Chapter Three
MITCH HAD DONE Thanksgiving with Randy before, but he’d never had a Thanksgiving like this.
The food was pretty much what he’d expected. Well, he didn’t know where, exactly, Randy had come up with half his ingredients and supplies, but it didn’t surprise Mitch when he came home on Wednesday and discovered Sam wearing a dishtowel as an apron as he helped Randy prepare the turkey and put the finishing touches on the pies.
“Place smells amazing.” Mitch noticed Randy didn’t wear a dishtowel but had instead brought his own apron with him from Vegas, or had bought one somewhere on his excursions around town. This too didn’t seem out of character in the slightest. He stepped between the two of them, goosing each of them on the ass. “Do I get dinner, or did you guys already eat?”
Sam flushed, looking guilty. “Oh, sorry, we made sandwiches earlier. I thought you’d eat on the road.”
Normally Mitch would have, but he’d been too eager to get back to the boys. He winked at Sam. “Don’t mind that. I’ll find myself something.”
Randy shook his head. “Settle down. I’ll fix you a plate, but you need to help me wrestle this damn bird first. Go wash your hands and roll up your sleeves.”
Mitch did as instructed, keeping one eye on Randy and Sam as they flopped the turkey carcass on the counter, struggling to get it out of its plastic wrapping, extricating the giblets. When his hands were dry, Randy jerked his head in the direction of a five-gallon bucket near the stove.
“Mitch, bring that over here and hold it just under the counter so we can wedge this inside.”
Mitch obeyed, but he was a little bit mystified. “Why did you get such a big turkey? There’s only three of us.”
“Because turkey is the shit when I make it, as you well know, and this will freeze like nothing else. You’ll eat like kings for months.” Randy hefted the turkey and grunted against the weight. “Okay, Sam—you make sure the wings stay against the body as it goes in, got it?”
“Got it,” Sam said, and in the bird went.
It fit neatly inside the blue plastic bucket, ass up and wings tucked to the sides. Once it was snug in that space and they’d all washed their hands, Randy had Sam pour in a bowl full of citrus, spices, and vegetables, and a huge amount of salt. Then they filled the thing with water almost to the top.
“Ah, you’re brining it,” Mitch realized.
Randy frowned. “Yes, but the dumb bitch is floating.”
Sam held up a finger. “Hold on. I have an idea.” He disappeared into the bedroom for a moment, then came back out with two of Mitch’s five-pound weight discs, off the bar. “We could put these in a plastic gallon zip bag and set them on top. That ought to press the turkey down.”
Randy ruffled his hair. “Thanks, Peaches. Now all we have to do is play fridge Tetris and fit this bucket inside somehow.”
It required a lot of creativity to rearrange everything in the refrigerator to make room for the turkey, especially since to fit the bucket they had to remove two shelves. Normally Mitch and Sam didn’t have much in there, but Randy had chucked it full of things for his Thanksgiving prep and food in general.
“How many people you planning to feed this week?” Mitch shook his head as he took in the incredible amount of stuff Randy had procured. “I don’t want to know what you spent.”
“Not as much as you think. The Mexican grocery has great prices, and I cut a deal with the owner on a few things. Charm greases a lot of wheels.” He wedged a carton of butter and a tub of sour cream into the last hole beside the bucket and shut the door. “All right. Sam, go give your lover a welcome home while I whip him up something.”
Cheeks stained with a blush, Sam led Mitch by the hand to the couch. Mitch sat in the center, facing the kitchen, and Sam straddled his lap, smiling at him and touching his face, the collar of his shirt.
“How was your day?”
“Long.” Mitch let out a breath as he drank in the sight of Sam, reading the signs of where they were headed, and his blood hummed. This was the fun of having Skeet around. For whatever reason, he saw to it Sam was always turned on, ready for sex at any second. He stroked the slender line of Sam’s neck, stealing his fingers under Sam’s shirt. “Couldn’t wait to see you.”
Sam smiled at him, the smile that made Mitch ache, the one he carried in his heart, the lighthouse that drew him home every day, no matter what bullshit he got tangled in. “I’m glad you have a few days off. That we both do—and that Randy’s here too.”
“Me too, Sunshine.” Mitch trailed his touch down the center of Sam’s chest, sliding over to find a nipple.
Something deep inside him began to purr when Sam gasped. Mitch massaged the nub, tugging it through the fabric. “You like that, baby?”
Sam nodded, working to keep his breathing even. “Yes, I do.”
“Want me to keep going, mess with you more?” He brought his other hand to Sam’s opposite nipple and began to draw on him in stereo. “Tell me what feels good, Sam.”
Sam was already going under. “I like it when you pull on my tits like that.” He whimpered and arched his back as Mitch tugged harder. “So good.”
Mitch shot a glance at the kitchen to see if Randy was watching them as he made Mitch’s dinner. He was. Mitch returned his attention to Sam, releasing his nipples. Before Sam had a chance to protest, Mitch said, “Take off your shirt, Sam.”
Sam obeyed quickly, tossing it onto the arm of the couch. Once free of the garment, he put his hands behind his head, keeping his gaze fixed on Mitch, begging with his eyes.
Mitch didn’t deny him. He resumed his slow, determined torture, able to get a better grip on his lover now without the shirt in the way. Mitch pinched the tender buds, turning them, pulling them away from Sam’s body until he cried out in desperation.
It was so much fun. He could do it all night. He had half a mind to do just that.
Except Sam’s mewls were so exquisite, and his body quaked with such perfection, Mitch couldn’t stand it. He had to push him further.
Letting go of Sam’s left nipple, Mitch anchored his grip on Sam’s hip and latched his mouth over the erect, aching nib.
Now when Sam cried out, Mitch felt the sound reverberating through his lover’s body, buzzing against his lips as he sucked hard, making a seal around Sam’s skin, teasing the sensitized bud with his tongue, grazing it against his teeth as he increased the suction. Sam all but sobbed as Mitch switched sides, crying out a plaintive, “No, no, no,” as Mitch began to pinch the tortured, wet left nubbin.
When Mitch switched sides again, Sam sank into despair, but he didn’t use his safe word, only turned into a stiff sheet in Mitch’s arms as he endured.
A shadow fell over them. “Your dinner’s ready, Old Man.”
Mitch lifted his head, wiping a trail of saliva from his chin. He had to hold a quavering Sam up with both hands now. “Thanks. You want to take over this business for me?”
“No.” Sam covered his face.
Randy grinned a terrible grin. “Be happy to.”
Randy had fixed Mitch an omelet with leftover ham, some peppers, onions, and mushrooms. It was fantastic, but it was difficult to focus on it with the show that came with his meal. Whereas Mitch had kept Sam on his lap, Randy spread him out on the coffee table, which he quickly figured out had handy hidden straps for tying someone down. He immobilized Sam’s wrists, then went to town on him, licking a long, wicked line from his bellybutton to his chin, teasing fingers across his chest, touching everywhere but on Sam’s nipples. When he added featherlight touches at Sam’s groin as well, Sam came unglued.
“Please, Randy.” He was nearly crying.
Randy sat on his haunches, patient, stroking Sam as if he had all the time in the world. “What is it you want me to do, sugar?”
“I want you to touch me.”
“Baby, I’m doing nothing but touch you. Be more specific.”
Mitch grinned around his fork. He always forgot how mean Randy could be.
Sam whimpered and fought against his restraints. “Get me off, Randy, please. I’ll do anything.”
Mitch raised his eyebrows and sat back, meal forgotten. Oh, this was going to be good.
“Anything, hmm?” Randy palmed Sam’s aching bulge. “How about…I’ll let you get off, but you let me cane you first.”
It was a sign of how wound up Sam was that he agreed without hesitation. All week while Mitch had been on the road and they’d sent him pics or he’d talked to Sam on the phone, Randy had been teasing him with that cane, and Sam had been having none of it, not after that first night when he’d experienced how hard it hurt even through clothes. Mitch caught Randy’s gaze and raised an eyebrow.
Randy shook his head. “It’ll be fine. We’ve been working up to it. I convinced him you’d enjoy it. He wanted it to be a surprise for you.”
Okay, now Mitch was turned on. He pushed away the last of his omelet and settled in. “The surprise is appreciated. And I’m enjoying myself already.”
Randy undid Sam’s wrists and helped him stand on his shaking legs, leading him to the bedroom, motioning for Mitch to follow. “Not out here. I have this all worked out. You’re going to sit at the head of the bed, and he’s going to drape over your lap. This way you get the best show possible. And our boy gets the softness of the bed and the security of you petting him while I go after his backside.”
It was indeed a damn good show, with Sam naked and ass-up over Mitch’s legs, squirming and whimpering, holding on to Mitch’s hand as Randy got ready. Mitch was turned on as hell, but he couldn’t help checking in with Sam.
“Sunshine, you can say no.”
“I know.” Sam’s breath was raspy, shaking. “I don’t want to. I want to do this.” He held tight to Mitch. “I want you with me, though.”
So that was how Mitch watched Sam get his first caning: deeply moved and hard as a Texas brick. Randy didn’t whip him nearly as intensely as he could have, Mitch couldn’t help but notice. There would be some nice stripes, yes, but they’d be pink at best and wouldn’t last more than a day. Sam wouldn’t have much trouble sitting down. Though Sam wasn’t much for sharp pain, which Skeet knew. It was mostly the idea that he was doing this thing that scared him, doing it for Mitch.
They got him off good after, Mitch from the front, kissing and grinding against him while Randy rutted at his backside. They came in a sweaty mess of bodies that meant Mitch would be changing the sheets. Randy wouldn’t let him, though—told him to get Sam showered and he’d do it. So Mitch made out with Sam under the spray and kept him awake long enough to pour him into the crisp linens once they were finished.
Afterward, he sat up and played some cards and drank with Randy until his eyelids were drooping too, at which point he climbed in beside Sam. He heard Randy getting settled in the spare room, tossing and turning on the air mattress, and then the next thing he knew it was morning and the house was full of wonderful smells, the kitchen bustling with Randy and Sam putting together the final dishes for the meal.
The food was, of course, incredible. There was enough turkey for half the town, Mitch was sure of it, except when the three of them were finished, there was a lot less left than he would have guessed.
They put the leftovers in the fridge, and then the three of them did the dishes together. Randy teased Sam and got him to blush, then egged Mitch on and made him swat Randy in the ass with a towel. It was, in short, the perfect end to a perfect day.
Except then Mitch found out the fun wasn’t over.
Randy pulled his pumpkin and apple pies from where they were chilling on the balcony, and grabbed forks from the drawer and a tub of freshly made whipped cream from the fridge. “Time for dessert.”
Mitch didn’t think he had a single inch of room, but the sight of those pies had his brain correcting his stomach’s misconceptions. “I’ll get the plates.”
“Oh, don’t bother. We don’t need any plates.” Randy smiled at Sam with the devil’s grin, backing him slowly toward the coffee table. “We’re using Peaches as our plate.”
Sam looked equal parts terrified and turned on, and Mitch corrected himself once more.
He wasn’t simply hungry for that pie now. He was ravenous.