Page 191 of The Holy Grail
“Youarewanted. All the time … byme—”
“And me,” Jules broke in.
“And Jules,” Malcom said.
Evan sighed. “I didn’t feel wanted last night.”
“So, you went looking to get it from someone like John or Sean?”
“I just went to go get a drink, that’s all. That guy wasn’t planned, he just happened.”
Malcom looked contemplative for a moment. “Were you in a gay bar or a regular bar?”
“A regular bar.”
“You get hit on by men in regular bars, too?”
“Yes.”
It was something which hadn’t occurred to Malcom—that he might have to worry about Evan getting hit on anywhere he went—but then realized what a stupid mindset that was. Gay people obviously didn’t just frequent gay establishments.
God, Malcom really had a lot to learn.
“Like I said, it wasn’t planned, but I did let it happen,” Evan told him. “I shouldn’t have, and I regret it.”
Malcom nodded. “The fact you did let it happen, is a problem for me. You know why? Because you belong to me—”
“And to me,” Jules broke in again.
“And to Jules,” Malcom said. “Putting yourself in a position where you let someone other than me or Jules proposition you for sex or offer to give you a blow job is … unacceptable. Understand?”
“Yes. It won’t happen again,” Evan promised.
“That’s right. Because when I say you belong to me—”
“And to me,” Jules broke in a third time.
“And to Jules,” Malcom said, “that especially includes your cock. No one else gets to see it, touch it, suck it, or fuck it, except for me and Jules.”
“I know,” Evan said.
“Do you, really? Because your response to our fight last night was to go to a bar and let yourself get hit on by John or Sean, instead of just going home. I know you have booze at your place, so you didn’t need to go to a bar for a drink. I needed a drink after our fight, too, but I came home—after getting an Uber, of course, since my ride had already left—and had one. Well, more like three. Then I baked a couple dozen cookies.” He paused, before adding dryly, “See the difference between your night and my night?”
“I get it. I truly do, and I’m really sorry. I was being immature, thoughtless, and selfish, and if you’d gone out and let someone hit on you, I’d be hurt, too, not to mention disappointed.” Evan sighed. “And I know you’re both of those right now.”
“I am, but I’ll work through it.”
“You will?”
“Yes. You’re one of the things I can’t live without, so I’ll be working through it.” Malcom then pointed to a large, white ceramic canister with the word ‘COFFEE’ stamped on the front in black letters. “The cookies are in there.”
“You put them in a ‘coffee’ canister? Is that so no one—like me—will find them?”
Malcom almost chuckled at the ridiculous notion he’d go to the trouble of baking cookies, only to hide them. “No. I don’t have an actual cookie jar, so it became my de facto cookie jar once I started keeping my coffee beans in the fridge.”
Not needing to be told twice, Evan practically sprinted over to the cookie jar. After removing the lid, he took a moment to just look at all the perfect cookies inside, before taking one and biting it in half. Then with an appreciative moan, plucked three more out before replacing the lid. “Jesus, these are fantastic. Soft in the middle, a little bit of crunch on the outside, and the perfect amount of cinnamon bursting on your tongue,” he said.
“Thank you.”
