24. ❌ Hanukkah With The Godfather (And His Boytoy Ezra)

TW: Micah lowkey voyeur-ing Presley and Lee's relationship HIS BEDROOM'S RIGHT NEXT TO THEIRS HE CAN'T HELP IT.


The last time Micah had gone to Presley's place, Presley had been out of the country. And now, it was too bright that morning for Micah to fully register how the place was strung up with Christmas lights. The bay window beheld the view of an elegant evergreen decorated in silver ornaments. The mail slot donned a frame that ready, "Happy holidays—and a happy New Year!"

    Micah swiped the snow off his boots on the outdoor Santa rug and rung the doorbell. He stepped back, suitcase between him and the door.

    When the lock lifted and the door opened, Micah was only slightly surprised when Presley ran face-first into the screen door in his haste to hug Micah. Micah startled forward to open the screen door for him.

    "Micah..." Presley fake-sobbed, farming sympathy.

    "Fuck that door. It doesn't deserve you," Micah said in reply, which made the man laugh as they hugged.

    Presley was well over six foot and adored ugly Christmas sweaters. That day there was a moose staring at Micah from Presley's stomach as he was herded inside and warmed by the fire.

    "You'll be up on the third floor with us," Presley said as he left the room to fetch him coffee. "And by 'with us' I mean the bedroom I'm pretty sure was supposed the be a nursery. But you can monopolize whatever bathroom you want."

    "Thank you," Micah said. He crouched down at the hearth, the proximity to the flames drying out his skin. He didn't care.

    Presley left to take Micah's suitcase up despite his protests. While Presley was gone, Micah drifted. The aroma of a breakfast feast was wafting in from the kitchen where the coffee originated and, sure enough, there was a goddamn buffet.

    And there was Ezra Lee.

    Micah's performed a full-body screenshot at the sight of him. Jolting as if struck, Micah cursed under his breath. Hot coffee splashed onto his wrist.

    "Didn't mean to startle you," the man said, fetching a towel.

    Micah took the cloth, head spinning. He only knew Lee through his LinkedIn photo, and Lee only knew him through Presley's stories. He doesn't know I'm seeing Lennon casually, Micah reassured himself. It just made his proximity to Lee all the more contentious.

    Though he imagined Lee only looked at Micah and saw a charity case on his partner's behalf. The man was studying him. "You're Micah, right?"

    "Yeah. And you're Lee."

    "Ah, so you've heard of me."

    "Word gets around," Micah said, to which Lee smiled. "Do you prefer 'Lee' or... 'Ezra'...?"

"Whatever you're comfortable with. Cassian's pretty much the only one to call me Ezra, though." He'd been at the stove until that moment. When he returned to flip the contents of the pan, he said, "Some old colleagues of Cassian are staying on the second floor. They should be down soon."

    Micah checked the clock again. "It's ten."

    "We had a long night."

    Presley hurried down the stairs. Through the archway, Micah observed him sweeping to the tree and snatching a present off the stack. With it, he crossed the living room, into the kitchen, and replaced the towel in Micah's hand with the present.

    "What's this?" Micah said.

    "A present for you!" Presley said, squeezing the back of his neck. He ruffled his hands up into Micah's hair and chanted, "Open it. Open it, open it, open it—!"

    "You didn't have to get me anything, seriously. And it's not even Christmas."

    "Cassian celebrates Hanukkah sort of," Lee said.

    Not once had Kennedy mentioned Presley being Jewish. "You're Jewish? Since when? And how do you sort of celebrate Hanukkah."

    "Oh, I just like giving gifts. And the menorah is so cute, look at it," Presley said, spinning back around to gesture to the menorah on the dining room console. Five candles were lit and dripping onto a protective cover. And then, he returned to fetch bread from the bread box. "And look—! We made challah yesterday."

    "Wow. That looks... professional." It did look professional. Micah had never seen such a golden crust before.

    Presley tapped the box in Micah's hands. "Now open it."

    Micah sat at the counter, coffee set aside. His name was written in elegant cursive on the tag. As a kid, Micah's Christmas presents were never so well-dressed.

    It was a polaroid camera printer for his phone.

    No fucking shot, Micah thought, thinking of the polaroids he'd kept in his backpack ever since housesitting for Alistair.

    "Do you like it?" Presley said, beaming at Micah's shock. He hadn't told Kennedy about the polaroids and therefore, could determine that Presley didn't know about them either.

    "Yeah, this is perfect," he confessed, and tried not to grin so evilly. "Thank you."

    Micah helped set the table—eight plates, which meant Presley currently had five guests aside from Micah. He didn't recognize any of their faces as the crew trickled down in search of food.

    Micah was in the midst of it all, being overfed and downright spoiled. He glanced at Lee, who sat beside him looking utterly disinterested in the conversation, but amused nonetheless. His gaze slid over to Micah then, and Micah resumed eating.

    When breakfast-brunch was over, Micah helped with the dishes until Presley shooed him away. To make himself busy, he went upstairs with his backpack and polaroid printer to the pseudo-nursery.

    The third floor was dedicated to Presley's main suite and a smaller bedroom with just enough space for a double bed and dresser. Micah unpacked his toiletries with the intention of brushing his teeth maybe, or washing his face. Instead, his hands found their way to Alistair's photos.

    He turned over the fourth to read Alistair's note again, scoffing.

    It can't be that hard taking a nude, he thought, though he had never taken one before. He found dick pic tasteless, selfies tacky, and realized he'd need a third party to do the photo-taking.

    "Fuck," he said allowed, annoyed, and tossed the printer into his backpack for another day.

    "Everything all right?"

    Micah cursed again, this time colored by shock. At the open door stood Presley, who belatedly knocked on the wooden frame. "Yeah, everything's great. Sorry for intruding so suddenly—"

    "It wasn't sudden at all! I would've had you here sooner, but..." He swayed a little, gesturing to the vague state of his life. Hosting.

    And then, Presley was rushing over to sit beside Micah on the bed and ask, "Did something happen? Kennedy said you've been living with Benedict the past couple years."

    "Everything's fine," Micah lied. He knew the situation didn't look good from the outside looking in. "I made a mistake I don't regret, so Kennedy's pretty pissed at me, too. Thank you for taking me in anyway."

    Presley frowned, his eyes lifting up from Micah's to his shaggy bedhead. Presley passed a hand through it, affectionately, and Micah didn't mind. He'd done it before at parties where Micah was in attendance as Kennedy's fake boyfriend.

    Still a touchy-feely guy, even though he's in a committed relationship, Micah thought.

    "Pissed how?" Presley said, lowering his hand. "She didn't mention anything was wrong. I just assumed."

    Micah didn't know how else to explain her wrath aside from: "She uninvited me from the Bahamas."

    "Oh. Pissed-pissed."

    "Yeah."

    "Did you apologize?"

    "Why would I apologize for something I don't regret?"

    "You can always feel sorry for the way you make other people feel, even if you thought the consequences didn't outweigh the need to do something," he said.

    "I don't believe that," Micah confessed. "Shouldn't an 'I'm sorry' come with a change in behavior? I'm not changing my behavior, no matter how sorry I might be."

    Presley snickered. "Stubborn as always. I like that principle, though. So what did you do? Did you kill a guy?"

    "No, Kennedy would've helped me hide the body."

    Her godfather laughed, pleased by the answer, and stood. "Alright, fine. You don't have to tell me. You work tonight, yeah?"

    "Yeah, at five. Why?"

    "Ezra and I are going out to dinner with a couple friends. Whenever we go out, you're welcome to join us."

    "I wouldn't—"

    "–And don't say you wouldn't want to intrude. It'd be my honor."

    Micah accepted this as fact, though it didn't stop him from feeling discomfort over how readily Presley spoiled him. It was like seeing a second Kennedy—she'd quickly adopted Micah freshmen year and riddled him with gifts in the form of clothes, though she barely knew him at the time.


_____


    Come Monday, Micah had the week off until Friday and had acquired one more Hanukkah gift: a Switch.

    Presley mimicked every word that came out of Micah's mouth, all with Lee smothering his amusement behind his hand. "Seriously, you don't have to gift me stuff."

    Micah shut up to glare at him.

    "Presley."

    "Presley," Presley mocked back. He clicked his tongue dismissively and said, "I spend all week prepping gifts for you and you don't even want 'em!"

    Micah's chest ached with guilt. "Sorry."

    "Don't apologize. Just take the gifts and run with 'em, trust me," Lee said. He pushed to his feet and jabbed a finger at Presley's shoulder as he passed. "And you're wasteful. You don't even know if he plays video games."

    "Sure I do! Kennedy gave me suggestions," he said.

    It was true. Micah had always wanted a Switch but had adamantly refused offers from Kennedy, and had been known to return or sell the devices and pay her back the money.

    Now, however, it felt childish to do that to Presley. In the coming days leading up to the final menorah candle, would gift him a variety of games.

    It was always simultaneously relaxing and hectic being at Presley's place, and every day was a special occasion. In the mornings, visiting families would introduce new board games they would all play, countless gifts were delivered, and the Christmas tree filled with new kitschy ornaments. Before work, Presley would tow Micah along on Christmas Market excursions and last-minute shopping to play the part of Presley's bag-carrier. At last, it was Christmas Eve's Eve.

    In the whirlwind of social activities, Micah was exhausted. He'd gone into this whole exchange believing he'd be out of the house more often than not to avoid taking up space. However, that entire week, he hadn't touched his dating apps once.

    No wonder Kennedy's a social butterfly, he realized, she was trained for this. Micah's social battery was in bootcamp with Presley as his officer.

    Whenever Presley lit the candle, it didn't matter who was in the house at the time. Presley recited the blessing and when kids were present, he'd attempt to coach them through the prayer in disjointed Hebrew.

    Some kids were visiting to get their annual presents from Presley, and so they all had a script. The lights in the dining room were off, and in the back corner of the room, Lee whispered to Micah, "His pronunciation is getting better. He butchered the first night."

    "I mean, there's English translations, right?"

    "He wants to be authentic."

    "He's not Jewish."

    Lee said nothing, which Micah realized a second later was because he was laughing. Micah nudged him with his elbow. He wished he could text Kennedy about all this, or how he'd caught Presley more than once reading books on Buddhism at five in the morning just the previous day, too.

    Presley, from what Micah understood, was a prolific language learner. Micah supposed this came with the territory of being a worldly traveler.

    As the night wound down over a Hallmark film on television, Presley was asleep with his head in Lee's lap. They got to talking about Presley's travel plans.

    "Presley's assuming you're coming to the Hamptons with us tomorrow," Lee whispered.

    Micah looked over, startled. Lee owned a quaint little mansion (if such a thing existed) in the Hamptons. It wasn't near the beach, nor did it even have a view of the water, but he had the boat slips to make the proximity count. "I thought you guys were hosting dinner here?"

    "No, that's for the Hampton House."

    Micah considered the offer, but knew it wasn't possible. "I work on Friday."

    "We could get you back by Friday. We'll be staying longer, but you're welcome to join."

    One thing Micah couldn't deny was a distraction.

    Micah had spent the last two nights sick with disgust for himself. He'd ended the night before in the basement bathroom to avoid being overheard puking his guts out. It didn't matter how much time he spent occupying Presley's company, working, being Presley's personal shopping assistant: Micah always ended up alone in the adjoining room to the main suite feeling insane for even being there.

    Why can't I just apologize? I can't apologize. If anything, Micah's separation from Benny was for Benny's benefit because Micah knew that if he caved, if he apologized and accepted Benny's relationship for what it was (an immovable boulder in his life), then Benny would brush this stint under the rug.

    Never acknowledge it again.

    And they'd be friends again.

    And Micah despised this end. Nor could he ever accept Hunter in his life. And so he'd stay away until Benny's relationship inevitably crumbled again.

    It won't take that long, Micah reassured himself. Selfishly, he wanted Benny to grieve Micah so desperately that he and Hunter would break up and Benny would come back to him insisting their friendship was better than any relationship he could ever have.

    Micah shook his head. "Yeah, I'll go to the Hampton House with you guys," he said in lieu of all this. He whispered it so as not to wake Presley or betray the waver in his voice.

    Lee smiled. "Okay then. We leave at nine."

    Micah blinked. "In the morning?" If that were the case, then he needed to get ready for bed ASAP.

    After a shower and shave, Micah padded up the stairs back to his room. The living room was silent, their guests long gone for the day, and the second floor was warm with the scent of vanilla and fresh cleaning products. Presley's cleaning lady had done one last sweep of the house that day, and now Micah knew why. It wasn't just for the holidays—it was because Presley and Lee would be in the Hamptons for the next two weeks.

    Micah was at the top of the stairs when he registered a familiar sound that never failed to pierce his gut with want. A moan.

    All houses in New York were old as shit, but he'd found Presley's walls thick and insulated enough to disguise just about everything. Doors, on the other hand...

    Micah remained perfectly still, listening.

    A hushed word, followed by a choked gasp. The bed was creaking.

    A the speed of a goddamn snail, Micah crept around the railing to his room. He was slow turning the handle and even slower opening it just a crack. He slipped inside, only to sneak to the adjoining door. It was the nursery, after all. If the guest room was used for its proper purpose, they'd probably be keeping the double-doors open.

    Now, they were shut. Micah kept his lights off and listened from the floor.

    He'd always wondered about Presley's sex life, if he was being honest. It fascinated him that Alistair's coworker happened to be the guy Presley spoiled incessantly, and he wondered if Presley was as generous in bed as he was in regular life.

    He readjusted himself in his sweats, biting his lip as he pressed his ear below the door hinges. Fast breaths. "Harder, quick—" in airy desperation. Presley.

    Micah's fingers cupped under his growing erection. The heel of his palm kneaded himself as he craned to hear the heady slap of skin against skin as Lee fucked Kennedy's godfather into the creaking mattress.

    It ended with a slow curse and a breathless laugh from Presley. There was rustling as Lee, no doubt, collapsed onto the bed beside him. After a messy, audible kiss, Lee said, "Merry Christmas."

    "You mean Hanukkah."

    "Oh, fuck you—!" Presley shrieked with laughter, wild, high-pitched and frantic under the assault of tickles.

    Before Micah could creep away, the floorboard beneath him betrayed the step. He shut his eyes, holding his breath.

    After a moment, he could barely hear Lee's whisper. "Do you think he can hear us?"

    "I don't think he's come up the stairs yet," Presley reassured. Another kiss. "And don't worry about it if he does. Kennedy says he's a self-proclaimed freak."

    Lee laughed, and as they continued to chat about what constituted being a 'self-proclaimed freak', Micah flattened his hand against his mouth to keep from laughing. He eased himself onto his bed and fell asleep.

    He didn't think about Benny.

    He didn't.

    And early the next morning, Micah definitely did not wake up with morning wood as a consequence of Presley and Lee's Christmas Eve's Eve (Hanukkah?) sex. He also absolutely did not jerk himself off with his clothes on and regret it, because he forgot he'd been wearing his favorite pair of boxers.

    Out of pure pettiness and curiosity, Micah used the adjoining bathroom to the main suite. Through the nursery door, he was able to enter and find Lee brushing his teeth.

    "Morning," Lee said around a mouthful of foam.

    Micah hid his grin under tired disinterest. "Morning. Do I have time to do a load of laundry or should I wait for the Hamptons?"

    "I'd wait. Cassian wants to get on the road since traffic will be bad."

    Micah didn't bother waiting. His soiled boxers were masked by his sweats as he pulled his dick out to pee. His back was to the mirror, but he got a sick sense of satisfaction knowing Lee knew his dick was out.

    It was then that Presley joined them. It was a big bathroom, but not that big. "Morning!" Presley cheered, slipping between them. He started the shower, which was hidden behind a tiled divider wall so Micah couldn't see him undress.

    "Micah calls first dibs on the washer in the Hamptons," Lee reported over the onslaught of water.

    "Sounds good to me!"

    Micah thoroughly wiped his dick off, tossed the toilet paper in the bowl, and flushed. He let the seat slap down and turned to join Lee at the sink to wash his hands.

    He met Lee's eye through the reflection as Lee was lathering his hands with shaving cream. Through the mirror he could, in fact, see a sliver of Presley's bare back under the spray.

    Lee was staring at him, hands hovering and frozen just centimeters from his cheeks.

    "I'll meet you two downstairs then," Micah said, attention lingering. Lee's eyes didn't leave his, especially when Micah spun out of the door and turned back just to point to himself and, devious grin on display. He mouthed the words: "Self-proclaimed freak."

    Lee's shaver slipped out of his hands and ricocheted across the sink bowl. He cursed, catching it. By then, Micah was off packing his shit and snickering to himself.

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