There is a brief moment when Sam wakes, and Sage is clinging to him, head on his chest, leg looped over his, with morning skin so deliciously oven-baked, the perfect side of toasty—
There is a brief moment, just in the midst of waking, that Sam feels so good he wants to go back to sleep. He wants to never wake again. He wants to die here in this bed with Sage so they can stay together.
And he wonders if they can, if that's in the cards for them. And it's not, he knows it's not, knows it even more when Nora opens Sage's bedroom door, singing, "Merry Christmas my darling — OH my god Sam!"
Sam stares, horrified, caught, caught in the worst way. Nora looks equally as horrified, frozen in the doorway until Dash comes up behind her, crying, "Ho-ho-ho, Merry Christ-christ. Oh."
Nora slaps Dash's chest, not taking her eyes off Sam and Sage is rousing too damn slowly, leaving Sam to handle the situation. He's ill-equipped to do so, starting with a trembling, "Uhm."
He looks down at Sage, who's still lying on his chest and he has to repress the urge to toss him out of bed because they're both naked and his parents probably wouldn't love Sam manhandling their son. So he snaps instead, "Sage, wake up."
He kind of really needs it to be Sage's problem, explaining what his parents are currently seeing.
What are his parents even seeing, Sam thinks, glancing at the blankets. They're up past his hips, so nothing too bad. Just his naked upper half and Sage's naked upper half that is sprawled over his. Okay, so yeah, pretty bad.
"We're just going to," Nora says finally clearing her throat. "We'll um."
"Right, sorry bout that," Dash says and is he totally holding back laughter?
Sage is awake now, sitting up looking so confused that in any other circumstances Sam would've found the expression cute enough to kiss. It's most definitely not cute now with Sage's parents backing out of the room, several shades of red between them.
"Mom?" he mumbles, staring at his parents as they retreat.
Sam looks at Sage, waiting for a reaction. A bad one, he thinks, which isn't what he gets. There's a burst of laughter that seems to surprise them both, before Sage goes, "Well shit." He laughs again and then he turns to Sam, frowning. "Fuck, I'm sorry."
Sam tries to keep his tone neutral when he repeats, "You're sorry?" Because he can't tell what Sage is sorry about or how he feels about being caught.
"Yeah," he says shifting over, putting space between them. Sam wants to make a grab for him. He doesn't. Instead, he focuses on his headache because it's an easier pain to acknowledge. Rejection. He is being rejected. This sucks.
"I know you didn't want this to be a thing," Sage says next, slow like he's thinking of how to word this. How to word a rejection. This doesn't exactly sound like a rejection. "I'll talk to my parents so they don't make a big deal about it. Tell them it was just the one night."
Sage stares up at him hopefully. Hoping what, Sam wonders. What are you hoping for? Sam wants to ask. He wonders when he ever said he didn't want this to be a thing. It's been a thing since the first time he saw Sage, before he even actually met him. Saw him. Which was, notably, not in class but at a Freshman orientation mixer for the business majors four years ago.
Four years ago — god, it's like no time and all the time has passed since then. Sage wasn't wearing his infamous button-ups just yet and he hadn't filled out, either. He had that high school lanky thing going on, further emphasized by his fitted polo and cuffed pants. He looked like a douche honestly, so when Sam had been halted by him, had turned back to look again, yeah, he probably should've known right then.
"Maybe it'd be better," Sam poses just as slowly. "If we told them we were just dating, instead?"
Sage barely lets Sam's words settle before he asks critically, "You want to tell my parents we're dating?"
And because it's Sam, he hears him all wrong. So it's a defense mechanism sort of thing, how he responds, how he quickly rectifies, "Well, yeah it's a better lie than this just happened last night, right? They'll probably ask less questions about it, then. I wouldn't want to tell them we're just sleeping together."
Sam is watching Sage's expression intently, wanting to know exactly what he thinks of what he's just said. If he thinks maybe they should be doing more than just sleeping together. Is that relief in the drop of his shoulders?
"Okay, that works," Sage says nodding. "We should go down and set the record straight cause they'll start running with it."
Sam wonders where they would run and if they'd bring him along with them. He thinks he'd like to go to the place where Sage and him are together, even if it isn't real.
❧
Sage is not okay.
He's lying in bed, listening to the shower run and thinking about how close he'd been to getting what he wanted, for one second there he thought this is it, Sam wants to be with me.
But no, it's just a better lie. So they're dating but they're not. Last night had felt bigger than just friends hooking up. He'd been reckless with his feelings, getting his hopes up when Sam's been clear that's all this is and all it'll ever be. Sage needs to get on board. He's on board. No more wistful thinking.
Sam's waiting for Sage when he finishes getting dressed and they go downstairs together. His parents aren't in the kitchen. They find them on the patio, drinking coffee looking purposely collected, like they'd practiced the expressions. Sage is sure they were absolutely discussing them.
There's a bagel spread on the table with butter and cream cheese laid out. Dash gestures to it and says, "Help yourself."
"We should talk," Sage says walking around the table to take a seat. Sam grabs the chair beside him. "About before," he clarifies even though he doesn't need to. His dad is so obviously trying to hold back a grin. His mom's doing a better job at remaining passive.
"So we're actually dating," Sam says before him. Sage glances at him, confused. He kind of expected Sam to be silent through this whole conversation.
"I knew it," Dash cries, the smile he'd been trying to keep at bay breaking on his face. Nora rolls her eyes at him. Sage wonders what his mother thought was happening.
Even though they both agreed to the dating line, Sage feels the need to downplay it. "I mean we're just trying this out. It's still, you know, new. Which is why we didn't say anything before."
Nora nods. "And we respect your privacy. You don't have to tell us anything you don't want to."
"We do?" Dash asks.
She shoots him a look. "Yes, we do."
Dash looks at Sam, probably knows he's more likely to get a straighter answer from him than Sage. "Well just one question. When did this start: before or after thanksgiving?"
It's Sage who answers quickly, "After." He doesn't understand why this is the running question. Does it matter when it started? Sam shifts beside him and Sage thinks this conversation is making him uncomfortable.
Dash looks away, mumbling a not at all subtle, "Huh."
"Well, there is one thing," Nora says. "You're both adults. I'm not going to give you any lectures or try to set house rules. But your sister is home too, so let's just remember to lock doors when we need that sort of privacy."
"Duly noted," Sage says quickly. He doesn't say anything else because he really doesn't want to talk about it anymore. He's choked up, wants to go back upstairs, crawl into bed, and contemplate every decision that led him here. He's Sam's fake boyfriend, but he's got very real feelings for the boy.
It's an awkward breakfast. Sage can't figure out how he's supposed to act, because now he's kind of dating Sam, like at least in his parents eyes, but he's also definitely not dating Sam at the same time. He sits beside him, tense and sad because he just wants to go back to last night.
When Calla joins them, they've just about finished breakfast. Sage is standing, grabbing his and Sam's plate, when his father goes, "Did you know about these two?" Which instantly makes him freeze. He really thought everyone was just going to drop the topic now that he'd owned up to it.
And every time they bring it up it's a reminder that Sam and him are not actually together, that the whole thing's a lie, a lie he wishes were true.
Calla shoots Sage a bewildered look before answering, "Uh, yeah, who do you think covered up that massive hickey?"
All the blood shoots to his face as his parents turn back to Sage, maybe just now noticing the mark. Sam coughs but it's forced. "Anyway, so presents?" Sage asks.
"How did you guys find out?" Calla asks ignoring Sage.
"Yes, presents, let's do that," Nora says standing. She yanks on Dash's teeshirt, pulling him up and towards the door.
Calla shrugs, walking over to the table to get a bagel. Sam's still seated, looking worn down. Sage can't tell if it's a hangover, or regret, or embarrassment, or all of it. He is struck with the thought that he shouldn't have brought him here for their break. That he's maybe ruined everything.
And Sage can't stand it, the not knowing. He rests a hand on Sam's shoulder, leaning down so he can ask, "Are you okay?"
Sam startles, tilting his head to look up at Sage. "Yeah, I'm okay. Are you?"
"I'm fine," Sage says.
"Okay, good, then."
"Your guys' vibe is weird," Calla remarks, cutting a bagel in half. She opens it like a neanderthal with her thumbs and shoves a glob of cream cheese in it. "I thought this was a hush-hush thing. Why do mom and dad know?"
Sage doesn't answer but his expression must conflate cause Calla laughs and says, "Oh my god, did they catch you guys? They totally did, didn't they?"
"It's not funny," Sage mumbles.
"You're right, it's freaking hysterical," Calla says laughing with a full bite of her bagel, spraying food as she does. Sage grimaces but Sam doesn't even react, which concerns him.
"Are you guys coming to open presents or not?" Nora calls in the doorway.
They file out into the living room, crowding the Christmas tree. Calla is always the designated gift passer-outer, sitting closest to the tree and reading off names as she lobs them at whomever's it is.
Sam disappears upstairs during it and comes back with a stack of gifts, all wrapped in brown paper. Sage is stalled by it, watching him from across the room as he hands his parents their gifts. He walks around the room to where Sage is sitting with Calla and hands her a small box. Sage is focused on what he's given her and doesn't notice Sam holding a gift out to him. It's a medium-sized square, wrapped in the same brown paper, and tied with a red braided string.
"Oh," Sage says surprised, taking it from him.
Dash cries out with a laugh, pulling both their attention. From Sage's vantage, it looks like a book. Nora's holding up a bracelet, admiring it. Sam looks from his mom to Calla, saying, "My mother and sisters have these same bracelets."
Sage is overwhelmed by Sam, and that he bought these things for his family for a holiday he doesn't even celebrate. And he wants it so bad it hurts, wants this life, one where Sam is here celebrating holidays with him and his family, and they can buy each other things without it feeling heavy, without him feeling like he's reading into it.
He closes his eyes, blinking back tears, turning his gaze to his hands as he opens Sam's gift slowly. "Sorry if it's redundant," Sam's saying as he opens the top flaps of the box and reaches inside. There's a ceramic paint palette and matching mug, both in a pale grey-green color — sage. And in the bottom corner of the palette is Sage's name in gold cursive. The mug has two lips to balance your brush on and a S engraved in the center.
Sage wants to reach out and hug Sam. He knows that he could, nobody in the room would question it, nobody but Sam. So he can't. Not really. He looks at him, instead, saying most earnestly with his eyes I'm in love with you as he grins, mumbling, "Thank you. You really didn't have to get me anything."
And I kind of wish you hadn't.
❧
Sam's in bed but he can't sleep. He keeps replaying the day in his head. When he woke this morning, he had this distinct feeling of hope. He thought last night was the beginning of something, even if they had been drunk. Thought it was maybe even more honest because they were drunk.
Now he's not so sure what honesty even is. Has Sam ever had an honest moment in his life? Not where Sage is involved.
There's a knock at his door that startles him out of his thoughts, and good thing, they were going nowhere good. He calls a, "Come in." It's not the bedroom door, but the bathroom, and in walks Sage.
He's changed into sweatpants, gray and low hanging, a white teeshirt that fits too well. Sam can't help but notice his pecs in it. Sage walks over and sits on the edge of the bed where Sam's feet are so he pulls them up, shifting so he's sitting against the headboard.
"What's up?" he asks, heart racing. His brain is saying is this the end? This is the end, isn't it. It's the end. This is it. The end, the end, the end. It's an anxious spiral and he has to wring his hands to distract himself from it.
Sage hesitates and that's not helping. Sam wants to scream, "Get on with it then!"
Finally he says, "So I got you something for Christmas, and... Look, it's a gift so you can't reject it or worry about what it cost. It's a gift, okay?"
Sam stares at Sage, confused and curious, before he nods. "Okay."
Sage holds out a card to him. He takes it, lifting the flap and pulling out a very generic Christmas card. Not a Christmas card, actually. It's stamped with Happy Holidays, which Sam feels was a very specific move on Sage's part. Inside, there are two plane tickets.
When Sam doesn't say anything, Sage goes, "I think you should go home and see your family. Well, actually, I want you to but I also think you should. And I think you want to, too."
Sam still doesn't say anything so Sage keeps going, starting to ramble, "Look, it's only three days. You can even tell your family you have to leave because the tickets are already booked so you don't have to feel bad. And I got you window seats cause I don't know if you have the motion sickness thing on planes, too... And yeah, I think you should really go. I'll even pick you up from the airport when you get back so there's really nothing about the trip you have to worry about. So, yeah, do what you, ya know, feel is right. I think you should go but like, if you don't want to, I won't feel bad."
Sam's going to go. But first he's going to crawl across this bed and kiss Sage. He kisses his cheek first because he has to climb into his lap to face him and get his mouth. But he takes that next.
"Okay this feels like a good response," Sage mumbles between their mouths.
"It is," Sam says and kisses him again. "Thank you for this." He means it. He didn't realize how badly he needed someone else to tell him to go, to go home, that it'll be okay. That he'll be able to come back.
❧
Sam's flight is New Years Day, which means tonight's the last night Sage will spend with him before they're back at school.
They're in the sunroom, there's two beers on the table that have gone warm, and the sound of Calla's party filtered through the walls and all Sage can think about is Sam and how he can get him in his bed. How he can keep him there.
It's not a huge party, but some of the kids have made their way into the backyard to smoke. Sam hums and then goes, "It kind of feels like we're the cool parents overseeing this thing."
Sage laughs. And what an idea that is, him and Sam, together, parents.
"We're certainly going to be held responsible if something happens," Sage responds.
Sam shrugs. "They're fairly tame."
Sage pauses, thinking, and avoids looking at Sam when he asks, "Tame enough that they'll be fine if we go upstairs, you think?"
Sam takes his beer, drinking it slowly. Sage watches, watches his throat bob, watches him lick away a drop on his bottom lip. "I think so," Sam says finally standing. He picks up Sage's bottle and leads the way back inside, stopping in the kitchen to discard them. They'd both only had the one and neither had finished. Sage felt like they'd done it on purpose, like they knew where this night was leading.
Sage halts at his bedroom door. Sam's breathing on his neck behind him so he can't stall for any longer than a second before he opens the door and walks in. But he thinks in that one second life preservation. He's not coming back from this night the same. He knows that.
Because he loves Sam and he won't be able to hide it after this.
He closes the door and locks it, turning so he can watch Sam slip his shoes off as he walks over to Sage's bed. He wants to say something reckless. He doesn't get a chance to because Sam does, first.
"When I first met you, I thought you were going to destroy me." He says it quietly, not even turning to face Sage. It's a confession. Sage could appoint him three Hail Mary's if he was feeling gracious. He's not feeling gracious.
He walks over, not moving his gaze from Sam, and presses against his back, reaching around him to undo his button and fly. "Would you have let me?"
"It was all I wanted, Sage," he says and Sage can tell he means it.
Sage reaches his hand into his underwear, holding Sam in a loose fist, moving up the length with one agonizing tug. Sam goes slack in his arms, groaning.
"I might've even begged for it."
"So beg now," Sage says so Sam does.
❧
He whimpers, grabbing Sage's forearm, digging his fingers in as he says, "Please."
He didn't know, had no freaking clue, that sex could be this good. That even the part where you're not being touched or doing any touching can be hot because you're talking, instead.
"Please what, Sam?" Sage asks dragging his nose down the side of his neck, panting hot air into his skin like a sauna.
Sam turns in Sage's arms, looking him in the eye when he says, "Fuck me, Sage."
It's a simple request, it turns out. One he's more than willing to oblige. Sage kisses his mouth, running his hands down his chest so he can grab the hem of Sam's teeshirt and lift it. They part only for a moment before Sage is leaning back in, kissing him again, this time with tongue.
He undresses Sam slowly, tugging his sweatpants down, kissing each hipbone as he reveals them. Sam's stopped wearing underwear around him. There's no need for it, he thinks. Sage is all teasing bites and kisses, lapping at the stretch of skin from his belly button to the base of his dick.
And Sam, he folds for Sage. Everything but the one thing going soft, melting under his hot grip on his ass as Sage pulls him into his mouth and sets a pace. He knows what he wants, though, and pulls away, holding Sage's face back. "I said fuck me," he tells him, getting down on his knees so he can kiss Sage's wet mouth. "Please."
❧
Sage is trembling, every nerve in his body naked, unprotected, ripped raw, so that everything is a stimulation. Sam's breath on his neck slices. Feels like swallowing a knife. He thinks he could cry from how much he's feeling and he hasn't even started yet. Not fully, anyway.
Sams bent over two pillows, hips up in the air so Sage can finger him open, and he is, moving slowly, meticulously, knowing what that first stretch feels like, the hot foreign burn. He's waiting for Sam to tell him to stop, that he doesn't like it, because he has only ever imagined Sam as someone who gives it, doesn't take, but Sam's gone silent, his face pressed into the bed.
Sage has asked him twice now if it's okay, if he likes it, and Sam has been grunting as response. He's about to ask again, because he can't tell, and he's shaking all over. He doesn't want Sam to remember the first time he was fucked as something terrible. As long as it's not terrible — that's the bar he's setting.
He's warmed to two fingers, two knuckles deep, when Sam lifts up and presses back, fucking himself on Sage's finger. Sage moves, withdrawing, a surprised sound leaving his mouth. It's a moan, but it's a surprised one. Sam is hot but also unexpectedly hot in bed.
"Why'dyoudo?" Sam says, all muffled anger. He turns his head, cheek pressing against the mattress. His face is red. "Don't just stop. For fuck's sake."
Sage squints at him, and then says, slowly, "You like it..."
"Did you think I was impaling myself because I didn't?"
"You were quiet."
"I'm trying not to come," he snaps. "Which I wouldn't need to do if you'd fucking fuck me already."
Sage smirks, dropping his fingers down, slipping one into Sam. "Hm, try harder."
"You're such a fucking—," he bites off the words as Sage slips a second finger inside. Sam moans loudly, turning his head back into the mattress, lifting his hips up and pressing back.
"You should be nicer to the guy who's going to fuck you."
"Yeah, point him out and I'll certainly try."
❧
When Sage finally fucks him, Sam sort of wishes he hadn't. He can't undo this now. Knows that this feeling inside of him will always be there, even when Sage isn't.
He wants to tell Sage everything, wants him to know the things he's hidden, the things he's ashamed of. He wants to be even more vulnerable, as if it wasn't enough laying his body before Sage like a sacred offering.
Sage has touched the softest parts of him and he was careful, he was gentle with him. Sam will always remember that. Sam will always be grateful that it was Sage who split him open, even if he'll always be two halves — before Sage and after.
❧
Sam's lying beside Sage on his belly, fully awake. Sage can see it through the small slits his eyes have become. He's dozing and trying hard to fight it. He's not ready for this night to be over. He's not ready for it to become a memory. He wants to keep living it. He wants to stay in this present.
Sam whispers, "I think..." He stops, licking his lips. Sage opens his eyes fully. Feels like he has to be in this moment fully. Because it feels like a moment. "I think I've always been afraid of leaving. Afraid that I wouldn't be able to come back."
"You're coming back," he responds fiercely. Even if I have to drag you across a dozen seas. Even if I have to commit a thousand felonies.
"I may not stay." He sounds broken. He sounds like he believes it.
"You're staying," Sage tells him just as fiercely, if not more.
"I don't have a job."
"You have time."
"Not with these things, I don't."
Sage pauses and then reaches into the space between them, taking Sam's hand. Sam accepts it, goes limp in his palm, fingers folding over Sage's. "Well you can't leave," Sage says finally.
He meets Sage's gaze, glassy-eyed. "I don't want to."
"So then," he says quickly and stops. "So work for my mom."
Sam pulls away, turning onto his side and then his back. He huffs. "That is not an option."
Sage reaches out, turning his face towards him. "Of course it's an option. It's a good option."
"Not with—how would that work with..."
"With what? Us? It won't be a problem."
"How?"
"I'll...I'll tell my mom it's over before then. Mutual ending, no bad blood. She won't hold it against you."
Sam frowns and Sage can see his throat lift as he swallows. "Oh... You would do that for me?"
Sage nods, squeezing his eyes shut against the burn of tears, thinking I'd do anything for you. But he says instead, his voice hoarse, "Of course" because it's the closest he can get to the truth.
In the morning, he knows he'll be Sage and this will still be Sam, the boy he cannot have, not the way he wants, anyway.