The latest Friday Flash Fics inspiration photo was definitely inspiring and seasonal. I pondered linking it to one of my already written pieces, but in the end, an idea clicked with me that reminded me of when I used to volunteer and teach adult literacy. To be clear, though: this one’s totally fictional, not based on true events, yadda-yadda. Also, I doubled the word count again. Sorry/not-sorry.
“Hey Wyatt, I’m home.” Al was careful to undo his size fourteen (and a half) safety boots on the mat, and hung up his coat on the hook closest to the door, away from Wyatt’s jacket. He felt grubby, grit and dirt and sweat from the day’s work coated him in a fine layer even though it had snowed all day.
Wyatt didn’t answer, and so Al moved further into the house. He knew he shouldn’t feel like an interloper—Wyatt had asked him to stay with him, after all—but he still felt strange being in his place without him.
Which wasn’t the case. Wyatt was standing right there in the living room. Dressed completely in red.
“Why are you dressed like Santa?” Al asked.
He had the whole kit on. Red hat, big red jacket, big red pants, even the boots and wide belt. And there were things written on them. White cards that Al knew all too well.
“Really?” Al asked. It had been a really long day. Construction was hard enough, but working jobs in winter, doing overtime in the snow? Not to mention the bus ride home and a visit with his parole officer.
But Wyatt flashed him that smile. The same smile Al had fallen for back when he’d still been inside, and Wyatt had showed up three days a week with a pile of flash cards and paper and started teaching.
Wyatt pointed at the card on the Santa belt.
Al looked at it. The letters weren’t incomprehensible any more, though he still had a lot of work to do. Wyatt was patient, though.
“It’s time,” Al said, reading the words on the card. That was easy enough.
Wyatt’s smile grew, and then he took off the belt.
Al shifted. “What—?” he started, but Wyatt shook his head, and pointed at the flash card pinned to the jacket. He tossed the belt onto the floor.
Al looked at the next card. “To…” He frowned. A-D-M-I-T. It took a second. “To admit?”
“It’s time to admit,” Al said, and was about to say more, but then Wyatt was taking off the Santa jacket, and underneath he was wearing a snug white T-shirt and that was a very good thing. The red Santa pants were held in place by suspenders.
The jacket joined the belt on the floor.
Al felt his skin heating up. And it wasn’t just coming in from the cold.
There was no card on Wyatt’s shirt, but Wyatt pointed at the card on the Santa pants.
“I Th…Think.” It was getting harder to concentrate on reading, what with what seemed to be happening with each success. He glanced up at Wyatt, who raised one eyebrow.
“It’s time to admit I think..?” Al said, putting all three together.
Beneath the Santa pants were a pair of very snug red boxer briefs and now Al wasn’t just warm, he was struggling not to adjust himself in his jeans. The pants were tossed aside, too.
Wyatt took a long, long look at him, and it became very obvious from the view of the red boxer-briefs that Wyatt was also having a very good time.
“Wyatt…” Al started, but Wyatt slowly turned around.
There was another card pinned on the back of his shirt.
“You…Re? You’re. You’re…” He balked at the next word. But he broke it down into bits, like Wyatt had taught him. “In…cree…cred..I..blee…” He knew his lips were moving, and he took a breath. He hated feeling this dumb. And no matter how often Wyatt had told him he wasn’t dumb, that he was learning just fine, he still felt it.
But the sight of Wyatt’s thighs, and his tight little butt were definitely helping. Not with the reading—major distraction for that—but with the motivation? Oh yes.
“Incredible,” he said. “You’re incredible.” Then he put it all together again, and his voice was soft. “It’s time to admit I think you’re incredible?”
Watching Wyatt peel off the shirt made him swallow. The man had a nice back. He’d known Wyatt modeled. He’d seen some of the pictures, but…
“So,” Wyatt said, breaking his silence. He sounded nervous. Actually nervous. Like he was the one with something to be nervous about? He was gorgeous. Not some big, thick, barely literate ex-con with a menial job and… “One last question, Aleki.” Wyatt was one of the only people who used his full name. “And it’s up to you.”
“Okay,” Al said. His voice was rough and scratchy, like the gravel he’d been shoveling earlier.
Wyatt turned around, and there were words written in black on the skin of his beautiful chest and stomach. His teacher, his friend, the guy who’d come to him at his lowest and told him he could help him learn to read?
He was fucking hot.
Wyatt started fiddling with the pom-pom on the hat he wore. His smile was anxious. He pointed at his chest, and Al forced himself to look at the words.
“N…ay… Nayg?” He frowned. No. A’s and U’s did that thing when they were together. “Naw… Nawt… Naughty,” he said, and his eyebrow rose. The other two were easier. “Naughty or nice.” He smiled, and looked at Wyatt. “Naughty or nice?”
“Your choice,” Wyatt said. “Though, between you and me? I’m hoping you’d like things to be more than…nice…between us.”
One of the best things about being a big guy like Al was the length of his stride. He covered the gap between them and they were kissing and the little noise Wyatt made was music to Al’s ears. And other places. Wyatt rubbed against him, and Al pulled back with a huge amount of effort.
“Look, Wyatt, I’m—”
“Incredible,” Wyatt interrupted. “Don’t argue with me.”
“I’m not,” Al said. “But I was going to say dirty. I mean, dirt and gravel dirty, not…” He winked. “Well, that, too. I’d like to get you dirty.”
Wyatt bit his lip. “Well, I need to wipe off the grease pencil from my chest. Maybe we could go get dirty in the shower? Clean, too?”
Al looked at him, letting everything show in his eyes. “Got any more cue cards?”
“I’m just getting started, big man,” Wyatt said.