Page 21 of Ice & Sweet

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Luke

I didn’t know why I was nervous about going to André’s for Christmas, but as I followed the directions towards his house, I couldn’t stop my stomach from bubbling. It felt like my whole body was fizzing, like I was a shaken bottle of pop, and I almost wanted to bounce up and down as I walked to work out some of the sensation.

I desperately wanted us to have a good time and for everything to go well, even if we weren’t doing much more than having a ton of sex and eating cauliflower cheese and trifle in our underwear.

Maybe I wasn’t nervous at all. Maybe I was more excited by the idea of doing nothing for three days except getting laid so many times my soul left my body.

I glanced up from my phone and looked around because apparently his house was here somewhere. And as soon as I spotted the rainbow bauble wreath on the door, I knew it was André’s without even checking the gold number in the middle of it. I opened the metal gate and climbed the steps, ringing the bell under the little camera attached to the side of the door.

From somewhere nearby, I could hear Christmas music playing and overhead the afternoon sky was already darkening with thick clouds rolling in. I wondered if we’d get more snow despite my weather app telling me there was less than a thirty percent chance of a white Christmas. There was the smell of something cooking too, something rich and cheesy that made my mouth water, reminding me I hadn’t actually eaten anything.

Unless coffee counted as food, which I had a sneaking suspicion it didn’t.

“There you are,” André said as the front door swung open, his voice warm and comforting. His simple words tempered the bubbling in my stomach and it was all I could do not to throw myself into his arms and kiss him senseless. He was wearing a dark green hoodie and a pair of grey jogging bottoms, and it was really bloody hard to tear my eyes away from his crotch because I could see the outline of his dick and it was making my own cock stir with need. “You found it okay?”

“Very easy,” I said, my gaze drifting south again as I thought about last Friday when André had come back to mine and the way he’d bent me over the kitchen counter as soon as we’d walked through the door. And that had just been the start.

“My eyes are up here, you know.”

“I know. I’ve made my choice.”

He chuckled. “Come in and you can stare at me some more. I didn’t know if you’d had much to eat, but I thought I’d do a baked Camembert.” André stepped back to allow me in and as I stepped inside I was immediately enveloped in a feeling of welcoming warmth.

The house was one of those gorgeous, classic Victorian townhouses with a tiled hallway and dark floral wallpaper that screamed old and cozy, but I was more focused on the enormous garland hanging on the banister and the holly sprigs tucked in behind all the pictures that ran all the way down the hall wall. A warm glow emanated from a lamp on a small table beside the door and from open doorways further inside. I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting from André’s house, but it hadn’t been this. I’d been thinking more along the lines of white minimalism than Victorian gothic.

The smell of baking cheese flooded my senses as I put my bags down, and I sighed happily, my stomach burbling noisily. “That smells amazing,” I said, turning to him with a smile. “And you’re right, I didn’t even have breakfast.”

“Then we definitely need to start with food,” André said as he put his arms around my waist and pulled me in for a kiss. He smelt divine and I breathed in deeply as I buried my face in his neck, casually running my tongue along his pulse point. He groaned, his hand sliding down to cup my ass, squeezing me firmly through my jeans. I groaned and rolled my hips, rubbing my chubbing cock against his. “Fuck, sweetheart, are you desperate for it?”

“For you? I’m always desperate.”

A low sound rumbled through his chest as he grabbed my face and pulled me in for a deep kiss, his tongue pushing between my lips to claim my mouth. “Do you know what you do to me? How much I think about you?”

“Tell me,” I said with a needy whine, my mouth brushing against his as I spoke.

André’s hand slid down the waistband of my jeans and into my underwear, his fingers dipping between my cheeks. “Every hour of every day. Every time I close my eyes. Every spare moment, my thoughts are of you. Kissing you, touching you, fucking you… the way you whine and beg for my cock. How fucking good you taste.” His kiss was fierce, swallowing up my groan. “I dream of you in my bed, Luke. In my kitchen in the mornings making coffee and toast and on my sofa at night as we watch shit TV to unwind. You’re all I can think about. And I never want to stop thinking of you.”

My eyes closed and I exhaled shakily as his words soaked into me, promising me so much and making me want to give him everything in return. I’d already told him that when it came to me, he could have anything he wanted and I’d meant it too. Throughout all the years and all the distance, André was the only one I’d kept thinking about.

He was the only one I’d ever wanted.

“I want that,” I said, opening my eyes and meeting his gaze. “I want everything with you, André.” Was it too soon to tell him I loved him? Would it matter if it was? “You—” The scent of something sharp and acrid caught the edges of my senses. “Is something burning?”

“Shit! The Camembert!”

André rushed out of my arms and down the hallway and I followed him at a distance, trying not to laugh at the torrent of swearing filling the air. I glanced at some of the pictures on the wall as I passed, amused by the weird and wonderful collection of prints that seemed to have come from all over. I wondered if he’d collected them on tours.

I went through the door at the end of the hallway and discovered a small, beautifully decorated dining room and beyond that a little kitchen in warm terracotta orange with colourful tiles and wooden counters covered in bright appliances. André was stood by the oven, prodding at something on a tray resting on top of the gas hob. The swearing had dissolved into quiet, dissatisfied muttering and I covered my mouth to stop myself from laughing.

He was so cute like this, with irritation rolling off him and a pouting frown forming on his face.

“It’s not too bad,” he said as he turned to look at me, the steam slowly fading off his glasses. “Only one side caught, so it should be okay if we avoid that but it might not taste great. I’m sorry. We’re not off to the best start.”

“Don’t apologise. There’s nothing to be sorry for,” I said, walking across the kitchen towards him and planting a kiss on his cheek. The Camembert looked ridiculously gooey and delicious despite the slightly burnt edge. “Also, I will eat anything with cheese on or in, so we’re good.”

André’s mouth curled into a smile and I couldn’t resist kissing the corner of his lips. “Do you want some bread to go with it? I’ve got some sourdough we can toast. Or maybe some brioche? I don’t know if that’ll be too sweet, though.”

“Both. Always both.”

André showed me where to find the bread, which I quickly sliced and stuck into his orange toaster while he put the cheese back into the oven, which had been switched off, to keep warm. He then pulled out a round wooden chopping board, some knives, and a jar of chutney, which he stuck a teaspoon into. When the toast was ready, we piled everything carefully onto the board and André grabbed a bottle of red wine and two glasses, leading me through into his living room so we could sprawl out with our cheesy prize on the sofa.

I followed him holding the board, trying to keep my eyes on the wobbling mountain of toast and immediately getting distracted by the decorations.

In the large bay window at the front of the room overlooking the street, there was a tree covered in hundreds of brightly coloured baubles with everything from a T-Rex in a Christmas jumper to a brightly patterned teapot to a glittering pink martini glass alongside colourful lights and sparkling strings of tinsel. There were more garlands on the wall and holly behind the pictures, which were framed prints of old musical posters, and two identical sets of rainbow Christmas trees sitting on bookcases in alcoves either side of the fireplace, which had a large log burner in.

Like the hallway, the room felt more cosy Victoriana than modern chic, but I liked that it had surprised me. I hoped there were things about André that would never stop surprising me.

We sat on the sofa and dived into the cheese, dunking the warm toast into the centre and scooping up the melted middle, adding chutney here and there and groaning with delight at how good it was. After not having eaten all day, it was the perfect way to kick off my Christmas Eve.

As we ate, we talked about everything we could think of and I loved that we never seemed to run out of things to talk about.

“Do you have any Christmas Eve traditions you want to stick to?” André asked as he used a knife to cut a piece of the cooling, gooey Camembert and smear it on a piece of brioche.

“Not particularly,” I said as I reached for another piece of sourdough, glad I’d made enough toast to feed the entire cast and crew of a film set. “Although… maybe we could watch a film later? Something Christmassy.”

“Of course. Are you in the mood for a classic or are you thinking more Christmas romcom? Do we need to have the debate about Die Hard ?”

“Sorry but Die Hard is out—it’s an action movie set at Christmas, not a Christmas movie. Christmas is more set dressing than anything to do with the plot.”

“But John McClane flies out to LA to see his family for Christmas.”

“And it could just as easily have happened at any other time of year! The office party could have been for, I don’t know, a promotion or record profits! It was corporate America in the eighties. They could have thrown it for any reason,” I said with a laugh and I took the knife from André to attack the cheese, wondering if there was another Camembert in the fridge so we could have more.

André grinned fondly at me, like I really was something special, and it made my heart clench. This man was so perfect, I didn’t think I could love him any more than I already did. But at the same time, I knew my feelings were going to keep developing and that what I felt today would only be a fraction of what I felt a week from now.

And in a year? What I felt now would only be a drop in a vast ocean.

“Okay then, no Die Hard ,” he said. “How about The Muppet Christmas Carol ? It’s a classic, funny, and it’s got great songs.”

“I will never say no to the Muppets.”

“Good, we’ll start with that and then see where we end up,” he said. “Do you want to make trifle today? Or tomorrow?”

“Today if I can,” I said. “Then it’ll soak up all the alcohol. And we don’t have to worry about it tomorrow. All we have to do is eat it.”

“That sounds ominous.” André grinned. “Do you have plans? I thought we wanted to do nothing.”

“Exactly… I don’t want us to rush to get out of bed. I want us to be able to stay there as long as we want.”

“We’ll do it later then, before dinner.”

“You know you don’t need to help,” I said. “It’s just trifle.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I don’t plan on doing anything except standing nearby, looking pretty, and topping up your wine glass.”

I chuckled and lifted my toast to my lips. “Perfect.”