It was just as well that Chase made a double batch of the sausage-cheese balls, because William found them addictive. Chase had set aside several for William before he slipped the cooled, golden brown balls into zip lock bags, but that ration hadn't lasted for long. Chase scolded William the first time he caught him sneaking one. The second time he threatened him with a wooden spoon. The third time he threatened to with hold sex. William squeezed his butt till Chase was rubbing against him. When Chase saw William's smug look he scowled, saying that sometimes confident people found out that they were being OVER confident, and that if William took any more of the snacks he was being held responsible for replacing them in kind. He also let his catty nature loose long enough to suggest sweetly that considering his costume and what he'd just eaten, William might want to make a trip to the gym before the party. William knew that he'd pushed Chase, so the snippy comment didn't really bother him. He did look down at his own flat abdomen speculatively, and think that it wouldn't hurt to go to the gym and pump up a little before the party. He wanted to do Chase proud, after all.

No sex that night, just cuddling and whisperings. It was easy to see that Chase had gotten over his irritation. Chase was so enthused about the upcoming party that he swore he wouldn't be able to sleep a wink. William laughed silently, his body shaking, when Chase started snoring softly five minutes after he'd said that.

That morning Chase and Mrs. Fieldstone bemoaned the state of society that had made it impossible to give out home made treats for Halloween. "They'd stopped doing it when I was a kid," said Chase, "except if you went to houses where you really, really knew the people. I was lucky in that we were a pretty close-knit community, so I got caramel apples without having to worry about biting into a razor blade. There were popcorn balls that would stick your jaws shut, and marshmallow fudge so light it almost floated up out of your bag."

Mrs. Fieldstone was nodding. "My mother used to talk about the nut brittle and home made marshmallows she'd get."

That had left William blinking. "Home made marshmallows?"

That gave Chase and Mrs. Fieldstone a laugh. "Honey," said Chase, "Do you think that marshmallows just sprang fully formed in Sty-Puft bags? Most candy, aside from the candy bars, was produced in some form or other at home long before it hit the market shelves. People used to make their own taffy, toffee, peppermints, butterscotch..."

"Oh, yeah!" William's eyes lit up. "I remember last night you mentioned about cooking the syrup till it would set up hard enough to crack for butterscotch."

"You know," said Mrs. Fieldstone, "Between the two of us, we may get this man educated to the ways of the kitchen eventually."

William dropped Chase off at his job, then went by Chase and Mona's place to pick up the spider webs they'd been weaving. When it was time to go to the party he'd load the snacks into the car, pick up Chase, then go on to the club. Then he and Mrs. Fieldstone spent most of the rest of the morning rolling slices of salami, ham, and turkey into little cones, and pinning them with frilly toothpicks. William had intended to loan his family's pewter serving tray and china platters, but both Mrs. Fieldstone and Chase had vetoed that idea vehemently. "Will," , "This could very well be a bit of a brawl. I wouldn't have a peaceful moment. And besides, as nice as most of the patrons of The Catacombs are, some of them have fingers that are a bit lighter than they should be." William, who didn't often use his mother's 'good' things, but was fond of them for the memories of her they brought, agreed, and they used the molded plastic platters instead, wrapping them in cling film when they were done.

Then he ate a half dozen more of the sausage balls and had to go to the store for ingredients to make more, so that Chase would keep speaking to him when he found out (or hopefully he wouldn't find out at all). Mrs. Fieldstone was approached tentatively, but she said firmly that it was his own fault, and he could just deal with it. William did, better than he'd expected. He did have to call Mona and ask her to check in Chase's recipe file for the proper temperature of the oven, and he swore her to secrecy. He hoped that Chase wouldn't realize.

That evening he put the snacks in the back seat along with the costumes, then went to pick Chase up. Since Chase had to be at The Catacombs early, they had decided to change there, once things were set up. When William arrived at the diner Ernestine called, "Thank God you're here! He's been driving me crazy, singing along with The Monster Mash and Thriller."

"Thriller isn't fifties or sixties," said William.

"Yeah, but it's just so good for Halloween that they decided to make an exception. He can do that rap part in the best Vincent Price imitation I've ever heard. Little booger shouldn't be able to get his voice that deep."

Chase came out of the back, flipping his apron over his shoulder. "Saw you coming. I'm already punched out."

The man who'd relieved him the last time followed him out. "Yeah, and I had enough good sense to get here a few minutes early so that Ernie wouldn't be left juggling the place alone. Go remember what you promised."

As they left, William asked, "What did you promise?"

"Well, I told you that I'd booked tonight off well in advance? It wasn't really that easy. Clarence has seniority, so he has first choice. And he has kids, so he usually takes holidays off. I promised him something in return."

"Uh-huh. It wasn't your body, was it?"

"Nothing that delicious. I promised to make my Hummingbird Cake for his daughter's birthday next month." Chase wrinkled his nose. "He's a good cook, but not much of a baker." He twisted in his seat and peered at the contents of the back seat.

"I remembered to bring everything," William assured him.

"Uh-huh." Chase didn't turn around.

"You're checking to see if I ate more of those sausage balls," William accused.

"Uh-huh."

"Check the bags. They're all full."

"Uh-huh. Too full." Chase turned around and gave him a stern look. "There's significantly more than there was when I left this morning." William cast his eyes up at the ceiling, blushing a little. Chase leaned over and kissed him. "But you replaced what you ate, so it's all right. They look fine. A little browner than mine, but that's okay--a lot of people like them a little crunchy."

The Catacombs turned out to be a mid-sized club--good sized bar, DJ booth, and small dance floor surrounded by tables and booths. William had seen pictures of The Cavern--the pub where the Beatles had debuted back in the early sixties, and The Catacombs reminded him strongly of that. There wasn't a straight angle above shoulder height. The raw brick walls curved to form a domed roof, and all doorways were arches. William was glad to see that they'd gone for standard doors on the restrooms.

They were admitted by a girl with long pigtails. She was dressed as a Japanese schoolgirl--very cute, except for the copious amounts of blood that ran from what looked like a slit throat to soak her blouse. She noted Will's startled look and did a twirl for him. "Battle Royale."

"Wrestling?" said William doubtfully.

"And another film goes on the 'to see' list," said Chase. "It's a beauty, Winkle." He jerked a thumb at his lover. "William." She gave William a seductive smile. "Also known as 'mine'."

"Oops. Need help carrying anything?"

"Most assuredly. Will, if you'd escort this gory geisha, I'll just go start draping the cobwebs."

Chase went inside, and William led the girl back to the Thunderbird and handed her several of the lighter, easier to carry items. She admired his ass as he bent down to reach into the car. "Boy, Chase got him a big, pretty one this time."

William straightened up, cocking an eyebrow. "What kind does he usually favor?"

"Big, pretty ones, but never for very long. He's been talking about you for a few months now." She nudged him with her toe, since her hands were full. "You've got staying power, dude. Way to go. He's a nice kid." She turned and headed for the club.

The snacks were lined up with a platter or two at intervals along the bar, with the reserve sitting under the counter. Chase was congratulated and heartily kissed in gratitude by several grateful staff members of various and indeterminate genders. William was dragooned into helping hang the spider webs, since he was taller than everyone but the man who'd come dressed as Jaws from the James Bond movies. When William wondered where he'd found the fake dental work he received a 'what do you mean, 'fake'? Those are just his teeth.'

Just before they were ready to open the club to the excited costumed crowd that was gathering outside, Chase and William went into the break room to get into their costumes. Chase got permission to help buckle and lace William into his costume, but only after promising not to try any hanky-panky, since there wasn't time. William had worn his black iron nipple rings. He looked like enough to give a decadent Roman patrician, male or female, heart palpitations. Once William was dressed, Chase quickly stripped out of his own clothing to allow William to dress him in his costume.

They'd had an argument about the underwear. Chase wanted to go au natural, William didn't want to risk charges of indecent exposure. "Besides, baby, I want people to admire you, but if someone just grabbed your toga and jerked it up, flashing the crowd, I'd feel obligated to smack them stupid."

They'd compromised. Chase had quickly sewn together a couple of bandana, making a very creditable version of a breechclout. "Though I feel like the world's biggest baby in this," he complained.

"Infantilism is not one of my kinks," said William. "Hold still so I can get this done." The fabric was longer and narrower than a sheet. William folded down the long edge at the top, then wrapped it twice around Chase's waist, making sure that the hem only dropped a few inches down his thighs. "Hold still, hon." He fished a pocket knife out of his jeans.

"What, pray tell, do you intend to do with that?" asked Chase, not really alarmed.

"Because I didn't think of getting you a brooch to fasten it with soon enough." He cut a slit in the fabric just under the top fold, going through both layers. Then he bunched the tail of the fabric and threaded it through the slit, in effect cinching the skirt. "Now." William twisted the fabric into a loose rope and pulled it up across Chase's torso, over his shoulder, letting it fall down his back. "There." He fluffed the material. "You let that hang like a curtain, and people go blind trying to catch glimpses of your ass."

Chase wiggled, enjoying the way the material tickled his bare skin. "What if it slips?"

"You keep it up with artful, graceful movements. If it slips," he shrugged. "You try not to trip on it and toss it over your shoulder again." He paused. "Ready for the real costume?"

Chase shivered. "Yes, sir."

William opened the box that contained the set of leather straps. "Give me your hands." Chase held out his hands. William took each in turn, kissed his palm, and buckled the cuffs around them. Then he knelt at Chase's feet and strapped black leather around each slender, bare ankle. Finally he stood up, holding the collar, and said softly. "Kneel."

Chase sank gracefully to his knees, but he held his head up proudly. William stood behind him, then slipped the thick band around his lover's throat and buckled it in place. He curled his fingers around the leather, saying, "All right?"

"Yes." Knowing what William wanted to know, Chase said, "No problem at all getting air--and I'm just... all right with it."

"One more thing. I added it since I showed you the costume. Stay still." There was a muted chink, and Chase shivered again, starting to get hard as he felt William clip something to the back of the collar.

There was a full length mirror on one wall (the break room was occasionally used as a dressing room for the staff, or whatever performers were working there), and William led Chase over to it, saying, "Close your eyes." Chase obeyed, and William guided him down to his knees. After a moment he said. "Look, slave."

chase opened his eyes, and his mouth went dry at the sight that greeted him. He no longer looked like the cheerful mid-Western boy he was. He looked... exotic. The black leather made his skin look even more pale and smooth. His softly tousled hair gleamed, as did the silver chain that ran from his collar to wrap around William's gauntletted hand. William looked hard, dangerous, and sexy enough to cause a riot. Together they presented an image that, had it appeared on the box of any X rated video, would have assured best seller status.

"Wow," said Chase softly. "We're hot."

William laughed. "We are. You know that before she leaves, Mrs. Fieldstone is going to want a good look at us. It's going to be a sacrifice to keep from just fucking you senseless before she leaves."

**DOB. No, not Date of Birth--Dykes on Bikes. :) Never been to a Goth bar/club Halloween party--dammit. ***Dennis Hopper, in the iconic Easy Rider, and ***Mohawk in The Road Warrior.

"You ready for this, sweetheart?" asked William.

"I was in Drama Club and Drama Class all through high school," said Chase. "I was Henry Higgins in the Senior class production of My Fair Lady." He made a face. "Thank heavens the play doesn't call for him to kiss Liza Doolittle. That was the part I wanted, but I knew better than to try out. I had a lot of fun entertaining at rehearsals with my version of Wouldn't It Be Loverly? In other words, William, I am more than ready for this. I'm not up for being auctioned off--that's about the extent of it."

William kissed him. "No one on this world has enough money to afford you, baby." He stepped back, letting the cool length of the chain leash brush Chase's shoulder. "Remember to keep a proper slave attitude. I'm going to be role playing this with you all night, unless I tell you otherwise."

Chase clasped his hands and looked at the floor. "Yes, Master."

"Good boy."

They were letting the crowd in as William and Chase went out into the main room. They were spotted immediately, and the babble of conversations rose in admiration and interest.

William led Chase over to the bar. One of the bartender, looking like an extra from Dawn of the Dead, came over, giving them a grin and an 'okay' sign. William said, "You should have some drink tickets back there for us--Chase and William?"

"Sure do," said the bartender. "You've got a half dozen each, to use or distribute as you see fit, and I'm personally adding a couple in honor of those costumes. What can I do for you?"

"Red wine two times," said William, "And put something sparkling in it for my slave." William reached over and rubbed Chase's hair. "He likes delicate things, and I'm feeling indulgent tonight." Chase was reaching toward a plate of cold cuts. Not even looking around, William said, "Slaves who take food without permission are punished." Chase's hand dropped quickly. "They are, however, allowed to ask."

Chase laid his head against William's arm. "Master, I'm hungry. May I eat?" "You may." William picked up a slice of ham that had been curled as tightly as a rosebud. He held it toward Chase. "But only from my hand."

Chase stared at him for a moment, then leaned forward and delicately took the ham with his teeth. He chewed it, and murmured, "Thank you, Master. If you'd consider putting a little mustard on the next bite?"

William shook a finger at him. "Careful."

Chase clasped his hands in supplication. "Please, Master?" This time William dunked the ham lightly in the provided dish of honey-mustard sauce, and Chase ate it with relish, taking two bites while William watched in amusement. He wasn't the only one. Patrons had started to crowd up around the bar, and their performance was being watched, and remarked upon. When he'd finished the ham, instead of standing back, Chase took hold of William's wrist, then proceeded to lick a mustard smear off his finger.

A Lord of the Rings elf who'd just picked up a Pina Colada chortled, "Hot damn, starting already. It's going to be a good night."

"Second that," William called after him as he spread his fingers to caress Chase's cheek. "Where's Mona and Duke?"

"They'll be here soon," said Chase. "And while I'm telling you about that I'd appreciate a couple of those sausage balls--I missed lunch."

William fed him the requested snacks. "Don't do that too often, baby. I want you to stay healthy, and that includes eating regular."

"Remind me--are you my father, or my daddy?" William used the leash to pull him closer, and kissed him. "Daddy it is. Duke is bringing Mona, and Mona was doing color jobs right up to the last minute, trying to earn a little spare cash for Christmas."

"How are they dressed?"

"Duke--I haven't a clue. She wouldn't tell me--just smiled when I asked. As for Mona..." He was looking past William, and he smiled, gesturing toward the door. "See for yourself." William turned. His jaw dropped, and he burst out in appreciative laughter.

Mona looked like a negative image of Elvira, A.K.A. Cassandra Peterson. The tight, slinky, plunging neckline dress was white instead of black, and the contrast between her dark skin was rather startling. She was showing a lot of cleavage. Her hair was the proper trailing locks surmounted by a 'how does it stay that high?' ratted pouf, but it was platinum blonde, ala Mae West (or perhaps Dolly Parton would be a better reference?). She was wearing white lipstick, and there was pearly shadow smudged over her eyes. She saw William staring and smiled. Putting one hand on her hip she sashayed over and said in a light voice, "Hello, darlings! I should spank you, because no one is going to be able to have unpleasant dreams after getting a gander at you two." She dropped the fake voice. "How they hanging, Chasey?"

"Actually," said Chase, "They're not hanging at all in this modified diaper. If I cared to indulge in aberrant sex, I wouldn't have to worry about fathering a baby because my body heat is bound to keep my sperm count low with The Boys cuddled up so close."

"Abberant sex?" said William.

"Abberant for me, darling." Chase was peering around. "Where's Duke?"

Mona grinned. "She'll be here in a minute. She dropped me off, and she's parking the car."

Chase's eyes widened. "Car? As in 'four wheels and doors'?"

"Yeah. She said she wasn't going to make me try to ride the cycle side-saddle, since that was the only way I'd be able to get on without my costume up around my belly-button. She borrowed it from one of the other DoB** members."

"How's she dressed?" asked William.

Mona chuckled. "Ain't tellin'. I'll just say that I didn't recognize her till she told me to put the baseball bat down."

William blinked. "Okay, that's an interesting hint. My guess would be one of those full, over the head rubber masks. Um..." He pointed at someone who was dressed as Michael Landon in I Was a Teenage Werewolf, complete with letter jacket. "That one?"

"No," said Mona, "It would have been a good choice, but she'd have worn leather instead of that varsity nonsense."

"Watch it," said Chase. "I lettered in track. Is she Frankie?"

Mona looked between an authentic green Frankenstein monster and someone done up as Dr. Frankenfurter from the Rocky Horror Picture Show. "Which one?"

The Frankenfurter clone was obviously a white male, but Chase said promptly, "The monster, or course. Frankenfurter is too short to be Duke."

"Nope again."

A plump girl dressed in a 1950s poodle skirt and pony tail pointed, squealing, "It's the King!"

They looked at the man wearing the red, white, and blue star spangled zip fronted jump suit, with matching visored helmet. "Wrong era, sweetie," said Chase. "He was still rockabilly in your time period. Maybe black leather, but no spangled jumpsuits. That was Elvis goes to Hawaii and Vegas."

"But it's the King," she insisted stubbornly.

The man took off the helmet--to reveal a grinning Duke. "Nope, Princess. No King--just a Duke."

She looked disappointed. "If you're not Elvis, then who are you?"

"You poor, benighted child," said Chase. "She's obviously Evel Kneivel."

Duke did the 'gun' hand gesture at Chase. "Got it in one." She smoothed a hand down the front of her jumpsuit as the girl shrugged and walked away. "I wanted something for motorcycles, and there isn't that big of a choice. I'm too tall to do Dennis Hopper***, and I wasn't gonna shave my head in a mohawk to do Road Warrior, so Evel it was. He's a cool motherfucker, anyway. You said something about drink tickets, Blondie?"

"Yoo-hoo!" Chase waved the zombified bartender over again. "Give two of the tickets for Chase to these ladies... Oops! Woman."

"Good think you corrected yourself." Duke clapped a hand on William's shoulder. "Say, Spartacus--mind if I dance with your toy?"

"Are you kidding?" said William. "I'd pay to see that." He unclipped the leash and wound it around Chase's waist, clipping it again. "There. Now you won't lose it."

Duke stepped up to Chase, who moved close to her. "Just don't expect me to lead, Duke."

"Wouldn't have asked if I thought you would. Let's make those dance lessons my Granny insisted I have pay off." They foxtrotted away."

"I think someone just took a picture of that," said Mona, amused. "They ought to conserve their film--they'll probably see things a lot stranger than that before the evening is over."

Chase's snacks were a huge hit, the bowls and platters emptying quickly. People complained a little when the bartenders started filling the bowls with the chips that they'd bought, just in case, but by then most of the crowd was drunk enough that they didn't really care.

Chase and William danced together a lot. William was enjoying it immensely. He liked to dance, but until he'd met Chase it had pretty much been limited to mixed couples dancing. He liked girls well enough for dance partners, but it just added something special to be able to move to music with someone you cared about. During the slow dances he enveloped Chase in a tight hug, and they just swayed and shuffled. When Chase's hands slid down to fondle his ass he murmured warningly about spanking him, and received a squeeze before the hands were removed.

William drank more wine than Chase did. Near the end of the evening he excused himself to go to the men's room. Chase had been receiving a lot of admiring attention (so had William) so at first he didn't think much about getting a little more. A woman dressed in the satin, velvet, and lace knee britches ensemble favored by male dandies in the court circles of the 18th centuries approached and gave Chase a long, appreciative look. There were times when Chase would have snapped at her to take a picture--it would last longer. But he was in a very good mood, and after all--he had dressed up specifically to be looked at. Nothing wrong in looking. Commenting, however, could push the line.

"Damn, you're fine!" said the woman.

Just those few words were slurred, and Chase realized she was very drunk. "Thank you."

"Do you like girls?"

*She's pushing it.* "That's a little personal."

"Bet you don't."

"I like girls fine. Some of my best friends are girls. Why don't you go ask the bartender for a coffee?"

She ignored his suggestion. "I'm Casanova--the world's greatest lover."

"I could debate with you on that. I happen to think that my lover holds that title."

She reached out and hooked a finger under the swatch of fabric that was tossed over his shoulder. "I could prove it to your." She tugged quickly, and it floated down. "Damn! I was hoping that'd make your skirt fall off."

Chase was flushing as he retrieved the dangling tail and tried to situate it again. "Okay, I'm a good sport, but that's enough."

"Don't be a sour puss." The swiftness and accuracy of her next move was surprising, given how drunk she was. Her hand flashed out and she pinched Chase's nipple--hard. He gasped in shocked pain, and she grinned, saying, "How much? I brought money tonight."

"I don't believe you!" He fought down the urge to smack her, rubbing the sore spot. "I'm a slave, not a whore. You don't see any price list."

"Then I'm willing to dicker with you." She snorted with laughed. "Dicker."

"Oh, this is too much." He turned and started away.

"You don't walk away from me!" The woman grabbed the fabric trailing over Chase's shoulder and jerked hard. Chase hadn't been expecting it and he stumbled, falling on his butt. He was so stunned that he didn't react immediately.

He didn't have to, though. He heard Mona's outraged voice yelling, "Bitch! Are you crazy?"

Then he heard William's voice, very cold, saying, "I'll handle this."

William stepped up out of the suddenly quiet crowd and moved up close to the drunken Casanova. He got right in the woman's personal space, till there wasn't more than an inch of air between them. She wasn't small, but he was almost a head-and-a-half taller than her. He glared down into her suddenly doubtful eyes. "From what I remember, Casanova didn't try to molest unwilling partners. And let me tell you, if his approach was as crude and rude as yours, he damn sure wouldn't have earned the title of greatest lover." He leaned down even closer, and she seemed to shrink. "You hurt him. I'm inclined to wipe the floor with you. But since that woulld involve having to make a statement to the police, then arrange bail and spend time in court while my very well paid lawyer made you look like a combination of Lizzie Borden and Lucretia Borgia, I'm willing to be magnanimous. Start by apologizing to him."

She glanced over at Chase and gave him a craven smile. "Just kidding."

"Oh, fuck! You don't call that an apology, do you? That's an exuse, and a fucking lame one at that. Just kidding is what all the bullies in the world say. Try again."

"I was drunk?"

"That's the second most used excuse. You get one more try, then I'm removing you from his vicinity--forcibly."

This time the look she gave Chase was sincere. "I'm really, really, really sorry! I was rude, crude, and socially unacceptable." She glanced up at William, then continued, "I was an unthinking, presumptuous bitch. Please forgive me?" She looked at William again. "Please?"

Chase had stood up and brushed himself off. Now he said placidly, "Oh, all right. Just don't let it happen again. He might not be in such a forgiving mood. Now I think it would be a good idea for you to toddle on home--preferably by cab."

A man wearing full western drag (he was dressed as a saloon girl) took her arm. "I'll see to it." As he led her away he said, "I can't take you anywhere. I swear, if you won't go to couples' counciling..."

Now that the show was over, the crowd started to disperse. Chase drifted over to William and pressed against him, putting his arms around his neck. "Protecting your property?"

William put his hands on Chase's waist, squeezing. "No, just doing what a boyfriend should--putting a little respect and the fear of a boot up the ass into the waste of space that insulted my sweetheart."

November 1st

William usually woke up fairly quickly, but this morning was different. After all, he and Chase had come home around midnight, both pleasantly tired, and energized by the party. Mrs. Fieldstone had admired and applauded the costumes, then snagged one of each flavor of the half-bowl of candy bars left by the trick-or-treaters, and went home.

Then William had stripped Chase out of his costume and spent some time worshipping his body, very vigorously. He might have felt guilty the abundance of passion bruises he'd left if Chase hadn't enthusiastically returned the favor. Half asleep, eyes still closed, William stretched luxuriously, and smiled. *I think I'll apologize by kissing every one of those hickeys. That'll be a nice way to wake up him up.*

He reached over for Chase, and all his hands encountered were bare sheets. That was odd. Chase usually slept plastered against him, if not actually wrapped around him. Still, he supposed everyone wanted to sprawl out occasionally, and lord knew his bed was big enough for it. He reached farther, planning on grabbing the first portion of anatomy he found and giving Chase a good tickling. Just a short one, so that he'd still be in a good move.

He started to frown as he stretched farther, then his fingers encountered the edge of the mattress, and still no Chase. He finally opened his eyes, peering to the side. No, he wasn't hallucinating. The bed was completely Chaseless. Groaning, William looked over at the clock sitting on his bedside table. 7:30. Chase must have needed to take a pee. But there wasn't any sounds coming from the bathroom. William felt the sheets again. And there was no lingering body warmth.

*What the fuck? He can't have left--I'm his ride.* William sat up, abruptly awake. *Crap! Was I too rough last night? He didn't use his safe word--I listen like a hawk.* William rolled out of bed and grabbed a pair of jeans out of his dresser, pulling them on over his bare skin. He'd give the house a quick search, and if Chase wasn't there he'd call Mona and see if Chase had showed up at home. If he hadn't, William was seriously going to consider calling the police.

It didn't come to that. He found Chase in the kitchen. The boy was sitting at the table with a notebook and a cup of coffee in front of him, looking pensive. Not looking up, he waved vaguely toward the counter. "Coffee's ready. If you want breakfast you'll have to fix it yourself--I'm exhausted."

Chase came over and dropped a kiss on the back of Chase's neck, rubbing his shoulders. "Then what are you doing out of bed at this ungodly hour?"

Chase tipped his head back far enough to kiss William on the cheek. "I'm getting ready for Thanksgiving, of course."

William blinked. "Chase? It's the first day of November."

"I know. I only have four weeks to get ready. I should have started drawing up my plan of battle last month, but you had me distracted, you dreadful man."

"Are you going to need four weeks?" William poured himself a cup of coffee, coming back to sit beside him.

Chase sighed, crossing something out on the page and writing something else. "I'll admit that most of it's going to be taken up with deciding on the menu. There's just so many possibilities. Do I go for my own family favorites? Solicit other peoples' family traditions? Copy a chi-chi gourmet restaurant menu? Copy a historical menu? Decisions, decisions, decisions."

William sipped his coffee, relaxed now that he was assured that Chase hadn't run off and left him. He pointed at Chase. "Sweetheart, I would have thought that your last unexpected encounter with Mrs. Fieldstone would have cured you of running around here in brief attire."

"This?" Chase looked down at himself. He was wearing a joke T-shirt that William's employees had given him. It had a cat with a Frisbee in its mouth on the front, the words DARE TO DREAM printed under it. It had been big on William, and it was huge on Chase. It floated on him, hanging half-way down his bare thighs. Chase stood up and hoisted the hem up to his waist. Instead of being flashed, William saw that he was wearing a pair of running shorts. "Nyah, dirty old man. And while I'm up, I need more caffiene."

He carried his cup over to the coffee maker and poured a cup, then put several spoons of sugar into it before carrying it to the refrigerator for milk. "I have a request. Can you get some of those neat little flavored coffee creamers? I love those things."

"I'm not surprised. Any particular flavors?"

"No mint--that's for tea. Other than that, surprise me." He sat back down at the table. "The problem is that I have to limit my menu, even if I cook some things a day or two ahead, and I hate that."

"Yeah, you're not really big on self denial," said William, amused. "Why limit yourself, babe? I love it when you cut loose, in any area of life."

"Will, you've seen my kitchen. It isn't exactly as bad as trying to cook on a hot plate, but it isn't all that far from it." He made a face. "We're going to have to try to get the landlord to replace that stove soon. The thermostat is getting iffy."

"Maybe he can do it before Thanksgiving."

Chase rolled his eyes. "Thank you for the hearty laugh. The list for replacement appliances is longer than most lists to legally adopt healthy male white babies."

William grunted. He'd never had that problem, but he knew it existed. He thought a moment, then said, "How married are you to your apartment?"

Chase was looking at the list he was drawing up, and said absently, "I promised Mona faithfully that I'd never move out unless we'd already found someone else who'd help with the rent and expenses."

"What I meant was are you absolutely committed to cooking Thanksgiving dinner at your apartment?"

"Well, I won't be cooking it back home on the farm. Mom hasn't done Thanksgiving since I left home. See, she works in a charity soup kitchen on Thanksgiving, then we do the big family gathering thing on Christmas. It works out well, since I'm darn lucky to just get Thursday off, much less the weekend, and I can't always easily make the trip back-and-forth."

"I'm still not making myself clear. What I'm asking is would you like to cook Thanksgiving dinner here?"

Chase froze, staring at him. "You aren't teasing me, are you?"

"Not about this, sweetie." Chase squealed, and William suddenly found himself with a lapful of warm, wiggling, hugging, kissing boyfriend. He laughed. "Damn, what are you going to do the first time I give you a BIG gift? What I want to know is why didn't you ask for it yourself?"

Chase sat back, his arms around William's neck. "Thanksgiving is a family holiday. I thought you might have people you wanted to spend it with."

"I do." He kissed Chase. "You. And whatever of your own little family you want to invite."

Chase brightened. "Mona and Duke?"

"Of course. And Bootsie."

"Yes! I'm so glad you said that, and I didn't have to. Mortie and Monty?"

"They do Thanksgiving?"

"It's food and a party--they'll come. How many people can I ask?"

"Let me think." He rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. "I have my Mama's dining table. That sits eight to start with. If we put in the leaf it's up to an even dozen. If we need more seating than that, there's enough room in the dining room to set up one or two card tables."

"That should be plenty of space," said Chase cheerfully. "As long as you don't intend to invite your entire staff?"

"I'd like to ask my secretary and her husband. I'd ask Mrs. Fieldstone, but I think she enjoys doing the Thanksgiving thing herself."

"All right," said Chase. "I can draw up the guest list later. Now I want to start thinking about the menu." He paused. "William? I was just wondering if you'd mind..."

"Yes?" *He's going to finally ask for something. Good.*

"I know it's asking a lot since you're providing the space and the kitchen, but can I rely on you for most of the ingredients, too? I don't want to skimp, but I want to have some cash left over for Christmas presents, too."

"Hell, Chase--I was planning on that." He rubbed Chase's thighs. "You shop, I'll pay. I'll give you my credit card, and..."

Chase sat up abruptly, jumping off William's lap. "Oh, no you won't! William, I'm surprised at you, offering to just hand over your card."

"But Chase--I know you."

Chase was pacing nervously. Now he paused and gave William an opaque look. "You know me better than most people in my life ever have. But William, you've still only known me for a few months. Is it possible to really know someone in that short a time?"

William felt a little hurt. "Don't you feel like you know me?"

"Yes, I do... But I've been wrong before."

There was such pain in those words that it drew William's attention away from his own disappointment at what he thought was Chase's lack of trust. "Someone hurt you." It wasn't a question. Chase didn't answer, just looking at him. "Will you tell me about it?"

Chase paused, then said softly, "I think so, but not now." He went back to William and laid his palm gently against his lover's cheek. "Please understand. It isn't you, and it isn't really me. It's some person you've never met, that I will hopefully never see again." Chase bit his lip. "I've tried to keep from letting him affect my life, but sometimes... Sometimes the hurt comes slinking up from the past and surprises you." He drew a breath, then smiled at William. "You'll come grocery shopping with me, all right?"

"Sounds good."

"All right, no need to start getting wound up for it." He sat back down and picked up his pencil. "That's at least a couple of weeks away. I'm just getting started on the menu. What do you think for starters--something with oysters, or maybe a nice, warm soup--like butternut squash?"

Notes: I'm not sure if I gave a weekday for Halloween in the previous parts of the story, but I'm having it on a Wednesday, so that Thanksgiving will come as quickly as possible (and thus give Chase the most time to obsess :D) Thanksgiving in America is always the fourth Thursday in November. Since Halloween fell on Tuesday this year, it will be on the 23rd. hassenpfeffer is a highly seasoned stew made with rabbit. (Learned this from watching Bugs Bunny cartoons).

November 7th

"Chase, baby, I know that this is the time of year when you get distracted," said Mona, "And I know that you're a compulsive list maker, and that you now have a legitimate reason, but PLEASE!" She held up a sheet of paper and shook it. "Could't you have waited till you could find a piece of scratch paper instead of scribbling in the margins of my supply order form? Now I'm gonna have to get a fresh one, or God knows what the wholesaler will send me."

Chase gave her a sheepish look. "I'm sorry, Mona, but I was on the phone with Mom and she was giving me the recipe for Angels on Horseback. She was about to run out the door, and I didn't have time to go hunting for clean paper--I had to get it down right then."

"What on which?" said Mona. "Chase, I know that you like to try out new things, but you aren't planning on serving us horsemeat for Thanksgiving, are you?"

"Mona, hippophagy at a festive meal would be odd, even by our standards."

"Hip--? Chase, I know that nobody in America eats hippopotomus."

He rolled his eyes. "Not hippopotomus. Hippophagy is the ingestion of horseflesh." When Mona gave him a skeptical look he said, "Sweety, hippopotomus translates out to 'water horse'. The official name for a sea horse is hippocampus, and the name of the way back when, first ever, cat sized horses is the eohippus."

"Damn, boy. All I did was ask if you were going to filet Secretariat for dinner--I didn't ask for a lecture. How do you know all this?"

"Jeopardy and Trivial Pursuit. Anyway, Angels on Horseback are oysters, wrapped in backon, breaded, and deep fried."

"Mm-mm. I'm glad I'm invited to this shindig."

"Don't get your mouth set for them yet. I'm not entirely sure that's the direction I'm going to take. I might decide to do, oh, Oysters Rockefeller instead. Or maybe just oysters on the half shell."

"Raw oysters? Bleh!"

"And you call yourself a lesbian."

"Oysters can't kiss back or give you a footrub, Cupcake. Haven't you settled on anything for your menu yet?"

He sighed. "I've settled on the entrees, the main parts of the meal, but the side dishes are giving me fits."

"We're having turkey, right?"

"Oh, you sound so suspicious. Yes, we're having turkey--just probably not exactly as you're used to it, and not only turkey."

"I'm afraid to ask. You gonna serve up turkey tamales and hassenpfefer?"

"I never willingly cook rabbit. Bless them, they look like skinned kitties."

"Yeah, I've seen 'em. I used to have an uncle who lived in the country, and he hunted. Every now and then he'd send us a mess of rabbits, squirrels, or doves. I got to like them. In fact, since you were raised on a farm, I'm kind of surprised that you don't see them just as food."

"I guess I could if I forced myself, but I don't have to force myself. When I get my own restaurant, we will not have rabbit on the menu. Anyway, no tamales or hassenpfeffer. I'm going to disjoint the turkey, boil most of the parts the night before, then put them in to roast that morning, saving the breast to roast whole. That way the serving is a lot neater, and it's easier for everyone to get what they want. I know Duke is going to want a drumstick, but a lot of people like breast." He made weighing motions in front of his chest. "I'm going to find one with tits like a cross between Dolly Parton and Pamela Anderson before she got the reduction."

"You're so crude."

He made a kissing motion at her. "And you love me for it."

"True. You said you were going to have something else?"

"Ah, there I will shine! I'm going to do something that I'm sure most of our guests haven't seen. Don't start making faces--the food itself isn't odd, it's just that the form is going to be rare. I'm going to make a crown pork roast."

Mona's eyes widened. "Say. I've seen those in some of your cook books. You're right, I've never seen it actually served."

"It used to be good 'company's coming' fare, but what with the healthy, light eating trend, it's fallen out of fashion. They don't just keep them on hand, you have to special order them. It's simple, really. It's just a rack that would be pork chops if it was sliced up. You tie it in a circle and roast it." He smiled. "I'm going to have to see if I can find those frilly little paper panties to put on the bones."

"Hell, boy. That roast will be dressed better than me."

"I'm going to have at least two different kinds of stuffing--I haven't settled on what kind yet. Not oyster, since I'm having those to start the meal. I haven't done a chestnut one yet. How do you feel about chestnuts?"

"Baby, the closest I've ever come to chestnuts was that Christmas song by Nat King Cole."

"Well, now I'm not sure to pass it up so that the most people will have at least one thing they're familiar with, or make it so that I can be sure everyone has at least one novelty. I'm going to have at least one fruited dressing, though. It'll go well with the pork."

"The main course and the side dishes are all well and good," said Mona, "but you haven't mentioned the most important course yet. What are you doing for desert?"

"Everyone I know is a little piggy when it comes to sweets," said Chase, and there was a note of complacency in his voice. "I know that pumpkin is traditional for Thanksgiving, but pie has been done to death, so I was thinking about soup. You know, you can do pumpkin soup either savory or sweet. If I go savory it can come right after the oysters, and if I do sweet it can be part of the deserts. Decisions, decisions, decisions. I'm going to do at least one cake and one pie, but I haven't decided on which yet. Mrs. Fieldstone did a dark chocolate-peppermint cake that was to die for, but maybe something a tiny bit lighter. Perhaps coconut? I could have a fruit filling between layers. There's so many kinds possible for that--pineapple, raspberry, lemon curd... As for the pie, I'm leaning heavily toward pecan, but the question is should I use dark or light corn syrup? You get very different effects..." Mona had gotten up from the dining table and was heading for the kitchen. "I could get you a drink."

"I'll bring you one if you want it, but I'm mostly going in here for a snack."

"A snack? But you ate not thirty minutes ago."

"Oh, thanks for the time, since I'm not wearing my watch. It's your fault, you little booger, and you know it. If you're going to start reciting foods at me, I'm going to have to eat something."

"Stay away from those crackers! There's a new type of pie I want to try."

"A pie made with saltines?" She considered it. "Fuck. If anyone can make it edible, you can."

November 11

"Chase, I have got to have that final menu if you want me to be able to make up individual ones, and do the place cards," said Morticia.

Chase and William were visiting at Morty and Monty's loft apartment. Pyewacket had had her babies a couple of weeks before, and their eyes had just opened. Chase was sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the cat basket, cuddling a morsel of cream colored fluff on each shoulder. "I know, I know. It's just been hellish trying to make up my mind."

William was sitting on the edge of the bed with a kitten carefully cupped in the palm of one big hand, stroking it's head with his fingertips. Pyewacket didn't know him as well as she knew Chase, so she was sitting on the bed beside him, watching him carefully. William said, "It's been rough on all of us. I can't tell you the number of different menus I've found scattered all over the house. I made the mistake of throwing one away."

"You should have known better!" said Chase severely.

"Babe, it was wadded up into a ball."

"I changed my mind."

"How was I supposed to know that?"

"Look, Desi and Lucy," sighed Morticia. "The menu?"

Chase kissed each kitten on the nose, then carefully deposited them in the basket. The mama cat jumped down to give them a thorough inspection, then gave them an even more thorough tongue-bath. "I've finally settled. And if I want to change my mind... Well, either tough on me, or I apologize and explain to each guest as they arrive."

William was amused. "I hardly think they're going to get outraged if they get succotash instead of plain limas, Chase."

Chase had been reaching for his jacket, and now he froze, eyes thoughtful. "Succotash..."

"No!" William and Morticia managed perfect two part harmony.

Chase shook his head. "You're right. Maybe I'll do it for Christmas." He pulled a carefully folded sheet of paper out of the jacket pocket, and handed it almost reverently to Morticia. "The final results."

"With all the worrying and sweating you put into this," said Morticia, unfolding the paper, "I'd expect something along the lines of the bill of fare for an Imperial Chinese banquet."

"I talked him out of the sushi," said William.

"I let you, you know very well that's Japanese, and hush," said Chase shortly.

William just smiled. A lot of people outside the D/s, B/D lifestyle might think that a Dom would want nothing but meek servitude from a submissive. Well, there were those extremes, but William wasn't one of them. Chase was exactly what he wanted--sweet, funny, intelligent, and sassy--ready to stand up for himself or what he thought was right.

Morticia started reading the menu. "Angels and devils on horseback. Devils on... Chase, prunes?"

"I'm playing fast and loose with the names of the foods," said Chase. "I'm using both shrimp and oysters, calling the shrimp the angels and the oysters the devils."

She smiled. "I'm surprised at you."

"What--you're going to report me to Martha Stewart?"

Morticia shooker her head, looking back at the menu. "Pumpkin soup..."

"You don't think that's odd?" asked William.

"I grew up in New England--heck no," said Morticia. "Roast turkey, crown roast of pork, fruited stuffing and sausage-cornbread stuffing, broiled peaches, cranberry relish, midwest mashed potatos... What are midwest mashed potatos?"

"Mashed potatos," said Chase, "with garlic, sour cream, and cream cheese."

"Butter?"

"Are you kidding? Of course butter. Great, honking, artery clogging lumps of it."

"Good boy. Maple-bourbon sweet potatos, sauteed squash, Not Your Mama's green bean casserole, Waldorf salad, cornbread muffins, yeast rolls, coconut cake, whatever." She looked up, frowning. "Whatever?"

"You said you wanted to bring a dessert, so whatever you want to bring."

"Golden pecan tassies," she said promptly.

"I'm familiar with pecans," said William, "but what's a tassie?"

"Oo!" said Chase. "I'm so glad you're going to make those. A tassie is a sort of mini pecan pie, a tartlette, if you will. The crust is sweetened, and made with cream cheese. It's so rich and good, and you can just pop one in your mouth."

"If you're a glutton," said Morticia. "Unless you have someone around who knows the Heimlicht maneuver you should use at least two bites. I want to know what a Not Your Mama's green bean casserole is."

"It's a green bean casserole," said Chase simply.

"Thank you, Mister Obvious."

"That's all you're getting. Be surprised, like everyone else. I got the recipe from the Food Network, from two of my personal heros--The Hearty Boys." He glanced at William before he could say anything, "Not Hardy--Hearty. They won the last Be the Next Food Network Star contest."

"But that sounds like the winner should have been singular, not plural," said William.

"They auditioned together, and they were allowed to compete together for a good reason--they've been operating a successful catering company together for ten years," Chase held up a finger, and his expression was almost beatific, "Which is just about as long as they've been partners in the other significant way."

William perked up. "You mean--together?"

"Yes. They're an old married couple. The first openly gay national television celebrity couple." He threw his arms open wide. "I love them! They give me hope--personally, and for gays as a group. I HAVE to use some of their recipies. Besides," he said practically, "it sounds fantastic. And Morty, you left out one of the desserts."

"Which one?" she asked, looking at the page.

It's right there above 'whatever'."

"Chase, all it says here is 'dirt'."

"And that's exactly what it is." Morticia dropped the page, rolling her eyes up. "It's delicious, but I'm not telling you what it is. Mona knows, and I have to practically beat her away from the bowl whenever I fix it, so that should tell you something."

Pyewacket had jumped back up on the bed. Now she stood with her front paws on William's leg, reaching a paw up toward the kitten, making chirping noises. "All right, Mama," said William. He set the baby on the bed and watched as Pyewacket sniffed the kitten, then gently took it by the scruff of the neck and hopped down to put it in the basket with the rest of the litter. "Morty," said William. "I think there's something wrong with that kitten."

Morticia made a sound of concern. "That's the one with the stiff leg. We've taken them to the vet, but he says it's too early to be able to tell what's wrong. It doesn't seem to hurt the kitten, so we're waiting a little to see what happens."

"You don't have any idea at all what's wrong?"

"It could be any number of things. Sometimes something like that just corrects itself. Sometimes it's the first sign of a bigger problem. We're thinking it probably isn't a neurological condition, since we've never had a problem with any of the previous kittens. I'm just afraid that baby may end up crippled."

"You wouldn't...?" William's voice trailed off.

"Euthanize it? No. Not unless it's clear that it's degenerative, and life would be a pain and a burden. Limping isn't such a big problem." She smiled. "One of the fiestiest dogs I've ever know is a little weenie dog who's a paraplegic. His owner fitted him up with wheels for his hind end, and he just zips all over the place, plays fetch, chases butterflies. No, a limp definitely isn't impossible to overcome."

"I'm glad to hear that." Pyewacket had lain down on her side, and the kittens had bellied up to the milk bar. There was six of them lined up, pressed in close, faces buried against their mother's softly furred belly. Their tiny paws worked rhytmically, kneading in an effort to encourage milk flow. The kitten William had been holding was on the outside. His right hind leg was stretched out limply, and he wasn't using it to push, like his brothers and sisters. William reached down and ran his finger down the kitten's back, tracing its spine. "Is it a boy, or a girl?"

"She's a little girl," said Morticia. "And that's a shame. She's not show quality, so no one's going to want to pay show prices for her. Don't give me that look, Will. You know that they have standards for purebred cats. While she'll never be a champion, she'd make a gread companion. The trouble is, if you're trying to give away a flawed kitten, it's a lot easier if it's a tom. It's cheaper to have a tom fixed."

"But why should she be fixed? I mean right away. Couldn't she have one or two litters? Experience motherhood?" said William.

"Will, that's one reason why the animal population is out of hand. I don't breed Pye unless I'm sure of finding homes for all the babies. As long as it isn't something that can be passed down I wouldn't require it as a condition of purchase. But most cat people who are looking for a pedigreed cat don't want to take any risks. Some breeders will keep a slightly deformed kitten as a breeder."

"You mean just to have babies to sell?" William sounded mildly horrified.

"Will, cat breeding is just as often a business as it is a hobby. At a reputable cattery the life of a breeder isn't all that bad. You're thinking about the puppy and kitten mills that have made the news, where they keep the animals caged and have them churn out litter after litter."

"But still..." He shook his head. "Never mind. Chase, did you give her the guest list?"

"Right here." Chase handed over another sheet of paper. He started ticking off on his fingers. "Me, William, you, Monty, Mona, Duke, Bootsie, Denise and Stanley Umbridge, and Ernestine. Ten."

"Great. Wait till you see what I'm going to do with these. I have the prettiest vine and leaf design," said Morticia.

"Let's go," said William. "We're going to have to book if we want to pick up something before that William Castle film festival starts on TCM."

They said good-bye and stepped out into the hall. Chase snapped his fingers and said, "I forgot to tell Morty something. You go ahead and get the 'bird started. I'll be right there." William nodded and went into the elevator. Chase waited till it went down, then poked his head back into the apartment. "Morty?"

She looked up from the list she was studying. "Yeah?"

"I don't think you're going to have to worry much about finding a home for that kitten." Then he winked at her.

November 21

"I trust Mrs. Fieldstone," said Chase. "Really, I do. We understand each other. But some of the ingredients are going to be sitting in your kitchen for close to a week, and anyone can slip. I'm just going to store everything I'll need in a bag so she'll know what's what."

"But Chase, won't stuff like the celery get all wilted?" asked William.

"I'm not getting the perishables today. I'm just getting the things that store well. The turkey and roast are going to be kept frozen till the Tuesday before, so there's no worry on them. Thank God you have a big freezer and refrigerator. It's going to make my life so much easier. Not to mention that humongous stove and the convection oven."

"I'm glad you know what to do with it," said William. "Frankly, I'm a little afraid to touch it. It took me awhile, and a few melted containers, before I got confident enough to use the microwave on a regular basis."

Chase shook his head as they entered the grocery store. "I've seen you going up a storm on the computer, and tinkering with the Thunderbird, but when it comes to anything in the kitchen more complicated than making microwave popcorn, you're pretty hopeless. Why?"

"We had housekeepers and cooks while I was growing up, and they were all jealous of their territory. I got hovered over if I wanted to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich."

As they got the cart Chase said, "I'm curious--did that have anything to do with why you didn't lobby for a lot of 'family tradition' dishes for Thanksgiving?"

"That's it exactly. Dad believed in giving the staff as much time with their families at the holidays as possible, so unless we were invited to someone else's house--and that did happen--some of their friends saw it as a good way to pay off social obligations--we went out to a restaurant."

"That's..." Chase let his voice trail off.

"You were going to say 'that's sad'. It's all right, Chase. I don't think any less of them for it. After all, we were together, and that's more than a lot of my friends could say. Where to first?"

"We don't really need to go down the produce aisle--I'll be buying that the day before, so it'll be nice and fresh."

"Not on Thanksgiving?" William's voice was teasing. He knew very well that Chase (who was going to spend Wednesday night at William's house, doing a lot of the preparation) would be up at the crack of dawn. "The sign outside says they'll be open till noon."

"William, going to hunt for necessary ingredients on the actual day of the feast is optimistic to the point of stupidity. If you just forgot something, that's one thing. But going, 'Oh, I'll have plenty of time to pick it up...' Trust me. The celery section will almost surely be picked clean, the onions, potatos, and fresh sweet potatos will probably be down to the small and leathery, and most of the fruit will be so picked over that you couldn't interest a monkey in it. There are just too many people who wait till the last minute. I'm not going to be one of them."

"You sure you weren't a boy scout, Chase? You've got 'be prepared' down."

Chase snorted, then smiled. "Never joined, but I had a handbook." His eyes grew distant. "Dad wanted me to join, and I was going to, but then... you know.** I just didn't have the heart for it after that. The lunchmeat section is down at the end of the produce aisle. Let's go there first."

Chase chose bacon, salt pork, breakfast bulk sausage, a ham steak, and summer sausage. William watched his selection, faintly puzzled, then said, "Are you planning on serving us ham steak for breakfast?"

"No, I'll need that for my cooking."

"Chase, I've seen your menu. What on earth are you planning to cook that will require ham?"

"Wellll..."

"Chase."

Chase wasn't looking at him. "I sort of changed my mind. But just on one thing!" he said rapidly. "And I called Morty before she got started on the menu cards, so it didn't make any extra work for her."

"I'm afraid to ask."

"Oh, no--you'll like it! It's just that instead of minted green peas, I'm going to make a green pea salad. I just can't get nice sugar peas this time of the year, but the green pea salad is meant to be made with canned peas. Anyway, since it's going to have pork products and cheese in it, it's more likely that Duke and Mona will eat it. Let's see... We're closest to the fruits section now."

William watched as Chase chose dried apricots, raisins, and two big cans of peach halves. "I would have thought that you'd have wanted fresh peaches."

"If I was bar-b-quing, I would have. They're delicious on a grill. But these are going under the broiler, and I want that softer texture. Oh, good--they have the pudding on this aisle, too." He took a couple of boxes from the shelf.

"Chocolate and vanilla?"

"No, I'm not being excessive. A little creative, maybe, but not excessive. Baking aisle." Chase got a large bag of stuffing croutons, a bag of coconut, a box of corn starch, packages of yeast, a bag of yellow cornmeal, and a big bag of flour.

"I'm pretty sure we have flour at home."

"I'm sure you do..."

"We do."

Chase paused, looking at him in surprise, then smiled. "We?"

"We. You're there almost as much as I am, aren't you?"

Chase cleared his throat. "We do, but there's no telling how much there'll be come Thanksgiving. Dairy section. No, not that way. Let's go down the frozen food section."

William eyed Chase's attire. Chase was wearing a tank top that had been washed to almost the texture of cheesecloth. "Aren't you going to be a little cold?"

"Yes, but I need an item from this section, so it will save us steps." They started down between the upright freezers. Chase was immediately rubbing his arms. William stopped pushing the cart and started to remove his jacket. "Stop it, Galahad. It's only a few paces." He smiled coyly. "And since when has it bothered you to see me with my nipples hard?" William was snorting with laughter as Chase took a large tub of Cool Whip from one of the cases.

They moved into the dairy section. Chase got milk ("Whole milk! 2% milk should be restricted to people whose doctors have told them that they will die of high cholesterol within the week if they don't cut back."), heavy cream, sour cream, eggs, cream cheese, sharp cheddar, and three packages of butter. "And before you say anything, YES three pounds. Besides the cooking we'll want some for the table. And hell, darling--there's really no such thing as too much butter. Ask Paula Deen***. And how thoughtful of them to put the snack aisle right here." Chase got bags of pecan bits, walnut pieces, and a large package of toasted pumpkin seeds.

William picked up the last item, examining it. "I've seen those, but I've never tried them. I usually stick to sunflower seeds."

"You'll like them. That's why I got the large bag. I'll have plenty for garnishing the soup, and you'll still be able to snack on the rest."

"You're that certain that I'll like them?"

Chase put his hands on the cart's handle next to William's and leaned against his arm, looking up into his face playfully. "I've had success so far in figuring out what you like, haven't I?"

William kissed his nose. There was a pair of teenage girls passing by, and they giggled. As they disappeared around the end of the aisle one of them said, "Ain't it always the way? The cute ones are always gay, an' when they find each other that takes two good lookin' guys out of circulation." Chase snickered, and William elbowed him. "Is this it, kiddo?"

"Almost. We can pick up the last item on the way to the check out stand."

Chase turned quickly down the cookie aisle, while William wheeled the cart up to one of the check out stands. He emerged holding two large bags of Oreos. "Oh, you do know what I like." "That's why I got two bags." Chase put them in the cart. "I know that I wouldn't be able to keep you away from those without a loaded gun, so I got you your own bag. You just have to promise to restrain yourself enough to leave me a few to have with a glass of milk."

"I will if you promise to untwist them and let me watch you lick out the creamy filling." He pinched Chase's ass. "Then maybe we can see about licking other places, with different sorts of creamy filling."

"God, you're horrible. We really are suited to each other."