Alain wandered to the coffeeshop and planned his day, went to the store and chose food for supper, came home and straightened up, then experimented with bread, started supper, did a load of laundry. M’sieur’s phone calls came at eleven and at three, almost like clockwork. Chou’s were random.
Sometimes Chou could yammer at him for a couple hours, sometimes just a few seconds. They were never at the same time, there was no rhythm to them.
That made him smile because those phone calls were his men, sure as shit. Isaac had a pattern, had a plan. He walked in the door at the same time, he wanted his same wine, and his loving was sure and focused.
Chou came home when he got done working. Sometimes he wanted supper and bed. Sometimes it was a shared shower and a game of cards with his food warmed up. And Chou was like a summer thunderstorm—hard and unpredictable, leaving him wrung out and sweaty, but so, so happy.
Most nights M’sieur would pull out a book or the newspaper or even a file from his briefcase after dinner and let them do as they pleased, but they all fell into bed together at the same time.
He patted the loaf of bread that raised up huge and pretty, the crust golden and smooth. It was going to taste so good with the etouffee. He was waiting to add the shrimp once both his men were home.
Alain turned the stove down to low, propped the lid open with a wooden spoon, and went to watchReal Housewives.
Isaac walked in right on time, though he looked tired and set his briefcase down with a thump and a sigh. “Hello, Alain.”
“M’sieur.” He went right for his man, giving a hard hug. “How goes you, hmm?”
Isaac hugged him back, leaning a little. “I am tired, boy. It’s been a day. Have you heard from Neil? He hasn’t texted me all day.”
“No, Sir. I figured he’s running his butt off. He’s got himself a case, he said.” Chou hadn’t so much as sent him a smile, now that he thought on it.
Isaac nodded. “Ah. Yes, he disappears sometimes when he’s busy.” He got his kiss before M’sieur let him go. “What did you do today?”
He got M’sieur a glass of wine, chattering on about all the stuff he’d done, letting himself fill the air with his randomness.
“Do you think you want to get a job?” Isaac asked, settling on the couch. “You don’t need the money, necessarily, but it might be good for you to do something outside the apartment, meet some new people, make some friends. You think?”
“I’m thinking about looking for a Cajun restaurant that needs a cook. I don’t want to work nights, though. I ain’t comfortable traveling home in the dark. I’ll figure something.” When Neil retired from being a policeman, they were going to open a restaurant together—just breakfast and lunch. Good southern food.
“That sounds like a good idea. Certainly plays to your strengths.” Isaac sipped his wine. “Mmm. That’s what the doctor ordered.”
Alain chuckled, because it was still funny after weeks of the same joke. It felt reasonable and right.
“I got etouffee for supper on the stove. We’re just waiting on Chou to get home, and it’ll be ready in five minutes.”
“Sounds delicious. Why don’t you sit with me then? We can wait together, and you can tell me what you saw on your walk today.”
“I can.” Alain snuggled in, loving the way he fit. “I got me a caramel coffee this morning instead of breakfast. I’m daring, me.”
“Sounds sweet. And decadent.” M’sieur fingers started roaming right away, over his shoulder, up his neck and into his hair.
His eyelids went heavy. “Uh-huh. And I went to the bookstore and browsed for an—” He reached over and let his fingers drag over Isaac’s thigh.
Isaac spread for him and seemed to sink deeper into the couch. “Book?” That hand slid down his spine and snuck up under his shirt.
“Uh-huh…” He wasn’t listening a bit. He was exploring some, letting himself tease along the seam of Isaac’s jeans.
“Mm. I like the way you welcome me home, boy.” Isaac rocked into his fingers.
“Mmm…you gon’ let me love on you some? Make you feel good?”
“Yes, Alain. I could use that today.” Isaac pulled him in for a kiss, not hiding the heat behind it.
He opened up Isaac’s fly as they kissed, Isaac’s tongue pushing in and tasting him. “Me too, M’sieur.”
“Good boy.” M’sieur shifted helping him get the denim loose and free the long cock. It landed heavily in his palm and Isaac groaned softly, taking one more taste of his lips before dropping his head back in the couch pillows.
He scooted down, wanting a taste of his M’sieur. He licked at the slick tip, loving the way Isaac moaned and shifted, encouraging to take more.