Clay stared in frustration at his reflection in the mirror, hating how scruffy he looked but too lazy to shave. The whole idea was to make him look his age to Sam's parents, and to Sam? Hopefully sexier.

He ran his fingers hurriedly through his blonde locks. It was a double mess this evening - the curls too hard to tame with gel. He wouldn't have had so much trouble if it'd been cut recently. It was so thick and long and the blonde curls insisted on sticking out in all directions no matter what products he used. He thought about Sam's smooth black locks and how nice it's felt under his hands - maybe he should go for short and smooth like Sam? But after years of hating his hair as a teenager, he'd grown to love it as an adult, preferring to tie it back up into a bun or a short ponytail. He didn't think he'd feel like himself without it.

He would manage, he decided. Besides, from what Sam had told him about his awkward-but-sweet family, they wouldn't be the type to judge him for looking his age. He'd bought a new pair of white jeans and his shirt was clean; black with a diamond embroidery in the weave.

Clay had been jittery with anticipation when Sam had phoned to invite him over to have dinner with his family. For days Sam had talked non-stop about his loving mother, and his troublemaking sister who was also sweet, and he'd thought that Sam was probably homesick. But he did wonder why Sam didn't mention his father often as he did his mother. Maybe they were having a father-son misunderstanding, he concluded. And he wouldn't be one to interfere.

A month had whizzed past since they first met and they'd fallen into a routine of thorough sex lessons every Tuesday and Saturday. But nothing had changed to signify that Clay had been elevated to boyfriend status. As far as he could tell, their original arrangement of being fuckbuddies still stood but he'd not expected to be meeting Sam's parents so soon, hence his slight hesitation.

“It's entirely up to you. Don't come if you don't want to,” Sam had assured him. “It's just that Mom has been anxious to meet you ever since I made the mistake of mentioning you to her. But I can make excuses if you can't.”

“No, no, no it's fine.” Clay had chuckled nervously. “It's just dinner right? I can handle that. What time?” He wondered what Sam could've told his Mom about him and how much she knew.

“Six. Phew, she'd get off my back now,” Sam said in relief. “I'll text you the address, okay?”

“Okay.”

When Sam hung up, Clay was left with all sort of unanswered, possibly rhetorical questions in his head. This was some kind of date, or was it not? Surely, meeting Sam's family while they were still fuckbuddies meant the universe was in their favour — not that there was any serious fucking going on, but still. How do you behave around the mother of a man you had a mutual sexual arrangement with? Whatever the odds against this dinner being a potential disaster, Clay didn't know.

He took the bus a mile south, minutes out of the town square and into the housing estates that made up the small town of Huntington. Sam's family how was a duplex with a large front garden. It was close to a quiet cul-de-sac and there were kids running about, or skating, enjoying the crisp autumn evening.

Clay was a bundle of nerves when he got to Sam's porch and lifted his hand to ring the doorbell. While he waited - heart racing, he was distracted by a trail of sloppy spittle running down his ankle and a loud ‘woof!’ He looked down to find a rottweiler, licking his leg.

“Hey there little buddy.” He crouched down to pat it's head and the dog went up on his hindlegs to lick his face too.

Clay chuckled and cleaned off the slobber just as the door opened. Clay looked up to a smirking Sam who leaned against the doorframe watching. “I see you've met Rex. Hope you don't mind the slobber?”

“Nope.” Clay straightened up, and Rex doubled his tongue-swiping efforts up his ankles, barking and nuzzling his head against them. “Everyone love dogs, and he's adorable.”

Sam nodded then stepped aside. “Come in.”

Clay stepped over the threshold, Rex hot on his heels. Sam pushed the door shut him, turning to press a quick kiss on Clay's lips and a hug as a form of greeting. He reeked of cocoa with a hint of musk, something cinnamon and juicy. “It's nice to see you.”

“You too.” Clay lost control over the lower half of his face. He was immensely pleased to see Sam and absolutely certain he'd do a bad job trying to hide it. Sam looked as handsome as ever, a bit taller than Clay remembered. Perhaps it was because he'd always envisioned Sam to be shorter in his wet fantasies, hence the surprise every time they met.

“Mom's in the kitchen.” Sam led Clay down the hallway, past the wooden staircase and into the kitchen at the back of the house. The smell of Chicken divan and milk gravy saturated the air when Sam opened the door, the steam inside the kitchen hot and humid.

A bulky woman — who appeared more advanced than Clay's own mother and couldn't have been less than five feet nine — stood over the sink, singing along to an Ed Sheeran song amidst the noisy clattering as she washed the dishes.

Sam signalled Clay to be quiet as he snuck up behind her and put his arms around her waist. She screamed and jumped, sloshing back water over her shoulder in defense. Sam chuckled as the cool water splashed on his face. She turned in a playful rage and swatted his arm. “You almost gave me a bloody heart attack! What were you — ” Her eyes landed on Clay who was trying all he could to keep from bursting out in laughter. “Oh, I'm sorry!”

“Mom, this is Clay,” Sam introduced, gesturing towards him with a flourish. “Clay, my Mom — Rhea.”

“Hello ma'am,” Clay waited till she snapped off her mittens and wiped her hands on her apron, then extended it's hand. “Nice to meet you.”

She gripped his hand so hard till he winced. “Nice to meet you too, Clay.” She grinned at him with the same bright, natural smile as Sam's — deep ruby eyes over long, jet black hair than her son's.

“Want a beer?” Sam offered.

“No. Something softer, say Malt?”

Sam nodded, opening the fridge. “Care for a drink too, Mum?” He took out two cold cans of Malt.

“Oh, don't worry about me. You two should go on. I'll have some of that red wine from last week. Your dad just got back. Take a beer for him too, please.”

Sam snorted, pouring wine into a glass for Rhea. He reluctantly stuck a head through the kitchen door and called out. “Dad, do you want a beer?”

Clay assumed the response was affirmative for Sam ducked his head back in and got out a beer from the fridge. “Let's go.” He jerked his head at the door. “We'll wait up at my room till dinner's ready. Mom, please send Aria to call us when you're done.”

Rhea nodded. “Won't you introduce him to your Dad?”

“He wouldn't care anyway. Where's Lola? It's been a while since I saw last.”

“She's probably on that Wattpad site” Rhea replied, pulling down the oven door and poking the chicken with a fork. “What's left is to cut off her data allowance.”

Sam chuckled. “She downloads the books to her offline library Mom. You can't stop that now, can you?”

“I'd seize her laptop then. Teenagers spend so much time on the internet this days. Can you believe she got a B in English? And she's not even remorseful about it.”

“Sound about right. She deserves to be grounded. I'll hand the beer over to Dad and we'll be upstairs.”

When Sam had done that, they passed the living room once more on their way to the staircase and Clay inspected it more closely. It had a cozy look to it, a large pristine couch dominating the room with two upholstered armchairs and a Lucite table taking up most of the rest of the space. A red ceramic mantlepiece over the fireplace bore family photos and albums, clutters of DVDs and CDs. Clay's gaze swept over the room, quickly taking in these details as they ascended the stairway to another large corridor with three adjoining doors. Sam pushed the first one open and stepped in after Clay.

“Nice place.” Clay's attention was immediately arrested by the much too bright walls which had every nearly nude male model wallpaper glued on it. There was a king-sized bed in the middle of the large space and the Moroccan rug looked neat, curtains drawn apart to let the sunlight in. He sat on the bed uncertainly, still gawking around in wonder.

Sam sat down next to him after turning on the television to some sports channel. Football helped Clay feel less overwhelmed of being here as Sam's friend... knowing that his family probably knew he was much more than that. It was the first time being surrounded by people who knew he was gay and it made him feel wierd — not in a bad way though. If they were accepting of Sam, why wouldn't they be of Clay too? Though Clay became convinced that the strain between father and son could only be routed in sexuality. His own father would have never accepted him if he got to know of it before he died.

The doorbell rang just as Sam pulled him closer to nibble on his earlobe. “Who could that be?”

“Visitors?” Clay proffered, drawing back. “Go check.”

Sam opened the door by a chink and took a peek out — groaning. “It's John and his family. I didn't know they were coming.”

“Why aren't you happy to see them?”

“If John's here, then it's non-stop teasing for the both of us.” He grinned broadly though he looked a little awkward. “You'd get used to it. Come on let's go.”

By the time they descended the stairway, Rhea had admitted the visitors into the house and there was a riotous exchange of pleasantries going on in the living room. There was a shrill cry of a baby and the high-pitched shriek of a toddler before they caught sight of Rhea juggling a crying baby in my arms.

“There, there baby boy... don't cry... smile for Grandma.” She cooed. “Come sit down Greta — I think Alex's a bit hungry. Why is he holding onto my skirt?”

The room was filled with people and chattering as the new arrivals made themselves at home, though Sam's dad was no where about which kinda stomped Clay. He brightened a bit when Sam introduced him. Greta stood up first to greet him, a towering figure with the brightest blonde hair and honey-brown eyes. Clay envied her accent. “Hi.” She smiled. “Sorry about the chaos in here. I did feed Alex before we came here, so I don't understand what's his deal now.” She sat back on the couch and Rhea passed on the baby, leading the toddler into the kitchen. At once the house was restored back in it's usual silence and Greta unflapped her bra string, lowering a nipple into the baby's eager mouth. Clay looked away quickly.

“Clay, this is John. My husband, Sam's older brother.” Greta was saying. Clay turned to see John smiling in recognition. Clay nodded, blushing awkwardly.

“We've already met darling.” John said, nudging Sam. “Nice job, mate.” Clay's cheeks burned hotter, and John ducked as Sam aimed a teasing blow at his temples. “Why the violence? I'm impressed with your foresight. It's nice meeting you again, Clay. How's life treating you?”

“Fine. Thanks.” Clay replied.

Rhea re-emerged from the kitchen once more with the toddler clapping happily. She stopped to look at all three of them in surprise, beaming but puzzled by the sudden silence.

“He helped me move Sam into his apartment. That's how we met.” John explained.

“Yeah, that's how we met.” Sam grinned at Clay reassuringly.

“Oh, I see.” Rhea's curiousity dissipated quickly. “Well, the chicken must be done by now. I'll dish out the gravvy so we can all eat.”

“I'll lay the table.” Sam offered. “Do you want to come help me, Clay?”

Clay smiled, pleased with the prospect of spending time alone with Sam. He was also grateful that John seemed comfortable with him being there as Sam's friend, or date, or whatever-the fuck he was. The way Sam's family were all accepting of his sexuality stirred up mixed feelings in Clay. Surely, it felt good to be himself after so long but at the same time he wondered how his mother would take it if he choosed to introduce a boyfriend in the future.

Greta chatted with them while they set the table, asking Sam about his new flat, and Clay about his work. They stayed in the kitchen when they were done, keeping Rhea company. By the time dinner was ready by eight, Clay was halfway down his second can of malt and starting to feel at home. He sat next to Sam at the kitchen table, enjoying the trail of Sam's fingers on his thighs as they trailed higher and higher till Sam undid his zipper and began stroking him. Clay's breath hitched as Sam stroked faster, and anytime he met his eyes, Sam would smile back at him in a flirtatious way that tugged at Clay's heart strings and caused him to smile back. He couldn't deny that this was more than just an attraction. He really liked Sam, which wouldn't get him anywhere considering their mutual arrangement but he couldn't help himself.

The sound of Rhea clearing her throat made Sam retrieve his hand, doing the zipper up, and Clay turned to catch Greta giving them a knowing look. “Dinner's almost ready.” Rhea announced. “John, go and ask your Dad to come and carve, will you? Also tell Aria to come down for dinner.”