Good clean fun on At Home

Jean Wolfe

July 19, 2020 6:11 AM

Good clean fun by Jean Wolfe

Jean-Loup watched carefully, wondering what to do with the information in his pocket. Dorian sat attentive and poised at the reception desk. He looked calm, composed and professional. And Jean-Loup knew that it was the look he adopted when he was forcing himself to concentrate on being those things and when doing that took all of his energy. His ‘Teach Yourself Greek’ book was lying unopened next to him.

It was Christmas Eve. Dorian’s mood had been fluctuating throughout their time here. Sometimes he would relax and laugh and soften into Jean-Loup’s embrace, and at others he seemed to freeze up, like having a good time was somehow wrong. He felt guilty and homesick, Jean-Loup knew that much, even if he couldn’t get it into Dorian’s head to not blame himself or feel bad. Privately, he was also confused. He knew that Dorian hadn’t chosen for Matthieu to force his hand, or for his family to react badly, but he had talked of them having a real life, a real future where they were each other’s everything… To Jean-Loup, this had been what that would look like. It was a choice between having each other and being with their families, and he’d been perfectly happy with the one he had made. He tried not to feel like Dorian was having doubts about that, and to understand that it could be hard to face the holidays away from your family when you felt like there was still a shot at that working – even if he rather thought that relying on that sounded like wanting to have your cake and eat it.

“Hey,” he said softly, approaching the desk. Dorian’s eyes flicked from the point they’d been staring at rigidly – one which was both the opposite wall and, Jean-Loup suspected, playing out scenes of Christmases in Canada. “I found something. I… I thought about surprising you, but honestly I wasn’t sure if it would make it better or worse.” He fished in his pocket, pulling out the take-away menu for the only Chinese restaurant he’d been able to find in a fifty-mile radius.

Dorian’s eyes flicked over the paper, looking like he didn’t really recognise what he was seeing. That wasn’t where the confusion came from though.

“Nor do I,” he answered, trying to process the tangle of emotions the menu had produced. It wasn’t close enough to home to comfort him, and anything that got closer was just going to cut deeper. It needed to be the real thing or not at all. “I think not,” he decided, “But it helps that you found it,” he added, not wanting to dismiss the gesture at all. Before it had started looking strange and wrong and unfamiliar, the menu had stirred a little feeling of comfort and home, and he suspected that came more from the effort by the person who had procured it than the people it was supposed to remind him of. “Thank you,” he smiled, leaning over. Jean-Loup was standing next to his chair, and this meant his head landed against his boyfriend’s stomach. “I’m sorry – I feel like I’m ruining your Christmas.”

“I’m more than happy to be here,” Jean-Loup assured him.

“But I’m not. And I’m not being happy or warm or any of the things you want me to be,” he sighed. “I’m not giving you a happy Christmas.”

“You don’t have to pretend to be happy just to make me happy,” Jean-Loup assured him.

“It just… doesn’t feel like Christmas. It doesn’t feel…” he trailed off.

“It doesn’t feel like home,” Jean-Loup figured they may as well get that out there, so it could maybe stop weighing on Dorian’s mind as the thing no one wanted to admit. For him, that feeling was precisely the appeal, but Dorian didn’t feel the same. “So,” he swept the menu off the desk, “Maybe we don’t try to make it. Let’s make it different. Different but nice – I had a few ideas, in case you didn’t want to do this.”

“Like what?” Dorian asked.

“Moussaka for dinner, and then a surprise,” Jean-Loup suggested.

“It’s not a dinner surprise?” Dorian asked.

“It’s a dessert surprise. But you get hungry and grumpy if you don’t eat before you finish work,” Jean-Loup pointed out.

Dorian tried not to object to being called grumpy because he had to admit he felt both inclined to glare over that remark but could also feel his stomach rumbling, and he thought that maybe Jean-Loup had a point.

“You’re good at looking after me,” he admitted instead, letting Jean-Loup play affectionately with his hair. “I’m sorry you have to.”

“I’m not,” Jean-Loup assured him. He assumed it was self-evident that he wished Dorian didn’t need looking after, but if he did, he was perfectly content to be the one to do it.

*

“And you are all done for Christmas Eve,” Jean-Loup grinned, appearing beside the reception desk with a picnic basket and Dorian’s cloak.

They made their way down to the freezing cold beach. It was late, Christmas Eve and everyone with a family had somewhere better to be. Or somewhere they thought was better. Jean-Loup was rather looking forward to this, and wasn’t sure there was anything he’d rather be doing. He pulled some wood from one side of the basket, building it into a little pyramid with his wand and setting it alight. He spread a picnic rug in front of the fire, pleased to see that Dorian’s eyes looked a little more animated in the firelight and that he willingly settled on the rug beside him.

Jean-Loup put an arm around him, feeling the heat of the fire dancing on his cheek and the warmth of Dorian leaning against his chest. He manipulated the rest of the contents out of the basket with his wand so that he could set up dessert and snuggle his boyfriend at the same time. He waved cream and chocolate into a little earthenware pot, setting it just close enough to the fire’s warmth to melt the chocolate, making the contents stir themselves with an occasional flick of his wrist. When it was ready, he set it on the edge of the blanket along with various fruits and marshmallows.

“You forgot the fondue forks,” Dorian pointed out.

“Mm, so I did,” Jean-Loup said sounding unconcerned.

“How did you manage that?” Dorian laughed, “They’re always right next to the pots. We could probably safely summon them without stabbing anyone,” he pondered, “Or maybe conjure some?”

“Or,” Jean-Loup cut across him, placing a firm hand on Dorian’s as it reached for his wand. He picked up a grape with his other hand, dipping it in the chocolate and leaning over to place it in Dorian’s mouth, his thumb brushing Dorian’s lips as he did so. Dorian swallowed the mouthful of sweetness and deep rich chocolate.

“Oh,” he said. Jean-Loup’s hand hadn’t strayed far, and was now softly stroking his cheek, “How hard exactly did you look for the forks?” he asked, and Jean-Loup was glad to find he sounded teasing rather than annoyed.

“Not very,” he admitted, grinning wolfishly, pulling Dorian in and getting a taste of grapes and dark chocolate himself.

“I see,” Dorian smiled as they broke apart. He leant over, dipping a marshmallow in the fondue, and reaching up to offer it to Jean-Loup. “Though I think our fingers are going to get very chocolatey doing it this way,” he added.

Jean-Loup wondered what exactly a smirk, with a mouthful of marshmallow and by firelight looked like. He suspected Dorian was getting the answer to that right now. He took his time chewing, working out how exactly to explain that he didn’t exactly see that as a downside of the plan…

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