Four

Dylan’s forehead bangs against the table, but that’s not the reason for the stars he sees exploding on the inside of his closed eyelids. Bas’s hand keeps working him until Dylan shivers. Electric sparks are still sizzling along the nerves in his arms and legs. It’s a good thing Bas is still basically holding him up with an arm wrapped around his hips, because it’s gonna take a minute here before Dylan can stand on his own two feet again.

Bas is still a heavy weight on top of him and he’s breathing like a bellows in Dylan’s ear. Dylan’s muscles melt into the support of the table and security of Sebastian’s arms. Bas’s hand is still loosely cupping his spent cock. It ain’t often that Dylan feels like this. Like Bas is taking care of him, and all Dylan has to do is let go and let him.

It only happens with Bas and only when Bas gets that look in his eye. Like he knows what Dylan needs even if Dylan doesn’t know himself, and he’s going to give it to Dylan regardless of Dylan’s say in the matter. It’s a little terrifying, sometimes, how much Bas sees him.

And then Bas kisses his neck, just under his ear, and whispers, “I love you.”

“Mmmph,” Dylan says. He can’t muster much else, and his face is still smashed between the table and his arm. He thinks Bas understands him, though, because he plants another kiss on Dylan’s ear and lifts his weight off Dylan’s back.

There’s an appalling squelch as he pulls out and Dylan groans, his face still buried in his arms. “You had to use butter, dude?” He shifts his legs, testing their ability to support his weight, and grimaces at the slick greasiness between his cheeks. “I feel like a goddamn Christmas turkey.”

Bas snorts and then breaks into loud laughter. Dylan levers himself up on his forearms and looks over his shoulder. “It ain’t funny, jackass.”

“No, it is,” Bas says in gasping puffs between peals of traitorous laughter. “It’s hilarious.” He goes to stifle his laughter behind a closed fist, but then looks at his hand, still covered in fucking butter, and laughs again.

Dylan’s still trying to straighten up, but Bas flaps the same hand at him. “Hang on, I’ll get something to clean you up.”

“Better not be the dish towel,” Dylan calls, and Bas snickers again. He hears the kitchen faucet running, then Bas tearing a few paper towels off the roll, and then Bas is back, with a wad of damp paper towels in his hand. Dylan grabs them from him. “I got it. You can clean the jizz off the goddamn floor.”

Bas snickers again, but kneels to wipe up the mess from the tile. His hair is damp around his temples, but his eyes have lost that pinched exhaustion, and they’re sparkling with mirth and what Dylan’s seen often enough now to recognize as satisfaction.

It’s awkward, wiping his own ass with wet paper towels while his jeans are still around his ankles and his spent cock is rubbing against the inside of his apron. He finally gives it up as something that only an actual shower is going to fix, and hands the wad to Bas to throw away in the trash can under the sink. “Toss the butter, too, you lunatic. Ain’t no one gonna want iced gingerbread cookies with that butter.”

Bas guffaws again, but takes the saucer and the handful of gross paper towels to the kitchen. He scrapes the butter into the trash and puts the saucer in the dishwasher. He returns, having washed his hands again, the lucky son of a bitch, and kisses Dylan on the forehead.

 “Shower?” Bas suggests, and he’s quit laughing out loud, but there’s still a thread of suppressed hilarity in his voice.

“Duh,” Dylan says and spreads his arms apart, indicating his trussed-up legs and greasy hands. Krystal’s gonna be by in an hour or so to help him finish decorating the cookies and there’s still a shit ton of things to do.

Bas bends to help get Dylan’s jeans and underwear off. He unties Dylan’s apron strings and pulls it off. There’s no jizz on the inside of the apron, thank fuck, but he’s gonna wash that thing asap, anyway.

He goes for the buttons of Dylan’s flannel next, and Dylan’s perfectly capable of getting his own clothes off for that shower. But whatever, he can let Bas take care of him a little longer. It’s almost Christmas, after all.

***

Thanks for reading! And thanks to Melissa for the inspiration photo that launched this whole dirty thing!