“It’s good to want things,” Ross told him. “You just have to do something about it.”
Tenner wasn’t stupid. “Like telling my daughter who I am?”
“Mm… however you want to do it.” Ross kissed the side of his neck. “We’re not going to sort it now.”
Tenner tilted his head for better access. “No. But we’re not going to have sex now either.”
“Dinner ready?”
Tenner had to—he turned in Ross’s arms and caught his mouth. “Yes,” he said, after a brief taste. “Apparently we’re dating now, so feeding you is important.”
Ross grinned. “Dating? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”
“That’s what Patrick’s calling it these days. He’s my boss and my friend, and I’ve learned not to question him. Set the table. We have work to do before the sex.”
“Is there at least dessert?” Ross asked, all indignant.
“Does gelato count?”
“Salted caramel?”
“Or dark chocolate raspberry,” Tenner confirmed. “Not just dessert—dessert for people with champagne taste.”
“Fine. I may tolerate the presex ritual of dating. If I have to.”
Tenner kissed the corner of his mouth. “You’re very patient. Now set the table.”
CONTRARY TO their play-whining, Ross was a charming dinner companion once again. Tenner could spar with him for hours. Even when silences fell, they were contemplative rather than awkward. It was funny how the two of them could wander off independently on a subject, come to a conclusion, and then restart the conversation as if they’d never left it.
By the time they’d wrapped up the dishes and dessert, Tenner was relaxed and happy to the point that he’d almost forgotten what his endgame was.
He went to sit in front of the television, thinking they could watch a movie or something, and Ross said, “Really?”
Tenner blinked up at him. “We… I mean, it doesn’t have to be about sex all the time, does it?”
“No,” Ross said, frowning. “But you liked the sex, right?”
“It was amazing.” There was no question. “I just….” Tenner sighed and stood up. “Sorry, wrong fantasy, I guess.”
“Wait, you mean, your fantasy had us watching television on the couch?”
Tenner shrugged, embarrassed. “You know… like a couple. People dating. Never mind. I guess you’ve got an agenda and—”
“Sit,” Ross said. “And give me the remote. I’m driving.”
“My house, my remote,” Tenner returned, so happy it was like his stomach was flying.
“No, if I’m passing up sex—”
“Nobody said we were passing it up. We don’t need bells and whistles and clowns and a trapeze,” Tenner returned smartly.
“I didn’t even get to the whistles, and the clowns aren’t until next week.”
“No clowns.”
“But me and the clowns got a schtick!”
Tenner shuddered. “If I give you the remote, can there be no talk about clowns again?”
“Fine. I’ll call out the strippers!”
“No! Just you! It’s fine! Jesus, the hoops a guy has to jump through to watch TV with a good-looking guy in his own house.”
Ross gave a long-suffering sigh and sat down, then crooked his finger for Tenner to come lean on him. “Fine, but only if we watch something dumb with explosions.”
“Thoughtful with serial killers,” Tenner countered.
“Dumb with serial killing explosions.”
“Done!” Tenner had been saving the series on Netflix for weeks. He grinned at Ross like the man had saved his day. “One episode, and then we can go ring some bells and blow some whistles.”
Ross lowered his head and captured his mouth in a surprisingly sweet kiss.
“As long as you want. And if I fall asleep, wake me.” He yawned then, in a way that was no bullshit, and Tenner realized they might really be making a choice here. But God, Ross’s chest was solid and warm, and his thighs around Tenner’s were so reassuring.
“Me too,” he said, snuggling back. He started the episode and thought if they could squeeze sex in on top of gelato and grown-up television with another grown-up, it could be the best date in the history of ever.
Quiet Surprises
THEY MADE it through one episode before they both had to admit they were nodding off, and Ross helped him lock up and feed the cat before they went upstairs together. This time they both undressed to their briefs, and while Tenner used the hamper, Ross used his duffel. They crawled into bed, and Tenner reached to turn off the light before rolling over in Ross’s arms and surprising him with a kiss.
Passionate.
A passionate kiss.
Not a “sweet boring couple who are too complacent to have sex” kiss, but a passionate kiss. Ross responded, a tiny corner of his universe setting itself right again.
He’d been sort of afraid he’d done something wrong.
Tenner had been his usual irascible self during dinner, but in a happy way—the two of them had maintained playful banter for most of the meal, and then, when Ross was thinking, “Showtime!” Tenner had dragged him to the couch.
Ross had been wondering what was wrong with him that after one night—okay, two—Tenner wanted to chill in front of the TV for an hour, but now, tasting him as Tenner aggressively pinned him to the bed with kisses, he realized that wasn’t the thing at all.
She stopped touching me. Stopped smiling. Stopped being my companion.
Ross allowed himself to be pinned, opening his mouth in surrender. Tenner hadn’t just been looking for two days of balls-out sex. He’d been looking for companionship, and he apparently enjoyed Ross for his company as well as for his prowess.
The thought was humbling.
Ross had sold this idea of a relationship based on the sexual connection alone. Tenner had done him one better. He’d been rooting for a human connection, and by God, he’d made one, one that Ross wouldn’t risk by breaking out the clown cars or the trapeze.
Or ending this kiss, the sweet, passionate, sensual kiss that involved tongues and hands, undulating bodies and bare skin.
Tenner swept palms and fingertips down Ross’s chest, along his stomach, along his hip, and suddenly those places—which had never ranked very high on Ross’s erogenous zone list—became sensitized in ways not even he had imagined.
When Tenner broke the kiss to move his lips down Ross’s chest, Ross actually whimpered in protest, pulling Tenner’s head back up and claiming his mouth again.
They’d cuddled during that movie, Tenner leaning into his chest, their body heat making up for the mild chill of the spring night and the overhead fans. Ross got it now, that need for connection, the way their mouths were more intimate together than on each other’s bodies. And Tenner wasn’t reluctant. He slid to the side and pulled at Ross’s shoulder until they were facing each other. Ross felt his hand, shoving at the waistband of Ross’s boxers, and suddenly wanted that. Wanted this kiss to continue, and the urgency it was building up to be relieved in the throes of the kiss.