The Christmas Deal

“Sure. And yeah, I figured you’d want to organize it yourself. I’m not the best at that shit. Not like Jenna. And you seem like you enjoy things…neat.”

“That’s a generous way to put it.” Seth shook his head and stirred the bubbling sauce. “Hard to believe I’ve lived with this half-empty disarray for so long.”

Soon they were in front of the TV, watching Brooklyn Nine-Nine and laughing. The pasta was hearty and tasty enough, and the red wine went down too easily for a weeknight. Seth clucked his tongue as he splashed a drop of sauce on his gray shirt.

“You don’t usually change into sweats or whatever when you get home?” Logan asked from his end of the couch, the middle cushion between them.

“Oh, I usually do, yeah.” He dabbed at the spot.

“Well, you don’t have to do anything different because I’m here. It’s your house.”

“Right.” He laughed softly. “I suppose I’m not used to having anyone here, so I’m in ‘guest mode’ or something.”

“Well, make yourself at home,” Logan joked.

After dinner, Seth did go upstairs and change into a tee and sweatpants, as well as thick, fuzzy socks since his feet were perpetually cold in winter. He also spritzed himself with a woodsy cologne he hadn’t worn in ages and fussed with his short hair as if he were going on a date. In his own living room. With an almost-stranger he’d had his mouth on the day before.

Situation normal.

They watched a new Netflix show on home renovations that seemed well-timed, and Seth turned on the fireplace. It was cozy and weirdly comfortable to hang with Logan in near silence aside from the odd comments from both of them on paint and sofa choices.

Logan had changed into his sweatpants too and didn’t wear a shirt. Which was perhaps slightly distracting, if Seth was being honest.

Around ten, Seth paused a new episode and said, “I guess I should get to bed.”

“Right. How’d you sleep last night?”

“Uh, good! Good.” The mention of last night had Seth on red alert, memories sparking fresh lust. He tried to watch Logan from the corner of his eye. Was Logan simply asking an innocent question? Sitting there shirtless and sprawled and sexier than he had any right to be?

Logan held a glass of water, and he toyed with it, his hand moving up and down, gathering condensation. “Yeah, I find getting off helps. With sleep.”

“Uh-huh!” Seth all but squeaked.

“But if you want to go straight to bed—”

“No, I’m good. I mean, I can… We can… If you want…”

The rumble of Logan’s laughter was warm. “C’mere.”

Seth forced himself to move slowly instead of launching at Logan like an attacking predator. Their knees knocked as he settled himself, and before he could formulate a sentence, Logan was cupping him through the cotton with a strong hand, and Seth was almost instantly hard.

He lifted his hips so Logan could tug him free, and he concentrated on breathing and staring at the paused TV, their reflection moving over the image of a rundown bungalow.

The urge to turn his head and shove his tongue down Logan’s throat positively burned, but he kept his lips pressed together tightly, his nostrils flaring as pleasure built.

“Doesn’t have to be a big deal,” Logan murmured, his voice gone gravelly. He rubbed at himself—at his cock—through his sweatpants as he stroked Seth, pausing to spit on his palm a few times.

That’s probably how he does it in bathroom stalls, with just spit.

For some reason it excited Seth, the rough drag of Logan’s callused hand and the dirtiness of using spit. The rawness of it. It was illicit somehow. Seth leaned into him, Logan’s left arm flexing between them as he stroked Seth.

“Not awkward? Using your left hand?” Seth asked. The strokes were so measured and sure, so skillful.

“I’m left-handed.”

“Oh!” Seth’s breath caught, turning the sound into a long moan. “Ohhh.” It felt so good, and Seth was going to come soon, and he wanted Logan to feel as good as he did.

Taking a shaky breath, he spit into his right hand, licking it a few times before reaching toward the bulge in Logan’s sweats. “Should I…?”

“Fuck yeah.”

So there they sat, hands down each other’s pants, knees and elbows bumping as they brought each other off. Their harsh inhalations and exhalations filled the air, heads leaning closer together as their movements became more frantic.

Seth wanted to devour Logan, inhale him and feel that rough stubble on his lips and face, taste tomato and garlic on his tongue and kiss through their orgasms.

But he didn’t cross those last several inches. Logan didn’t want that. He’d set his boundaries, and even though Seth had Logan’s throbbing cock in his hand, the spongy, flushed steel in his grasp so alive and powerful, that was as far as he could touch.