Bryl R. Tyne
"What haven't I made clear? Desire. Ecstasy. Satisfaction. In that order!"
How hard could donning a Christmassy green Speedo and pretending for thirty seconds to savor a giant candy cane be, anyway? Granted, Parker abhors candy canes and his co-actor is a lecherous Santa wannabe with grubby paws, but can't the man just call the commercial a wrap, take his money, and go home to his husband for the holidays?
Is that too much to ask?
Is it too much to ask Parker to be home on time when it's his night to cook? Never fear, his husband Jeremy's got the solution. A new bedroom technique designed to encourage creativity may bring about the visualization skills Parker needs to save his acting career and his marriage.
"Slacking off isn't going to pay the fucking bills and you know it."
"Don't take that tone with me," he said, propped against the counter, arms crossed in front of his chest.
He may have moved toward me even, but I ignored everything except the heat surging through my head that screamed, How dare he!
"Whatever." I took a huge bite of my dinner and left the kitchen.
If he thought for one second I was going to sit idly by and listen to his bullshit-disguised-as-encouragement again, he -- I'd plopped into my favorite chair, before I realized -- Jeremy was neither an idiot nor a part of my anatomy I chose rarely to speak of.
Tucked in the far corner of the living room next to the den was a tree no taller than my chest. A scant dusting of lights blinked, reflections sparkling off a handful of keepsake ornaments hanging here and there. I had trouble swallowing my one bite of apple.
Getting up and out of that chair took an exorbitant amount of effort. Energy my body seemed unable to conjure, for from the back of my neck to the tips of my hands and feet, I felt numb. Asleep? Sick? Somewhere in the back of my mind, I think I registered Jeremy's footsteps behind me before I felt his touch on my arm.
"I don't want to fight," was all he said as he pulled me against him. "Tough day? Hmm?"
Strange, how resting his chin atop my shoulder as he smothered me with another body hug didn't feel like any weight at all. I struggled not to let his words egg on the part of me that itched to fight. Take me anywhere but back to today, and I wouldn't have a problem.
"If you don't --"
"I don't." I closed my eyes and let myself relax into his touch, sure I'd have as much trouble talking about today as I had thinking about it. Jeremy smelled good; he felt good pressed against my back. His lips worked magic along one side of my neck. I didn't want to think about jobs or money or -- his stomach rumbled -- or dinner...
"Ignore that." He breathed the words against my skin.
"I brought Chinese..."
His chuckle tickled my neck. "Follow me," he said, removing the half-eaten apple from my hand and setting it on the end table.