When Numbers Get Serious

[Dr. Sean Neville]

They occupied opposite ends of the sofa, faced each other instead of the coffee table covered in face-down cards and little gold coins that, upon further examination, held no value beyond the sugar rush provided after one peeled away their thin tinfoil wrappings. Sean leaned against one arm of the sofa, propped up by the nautical-pattern pillow purchased at a farm some months prior to ease the strain in his back. One long leg touched the floor while the other stretched the distance of the furniture, socked toes resting in his husband’s lap, bridging the distance to transform what might otherwise be a competitive games into one of lower stakes.

On a coaster beside his small pile of coins stood a glass of wine, liquid dangerously near his refill point, while its mate contained an open bottle of Samuel Adams that Josh had been sipping on and off. If the goal was leaving sobriety a distant memory rather than a relaxed evening at home, then they would have raised the stakes, each man consigned to chug when losing a hand. But those were rules for men a third of their age, college students at the University of Vermont rather than the dignified power couple of Pilot Ridge’s mayor and Hamme;’s headmaster.

Even if their livers could take the hit and never know the difference.

The afternoon sun had slowly sank from brilliant light to a warm, fading glow, as they approached the longest night of the year. The stereo behind them filled the room with the ending notes of Fleetwood Mac's Dreams, their albums a refuge from the Christmas music that took over the radio and threatened to undo the hard work of lifestyle changes and Josh's blood pressure medication with every fa-la-la. No, the Neville-Bernstein house didn't hear what you heard and couldn't say what child this was.

Sean plunked two additional gelt pieces into the pot while lifting one eyebrow in challenge. “I call. Show me your hand, Slim.”

[Josh Bernstein]

Josh spread his cards out in front of him: King of Hearts, Six of Hearts, Queen of Clubs, Seven of Hearts, and King of Clubs.

His eyes drifted towards the gold foiled candies, licking his lips in anticipation of the end of their game. If someone had asked him fifty years ago if he'd prefer to wait to devour his gelt rather than consume it all at once until he had a tummy ache the answer would have been clear. But as an adult he'd learned the value of waiting to fulfill his desires, and how that could make the acquisition all the sweeter. From intimacy to candy, there had been a gradual curbing of impulses.

Not that it wasn't still difficult; just because he could resist the urge to tear of Sean's belt or to snatch up a handful of chocolate didn't mean the temptation wasn't still there. Or that sometimes it wasn't too much and he caved regardless.

But not tonight; tonight the pleasures of anticipation won out over immediate gratification.

He raised an eyebrow at Sean in playful challenge, enjoying the competition. In work he might become competitive in a more serious way, but with Sean there was no real loser no matter how the game turned out.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

After graduating from college, when their friends had slowly drifted away - moved to other parts of the country for job opportunities or merely consumed with the adult responsibilities of career, dating and marriage, and eventually children for those that were so fortunate, Sean’s ability to play poker in groups had gradually diminished. For a time at least.

He was lucky in games of chance. Prior to his reconciliation with Josh, the adage “lucky at cards, unlucky at love” applied more than he wanted to admit, but now that he had the love of his life as his husband, none of that good fortune had waned. And coupled with that came the occasional accusation of cheating, easy to lay at his feet with the telepathy.

Once he moved back to Pilot Ridge, several of his coworkers had invited him to their game, and among a probability manipulator and other meta-humans, the accusations never cropped up. Neither from his husband.

Not that their stakes were serious - honor and chocolate, and they always had enough to share between them no matter the score at the end of the night.

He peered closer to Josh’s cards with the reveal, at first blush more impressive than when one cleared away the noise. A single pair of Kings.

“Not bad, but look at these.” One by one, he flipped over his cards, revealing the Two of Diamonds, the Two of Clubs, and the Two of Spades, as well as the Ten of Spades and the Jack of Hearts. “Three of a kind beats a pair, even with deuces vs. Kings.”

With a triumphant grin, he scooped up the candies and added them to his pile. “Your turn to deal, Slim.”

[Josh Bernstein]

Josh's shoulders sagged in mock defeat as Sean revealed his advantage. "Curses," He laughed, crows feet more obvious as his eyes crinkled up in amusement than with a more neutral expression. He shuffled the remaining cards, keeping the card faces down so that neither of them could see what was on them as he doled out cards with the ease of familiarity.

"All right, let's see who wins this round," He declared as he viewed his own cards. A frown of thought as he replaced two cards and then he placed another two gelt in the pot, blue eyes peering over thick rimmed glasses at Sean.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean picked up each of his cards as they were dealt, holding them close to his chest as he mentally configured possible outcomes. His partner only drew two, indicating either a good hand - potentially three of a kind or a pair with a decent face card - or else with the haphazard hope of drawing into a flush or an inside straight.

His hand was hardly so impressive, and after a moment’s consideration, removed three cards and set them face down, indicating that he wanted them replaced. His expression was stonier, the poker face perfected over decades of life as a telepath, as useful here as it was during therapy sessions in his office or keeping his calm when speaking with his family about politics back when that had been a frequent occurrence.

With a glance at his winnings and the pot between them, he picked up two of the regular sized gelt and then one of the tiny copper ones that came from Trader Joe’s, plucking them down beside Josh’s ante and bid. “I raise the half.”

If his husband was confident enough in his hand, then he could meet the bid and call. If he thought Sean might beat him, he had the option of folding - conceding the winnings to the telepath without ever showing his hand.

While he waited for Josh to make his move, his toes slowly traced along the inside of the younger man's thigh.

[Josh Bernstein]

Josh's mouth twisted into a grimace as he considered his options, a grimace that morphed into a smile at the flirtation. He drew his fingers along Sean's foot, softly until he reached his heel, and then he tickled lightly. "All right," He dropped a few more gelt into the pot, feeling not confident so much as happy at the ability to play. If he lost, so what? He and Sean would split the chocolate between them at the end anyway. "I call. Let's see what you got."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean’s eyes fluttered in pleasure as Josh’s fingers crept along his foot, eliciting a smile from the tickle along his heel. These were the moments he lived for, undermining any competitive edge whatsoever in favor of tender intimacy and wordless flirtation.

The call was a challenge, binding Sean to oblige. One by one, he flipped over his cards. Revealing first the Four of Hearts, then the Four of Diamonds (the two cards that he had held back from his original hand). Next came the Nine of Spade, the Nine of Diamonds, and his hand hovered in the air with the last, building anticipation for whether he had managed to draw into a Full House from such a weak position as a pair of fours.

Face up, he set down his last card - the Three of Clubs.

Only two pair this hand, better than a single pair but less impressive than his three of a kind that had defeated Josh on their last turn.

His now-empty hand reached for his wine glass, indulging himself in a sip while he waited for Josh to reveal whether he could recover from his previous loss or if he would run through his gelt at a faster clip.

[Josh Bernstein]

Josh eyed the cards Sean had set down, his hand remaining rested on Sean's foot while he waited for all five cards to be placed down. He hummed to himself, lifting his beer to his lips rather than immediately reveal his own hand. He tickled Sean's foot again, grinning across the sofa at his husband. "Are you ready?" He asked, but he didn't wait for an answer before flipping over his first card - Two of Spades, Four of Clubs, Four of Spades, Five of Clubs, and Ten of Diamonds.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean returned the smile fondly, broadening as Josh’s finger tickled the underside of his foot again. He wasn’t as ticklish as some people - the unfortunate souls who could barely complete a routine organ check during their annual physicals without dissolving into giggles - but he had his moments, his sweet spots.

And Josh knew all of them.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he confirmed, hot breath creating ripples across the surface of the remaining wine.

One by one, his husband revealed his hand - the two fours brought a smile to his lips, the matching pair to one of his own, explaining why he had failed to draw a third one to parlay his hand into a Full House (or perhaps merely three of a kind; if he had three, then he might not have drawn into his second pair). Guaranteeing that his husband couldn’t reveal three of a kind, although two pair remained a possibility - for the deuce, Sean would take the pot, his high pair of greater value.

As the younger man revealed a five and a ten, Sean’s musings ended, proven irrelevant. One beat two, and after draining the last of his wine, he swapped the empty glass for the full pot, adding his winnings to the large pile by his arm.

“I think I need a refill before I deal. Can I get you anything, Slim?”

[Josh Bernstein]

Josh glanced towards his beer, nearly empty now, then back to Sean. As his husband removed the foot from his lap he shuffled the cards back into the deck, listening to the sound of card stock flipping against one another.

"It's getting a bit chilly in here, maybe some hot cocoa?" He suggested, placing the deck back in the middle of the table. "Or maybe a blanket. Or...maybe you in my lap."

He grinned up at the other man teasingly. Of course they couldn't play poker if one of them was in the other's lap, but that wouldn't stop him from making the offer anyway. It was simply too easy to find himself distracted from any task at hand when the ability to flirt with Sean was presented to him.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

The pull of was stronger than the comfort of Josh’s lap, and Sean reluctantly withdrew his feet, swinging them over the side of the sofa to slide into his slippers before slowly standing. He looked at his husband, then at the beer can occupying his coaster, and finally at the empty wine glass in his hand. “I think we can arrange some hot cocoa. I know we still have some whipped cream.”

It wouldn’t be hot cocoa without whipped cream or a cinnamon stick from the spice rack.

“And you find us a couple of blankets while I’m gone. When we finish the game, you can sit in my lap,” he offered as a counter-proposal.

As willing as he was in the abstract to sit in his husband’s lap, between the more than five inches of height and several tens of pounds of weight that separated them, it was easier and more comfortable for Josh to occupy the telepath’s lap than the reverse. No risk of being crushed.

“I’ll be back in about five minutes, if you want to keep my spot warm for me until then.” He batted his eyebrows in an exaggerated manner, imitating characters in the classic romance movies seducing their paramours.