Bowling for Turkeys

An Extra Portion of Cookies

MILO’S brEATHING evened out as he fell asleep against Garth’s chest, and Garth pulled up the sheet and comforter from the foot of the bed to cover their bare torsos.

Garth was pretty wide-awake—he was going to need to put on his boxers, let the dogs out for their last pee, and check all the doors and lights, even though he’d done that on the way to the bedroom out of basic habit. He waited until Milo was well and truly asleep, his breathing as soft and vulnerable as a rabbit’s, before rolling out of bed, visiting the facilities, and getting dressed. He added an old sweatshirt because the night chill was starting to seep in and his thermostat was programmed to let the house cool after ten.

He left the light on dim, thinking anxiously that he didn’t want Milo to wake up and freak out, forgetting where he was, and bent down to kiss a bare shoulder.

“Gonna let the dogs out,” he murmured, and Milo’s mumble in return made him smile.

Coulda been, “Fine,” coulda been, “Fuck off,” or it coulda been “Let’s have babies together,” but Garth was pretty sure not even Milo knew for certain.

Once he was no longer touching her human, Garth unlocked Julia’s crate and opened the door, reassured when he heard her toenails clacking on the hardwood to follow him out the door.

Chad came soon after, and Garth spent a moment in the kitchen making sure their food and water bowls were full and even offering them both a soft treat from the bag. They knew this bag by now—this was a habit Garth had instituted with Chad long before Milo and Julia came into their lives, and the little nibble at bedtime was a time-honored institution.

After the treat, Garth opened the back door and gestured them both outside before closing it and knowing they’d both come back in via the pet door when they were ready. He wasn’t sure why dogs needed the open invitation, but it seemed to make them happy.

That done, he reached into the fridge for the milk, and when he turned around, he was surprised to see Milo, in his briefs and the henley he’d worn over, getting glasses from the cupboard.

“Heya,” Garth said softly, coming over to drape an arm around Milo’s shoulders and kiss his cheek. “Thought you were down for the count.”

“I was promised cookies,” Milo mumbled, squinting a little. He did that a lot when he wasn’t wearing his glasses, and Garth wondered about his prescription—he bet it was pretty strong. Milo needed help to see things like everybody else. It wasn’t a shock.

“Cookies you shall have,” Garth said, and by the time he’d retrieved them from the cupboard over the fridge—the one Milo needed a chair to reach, which made him feel bad—Milo had poured the milk in both glasses and perched himself on a stool at the kitchen island.

Garth set the cookies on the counter between them and leaned over, bracing his weight on his elbows. They each took a cookie from the box and began to eat, Milo dipping his in the milk first and then sucking the milk out of the softening cookie until the cookie fell apart.

Garth had never seen anybody eat a cookie like that. He was—as it was turning out to be with all things Milo—enchanted.

“How you doing?” he asked into the pleasant silence.

“I’m trying not to be embarrassed,” Milo said, and sure enough, there went his ears. Pink as a carnation. “Should I be embarrassed?”

Garth leaned into him, enjoying his frowzy, sleepy heat. “Nope. We did grown-folks business.” He allowed himself to preen. “And we weren’t half bad at it for a first try. I’m sure we’ll get better.”

Milo gave him a shy grin. “ That ,” he said with satisfaction as he selected another cookie, “is very exciting.”

Garth chuckled and moved his feet so he was no longer leaning—he was completely in the sphere of Milo’s warmth. “I’m glad you think so.” And the sadness he’d been trying to keep at bay suddenly rushed in. He took a shaky breath and tried to breathe it out, but he wasn’t surprised when it didn’t go.

“What’s wrong?” Milo asked, regarding him soberly over a disintegrating Oreo.

And Garth could have lied, but he remembered Milo and Mari and the lie that had lain between them for so long, and how mad Mari had been at the end of it. He decided to maybe try not doing that, even to save Milo some pain.

“I’m so sorry,” he said after a moment, concentrating on his own Oreo. “I’m so sorry that you were in a relationship that took something that’s always been so fun and so exciting for me and made it scary and embarrassing and painful.” He bit off the softened half of the cookie and swallowed, barely tasting it. “I want so much better for you. For us . But I’m a little afraid.”

He managed to glance up in time to see Milo staring at him soberly.

“Of what?” Milo asked.

“You’re so bright, Milo. So talented. I’m a landscaper and a failed engineer. Most of my relationships have been sort of superficial. You’re right—I’ve got a big dick, and some guys like to ride that and call it a day. I just… I’m afraid you’ll see what an average guy I am—”

“Oh no.” Milo had set his cookie down, and to Garth’s bemusement he hopped off his stool awkwardly, allowing it to topple behind him, and threw himself against Garth with enough force to make him wobble. “No. No. Not average. Not average. Perfect . Kind. Amazing . I may be new at this—I am new at this—but I’m not so new that I’d throw away a perfectly good lover, a perfectly good man , because… what? He’s handsome? And funny? And has a big penis? And takes the time to touch me and make me feel good in bed? No. No. No no no no no no no no…. You stay.” He glared up at Garth, who wasn’t moving anywhere, not with a suddenly ferocious Milo in his arms. “Stay!” he commanded.

In spite of the gravity of the moment, how hard it was to open up about the one thing he was really insecure about, Garth felt his mouth twist into a smile.

“Do you need to get me a crate?” he asked.

But Milo was immune to humor at this moment. “This house is your crate,” he said, scowling. “And my house is my crate. And we will have play dates together and sleep over in each other’s crates some nights and be alone others, just like you said. And someday—someday when I know what it’s like to be alone and enjoy it but know, in my bones, that I’ll enjoy being with you more, we can join crates or get a new crate or whatever. My analogy machine broke down because we’re not dogs. We’re people. And I care about you so much, and I will never throw you over because you have a big penis.”

Garth gathered him up into his arms and kissed him then, leaving the Oreos and the milk on the counter to be cleaned up later. The dogs were still playing outside, and Garth trusted they’d come back in, but right now he had more grown-folks stuff to do, and it felt urgent and important and necessary.

This time their clothes seemed to fly off, and Garth was a little less gentle, letting Milo’s urgency guide him. Garth wanted him so badly , and when Milo lay on his back and spread his legs, Garth grabbed the lubricant from where he’d left it on the end table and held it up for Milo to see.

“You’re going to put that in the yes-yes place?” Milo breathed, undulating his hips on the bed in sheer provocation.

“Yep. And then I’m going to stretch you a little. It might pinch, so be ready.”

Milo frowned a little. “But didn’t you do that already? I mean, you only have to do that once, right, and then I’m all good?”

Garth almost fumbled the lube. “No, Milo, I have to stretch you every time !”

Milo’s amber eyes blinked slowly, and his lower lip dropped. His erection softened a little, and Garth could tell he was processing. For a moment he wasn’t sure whether to stop and give a lesson or keep going and show not tell.

“Keep going!” Milo demanded after a long moment. “I suddenly see how this could be so much better!”

Garth took a breath and shoved that burgeoning kernel of anger toward Milo’s ex-who-would-not-be-named-in-their-bed far down beneath his heart, into his stomach, where it could be vomited up later, and instead he concentrated on the permission he’d just been given.

He gave Milo’s cock a happy slurp, tasting a little bit of soap because Milo had obviously cleaned up, then progressed to operation yes-yes-yes!

It was very successful.

Milo, reassured that what had started out as a good thing would not suddenly turn on him when he was happy and aroused and vulnerable, relaxed even more, giving Garth access to his channel, giving him room to scissor his fingers, to stretch and work, while at the same time using his mouth on Milo’s cock or frenulum or the base of his furry testicles to keep him distracted.

He knew Milo had endured enough when Milo started shaking.

“Can we… I hate to ask… can we… can you… oh please, Garth. Please?”

“Yeah,” Garth murmured, pushing up so he was poised against Milo’s entrance and gazing into Milo’s wide, anxious eyes. “Remember,” he whispered, kissing Milo’s cheek, his chin, his lips. “If it doesn’t feel good, tell me, and we’ll fix it, okay?”

Milo’s mouth flickered. “You can fix anything,” he murmured dreamily, and Garth pushed gently against him.

And was welcomed in.

The blossoming of Milo’s expression alone almost made Garth come. The feel of his silky flesh closing around Garth’s erection made him shake all over. Thrust… thrust… thrust….

“Oh yes,” Milo almost purred, sinking against the pillows. “Do that. More of that. It’s like we’re one person. Keep being my one person.”

Garth pulled back just enough to thrust forward, and Milo gave a joyful cry of welcome.

And again. And again.

It never got to be pounding, bruising porn sex, and Garth didn’t want that anyway. Not now. Not with Milo. Garth gave, and Milo received, and every thrust felt deeper, more perfect, more meaningful, until Milo grasped Garth’s biceps and cried out, his body convulsing in orgasm.

Garth followed one thrust later, the climax rolling through him slowly, almost painfully, so all-consuming Garth’s entire body caught fire with bliss.

He came to moments later, collapsed in Milo’s arms, Milo’s come slick between their bodies, Milo’s happy little sobs breathy in his ear.

“Milo?”

“Y-y-yes?”

“Those are happy tears, right?” He had to make sure.

“Oh yes. You’re amazing. Thank you. Thank you thank you thank you. I’m still shaking. It’s like a gift. You gave me a huge gift, and I came, and that was a gift, and—”

Garth kissed him, pretty sure they could talk more rationally a little later. He barely managed to roll over and turn the bedside lamp all the way off, knowing the hall light could help Milo out if he needed it.

As he fell asleep, Milo still quaking in his arms, he heard Julia’s toenails clack across his bedroom hardwood and her snuffling noises as she made herself comfortable in her new crate with her new bed. On the other side of the room, Chad flopped over with a sigh, and their children were home, and Garth was home, and Milo was his home.

And he could sleep.

GARTH WAS starting to appreciate how Mariana could be a huge asset to his and Milo’s relationship.

Milo had left reluctantly Sunday afternoon, the better to get some work and housecleaning done before he and Garth went shopping on Tuesday and for Garth to finish up his paperwork before working Monday at Misty’s and then dedicating almost an entire week to Thanksgiving, including the work in Milo’s backyard.

Monday afternoon found Garth missing Milo as he got home, but as they’d chatted at the dog park that morning, and texted over lunch, and Garth knew Milo had a busy night ahead doing basically what Garth had done at Misty’s but on the computer. He needed to stay out of Milo’s hair, and he didn’t want to call Doug because Doug’s kids were out of school this week, and the poor guy was probably pulling his hair out.

That left Mariana, and finally, finally , a chance to vent about Stuart.

“All I’m saying,” he growled darkly, “is that some people could really benefit from a little specialized assassination.”

Mari’s cackle of assent reassured him on a core level. “I used to fantasize about dosing his special Columbian blend coffee with insulin,” she said dreamily. “The only reason I didn’t was that if Milo accidentally took a drink, I don’t think Stuart would have called a doctor when he passed out.”

“That’s too peaceful,” Garth muttered, moving about his kitchen to fix some leftovers for dinner. He and Milo had gone all out the night before and made a batch of barbecue pork noodles that he could eat for the next three days. “I know people who can lay concrete and don’t ask questions.”

“Ooh….” It sounded like Mariana was munching on a carrot. “I like the way you think. I honestly….” She sighed. “I mean, your best friend is supposed to find love, right? It’s not my place to intervene. And when I thought Stuart was making him happy, I didn’t. But I hated the guy. He was smarmy. He was fake. He never let Milo finish a sentence. He was condescending as fuck to both of us. But Milo would shrug and say it was fine, nobody got the perfect guy, particularly not him.”

“Why not him?” Garth asked, the question ripped out of his chest. He would never forget Milo tearing down that hill in his pajamas, frantic that his small, weird dog would freak Chad out. So much good heart in that mess of bird’s-nest hair and windmilling limbs. How could anybody think Milo didn’t deserve somebody kind and considerate and… and perfect .

“Oh, I get it,” Mariana said, sounding sage and wise and shit. “You had parents who loved you, didn’t you?”

Garth gaped, dropping a spoonful of pork noodles on the ground and reinforcing Chad’s secret belief that food came from heaven.

“Uhm, yeah,” he said. “Doesn’t… doesn’t everybody ?”

“You’d think,” Mariana said grimly. “But no. And sometimes their lives have made their love as toxic as they are.”

Garth let out a breath and had a moment of fear. Any sane person would, right? How much about his lover did he want to know? How much could he help with? How much did he just have to witness and know there was damage he couldn’t fix?

But he and Milo that weekend…. Garth swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. He missed the guy already. He wanted Milo in the morning, in the afternoon, in the evening, and pressed up against his body at night. He sort of had to know everything if he wanted that, right?

“I’ll take any examples you want to give me,” he said after a long moment.

Mariana let out a breath. “It’s like my parents,” she said, probably because this was something she and Milo had bonded over. “My parents were nuts about my sister, because she looked like my dad. Me? I look like my mom’s side of the family, so I’m no bueno. But Serena, she’s fragile, and when she hit college, she gets diagnosed with schizophrenia. And suddenly my folks are convinced it was my fault. I was fourteen, and I had to sneak in the window of my own house because my father would scream at me that if I was a better person, my sister wouldn’t be loony fuckin’ tunes. So home’s a nightmare, and I go hang out with Milo, because he says nobody bothers him at home.”

“Did they?” Garth asked, heart aching.

“Nope. Nobody fucking bothered him at home. There was a housekeeper who left food in the fridge and a gardener who emptied the trash and kept the outside of the house looking lived in, and there was Milo’s room, which was… well, clean but chaotic. He’d hung up art in there on every available surface. Picasso, Monet, Lautrec, anime, manga, random street artists—fuckin’ everybody . And I walked in, and I could see it. He ate at one place on his desk and set his dishes there to bring to the sink when he was done. Kept it scrupulously clean. His clothes were neat in the drawers, but he didn’t really care about them, so I had to go through and weed out shit that he’d outgrown in junior high while we listened to Boxer Rebellion on the computer. He had tasteful furniture and matching bedding and all of that fuckin’ art. And while the holidays were sort of a shitfest for me—my dad literally handed me a twenty on Christmas morning and told me to get out of his sight—Milo had to show up in his best clothes and smile for his parents’ guests and make excruciating small talk to people he’d never met before in his life. Can you imagine? For Milo?”

Garth’s heart gave another terrible twist, like it was being wrung out between powerful, unmerciful, bony fingers.

“No,” he said, his throat dry.

“So on the one hand,” Mari said, “I hated my parents. I still hate them. I feel like that’s the healthy option. But my sister never did anything wrong, and she was always kind to me, and as soon as I was old enough and had my shit together enough, I got the power of attorney to put her in a care home that didn’t suck donkey balls, and you’ve seen how Milo helped me there.”

And Garth could, with complete clarity, see why Milo would have thought that was necessary.

“But on the other,” Mari continued, her voice dropping soberly, “Milo’s folks gave him a trust that he came into at twenty-five, after he was out of college and had started making his own money. And he’s been smart about it. Hired an accountant that he doesn’t bother very often, invested in the duplex, lives like he wants. But when it comes to family, I’m it. His mother calls up sometimes and asks him to make an appearance at a holiday, but Milo’s been saying no. And you know, it could be she wants to reconnect. His stepfather was sort of a cold fish, but I can see a mother wanting to know her adult son. But Milo got so little from the two of them when he needed so much , that I don’t know if he’s got anything, any padding, anything soft left for them. But when that Byron kid in college sweettalked his way into Milo’s bed, Milo was practically one of those rats with the Pied Piper. And Byron was a douchebag, but me and Milo, we had sort of a pact, you know, to keep going. To not lose hope. So Stuart stalks him, and Milo’s like, ‘Okay. This guy must really love me if he’s giving me attention,’ but he didn’t know—hell, neither of us did, ’cause it’s not like I’ve got any track records, right? Neither of us could see that there’s attention and there’s wrong attention until Stuart walked away and Milo was alone in his own head.”

Garth had given up on staying rational at this point, and had, instead, slid down his cabinets to join Chad on the floor. He hugged Chad’s massive neck, and the dog tried to clean his face, hoping for more pork noodles, but Garth knew good attention from bad attention and, thinking about Mari and Milo, decided he was going to take the win.

“I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely, and he heard a long pause and a sniffle on Mari’s end.

“Yeah, me too. We were having such a great meeting of the minds here. I didn’t mean to ruin it.”

And Garth felt Milo’s need then to make Mari one of his people. “You didn’t ruin it,” he said loyally. “We’re on the same team here, right? We make Milo happy, we’re happy. You tell me stuff about you, and we can keep you happy, and that’ll make Milo happy. You’re a package deal. I told you that when we first met. I get it more now. ’Cause you’re right. I was loved. My folks were nuts about me and my sister. We still text every day, and they’re down in San Diego. I’ve sent them about a hundred pictures of Milo and his dog, and he doesn’t know that, but they do, because they want to know who I’m crazy about. But I never saw before that love’s a skill as much as a feeling. That sometimes people need to be shown how to accept it so they can learn how to return it. I mean, with you guys, it started with each other, and then you both branched out into cats, and then you got him the dog. Maybe this last month and a half, he’s been learning how to be toward me through the dog, you know? Like, the dog needs care and feeding every day, and people need tending that often too.”

She gave a broken laugh. “Lucky me. I’ve got eight cats.”

“Well, yeah, but your other human likes cats too. Maybe he’s broken in the same places.”

She gave a sobby sort of snort. “Yeah,” she said. “Maybe. But right now, we’re focusing on you and Milo. Your parents loved you. Milo’s got to learn what that’s like.”

“I’m doing my best here,” Garth said, and internally he was reminding himself he was in this for the long haul. A month and a half? Early October to Thanksgiving? That wasn’t particularly long if you were training a human how to accept love. He figured it would take Julia at least six months before she stopped giving Chad the side-eye every time they met. It would take Milo at least that long too.

“You’re doin’ okay,” Mari told him. “Milo told me he totally understands sex now, and I’ve got to tell you, that’s a helluva improvement over ‘I don’t know, Mari—it’ll get better sometime, right?’”

Garth groaned, wanting to confide in her so badly.

“What?” she asked, her voice getting dangerous. “Why did you make that sound?”

“Stuart told him he only needed stretching the first time.”

Oh hell. It was like he’d been possessed by Milo for a moment. The blurt had just blurted , and Mari’s shocked silence proved to him that he’d gone over bounds.

“So,” she said, her voice level at Barely Controlled Fury, “you say you know people who lay cement.”

“Yup.”

“I will keep my eye open for mob guys who like to pull fingernails.”

“Me too.”

She laughed a little. “Garth?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad we’re on the same team.”

“Me too.”