Don't burn the garlic

“Don’t you dare burn that garlic, Frankie, or else I’ll come in there...” Alessandro warned, with a cheeky tone undercutting his faux serious demeanor.

“Easy to fucking say with your ass on the couch in the livin’ room!” Frank yelled back.

Alessandro let out an loud, “Hah!”

Frank heard Alessandro get up as the creak of the recliner was squeaky and loud, and he smiled to himself, chuckling softly.

“Shows what you know, Frankie!” He said with a accusatory tone. He laughed in a huff and then said, “I was on the La-Z-Boy!”

Frankie turned around, still stirring the frying garlic. He rolled his eyes at Alessandro and then turned back around.

“Hey, Frankie! Don’t get cheeky with me!”

Frankie grinned in a smarmy way, saying in response, “Oh, Al, I wouldn’t. But just for the record, everyone this side of San Polo could hear that you were sitting your lazy ass on that lazy-boy, so don’t forget about that!”

“You thirty eight year old child!” Al sneered, but then smiled softly, walking up to Frank and draped his arms lazily over his shoulders. “That’s not even the genuine American La-Z-Boy, ya know. It’s a cheap Italian knock off, Frankie!”

“Who cares, you forty year old lunatic,” Frank teased with a soft laugh, leaning into Alessandro’s chest.

“No, Frankie,” Alessandro purred, moving closer and breathing hotly near the nape of his neck. “I’m almost forty. Remember?”

Frankie nodded. “Whatever ya say, Sweetheart.”

“When’s my pasta gonna be done, baby?” He pressed a light kiss on the other’s neck. Frank was making homemade Pasta Aglio e Olio, Alessandro’s favorite.

It was reminiscent of their first date together—-pasta and cuddles, movies and lots of laughs. Merlot. Beer. A dream date. One that Frank wanted to re-live again, detail by detail, just for tonight.

“Uh... whenever the heck you’re done being so pervy, old man. You’re distracting... uh, distracting me...” Frank trailed off, and turned off the stove, putting the pan on one of the unused burners. Alessandro kept placing light, tiny little kisses all over his neck.

It was driving Frank crazy.

“You been in here cooking like a good husband, huh?” Alessandro said in a breathy whisper, their bodies pressed against each other, face to face now. “Makin’ that good homemade shit. You’re the best, baby.”

Frank couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed a bit of Alessandro’s wispy mixed gray and brown hair, and pulled their faces together, kissing his Sweetheart like it was the very first time.

Alessandro moaned into the fervent kiss, and let Frank do all the work. Alessandro wanted Frank to feel totally in control, even letting him almost grab his wrists with a bit too much force, as they tried to not just go straight to their bedroom and skip dinner altogether. But to Alessandro, that was getting difficult with Frank almost slamming their bodies together against the wall adjacent to the stove, the friction becoming too much.

Alessandro gently bit Frank’s lip to get his attention.

Frank looked at him with a pleasurable shudder. “Yea, Ally? What’s up?”

“The garlic is gonna burn, baby.”

“Fuck the garlic.”

“But, baby, it took you so long to slice all that fresh garlic.. and you know?” Alessandro looked at pitifully.

“Huh? What do I know?” Frank said, licking his lower lip hungrily.

“I’m starvin’, Frankie,” Alessandro said softly.

“What would you do without me, huh?” Frank drawled out almost seductively. “You like to start shit, and then tell me to finish cooking! You tease... you are worse than a tease... I can’t think of a name to describe what you just did to me... it’s worse than any name in the book.”

“Can I have a sandwich, too?” Alessandro added, looking at him with big eyes.

“Those pretty olive green eyes aren’t fooling me!” Frank huffed.

“Ya think I’m pretty?” Alessandro said flirtatiously. Frank laughed.

“Alright, I’ll make you a stupid sandwich. Nothin’ fancy. Kay?”

Alessandro nodded. “I’ll watch you.”

Frank blew a raspberry at him, and got some supplies out of the fridge. He toasted a bit of crusty French bread, and spread some spicy mustard on it with a knife. He cut up a little hot peppered salami and then he sliced up two slices of Gouda. Alessandro loved cheese and Frank loved to indulge his husband.

He handed him the sandwich, saying sarcastically, “Anything else, your fuckin’ majesty?!”

Alessandro laughed raucously. “Nope. Just gonna eat this damn delicious looking sandwich while you cook that amazing smelling pasta. Thank you, baby,” he took a bite of the sandwich and then kissed Frank on the nose.

Frank stuck out his tongue.

Frank started cooking again, and said, back turned, “Go get the Merlot while you’re just standing there.”

“Um, I’m not just standing here, Frankie. I’m eating.”

Frank looked back over his shoulder, giving his husband a death glare.

It was Frank’s famous death glare. Anyone in its direct path was likely to be decimated, whether they had anything to do with it, it mattered not. Alessandro knew better than to wait around for the next move(possibly a tackle and then a surge of unstoppable kisses—-Frank would call them death kisses; Alessandro would respond that it was just him getting kissed to death!)

“Shit! I’ll be back. I’ll get it!” Alessandro said dramatically, making Frank chuckle. “Those baby browns aren’t so innocent, are they?” He mumbled to himself as he went to their wine cellar.

Alessandro smiled to himself as he got the bottle of Merlot. It was special to him, in particular, as this bottle was the same bottle of Merlot they had for their first date.

Everything about tonight was how they were recreating their first date, and Alessandro saw how hard Frank was working to get all of the details just right.

Today marked their fifth wedding anniversary, but they had actually been together longer than that. Ten years.

Alessandro had been the one to propose to Frank, and it was in Paris, during a summer trip they had made together to have some down time.

They had known each other since childhood, too, roaming the streets in Venice playing marbles and jacks, and were best friends for all of their school age years. They had always been poor, both of them, and together they found crafty and sneaky ways to get into places to get what they needed for food and other necessities. They always covered for each other, protecting and having each other’s back, never wavering in loyalty and trust. The only thing they broke between the two of them were —-you guessed it...

Locks. Locks were their specialty.

Of course, once they both were old enough to truly understand the amorous and romantic feelings they had for each other, without the pretense of laughing like immature idiots and cracking jokes about it—-they realized that they needed to grow up and stop stealing.

They both got good jobs and Alessandro even helped Frank through college, supporting them both for a few years until Frank got his bachelors of science degree. They moved in together the first year they started dating.

So all of this in his mind, it was fitting for Alessandro to propose to Frank on the Pont des Arts.

Bringing some pad locks and writing both of their names down on them with some little hearts seemed so... feminine to Alessandro, but when he thought about Frankie, he knew that he’d get a kick out of it.

And getting that really beautiful silver band for Frank——it felt so real, and he was so happy, yet, he knew that it wasn’t going to be as perfect as they would dream it to be.

Alessandro pressed his thumb against the label of the Merlot, thinking about the way Frank’s brown eyes lit up as he took out the ring, already putting up the pad locks on the bridge, and him getting down on one knee with that corny as hell, charming smile on his face——

Alessandro frowned. They could not actually be legally married in Italy, or even recognized as a couple. It was 2015, and Alessandro had hoped by this point Italy would’ve caught up to other countries (like the United States) on gay rights, but not yet.

They had a small ceremony anyway, with a few close friends and family. Frank liked a lot of American culture and music, and had always told Alessandro that this was their song:

They often danced to it, and for their first dance as a married couple (one of their best friends officiated the ceremony), they danced to their song.

They had to keep their relationship under wraps, for now, in a broader sense in their community. All their neighbors knew, of course. But they didn’t mind, in fact, they had lots of friends and family that supported them.

But, still, Alessandro was impossibly in love with Frank, and he was determined that he’d always be with him—- no matter what.

He went back to the kitchen and said, “Oh, baby, your skin has gotten more olive toned since you’ve been out working in the sun. It looks good.”

Frank had been renovating part of their house, and had been painting the outside of it the last few weeks.

“Fuck off, Al.”

Alessandro laughed and put down the wine next to Frank.

“Got the wine, baby.” He put his hand on Frank’s waist. “Still mad at me?”

“Yes. Dinner is almost ready,” Frank said tersely. “And no, I didn’t burn the garlic.”

Alessandro nodded in approval. “It smells like a dream in here, Frankie, baby.”

“You don’t. Go take a shower.”

Alessandro laughed softly. “Yes, sir.”

But Alessandro stayed there, his hand resting on Frank’s waist. Frank looked at the other and sighed restlessly—-he really wanted to have a nice romantic dinner with Alessandro, but the sexual tension was becoming overwhelming for him.

But, to truly recreate their first perfect experience of that amazing dream date, Frank would have to be patient.

“So... sorry I went to bed early last night...”

Frank sighed. “No, it’s not a big deal.”

“What movie did you end up watching?” Alessandro asked, leaning into the kitchen counter.

Taking the strained, cooked pasta out of the pot, he tossed it in the sauce pan, gently folding the pasta into the homemade sauce. “Discreet Charm of The Bourgeoisie.”

“Oh, Buñuel? Good choice. Did you like it?” Alessandro said as he looked at Frank in awe as he finished cooking their dinner fluidly and with precision.

Everything Frank did looked like magic to him.

“Yeah. Funny shit.”

“Taking down the ultra-rich bourgeoisie on the streets as the marching proletariat is funny to you, Frank?” Alessandro said in a huff, making Frank roll his eyes.

“No, the fact that they kept sitting down to have dinner... and not being able to eat is what I found funny,” Frank said stuffily.

“You sadist!”

Frank laughed, and got out two plates, twirling the hot pasta with a fork and getting it it served neatly.

“Pass me that shit,” Frank said, pointing to a bowl that had finely chopped parsley in it.

“Sure, baby,” Alessandro said with a smile, “I’ll pass you anything, anywhere, anytime...”

“You’re charming as hell, you know that?” Frank said with a grin, and sprinkled the parsley on top of each serving of pasta.

“More than saying, ‘Pass me that shit,’ to your husband on your supposed wedding anniversary... right?”

Frank laughed loudly, “You got me, Al. You win.”

Alessandro nodded, and leaned in close enough to have their cheeks touching. Frank blushed.

“I won you, didn’t I?”

Frank looked down, and then kissed Alessandro on the cheek. “Yes, you did, Sweetheart.”

Pouring the Merlot into two sparkling wine glasses, they shared a peaceful and delicious meal together, sipping on their wine and enjoying their earned trust and fierce love for one another. It was a perfect way to remember their beginnings, and to appreciate their present—-looking at their future more brightly than ever.

The bottle of robust and romantic Merlot they shared wasn’t even needed to consummate their love, but it sure helped.