Work Text:
Surprisingly Oliver is the one who has to work on Thanksgiving.
“How does that even happen?” Connor asks, pushing eggs around in a pan and trying his best not to let Oliver see his pout. Oliver sidles up behind him, wraps suit clad arms around Connor’s waist, and kisses at the spot just behind his ear that makes Connor shiver every time. “Aren’t fancy offices like yours closed for the holidays? Even Annalise is taking the day off.”
“It’s not fancy,” Oliver counters, “and I’m just on call. I may not even have to go in.”
Connor doesn’t respond, instead he picks up the skillet of scrambled eggs and empties them onto a plate.
“Don’t be mad.” Oliver’s hands are still on Connor’s waist, and he gives a gentle squeeze of his fingers before letting them drop.
Connor turns to face Oliver, arms crossed over his chest. “I’m not mad.” He says, “But I will be if I end up eating turkey alone tomorrow.”
Oliver smiles at him, pulls him in and pecks him on the lips. “You won’t.” He says. “I’ll be here.”
“I hope so,” Connor quips as Oliver steps into the living room and slings his messenger bag over his shoulder. “I’m cooking naked. I’d hate for you to miss that.” When Oliver turns, Connor’s smiling too, his lips quirked up just so at one corner, and Oliver reaches for him again.
“That better be a promise.” He says.
Connor snickers. “Oh, it is.”
Thanksgiving morning Oliver stumbles out of the bedroom and into the kitchen where he finds a football game blaring on the TV and Christmas music streaming from the iPod on the counter. The whole place smells warm, like spices and trimmings, and Connor is smack dab in the middle of it all, decked in an apron and stirring something while he sings at the top of his lungs.
“Baby it’s coooooold ouuuuuutsiiiiiide!”
When he turns and catches Oliver’s gaze, Oliver can’t keep a smile from breaking out wide across his face. “Um, hi.” He says, because Connor’s singing, and cooking, and watching football and Oliver hasn’t seen him like this since… ever, but he likes it. Might even think it’s kind of adorable.
“I hope you’re hungry.” Connor greets, smile cheeky.
Oliver settles on a bar stool, dipping his finger in some sort of batter in a bowl nearby. “How long have you been up?”
“I don’t know, awhile.”
“I thought you said you were gonna cook naked…”
Connor flashes him a brilliant smile. “I decided to save that for dessert.”
“Can we have dessert first?” Oliver snarks. Connor leans across the counter and kisses Oliver right on the lips.
“You’d like that wouldn’t you.”
Within a few minutes Connor draws Oliver into the kitchen and sets him to work, and a few hours later they have a full Thanksgiving spread weighing down their small table.
“I didn’t know you knew how to do all this,” Oliver admits as they sit down across from one another.
Conner offers a humble shrug. “Gemma and I always helped mom and grandma in the kitchen. I’ve picked up a few things over the years.”
“Yeah, a few things.” Oliver says. “I can see that.”
On the other side of the table Connor shakes his head, smiles. He holds up a knife and offers it to Oliver. “You wanna do the honors?”
“I don’t feel worthy,” Oliver jokes, but he takes the knife anyway and doesn’t protest when Connor pushes the turkey closer to him.
Before the knife even hits the turkey, Oliver’s phone sounds. His eyes dart from the bar top where his phone is, to Connor, and back again.
“That’d better be granny texting to wish you a happy holiday.” Connor says. There’s no heat behind the words, but the false hope Oliver hears instead is just as bad.
Oliver stands to get his phone.
“It’s my boss.” He says. “Someone’s system got hacked, I have to go in.” He says the words carefully, watching Connor’s shoulders slump and his face fall, and his stomach twists itself in angry knots. “I’m sorry. I really didn’t think-”
“It’s fine,” Connor counters, cutting him off. “If you have to go, you have to go. I get it.” He’s trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice, Oliver can hear it, but it’s almost worse than Connor being angry.
“I’m sorry,” Oliver repeats, grabbing his bag and rushing to kiss Connor before heading for the door. “I’ll hurry, I promise.”
The smile Connor offers him is mild, but believable and he waves a hand at him. “Go.” He says.
With a final glance at his boyfriend and the perfect meal they prepared together, Oliver goes.
Four hours. Oliver is at the office for four hours. It turns out damage control is much more tedious on a holiday when no one’s working than it would be on any other normal day of the week. By the time he arrives home the sun is melting into the horizon and a chill is seeping into the air.
Inside, the apartment is dimmed, all the food cleared from the table, and Connor’s still form sprawled across the couch, his features cast in harsh tones from the television.
“Connor?” Oliver mutters into the greying room.
Connor doesn’t stir.
Oliver drops his bag by the door and pads further into the room, dropping into a low crouch beside the sofa. “Connor.” At this, Connor’s eyes flutter open and he shifts, a soft smile creeping to his face.
“Hey, Ollie.”
“I’m home.” Oliver says.
“So I’m not dreaming.”
Oliver scoffs, smiling. “You don’t dream about me.” He protests, and Connor’s eyes grow serious in that way they do anytime Oliver happens to make flippantly self-deprecating comments.
“Of course I do.” Connor counters. He reaches out, drags Oliver in for a kiss, long and deep, and Oliver pulls away grinning.
“Okay,” he says. “Maybe you do.”
Connor rights himself, stretching his arms above his head, revealing a small strip of skin, and he letting loose a yawn. “You hungry?” He asks. Oliver’s eyes linger on the bare hip before it disappears and he realizes he’s been asked a question.
“Yes.” He says.
“Me too.”
Oliver watches as Connor shuffles into the kitchen and opens the fridge, pulling out numerous containers they’ll surely be eating out of for at least a week.
“You didn’t eat while I was gone?” Oliver wonders, because other than the turkey being carved and everything being transferred into Tupperware, it looks like nothing’s been touched.
Connor shakes his head. “We were supposed to have Thanksgiving together, remember?”
Warmth floods Oliver’s chest and his mouth forms itself into a smile. Connor didn’t have to wait, Oliver wouldn’t even have been upset if he hadn’t, but the fact that he did means more to Oliver than Connor may ever realize.
“Yeah,” Oliver finally responds. “I remember.”
They dish themselves up a couple of plates of food and Connor opens a bottle of wine Oliver didn’t even know they had. Instead of eating at the table like they normally might for an occasion such as this they settle in on the couch, flick through the channels looking for something mindless to watch.
“Oh look,” Connor says, stopping abruptly on some channel or another. “Return to Eden. You’ve seen this one, right, Ollie?” The smirk he offers Oliver is all too entirely beautiful and Oliver lobs a green bean at him for the dig.
Neither of them changes the channel though, and so they sit and eat turkey while Stephanie Harper plays chew toy to a crocodile, and it may not be the most conventional way to spend the holiday, but they’re together and it’s quiet and that’s what matters.
Sometime later when their plates have been cleared and they’re both full to bursting with turkey, and yams, and pie, they curl up close to one another in bed, sighing delightedly into the sheets. Connor wiggles his way across the mattress until he’s close enough to throw an arm over Oliver’s middle and drops his head heavy against Oliver’s chest.
“Hey, Ollie?” He mutters, sleep already edging into his voice.
“Hmmmm.”
“Happy Thanksgiving.” Connor says.
Oliver smiles into the dark and pulls the other man closer still. “Happy Thanksgiving.”