Valentine’s Vow/Independence Day (Celebration Boys Duet)

Valentine's Vow/Independence Day (Celebration Boys Duet)
Willa Okati
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Copyright ©2020 Willa Okati

Ryan stood at the kitchen range, slowly stirring a pot of his special chili. Hot as the seven fires of hell, full of peppers and onions, it let out a smell that made his nose tingle. No one could beat that chili.

He paused in thought. Should he serve it over potatoes? Given a few minutes, he could toss a couple of tubers in the oven and get them baking. Or nuke the things. That'd be quicker. Never tasted the same, though.

Maybe he should serve it plain. Garnish it with a good sharp cheddar and let it stand as the golden god of bachelor cuisine that it was. Beans and all.

He'd gotten the recipe from his great-uncle Joey, grouchiest son-of-a-bitch on earth, and a lifelong bachelor. And, as it turned out, a randy old goat, too. One of the brothers of the flesh and in the closet all his life, although Ryan hadn't found that out until after the man died and he inherited his cabin. While rooting around in the attic, he'd come across stacks of old letters from "Edmund."

Funny what you don't know about people until it's too late.

Ryan had taken the letters and run with them. Together with his best buddy and lover Thom and a couple of six-packs, they'd had a hell of a night reading through the stacks. Turned out Joey and Edmund had had a pretty hot on-again, off-again relationship for almost fifty years.

Damn. That was something, when you thought about it. Fifty years. From tasty young men with presumably tight asses, to tottery codgers with no teeth bitching about the younger generation.

Those two had done everything when they'd manage to snatch a few days together. Edmund had been some kind of banker in the city. Big man. Bigwig. He'd even gotten married for a while, but that hadn't lasted. He went back to Joey -- Joey and his penchant for the hot and spicy. According to the letters, Joey didn't do it just in the missionary position, with his eyes shut and thoughts fixed on England. He liked it on his back, on his stomach, up against a wall, on the floor, in the bathtub or the shower. Hard and fast, slow and sweet, or spicy like his chili.

Edmund raved about that chili every time he had to go to some honorary banquet. Seemed there was nothing he'd rather have done than pull a chair up to Joey's rickety table and go down on a bowl of the good stuff.

Speaking of which, the chili looked like it was almost done. "Hey, Thom!" he called out to the living room, where his friend was flipping channels like he was in a speed-click contest. Bad habit of his. Ryan made a point of never watching TV with the guy. You could have a seizure.

"Yeah!" Thom called. "That chili about done? I could eat the whole pot and still have room for you for dessert!"

"You fucking wish!" Ryan hollered back, stirring the mess of meat, beans, sauce and peppers. "Your turn to bring the condoms. Did you remember?"

A foil packet flew through the open door into the kitchen, skittering to land by Ryan's foot. "I've got a half-dozen just like that!" Thom called. "You have the lube?"

"Yep. I even picked up that mango scent you like so much. You know how hard it is to find flavored, scented lubes that don't damage latex?"

Ryan kicked the condom out of his way. If the dog didn't eat it, he'd get it later -- probably when they'd finished their meal and come back for seconds on the sex. They usually ended up in the kitchen, having gone in search of a long cold one and, instead, finding a long… hot one.

Gingerly, he took a taste from the tip of the spoon. Almost burned his tongue off. Good; almost ready. He ran a glass of water and gulped it down. Which reminded him… "Did you bring the wine?"

"Wine? I brought beer!"

"Beer? You asshole!" Ryan stormed out of the kitchen, tearing off his apron. "I told you on the phone. Wine. White wine. Something really dry, and it needed to be cold. Ice cold. And you bring me beer?"

Thom smirked up at him from his position on the couch. Legs open, leaned back, he looked tastier than the chili. "Goddamn it, you are such a fucking fruit, Ryan." He gestured at a cooler. "White wine, as you requested. Nestled in ice. Just waiting for that chili. And holy hell, is it done already or what?"

Ryan folded his arms. "Maybe. Are you going to apologize for talking to me like that?"

"Nope."

"Then it's ready." Ryan grinned, beckoning him toward the kitchen. "Bring the wine. I'll get some glasses."