His Boy Next Door #19

Thanksgiving

by R.J. Moray

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright ©2017 R.J. Moray

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the author's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

First Electronic Edition

About His Boy Next Door

An older man.

A submissive discovery.

When Jack takes Channon home for Thanksgiving, Channon doesn't know what to expect of Jack's family. Fights? Icy silences? And what does it mean that Jack is willing to show the world that Channon is his?

This book is episode 19 in an ongoing series, and contains scenes of an adult nature. Read at your own discretion.

Thanksgiving

"You know, I checked," Jack said, when Channon popped his head out from under the water, "and I haven't missed our anniversary. Not yet."

Channon grinned, treading water with his feet pulled up. The weather had long turned cold, but today the sun seemed to be making a last ditch attempt to hang on, and anyway the pool was heated. "Okay, Sir."

"It won't be six months until Thanksgiving," Jack said, stopping at the edge of the decking. He was barefoot, wearing his oldest jeans and a faded Washington Caps t-shirt so worn it was more crackles than logo. He hadn't shaved since Friday and his stubble was coming up thick and dark on his jaw.

It was Channon's favorite look of his, scruffy and personal. No-one else got to see him like this, with his hair ruffled up into spikes. No-one except Nate, anyway, and Nate was different.

"Okay, sir," Channon said again, not bothering to hide the fact that he was eyeing Jack up shamelessly. Jack folded his arms, looking smugly satisfied.

"I'd like to spend it with you. Unless you have plans."

For a moment Channon didn't understand. Then the word 'Thanksgiving' stuck out and he winced. "Oh. Um. We don't…do Thanksgiving."

Jack's eyebrows went up. "We?"

"My mom doesn't like it."

Jack looked…wait, was he shocked? Channon had never seen him lose his stride so completely. It was unnerving. Channon wished suddenly that he'd never said anything.

"I'm sorry," he blurted out, but it only made Jack frown, and sit down cross-legged on the decking.

"You don't have to be sorry. Why doesn't your mom like Thanksgiving?"

Channon chewed his lip. It was complicated, but also really, really simple. "She says it's because of imperialism, but…after Dad moved out we just stopped."

"And your father doesn't invite you to visit him?"

Channon wrinkled his nose. "No?" It didn't matter. Channon didn't care. He was determined not to. "Mom wouldn't have let me, anyway."

For a moment, Jack's expression darkened, tightening into something dangerous. Then it smoothed out, blank and handsome and a little sad. "Well. Would you like to spend Thanksgiving with me? I was planning on seeing my folks, but we could stay here instead."

Oh. No. "You should go, sir. I'll be fine," Channon said, feeling wretched. He'd seen that look, Jack cared about Thanksgiving. There was no way Channon was going to ruin it for him.

Jack cocked his head on one side, watching Channon carefully. "I'm not going without you, Channon," he said softly. "Not if you want to come with me." His mouth broadened into a smile, slow as a sunrise. "How long has it been since you had a proper Thanksgiving?"

It took some math. "Eight years?"

"Then you've missed out on a lot of pie." He paused, still watching Channon very carefully. "But if it's got too many bad associations, I understand. Plus, Thanksgiving with my folks can be…loud. I have a brother and a sister-in-law and they've got four kids between them."

It sounded nice. Thanksgiving with Jack. Pie. A big, noisy family. "It was just me and Mom. She'd complain about Christopher Columbus and then we'd eat mac'n'cheese."

"Is that what you want to do? Or should we instead make a sizable donation to the local reservation and stuff ourselves with turkey?"

Channon shook his head. "Yours sounds better."

"All right." Jack leaned over, beckoning with his fingers, and Channon came up to the edge so Jack could tousle his wet hair. "It's a date."

* * *

Jack's family seemed too comfortably middle-class to be really real. His mom was wide and billowy, all hugs and floral perfume and masses of curly gray hair. She taught art, apparently, volunteering at the local rec center. Jack's father was quiet and solemn, and looked so strikingly like Jack that it took Channon's breath away. Except this was a Jack whose hair was thick with silver, who wore glasses with heavy frames, and a cardigan with a turkey stitched on the pocket.

They lived in a two-story brick house with an honest-to-god white picket fence around it and roses in the garden. The back gate opened up onto the woods behind—Channon felt exposed, looking out of the bedroom window to see the kids playing on the lawn. All those trees. Anything could come out of them. Bears? Wolves? Bigfoot?

"You look pensive," Jack said, rubbing his shoulder. "All right?"

"Did you ever see a Bigfoot?" Channon asked, turning to face him.

Jack grinned. "Nope. But I knew a guy who swore his cousin saw something that could have been Bigfoot." He tugged Channon toward him, backing up to the bed and sitting down on it with Channon between his thighs. "Are you worried about Bigfoot?"

"I'm not worried," Channon protested. "Just…curious."

Jack curled a hand around the base of Channon's skull. His fingers were warm and firm. "I solemnly swear," he said, sounding perfectly serious, "to protect you from Bigfoot. Okay?"

It was silly. And Channon liked it. "Okay." He leaned in, wondering if he could get away with kissing Jack now, and Jack pulled him the rest of the way to press their mouths together. He tasted of chilies and hot chocolate. Well, that might have been Channon too—the first thing Mrs Nash had done was force her 'special' hot chocolate on them. Jack had warned him about the chili, which was just as well because—

Jack licked over Channon's lip and all thought of chili went out of his head. He opened his mouth, letting Jack suck on his lip, his teeth firm but not sharp. It still sent a thrill down his spine, his pulse jumping, blood running hot under his skin. He leaned into it, submitting to the pressure of Jack's lips, the thrust of his tongue, his hand holding Channon firmly in place.

"Are you—oh!"

Channon jerked away, a hot blush soaking him from scalp to chest. Christopher Nash was standing in the doorway, clearly startled to have caught them. Channon was too embarrassed to look at him but Jack just cleared his throat.

"We're ready to go, if that's what you're asking," he said evenly, as if he hadn't been caught making out in his parents' house.

"Cool." Chris glanced from one of them to the other. "I'll be waiting in the car."

He disappeared into the hall. Channon let out a breath, wondering if he was going to be able to look Chris in the eye now.

Channon liked Chris. Jack's older brother was a slightly older, scruffier version of Jack, and had come to pick them up from the airport. He seemed friendly enough, asked Channon where he went to school, if he liked football, what position he'd played. His eldest son, Aaron, was a quarterback. He seemed to think this meant Aaron and Channon would get along. Channon thought he'd wait and see.

Aaron was the reason they'd flown in so early and were going out now. Coleridge Crabs were playing Easton Hammers in a rivalry match, and Aaron was a Crab. This was why Channon was wearing a green and white scarf with a crab on it. He wasn't sold on the crab theme but the scarf had been Jack's in high-school, and Channon wasn't about to refuse something so personal.

Jack grinned at him, tucking the Crabs scarf neatly into the collar of his coat. "Let's go."

Chris didn't say anything about the kiss, or anything embarrassing at all. He tried to get Channon to pick the music but made faces when Channon confessed to liking Ed Sheeran.

Jack seemed to find this hilarious, and mocked his brother for it all the way there.

The game was at Coleridge High this year, so it wasn't far. Channon didn't get much of a look at the school, but it was smaller than he'd expected. The buildings looked old, but not the expensive and historic kind of old. It didn't look like the kind of place Jack would have gone to school at all.

The Nash family had staked out a section of the bleachers, and Channon found himself being introduced to the rest: Chris' wife Gloria, their kids Brayden and Theresa, and Sasha, who seemed to be Chris' daughter, maybe, but not Gloria's, maybe. She was paler and more angular than the other kids, and she gave Channon such a narrow, shrewd look that it left him tongue-tied and awkward. Still, he nodded and said hi, and let Jack pull him down onto a bench.

The Nashes were nice, really. Mrs Nash handed him a travel mug of more hot chocolate. Then there was a Tupperware container of pizza wheels being passed around, and meatballs on toothpicks, and mini quiches. It was friendly and nice, and the game, for all it was a rivalry match, was pretty casual. Good clean play—a bit of a weak start from the Crabs, but they picked up in the second quarter. It wasn't thrilling, but he liked Aaron's style, pressing the offense with a sort of dogged determination that seemed infectious. He had a good rhythm with his full-back, and once they got it together they pulled out a couple of spectacular punts, slightly ruined by the sluggishness of the defense to get on them.

By half-time, the Crabs had pulled even, and the weather had turned sharp. Channon wrapped his arms around himself and hunched his shoulders to keep warm but it didn't help that much.

"Are you cold?" Jack asked, watching him shiver.

Channon almost said no, but of course that would be lying. "A bit," he said, sinking into his scarf.

It made Jack frown, and then he rearranged them so Channon was sitting between his thighs. He pulled a green-and-white blanket over his shoulders and wrapped Channon up in it, tugging him snug against his chest. Channon couldn't help feeling incredibly self-conscious about it, though…hadn't he done the exact same thing with Kim at her cousin's game last winter? She'd been cold and he'd tried to wrap his coat around her, and it had been fine. Even now, there were other couples snuggled under blankets. It was just that those couples weren't, well, gay.

"All right, Channon?" Jack murmured in his ear. His breath was hot on Channon's skin, and Channon found himself nodding. "It's okay," Jack said, low and intimate. "You're fine. Just relax."

Channon tried to, but he was on edge. People would be looking. He didn't dare look at them, so he fixed his gaze on the game and tried to concentrate.

Jack, however, had other ideas. "You know, we're not going to get a lot of privacy today. Or tonight. We're lucky we got our own room, you know." He squeezed Channon's arm, nuzzling the edge of Channon's jaw. Innocent, almost, but Channon knew him better than that. "But I'm not going to get to do to you the things I want to do to you. Do you have any idea how frustrating that is?"

Channon cleared his throat. "No," he whispered, but he couldn't be sure if Jack heard it over the yelling—the Hammers' quarterback had gambled on a run and lost possession. Channon found it hard to focus with Jack so close to his ear.

"You're going to have to be very quiet for me tonight," Jack said, and Channon shuddered because it sounded like a promise. "No moaning, no screaming. Normally I love the sounds you make but tonight you'll have to be quiet. Can you do that for me, Channon?"

Channon breathed in, his pants suddenly uncomfortably tight. "Yes, sir," he whispered, turning his head in toward Jack, but Jack tsked.

"Eyes front, Channon. Nod or shake your head."

Channon did as he was told, and nodded. The knowledge that they were here, in full view of Jack's family, with Jack's voice low and private, the warmth of him along Channon's spine…it made him quiver inside, this hot shudder in his gut. Jack could…under the blanket Jack could have palmed him through his jeans, could take him out and jerk him off and then, because it was Jack after all, leave him hanging, let him sit, exposed, as his dick shrank and softened in the cold, unsatisfied and wanting.

Jack could do exactly that. Channon bit his lip.

"You know, if I fucked you in my childhood bed, you'd be the first."

Channon went absolutely still.

"I've never brought anyone home like this, never taken them to that room, never had them on that mattress. But I've thought about it. Finding someone to bend over the edge of it and fuck until they sobbed. God, Channon, I love it when you sob. You do it beautifully. No-one suffers like you do, stoic and perfect, and so lovely." Jack's breath hitched, and Channon could feel him now, hard against the knot of his spine. "Sometimes I just want to push you right over the edge, and see how beautiful you could be as you fall."

It should have been scary, and it was. A little. Jack had made no secret of how much he wanted to press Channon to the limit, maybe break him. But he wouldn't, would he? Channon could trust him to go only as far as he could take and no further. And if he went over, if it happened, Jack would catch him.

Wouldn't he?

Jack's mouth brushed the lobe of Channon's ear, his breath hot, casting shivers across the skin of Channon's throat.

"When we get home," Jack said, the words rich and heavy and inevitable, "I'm going to take you apart. I'm going to fucking ruin you, mess you up and wreck you. I'm going to leave bruises and bite-marks and you're going to scream for me so loud the neighbors think I'm murdering you. And when I'm done? You're going to beg me to fuck you. On your knees with your ass in the air, just pleading for it."

Channon swallowed. He could barely breathe. He was so hard he felt like the slightest pressure, just a tug at the fabric of his jeans, would set him off. And Jack said it all so matter-of-factly. This was going to happen. This was not up for debate. And sure, Channon could safe out if he wanted, could say no if he wanted, but…

He wouldn't. They both knew it. Fuck, he was so gone.

"And maybe, maybe, I'll give you what you want," Jack murmured, his voice turned soft and gentle. "Or maybe I'll tie your collar to the foot of my bed and leave you there. Make you wait. For me to do it all over again."

The sound that came out of Channon's throat couldn't be anything but a whimper, but it was drowned in the sound of the crowd yelling. Something had happened and Channon, staring glaze-eyed at the field, had missed it completely. He blinked, tried to focus, but all he could see was himself, on his knees, bruised and tear-streaked and begging, leashed to Jack's bed like a pet while Jack sighed and refused him.

"How does that sound?" Jack asked, leaning back to give Channon room to move.

Channon swallowed, and twisted to look him in the eye.

"Perfect," he said, and Jack grinned, squeezing him.

"Good. Let's do that then."

* * *

Channon was grateful for the last quarter of the game. It gave him time to stay wrapped up in a blanket and wait for his hard-on to fade. Of course, Jack didn't help, being this big, warm presence at his back. He kept his hands to himself, though, which was a blessing. A frustrating blessing, but still.

In the end, the Crabs scraped a win. Channon cheered along with the rest of the Nashes, and then there was a lot of packing up etcetera. People kept coming up to talk to Jack and Jack listened politely but didn't exactly encourage them. He introduced Channon more often than he didn't, and Channon got sick of shaking hands. About half of them seemed taken aback by Channon's very existence, and there were some extremely dirty looks from some of the women, but largely it was okay, just boring.

It was easy to lose himself in the crowd of Nashes. There were a lot of them. Channon was having trouble keeping everyone's names straight. And they were all so chatty, a family used to itself and easy with each other. Channon found a corner and stayed in it, wondering what, if anything he was supposed to do.

Until the sofa bounced and he shifted over to make room.

It was Sasha. He glanced at her and then away. She reminded him of Kim, in that she made him feel awkward. Kim's friends had been like that, always looking at him like there was something wrong with him. Like Kim could do better.

Sasha was looking at him like that now. It was discomforting, when she looked enough like Jack to be his daughter, same thick-lashed hazel eyes, same nose, same smooth olive skin. "So you're, what, twenty-one?"

"Eighteen," Channon told her.

Her eyes widened a little. "Shit, really?"

"Language," Chris called absently from across the room but he didn't seem to be listening.

"Sure. You're, um, in college?" Channon felt awkward asking.

"UCI," she said. "Freshman. So, you're dating Uncle Jack? Or, like, is this…I don't know." She made a vague gesture he couldn't interpret.

"We're dating," Channon said warily. What was she getting at?"

"But do you…I mean. Okay." She frowned a bit. "You're not still in school, are you?"

"No," Channon said defensively. "I work in tech."

"Huh." Sasha eyes him narrowly. Her eyes were very dark, tilted in a way that Jack's weren't, but her nose and cheekbones were too like his for Channon to be entirely comfortable. "You wanna come downstairs and play Xbox or something?"

It sounded vaguely ominous. Channon looked up to find Jack, but couldn't see him. What harm could it do? "Sure," he said, and followed her downstairs.

The basement was finished, Channon discovered, with sofas and floor pillows scattered around a huge flat-screen. The flat-screen was obviously attached to a console—Aaron and Theresa, a middle-school girl in an Incredible Hulk hoodie and purple jeans, were playing Tekken.

"Hey," Sasha said, flopping down next to Aaron. "I want next."

"Tez is gonna kick your ass," Aaron said, sounding weirdly smug.

"Dad's gonna kick your ass if he catches you saying 'ass'," Sasha said crisply, taking the controller. "C'mon, little girl."

So Theresa proceeded to kick her ass. It was impressive, really, how easily she pulled it off. She didn't even gloat, just bounced in her seat. "Again!"

Sasha made a disgusted noise, and offered the controller to Channon. "Maybe she needs a handicap."

"Yeah, like we tie one hand behind her back." Aaron narrowed his eyes, eyeing Channon with obvious speculation.

He was a bit younger than Channon, sloppily dressed in a hoodie and loose jeans, a little hair on his lip but not a hell of a lot. Channon knew him, or guys like him anyway. It was an even chance that this was going to go well, or badly.

Aaron lifted his chin. "Sit down, dude."

Channon sat down, only to get beat up by a middle-schooler.

He could feel Aaron and Sasha watching him. It made him nervous, so he tried to ignore it, but it was still happening.

Eventually, Aaron kicked a foot up onto an ottoman, and said, "So, what's the deal with you and Uncle Jack?"

Channon glanced away from the screen. It was a mistake. He ended up getting thrown through the floor and stomped on. "Uh…how do you mean?"

"You're, like, what? Dating?"

"Yeah?"

"But you're, like, my age."

"I'm eighteen."

Aaron snorted. "That's gross, dude."

"It's not," Channon said, losing and handing back the controller.

Aaron gave him a weird look. "Is that what he's into? I mean, I knew he was gay but not like…weird."

"It's not weird," Channon insisted, though maybe…some of it was.

"Are you gonna get married?" Theresa asked. "If you get married does that make you my uncle?"

"Gross," Aaron insisted. "I'm not calling you 'Uncle Channon'."

"I don't—"

"Do I get to be the flower girl?" Theresa sounded excited. "Do you get married in a church or won't they let you?"

"I—"

"Uncle Jack would just buy the church," Aaron scoffed. "Come on, like they're going to make him get married in a public park."

"Can I wear a tutu?" Theresa asked, looking away from the replay of Aaron's latest death to stare Channon in the eye.

"We're not getting married," Channon said firmly.

"This is so not fair," Sasha muttered, taking the controller and pausing the game. Theresa protested but Sasha ignored her. She turned around to face Channon, her expression unreadable. "I mean, if you were a girl this would be so weird. Jack's my uncle. You're younger than me. Gramma's letting you share a room with him and I can't even have my boyfriend stay the night."

"Yeah, but, like if your boyfriend was a girlfriend," Aaron said, sliding down in his seat until his chin rested on his chest, "you could tell her she was being…can I say lesbophobic?"

Sasha smacked him on the arm. "No, you can't. Anyway, I don't have a girlfriend, I have a boyfriend, and I'd like to bring him home for the holidays but no."

"Maybe if your boyfriend was, like, forty years old," Aaron snorted, reaching across her for a soda, and she smacked him again. "I'm just saying!" He eyes Channon sidelong. "It's not the same, right?"

Channon didn't know what to say. "Is there a problem? Do you have a problem with me?"

Aaron shrugged. "Brah, Uncle Jack can f—, uh," and he glanced at Theresa who had unpaused the game and was merrily beating the crap out of the computer, "date whoever he wants. Even if it's weird."

"It's not that!" Sasha tipped back her head, glaring at the ceiling. "It's just not fair."

"You're just salty cause you wanna snuggle your boy," Aaron scoffed, kicking her in the calf. "Don't you have, like, a dorm for that?"

"I share with a Mormon," Sasha complained. "She'd report me."

"So you're salty that you're not getting laid." Aaron rolled his eyes up at Channon. "Typical."

"I'm not salty!"

"Um," Channon gestured at Theresa in her armchair, "should we be talking about this?"

"She's in the zone," Aaron said, kicking Theresa's chair. "C'mon, Tez, give us a go. I'm gonna kick Chan's butt."

Channon snorted, holding out a hand for a controller. "Yeah, you can try."

* * *

The sheer amount of food Mr Nash produced from the kitchen was astonishing. Channon didn't quite get how they were supposed to eat it all. It was like something from a movie. Turkey and chestnut stuffing, mashed potatoes and sweet corn, cranberry sauce and gravy, green bean casserole, winter squash and sweet potatoes with a brown sugar crust, stuffed onions and peppers—Channon didn't even notice the square baking dish at the end of the table until Chris pointed it out.

"Since when did we have mac'n'cheese at Thanksgiving?" he demanded, sounding dubious.

"I hear it's traditional for Channon," Mr Nash said mildly. "There's lemon thyme and bacon in there, Channon, I hope that's all right."

Channon bit his lip, fighting to keep from grinning like an idiot. "Thank-you, Mr Nash. That sounds awesome."

"We always had mac'n'cheese for Thanksgiving at home," Gloria said, smiling brightly. "I can make gram-gram's special recipe next year if you like, Robert."

Mr Nash frowned. "Well, we'll see if I need the help."

Gloria rolled her eyes, caught Channon watching her, and winked at him from across the table.

"So, everyone," Mrs Nash said brightly. "Let's go around and say what we're thankful for this year." No-one groaned, like Channon was half expecting, instead even Brayden sat up straight with a solemn look on his face, and he was only nine.

Channon bit his lip and tried to think. There was something ritual about it all, like saying grace, something he'd only had to do that one time he'd gone to dinner with Kim's grandparents. He'd got that wrong, too, he was pretty sure. But it had been over a year since then, surely he could come up with something.

"I'm thankful for this amazing meal Dad 'threw together'," Chris said. "Thanks, Dad."

"I'm thankful that you're all here to eat it," Mr Nash said.

Gloria laughed softly. "I'm thankful that none of us are vegetarian."

"Well, I'm thankful that we're all healthy and happy and flourishing," Mrs Nash said firmly. "What a blessing. Aaron?"

"Uh, I'm thankful that I don't have to sit at the kids table anymore?" Aaron said.

"We don't have a kids table anymore," Sasha muttered, glancing up at Channon. She went on, louder, "I'm thankful for my wonderful, forgiving, understanding father…"

"Here we go," Chris sighed. "Wait for it."

"…who isn't going to mind if I change my major to anthropology?" she said, hunching her shoulders defensively.

Chris made a face. "Your mom is going to be so mad."

"I know," Sasha sighed. "Can you tell her?"

"We'll talk later," Chris told her. "Theresa?"

"I'm thankful for Pokemon Go," she said cheerfully.

"And I'm thankful for Thanksgiving!" Brayden shouted, which made his grandmother pinch his cheek.

Channon took a deep breath. Okay, this was it.

"I'm thankful for, um, being here today, at your Thanksgiving. And for the mac'n'cheese."

He saw Jack smile out of the corner of his eye, and felt the press of Jack's knee against his.

"Well. I'm thankful for all the changes in the last year," Jack said, "without which life would be pretty dull."

"You can say you're thankful you're not tragically single anymore," Chris teased. "Go on, we all know."

Jack shook his head, smirking a little. "I am thankful for that, yes."

Mr Nash cleared his throat. "Well, we're all thankful, that's wonderful. Now, go ahead and stuff yourselves before it gets cold."

Channon waited until everyone had started piling up their plates before reaching for the mac'n'cheese. It was only polite, and it did look good. The idea that someone had done something to try and make him feel included made him feel strange and shy, and very grateful.

"The rule," Jack murmured to him, "is that you have to eat everything on your plate, but you don't have to take anything you don't want. So. Go easy the first round."

Channon nodded, and took a little bit of everything.

"We are very happy to have you here, Channon," Mrs Nash said, smiling at him mom-ishly. "It's good of your family to spare you."

"There's no-one missing me today, ma'am," he said, because it was true. "My mom's staying with a friend from work." When he'd called her she'd sounded relieved that he wasn't coming home. He'd tried not to take it personally. She hated Thanksgiving, after all.

Mrs Nash looked surprised, but then she smiled. "And your father? Or," and she glanced up over Channon's shoulder.

"Channon doesn't see much of Mr Beaumont," Jack said smoothly. "How's the macaroni?"

It was delicious, creamy and tender and rich with herbs, and pretty much nothing like his mom's mac'n'cheese at all. Channon said so, except for the last part.

He knew what Jack was doing. No-one liked hearing about Channon's dad. Channon tried not to tell them, because they always looked sad or sorry and he didn't know what to do with it. Bad enough for Jack to look at him like that sometimes. He didn't need it from Jack's mom, of all people. So Jack was changing the subject. Thank God for Jack.

Except it didn't work. "I hope your father's not alone today," Mrs Nash said, and she meant it kindly but…

He'd tried calling his dad. When he'd thought about explaining about Jack and Santa Rita and everything, he'd felt sick, but he did it anyway, going out onto the deck before Jack got home so he wouldn't hear if it went wrong.

His dad hadn't answered. Channon had left him a message. Hi Dad. It's Channon. Happy Thanksgiving. The relief had been staggering. Probably how his mom felt about the whole thing.

Jack's hand wrapped around his arm, squeezing firmly, but Channon just concentrated on his dinner. It was all so good, and he didn't want to think about his dad today, anyway.

"He's fine," Channon said, though of course he didn't know.

"Well." Mrs Nash seemed at a loss. "We won't feel guilty for stealing you, then. Maybe we'll get to steal you again soon."

Channon swallowed a mouthful of turkey and yam. "Maybe? I mean…that would be nice?"

"That would be nice," Jack said, still squeezing his arm. "So, Sasha, are you still skating?"

Channon ate until he couldn't reasonably stuff any more in, and then there was pie and apple cake. Mrs Nash asked him about his favorite foods, about Santa Rita, and whether or not Jack was taking care of himself.

"We eat loads of vegetables," Channon told her, and then he told her about the horrible spirulina drinks and exercise, which made her laugh.

"My vain boy. Christopher was never like that. With Jonathan…well, I suppose no-one should have been surprised."

"Grams," Sasha said, sounding exasperated. "Being gay doesn't make you vain."

"I didn't say that! I just meant that he likes looking a certain way."

Sasha rolled her eyes. "Please excuse Gramma," she said, making an 'oh for fuck's sake' face. "She thinks gay people all like fashion and musicals and rainbows."

"I don't know about musicals," Channon said, grinning at her. "Rainbows are cool."

"And fashion?" Sasha's eyes widened a little. "Wanna watch Project Runway after dinner?"

"I…don't know?"

"Don't make him," Aaron scoffed. "He'll never come back and Uncle Jack'll cut off your college fund." He caught Channon's glance and rolled his eyes expressively.

Channon couldn't help the spread of his grin. It was nice, it was all so very—

Mrs Nash was standing up, gathering dishes together, and Channon rose out of his seat automatically reaching for a plate.

"Oh, you sit and digest," she said.

He almost did. But. "Please, ma'am, I'd like to."

"You see?" Gloria said, poking a finger at her eldest son. "That's manners, Aaron, pay attention."

Aaron groaned, and shoved himself to his feet. "Dude," he complained. "Don't make me look bad!"

Except he didn't mean it. It was just…nice.

Channon helped carry dishes out, and scraped plates, and stacked the dishwasher, and Aaron bitched about it the whole time, in a familiar sort of way. It reminded Channon of Ben, and suddenly Channon found himself missing him. It felt so weird that, once the dishes were all stacked, he excused himself to the back porch to send Ben a text.

hey man happy thanksgiving

He tried to think of anything else to add but he had nothing, and hit send before he could start to second guess himself.

He wondered if he should text Kim too. She'd emailed him a couple of times, and drunk-dialed him once to tell him she didn't care if he was gay, she wished he'd been her first. He got the impression she'd slept with someone and regretted it, but it was hard to tell, so he'd just stayed on the phone until she'd got back to her dorm safe.

So he sent her a text.

Happy Thanksgiving hope ur ok

He wasn't expecting anything back but his phone pinged at once.

Happy Thanksgiving! I'm so full I think I gained a dress size :-)

Then, immediately after—

Are you home? We could hang out!

Channon sent back, im in Coleridge w/Jack

Oooh, nice. Why Coleridge?

met the fam his dad made me mac&cheese

There was a pause. That's awesome! Hope they love you! Tty soon ok? xoxoxo

It made him smile. k later :)

He was about to put his phone back in his pocket when it buzzed again.

This time it was Ben. u assbutt u never call way 2 make a bro feel unloved happy tg mf

"Everything okay?"

He looked up. Jack was standing in the doorway, the lines of his face softened by the winking fairy lights. Channon felt his face tugged into a smile. "Yes, sir," he said without thinking. Oh, he had to not do that here. To cover it, he held up his phone. "I was texting Ben and Kim Happy Thanksgivings." He tilted the screen to show, flicking to the convo with Kim and back again.

Jack snorted, wrapping an arm around Channon's waist and huffing into his hair. "Ben's quite the poet."

"He's Ben." Channon shrugged and then, because it was cold, he tipped his head into the hollow of Jack's shoulder, letting himself be tugged up against Jack's chest. It felt good. He closed his eyes and just let it all wash over him.

"Enjoying Thanksgiving?" Jack murmured into his hair.

Channon nodded. "Lots." He turned his face against Jack's collar, breathing in the warm, spicy scent of him. "Are you?"

"Mmm-hmm." Jack breathed out, hot on his skin. "Aren't you cold?"

"I was. I'm good now."

"Ah, I see. Reducing me to a human blanket."

Channon pulled away, shaking his head. "No. I shouldn't keep you outside."

"Okay. But I warn you," Jack said, reaching for the door, "Mom's started an argument about David Bowie and I think we're about five minutes away from having to watch Labyrinth, again."

"Labyrinth?"

"You know," Jack said, grinning, but when Channon just blinked at him the grin slid off his face. "You've never seen Labyrinth."

"No?"

Jack pulled the door shut behind them and turned to call down the hall. "Mom! We're watching Labyrinth!"

"Again?" someone yelled back.

Jack grinned, and caught Channon's hand in his, twining their fingers together. "You're going to love it."

* * *

He was right. Some of it was cheesy, of course—it was for kids. Theresa knew all the words and had to be actively discouraged from reciting them about a half-second before the actors on screen. Brayden hid his head in his dad's armpit during the bit with all the hands.

Channon, though, felt…conflicted. The Goblin King was strange, wicked and cruel, and changeable in a dangerous sort of way, and yet…

"Well?" Jack asked him as they went up to bed. "What do you think?"

"He was lonely."

"Who was?"

"The Goblin King." Channon thought about it, how they were the only humans in the labyrinth, how no-one else was really real. "He just…wanted her to stay. I would have stayed, if I was her."

Jack eyed him narrowly. "And why's that?"

"Maybe I'd rather live in a fake world that wanted me than a real one that didn't," Channon said, and as soon as he had he thought, No.

Jack wrapped a hand around his arm and squeezed. "Channon," he said, too firm and low for it to be anything but a reprimand. "You're not unwanted."

"I know." Jack's hand tightened on his wrist. "Sir, I know."

He didn't look convinced. "Prove it."

The door was already closed. It took less than a second to make up his mind.

Channon dropped to his knees—quietly, not wanting the thud of his weight to carry through the house. "Sir," he breathed, tilting his head back to look Jack in the eye. "Please. Tell me how. I'll do anything."

For a long moment, Jack gazed down at him, his expression hard and blank. Then he twisted a hand in Channon's hair, tugging it tight enough to hurt. "Go wash up. Brush your teeth. Come back to me."

Channon did.

There were enough bathrooms, luckily, for him to get one to himself long enough to shower. He did it quickly, brushed his teeth, pulled on a clean t-shirt and sweats, and went back to the room buzzing with anticipation. The look Jack gave him when he came in didn't bode well, so as soon as the door was shut he went to his knees, bowing his head against Jack's thigh. "Sir," he said quietly.

"Stand up."

He did.

Jack put his fingers under Channon's chin and tilted his head up. "Sit on the end of the bed and wait for me. If someone knocks, you can let them in. Behave normally. Otherwise, don't move."

"Yes, Sir." He sat down, tucking his hands behind his back.

Jack's eyes narrowed. "Back straight, Channon. Chin up. Knees together, toes on the floor." When Channon had done all that, he nodded. "Better."

And then he was gone.

Channon concentrated on his breathing, and tried not to count the seconds. Jack would be a few minutes at least.

He breathed in, breathed out, pushed his shoulders back and straightened his spine, listening to the sounds of the house settling around him. They'd been starting to play Guitar Hero in the basement when Jack and Channon had come up—he could hear Sweet Child of Mine echoing up the stairs. Chris, he guessed, or Gloria. She was nice, he thought, the kind of mom who joined in, paid attention. And Mrs Nash, too, full of questions and concern.

The pipes shuddered somewhere in the house. A door opened and closed. Channon shut his eyes, breathing deep and even.

He heard the door open, and forced himself to look.

Jack swung the door closed behind him. He was wearing a towel and the hair of his chest glistened in the lamplight. He gave Channon a thoughtful look, but said nothing. Channon let his head hang down, watching Jack sidelong. Jack hung up what needed hanging, folded what needed folding, and put it all in his overnight bag. And then he hung up his towel, unselfconscious as always, as if Channon wasn't even there.

He turned out the light, going to the head of the bed and climbing in before flicking on the bedside lamp. Then—

"Channon."

Channon didn't move. "Yes, Sir?"

"Come here."

Channon twisted around, crawling up over the naked length of Jack's body. Jack caught him by the jaw, pulling him up to within an inch of his mouth.

"Remember what I said. You have to be very, very quiet."

"Yes, sir," Channon whispered.

Jack rubbed a thumb over Channon's lip. "You've been good today. I'm pleased with you."

Channon swallowed. "Thank-you, Sir." He could feel a 'but' coming.

"Have you had a good Thanksgiving?"

"Yes, Sir." It had been amazing.

"I hoped you would." Jack pushed his thumb into Channon's mouth, the pad of it pressing down on his tongue. "I hoped you'd feel wanted, and welcome."

Oh. I do, Sir, but he couldn't say it, smothered by the pressure of Jack's thumb. Instead, he curled his tongue against it, sucking him a little. It was cheeky, and maybe Jack would disapprove, but Channon didn't know how else to tell him. You make me feel wanted. I'd do anything for you.

"It's a little disappointing that you don't seem to understand how much I do want you," Jack said, and Channon made a muffled sound of protest because, No, no, Sir, don't be disappointed in me. "Shh," Jack chided, pushing his thumb deeper. "You can suck on this, if you want."

Of course he did. He ran his tongue up against the clean tang of Jack's skin, licking the length of the digit and tonguing the tip of it. When he sucked he sucked hungrily, willing Jack to understand. Please, Sir, let me worship your cock like this, suck on you like this, I'll be good, I'll hold still for you while you fuck my mouth, Sir, please fuck my mouth, I'll be so good, I'll be quiet, I'll, I'll…

Jack made a pleased sound, low in his throat. "That's my boy." He ran his fingers through Channon's hair, stroking his scalp, and Channon let his eyes fall closed, reveling in the feel of Sir's hands on him.

He had a knee between Jack's thighs, could feel the slow swell of interest through the fabric of his sweats. It was exciting, knowing that Jack was right there, that he was thickening, that he'd make Channon do something about that soon. Suck him off, maybe? That seemed to be where this was going after all. And yet he knew that Jack liked to take him by surprise, pushing things in an unexpected direction, to keep Channon on his toes.

Now Jack pressed down on his head, sliding his thumb free—Channon let it go with a wet pop, and licked his lips, already sensitive. He went where Jack pushed him, mouth open, his tongue ready to taste Jack's skin again. "Make me hard," Jack said, curling his fingers in Channon's hair.

"Yes, Sir," Channon breathed against his cock, his hands shaking with eagerness to obey. He licked Jack all over, laving his soft, tender skin. He ran his tongue down to lip at the rim of his cock head, tonguing underneath until Jack's cock twitched up to meet him. Even soft Jack was impressively large, but Channon knew how much bigger he could get, and now he licked and lipped and sucked Jack into his mouth, massaging him with his tongue, giddy with the scent of masculine musk blooming in his nose and filling his head. It felt powerful, to be able to do this for Jack, to be the one Jack had chosen to worship him. Channon slurped on him, thirsty for him, aching for the spill of Jack's come in his throat. He licked his way off Jack's cock and down to lap at his balls, and Jack held him there, pressing Channon firmly against his crotch. Channon breathed in, savoring the rough scent of him, and he felt weightless, almost drugged on the feeling of Jack, of pleasing him and being permitted the pleasure of giving this to him.

I love you, he thought, kissing Jack's balls tenderly. I love you, Sir.

"Channon."

When Channon looked up Jack's eyes were dark, his pupils blown in the low light, and there was something raw in his face, something almost painful to look at. "Sir?"

"Take off your clothes."

Channon did it, stripping out of them quickly. He knelt there, shivering under the weight of Jack's gaze, which was too heavy with intent for Channon to bear.

"Turn around."

He shifted on his knees, and then he was straddling Jack's hips. The broad width of Jack's hand spread across his back and Jack pushed him down until he was ass-up in the air, his face pressed against the bed-covers He felt his cock dipping down to brush Jack's belly, leaving a wet smear on his skin and he shivered, unsure what was happening but waiting for Jack to order him.

Jack seemed content to just look at him for the moment. He ran his hands down to frame Channon's ass, fingers kneading his flesh. His hands were so strong. Channon knew they could leave bruises, loved it when Jack did, marking him up possessively. Every dark shadow spelled 'mine' in Channon's heart, and Channon wanted nothing more than to be Jack's completely.

He'd thought about it a lot, actually. About how much he'd give up to Jack if Jack asked. Jack already made all the important decisions, like where they lived and where Channon worked. He made all the small decisions, like what Channon wore, what he ate, how his hair was cut, the fact that he was waxed entirely smooth everywhere but his head and under his arms.

And he made all the decisions in bed, up to and including who else got to fuck Channon. Channon had wondered about that. So far it had just been Nate, which felt…oddly comfortable. Nate seemed more like an extension of Jack than anything else, too closely related to them to be outside their relationship. But Channon knew Jack had wanted that other guest, the one Channon hadn't known, to do something with him. To fuck Channon? Or to play with him? He wondered how he would have felt about it then, and how he felt about it now.

Really, it wasn't up to him. That was Jack's choice to make, and no-one else's.

He realized with a rush how good it felt, giving up the weight of that decision to Jack. Because Jack was never wrong, and always wanted what was best for him, and Channon trusted him, completely.

God, he'd let Jack choose everything for him.

"You're thinking," Jack said, trailing a finger down the cleft of Channon's ass. He brushed a crooked knuckle against Channon's hole, making him tense and flinch. "What are you thinking about?"

"You, Sir," Channon said.

Jack chuckled, tapping Channon right on the rim. "Flattering. What are you thinking about me?"

"That I'd do anything you wanted, Sir. And, and that I'd let you make all the decisions for me, always. Because I belong to you."

In the silence that followed, Channon's heart beat a painful tattoo in his chest. Had he said too much? Was he presuming things? Jack wanted him, didn't he? Wasn't that what he'd said? What if he didn't want this? Channon couldn't stomach the thought of Jack rejecting him, now, when he was literally open, exposed like this, spread out for Jack and vulnerable.

And then Jack breathed out, a long low sigh. "You have no idea how much that means to me," he said. A dry fingertip stroked over Channon's asshole, trailing down to finger his taint. "Are you saying you want to give me more control over you? You've already given me a lot, Channon."

Channon felt like his heart might hammer its way out of his chest. "I want to give you all of it, Sir."

"Do you want to be my slave?"

His throat was so tight he could barely breathe. "Yes, Sir. Please."

Jack's grip on his hip spasmed, squeezing him hard. "Say it."

"I want to be your slave, Sir." Channon swallowed, nervous. "Master," he said.

It felt like all the blood rushed to his head at that, it felt so…he didn't know if it was good or bad but it was intense.

He heard Jack breathe out, a long juddering sigh. "No. Not master. Not now."

Not yet. Or that's how it sounded.

"We'll talk about this more later," Jack said, his voice gone low and thick, dark like molasses, and it pooled in Channon's gut, this slow, heavy feeling he couldn't explain. "But I am very pleased with your suggestion."

He caught Channon by the hips, tugging him up his chest until he was face-to-face with Jack's cock, his knees wide over Jack's rib-cage Jack hummed, nuzzling Channon's ass affectionately. The sharp nip of his teeth caught Channon by surprise—he yelped, and pressed his mouth against Jack's thigh too late to muffle it.

"Shhh. Remember you have to be quiet. Not a peep out of you, Channon."

Yes, Sir. Channon held very still, mouth firmly shut, his face buried in the meat of Jack's thigh, but still he shivered at the first brush of warm, wet tongue over his asshole.

Oh God, Jack was going to eat him out. Jack was…fuck, that wasn't fair. How was he supposed to be silent when Jack was licking him, running his tongue hot and slick over his rim? It was agony, every dip and press, the slow opening up of his flesh for Jack's tongue, and all Channon could do was take it, be still and quiet and good for Jack as Jack fucked him with his tongue.

It pinged down his nerves, scattering bursts of static over his skin. He couldn't help trembling, his muscles spasming in protest as Jack opened him up, licking into him with relish. It made Channon feel devoured, like he existed purely for this, for Jack to use however he liked. For Jack to take. For Jack.

Yours, I'm yours, please, just—

"Mmm, Channon," and Jack kissed him, mouth gentle on his cheek. "God, you have no idea how much I want to fuck you right now." And he pressed his tongue back in, thrusting in rough enough to punch the breath from Channon's lungs and leave him breathless. "But this bed creaks and I don't want rug burn. So I'm going to let you suck me off, instead."

Channon nodded, eyes wrenched shut as Jack licked him again, barely able to breathe for the sheer exhilaration of Jack's tongue in his ass—

"Do you want that?" Jack murmured against his skin.

"Yes, sir," Channon gasped. He tried to be quiet about it, thought he managed it, and Jack didn't shush him this time.

"Beg me."

"Please let me suck your cock," Channon whispered all in a rush. "Please, Sir, please."

"All right. Go ahead."

Channon pushed himself up on one palm. He had to brace an arm along Jack's hip for balance, wrapping his hand around Jack's cock to guide him up. The hot slide of Jack's dick into his mouth made him shudder, and then he had Jack fat and heavy on his tongue. The angle was so different, the curve of Jack's cock sliding him deep into Channon's throat, and Channon moaned at the fullness of it, the choking pressure.

"Good. That's good." Jack's fingers dug into his ass cheeks, thumbs spreading him open, and Jack's tongue was all over him, lapping at his rim, delving in deep. Channon sucked hard, pulling back to mouth at the head of Jack's cock and sliding down until Jack was in his throat, thick and blunt.

Jack in his mouth, Jack in his ass, Channon felt wreathed in him, drowned in him, the scent of him overpowering. The pressure of his hands. The taste of his skin. The wet sound of his tongue on Channon's flesh.

"That's good," Jack sighed, his breath gusting over Channon's spit-slick rim. "Don't stop, sweetheart." And then— "Fuck, don't…God, Channon, suck it, just suck on me—" and Jack was pulsing in his mouth, the hot spill of his come flooding Channon's throat with bitter salt and Jack.

Channon swallowed it down, careful not to drip any, and pulled off to press his mouth against Jack's thigh. He was quivering with the thrill of it, of pleasing Jack the way Jack wanted, being good for him, of the sound of Jack's breath gone ragged, and would he? Would he say it?

"That's my good boy," he breathed. Channon felt something inside him unknot, something that had been waiting for this for too long. "Come up here and kiss me," Jack ordered.

He did, his legs shaking with the effort, his dick bobbing full and ignored at his crotch. Jack pulled him into his lap, tugging Channon down against his still-hard cock and grinding along his cleft, and Channon kissed him, licking at his lips and sucking on the tongue Jack shoved into his mouth. The blunt head of Jack's cock caught at the rim of his spit-slick hole, pressing into him almost, almost. Jack trapped him there, rocking up against him, and Channon whined in his throat because he wanted Jack inside him like he wanted oxygen.

Jack's hands slid over his skin. One tangled into his hair, holding Channon still. The other curled around Channon's cock, dwarfing him in Jack's broad palm. It was dry, but Jack slid Channon's foreskin over the head, thumb working into the divot under the rim of it. The touch shot through him like a bolt of lightning—Channon bucked into his hand, whimpering into his mouth. It felt electric, immediate, too intense to bear. Too hot, too much, Jack was merciless, dragging him up to the edge and keeping him there with short, staccato jerks. Channon's thighs shook with the effort to hold himself up and he sank down, his weight pushing Jack into him. Just an inch, just the tip, but it was so good, the burn of it worth the feel of Jack in him.

"Yeah?" Jack murmured against his mouth. "You want that? Gonna come for me?"

Channon moaned a yes, muffled by Jack's tongue, and Jack just squeezed, jerking him off fast and hard. Everything in him tightened to a single point, there in Jack's hand, but it couldn't last. He broke, shuddering, moaning against Jack's tongue. Jack filled his mouth, smothering him, holding him up as he shook and shook, stroking him through it, and Channon thought, Thank-you, Sir, thank-you, thank-you…

In the end, Jack relinquished his mouth, pulling him forward to press Channon's face into his shoulder. He ran his fingers over Channon's ass, stroking and squeezing him, and then coaxed Channon onto his side, leaving him limp-spaghetti useless on the bed. There were tissues and soft soothing words, and Channon curled up naked against him as Jack pulled the covers over them both, nestling down into the pillows and wrapping him up tight.

"Good?"

"Mmm-hmm." Channon blinked sleepily. Jack reached for the lamp. "Was I good, Sir?"

"You were wonderful," Jack said. He kissed Channon's brow. "I can't wait to get you home, though. Fuck you hard enough to make you scream."

Channon shuddered, his dick twitching feebly. Too soon. God, if Jack did. "Yeah," he murmured, settling against Jack's chest. "Yes, Sir."

"We'll talk more about what you said," Jack promised, and the warmth of it was almost too much to bear.

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The series will continue in His Boy Next Door #20: Thanksgiving (Part II)

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Also by the Author

Published as R.J. Moray

Novellas

Finding Elliott

His Boy Next Door (Channon Beaumont) series

Season One

A New Discovery

Breaking In

Bad Decisions

New Toys

Eating In

Staking Claims

Punishment

Submission

Showing Off

Shared Interests

Fears

Choices

Season Two

Members Only

Learning the Ropes

A Good Host

Anonymous

Possession

Out

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving (part II) AVAILABLE NOVEMBER 2017

Published as Robin Moray

Bonded to the Alpha series

Bonded to the Alpha

Loyal

Claimed

Mated

Mallory Witches series

Something Wicked

About the Author

R.J. Moray writes MM BDSM erotica for readers who like their Doms a little more tender, but just as dominant.

For novel-length MM erotic romance, check out the works of Robin Moray, who is exactly the same author in a slightly more elaborate hat.

You can follow the author on twitter @robinmoray or tumblr at robinmoray.tumblr.com, or email Robin via therobinmoray@gmail.com.

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