Boyfriend for the Holidays

Chapter 5. The Truth

Dinner is excruciating.

I can barely focus on anything happening around me, hyperaware of Garred's every movement beside me. His thigh keeps pressing against mine under the table, and every time he reaches for something, his arm brushes my shoulder. The spot where he kissed my neck throbs gently, and I'm grateful for the high collar of my sweater.

Mom keeps the conversation flowing, but I barely register what anyone's saying. All I can think about is the kitchen, the way Garred kissed me, the things he whispered. My hands shake slightly as I cut my food, and when Garred passes me the salt, our fingers brush, sending electricity up my arm.

“Mitchell?” Grandma's voice breaks through my haze. “Did you hear what I asked?”

“Sorry, what?” I blink, realizing everyone's looking at me.

“I was asking if you boys enjoyed your walk around town,” she says, her eyes twinkling knowingly.

I feel my face heat up. “Oh. Yeah, it was...nice.”

“Very nice,” Garred adds, his voice low and warm.

“Right,” Adam says meaningfully, faint annoyance lacing his words.

After what feels like hours, dinner finally winds down. As everyone starts clearing the table, Garred catches my eye and tilts his head slightly toward the stairs. The gesture is subtle, but it sends my heart racing. I manage a small nod, trying to look casual as we slip away from the cleanup chaos.

We barely make it through my bedroom door before Garred's on me, backing me against the wall, his mouth crashing into mine with a desperation that makes me dizzy. For a moment, I lose myself in it—in the heat of his lips, in the way his hands grip my hips, in the soft groan he makes when I arch against him. But then reality crashes back in, and I pull away, pressing my palms against his chest.

“Wait,” I breathe, my voice shaky. “Are you...? Kelly said you were straight.”

Garred pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark with desire but clouded with confusion. “She said what?”

“She told me explicitly that you were 'straight as an arrow.'“ Even now, I can hear her voice saying those words, remember how my heart sank when she said them.

He lets out a surprised laugh, his breath warm against my lips. “What? No. I'm very much gay. I told her that last week when she tried to seduce me after one of your bar nights.” His hands haven't left my waist, his thumbs drawing maddening circles through my sweater. “Actually, that night, I told her I had a crush on you.”

“Oh God,” I mumble, my mind racing. “Why wouldn't she tell me?”

Garred frowns, and I can practically see his thoughts aligning with mine. I know Kelly—know how her mind works. She must have been mortified about coming onto Garred only to find out he was gay. But that doesn't explain why she kept his feelings for me a secret.

And then it hits me. “She set this whole thing up.”

“What?” Garred's brows furrow adorably.

“That's why she looked so pleased with herself when she came up with this fake boyfriend thing.” The pieces are falling into place. “But she probably knew I'd spoil everything if I knew you were gay. Or that you had feelings for me.” I shake my head, a mix of exasperation and fondness washing over me. “She knows what an overthinker I am.”

A slow smirk spreads across Garred's face. “That's a little twisted,” he says, “but knowing Kelly? I can absolutely see her doing that.” He laughs softly, then pulls me closer, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Mitch, I've been in love with you since that night you spent twenty minutes explaining why vampires would definitely beat firefighters.”

A laugh bubbles out of me, nervous and warm, my heart feeling like it might burst. “That long?”

He nods, pressing his forehead against mine. “That long. And then Kelly came up with this ridiculous plan, and I thought maybe...” He takes a shaky breath, and I feel it against my lips. “Maybe if I could show you how good we could be together, you'd want this to be real. Want me.” His eyes darken as they search mine.

“I—” My voice catches as his hands tighten on my waist. “I want you. Have wanted you. But I thought you were straight.”

“Don't you know that all firefighters are gay?” Garred smirks, referencing Adam's idiotic comment from last night, and I can't help but laugh again.

Then his mouth is on mine again, but this time, there's no hesitation, no doubt—just heat and want and the pure joy of knowing this is real. His hands thread through my hair as he walks me backward toward the bed, and I know we should probably go back downstairs before someone comes looking for us, but right now, all I can think about is how perfectly we fit together, how right this feels.

The pretending is over. This is real.

The back of my knees hit the mattress, and Garred follows me down as I fall, bracing himself above me. His weight pins me deliciously against the bed, and when he kisses me again, it's deep and thorough, like he's trying to make up for all the time we've lost pretending.

“God, you're beautiful,” he murmurs against my lips, and I flush all the way down my neck. His mouth follows the blush, trailing hot kisses down my throat, lingering on the mark he left earlier. When he bites down gently, I have to bite my lip to stifle a moan.

“Shh,” he whispers, but I can feel him smirking against my skin. “Don't want the whole family to hear.”

“Then stop doing that with your—oh!” I gasp as his teeth graze a particularly sensitive spot. His laugh rumbles against my neck, and I tug his hair in retaliation, which only makes him groan and press me harder into the mattress.

His hands slip under my sweater, palms hot against my skin as they slide up my sides. I arch into his touch, forgetting to be quiet, and a rather embarrassing whimper escapes me when his thumbs brush over my nipples.

“Baby,” he breathes, pulling back to look at me with dark eyes. “You have to be quieter than that.”

“Make me,” I challenge, and his eyes flash dangerously before he captures my mouth in a kiss that steals my breath. His tongue slides against mine, deep and possessive, while his hands continue their maddening exploration under my sweater.

I try to stay quiet, but it's nearly impossible. When his thigh presses between my legs, I moan into his mouth, and he has to swallow the sound with another searing kiss. My hands roam over his back, feeling the play of muscles under his sweater and undershirt, and when I scratch lightly down his spine, he makes this broken sound that goes straight to my core.

“Fuck, Mitch,” he pants against my mouth. “Do you have any idea how long I've wanted this?”

I pull him down for another kiss, hooking one leg around his waist to bring him closer. The friction makes us both gasp, and Garred breaks away to press his forehead against mine, breathing hard.

“If you keep doing that,” he warns, voice rough, “I’m not going to last very long.”

The sound of voices drifting up from downstairs breaks through our heated moment.

“Has anyone seen my keys?” Jemma calls out.

“Check under the gift wrapping!” Mom responds.

We both freeze, then share a look that's equal parts frustrated and amused. “We should probably...” I gesture vaguely toward the door.

“Yeah,” Garred agrees reluctantly, pressing one last kiss to my lips before rolling off me. We take a moment to straighten our clothes and try to look less... thoroughly kissed. I catch a glimpse of us in my old mirror—flushed cheeks, mussed hair, swollen lips—and have to bite back a laugh.

Downstairs, we find everyone gathering their coats and gifts. Jemma catches my eye across the hallway as she's helping her youngest into her coat. Once the kids are bundled up, she makes her way over to us, that knowing smile playing on her lips.

“You know,” she says, studying us both with that big-sister intensity, “I've never seen you like this before, Mitch.” There's something gentle in her voice, a warmth that makes me squirm a little.

“Jem—” I start, but she pulls me into a tight hug.

“I'm so happy for you, little brother,” she whispers, and there's something in her voice that makes my throat tight. When she pulls back, her eyes are suspiciously bright.

Then she turns to Garred, and I expect her usual protective sister routine. Instead, she hugs him, too, which seems to surprise him as much as it does me. “Welcome to the family, officially,” she says warmly. “And thank you for making him smile like that. I haven't seen him this happy since...well, maybe ever.”

Adam approaches next, hands stuffed in his pockets, looking characteristically uncomfortable with emotional moments. He clears his throat. “So.”

“So,” I reply, tensing slightly.

He shifts his weight, glancing between Garred and me, then focuses on adjusting his coat zipper. “You know how I get sometimes,” he says gruffly. Coming from Adam, it's practically a declaration of remorse. “Being the older brother and all.”

“Yeah,” I say, understanding what he's not saying. With Adam, it's always about what's not said.

He nods once, then turns to Garred. For a moment, they just look at each other, doing that weird masculine assessment thing. Then Adam extends his hand. “Take care of him,” he says simply. It's not quite a threat, not quite a blessing, but something in between.

“I will,” Garred replies with equal gravity, and I roll my eyes at their dramatics, even as something warm blooms in my chest.

Then Grandma practically bounces over to us, her eyes twinkling with barely contained glee. She wraps her arms around both of us at once, pulling us down to her level with surprising strength.

“Oh, my boys!” she exclaims, patting both our cheeks. “Finally, someone worthy of my Mitchell!” She beams up at Garred. “You make sure he has some proper fun, dear. Though,” she adds with a decidedly wicked wink that makes me want to melt into the floor, “judging by that mark on his neck, you're already doing a fine job.”

“Grandma!” I choke out, mortified, as Garred tries and fails to suppress his laugh.

The rest of the goodbyes are a blur of hugs and kisses. Jemma and Rick wrangle their sleepy kids toward the door while Claire gives us one last warm smile. Dad helps Grandma with her coat, and then they're all filing out into the snowy night, car doors slamming and engines starting up one by one.

As the last taillights disappear down the street, we're left standing in the warm light of the entryway with Mom. Then, suddenly, Mom starts gathering her things with an air of studied nonchalance that immediately sets off warning bells in my head. She adjusts her reading glasses, checks her phone, and casually reaches for her coat, all with an overdone calmness that screams she’s up to something. I watch her, suspicion growing as she pretends to be deeply interested in her scarf's alignment.

“Well,” she says, smoothing it down, “I should probably get going.”

I blink at her. “Going? Where?”

“Mhmm,” she hums, buttoning up her coat with deliberate care. “Samantha's expecting me for our movie night. Your father will join us after he drops off Grandma.”

I stare at her, confused. Mom has never just…left when I was here. She’s usually the one insisting I stay longer, always finding an excuse to keep me around—pulling out old photo albums or saying there’s “just one more thing” to show me. Her sudden departure feels strange, and I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to it than meets the eye.

“I'll be gone for a few hours at least,” she interrupts, a little too cheerfully. “Probably won't be back until quite late, actually.”

Something about her tone makes me suspicious, but I can't quite put my finger on why until she adds, far too casually, “Oh, and Mitchell? The first aid kit in the upstairs bathroom has a new pack of condoms in it. Just in case you boys need anything.”

Oh. Oh, god. OH, GOD.

My face blazes so hot I'm surprised I don't burst into flames. Beside me, Garred makes a strangled sound that might be a laugh or a cough.

“Mom!” I manage to croak out, but she's already heading for the door, keys jingling in her hand.

“Don't wait up!” she calls over her shoulder, and then she's gone, leaving me standing there in mortified silence while Garred shakes with silent laughter next to me.

“I can't believe she just—” I start, then cover my face with my hands. “Oh god, this is so embarrassing.”

“I don't know,” Garred says, his voice warm with amusement as he pulls me closer. “I think it's kind of sweet. In a thoroughly mortifying way.”

“Sweet?” I wince, almost painfully. “My mother just cleared out the house so we could have sex!”

Garred must sense my panic because his expression softens as he pulls me into his arms. “Hey,” he says, his voice gentle. “No pressure. We don't have to do anything.”

I let out a shaky laugh against his chest. “I feel like there's a spreadsheet somewhere with designated positions and performance metrics. Probably with a satisfaction survey at the end.”

His laugh rumbles through his chest, and I feel some of the tension ease from my shoulders. “From what I've learned about your mom in the last twenty-four hours,” he chuckles, “I wouldn't be surprised if she's already planning our wedding.” His hands stroke soothingly up and down my arms. “But seriously, Mitch. We can just...go to sleep.”

I pull back slightly to look at him, struck again by how unfairly gorgeous he is in the soft hallway light. “Wine?” I suggest, my voice only slightly unsteady. “We still have that other bottle from yesterday.”

“Lead the way,” he says, pressing a quick kiss to my temple that somehow makes me more nervous than all our heated kisses upstairs.

In the kitchen, I fumble with the corkscrew while Garred leans against the counter, watching me with those dark eyes that seem to see right through me. The air feels thick with possibility, charged with everything we've said and everything we haven't.

“Need help with that?” he asks, amusement coloring his voice as I struggle with the cork. “We don't want a repeat of yesterday's wine incident, do we?”

“I got it,” I insist, though my hands are trembling slightly. After another moment of wrestling, the cork finally pops free. “And I don’t know,” I say, trying for lightness despite my racing heart. “You looked pretty good in my tiny T-shirt.”

Garred’s eyes darken at that, and he steps closer, crowding me against the counter in a way that's becoming wonderfully familiar. “Yeah?” he says softly. “Is that why you were staring?”

“I wasn't—” I start to protest, but he just raises an eyebrow, and I feel my face heat up. “Okay, maybe I was staring a little.”

He laughs, the sound low and warm, then reaches past me to grab two wine glasses from the cabinet. His chest brushes against mine, and I catch the faint scent of his cologne—pine, and spice, and something uniquely him. The casual intimacy of the moment makes my heart race, and suddenly, I can't ignore the nervous energy thrumming through me.

Now that I know this is real—that Garred is actually gay, actually wants me—the stakes feel impossibly high. It's not just about tonight anymore. Every touch, every look carries the weight of possibility and god, I don't want to mess this up.

All those times I'd seen him at his and Kelly's apartment, I'd forced myself not to stare too long, convinced myself not to read into his friendly smiles. Someone like him was so far out of my league that I hadn't even let myself imagine the possibility. But now he's here, so close, and I'm terrified of doing something wrong.

“We should...” I gesture vaguely toward the stairs with my wine glass, my voice slightly unsteady. “Maybe go up?”

Garred nods, his eyes never leaving mine as he follows me up the stairs. The walk feels endless, and I’m buzzing with anticipation. When we reach the second floor, I hesitate outside my bedroom door, suddenly unsure.

“So,” I start, then take a large gulp of wine for courage. “Is this like...a one-time thing? Or...?”

The words come out in a rush, and I immediately want to kick myself. But Garred's expression shifts from amused to intense so quickly it steals my breath.

“No,” he says roughly, stepping closer until I feel his hot breath on my face. His free hand comes up to cup my jaw, thumb brushing my lower lip. “God, no.”

The conviction in his voice sends butterflies racing through my chest. He sets his wine glass on the hallway table without looking, then takes mine and sets it aside, too. When he turns back to me, his eyes are obsidian with want.

“I want all of it,” he says, voice low and serious, “The boyfriend stuff. The family stuff. I plan to take my time with you. To learn every inch of you.” His hands slide down to my hips, pulling me flush against him. “To figure out exactly what makes you fall apart.” He punctuates this by pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to my neck. “And then do it again and again until you can't remember your own name.”

I let out an embarrassing whimper that seems to spur him on. His mouth finds mine in a kiss that's all tongue, wet heat, and promise, and my knees actually buckle. He catches me easily, one strong arm around my waist, and I can barely catch my breath with how much I want him.

Then suddenly, he pulls back, eyes dancing with mischief even as his chest heaves. “So,” he says, voice rough but playful, “Kelly mentioned you read those spicy romantasy novels. How am I doing? Living up to your book boyfriend expectations?”

I laugh breathlessly, grateful for the moment of levity even as my heart races. “Did she tell you everything about me?”

“Only the embarrassing bits,” he murmurs with a chuckle, pressing a softer kiss to my lips. “Though I have to say, I'm a little jealous of all those brooding immortal warriors you spend your nights with.”

“Shut up,” I manage, though I can't help smiling. His answering grin is wicked as he nudges my nose with his.

“You know,” he says thoughtfully, voice low and teasing, “I may not be immortal, but I bet I can make you squirm just as much.” His hands slide down to cup me through my jeans, and I curse under my breath at the touch.

The playfulness in his voice does nothing to hide the heat in his eyes, and whatever clever response I might have had dies in my throat as he leans in to trace his tongue along my jaw. Every touch feels electric, heightened by the knowledge that this is real, that he actually wants this—wants me.

“Yes,” I gasp as his tongue finds the column of my throat. “We should—the bedroom.”

He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark and intense. “You sure?”

The genuine care in his voice, even now, makes my heart flip. I nod, not trusting my voice, and reach for the doorknob behind me.

The door clicks open, and we stumble through it, not wanting to break contact. Garred kicks it shut behind us, and for a moment, we just look at each other in the soft moonlight filtering through my old curtains.

His kisses are gentle at first, almost reverent, but they quickly deepen as I press closer, wanting more. His hands slide under my sweater, leaving trails of fire across my skin, and I arch into his touch.

“Can I...?” he asks, fingers touching the hem of my sweater. I nod, raising my arms so he can pull it off. The cool air hits my skin, and then he drops to his knees, his mouth finding my chest, leaving warm, wet kisses down to my stomach. “Fuck,” he breathes against my skin before standing and backing me toward the bed.

My knees hit the mattress, and I pull him down with me. His sweater feels rough against my bare chest, and I tug at it impatiently until he sits up, pulling off both it and his undershirt. The sight of him above me in the moonlight takes my breath away. He's looking at me with such intensity, such desire that I feel my heart might burst. This isn't pretend anymore—this is real, this is us finally being honest about what we want.

Garred leans down to kiss me again, his tongue sliding against mine as his hands explore my bare chest. His weight pins me to the mattress in the most delicious way, and I can't help but moan and arch up against him, seeking more contact.

“Fuck, Mitch,” he breathes against my neck, alternating between kisses and gentle bites. “The sounds you make...”

I would be embarrassed by the whimpers escaping me, but I'm too lost in sensation—the heat of his mouth, the strength of his hands, the way he keeps grinding against me like he can't help himself.

His touch drives me crazy, and I reach for his belt buckle, needing more. He helps me ease his jeans off before slipping mine down, too, and soon we're both down to just our underwear, skin burning everywhere we connect. I slide his briefs down, and for a moment, I'm completely at a loss—my mind struggling to keep up with the sight of him, both vulnerable and confident, his cock so big and aroused it makes my head spin.

He slides my boxers off, and the sound he makes when he sees me naked and aroused is almost feral. His kiss grows demanding, possessive, as his hands grip my hips. Instinctively, my legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, and as he rocks against me, the friction makes us both groan in unison.

“Fuck, Mitch,” he pants against my mouth, his hips rolling forward, sending stars through my vision as his cock presses hard against mine.

“We might…need a condom,” I murmur, breathless.

“Yes,” he gasps between kisses, but before I can move, his hand wraps around me, drawing a moan I can’t hold back. He strokes me up and down, his thumb teasing over the sensitive head with each pass.

“Fuck,” I gasp as Garred quickens his pace, his rough palm igniting every nerve, each stroke sending heat rippling through me. Just as I feel myself teetering on the edge, he pauses, spits on his hand, and then resumes, his grip firmer, making me shiver from head to toe. The pleasure coils tighter, building in waves, but I’m not ready to let go. Leaning close, I whisper against his ear, my voice breathless, “Fuck me.”

His hand freezes mid-stroke, and his eyes darken with unmistakable desire before he gives a single, resolute nod. I hurry out of the room and into the guest bathroom, where I spot the first aid kit, finding a fresh pack of condoms inside with a bottle of lube beside it. Ignoring the rush of thoughts swirling in my mind, I grab both and return to the bedroom. Garred is stretched out on the bed, lying on his back, completely bare, waiting for me. His cock is thick and ready, his gaze locked onto mine with an intensity that sends a delicious shiver down my spine.

I straddle him, and Garred’s hands move to prepare me, starting with one finger, then adding another, each stretch pulling a low moan from my throat. The buildup is slow, each passing minute heightening the anticipation between us. When I’m finally ready, he carefully rolls on a condom then slicks a generous amount of lube over it. I begin to ease down onto him, every inch filling me as we both moan, the intensity and stretch almost overwhelming. His hands grip my hips, holding still to give me a moment to adjust, and we breathe together, our skin hot and damp.

When I finally sink down, fully seated on him, Garred curses, his eyes squeezing shut, his breathing unsteady as he holds onto every ounce of control. I place my hands over his, feeling the tension in his grip on my hips, and begin to move—lifting myself slowly, then sliding back down, a wave of pleasure washing over me as he hits every perfect spot. Watching Garred unravel beneath me, his mouth slightly open, cheeks flushed, gives me a thrill of power. I want to hear him lose it, so I pick up the pace, rolling my hips faster. His grip tightens, and he starts meeting each of my movements, thrusting up to meet me, his rhythm driving us both to the edge.

Then his hand finds my cock, stroking in sync with each thrust, and I can’t hold back, whimpering and moaning as I finally let go, climaxing in hot pulses across his chest. Seeing that seems to push Garred over the edge, too, and with one last moan, he grips my hips hard, pulsing as he comes inside me. We’re both trembling, bodies pressed close, breaths ragged as the last waves of pleasure wash over us.

***

Light filters through the frost-feathered window, casting patterns across the bed that shift and dance with each passing cloud. I'm warm despite the winter chill—almost too warm, really, with Garred practically radiating heat behind me. His leg is hooked over mine possessively, and I can feel his heartbeat against my back, steady and strong.

“God, it's hot,” I mumble, shifting restlessly against him.

“You know,” he murmurs against my neck, his voice gravelly with sleep, “I've never actually had someone steal all the blankets and then complain about being too hot.”

“I did not steal—” I start to protest, but then I notice that, yes, somehow, I've managed to cocoon myself in most of the comforter, leaving him with just a corner.

His laugh is soft and fond as he tugs at the blanket. “Share?”

I loosen my grip on the blanket, letting him pull some back over himself as I turn to face him. The morning light catches his face just right, highlighting a small scar near his temple I hadn’t noticed before. Without thinking, I reach up to trace it with my finger.

“Training accident,” he explains, catching my hand and pressing a kiss to my palm. “First week at the academy. Turns out fire hoses are harder to control than they look.”

I try to picture a younger, less muscular Garred struggling with equipment, but it's difficult to reconcile with the confident man I know. “Tell me more about that,” I say, genuinely curious. “About being a firefighter.”

He props himself up on one elbow, looking thoughtful. “It's not that interesting, you know. Mostly, it's preventive inspections, false alarms, and helping elderly ladies whose cats won't come down from trees.”

“And here I thought you spent all day posing for calendars.”

His eyes spark with amusement. “Only on Tuesdays.”

We fall into a comfortable silence, just looking at each other. His hand finds its way to my hip, thumb tracing lazy circles that make my skin tingle. Everything feels soft and unhurried like we have all the time in the world.

“I like this,” he says quietly.

“What?”

“Just...this. Waking up with you. Getting to touch you whenever I want.” His fingers trail up my side, making me shiver. “Not having to pretend I'm not completely gone for you.”

The simple honesty in his voice makes my heart flip. I lean in to kiss him, morning breath be damned, but before our lips meet, Mom's voice drifts up from downstairs:

“Breakfast is ready!”

I groan, dropping my forehead against Garred's chest. “She has absolutely tragic timing.”

“At least she didn't install a baby monitor in here,” Garred says with a wicked grin. “Though considering everything, I wouldn't put it past her.”

“Don't even joke about that,” I mutter, horrified at the possibility. “I'm already traumatized enough.”

Another call drifts up from downstairs, and I yell back without thinking, “Five more minutes!”

I immediately regret it when Garred's eyebrows shoot up suggestively.

“Five minutes? That's ambitious. I need at least ten to properly appreciate—”

I silence him with a pillow to the face, but he just laughs and pulls me closer, morning stubble scratching deliciously against my neck. His hands wander lower, making me gasp.

“Never thought I'd be so grateful for Kelly's meddling,” he murmurs against my skin.

“Less talking about Kelly,” I manage, already breathless from his touch.

His laugh vibrates against my neck, but then his mouth finds mine, and suddenly, time becomes completely irrelevant.

We end up being very, very late for breakfast.

THE END