Chapter Text
“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
Sebastian stares at the notification on his phone screen as if by staring hard enough he might be able to change what it says.
We apologize for the cancellation of your Delta flight DL928 from Boston Logan International Airport to John F. Kennedy International Airport on 12/20/2019 due to extreme weather conditions.
“Everything okay, sir?”
Sebastian lifts his head to meet the questioning look the cab driver is giving him in his rear view mirror and huffs an incredulous laugh. “My flight got cancelled.”
Another notification pops up, this time from a local news outlet which informs him that the snowstorm that is currently raging all around them has in fact grounded all air traffic – not just Sebastian’s Boston-to-New York flight but all other flights too. Of course, that changes nothing about his own situation. He’s still stuck in a taxi somewhere between Concord and the Logan Airport, stranded on the highway in traffic that’s moving at a snail’s pace due to limited sight and a slippery road surface. And what’s worse, it would seem he’s also stuck in Massachusetts, with no way to get back to New York tonight. He’d thought a short distance flight like his would be fine – surely the airports around these parts were used to a little snow in December – but it seems he thought wrong.
“Ah,” the cab driver, a portly, mustachioed man probably in his early 40s, nods. “Kinda figured it might be headin’ that way.”
Sebastian groans, dropping his head in his hands. “So, what do I do now?”
“Well, we could try to get you to Boston anyway and you could wait out the storm there, but there’s no telling how long it’ll take – both the storm and how long before we get to Boston. We’re less than halfway. And there’s a good chance all the hotels will be packed, of course. Usually are when this kinda thing happens.”
“Right,” Sebastian sighs. “Any other options?”
The driver shrugs. “There’s an exit coming up that would take us back to Concord, I reckon we can make it back in an hour, hour and a half.” He waits a moment before adding, “My brother-in-law owns an Inn in town, I could drop you off there so you’ve got a place to stay tonight?”
An Inn. What is this, the Gilded Age? Still, it’s not like he has much choice. It’s better than sleeping on the floor of an airport for who knows how long. “Alright,” he tells the cabbie. “Take me back then, please.”
“Whatever you say, sir.”
---
The driver’s brother-in-law’s inn turns out to be a homey, country-style hotel with a restaurant and, more importantly, a bar attached. Sebastian dumps his coat on the bed in his room upstairs. He hadn’t anticipated an overnight stay, so he doesn’t have a change of clothes, let alone a toothbrush. He calls his office manager to explain the situation and that he won’t make it in tomorrow like he usually does, even though it’s a Saturday. He gets tense, barely controlled annoyance through the line, as if a freak New England snowstorm is somehow Sebastian’s doing. It takes every ounce of self-control he has, which in his current mood is not much at all, to take the undeserved abuse on top of his general irritation when an update weather report predicts the storm could last days, leaving highways closed and planes grounded and thousands of people potentially unable to go home for Christmas. Sebastian’s never cared much for the holidays anyway, so it’s not worse than being stuck here in June. At least, not for him. Except for the cold.
He grabs his briefcase and heads downstairs to the bar. It’s surprisingly busy, so Sebastian suspects the place also acts as a local watering hole rather than exclusively as a hotel bar. The dark, wood-paneled walls and brown, leather chairs lend the bar an old-timey class that’s at odds with the mishmash of patrons. People Sebastian’s age and younger, elderly ladies and gentlemen, but also what seem to be entire families with kids of all ages are all gathered around tables, eating and drinking or just playing board games.
Sebastian sighs internally, a little annoyed at the hustle and bustle, but mostly at himself for not bringing his laptop which means he is now stuck having to do old fashioned paperwork. With a pen. Like a damn pioneer. He finds a seat at an empty stretch of bar and orders himself a stiff drink from the girl behind the bar to make the task if not easier than at least a little more enjoyable. Putting the opened briefcase next to him on a bar stool, he grabs a stack of forms and tries to make the best of it.
Outside, the wind howls. Every time Sebastian looks up, snow is blowing quicker and more dramatically, building up in massive drifts that reach the bottoms of the window panes. He’s thankful at least he doesn’t have to go back outside tonight, like most of the people in here likely will. But then he’s ticked off all over again that he’s stuck here, who knows for how long, and his moment of gratitude is brief. The Christmas music over crackling speakers is far too loud and far, far too cheery. If he hears one more sleigh-bell, he might actually scream.
By the time dusk has fallen, the dim lighting in the bar is straining Sebastian’s tired eyes as he pores over the paperwork, not exactly improving his already shitty mood. He still can’t believe he’s stuck in Concord, of all places; so close yet so far from his apartment in Chelsea and his office on the Upper East Side.
It’s not unusual for Sebastian to visit clients out of state; he represents one of the best family law firms in the country, and plenty of wealthy soon-to-be-divorced couples prefer flying in some hot shot lawyer from the City over hiring some local guy who they probably see in church every Sunday. Sebastian is a true city boy, though. He’s lived in New York since he was a boy and he and his Mom moved there from Romania, and has never even thought of moving away since. If he’s honest, he can’t understand why people would choose to live in a town when they could live in a city. Manhattan is fast paced, dynamic, glamorous – as long as you stay on the right side of town, that is. It’s got high-end luxury apartments and glitzy parties and plenty of hot guys to have one-night stands with, if Sebastian so pleases. Granted, lately he’s been so swamped that he’s had to turn down a couple of potential lays because he was afraid he might actually fall asleep on them half way through the deed, and, you know; he’s got a reputation to uphold. He’s a relatively young, successful family lawyer living the high life in the heart of the best city in the world. He’s got everything he ever dreamed of as a kid who moved to the States from revolution-stricken Europe, and if he sometimes wonders why nothing seems to be able to make him smile anymore, he always stops that train off thought before it can really get going.
So maybe he doesn’t really see his mother or old friends all that often anymore, and maybe being constantly surrounded by couples who hate each others’ guts and argue about money over their children’s heads can make a guy a little sick to the stomach sometimes, but he makes a hell of a lot of money, is well-respected and can tolerate his co-workers. That’s all he needs, really.
About an hour into the evening, Sebastian has just finished going through his case file from today and is lifting his glass to drain the last drops of his bourbon, when a joyous, booming laugh calls his attention. He turns instinctively on his bar stool to look for the source of the sound that managed to cut through the howling of the wind outside and the din of the bar, and spots a tall, broad-shouldered man with his back to the bar at the pool table. He’s surrounded by three – no, four – white-haired, elderly ladies, each clutching a pool cue that is taller than they are.
“Try holding it like this,” the guy says in a deep voice, going to stand behind one of the women and helping her shoot a ball right into one of the corner pockets. The three other ladies are giggling and clearly eyeing the guy’s backside, but he good-naturedly pretends he doesn’t notice and takes turns with each of them. The guy laughs again and it’s the fact that he genuinely sounds like he’s having the time of his life teaching them how to shoot pool that makes Sebastian suppresses a snort. Is he for real? Sebastian has seen more than his fair share of guys working angles in bars, but what angle one could possibly be working on a group of geriatrics, he hasn’t the slightest clue.
As if he heard Sebastian’s thoughts, the next moment the stranger suddenly turns around and looks straight at him. Sebastian has a split second to think fuck, he’s gorgeous, before he quickly averts his eyes, hastily turning around on his chair again. In his haste, he accidentally hits his knee on the bar stool next to him, jostling it and sending his open briefcase and all the papers in it tumbling to the floor.
“Shit,” he mutters, quickly sliding to the floor to pick up his stuff, inwardly groaning, both at the fact that he’ll have to reorder the whole pile and because he just made a massive fool out of himself in front of the hottest guy he’s seen in a long, long time. He reaches for a stenciled form that’s drifted a little out of the way when his hand collides with another hand.
Startled, he looks up, straight into the blue, blue eyes of the handsome stranger. If he was nice to look at from across a dimly lit bar, up close he’s so attractive it’s just categorically unfair. His hair is ruffled, like he’d just rolled out of bed, more effortlessly stylish than some guys Sebastian’s dated after an hour of primping. It looks so soft his fingers itch to touch it. His cheeks and jaw are covered in a neat, closely trimmed beard, brown like his hair but with just a hint of red in it. His nose is nicely shaped if a little crooked, his lips are plump and pink, his teeth are perfect. And his eyes are so, so blue, framed by lashes that must be half an inch long in the center.
“Uh,” Sebastian says intelligently.
The guy smiles at him. Or, it’s more of a smirk, really, as if he knows exactly what Sebastian is thinking.
Sebastian scowls at him. “Thanks,” he mutters, taking a bunch of paper from the guy’s hand.
“No problem, happy to help,” the guy says, and damn, his voice is really very deep and clear and very, very attractive.
Sebastian stands, tapping the edges of the papers against the bar to straighten out the pile so he can stick them back into his briefcase. He’ll need to sort them, but he’s not about to do that here, when the guy is still hovering two feet away.
“Working on a Friday night?” he asks, a teasing lilt to his voice that slips like warm honey down Sebastian’s spine. “At a bar?”
“As are you,” Sebastian returns, nodding in the direction of the old ladies by the pool tables, who are also watching them closely. Suddenly Sebastian feels like hundreds of eyes are on him, being observed by everyone from the leather-clad bartender to a group of middle-aged men at a table in the corner. He’d been more-or-less fading into the background until this moment, but now that a local has spotted him, it’s like they all have. The whole place seems to suddenly notice him, in his expensive suit and his Italian shoes and his 100-dollar haircut, sticking out like a sore thumb.
When he glances back at the man, his face has folded into a frown, clearly offended at the implication that his spending time with the ladies could be described as working.
Sebastian sighs. “Sorry. I’ve had a shit day.”
Eyeing him closely, the man presses his lips together and nods. “I guess most people don’t do paperwork in a bar if they haven’t had a shit day.”
“Yeah. I don’t… think you’re a prostitute or something. In case that wasn’t clear. In case that’s what it sounded like I meant. I mean, unless you actually are, which, you know, is also fine,” Sebastian adds, stammering through it, and the guy’s frown melts back into a smirk. He laughs. He’s laughing, and Sebastian can’t. He sighs again, shoving his papers roughly back into the case and shutting it more abruptly than he needed to. “Alright. Thanks again for the help.”
“No, I’m sorry,” the guy says, still chuckling but making a concerted effort to stop. His cheeks turn pink when he laughs, and it’s something Sebastian really, really didn’t need to know about a person he’ll likely never see again. “I’m sorry. That was an insanely wrong foot to get off on, could we start over? Hi, I’m Chris.”
The hand he extends is big, fingers long and skin as pale as his face and neck. Which, now that Sebastian looks closely, has a spot with two freckles right close together that are just calling for his mouth. He internally gives himself a shake. It’s not real, none of this is. He’s just exhausted, and he doesn’t want to be here, and it’s been an unhealthily long time since he got laid.
He reaches his own hand out, warm fingers curling around his palm as he shakes. “Sebastian.”
“I like that,” Chris says, with another devastating smile.
“I’ll let my Mom know,” Sebastian responds.
The smile widens. The skin at the outer edges of his eyes crinkles. Disastrous, every minute of this.
“Are you new around here?”
Sebastian shakes his head. “I should be on a flight to JFK right now. But the storm.”
“Ah.” Chris’s nose wrinkles up in sympathy. “That sucks, sorry to hear it.”
He sounds like he genuinely means that. Sebastian deals all day, every day, with people who don’t mean a damn word they say unless the truth just happens to coincide with whatever they’re trying to get out of another person. The sincerity on Chris’s face leaves him a little off-balance. And maybe even more annoyed than he already was. It’s bad enough he might be stuck here for the next few days. The least this town could’ve done is provide an environment that matches his misery, instead of sending him a helpful cab driver and a quaint hotel and a handsome man in a sweater with a beard and a kind smile, just to make Sebastian feel fully like an asshole for being miserable in this charming place.
“I don’t wanna keep you from whoever you’re here with,” he says.
“I’m not here with anyone.”
Sebastian looks over, and the ladies Chris had been entertaining have all given up on him and gone back to their table. “So you’re in a bar alone on a Friday night, and you’re giving me a hard time about doing paperwork?”
“Hey, you kinda called me a hooker,” Chris says. He spreads his arms out and smiles. “So we’re definitely even.”
“Fair enough.”
“Do you want some company?”
Yes, Sebastian wants to say, but he also doesn’t want this man’s pity. He’s not the first person in history to be snowed-in. He’ll survive, even if he’s grumpy about it every step of the way. “Your fan-club has given up on you, I guess.”
Chris purses his lips. Instead of answering, he sits down on a barstool and holds his hand up to the bartender. When she comes over, he says, “Hey, Gina, I’ll take a Bud, and another of whatever my new friend was drinking. Put it on my tab, he needs cheering up.”
Sebastian sighs for the third time. He sets his briefcase back on the bar and sits next to Chris. The bartender comes back only seconds later with their drinks, setting them down on the glossy wooden surface and exchanging a hard to interpret look with Chris before she heads off to help another patron.
“Is there something important you’re missing, in New York?” Chris asks conversationally.
Sebastian glances sideways at him. He picks up his new glass and sips at it, the bourbon sliding warmly down his throat. “Just work.”
“It’s not, like, your wedding tomorrow, or something?”
Sebastian snorts. “No.”
“Doesn’t seem so terrible, then. At least you get a good excuse to miss work.”
“I like my job,” Sebastian answers with a shrug. “Plus I wasn’t expecting to stay overnight, so I have literally nothing with me.”
“There’s a corner store down the road. You can at least get a toothbrush and some underwear.”
Sebastian looks at Chris, assessing, then nods. “Thanks.”
He manages not to blush over the idea of Chris saying the word underwear in conjunction with him, for which he’s quite proud of himself. Then again, it’s utterly ridiculous that he even had to hold it back. He’s a grown man, he’s a lawyer for fuck’s sake, a handsome stranger shouldn’t be able to make him blush so easily.
Forcing his eyes away from Chris’s face and down to his own hands, Sebastian says, “So, Concord, huh? Lots of exciting stuff going down here, I’m sure.” He’s aware that it comes out a little mockingly, but come on, this town has a population of, what, 20 thousand?
Chris raises an eyebrow. “Actually, mister city slicker,” he says, drawing out the vowels into an exaggerated New England accent, “I’ll have you know there is plenty of excitement to be found around these parts. For example, tomorrow morning we have the annual gingerbread house making contest, hosted at our very own community center.” He pulls a serious face and gravely continues, “It’s generally a tense affair. The stakes will be high. Last year, Mrs. Mulligan narrowly won the highly coveted title of Concord’s star baker from underdog Mrs. Cain, who has sworn revenge by icing ingenuity.”
Sebastian snorts a laugh, reluctantly charmed by the mental image Chris is sketching.
“Gosh. However will you manage to sleep tonight,” he says, deadpan.
“Oh no, I won’t sleep a wink. But it’s worth it.”
“I’m sure it is.”
“You should come.”
Sebastian blinks. “To the gingerbread contest?”
“To the gingerbread house making contest, yes,” Chris nods. With a sly look, he adds, “Unless of course you’ve got something better to do tomorrow morning. More paperwork, perhaps?”
Sebastian mock-glares at him, but Chris has got a point. It’s either a gingerbread contest or re-reading the Milton family’s case file, and to be honest, he’s had quite enough of those guys for a little while. The mother is being entirely unreasonable about a number of frivolous things, and there are two sweet little kids caught in the middle of it all. Fortunately, he won’t have to visit them again after this, since the final hearing will be in New York, but still, a bit of a break from all that wouldn’t be unwelcome.
“Is all the gingerbread for building purposes, or will there also be opportunity to sample these culinary delights?”
Chris grins. “Oh, don’t you worry, there’s more than enough to go around for the spectators. Mulled cider, too.”
“Oh well, then that decides it,” Sebastian says resolutely. “If there’s alcohol, I’m in.”
“I should’ve led with that, huh?” Chris says, amused.
“Nothing gets me in the holiday mood like pre-noon drinking.”
That gets another laugh out of Chris, and Sebastian feels oddly like purring at the sound.
Draining the last of his beer, Chris sets down the bottle on the bar, then drums his fingers on the hardwood counter top. “Wicked,” he says. “Community center is just a little way up the road, big red brick building. Can’t miss it. Contest starts at ten. Don’t be late.”
Sebastian quirks an eyebrow at him. “I’m a lawyer. I'm always on time, I have to be.”
Chris just looks at him for a moment, green blue eyes on Sebastian’s grey blue ones. “A lawyer, huh,” he says thoughtfully. “Corporate law, or…?”
Something in the way Chris looks at him makes Sebastian feel like his answer is going to be important. Like Chris will be disappointed if he turns out to be working for Chevron or BP or something. He’s got that gentle lumberjack look about him, like he loves spending time in the great outdoors, teaching kids how to climb trees and catch fish with their bare hands. The mental image makes Sebastian smile, until he realizes that Chris is still looking at him expectantly and he hasn’t given him an answer to his question yet.
“Uh,” he says, feeling inexplicably nervous. For some reason he can’t quite put his finger on, Sebastian’s skin crawls at the idea of disappointing this man he’s only just met. “Not corporate, no. Just family law.”
Something in Chris’s expression loosens, and Sebastian draws in a relieved breath while at the same time resisting the urge to facepalm. He’s being completely ridiculous. Chris might be gorgeous, but he’s just a guy. Sebastian meets plenty of good-looking guys in New York, it’s no big deal. Or it shouldn’t be.
“Ah.” The sympathy in Chris’s eyes feels genuine, not just for conversation’s sake. “Divorces and stuff, huh? Must be tough sometimes.”
Sebastian shrugs. “Only if you let it get to you. I like to think I’m a professional.” He lets his eyes flick over Chris’s form for a moment. “What is it you do?”
“Oh, you know,” Chris says vaguely. “This and that. I help out where I’m needed.”
“I see,” Sebastian smirks. “Sure you’re not a hooker?”
“Why, interested?” Chris volleys back. But before Sebastian can splutter out a reply, Chris gets up off his chair, saluting the bartender before turning back to him. “Sweet dreams, Sebastian. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
As he watches Chris collect his coat and say his goodbyes to practically every single person in the bar before he leaves, Sebastian is all too aware of his burning cheeks. He wants to blame it on the bourbon and he almost manages to convince himself, until he turns back around and meets the knowing gaze of the girl behind the bar. She’s looking at him like she knows exactly what’s got him so flustered; like she gets it. For a split second, Sebastian wonders if she ever slept with Chris, and he’s surprised at how much he dislikes the thought.
Get a grip, man.
With a sigh, Sebastian gets up from his stool, puts a tenner down for his first drink and goes to grab his coat. Here’s hoping that store is still open.
---
It’s not the best night’s sleep he’s ever had, but it isn’t the worst either. Sebastian doesn’t need complete silence – he can’t, living in the City – but the sound of the storm raging outside was very different to the usual chorus of blaring sirens and car horns mixed with agitated voices he’s used to. Then again, the bed really was extremely comfortable. He wouldn’t be surprised if the duvet had been stuffed with the down of hand-reared, local geese.
He showers and dresses, having to put on the same clothes he was wearing yesterday because he managed to get some new socks and underwear at the store but not anything else. He leaves the tie. Figures he’ll look out of place enough in a suit, at least he can leave the top few buttons of his lavender dress shirt undone to feign the appearance of being casual. As soon as he steps out the door of the Inn, Sebastian pulls his thick, merino wool coat tighter around himself against the icy wind and flurry of snow. It’s a good thing it’s only a short walk to the community center, because Sebastian’s expensive designer footwear is distinctly unfit for trudging through two feet of snow. If at all possible, he’d rather not ruin his shoes and have his feet freeze off, thanks very much. When he spots the building Chris had described, he breathes a sigh of relief, speeding up his pace as much as he can without running the risk of slipping and falling flat on his ass.
The moment he enters the building, he’s greeted by the mouthwatering smell of freshly baked gingerbread, wafting in from one of the rooms a little down the corridor. He stops for a moment in the doorway, taking in the space. Every available surface is covered in decorations; red and green and glitter, snowflakes, stars, angels. It looks a little bit like Santa Claus threw up all over the entire building. Tall, white-painted casement windows make up one wall of the room while the back wall is occupied by a kitchen setup with a sink and a couple of ovens. Various women are crouching in front of those while others are chatting around a big, oak table in the middle of the room. It’s not just women, though; there’s some kids around too, and a few men, most of them 50+.
And then there’s Chris.
Chris is standing by the window, wearing a blue plaid shirt with some dark jeans, a puffy black vest, and chunky, tan boots. He looks as good if not better in the bright daylight than he had last night at the bar, and annoyingly, even though he tells it not to, Sebastian’s heartbeat accelerates at the sight of him. It’s then that he realizes that Chris is chatting with a pretty, dark-haired woman who has a small child perched on her hip, and immediately Sebastian wants to slap himself. Of course Chris has a beautiful wife and a minimum of two adorable kids and probably a cute dog. He was just being friendly last night, in that way small town people are. Sebastian rolls his eyes at himself for even subconsciously entertaining the thought that an invitation to a gingerbread house making contest could ever be a euphemism for anything else.
Alright. It’s fine. He’s fine. He’s just going to show his face, make some small talk, do a polite round to ooh and ah over various baked goods and then he’s heading back to his hotel room and indulging in some pay-per-view. If the Inn actually has that sort of thing.
Still, when Chris turns his head and catches sight of him standing in the doorway and his face breaks out into a brilliant smile, Sebastian’s dumb, stupid heart contracts in his chest.
Oh no.
Chris bids an abrupt goodbye to the woman, and hurries over. “You came!” he says, loudly and sounding pleased.
“I did,” Sebastian confirms. His voice cracks, mortifyingly, and he clears his throat. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”
Chris shrugs. “I had it at about 50-50. Figured this sort of thing wasn’t really your jam. But also figured you’d have nothing else to do anyway, so might show up out of sheer boredom.”
It’s not an entirely accurate assessment, but Sebastian doesn’t correct him. “Is it your jam? This sort of thing?”
“I mean, yeah, who doesn’t love cheesy Christmas crap?” Chris grins, that unbelievably devastating smile. Then he says, “Oh!” like he’s just remembered something, holds up a finger to indicate he’ll be right back, and rushes across the room toward a massive pile of winter coats on two folding tables.
There are more folding tables, set up in rows with chairs lined along them, a few yards away. Sebastian notices he’s being watched by a group of elderly people near them. He can’t tell if any are the same ladies from last night; he didn’t get a good enough look at any of them in the dim lights of the pub. They’re talking to each other, and very obviously talking about him. He shifts awkwardly between his feet, and tries not to stare back.
When Chris returns, he’s holding a plastic shopping bag stuffed full so that it’s round, handles tied to enclose whatever’s inside. “Clothes,” Chris says, holding the bag out and handing it over. “I thought maybe you’d rather not keep wearing that suit for days in a row, in case you’re stuck here for a while.”
Sebastian blinks. “I… These are yours?”
“If you wanna find a store and buy stuff instead, I won’t be offended,” Chris says, with another easy shrug. Everything about him is so effortless. Sebastian has never met someone so charming who clearly puts absolutely no energy into being that way. It’s just genuinely who he is. “But then you’ll have to either take it back with you or throw it out, so this works too. I threw in a pair of jeans and a few sweaters, and some shoes that’ll be better for walking in the snow. It should all fit you, we’re about the same size. My brother has smaller feet than me, though, so if the shoes are too big you can borrow a pair from him.”
Sebastian really isn’t sure what to say. He stammers out a thank you, hoping it doesn’t sound insincere because it isn’t, he just isn’t sure how to respond to all this kindness from someone he’s known for approximately sixteen hours and had exactly one conversation with.
“Drop your coat off,” Chris continues, nodding toward the coat tables, “then come join us. My sister and her kids are over at table three.”
Sebastian follows with his eyes in the direction Chris points, noticing a woman and man about their age and three kids, laughing as they try to steal candy from bowls on the table that’s meant for decoration and keep getting caught. The woman is clearly related to Chris, she looks just like him. Sebastian just nods dumbly, and does as he’s told. He shrugs out of his coat and leaves it on the pile, adding the bag Chris had given him to it as well. He can’t resist untying the knot and peeking inside. On the very top is a cream-colored cable-knit sweater. Sebastian resists the urge to bend down and smell it. He imagines how good Chris would look in it. Imagines how warm it would be, how nice it’ll feel when he puts it on later.
When he turns back, Chris has joined his family. He’s got a small girl by her ankles, holding her upside down as she giggles uncontrollably. One of the boys does manage to get a handful of M&M’s and stuff them into his mouth, and their mother admonishes him, but she’s smiling as well.
Sebastian has spent a considerable about of time around kids, given his profession, but not usually in this kind of setting. Usually, they’re nervous in conference rooms with other lawyers, or in court rooms being argued over or used as pawns. He rarely sees them happy, laughing, carefree. The smile on Chris’s face as he swings his niece around is too much for Sebastian to look at, so he pointedly doesn’t as he walks over. It’s like an eclipse. He wouldn’t survive direct eye-contact while Chris is smiling that way.
“Hey!” Chris says brightly, as Sebastian approaches. He lowers the girl toward the floor until her hands touch it, and then gently lets her go so she tumbles, still giggling, onto the carpet. “Guys, this is my new friend, Sebastian.”
He introduces the rest of them, and Sebastian shakes hands, big and small. Chris’s sister, Carly, has a knowing smile on her face as they shake that Sebastian isn’t sure what to do with.
Sebastian sits next to Chris, at the tables designated for people who are just here for fun instead of the serious competitors at their own tables across the room. It’s mostly parents and children on their side, and the tables are packed so Sebastian has to sit considerably closer to Chris than he would’ve otherwise chosen to. And he was right, on what he assumed when he’d opened the bag Chris gave him and wanted to smell the sweater. Chris does smell good.
They’re handed sheets of gingerbread and knives to shape them with, and tubes of icing to use as glue. Chris works with Sebastian, chatting cheerfully to him as they do, and Sebastian mostly grits his teeth and tries to ignore his scent and his warmth when he leans in, and how easy he is to talk to. If they’d met in New York, Sebastian would be in all kinds of trouble, developing the beginnings of a crush on a straight man. Or, maybe, he could’ve gotten over his little crush and become friends with him. Sebastian doesn’t have that many friends anymore, mostly just coworkers he gets along with but rarely sees outside of office hours. He’s got Jonathan, of course, who’s probably his best friend these days, but it’s been ages since they last saw each other outside of work. So a new, non-work friend would have been nice.
When Chris gets up and moves a few feet away to help his niece attach a chimney to her house that keeps flopping over, Sebastian is almost immediately accosted by one of the older ladies he recognizes from the night before.
“We all heard about your situation, dear,” she says, sitting next to him in Chris’s empty chair and putting a grandmotherly hand on his forearm. “Such a shame about your flight.”
“Oh. Uh… Thank you,” he responds, giving her a close-mouthed smile.
“Hopefully the storm will clear up in time for you to get home for Christmas.” She looks genuinely upset at the thought that it might not, and Sebastian just nods. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her all that’s waiting for him in New York on December 25th is an empty apartment and maybe a hangover.
“Still,” she continues, “it’s lovely to see Christopher with someone, finally.”
Sebastian frowns, not understanding. “I’m sorry?”
“You know,” she says, smiling conspiratorially and patting his arm again. “Me and the girls are always saying what a shame it is that a boy as handsome as him has been alone all these years! He’s such a wonderful soul, always helping everybody out around town, like a second father to his sister’s kids, you know. But I think it’s high time he has family of his own to care for. I know Lisa and Bob would love more grandbabies – oh! Not that you boys would be able to make them by yourselves of course, I do know it works differently with…” She flaps a small, wrinkled hand, then touches it to her own cheek when she starts to blush. “Oh dear, I should probably just not say anything more, should I?” She breaks out into a giggle that is loud enough to get Chris’s attention.
“Dorothy,” Chris says, leaving his niece now that her chimney is secure and wandering back over, “are you being nice over here?”
“I am always nice,” she sniffs. “I was just telling dear Sebastian that it’s just wonderful to have him here for a little while. As I’m sure you would agree, Christopher.” The last bit is added slyly, with something that could almost pass for an old-lady version of a smirk.
A little wide-eyed, Sebastian looks up at Chris, wondering if he caught on to her insinuation and if so, if he’ll correct her. But Chris just smiles and says, “I sure would.”
Huh.
Dorothy is called away to another table a moment later, leaving Chris and Sebastian to fend for themselves once again.
“Sorry about that,” Chris says easily, sitting down next to him.
“You’re not married?” Sebastian asks, a little abruptly. He doesn’t mean to say it, but it comes out anyway.
Chris frowns at him. “No.”
“That woman you were talking to when I walked in, with the kid. That’s not your wife?”
“If she was my wife, don’t you think she’d be sitting with us?”
Sebastian, stupidly, hadn’t considered that.
Chris points. Sebastian follows with his eyes, and finds the woman he’d seen sitting a few tables over, with the child next to her and a man on the other side. “Her name’s Tara, we went to school together. She’s over there with her husband.”
“Oh.”
Sebastian feels Chris’s amused gaze on him. “Is that okay with you?”
“Yes.” He agrees too quickly, too enthusiastically, and immediately cringes. To cover for his embarrassment, Sebastian grabs a couple of mint-green jelly candies and squishes them, rips another few in half so he can stack the pieces on top of each other to make evergreen trees. When he looks up, Chris is watching him with a glint in his eye.
“You’re an architectural genius,” he proclaims.
Sebastian snickers. “Sure, with candy, I guess.”
Chris waves a hand. “The world has enough regular architectural geniuses.”
“Hey, um,” Sebastian begins, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “I wanted to say, I’m sorry if last night I implied this is a shitty place to live.”
“Implied?” Chris raises an eyebrow. “You straight up said it.”
“Yeah.” Sebastian wrinkles his nose up. “Sorry. I didn’t really mean that, I was just… frustrated, at getting stranded. But as far as places to get stranded go, this one isn’t so bad.”
“You should give that speech at our next town anniversary celebration,” Chris jokes.
Sebastian laughs.
Chris goes quiet for a moment, busying himself with pressing red licorice along the borders of the roof. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter than before. “You know, I lived in New York. For a while.”
Sebastian looks up. “You did?”
Chris nods. He waves his hand again, this time to indicate he isn’t going to elaborate much. “Long story for another time, maybe. But I get it. It’s a pretty amazing city.”
“But?”
“But this place has my family.” Chris looks at him, all that sincerity shining in his eyes again. “And all the people I’ve known since I was a kid. And a bar where people know who I am, and ask how my day was, and genuinely care about the answer. And the kind of people who’d –”
“Lend some clothes to a complete stranger because he got snowed in?” Sebastian suggests. “And invite him to a gingerbread house making contest?”
Chris smiles, and nods. “Yeah. Exactly. No one I knew in Manhattan would’ve ever done anything like that for me. And I probably wouldn’t’ve done it for them, either. I didn’t love who I turned into, when I lived there. I’d much rather live in a place where people are nice to each other, even if the trade-off is life lived at a much slower pace.”
Sebastian nods back. He gets it, in a way, but isn’t sure how to voice that without sounding placating.
A third woman, neither of the two Chris had mentioned yesterday, wins the contest. The other two look furious, and next to him, Chris is barely containing his laughter. He keeps making eye-contact with his sister and shaking his head, both looking like they’re about to explode. Sebastian has to admit, the idea of a bunch of grandmothers having a genuinely frosty decade-long rivalry about Christmas crafts is pretty funny. He can see the appeal of showing up every year just to witness the drama.
He helps with the clean-up, and outside on the stoop, with his coat back on and Chris’s bag of clothes in his hand, Chris joins him after helping his sister get her kids into their mini-van. It’s still cold, although maybe not as much as it was earlier this morning, and snowflakes are blowing around dramatically but they’re hidden from it in a little alcove just outside the doors of the community center.
“Any plans for the rest of the day?”
“I might have to have a nap, to recover from all that excitement.”
“Afternoon naps are the best, right?”
Sebastian had been kidding, but Chris looks serious, so he just nods in tacit agreement. He can’t remember the last time he had a nap. Maybe he really should. That bed at the Inn was really very comfortable, and it’s not like he has anything better to do.
“Hey, so,” Chris starts. Sebastian looks at him, and suddenly Chris looks almost nervous. “Would you, uh. Wanna go for dinner with me, tonight? My treat?”
Sebastian blinks a few times. Dinner? Does Chris mean, like, as a date? He hesitates for just long enough to apparently send the wrong message.
“You’re not into guys.” Chris winces. “Shit, sorry.”
“No,” Sebastian says quickly, his heart beating fast at the confirmation that Chris, apparently, is. “That’s not it.”
“Okay.” Chris’s grimace deepens. He’s somehow still handsome, even while pulling a ridiculous face, which is entirely unfair. “So you’re not into me, then. Again, sorry. Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I didn’t invite you here and lend you clothes and stuff just because I was trying to get into your pants, I hope it doesn’t seem like that.”
“No,” Sebastian says, louder. He huffs. “Will you just shut up and listen?”
Chris’s eyes widen, and he presses his lips together to indicate he indeed is going to shut up and listen.
Sebastian suppresses a laugh, because it isn’t really funny. Unsure of exactly how to word what he wants to say, he decides to bite the bullet and just blurt it out. “You just don’t really seem like the kind of person who’s into one-night stands.”
Chris’s tongue peeks out, wetting his lips. He considers Sebastian, and then nods slowly. “Okay. You’re right, I’m usually not. Are you?”
“Almost exclusively,” Sebastian answers flatly, “but that’s not the point.”
“What’s the point, then?”
“Look, you’re very nice,” Sebastian begins.
Chris huffs a laugh. “Let me guess, it’s not me, it’s you?”
Sebastian reaches out and cuffs him on the arm. “This isn’t a speech, I mean it. You are. And generous, and thoughtful, and yeah, fine, very easy on the eyes.”
Another smirk. “But?”
“But I don’t live here, is the point. I’m stranded here for a day or two because of a snowstorm. Once that lets up, I’m gonna be 200 miles away. So if you’re not into one-night stands, what exactly would we be doing?”
“I’m not asking you to marry me, man. I’m asking you to let me take you for dinner,” Chris says, with a kind of fondly exasperated smile. A sudden gust of icy wind sends a chill up Sebastian’s spine, and he finds himself stepping in closer to Chris, and then backing up an inch when he realizes what he’d done unconsciously. Chris notices, too.
“To what end?” Sebastian asks stubbornly, to cover up for his slight misstep.
Chris bursts out laughing. “Is that lawyer speak? To the end of… having dinner! I assume you’re physically required to consume food like the rest of us.”
Reluctantly, Sebastian returns his smile. “I require regular caloric intake, yes.”
“So intake your calories at a restaurant with me. One steak. A glass of wine. Maybe a shared appetizer. If you have a miserable time, you never have to see me again. Go back to New York and put my clothes in the mail.”
The potential of having a miserable time isn’t the issue. The issue is the potential of having a fantastic time. Of learning things about Chris that endear Sebastian to him even more than he already has, of becoming attached to his laugh and his dorky sense of humor and the way his eyes sparkle. Of wanting to take Chris back to his hotel room and let Chris bend him over the TV stand. Of then having to leave a man who deserves better than to be treated the way Sebastian and his occasional dates usually treat each other in the morning, sneaking out before dawn to avoid an awkward confrontation, if sleep afterwards is even involved in the first place, which often it isn’t. It’s just been easier that way, for everyone involved. If there aren’t feelings attached to it right from the jump, no one gets theirs hurt. Sebastian has no intention of catching feelings for this man, either, mostly because it would be such a giant mess if he did.
But he is gorgeous, and charming, and almost preposterously kind. Against all his better judgement, Sebastian is lured into dangerous waters by that sweet, earnest face. So fine, if this man wants for once in his wholesome, small-town life to have casual orgasms and then never see the other person again, Sebastian is very practiced in the art of it and can certainly show him the ropes. It’s been far too long since he’s gotten laid, anyway.
“Okay.”
And really, Chris’s answering smile alone makes it worth the risk.