that electric fire of orgasm flooding his system, for as long as he could, but it was only seconds before his muscles unclenched and he dropped limply on top of Tony, uncaring of the slipperiness between them.
With Tony’s arms wrapped around him, he might not want to ever move. The light kisses Tony pressed to his temple made it better, even if he’d be unlikely to admit that aloud.
What was he going to do when Tony got bored? What if this was all some elaborate ruse, and Tony was done with him?
He tensed for a second but he couldn’t truly believe Tony would be out and out malicious. Sure, people didn’t stick around, but Tony had already proven he had good intentions, even if Dean wasn’t sure those intentions would mean anything in the end.
“Hey, what’s going on in that brain of yours?”
“Uh…” Not like Dean wanted to say what he’d actually been thinking, but something had struck him as soon as he’d seen Tony’s naked body. “So, no body piercings?”
“Nope. I had my nipples pierced while I was bartending, but it wasn’t practical when I went into nursing. Too much chance to get them caught or pulled when shifting patients, and scrubs don’t provide much protection. And I’ve never had any real desire to get my privates stabbed. Why? You got a thing for that?”
“No, just with all the tattoos, I wondered, is all.” Dean couldn’t deny that he wouldn’t mind seeing a Prince Albert or frenulum piercing up close and personal, but he certainly wasn’t upset about any lack of piercing.
Dean’s stomach chose that moment to growl loudly, making Tony laugh. Dean’s face heated a bit. He’d put off eating dinner, hoping Tony would show up, but he hadn’t anticipated the great bedroom race.
“I've got just the thing to fix that.” Tony poked him gently in the vicinity of his hip. “Now that the non-sleep bedroom activities are concluded.”
As much as Dean wanted to relax back into Tony’s embrace, maybe engaged in some sleep-sleep bedroom activities, there were practicalities to be considered, not the least of which was his still-grumbling tummy. Reluctantly, he peeled himself away, and they quickly got cleaned up.
* * *
DRESSED AGAIN AND MOSTLY PRESENTABLE, Dean followed Tony into the living room, where he picked up the bag he’d brought with him.
“Let me pop this in your oven and it’ll be heated up faster than we can get delivery.”
Oven? “I have a microwave, you know.” He didn’t know what was in that bag, but it smelled divine.
“Microwave? My mother would never forgive me.” Tony’s exaggerated look of fear made Dean chuckle, but he still didn’t understand.
“But it would be faster.”
“Nah. Trust me. My mama would kill me if I subjected her homemade sausage and pasta to a microwave.”
Tony transferred the food to one of the baking dishes Dean had inexplicably ended up with when he'd bought a set of cookware at Goodwill. They’d seen more use when Dean had first moved into the apartment, before he'd realized cooking wasn’t a skill he was likely to develop.
The smells all made sense now. Definitely Italian food with a tomato-based sauce. “This is the famous homemade sausage? I thought you said it took a long time to make. Is it a Christmas tradition, then?”
The look Tony gave him made him want to squirm. It was obvious that he’d said something that underscored how little he understood about how life worked for most people.
“No, she doesn’t usually spend the time making it before Christmas. When I told her you’d never had it homemade before, she carved out some time to make it.”
Dean’s whole body went hot and then cold. “I… that was… please thank her for me.” His voice was strangled, and he practically ran from the kitchen before the burning in his eyes became actual waterworks. He didn’t want Tony to see that, and it was going to take him a minute—maybe several—before he could process a complete stranger doing something so nice and… motherly for him.
What he really wanted was to sit outside in the cold for a bit, letting the pseudo-solitude give him some perspective, but he’d need to get a sweater and socks and have to explain to Tony what he was doing. Instead, he settled for opening the curtains and staring out at the city. He’d never turned on the lights in the living room when he got home from work, so aside from a small rectangular glare from the kitchen light, his view was hardly obscured.
“Oh wow, you’ve got a great view.”
Dean managed not to leap in fright; he hadn’t heard Tony's approach.
“Yeah, I like it.”
Tony wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist and rested his chin on Dean’s shoulder. Dean let himself relax into the intimate embrace, one he’d never experienced with anyone before.
“You can even see the CN Tower from here.”
Dean nodded. “Yeah. I like being able to see all the coloured lights at this time of year.” Another wave of heat swept his face. He hadn’t meant to admit that, but knowing there was homemade sausage and pasta warming up in his oven had apparently crumbled his defenses in a spectacularly unexpected manner. Tony, though, resisted any smug comments and just squeezed him tighter.
“It’s pretty, for sure.”
“Are you going to stay here tonight?” Dean bit back a groan. At this rate, he was going to have to cut off his tongue. That didn’t mean he wasn’t holding his breath, wondering what Tony’s answer would be.
Tony kissed his neck, soft and sweet, like he wasn’t trying to get Dean’s engine revved, but it still caused a tiny shiver to race down his spine.
“I’d love to stay here tonight.”
His stomach growled again, breaking the tension, and he let out a shaky laugh. He didn’t know what this all meant, or how shitty it would be when it all ended, but for now, he was going to try and enjoy it. And maybe another round of non-sleep activities in the bed later.
CHAPTER SIX
DEAN STEPPED out of the pharmacy and stood on the sidewalk, not quite sure what to do with himself. He'd been out of sorts all day, and when Sarah, his assistant manager, begged for some extra hours, he was happy to turn the store over to her, but now he didn't know what to do. This Saturday and last had been the only days he'd left work before dark since... before Halloween.
If this had happened a month ago, he'd have been overjoyed. Started a movie marathon—maybe the Evil Dead ones, classic and reboot. For some reason, though, he didn't want to go home. The light dusting of snow that had fallen while he'd been working made everything look pristine and refreshed, and despite the fact he could appreciate the beauty in a way he'd never done before, he couldn't stand out on the sidewalk all afternoon.
Maybe it was the fact that he didn't have any Tony time to look f
orward to. When they'd talked the previous night, Tony had told him he'd be unavailable all day today, helping his mom with some charity dinner thing at her church. Dean had shuddered just at the thought of it. Even if he'd known he was getting out of work early and Tony had asked him, he wouldn't have been able to help out. Not if it meant going to church.
Dean had honestly thought he’d be fine going a Saturday without seeing Tony. It wasn't like they'd known each other years, or had spent weeks and weeks getting into some sort of routine. But just like Wednesday night, the underlying expectation that Saturday was a Tony day, combined with the knowledge that he might not even get a phone call, was a giant letdown. He was, shockingly, at the point where he wanted more than two Tony days a week.
Somehow, Tony had made himself almost necessary in Dean's life, and he could only hope Tony wasn't going to get bored with him anytime soon.
Sudden inspiration struck, and within minutes, Dean had driven the few blocks over to Starbucks and was waiting in a line of bundled up coffee aficionados.
When it was his turn at the cash register, he ordered a peppermint mocha and just about fell over when they told him the price. He'd only ever ordered plain coffee on the rare times he'd ventured into these hallowed grounds. Tony had been spoiling him completely all this time, and all Dean had done so far was give him a candy cane and pay for a pizza.
Being thrifty was a lesson hard-learned by years where hunger and homelessness had loomed like spectres at the feast, waiting for Dean to fail so they could pounce. He was doing quite well for himself now, but having Tony spend so much on him made him a little uncomfortable.
Despite the jaw-dropping total, Dean splurged on a scone as well and found a tiny table with a single chair to settle in.
He sipped at the decadent drink, nibbled at his scone, and let the conversation of strangers wash over him. Despite the preponderance of conversation about Christmas plans and Christmas gifts, people mostly seemed happy. Made Dean a little warm inside. It had never occurred to him until Tony had said it—more than once—that the decorations he'd put up in the pharmacy, however grudgingly, might have contributed to his customers' happiness.
He wasn't sure he was a Christmas convert yet, or if he'd ever be, but there was a satisfaction in the idea that he'd never associated with the holidays. Until this year, the season was nothing more than a gauntlet he had to survive until the New Year reprieve that lasted until Valentine's Day. At least that "season" was only a fraction of the November-December chaos.
His gaze wandered from the people to the various items for sale, and right there were the flavoured syrups they used to make the fancy coffee Tony had introduced him to. Surely he could come up with a reasonable facsimile at home, so neither he nor Tony went broke. Obviously, it would be a treat to come in and buy it, get a cookie or something to go with the coffee. But, if Dean could offer peppermint mochas at his apartment, maybe he could convince Tony to spend more time there.
A little snort escaped, and he glanced around to make sure no one was giving him funny looks. Ridiculous that he wanted someone in his space. He'd always been so protective of himself and his haven, but each passing day increased the yearning for Tony just a little more. Stupid, really, but a little peppermint and chocolate wasn't too much of an investment to create a more welcoming apartment.
As soon as he'd finished, he stood, grabbed a bottle of each of the syrups, and headed back into the line, which hadn't let up the entire time he'd been there. At the cash register, he broke down and ordered another peppermint mocha. For research purposes, of course. This time, he'd pay more attention to how they made it. The barista grinned, knowing Dean was thoroughly hooked, but she didn't make any comment other than to wish him a happy holiday. Which didn't make him cringe, even though this was the second time in less than an hour that she'd said the exact same thing to him.
With his purchases nestled carefully in the passenger seat, Dean was ready to head for home and Evil Dead. But then, he remembered the sad jar of instant coffee he used when his crappy little coffee maker was too temperamental to brew an actual pot of coffee.
A new coffee maker wasn't too much of an extravagance. Not really. He got in his car and headed to the local mall.
Halfway there another thought struck him. Oh fuck. Was he really going to brave the mall on the last shopping weekend before Christmas?
Another glance at the brand new bottles of syrup convinced him that, yes, he was. After all, he didn't have a whole lot to do; his movies weren't going anywhere.
Dean whistled as he unlocked the door to his apartment. The mall had been pure insanity, but he'd managed to keep a pleasant mood throughout and when he'd found the perfect coffee machine—new, bigger, reliable, and yet not painfully expensive—he'd even smiled at another of the shop's customers. Afterward, he realized he'd need some better coffee grounds as well, and hit the grocery store. That trip was totally justified, though, because he also picked up the snacks he'd need for his Christmas Day movie marathon... which probably wouldn't even be horror. He was thinking maybe Indiana Jones. And if a can of whipped cream for topping a peppermint mocha snuck itself into his basket, well, it wasn't often he spent money on luxury items.
He placed his new purchases on the kitchen counter. He'd had some grand idea about practicing so he could make a perfect cup the next time Tony came over, but maybe it would be more fun experimenting together. He wouldn't even mind if Tony teased him about it, which he was bound to do.
Instead, he popped a frozen pizza in the oven for dinner and plopped down on the couch. A couch that had been perfect when he'd bought it, but was just a wee bit inferior without Tony to share it with.
Picking up his phone to check—for the thousandth time today—for a message or even a missed call, he sighed. Not a one. Tony was busy, and he didn't need to be that guy who insisted on getting a constant stream of calls.
Never having been in that situation before, he'd assumed it would be annoying as fuck. After all, the incessant personal calls his teenaged employees received during work hours, even explained away as the "boyfriend just checking in”, pissed him off. Maybe he'd been too hasty... no. Fuck that. No matter how much he found himself wanting to hear Tony's voice every day, he wasn't going to loosen up on limiting personal calls for his employees. He might be falling for someone for the first time in his life, but his personality hadn't been completely scrambled.
Like a silly schoolgirl, he scrolled through some of the more recent Tony texts and emails. His phone hadn't seen so much activity in… ever. Work calls and the occasional hookup planning had been about the extent of his communications. Maybe someone at his provider thought someone with a social life had stolen his phone.
A social life. He had one of those now. Previously, a couple of guys who'd attempted the whole relationship thing had tried to foist a social life on him, but it hadn't taken. Mostly because the activities they'd thought he needed didn't fit him at all and only made him retreat more, because being "that awkward guy" was not exactly in his five-year plan. Between that and his natural reticence, no one had ever stuck around, and for the most part, Dean had been glad of it. Or maybe not glad, but more relieved to go back to a regular life with few surprises. Tony, though, was different. There were surprises in his life again, and they weren't all bad.
Still scrolling, he frowned at his phone. Had he never initiated a conversation with Tony, even once? He spent the next few minutes reviewing texts and call logs.
No.
Except for the one time, the first day they’d met, when he’d promised Tony he’d call after getting home safely. Aside from that, Tony had initiated everything.
Dean’s good mood evaporated. Standing up, he paced a few times around his living room. Everywhere in his place were memories of Tony. Him standing by the window after they'd had sex. The pink roses he'd brought were still alive on his coffee table. It was all to easy to recall how safe and comforting Tony's arms had been around him in bed, and jus
t as easy to remember how much fun they'd had in that bed, non-sleeping. He didn't want Tony to think he didn't appreciate him because however unwillingly Dean had agreed to those Christmas dates, he could get used to Tony being here even more.
Obviously, if such a small thing was enough to drive Tony off, then they weren't meant to be, but every time Tony's number came up on his phone, it made Dean smile. He didn't know for sure if the same would work in the reverse, but making Tony happy didn't feel like a chore or an obligation. If Tony didn't call him, it would be the first day since the day they’d met. Sure, it wasn't all that many days, but it was still incredibly one-sided and selfish of him.
Or was it selfish of him to interrupt whatever Tony was working on now, just because he wanted to hear Tony's voice?
With a huff, he slumped down on the couch. What did he know about relationships? One phone call shouldn't make him this crazy, but that only demonstrated how important Tony had become. What would he even say? The truth would be unbearable, wouldn't it? Then again, Tony still hadn't told him when they were going on their third Christmas date, and time was running out, especially since they had to work around Tony's family obligations and Dean's increased workload.
If nothing else, the question gave him a reason to call. Nerves made his stomach flip, and he had to wipe his suddenly sweating hands on his pants before he took a deep breath and pressed the call icon.
Each successive ring made him feel more like puking, even as he recognized how ridiculous it was a simple phone call could do that.
After three rings, he was about ready to give up, when Tony came on the line. "Hello, Mr. Murphy."
Tony's tone was warm and velvety, like the coffee he'd had earlier, and Dean didn't know how to explain it but he could hear happiness in Tony’s voice. Just like that, his nervousness disappeared.