Micah's car pulled intomy driveway. He walked to my door carrying a bottle of wine, pausing to check his reflection in the glass panel beside the entrance. He smoothed his hair, adjusted his collar, and rehearsed a smile.
I waited until his knuckles connected with the wood before opening the door.
"Micah," I said, allowing warmth to color my tone. "Right on time."
He blushed slightly, extending the bottle toward me. "I brought this. I hope it's acceptable."
The wine was inexpensive but thoughtfully selected. A Cabernet Sauvignon from a respectable vineyard. Not my choice, but it revealed his desire to please.
"You didn't need to bring anything," I said, accepting the bottle. "But thank you."
"I wanted to," he replied, stepping into the foyer when I moved aside. His eyes darted around, taking in the space. The light falling through the windows had changed since this morning.
So easy to read, his insecurities displayed like a canvas awaiting my brush. The vulnerability that had first drawn me to him was even more apparent now, his defenses crumbling after just a few carefully orchestrated encounters.
"Dinner is almost ready," I said, guiding him toward the kitchen. "But first, I have something for you."
On the kitchen island sat a neatly folded stack of dark blue silk pajamas, tied with a simple black bow. Micah's eyes widened, his lips parting slightly as he approached.
"I'd like you to change before dinner," I said.
He hesitated. "Pajamas? I don't understand."
"Tonight is about comfort, Micah. About enjoying ourselves." I placed my hand on his shoulder, allowing my thumb to brush against the skin of his neck. A shiver ran through him. "About having fun."
"Fun," he repeated, as if testing an unfamiliar word on his tongue.
"Yes, fun." I squeezed his shoulder gently. "The guest bathroom is down the hall. Change there and come back when you're ready."
He gathered the pajamas carefully, holding them against his chest. "These look expensive."
"They're a gift," I said simply. "Go change."
While he was gone, I removed the artisan pizza from the oven. I’d prepared the dough this morning, then let it rise all day, before topping it with San Marzano tomatoes, buffalo mozzarella, basil, and prosciutto. Simple foods elevated through attention to quality and technique. The aroma filled the kitchen, rich and inviting.
Micah returned to the kitchen just as I finished slicing the pizza. The silk pajamas fit him perfectly, as I'd known they would. The dark blue complemented his pale skin, and the material clung to his form in ways his usual attire did not. The silk outlined his slender but muscular frame, highlighting his waist, ass, and chest. He looked younger, more vulnerable, and acutely aware of both facts.
"These are... nice," he said, running his hands down the front of the shirt. "I've never worn anything like this."
"Silk retains body heat while allowing the skin to breathe," I explained, setting plates on the island. "It's one of nature's perfect materials. Come, sit. I hope you like pizza."
"Everyone likes pizza," he said, sliding onto a stool. Then, after a pause, "My grandmother rarely allowed it. Too much pleasure in one food, she said."
I placed a slice on his plate. "And what do you think? Is there such a thing as too much pleasure?"
He picked up the slice, watching cheese stretch and break. "I'm starting to think there might not be enough."
"A promising evolution in your thinking," I noted, pouring a glass of water. I'd open his wine later, allowing it to breathe. "Tell me more about your grandmother. She raised you after your mother's death?"
Micah nodded, taking a bite of pizza. His eyes closed briefly as he chewed. "This is incredible," he murmured before answering my question. "Yes, she took me in. Her only daughter had disgraced the family by getting pregnant out of wedlock, then compounded the sin with suicide. I was living proof of both failures."
"Yet she raised you as her own."
"Out of duty, not love," he said. "She saw me as a project. A soul to save. Every misstep was proof her sin lived on in me."
"And what transgressions merited correction?"
He took another bite, chewing slowly. "Crying too loudly. Laughing too much. Drawing anything that wasn't explicitly religious. Showing interest in other boys. Touching myself. Speaking without permission." His voice had gone flat, reciting a litany of crimes from memory. "Expressing anger. Questioning scripture. Sleeping too late on Sundays."
