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“Ok, the potatoes are done, the salad is done, the turkey needs a little while longer. Ugh still have to cut the pies? Why won’t they cool! Ah shit, stir the sauce stir the sauce…that was all my orange peel so I can’t fuck up the cranberry sauce…still have to set the goddamn table too uuuugh…”
I walk into the kitchen. “Babe are you alright?”
“Fine! I’m fine,” Julian said tartly. “Just…you know, running a little behind.”
“If you’re a little late it’s ok,” I told him. That was apparently the wrong thing to say.
“No. No, it’s not. It’s important to me that we look punctual and productive. It’s our first Thanksgiving in our new house together, as a couple. It’s important to me that people think we’re fucking flawless and I got this shit.” Julian mutters something to himself about people thinking he can’t be in a relationship.

I stare at his butt and give him my pity from a distance. Julian had a bit of a rough start in life, and had to sell himself for a bit to pay his rent a few times in community college. All of his loser friends told him he’d end up a nothing, and his parents told him he was a failure and no one would love him because he was gay and an artist. I had been slowly excising the toxic fat out of his life, and replacing them with a more supportive circle of friends. Julian’s hang-ups emerged at times like this. He had to prove to himself he could do certain things. There was nothing I could do, except support him. I peeled apples for pies, made the coffee and did the dishes and Julian was happy with that. It was getting close to meal time though and his stress was off the charts. I couldn’t sit back and let him be so frazzled.

Julian turned off the cranberry sauce. “Good. Now it just has to cool.”
“Julian,” I said softly.”
I walked up to him and guided him to the counter next to the stove. 
“What are you doing?” he asked.
I untied his apron and took the lube out of my pocket. “Helping.” 
“Wha – ah!” he cried out in surprise as cold lube slid down his crack. I unzipped my pants. That got his attention. “Wait – you aren’t? Right here. Honey this isn’t -”
But I was already pressed up against him, pulling his hips toward my cock. His tight hole fought me for a moment, so I rubbed my shaft between his cheeks and tried again. This time, he welcomed me. I pushed into him in three slow strokes, down to the hilt. Julian whimpered, one hand grabbing the counter, the other on my wrist.
I nibbled his ear and rubbed his hardening cock with my hand that had done the lubrication. “Move with me,” I purred.
I didn’t give Julian much of an option. We were close, skin to skin, and each thrust from my hips made him move with me. He groaned softly and we began to rock together. I wrapped an arm around Julian’s waist and counted how many times I pushed my cock inside of him – 1, 2,3…. at 8, his muscles tensed and he peaked. I pumped his cock with my tired hand until he fouted all over the counter and the cabinets, noises of bliss pouring out of his mouth. My original goal was to pull out and explode on his butt, but Julian had me locked in so good that I just filled his ass up with my cum. I felt him tremble as the heat flooded him. I breathed hard into his ear as I worked his slick member. “Shit,” I grunted. It was over almost as soon as it begun. “That was intense.”
“That was…that was…” Julian fumbled for words.
I pulled out and pressed myself against him again. I put both hands on his shoulders. “What you needed. You are much more relaxed now. I can feel it in your muscles.”
Julian leaned his head on me. “Mmmn… yes. What was I stressing over again? I think I might have a glass of wine.”
I smiled. “Why don’t you shower, get dressed in that nice blue sweater I bought you? The turkey has fifteen more minutes on it. Let me take it out of the oven.”
Julian turned a bit to look at me. “Ok. I’ll trust you with it. And check the bottom of the pies. If they’re cool, cut them ok?” 

I nodded and kissed him, then poured him a glass of wine and sent him to the shower. I spent the next fifteen minutes tidying and cleaning and cutting pies. I was setting the table when Julian came downstairs. When he walked into the room, I saw the look he was giving me and it stuck me to the floor. It was a look of pure adoration and love. He was glowing. He also looked fucking sexy in that sweater and slim cream pants. This was the Julian who had been struggling to come out for so long. I was so grateful our lives had intersected, and then merged. 

“Happy Thanksgiving, Julian,” I said.
Julian smiled at me. “Happy Thanksgiving. How did the turkey come out?”
He sighed in relief. “Thank god. Now I just had to go make gravy before-”
Ding dong!
“…The Martens get here. Early as always.”
I chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. Go make the gravy. I’ll distract them with wine.”
Julian glanced at his empty glass. “Yes, more wine is good.”

We laughed, and we kissed. I hoped we had many more holidays like this.

Text is fictional.


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