The Valentine's Day Resolution

by Ava Hayden

Carson launched into a description of the evening’s event and the provenance of his couture.

  Paul leaned into Huxley and spoke in his ear. “Wanna go to my place?” Huxley bit his lip and pressed his thigh hard into Paul’s.

  “Is that a yes?” Paul didn’t wait for an answer. He pulled out his wallet and fished for money, waving a hand when Huxley tried to do the same. “My treat. I invited you.”

  “Abandoning us?” Carson fluttered his lashes.

  “You’ll survive,” said Paul.

  “Yes, honey, I will, because the two people who can carry on a conversation at this table are the ones staying.”

  Huxley gave Carson an apologetic smile as Paul tossed bills on the table and Alexandra let them out of the booth. Alexandra mouthed “later” at Huxley as she returned to her seat.

  IN THE apartment they shed winter gear and let it lie where it fell. Paul stepped into Huxley’s space.

  Huxley’s gaze dropped to Paul’s lips. “Is it moving too fast if I say I want to see you naked immediately?”

  “Hell no.” Paul slid his hands to Huxley’s ass and squeezed, then ran them up the smooth sweet arch to the firm shoulders, pulling him into a kiss. He drew back. “Come with me.”

  He led Huxley by the hand down the short hallway. In the bedroom he switched on a bedside lamp and turned to Huxley. “Let me undress you first?”

  Huxley licked his lips. “Please.” He allowed Paul to tug his blazer off and drape it over the back of an armchair. His belt slid free and joined the blazer, followed by the cashmere sweater and dress shirt.

  Paul ran a hand over Huxley’s pecs and leaned in to circle his nipples with his tongue. Huxley shivered.

  Paul smiled at his reaction and popped the button on Huxley’s trousers. The front bulged.

  “Nice.” Paul palmed him through the fabric. “Very nice.”

  Huxley gasped and pushed into his hand. Paul gripped the zipper and pulled it down with care, achingly slow. Paul pushed the trousers past his hips and let them fall.

  Huxley stepped out of the trousers into Paul’s space and wrapped his arms around Paul’s waist, pulling him in. He took Paul’s mouth, sucking and licking as Paul ground their cocks together.

  Huxley wanted skin. “My turn.” He released Paul and stepped back.

  “Jacket.” Huxley’s voice was hoarse.

  “Now your shirt.” Paul worked the buttons, fingers flying, and tossed it aside.

  “Pants.”

  Three seconds later Paul kicked them off.

  Huxley licked his lips. Paul’s briefs outlined every millimeter of his shaft and crown. Huxley couldn’t pull his gaze from the stretched satiny fabric. He stepped forward and slipped a thumb into each side, tugged them down, easing them over the thick, uncut length.

  “NOW YOU,” said Paul. “Take them off for me.”

  Seconds later Huxley kicked his sheer black briefs away. He lifted his chin.

  Was Huxley really nervous about his reaction? Adorable. “God, you’re pretty,” said Paul.

  Huxley bit his lip, so quickly Paul would have missed it if he blinked. “What will you let me do?”

  Paul smiled, languid and unhurried. “What do you want to do?”

  Huxley swallowed. He dropped to his knees on the thick rug beside the bed and ran his hands up Paul’s thighs to his ass, looking up as if seeking permission.

  Paul braced a hand on the four-poster bedpost and widened his stance. He ran fingers through Huxley’s hair as his cock was enveloped in heavenly wet warmth. He didn’t stifle the noises he made, wanting Huxley to know how good his mouth felt. He ran fingers through Huxley’s hair and whispered, “God, that’s good. Your mouth is so hot.”

  When he felt himself tightening, he pulled back and rested a hand on Huxley’s neck. “Not yet.” Huxley looked up at him with half-lidded eyes and released his cock. Paul pulled him to his feet, spun him, and pushed him onto the bed. Huxley scooted back and propped himself on his elbows.

  “Can I taste you?” Paul leaned in and ran fingers along furred balls and up the thick shaft.

  Huxley’s head fell back. “God yes.”

  Paul concentrated on giving the best blow job of his life. Huxley smelled like a man—au naturel. Paul had nothing against the scent of cologne or product, but when he had his mouth around a cock and his nose in pubes, he wanted to smell clean male. And Huxley’s natural scent was good enough to get drunk on.

  Huxley’s balls were tightening when he gripped Paul’s shoulder. “Wait.” He was breathing hard. “Wait. I don’t want to… not without you.”

  Paul clambered up on the bed beside him and nuzzled his neck. They ended up facing each other on their sides, soul kissing—thrusting their tongues deep, bodies hard against each other, one hand behind the other’s neck, pulling him close, stroking an ass with the other hand, tweaking a nipple, cupping a ball.

  At last, as if by silent agreement, they joined their hands around their cocks and stroked to climax, shuddering through their pleasure.

  Huxley was draped across Paul’s chest, the two connected by a sticky layer of cum, and Paul stroked his back like he would a cat.

  “Mmmmm.” Huxley closed his eyes in pleasure.

  Paul laughed. “You’re cute when you purr.”

  Huxley chuckled. “Careful I don’t scratch.”

  “Too late.” Paul laughed again when Huxley turned pink. “It’s okay. It’s not where anyone will see.” He ran a hand up to Huxley’s nape and palmed it, rubbed fingers up into his hair so he moaned again and pushed into Paul’s hand. “Can you stay?”

  Huxley’s eyes popped open. “Do you want me to?”

  “Very much.”

  “Okay, then.” Huxley relaxed onto his chest again, doing a remarkable imitation of a boneless man. Paul could work with that.

  Chapter 11

  A FLOCK of birds chirped, whistled, and sang near Huxley’s head. Loudly.

  “Whuuffu?”

  Huxley opened his eyes just enough to see it was dark outside and the bird sounds were coming from Paul’s cell phone.

  Abrupt silence.

  “I’m sorry.” Paul leaned in and kissed Huxley’s temple. “I’ve got to work today. You can sleep in as long as you want. I’ll grab a shower and start breakfast.”

  Huxley dozed as Paul finished his morning ablutions, dressed, and went to the kitchen. He staggered into the bathroom and showered, then brushed his teeth with the toothbrush Paul gave him the night before. Paul had left a set of clean sweats and thick wool socks on the bathroom counter for him.

  He padded into the kitchen and walked to Paul, who was making waffles. Huxley pressed against his back, breathed in the fragrance of clean male, and nibbled his neck.

  “Hey, no distracting the chef around a hot waffle iron.” Despite his words Paul leaned back into Huxley and turned his face for a kiss. “Help yourself to coffee.”

  “What can I do?” Huxley poured coffee and carried it to the table.

  “Nothing. All under control.” Paul slid waffles onto a plate and set it in front of him. “Don’t wait for me.”

  Huxley buttered his waffles and doused them in syrup. He moaned at the first bite. “These are amazing. Do you make these a lot?”

  A shadow crossed Paul’s face. “I used to.”

  Oh. Huxley had stepped in it.

  Paul dropped into the chair across from Huxley with his own plate. “We made the paper.”

  Oilton’s remaining daily newspaper was one of the few in the province that still published a Sunday edition. Paul handed him a section folded open to the society page. Huxley, Paul, and Carson stood close together, smiling, identified by name and occupation, along with the Oilton LGBT Alliance, the organization they were there to support.

  “We look good.”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “I am. I usually photograph like shit.” Huxley scanned the other photos, seeing a few people he recognized from attending social events with his family.
At the bottom of the second full-page spread were a few photos with simple captions that didn’t identify specific individuals. One of the photos was a shot of the Oilton LGBT Alliance table—while Roger was seated there. “Oh, hey.”

  “What?” Paul looked up, curious.

  Huxley handed over the paper. “Bottom of the page.”

  Paul took in the scene and glanced up. “That going to be a problem?”

  Huxley shrugged. “Don’t know. I doubt Roger reads the society pages.”

  HUXLEY INSISTED on doing the dishes while Paul prepared to go to work. The store wasn’t open on Sundays, but there was plenty to do.

  “I’m sorry. I feel like I’m pushing you out the door.” Paul came up behind him and wrapped his arms around Huxley’s chest. “I really am glad you came over last night. I—I hope we can do it again. If you want.”

  “I want.” Huxley dried his hands on a dish towel and turned, pulled Paul close.

  They kissed.

  “Can I give you a ride home? I’ve got time,” said Paul.

  Huxley jolted. “No. No, it’s—I’m—I can get home, no problem. It’s not far. There’s the train.”

  Paul blinked. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, definitely.” How could he explain without looking like a baggage-laden loser? “Thanks, but I’m fine.”

  Paul watched him a moment and then nodded. “Okay.”

  But Huxley saw a tension in his facial muscles that wasn’t there before.

  HUXLEY BOUNDED up his condo building’s stairs with the previous evening’s clothes bundled into a Floribunda bag. He dropped the jacket into a dry-cleaning sack to give to the building concierge, changed into jeans and a sweater, and started a load of laundry.

  His phone buzzed. Two messages from Alexandra.

  Alexandra: Call me! Deets!

  Alexandra: Not kidding!

  One Paul must have sent after he left.

  Paul: Thanks for a wonderful evening.

  And a voice message from an unknown caller. He thumbed his phone to listen.

  “Huckshley.” Somebody was shitfaced. “I’m sorry. I really need to talk to you.” It sounded like—Roger? Who gave Roger his number? Was he crying? “Can we talk? Please?”

  Crap. Crap, crap, crap. Huxley did not want to talk to Roger. He decided on a time-honored plan: kick it down the road.

  Huxley replied to Alexandra’s messages and texted Paul.

  Huxley: Can’t wait for the next one.

  Then he grabbed his set of SUV keys. Five minutes later he contemplated the black behemoth in his condo’s parking stall. At least it wasn’t a Lexus. Yes, the one he was in probably saved his life, but he couldn’t bring himself to climb in another.

  He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

  Ka-thunk. Lights flashed. He stepped forward and grasped the front passenger door handle. Pulled it open. Braced his hands on the car frame and closed his eyes.

  Push out the air. Let in the air.

  Release the bad thoughts. Visualize a good drive.

  Already feeling cold sweat, he climbed into the front passenger seat. No seat belt. Not yet. He had to be free to escape. He rested his hands in his lap, leaned back against the headrest, and closed his eyes.

  Push out the air. Let in the air.

  One of his boarding school friends also lived in Oilton, and his parents had let him drive back to school for senior year so he could have his car on Vancouver Island. Huxley had ridden with him and shared the driving. Mile after mile through Banff National Park and the Rockies—wildlife spotting, crossing the Continental Divide—all on their own.

  Then to Vancouver. The ferry ride to Vancouver Island and the drive to the school. That road trip was the first time he had a glimpse of what it might be like to be an adult.

  Huxley opened his eyes and checked his phone. Fifteen minutes? He’d been sitting in the SUV panic-free for fifteen minutes? No seat belt and the door open, but still…. Maybe he could do this.

  THE NEXT morning Huxley climbed into the SUV’s back seat bleary eyed. After being interrogated by Alexandra at length about Paul on the phone, he’d woken at three in the morning screaming to be freed from the coffin of the wrecked Lexus. He hadn’t gotten back to sleep.

  “Good morning,” said Bishop as Huxley strapped himself in.

  “Good morning.”

  Bishop merged into traffic and glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “I saw you in the paper.”

  “You read the society pages?” That seemed like an odd habit for a university student.

  Bishop grinned. “I had family at GBU, so I looked for them. A sister and sister-in-law. They said they met you.”

  Huxley couldn’t remember meeting anyone named Bishop.

  Bishop glanced at him in the mirror again. “Sela Brennan is my sister. Carrie is my sister-in-law.”

  Huxley creased his brows. “Isn’t your last name Bishop?”

  Bishop laughed. “Brennan. Bishop Brennan. Going by Brennan felt a little too Downton Abbey, if you know what I mean.”

  This was a whole new Bishop. They chatted about the event until they reached Huxley’s building, and Bishop pulled into the drop-off.

  “Should I come by a little earlier since we have donut pickup tomorrow?”

  “I’ll meet you in the parking garage instead.” That way they would save the time it took for Bishop to circle the block to get to the condo drop zone. “And don’t forget I don’t need picking up tonight.”

  Huxley had texted Bishop the evening before to let him know he wouldn’t need a ride. A tired-sounding Paul had answered Huxley’s call the previous evening and agreed to let Huxley bring over takeout for their dinner. Huxley would pick up something and take a cab.

  INSIDE HUXLEY ordered his usual latte, climbed the stairs, initialed the Heart Health Challenge sheet, and trudged to his office. He jerked to a stop when he saw Bob waiting in front of his door, arms crossed.

  Huxley fished out his keys and unlocked his door. “Good morning.”

  Bob stepped into his office and closed the door. “I have something to say to you.”

  Oh God. “Can I unpack my things first?” He dumped his messenger bag onto his desk.

  “If I had my way, you wouldn’t be unpacking them at all.”

  Huxley looked up with raised brows, surprised Bob would say that out loud. Bob’s expression suggested he might have shocked himself.

  Well, Bob, I’d rather not be unpacking them either, but the situation is what it is.

  “But this isn’t about work,” said Bob.

  Huxley’s mouth had gone dry and his heart raced, but he leaned against his desk and sipped his latte. He rested the other hand on the desk, hoping it didn’t shake. “Okay. What?” He wouldn’t waste time on pointless pleasantries.

  Bob jabbed a finger in his direction. “Do what you want on your own time, but leave Roger out of it. The entire city saw that picture of him sitting with you at that table.” The words that table had invisible air quotes. “Roger had to apologize to the Fellowship.”

  What the hell? “For what?”

  “If you want to proclaim your sin to the world, fine, but don’t smear my son. You made him look like a pervert. We are to abstain from the appearance of all evil.”

  Huxley narrowed his eyes. “How am I responsible for Roger? He came over of his own free will.”

  “Only because you asked him.”

  “I didn’t ask him to sit with us.”

  Bob’s expression hardened. “Just stay away from him.”

  Huxley couldn’t stop the angry laugh that burst out. “You’re kidding, right?” He pushed away from the desk. “Roger is a twenty-eight-year-old man, so I’m not really sure why he’d be justifying or explaining anything about his personal life to you, but whatever. If he told you I asked him over Saturday night, he lied.”

  Bob was red with fury. “We both know who the liar is.”

  Huxley wasn’t going to let this degenerate into name
-calling. He took a step forward and lowered his volume. “You realize you just violated half-a-dozen provisions in the company’s antiharassment and discrimination policy.”

  “I am always professional at work.”

  Huxley couldn’t help it. He laughed again.

  Bob spoke through clenched teeth. “I told you—this isn’t about work.”

  Bullshit. This was all about work. Bob would never have confronted Huxley if he didn’t hold him in complete contempt—and not just because of his sexual orientation.

  Bob thought he was an incompetent slacker who’d been brought in as president unfairly. And Huxley hadn’t done much to change his mind. He acknowledged that. He accepted the blame. He’d been shooting himself in the foot every day since he started. Maybe he’d thought he deserved a miserable existence. But he hadn’t earned this attack.

  Huxley crossed his arms. “So you’re perfectly fine with my writing up this incident for HR?”

  Bob jerked his chin at Huxley and stepped back, a hand on the doorknob. “You do that. See how far it gets you.”

  A moment later the door slammed behind him.

  Huxley’s heart pounded and his stomach roiled. It was one thing for Huxley to admit his shortcomings, quite another for Bob to confront him in his own office. He was wide-awake now.

  He couldn’t keep living like this. Not when he’d gotten a glimpse of something better. Whether things worked out with Paul or not, just meeting him had jolted Huxley out of the mile-deep rut that was his daily life. Something was going to have to change.

  HUXLEY DARTED out at five sharp and headed for a nearby deli. He’d already placed an online order for the “Take a Hot Dinner Home” package. He texted Oilton Cabs as he walked, and by the time he paid for the food and left the store, a minivan cab was waiting.

  When Huxley entered Floribunda, Paul was processing a payment, so he stepped to the side. The customer, a seemingly sad older woman, turned his way.

  “That smells good.” She gave him a smile, the kind that said “just making a connection here.” Sometimes you needed to. Huxley knew the feeling.