giving thanks // joshler smut [complete]

[1]

Tyler woke to the sound of pots and pans clanging in the kitchen below his and Josh's bedroom. He groaned, pulling himself into a cocoon of blankets, and glared at the digital clock propped on the bedside table. It was only just after 9. What the hell was Josh doing?

Suddenly Tyler's eyes went wide as he remembered. Thanksgiving. It was their first fall together in a proper house, and they'd offered to host both families. Well, Tyler had offered, imagining it would be some lovely housewarming gesture, before realizing that meant they would have to cook for some 15-or-so people. Josh hadn't been thrilled seeing as he was the only one between the two of them who could make heads or tails of an oven, but it was too late to back out. They were stuck.

Josh had been stressing about it all week. Menu planning, shopping, re-planning, and swatting at Tyler every time he made a pass for the pies in the fridge. Truthfully Tyler felt bad about the whole thing and wished he could do more to help. But knowing him, it was safer just to leave it alone.

He stretched out in bed and yawned deeply. With all the racket downstairs there was no way he could fall back asleep. Maybe he could be of some use. Peeling potatoes was pretty hard to fuck up, right?

He slid on a pair of fresh boxers and pulled one of Josh's oversize tees over his head, grinning as his boyfriend's scent surrounded him. Smells of food cooking were starting to waft their way into the bedroom and his mouth began to water.

Down in the kitchen, Josh was busy over a pan and didn't notice Tyler as he came up behind him, jumping when he wrapped his arms around Josh's waist.

"Jesus! Careful, this is hot."

"Mmm, morning babe. Smells good. What's that?" Tyler peered over Josh's shoulder into one of several pans sitting on the gas stove. Butter bubbled around what looked like onions and celery, and some fresh minced garlic was waiting on the counter to be added.

"I'm getting the stuffing ready, the turkey has to go in soon."

Tyler scowled. "Josh, it's like, 9:30. Nobody's coming until later. You've got tons of time."

Josh put down the spoon he'd been stirring the sautéing vegetables with and turned around to glare at Tyler. "Do you even have any idea what's involved in putting together a turkey dinner?"

"Not really," Tyler admitted sheepishly.

"That damn thing," he pointed behind Tyler's shoulder, "weighs 24 fucking pounds. It's going to take at least five hours to cook."

Tyler's eyes went wide as he glanced behind him at the naked bird. "Oh."

"Yeah, 'oh.'" Josh wiggled his way out of Tyler's embrace and moved to the raw turkey. "I'm glad you're up, actually. I didn't want to wake you, but we have to stuff this and have it in the oven in the next half hour."

"We?" Tyler smirked. "I thought you did the stuffing around here."

"Funny," Josh deadpanned, turning back to the oven. "Pass me that bowl, will you? The one with the chopped bread and dry ingredients."

Tyler did as he was told, and Josh poured the butter-and-vegetable mixture from the pan over the bowl's contents. He started mixing them together.

Tyler moved to make coffee, and couldn't help giggling at the sight of his boyfriend leaned over the bowl, tongue poking out from between his lips as he folded the mixture together furiously.

Josh looked up. "What?"

"You look positively domestic. It's cute."

Josh blushed. "Shut up. Help me do this?"

"What do you need?"

"Open up the bird and pat dry the cavity, with, like, paper towel or something. Then we can get this stuff in there and get it in the oven."

Tyler raised an eyebrow. "Cavity?" He moved over to the turkey and poked at its skin. It was pale, cold, and generally disgusting. "How exactly do I open it?"

"Oh my god, are you serious?" Josh rolled his eyes. "Just pull back the legs, see how there's already a hole? That's where the stuffing goes."

Tyler grasped the end of a drumstick with each hand and spread the bird's legs, stretching the opening under the rib cage. He suddenly had the distinct impression of performing some kind of gynecological exam, and wrinkled his nose. No wonder I'm gay, he thought.

After more direction from Josh, the turkey was ready to be stuffed, but Tyler couldn't bring himself to do it. So he looked on as Josh worked.

There was something undeniably naughty about the whole scene. Tyler felt his cock stir as Josh took handfuls of the moist bread-and-vegetable mixture and pushed them up into the bird's cavity. Josh was so focused, small beads of sweat gathering on his brow as he basically fisted the damn thing.

Tyler bit his lip. "This is kind of hot."

Josh's eyebrows shot up into his hairline and he let out a guffaw. "Are you serious? That's gross, dude."

Tyler blushed. "I don't know. You're just, like... really giving it to that bird."

Josh choked, incredulous.

"I'm serious!" Tyler continued. "It's hot seeing you like this." He moved behind Josh, wrapped his arms around his waist and nipped at his earlobe. "My sexy housewife."

"Tyler, if I didn't have food all over my hands I would punch you," Josh warned.

But Tyler didn't let up, kissing at the crook of Josh's neck and feeling him shudder underneath the touch. Then he breathed into Josh's ear in a low voice, "I can think of something else that needs stuffing."

Josh audibly swallowed, and Tyler smirked. "But I guess we have to get this into the oven, yeah? Doesn't it need to be, what... tied up first?" He accented the words by gently thrusting his hips forward to be flush with Josh's ass and licking a thick stripe along his neck.

Josh grunted, trying to ignore Tyler's advances and failing miserably. Suddenly Tyler released Josh's waist and scurried to the other side of the marble island, leaning his elbows on the counter and looking up at Josh through his lashes, the picture of innocence. "I'll let you keep working then. Wouldn't want to get in your way."

Josh was surprised, but didn't say anything, throwing Tyler a dark look instead. Tyler suppressed a giggle as Josh, obviously frustrated, tried to regain his focus.

He had a plan.

* * * * *