✈️ Chapter 1: The Middle Seat
The trip began four hours ago with Evan sprinting through crowds of slow-moving families and travelers who clearly had never learned how TSA lines work. At last, he flopped into the absolute worst seat—50B, the dreaded middle seat in the last row—trapped between a snorer and a woman knitting like the armrest was her personal property. By every natural law, that armrest belonged to Evan.
Tranquilidad, Evan told himself, clutching his backpack like a lifevest. He fished out his phone, elbows tucked tight, and fired off a quick message.
Evan: Just boarded. You guys out yet?
Mami: Ay, no. Stuck at the airport hotel. Snow’s starting again. Sorry, mi amor.
Evan: Mami, nooo. Thanksgiving without you? I should’ve stayed put.
Mami: Don’t be a drama queen. You bring the sparkle for us. Sorry you have to suffer Rosa’s arroz con gandules instead of mine.
He sent her a string of red hearts and sighed, flipping his phone to airplane mode.
Flight time: four hours, twenty-six minutes and counting. Evan pulled out his travel-size moisturizer, squeezed a generous dollop, and rubbed it into his face. Air travel is a skin killer.
Earbuds jammed in, Evan tucked his backpack between his calves, folded his arms tight, and closed his eyes. Audrey Hobert’s “Thirst Trap,” his personal bop of the moment, drowned out the drone of engines and the pulsing at his temples.
Traveling light with just a backpack was a mercy. No baggage claim at JFK—straight to arrivals, where Lily was impossible to miss.
She burst through the crowd in a hurricane of red lipstick, laughter, and a jacket so puffed it looked like she’d borrowed it from the Michelin Man.
“Oh my God, you look fit! Yas queen!” she shouted, giving his bicep a squeeze like testing an avocado’s ripeness.
“We don’t say that anymore,” Evan teased, brushing her curls from his forehead.
Lily scoffed. “‘Yas queen’ is timeless. But for real, are you hiding a six-pack under there?”
She tugged at the hem of his sweater—a flash of skin—until Evan caught her wrist and gently pushed the fabric back down. “Nope. Already got felt up by TSA once today.”
“What’s your secret?” she whispered. “I wanna lose five pounds.”
“At Thanksgiving? What happened to your coffee and Tic Tac diet?”
She shrugged like it didn’t matter, then suddenly remembered something—or someone—and spun, looping an arm casually around the elbow of the man behind her.
“Meet Matt! No joke—the strongest guy at work. Moved my couch solo. Walked it downstairs like it was a backpack!”
Evan’s eyes lifted to Matt: six-foot-four, faded Oregon State hoodie stretched over shoulders like a brick wall. Ruddy hair fell over drowsy eyes, a thin grin on a face with a jawline guys would pay for.
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Matt said, his hand swallowing Evan’s in a firm handshake.
Evan pegged him instantly—the guy who claims his turf in the free weight room by dropping a duffel big enough to swallow a lamb, then camps out, pumping slow, heavy reps.
“We got in this morning—” Matt began.
“His parents are in Portland,” Lily cut in.
“Lily insisted,” Matt added, trying to get a word in.
“You can’t eat Thanksgiving alone, silly!” Lily smacked his arm gently.
“So I’m the awkward Thanksgiving orphan,” Matt finished.
“I’m the gay cousin,” Evan shot back. “Every family needs one.”
Their eyes met. Lines were drawn. Scenes set.
“Brace yourself, Matt. We’re like a free range production of West Side Story with no score—just food. A lot of food.”
“I like to eat,” Matt answered simply, a twitch at the corner of his lips.
Evan bent for his bag just as Matt reached for it too.
“Let me—” Matt offered.
“I’ve got it—” Evan insisted, pulling back slightly.
Both loosened their grip, the bag slipping, then pulled again in sync.
Lily broke their back-and-forth, patting Matt’s arm. “He likes to carry things. He’s good at it.”
Evan rolled his eyes, the strap sliding through his fingers.
Matt led the way to the parking lot—an athletic sway to his rear in gray sweats, backpack slung over one broad shoulder, keys swinging on his finger.
Evan sidled up to Lily, voice dropping to a cousin-only whisper.
“So,” he murmured, “what’s the deal with Vanilla Gorilla?”
She elbowed him, cheeks pinking. “Just a guy from work. Human golden retriever. Helped me move. Brings donuts, opens jars. Definitely straight—mostly talks protein goals.”
Evan sighed. “Another stunning specimen whose brain maxed out at bicep curls. Probably rescues kittens between sets. You inviting him for turkey, or… a little wishbone play?”
“Shut up,” she hissed. “He’s sweet. And strong. Just be nice.”
“Lily,” Evan said, stopping in his tracks, hand to his chest, eyes uplifted like a newly canonized saint. “I am always nice.”
Matt stopped at Aunt Carmen’s car, holding the door with a broad hand.
“If you two are done whispering…”
Evan smirked, surprisingly tickled at being caught. “Just cousin talk.”
Matt grinned slyly and swung Evan’s bag into the trunk with an easy twist—his tush shifting just so.
This Thanksgiving seemed a lot less predictable.
🍽 Chapter 2: The Dinner
Thanksgiving at Tía Carmen’s brownstone was less a meal and more a full-contact sport. Evan found himself wedged in tighter than on the flight—Lily across from him, and Matt beside her, occupying a seat and a half with those broad shoulders.
The air was humid, scented with garlic, oregano, and adobo—enough to make your head spin. Or maybe that was just the family—dozens of cousins, bowls and platters moving in no discernible pattern, and a rising swell of overlapping Spanglish chatter.
Lily introduced Matt, and Evan caught the quick glances: the tall guy with the calm smile. The Oregon State hoodie was gone, swapped for a white Henley that tried to say “dinner guest” rather than “weight room regular.” It failed spectacularly. The fabric stretched snug over Matt’s shoulders and chest, his arms seemed to flex even when his hands were still.
“I counted thirty-two people,” Matt murmured, setting a napkin on his lap.
“I’m surprised you didn’t stop at the third Maria,” Evan muttered. “Buckle up. This is where the real show begins.”
Green beans and tostones passed first, followed by yams. When the steaming pavochón—Tía Carmen’s masterpiece of a turkey, loaded with garlic, oregano, and adobo—circulated, Matt caught the heavy platter mid-air.
He held it aloft, forearm flexing as he dished himself a generous portion. He piled his plate once. Twice. Then again. By the fourth helping, Tía Rosa froze mid-bite, eyes narrowing. The other aunties joined her, the chatter dipping as—despite the abundance—they visibly calculated the remaining servings against waiting cousins.
Lily nudged Matt, whispering, “Wow. You really like turkey.”
Matt caught the tone—and the stares. He glanced down at his plate, then back to the serving taken before his. “Uh... bulking season,” he muttered. “But I should save room for the pernil.”
He started returning slices to the platter, one by one. The aunties sighed as if they’d witnessed a Thanksgiving miracle.
“Good save,” Evan whispered, buttering a roll.
“Quick study,” Matt answered quietly as Tía Rosa pushed a tray of arroz con gandules his way. “Eat up!” she announced. “Mine’s the best in the family.”
Matt eyed it like a puzzle. “Never had rice on Thanksgiving.”
Evan grinned, nudging the tray closer. “Afraid of carbs?”
Matt’s eyes met his, and without breaking, heaped a full serving onto his plate. Looking over the mound of steaming arroz con gandules between them, he said, “Carbs, Evan, are life.”
Further down the table, Uncle Joe sat up straighter, lowered his fork, and leaned in, his accent thick as gravy. “Evan, you got a girlfriend yet?”
“Still gay, Uncle Joe!” Evan shot back, loud and clear.
Joe cupped his ear. “¿Qué? Got a girlfriend, yes?”
“No, Uncle Joe! Still gay!”
Joe just shrugged. “¿Qué?”
Evan tapped his ear, mock impatient. “Will someone help him? I’m gay, Tío! Gay!”
A younger cousin fiddled with Joe’s hearing aid, shouting, “He’s telling you, Tío!”
“Why is that the one word he can’t hear?” Evan muttered. He surrendered with a grin. “Sí. Yes—I have a beautiful girlfriend with—” Evan pantomimed cupping huge breasts.
Joe’s eyes lit up. “OHHHH! God is good! Next year, you bring her—I want to meet these ones!”
Laughter burst around the table, everyone except Uncle Joe, who looked pleased but still a little confused. Lily wiped a tear, whispering, “I love Thanksgiving.”
Evan reached for the small ceramic dish of cranberry sauce as Matt’s hand closed over it too. Fingers brushed.
“I got it first,” Evan said low, voiced only for Matt.
“It’s closer to me,” Matt countered, a spark of competitive fire.
They pulled back and forth; the cranberry sauce wobbled between them.
Evan eased his hold, but seeing Matt let up, he tugged again, harder.
The dish tipped, sending the can-shaped scarlet projectile skittering across the table toward Tía Carmen’s plate.
Tía Marta snatched the platter up. “Evan! Always with the dramatics!”
“He did it!” Evan mouthed, pointing squarely at Matt.
Matt chuckled—a low, warm sound, softening Evan’s flush of embarrassment. The meal was just getting started.
🧼 Chapter 3: The Revelation
“I’ll wash dishes,” Evan announced, sounding casual but secretly thrilled for a respite from the chaos. “I didn’t cook, so it’s my civic duty. Everyone else should go rest—”
“I’ll help,” Matt said immediately, standing—a full head taller than everyone.
“Everyone but you,” Evan shot back, arching an eyebrow, the cranberry sauce incident still fresh in his mind.
The family drifted into the living room, leaving behind a steamy oasis, miraculously quiet. Evan attacked a platter slick with grease while Matt rolled his sleeves higher, faint ruddy hairs on his forearms catching the soft light as he scraped plates.
Matt was the first to break the silence, voice low but steady. “So—needed a break?”
Evan blinked, surprised but grateful. “They’re a little bit of a lot.”
Matt nodded. “I hear you. Sometimes you just gotta step away to catch your breath.”
Evan smiled. “Dad’s a WASP from Connecticut. Hence, Evan Parker. I love my family—” He paused, letting the hot water run over his hands, “—but sometimes I don’t feel I fully belong in either world.”
Matt’s gaze softened just a bit. He reached into the soapy water and flicked a bubble at Evan. “Sounds like a pretty good blend to me.”
They were quiet, for a blissfully peaceful moment. “Lily mentioned you’re an editor?” Matt asked, scraping a lump of mashed potatoes into the scrap bin.
“Acquisitions,” Evan said, surprised but secretly pleased to be a topic of conversation. “I decide if a book is worth betting on.”
“Right on,” Matt said, stacking plates. “I dig patterns and numbers. Forensic accounting.”
“Wait—forensic accounting? Isn’t that a big deal?” Evan raised his brows. “Impressive.”
Matt shrugged, quick and casual. “Just spotting trends. A little lateral thinking.”
Their fingers brushed as Matt slid a plate toward Evan. “Not bad… for a gorilla,” he added.
Evan’s cheeks flared hot. “My cousin Lily has the biggest mouth on the East Coast. She told you? Really?” He rolled his eyes. “Sorry.”
Matt chuckled. “Sokay.” He looked over Evan, top to bottom and back. “But honestly, you look like you know your way around the gym yourself.”
Evan flexed unconsciously, equal parts embarrassed and delighted. “Short guy perks.” He grumbled. “I figured you were more about crunching abs than numbers.”
Matt grinned, a sparkle in his drowsy eyes. “¿Por qué no los dos?”
Evan felt heat rush up his neck at the Spanish words in Matt’s mouth. Why did channeling an Old El Paso commercial sound so sexy in his gravelly voice?
Their hands touched again as the next platter slid into Evan’s soapy grasp.
“Well, turnabout—Lily likes you. Does she have a chance?”
“Oh... no. She’s a great work friend. I think I’m her holiday project.” Evan’s heart skipped a beat. “But I have… a different taste.”
Matt’s voice dropped, teasing now. “Sharp tongue, sharp mind. Puts in his time at the gym.” He let the words hang in the air. “A guy who likes a little friendly competition.”
The air steamed between them. Evan’s grip loosened, a deep platter slipping. Their fingers collided again as they both reached for it.
“I’ve got it.”
Evan tightened his hold. “I’ve already got it.”
A slippery tug-of-war broke out—soapy fingers sliding, water sloshing up like a rising tide.
Evan held firm. “Let go.”
Matt tightened. “You let go.”
This time, Evan relented.
The platter flipped, sending a warm arc of sudsy water crashing onto Matt’s chest.
“Oh my god,” Evan gasped, breath caught. “Oh my god!”
He grabbed the nearest linen towel, pressing it against Matt’s chest where it saturated on contact. The firm muscle beneath flexed slightly under his touch, the wet shirt holding tight everywhere.
Evan’s fingers traced over the curves, feeling the strength and softness as Uncle Joe appeared in the doorway.
His eyes locked on Evan’s hands pressed to Matt’s chest, eyebrows raising, one then the other. He made a silent appraisal, and without a word raised a hand, shook his head, and turned back down the hall.
Matt smirked, lips curling. Evan’s cheeks flamed. He dropped the towel, stepping back, caught between embarrassment and the throb in his chest.
“I’m so sorry,” he stammered. “Well. Not totally.”
Matt’s hands ran down his clinging shirt. “It’s just water.” Then, softer—“I can put on my hoodie. It’s in the... coat closet.”
The invitation was clear.
Evan blinked, heart hammering. “Right. I’d better help. Coat closet. Now.”
He took Matt’s hand, fingers loose but the air thick between them as they passed the living room where family chatted and dozed.
🚪Chapter 4: The Closet
Evan jerked Matt into the coat closet and pulled the door behind them with a gentle seal, shutting out the rest of the world. The space barely breathed, walls insulated by long coats and scarves. There was the aroma of cedar scent cut by the soapy dampness of Matt’s soaked Henley and the faint scent of oregano clinging to Evan's skin.
“It’s like a… closet in here,” Evan muttered under his breath.
“Whining already?” Matt teased, voice rumbling and eyes half-lidded.
Matt’s hands clenched the hem of his drenched shirt and peeled it up over his head in a single movement.
Evan’s heart stammered as his eyes took in Matt’s torso—broad pecs framed by light hair that trailed down his sculpted abs, muscles still sharp despite the rounded fullness of a well-fed Thanksgiving belly, solid and ridged like a grenade.
Evan’s hand drifted down, tracing Matt’s abs, pressing his palm firmly against the taut muscle.
Matt chuckled, resting a hand over Evan’s to rub the spot. “Careful—I’ve got a turkey baby.”
A growl rose up in Evan’s chest as their bodies crushed close, fingers grasping while coats swayed around them and boots crowded below. Their mouths slammed together, teeth glancing, tongues wrestling.
Matt broke the kiss to pull Evan’s sweater over his head with the same practiced ease he’d used on his Henley, exposing smooth skin over firm muscle beneath.
“Jesus, I knew you were hiding something under that,” Matt murmured, calloused fingers grazing the nipples of Evan’s chest. “But I didn’t know editors came this jacked.”
Evan grinned, cupping the smaller curve of his own belly, matching the slope of his back. “Twins.”
Fingers fumbled at belt buckles, clutching and roaming lower. Matt’s hands found Evan’s ass, pulling him up on his toes and holding tight as their hips ground together in a slow circle that made Evan’s briefs tighten at the crotch. They popped buttons and zippers—jeans dragged down just enough for their swollen cocks to drop out.
Matt caught them in his broad palm, cupping them side by side.
“How long till they send a search team?” he breathed.
“Five minutes…” Evan gasped. His eyes fell on the thick, hard lengths pressing together, heavy and pearling precum at the tips, “Ten maybe,” he mumbled weakly, reassessing. “Yeah. Definitely ten.”
“Okay. Focus,” Matt said, clear and commanding. “Got anything?”
“Got anything? It’s a coat closet—,” Evan mumbled, his last word drifting as Matt’s teeth grazed his neck. With his meaty hands wrapped around their cocks, Matt jerked both back and forth, rough thumb stroking the slicking head of Evan’s cock.
Matt drew a throaty growl from Evan, and focus went out the window.
“Wait—” he shuddered, hips pushing into Matt’s hot, damp palm. “Backpack." He broke away slightly, fumbling behind a pile of coats. He pulled out of his backpack side pocket a sleek tube. “Always moisturize,” he grinned.
Matt seized it, but Evan caught the end, tugging. A new prize between them.
“Eyes on the prize, Parker,” Matt teased, voice dripping with heat. “Winner tops,”
They fumbled, frantic and clumsy, grasping for control, until Matt gave a last squeeze that sent the lotion into Evan’s hands.
“Oops,” he growled, the tip of his nose brushing Evan’s.
Without another word, he twisted, pressing hands through the coats to the closet wall—firm bare ass lifted, spine arching—an invitation.
Evan’s breath caught. He didn’t hesitate.
The slap and smear of lotion on his hard-on seemed to echo in the narrow space. His free hand slid over the wall of muscle, tracing the swells and divots.
Matt pressed face-first into the tangled coats, bracing himself. “Five minutes, Parker. Fuck me.”
Evan found the tight coil of muscle at Matt’s rear, nudged his cockhead into place and pushed—a little, the sudden press stretching Matt. “Fuck.” He buried his groan in a puffer coat as Evan’s hand gripped at his chiseled hip.
“Shh—Hangers—” Evan gasped, as they clattered on the rod, but he pushed in again, another inch, and another, until his full length was deep in the tight heat between Matt’s ass cheeks. “Oh fuck,” Matt whimpered as Evan drew out and pushed back in, filling him.
Evan raised up on his toes, found his leverage, drew back and thrust, feeling the deep sink. Matt’s muscles clenched, the squeeze greedy, begging for more. Evan’s hips rolled, gaining speed and force, thrusting up, grazing the sweet spot in Matt, triggering spasms of pleasure.
“Oh yeah—right there—don’t stop,” Matt gasped as the hanger rod groaned in sync with their rhythm in the pressed-together chaos.
“Shhh,” Evan whispered, taking in the sight of Matt’s handsome profile. “Unless you want my whole family to see.”
Matt tried to laugh, but all that came out was a moan. “Just do it.”
His hole gripped Evan, like silk-wrapped muscle, to make the point.
Evan’s teeth sank into Matt’s broad back, the fingers of one hand clawing at his furry chest, the other jerking Matt’s cock in time with his thrusts.
The temperature seemed to rise sharply as coats swayed around them, their breath growing ragged.
Matt shuddered, tensing tight, breath breaking as he stiffened in Evan’s grip. His cock pumped out a load in surges, thick and hot—“Fuck… fuck… fuck….” falling in streaks, as Matt grunted into his own forearm to muffle the sound.
Evan felt that heady rising tide—coming sooner than he wanted, and harder than he could resist. His face pressed hard against Matt’s sweat-streaked back, gasping and grasping with clenched fingers. The waves crashed—his cock swelled. He unknotted in Matt, his hardest slam pushing deep, followed by a series of waning thrusts and grinds.
He collapsed against Matt, sweaty and quaking with laughter and aftershocks.
“You need a warning label, Parker,” Matt murmured, twisting, pulling Evan closer.
“Me? You’re a fucking menace,” Evan chuckled, face resting against a solid shoulder. He cum still leaked against Matt’s hard thigh. He snorted. “Hope none of this is dry clean only.”
Matt turned, fingers in Evan’s damp curls, a last wet, full kiss, masking their shared laughter.
That wiped the mess with Matt’s wet shirt and bundled it up in Evan’s backpack, for the moment.
“Ready to face the firing squad, Parker?” Matt’s eyes were more drowsy than earlier, but sparkling even in the dim light.
“No better time,” Evan murmured. “There’s pie.”
They steadied each other and pushed open the closet door.
🦃 Chapter 5: The Last Tug of War
Matt peeked out, glancing one way, then the other, eyes squinting against the light. After a quick once-over, he slipped out. Evan followed behind him, still flushed and tousled.
As they closed the closet door softly, Uncle Joe appeared in the hallway. He stopped, looked them over from head to toe, turned away with an expression that said both nothing and everything all at once.
Evan and Matt exchanged half-smiles, then stepped fully into the kitchen, where the tías bustled, setting out pies and pumpkin flan on the kitchen island.
Matt’s eyes lit up. “Oh, yum,” he murmured, licking his lips.
Tía Carmen caught sight of them and wagged a finger with mock scolding. “Sweaty boys! Dishwashing got you working too hard?”
Evan grinned and brushed a damp curl from his forehead. “The kitchen’s a sauna tonight, Tía.”
Tía Rosa narrowed her eyes, swooping in fast to push back his hair herself. “Mijo, too much gel. Trying to look like Ricky Martin or what?”
“Sí, yes. Ricky Martin,” Evan answered with a cheeky grin. “You caught me.”
Without missing a beat, Evan bypassed the desserts and pulled a foil-covered tray from the fridge, fingers dipping in to grab a generous slice of pernil. The fatty, salty taste was just right after sex. “Mmmmm. So good, tía.”
“THERE YOU ARE!” Lily’s voice squealed as she wrapped a possessive arm around Matt’s waist. The two joined Evan at the counter, eagerly picking at the pernil while coquitos were poured and passed around.
“Ay, you boys! Already at the leftovers?” Tía Carmen shook her head with feigned dismay, but proudly slid the tray closer between them.
“Sorry, Tía,” Matt said, pernil in his mouth. He glanced at Evan, a mischievous eyebrow raised. “I can’t resist seconds.”
Evan’s eyes widened, a catch in his throat as he coughed, spraying coquito, choking and coughing. Lily jumped in to wrap arms around him, eager to save the day with the Heimlich maneuver.
“Okay…I’m okay,” Evan gasped, voice hoarse, waving her off. “I’m good.”
Tía Rosa shook her head with a mock scold. “Always with the drama, Evan.”
Suddenly, Lily stopped rubbing Evan’s back. She peeled off a long, multicolored knit scarf clinging to his sweater.
“What’s this?” she asked, holding it up like a piece of courtroom evidence.
Evan’s face went pale.
“Evan was helping me find this in the closet,” Matt said smoothly, holding up a corner of his hoodie. “Right after he took out my shirt.”
“You made the spill!” Evan shot back.
Matt smirked. “Well, you did let go…”
Their back-and-forth heated up, light jabs flying faster than cousins filtering in around them.
“Boys! Boys!” Tía Carmen cut through the banter. “Settle it with the wishbone!”
Both paused, exchanging mock glares as Tía Carmen held up a perfectly cleaned turkey wishbone like a prize.
Matt and Evan took their places at the kitchen island, sleeves rolled up, ready for battle. Lily leaned in, the referee.
Each gripped one end of the delicate bone. Their fingers brushed over the dry, fragile surface, a final touch disguised as a competition.
Their eyes locked in unspoken challenge, Evan’s grin spread wide, perfecting his grip. The opening notes of "Thirst Trap" rang faintly in his mind. “Game on.”
END
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