Micah yawned at the breakfast booth. He was on his second cup of pitch-black and over-steeped tea. He'd spectated three rounds with the faceless stranger with the sexy, fuck-me voice and had felt the vibrations of two full rounds with Lee and Presley. It was, most definitely, the most sexually-saturated Christmas-Hanukkah of Micah's life, and he hadn't even stuck his dick in anything other than his fist.

His brain was still tingling, stimulated. He couldn't wait to get back to the city. For the first time in his life, he wanted to dissect what the fuck just happened. He wanted to know where Alistair met that guy and if he'd be down for a threesome.

Just as he heard footsteps descending the stairs, he received a text. Micah had been monitoring his phone all morning waiting for one of them to wake up. Judging by the text, it was assumed to be Alistair.

"Sorry for the lack of warning. Hope you had fun."

Presley was shuffling down the hallway toward him, stretching his arms over his head.

Micah's mind and body sang with the reminder. Have fun -Alistair. He typed back, "Tons of fun."

"Good morning," Presley sang.

"You don't have coffee," Micah said.

"Ah, yeah, I try to only drink tea when I'm here," Presley confessed, assessing Micah's mug. Micah turned his phone over and leant onto his elbows. "Which, I see you've already found. Is there still some in the pot?"

"Yeah."

Micah watched him walk. There was nothing particularly off about Presley's cadence, but with the weight behind every thrust against the wall, Micah couldn't help but wonder... who, in the relationship, was topping?

Maybe he's just used to it? Micah thought, but then again, he wasn't a bottom. Alistair rarely showed signs of soreness after their romps.

Micah shook his head. He was coming to life again under the tablecloth. He readjusted his crotch as the stairs creaked. Lee was coming down.

His phone buzzed. It was the fastest Micah had ever checked a notification. "Would you be interested in doing that again sometime?"

"Yes. I'm just not good with sending photos back of myself."

"I'm sure they'd look great."

"Hey, how'd you sleep?" Lee asked, and Micah felt a bit of weight there. Testing the waters.

"Like a fucking rock," Micah said. Lee paused to assess the comment, specifically the 'fucking' part. Micah held his gaze as he took a sip of his tea.

"I, for one, am ready to be a hermit for the next month," Presley sighed, hand to his hip. He leant into the counter as Lee recovered from his analysis. Micah watched as Lee kissed Presley's stubbled cheek. "You'll be here at the end of January, right?"

"In the city? Yeah," Micah said.

"He means at the house," Lee corrected. "He's planning for Lunar New Year."

Micah blinked. It was beyond his expectations to be permitted to stay that long. "Oh."

"I mean, you're welcome to stay," Presley said. "You can expect a similar turn out."

"I'll be in classes again by then," Micah admitted. "But if you'll still have me..."

"Absolutely! The nursery is yours!"

"Guest bedroom," Lee corrected.

"I mean, it's technically the nursery."

"Yeah, but it's weird to put a full grown man in a nursery. And it's not like there's a crib in there."

"I know, but on the floor plans it's labeled as a nursery."

"You know what? Forget it," Lee said.

"Choose your battles wisely," Micah teased. Lee rolled his eyes.

Presley beamed.

Micah went back to texting as Presley and Lee chatted about the party last night. "My pictures always end up looking like unsolicited dick pics on Grindr."

"Send proof."

"At 9AM?"

"Duh."

Micah sighed. He readjusted his pants once more in order to stand inconspicuously. He dismissed himself to the bathroom, and luckily, Presley and Lee were too busy assembling breakfast ingredients to notice the suspicious wrinkle in Micah's sweats.

He shut himself up in the bathroom, his breath shuddering out of him. It wasn't the first time Alistair had made him feel inexperienced, but now more than ever Micah was self-conscious. It wasn't that he thought he looked ugly—he just thought all dicks looked inherently vulgar.

Alistair's excluded.

Thinking about Alistair's cock just sent Micah's mouth watering.

Phone tucked under his chin, Micah hooked the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers beneath his balls. He maneuvered his phone back into his hand as he considered the state of his dick.

It didn't look... that weird, did it?

And then he saw it through the camera lens and wanted to bash his head against the wall. He collapsed to his knees, discouraged, forearms to the vanity counter. Unsolicited dick pic energy... he thought, miserably.

His phone buzzed. "You don't have to. I just want to see it."

"It looks awful," Micah replied.

"Couldn't get hard, huh."

"No, I'm definitely hard."

"Then send it."

Micah rolled his eyes. He tried the front-facing camera, angling it down. On his knees, he didn't look too bad... but he could look better.

He bunched up the hem of his sweater and bit into it, exposing his abs. With his free hand, he hitched his sweats down with his thumb, his dick grazing his knuckles.

He sent it hidden behind the pixelated barrier and was too nervous to do anything else but wait.

"Fuck. If you don't hear from me for a couple minutes it's because I'm getting off to that."

Micah stifled a laugh. "Fuck you."

"I wish."

Micah his eyes. The arousal was dissipating, but he didn't care so much about it.

Confidence boosted by a successful dick pic, Micah tucked himself back in and washed his hands. He wasn't interested in jerking off after spending nearly two hours straight doing so the previous night.

Micah bought time for his dick to calm down by fetching dirty dishes from the living room to set in the kitchen sink for later. By then Presley and Lee were already working on breakfast.

"Oh! Thank you," Presley said. "I'm gonna run the dishwasher. Can you check the den?"

Micah did, and he returned with an armful more of dishes. While those were in motion, Micah set to work washing down every end table, coffee table, and console in the areas where the party occurred.

Christmas at the Hampton House was quiet that morning, but near noon, the appetizers were in the oven and ready for brief stints of guests. Alas, there were still presents to be distributed, and everyone who knew Presley was bound to collect. It was like Halloween, but instead of going to houses for candy, rich families brought their rich kids to rich peoples' houses to be spoiled with iPhone 13s, apparently.

These visits were shorter, lasting no more than thirty minutes—enough time for a drink, a chat, and the unraveling of presents.

Micah took to decompressing in the sunroom playing games on his Switch. During a lull in visitors, Presley joined him with a new present.

Micah had given up declining presents. He took it without question. It was shaped like all the other Switch games, however, there was a ridge on the spine. The corners were sharper.

"This is from me and Kennedy," he said.

Micah rose an eyebrow at him to hide the sting that pierced his chest. Kennedy. He tore the paper down the middle.

It was a book, and not just any book. A photo album.

The cover was of a photo of Micah, Kennedy, and Benny at a family friend's quinceañera sophomore year of college. It was before the epic tale of Kennedy's two boyfriends: when Benny and Micah were, to her relatives, "just friends of hers."

Presley took the wrapping paper for him and crumpled it up. Micah was too busy staring at the photo to bother with it anyway. He flipped through the pages.

He felt like he had heartburn.

"Thank you." His voice was hollow. He shut the book and set it aside.

"If it... helps," Presley said, slowly. Micah glanced at him. "I asked her this morning if she wanted me to still give this to you. She said yes."

Probably just to torture me, he thought, bitterly, but knew Kennedy wouldn't torture him like that intentionally. She probably wasn't even aware that the sight of Benny's face now made Micah want to spontaneously burst into tears.

She probably just assumed he was heartless.

"Thanks," Micah repeated, hoping he got the message.

"If you want to talk about it—"

"I don't, thanks."

Presley sighed. He pushed to his feet and left the room. That was one thing Micah appreciated about Presley—he didn't ask Micah to flagellate himself for Presley's own entertainment. It was the entire reason Micah hated divulging actual, real life, personal information to rich people.

He thought about reconsidering Presley's offer to lend an ear. He knew the man wouldn't gossip about him but ultimately, that didn't matter. Micah didn't have the words to explain his issues anyway.

After a lowkey dinner comprised of party leftovers, the night relaxed into the living room where Hallmark was playing, once again, on the television. Micah claimed the loveseat so Lee could properly spoon Presley on the couch.

A loud, voyeuristic part of Micah imagined that, under the blanket, all the rustling going on involved Lee's dick being out and between Presley's legs. They were chatting like normal, though, and the odds of this being reality were so incredibly slim that Micah chalked up his fantasies to delirium. It'd been nearly a week since Alistair's lava cake affair.

A week of listening to Lee and Presley fuck every goddamn night, Micah thought, though the events over the last weekend were to be debated. Getting home after 2AM from work presented some overlapping issues. Chances were, Lee and Presley had taken advantage of Micah being gone and screwed more openly while Micah was out tending the restaurant bar.

Micah blew out a frustrated sigh through pursed lips. He'd get back to the city, get back to work, and spend the rest of Presley and Lee's vacation decompressing at the house. Alone.

Just as Micah anticipated, approximately two hours after Micah said goodnight and disappeared into his room, they were at it again like rabbits.

It was starting to get ridiculous.

Micah buried his face into the pillow and thought, Do they ever stop?! In fact, he suspected this was less than usual action for them. He got the impression that they were fucking on the regular on every available surface at all hours of the day, and Micah was just cockblocking them.

And then the next day, Presley was driving Micah back to the city, whistling casually like he wasn't going ninety down the expressway—!

Micah was gripping the handle over the door, knuckles white all the way to Presley's brownstone house. Presley's lead foot didn't let up until they were at the curb, screeching to a halt.

"Th-Thanks for driving," Micah said.

"No problem!" Presley said. He ruffled Micah's hair and dragged him in to kiss his cheek. "You got your keys?"

Micah wriggled them out of his pocket. Presley gave him a thumbs up. Behind his sunglasses, Micah caught a wink. "I'll see you later. Have fun with work this weekend!"

Micah waved farewell from the sidewalk before hurrying up the stoop steps. Once inside, it was go-time.

A brisk shower and shaving commenced. He unraveled his travel trimming kit and tidied up his pubic hair. After a thorough moisturizing, dabbing cologne on his neck, and fixing his hair, Micah was back on the streets of West Village striding directly up to Alistair's building.

Through the revolving door he went.

To Cerberus, he said, "I'm here to see Alistair."

The receptionist smiled, fake, and said, "I'm sorry, he isn't available at the moment. Would you like to leave a message?"

What the fuck do you mean he 'isn't available'?! Micah thought, blood boiling. "He's here, isn't he?"

"I can't answer that."

Micah rolled his eyes, marched away from the desk, and got out his phone. He pulled up Alistair's contact and slapped his phone to his ear to listen to it ring.

"Micah," Alistair said, tone mild.

"Are you at your place right now?" Micah said.

"Right now?"

"Yes." Micah cut himself off from nearly saying, I'm here, dammit! Let's fucking do this!

Instead, he listened to Alistair's low sigh. It went straight to Micah's gut. "I'm not around until New Year's."

Micah ground his teeth together. "What. Where the fuck are you then?"

"I'm in Toronto for a work thing," he said.

"Fine."

"I'll have someone text you later," Alistair suggested, but Micah was already hanging up.

He spared one last scowl at the receptionist before leaving. He'd trimmed his pubes for nothing—! God! He wanted to throw his body into oncoming traffic!

Out on the sidewalk, he threw his head back and let out a yell. Just one yell. And then proceeded to return home.