Chapter 1

They couldn’t fuck in the house. David got too loud and it felt strange to have Marcus on him and in him while they were in the bed where he’d spent his teenaged years. They arrived two days before Christmas. When they carried their bags upstairs, David’s mother Sara told them, “You boys take David’s old room. I made up the bunk beds for you. ”

Oblivious. David wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

Marcus asked him about it as they unpacked their bags.

“She probably just thinks you’re some lonely singleton with no place to be on Christmas. I’ve brought friends home from college before at the holidays. Ones who couldn’t afford to fly back home or who didn’t want to.”

Marcus stood behind him and wrapped his strong arms around David’s waist. He gazed at David in the mirror. “Babe, you really should tell them about us.”

“I know. I will.” The thought made his torso cold. Marcus was his first man—he’d brought home girlfriends all through high school and college and now this—this unfathomable desire for Marcus.

It had started in May. Watching Marcus’s strong arms and broad back grow wet and slick as he worked on the animals captured David utterly. He’d been glad to be wearing loose khakis—they hid his growing cock. David denied the attraction through June, spent July and August nights masturbating to thoughts of Marcus and in September, they started for real.

David kept his voice low. “I’m not sure I can explain it to them when I haven’t really figured it out myself.”

“I’m not saying you have to do it right this second but—I’m not going to lie to them if they start asking about my girlfriends. Are we clear on that?”

“Clear.”

“I won’t push you. You just let me know what you’re ready for.” Marcus nuzzled David’s golden neck.

David’s gaze flicked to the bedroom’s open door. He turned in Marcus’s grip, kissed his bare scalp and dark eyebrows. “Thanks. Thanks for coming home with me and being with me and….”

Loving me.

He couldn’t say that—yet.

* * * *

After dinner, Marcus helped Sara in the kitchen. David overheard pieces of their conversation as he carried in plates and silverware: “Now, where did you meet my David?”

Marcus’s voice, low as a foghorn. “He worked on my thoroughbred farm. He was one of the January interns this year.”

Ears straining, David stood at the dining room table. What was his mother saying? Was she nosing around Marcus too much, too soon? He picked up the salad bowl with care. This would be an easy way to handle it, maybe if Marcus let it slip about no girlfriends. Then he felt foolish and cowardly.

“You know I always thought David would want to get out of animal care. All these years on the farm here, and 4-H through school.”

“Animals are what he loves. He’s great with them,” Marcus replied.

David moved back into the kitchen and met Marcus’s eyes. When Sara bent over the dishwasher, Marcus gave him a quick wink.

“True. His sister, Brenda, got an accounting degree. She couldn’t wait to get off the farm.” She rose, pressing one hand against her lower back.

David touched her shoulder. “Go sit down, Mom. We’ll finish this up.”

She protested a little, until David took her to the den and made her sit down. “You want tea? Coffee?” he said over the blare of the evening news. His parents shook their heads, no, and he left them alone.

Once the kitchen was cleaned up, they all played hearts, then settled in to watch the nine o’clock news from Indianapolis. The house was the same as when David had left for college six years before: the fire sent a warm, homey scent through the house, Stan’s pipe that was fathersmell to David. All of the furniture was exactly where it had been while David was growing up. The plaid sofa on one wall, the ugly coffee table covered with water stains and indented pen marks from years of the children’s doing homework on it. David found it all a sweet comfort.

Marcus and David sprawled on opposite ends of the sofa. Sara sat in her wingback chair, her sewing basket at her feet. She was always quilting, always bent over a needle and thread, brows furrowed. David thought she looked like Angela Lansbury in that wolf movie from years ago: her hair tugged back, her reading glasses balanced on her nose. Sara’s mouth was down-turned and for the first time, David noticed the gray in her hair and that it was coarse-looking.

The weather report was just coming on when Marcus’s soft snore made them all look up. His head was pillowed on the sofa’s cushions, his mouth was open, eyes closed. David and Stan and Sara smiled at one another.

“We had to leave the house in Gainesville at three to make our flight from Orlando. He’s really tired.” David explained, his voice quiet.