Special Order (Red Velvet Christmas)
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Copyright ©2013 Sean Michael
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Brad pulled the cupcakes out of the fridge where he'd had them cooling and started frosting them. He'd put the potion -- which had been cinnamony smelling and sweet on the tongue -- into three of the cupcakes on the end, carefully marked with a Sharpie marker on the pan. He frosted the other nine and put them on the fancy, three-tiered serving tray along with the pecan squares and lemon bars, then added a couple of drops to the remaining frosting, turning it the palest pink.
Okay. It was done. There was no turning back now. He put the three special cupcakes on a plate and left them out for Sandy.
He pulled out the steaks so they would warm up to room temperature and made a salad for supper, then went to his office to read, wait. Worry. Had he done the right thing? Was their sex life really so boring that he was resorting to magic? He supposed maybe that was the proof it was.
Sighing, he made himself focus on his book. He wasn't going to think about the cupcakes with their special something extra until he'd finished this chapter, damn it.
He heard the door opening around seven, Sandy's "Honey, I'm home," ringing out through the little house. It had started as a joke, long ago, and was now what Sandy called out every time he walked in the door. Hell, even the way they said hello was routine.
"Hey." Brad chuckled and shook his head at the slight husk to his voice. He'd finally gotten engrossed in his book and it was hot. Hot enough that he was a little revved.
"I see the steaks just need to be grilled. You want me to do them?" Grilling was always Sandy's job.
"Sure, love." Brad rubbed himself through his jeans, just enough to heat up.
"Cupcakes for dessert -- how lucky am I?" Sandy's voice carried easily up the stairs to him.
"Red velvet. Your favorite." Oh. Right. The cupcakes. He'd almost managed to forget.
"You're too good to me. I'm going to be daring -- I'm having one while I cook the steak."
Moments later he heard the back door closing, Sandy going out to the deck to cook the steak.
It smelled good and he put his book down, shaking his head at his own stupidity. Christ. What was wrong with him? He had stability, happiness, true love. He leaned out the second-story window, snow falling on his shoulders. "Do you have your gloves and hat on?"
Sandy looked up at him, indeed wearing hat and gloves and a little winter vest. His lover smiled, the look warm and full of love. "I'm good, babe. Five minutes, okay?"
"Salad's already made. Meet you in the dining room with the wine." He'd left it out to breathe, hadn't he? He'd better check -- maybe he'd just thought he had. God knew he did it every Saturday -- it would be easy to totally be remembering another week.
"Sounds perfect." Sandy gave him a last grin before turning his attention back to the grill.
Brad headed down to the kitchen, where Sandy's cupcakes sat covered with a huge red plastic bowl with reindeer on the side. Sandy always said uncovered food invited bugs. Brad went to peek, but the back door opened. "Can you bring me a plate?"
"Sure, honey. I'll be right there."
Sandy waited while he brought over the plate. "You make that honey Dijon dressing I like for the salad?"
"Don't I always?" Every Saturday.
Sandy smiled as he put the steaks on the plate and came in, toeing his boots off and leaving them on the mat by the door. "You do."
Brad grinned back and opened the Cabernet, which he seemed to have neglected to do earlier, the scent filling the room.
"Mmm. I do love our Saturday night steaks." Sandy came over and kissed his lips, the buss sweet and gentle.
"I do, too, love. How are the guys?" Sandy's lips tasted sweet, so one of the cupcakes must be gone. "How're you?"
"Same old, same old. Billy got a promotion, but no extra cash, Don's got a new boyfriend. Yadda, yadda." Sandy rolled his eyes as they went into the dining room, Sandy carrying the steaks, Brad carrying the wine and the salad.
"I missed you today," Sandy told him as they sat.
"I was just here like always, love, puttering about." He had to admit, he did enjoy his lazy Saturdays.
Sandy nodded and dished up Brad's plate for him, then his own. "There's a new exhibit at the art museum. Van Gogh. We could go together."
"Oh? That sounds like a good afternoon outing. See the museum then have a look at the lights?" he suggested. It would make for a lovely Sunday.
"That's what I was thinking." Sandy smiled at him, and maybe it was his imagination, but there seemed to be something extra in it.
Brad dug into his steak, laughing at himself. God, he was a giant dorkfish. It was just a silly potion -- it wasn't going to make a difference. And he didn't need it to.
They made small talk as they ate, the bottle of wine went down easily, the steak was delicious and everything was easy. Normal.
At least it was until the end of the meal. As he finished eating, Brad felt something slide along his leg.
He jumped, looked down at his leg and then at his lover. "Sandy?"
"What?" Sandy looked at him innocently.
"Nothing..." He had to laugh. Had to.
Sandy smiled at him and he felt that thing along his leg again: Sandy's foot.
"What are you up to?" He reached down, touched Sandy's toes. Footsie? His Sandy? Really?
"You want to retire to the bedroom?" Sandy waggled his eyebrows comically and Brad laughed again.
"It's early for Saturday and I haven't done the dishes..." Still, Brad nodded, stood.
"They'll still be there tomorrow, right?" There was a light in Sandy's eyes Brad couldn't remember seeing in a long while.
"I imagine so." Like Brad wouldn't slip down after to clean up.
Standing, Sandy took his hand and drew him close. He could feel the warmth of Sandy's body. His chin was tilted, Sandy's brown eyes looking into his own. His cheeks heated, the look so wanton, so intimate