Vincent's Thanksgiving Date (11 page)

Feed him pie, his mind helpfully suggested. Ask him to stay. Kiss him. Pull Cory on top of him and wrap his legs around him. Bundle up with him on Vincent’s eminently comfortable couch and fall asleep after begging to suck Cory’s cock.

Vincent faced Rhonda with his hands on his cheeks. A date on Thanksgiving. He would never have dared.

Laci came up while Vincent was internally flailing, carrying bags of foil-wrapped goodness. She handed them to Rhonda while she put on her coat, then nodded at Vincent. “Nice to meet you. Hope the rest of your night goes well.”

Rhonda smacked her arm when she waggled her eyebrows, but then they both were gone, kissing Cory goodbye and dragging an equally weighed-down with leftovers Ricky with them. Ricky pointed at Vincent as they closed the door after him. “I want details about Lando! Email me!”

Vincent could probably track him down through Cory, although, he and Cory hadn’t exchanged information. He anxiously considered the reason for that when it was only him, Cory, and the half-asleep Jase left in the apartment.

“It was a good dinner. The food, the decorations, everything.” Vincent held his hands in front of his stomach. “Thank you.”

Cory’s lips curved up, but then he glanced to his other guest. He jerked his head to the side. “We wrapped up some stuff for you too. You need help carrying it over?”

Vincent doubted he’d need help carrying a single bag of leftovers down the hall. “You remember me holding a kitten?” he answered stupidly, then cringed.

Cory’s expression shifted to something cagier, probably because he was exactly the plotting kind of schemer Vincent had imagined him to be. Then he lifted his chin. “It was cute.
You
were cute. You’re always cute, until you aren’t anymore. When you’re the most unconsciously sexy man and I don’t know what to do about it.” He glanced briefly at Jase again, now staring at both of them in vague alarm. “Come on. Don’t worry about him. He’ll be snoring in no time.”

Grabbing the bag of leftovers in one hand, Cory came over to take Vincent’s hand with his other and then led him to the door, ignoring how flabbergasted and stuttering Vincent was. He broke contact to get his keys and stick them in his pocket, then pull off his apron. Vincent curled his fingers into his palm but let Cory take his hand again when he was through.

“But
you’re
sexy,” Vincent told him, eliciting a groan from the kitchen and a startled glance from Cory. “Your skin and your mouth and your hands--” Vincent cut himself off with a choked cry. He was such an idiot. “You know how you are,” he finished instead, fully aware that he had ogled Cory for over a year and Cory had to know it too.

Once outside, Cory shivered since he hadn’t brought a coat of any kind, and led them straight to Vincent’s door. “I once stopped to watch you eat an ice cream cone,” he revealed, almost casually, while Vincent stared at him and fumbled to get his key in the lock. He tripped inside his own apartment, then blindly took the bag of food and walked into the kitchen to shove it into the refrigerator.

He’d left the TV on because he’d thought he wouldn’t be at Cory’s for long. In retrospect, that showed some serious denial. He’d already learned that he would at least try to do what Cory wanted, and Cory had wanted him there. Cory had wanted him.

“Sometimes you come outside with your shirt unbuttoned,” Cory went on, as though he didn’t want any more misunderstandings. “I like your chest.”

Vincent thought of his body, pale, hairy, chubby, and studied Cory without raising his head. He liked Cory’s everything, but that made sense. Cory was beautiful.

“You’re so nervous but you’re gentle with everything. On the phone, with the people you meet, with that kitten.” The pleased sound Cory made was more of a purr than a hum. “I want to make you calm. I want a lot of things.” He exhaled. “You really had a good day?” he asked, after a while of Vincent not saying anything. He didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands.

“Yes.” Vincent had to say more, even with his chest constricted and his tongue thick. Both of them were speaking softly. “I don’t want it to end.” That addition sharpened Cory’s attention. Vincent dragged in a long breath. It was very important that he keep going. Cory had said all of those things. Vincent should say something too. “Would you,”
stay, stay and sit on my couch and kiss me
, that’s what a bold man would say. Vincent did his best. “Would you like a night cap?”

He had absolutely no idea where that question had come from. He had never had a night cap in his life. As far as he knew, they only existed in old movies. He didn’t even know what to offer.

“A night cap?” Cory echoed in astonishment. “No one has ever asked me that before.” He waited to agree until Vincent lifted his gaze. “All right. That sounds good. Let’s try it.”

Vincent was full and slow already, exhausted with the day’s nerves and too much wine, but a night cap felt like a kind of event, something for the two of them after a long day. Cory might have felt the same; he went to the living room area and sank onto the couch. He glanced at the TV and then touched the discarded sweater vest on the end of the cushions.

He was staying. In a rush, Vincent spun around to tear through his cabinets. He nearly beaned himself on a corner in his desperation to find something that could be used as a night cap, and let out a wheezy noise when he found bottle of the almond liqueur his sister liked.

He unscrewed the lid and then dug in the back of the cabinet of glassware until he found something nice to put the drink in. He remembered the liqueur burning a little, with a hot, sweet taste, and considered offering it in coffee.

Of course, asking someone for coffee was asking them in, was asking them for sex, and Cory was already in, was already sitting on Vincent’s couch and looking back at him. Vincent took two glasses of somewhat elegant amber-colored booze and carried them over, handing one to Cory before he sat down beside him.

He took a sip. The almond liqueur was exactly as he remembered, leaving his mouth buzzing and warm. He licked his lips and caught Cory watching him. Vincent wet the corners of his mouth again, then darted a look to Cory’s lips, which might be just as numb.

“Thank you for today. For planning it.” He forced those words out instead of making a similarly courageous statement. He could have said anything, how he’d been in his car once as Cory had come home. It had been a scorching day, and Cory had been on his bike. He’d taken off everything but a thin shirt and some shorts, and his exposed skin had glistened with sweat. He could have mentioned listening to Cory laugh on his phone as he walked past Vincent’s door, or the beautiful wreath Cory had hung up outside last Christmas that Vincent now realized had been Cory’s own creation.

Cory wasn’t put off by the strained silence. He took another taste of the almond liqueur, then slid his glass to the coffee table.

Vincent held tightly to his and shut his eyes. “You’ve ruined me for other Thanksgivings.”

God, he was an idiot. But a gentle sound of amusement made him ignore his every instinct for self-preservation and open his eyes.

“I like that,” Cory murmured. “I like that a lot. That sounds like the right answer to me, since that’s what I was trying for.”

He was so smart and brave, and here he was with Vincent anyway. “The right answer?” Vincent asked breathlessly. “It is. For me. It is for me too,” he blurted, nearly losing control of his hand—and the glass. He jerked it upright again in time to avoid a spill, then moved forward clumsily.

Cory slid a hand to the back of Vincent’s head before their mouths touched. He smiled for a brief moment against Vincent’s lips, and then Vincent got a taste of him, almonds and alcohol, and everything was warm, and he made a rough sound that was going to haunt him later. He did it again when Cory pulled him close to kiss him deep, and again when he felt Cory’s other hand over his heart.

Vincent let his eyelids fall closed and left his hands in the air, the glass stranded between them. His glasses were pushed against his face, but he shivered when Cory pulled away and was slow to reopen his eyes.

Cory took the glass of liqueur and set it on the coffee table. That meant Vincent now had both of his hands free, and after a flickering moment of hesitation, he put them on Cory’s shoulders, then slid them down Cory’s sides. It must have been the right answer again, because Cory smiled and leaned in to lick the edge of Vincent’s mouth. Maybe he was chasing the taste of almonds too.

“Honey,” Cory whispered, rough-voiced, and showed his teeth in a grin when Vincent nodded in eager agreement with whatever it was Cory was about to say.

“Is this what you were going to ask me?” Vincent was capable of using his brain, at certain moments, sometimes, when wine and liqueur and Cory’s mouth left him too flushed and burning to overthink anything. He drifted closer, fascinated with the dip in Cory’s upper lip, the plush curve of the lower, the line of his teeth.

“Yeah,” Cory admitted, growing huskier the closer Vincent got. “Yeah.” He pulled Vincent’s glasses from his face and reached out to put them safely on the coffee table.

Vincent exhaled against Cory’s mouth, then ducked his head. “I can’t believe you did all of this for me.”

“Vin,” Cory interrupted him before Vincent could bemoan the fact that Cory had planned and schemed and cooked for him, and all Vincent had done was make pie. Vincent lifted his gaze to meet his magnificent eyes. “I did it for me too,” Cory told him. “It’s Thanksgiving. You should spend the day with people you want to be with.”

“Serious?” Vincent wondered in awe, and gave only a small shiver as Cory pushed his hands under his shirt and splayed his fingers over his bare skin.

“Serious,” Cory affirmed, and seemed to like it when Vincent surged forward to kiss him again.

He seemed to like it a lot.