Page 80 of Two for Roughing

He knew exactly how it felt to be alone during the most important holiday in his culture, and he didn’t want Kilian to feel that way.

Unfortunately, good intentions did not make him an expert at making bannock.

By the time Kilian emerged from the bedroom they’d slept in together for the third night running, Damir had managed to produce something vaguely similar to the pictures in the recipe. He was in the process of setting out glasses of orange juice, coffee, and toppings. (Did people put syrup on bannock? Or jam? Or both? Would Kilian hate it if Damir got out the sour cream?)

“What’s this?” Kilian yawned. He wore one of Damir’s shirts and his own briefs, just barely visible under the hem of the shirt.

Good thing Damir kept the apartment warm.

Damir looked at the spread and sighed. “Merry Christmas Eve? I tried to make you something from home.”

Kilian followed his sight line, took in the attempt at bannock, the table set with far more care than they usually bothered with, and the fat red candle Damir had found in the junk drawer and placed in the middle of it all.

He turned back to Damir, pushed him against the counter, and proceeded to kiss him slow and deep for so long the food started to go cold.

“You’re such a softie,” Kilian said against Damir’s lips when he decided he’d had his fill.

“We should eat.” Protesting the accusation would be pointless. Damir was soft for Kilian.

The bannock tasted good even if it looked…experimental. Honestly, Damir doubted it could taste bad given it was deep-fried dough. He did put sour cream and syrup on his because sour cream belonged on pancake-adjacent substances, and Kilian wrinkled his nose at the sight.

“So what now?” Damir asked once they’d finished, while they sipped their coffees and put off cleaning up.

“Hm?”

“What do people do to celebrate Christmas?”

Kilian shrugged. “I’m sure you’ve seen all the usual shit. Eat, play games, exchange gifts, blah blah.”

“All right, how do you want to celebrate Christmas?”

“By riding you on the couch.”

Damir choked on his coffee, spitting it halfway across the island.

It took him a moment to catch his breath, at which point he discovered Kilian grinning at him like the little shit-stirrer he was. “I forgot how much of a pest you are,” he said wonderingly. “How did that happen?”

“What are you going to do about it?”

He was going to give Kilian exactly what he wanted, but it wouldn’t do to admit as much so soon. Instead, he tugged Kilian out of his chair, then lifted him up at the waist.

“What!” Kilian squawked. “No, you can’t carry me. You’ll throw your back out. I’m too heavy—”

Damir ignored his protests and carried him over to the living room, where he sat down right in the middle of the couch and settled Kilian on his lap.

“So?” He arched an eyebrow.

“So?” Kilian echoed.

“You wanted to ride me. Go on.”

Some thirty minutes later, Kilian collapsed on the couch beside Damir. Damir could see his thighs quiver despite Damir having done most of the work. “How do people do that in porn?” he asked.

It startled a laugh out of Damir. “What?”

“Ride someone properly. I could barely move.”

Damir scooped Kilian’s discarded briefs from beside the couch and used them to wipe him clean. “I think porn actors are probably more used to doing it. Also, they might be using numbing lube.”