The Perils and Pleasures of a White Christmas • Emily Moreton

2

The Perils and Pleasures of a White Christmas

“

H

EY

.”

Drake stopped in the process of pulling on his gloves.

Tim was standing just outside the door to the FBI building, a
steaming takeout cup in each gloved hand. He was wearing a
long, dark coat and thick scarf, but Drake was pretty sure he
was in uniform under that.

“I thought you had a late meeting.”

Tim shrugged, handing over one of the red and green

themed cups. His hand brushed Drake’s, dark wool against
Drake’s skin, already white from the cold. “Got cancelled, so
I figured I’d see if I could catch you here.”

“Congratulations,” Drake said dryly. The cup was warm

in his hands, and when he lifted the lid, he smelled
chocolate instead of the coffee he was expecting. “Thanks.”

Tim smiled, green eyes bright the way they were when

he was somewhere that kissing hello wasn’t appropriate,
even with Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell a couple of years behind
them. Despite things getting noticeably better, rising stars in
the military establishment couldn’t kiss their FBI agent
partners in the middle of Washington, DC and expect to keep
rising. Not yet. “It feels like thirty below out here.”

“The forecast said it’s an unusually mild winter.” Drake

had no idea if that was true, but he also didn’t much care.
Considering Drake was the one who had lived in California,
Tim had developed a deep and abiding dislike for the cold

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since they moved to Washington eight months ago. Though it
did make the whole trees-lights-decorations-singing part of
Christmas in the city feel a lot more appropriate. No less
frustrating when Drake had a case and was held up by
singing Santas, but more appropriate.

“The forecast lies.” Tim turned toward their subway stop

and started them walking, one hand ghosting over the back
of Drake’s coat. “They’re trying to make everyone feel better
about the constant snow.”

“It’s not snowing right now.”

“It will.” Tim gave the sky a dark glare, tucking his scarf

closer.

“You can use it as an excuse to stay inside with the

chinchillas.”

“The chinchillas hate me,” Tim said, with which Drake

couldn’t really argue. “Did Annie ring yet?”

“This afternoon. She’s getting on the road the day after

tomorrow, said she’d pick up Simon on her way and get here
for Christmas Eve.”

“I thought he was coming by train.” Tim replaced the lid

on his chocolate and dug in his pocket for his metro pass.

“He’s a student,” Drake said with a shrug. “Why spend

money when his mom will drive him?”

“Great. I was looking forward to the chinchillas

snuggling him instead of savaging me.” Tim glared at Drake,
probably blaming him—again—for agreeing to adopt the

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chinchillas. It wasn’t that Drake had any particularly fond
feelings towards the creatures, but Tim’s sister and nephew
were all the family either of them had these days, and four
years living with pets that Annie was allergic to was a small
thing to do in return.

Drake swiped his pass and turned, walking backwards

for a couple of steps until it became clear that the platform
was too crowded for him to do that safely. “They’re
chinchillas, they don’t savage anything.” Tim wordlessly
shoved his sleeve back and showed a line of long scratches
down his left wrist. “Baby. I’ve done worse to—” Tim’s
eyebrows went up in warning, and Drake changed that line
of thought. “—to myself pruning the roses.”

Tim let the crowd gathering for the approaching train

push them close enough together to whisper, “We don’t have
any roses. We live on the fourth floor.”

Drake shrugged. “We could get a window box.”

“Not really the point I was making.”

Drake shoved the two of them onto the train, smiling

sweetly at the three businessmen, laden down with gift-
wrapped parcels, who glared at him for getting in front of
them. “Thinking about it now though, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” Tim hedged, but his smile said he was. Drake

smiled back, grabbed the hanging strap, and hung on for
dear life as they rattled out of the station and towards home.

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“

W

HY

is all of the good mail for you?” Tim called from the

kitchen.

One of the chinchillas—Simon said it was obvious which

was Bert and which was Ernie, but Drake couldn’t tell the
difference—perked its ears up at the sound of Tim’s voice.
Drake would never tell Tim, but he was sure there was
mischief in the creature’s eyes as it did it. “Don’t even think
about it,” Drake warned it, tapping its nose as he shook food
into the dishes.

“What?”

“What what?”

Tim sounded like he was moving around, his boots loud

on the kitchen tiles. Probably making coffee, even though
they’d just thrown away their hot chocolate cups. “There are
three hand-written envelopes for you, and the only one for
me is my cell bill.”

“You spent most of the last fifteen years in combat

zones,” Drake pointed out. “And most of your friends don’t
bother to send Christmas cards.”

“True.” Tim’s voice was much closer this time. Drake

looked up to see him leaning in the doorway, his uniform
jacket off, his shirt collar open a couple of buttons. Tim’s
army career made their lives difficult in a lot of ways that
Drake being FBI never would, but Drake wasn’t entirely sure
that the uniform didn’t make up for a good fifty percent of
them. Well, that and the chiseled body hidden under it,

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muscles built up through fitness tests and combat and
retained through long hours in the gym.

Okay, so maybe it was more about the way Tim wore his

uniform.

“It is a lot easier to email.” Tim made a face. “Though

that probably means I’m destined for a stream of bad puns
and singing Santas.”

Drake re-ran the conversation to make sense of that

statement and nodded. The mischievous chinchilla was
trying to take advantage of his distraction, nudging at his
fingers to get out. Drake shoved him firmly back into the
cage. “Stay in there,” he told it. “We don’t want a repeat of
last time.”

Last time had involved a chinchilla making its escape

known by chewing on Tim’s toes at a deeply inopportune
moment that had ended in Drake nearly choking on Tim’s
cock—and not in a good way.

“Where’s your brother?” Drake checked the little house

the animals slept in, just to be on the safe side, and found
the second chinchilla curled up, apparently asleep. “I think
I’m going to come back as a chinchilla in my next life.”

“So you can bite me?”

Drake fastened the cage and double-checked it was

secure. “You think I need to be a chinchilla to bite you?”

Tim’s expression went dark and calculating. “That a

threat or a promise?”

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“Oh, trust me.” Drake was glad he’d already taken off

his coat and suit jacket—it was hard to slink properly
wearing cold weather gear. “That was most definitely a
promise.”

Tim tipped his head back, exposing his throat. “One

you’re going to make good on?”

Drake pinned him against the wall, hands on either side

of his head. “Oh, yes.” He ducked his head, closing his teeth
gently over Tim’s collar bone, then biting harder when Tim
made a low, appreciative sound. His neck smelled really
good, a mix of crisp air and old cologne that made Drake
snuggle closer, sliding his hands down to Tim’s shoulders.

Tim responded with his hands on Drake’s ass, pulling

him in and rubbing against him. Through the layers of
clothing, Drake could barely feel anything, but he was pretty
sure Tim was getting hard.

“You want to take this to bed?” he asked.

Tim nosed at Drake’s cheek until his mouth was on

Drake’s, kissing him firmly. “Too far away.” He nudged at
Drake a little, not strongly enough to push him down, but
still a clear suggestion. One that Drake wasn’t inclined to
say no to.

Their hands tangled for a moment on Tim’s belt and fly

before Drake batted Tim’s away and did it himself. He
pushed Tim’s pants and boxers down to his ankles as he
went to his knees, hands on Tim’s hips to hold him against
the wall. Tim was already half-hard, burning in Drake’s hand
when he stroked Tim a couple of times.

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Tim shivered slightly. “Your hands are cold.”

“I’m warming them up,” Drake said, stroking him again.

Tim shuddered again and caught Drake’s wrists, his

fading tan dark against Drake’s hands as he held them still.
“Not into temperature play, thanks.”

“Shame.” Drake leaned in, licking at Tim’s hip. “You got

any other ideas?”

Tim let go of Drake’s wrists and grabbed his own cock,

angling it towards Drake’s mouth. “One or two. Like, if you
stop messing around and suck me off, you can fuck me
after.”

Drake knew a compelling argument when he heard one,

and even if he didn’t, Tim’s low moan when Drake swallowed
him down would have made one. Drake pulled back a little,
then took Tim in deep again, feeling Tim swell to full
hardness in his mouth.

A moment later, Tim’s hand dropped to cup Drake’s

head, curling into Drake’s mildly over-long hair as Drake
licked and sucked at his dick.

“Yeah,” Tim said softly. “Yeah, that’s really good.”

Drake hummed around Tim’s cock, trying to get more

noise out of him. It didn’t work, but then, it hardly ever did
until Tim was a lot further gone. Years of risking his career
by being gay had made Tim almost unnaturally quiet in bed.
Or, in this case, up against the wall of their apartment.

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Not that it stopped Drake from trying. Tim was already

leaking on Drake’s tongue, his hips twitching in aborted
thrusts. Drake took him in deep, held him there as he slid
one finger back, finding Tim’s entrance and penetrating him.

Tim gasped, hips jerking forward enough that Drake’s

finger slid out. “No,” Tim moaned, grabbing at Drake’s hand.

Drake pulled off. “I’ve got you.” He slid his finger back

in, loving the way Tim sighed in relief as he did it. “I’ve got
you.”

Tim was flushed dark red, slick as Drake took him back

into his mouth. Above him, Tim panted for breath, caught
between Drake’s mouth and the finger in him—just the way
Drake liked him. Drake wrapped his free hand tight around
Tim’s hip, holding him against the wall, and went down until
the head of Tim’s cock brushed his throat.

Tim’s hand tightened on his head, holding him there.

Drake looked up, met Tim’s beautiful eyes looking down at
him, and swallowed.

It was a trick that worked every time. Tim drew a sharp

breath and came in Drake’s mouth.

Drake swallowed as much as he could, letting a little

dribble from the side of his mouth as Tim pulled out,
shuddering.

Tim slumped against the wall, one hand still on Drake,

who sat back on his heels and thumbed the smear of come
from his lips. “How do you look so fucking hot licking come
off yourself?” Tim asked.

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“Everything I do is hot.” Drake shifted, his hard dick

trapped in his pants.

Tim tipped his head to one side. “That is, regrettably,

true.”

“Regrettably?” Drake hauled himself to his feet so he

could pin Tim against the wall. “You’d prefer I was butt
ugly?”

Tim snaked a hand under Drake’s shirt, drawing him

closer. “I’d prefer not to get a hard-on every time I see you in
that fucking suit, yeah.”

Drake rocked his hips against Tim a little, grinning

when it made Tim shiver. “That mean you’re going to get it
up again when I fuck you in this suit?”

Tim ground up into him as they kissed, sloppy and wet.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe,” Drake echoed. “I think yes.” Tim raised an

eyebrow at him. “That a challenge?”

“We did that riff already.” Tim tipped his head back,

laughing, relaxed and carefree in a way that made Drake
grin back at him helplessly.

“So turn around, and we’ll fuck without the witty

banter.”

“All the romance has gone out of this relationship,” Tim

said mournfully, but he was turning as he said it, forearms
braced against the wall.

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Drake ducked down to bite at the back of Tim’s neck as

he fumbled his pants open, sighing with relief as he pulled
his cock free. Tim shuddered when Drake rubbed against
him, the head of his dick tucking up against Tim’s balls.

“You need anything?”

Tim pushed back against Drake. “No. You’re wet.” His

voice cracked a little on the words, sending a shiver through
Drake. He loved Tim like this, broken open and still wanting.

“M’gonna fuck you till you come again,” he promised.

Tim was tight, breathing slow as Drake eased into him

until they were pressed close enough together for Drake to
feel Tim’s heart beating against his chest. “You’re gorgeous.”

“You know it,” Tim agreed, clenching around him. “Fuck

me already.”

Drake wasn’t going to argue with that either, not when

he was this hard, Tim moving with his thrusts, their bodies
slick with sweat as Drake panted in Tim’s ear.

“Feels really good,” Tim murmured. “Come here.” He

fumbled at Drake’s side for a moment, before Drake clued in
and let Tim take his hand, drag it down to his hardening
cock. “Like that.”

“You gonna come again?” Drake slid his fingers between

Tim’s, stroking his cock in the same rhythm he was fucking
Tim’s ass.

“Maybe.” Tim gasped. “Yeah, maybe, don’t stop.”

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Drake was pretty sure he couldn’t stop for anything

right then, his orgasm gathering at the base of his spine.
“Now?”

“Fuck,” Tim said, like it was an answer. He was leaking

over Drake’s fingers and pushed back hard into Drake’s
thrusts.

“Now,” Drake said again, and then it didn’t matter, he

was thrusting hard into Tim, coming deep inside him. Tim
moaned, clenched their twined hands tight on his cock, and
came all over them.

For a long moment, Drake drifted in the wash of

pleasure. Eventually, though, Tim twitched, nudging at him
with his shoulder. “I need a shower,” Tim said dimly. “And
food, fuck.”

Drake eased himself out of Tim. He contemplated wiping

off their sticky hands, but only their work clothes were at
hand, and he was not going to the dry cleaner with come
stains on his shirt again. “Food?”

Tim turned, leaning back against the wall. He was still

wearing his uniform shirt, his pants around his ankles, his
cock softening against his thigh. Sweat glistened on his skin,
highlighting the tan marks on his shoulders and waist. He
was the best thing Drake had ever seen. “You fucked me so
hard I’m dizzy, all right?” Tim rolled his eyes. “Shower, food,
no gloating.”

Drake leaned in for a kiss that Tim took advantage of

Drake’s extra height to duck away from, stepping out of his

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clothes as he headed toward the bathroom. “No gloating?”
Drake called after him.

“No.” Tim stuck his head back into the room. “But if it

makes you feel any better, apparently the chinchillas
appreciated it.”

Drake tried really hard not to look over his shoulder,

but there was something about the idea of being watched by
small furry creatures that he had to check up on.

Unfortunately, Tim had been telling the truth.

T

WO

days later, Drake woke up freezing cold. He blinked,

disoriented in the dark before the gray shapes resolved into
their bedroom furniture. “The hell?”

He pushed himself upright, running a hand through his

hair, and turned on the bedside light. Next to him, Tim
burrowed further into the covers, still asleep.

“Tim.”

No response. For an army guy, Tim could sleep through

a hell of a lot once he was asleep.

Drake contemplated waking him, but whatever was

making the apartment so cold, chances were Tim wouldn’t
be able to do anything Drake couldn’t. He got out of bed,
hopping on the cold wooden floor as he pulled on a long
sleeve T-shirt and sweatpants, and shoved his feet into a
pair of running shoes.

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Out in the kitchen, he lifted the drapes and saw snow

falling thick and fast under the streetlights, already drifting
at the edges of the street. “Great.” He’d gotten used to
Christmas being reasonably warm in California, and though
he was prepared for his first Christmas in DC to be cold, he
wasn’t sure he was up for it being snow-covered as well.

He detoured on the way to the closet, checking his cell

phone. No calls, which at least meant his boss, Fuller, hadn’t
called everyone in. Meant there might still be hope for him to
get a snow day, particularly since it would just be one more
day added to the two days he already had off for Christmas.

Of course, if the apartment didn’t get warmer, going in

to work might seem like a much better proposition.

Drake opened the closet to the boiler and groaned.

Where it should have been clanking away, it was silent, all of
the dials flat. Drake tapped the plastic covers, just on the
off-chance, and got nothing.

“What’s going on?”

Drake turned to see Tim standing in the foyer, wearing

only his boxers. That really wasn’t a good sign.

“Heating’s out,” he said, careful to keep his voice low

and calm. “It’s fine, we can call the super in the morning.”

“It’s cold.” Tim wrapped his arms around himself then

dropped them, looking uncertain.

“I know it is. That’s because the heat’s out, and it’s

snowing outside.” Drake hesitated. “Tim, do you know where
we are?”

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“I—” Tim looked around, but Drake knew that

expression, the one that meant he wasn’t seeing his
surroundings. “I forgot it gets so cold at night.”

Drake let his eyes close for a moment. Tim was back in

Iraq, the cold triggering the start of one of his infrequent
flashbacks. Drake moved closer to him, enough for Tim to
reach out if he wanted to.

He didn’t.

“You’re in Washington,” he said. Tim’s eyes flicked to

him, then away again. “You’re in our apartment.”

“How did we end up in the desert without cold weather

gear?” Tim asked.

“Tim.” Tim’s eyes flicked to Drake again, and held this

time. “Do you know who I am?”

“Drake,” Tim said immediately. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Drake held a hand out, waiting as Tim looked between

his hand and his face, painfully uncertain. “We’re at home,”
he said again. “You came back from the desert three years
ago. You’re in our apartment in Washington.”

“Why is it so cold?” Tim shivered, still not reaching for

Drake’s hand. “It’s really cold.”

“I know it is. The heat’s out and it’s snowing. We should

go back to bed.”

“I’m cold.” Tim grabbed for Drake’s hand suddenly,

gripping it tight enough to hurt. “I don’t know what’s
happening.” He sounded completely lost, Drake’s heart

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cracking at the sight of his strong partner broken like this.
“Drake.”

“I’m right here.” Drake stepped closer, relieved when

Tim stumbled against him, one hand still in his. Drake
wrapped his free arm around Tim, feeling how cold his bare
skin was. “I’m right here,” he said again. “It’s okay, you’re
home now, you’re safe.”

Tim shuddered, hard enough to rattle his teeth, and his

free hand clenched in the material of Drake’s sweatpants.
“Fuck,” he breathed. “I hate these.”

“I know.” Drake pressed a kiss to the side of Tim’s head.

“You’re okay.”

Tim shuddered again, pressing closer. “God.”

Drake lost track of how long they stood there, but Tim

wasn’t getting any warmer and Drake was starting to feel the
cold through his own clothes. “You want to go back to bed?”

“Yeah.” Tim straightened a little. “The heat’s out?”

“Looks like.” Drake steered them carefully back toward

the bedroom, flicking lights off as they went. “I’ll call in the
morning.”

“You can’t fix it?”

“I’m good with people, not heating systems.” Drake bit

down the urge to make an army joke—Tim usually took them
with good grace, but right after a flashback was always a
risky time to bring it up. “Get back in bed.”

“Yes, dear.”

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Drake climbed into bed, flipped the lamp off, and rolled

over to face Tim. His night vision was gone after all the light,
but there was just enough pale orange light coming through
a gap in the curtains for him to see the shape of Tim,
huddled under the covers. “Come here,” he offered quietly.

Tim hesitated for a moment, long enough for Drake to

watch him blink. “I’m cold,” Drake added, making it easier.
“Come warm me up.”

“Yeah, right,” Tim said, but it worked anyway, Tim

uncurling himself enough to move into Drake’s space. Drake
wrapped an arm round him, making sure the covers were
tightly wrapped around both of them.

“Got you,” he said quietly, and held on until he felt Tim

relax down into sleep.

“

B

AD

news,” Drake called as he awkwardly elbowed their

apartment door open.

“Fuller called and there’s been an international incident

so you have to go into work after all?” Tim called back from
the kitchen, by the noise of plates being stacked back into
cupboards. Apparently Christmas warranted washing their
entire dinner service. Since Tim had waved off Drake’s offers
to help, Drake hadn’t asked why.

“No, and also, the FBI doesn’t deal with international

incidents.” Fuller had called a little after seven that morning
to let him know that, given Washington was pretty firmly

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snowed under, Drake got an extra day off, major incidents
notwithstanding.

“Super’s left for the holiday already and we’re going to

freeze to death?”

Drake nudged the door firmly closed. “Closer, but still

no.” He set the space heater down in the middle of the room
and went in search of his wayward partner. Who was, as
predicted, busy emptying the dishwasher. “It’s not just us,
heat’s out in the whole building. Engineer’s been called, but
we’re not the only place without heat and they’re prioritizing
high need.”

Tim frowned. “I guess that makes sense. Time to break

out the thick sweaters?”

“Nope. Apparently this isn’t the first time this happened,

so we’ve got loan of a space heater till the engineer gets out
here.”

“One?” Tim’s frown deepened. “He does know this is a

two bedroom apartment, right?”

“Pretty sure he saw it on the lease we signed, yeah, but

there’s twenty apartments in this building. We should
probably be grateful we didn’t get told to suck it up and
deal.”

“I guess.” Tim’s frown didn’t really ease off much. Not

that Drake could entirely blame him—the apartment was so
cold they’d turned the oven on for some heat, and the
prospect of being like that for the next couple of days wasn’t
exactly appealing, especially with guests due any day.

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Drake crossed over to Tim, hugging his partner as best

he could when they were both wearing several layers. “Come
on, it’s a good excuse to go back to bed. I can think of a—”

“Do not say it. Just—no puns about warming up or

sharing body heat or whatever the hell else is rattling around
in there.” Tim took a lot of the sting out of his words by
kissing Drake’s nose. “You need a hand getting the heater
set up?”

Drake swallowed the first three jokes about where he

could use a hand, before they could get out, and said, “I
think I can manage. It’s pretty much plug and play.”

Tim looked insultingly doubtful, but let it go. “Good.

Then I’m going to call Annie, find out what the roads are
like.”

“She made it to Simon, right?” Drake asked over his

shoulder.

“Yeah, he texted me—apparently having his mom stay in

his dorm room put a crimp in his social life.”

Drake rolled his eyes. “Give him my deepest sympathy.”

“Right,” Tim said distractedly, already dialing. Drake

waited to hear him say hello to his sister, then knelt down to
figure out getting the heater on.

Tim was still on the phone when the heater whirred into

life, and stayed on it through Drake making coffee and
feeding the chinchillas, who didn’t bother stirring from their
nest. Not that Drake could blame them.

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He took his coffee into the hall and poked through the

closet until he found the box of Christmas decorations. They
didn’t have much—he’d worked almost every Christmas
since he first got his own place, and couldn’t remember the
last time he’d bought a tree; plus, Tim had never bothered to
buy anything.

From the length of Tim’s phone conversation, Annie and

Simon probably weren’t going to make it, which meant they
could likely skip decorating. On the other hand, it was their
first Christmas living together, which maybe meant they
should make an effort. At the least, it might make up for
missing out on the family celebration they’d planned,
something Drake preferred not to think about. He hadn’t
realized how much he’d been looking forward to seeing Annie
and Simon until the snow made it obvious that likely
wouldn’t be happening.

Drake shoved that thought away and dragged the boxes

into the living room, closing the door to keep some of the
heat in, muffling the sound of Tim’s disappointed voice in the
bedroom. The top box, when Drake opened it, held two
chains of lights, hopelessly tangled together. Drake put them
aside and tried the next box.

The top layer of the box was Santa Claus figurines that

Drake had no recollection of buying. Maybe a gift from Annie
one year, or one of his old teammates in California. He lined
them all up against the box.

Underneath was a fabric wreath that he did remember,

a gift from his next door neighbor before he’d moved. She’d

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21

given them to everyone in the building, smiling self-
deprecatingly when she’d handed one over to Drake. “You try
keeping yourself busy when you’ve got a broken leg,” she’d
said. “Except it turns out I don’t actually need forty
wreaths.”

Drake pushed himself to his feet and went looking for a

hammer and nails.

The corridor outside the apartment door was even colder

than inside the apartment, and the “Merry Christmas” sign
flapping in some barely felt breeze didn’t help. If the city
wasn’t filling up with visitors for the holiday, Drake would be
seriously considering checking into a hotel until their heat
was back on. That said, there was no one to take care of Bert
and Ernie if he and Tim left home for a few days, and Simon
would never forgive them if his chinchillas froze to death.

The door opposite theirs opened as Drake was finishing

hammering the nail into the door, and Sally stuck her head
out. “I thought I heard your voice earlier. You guys got
heating?”

“After a fashion.”

Sally wrapped her arms tightly around herself, head

tipped to one side as she watched Drake. In her girlfriend’s
baggy college sweatshirt, the hood falling over her forehead,
she looked even younger than her twenty-five years. “We’re
supposed to be spending Christmas with my parents, but it
looks like the flight’s going to be grounded.”

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“Same.” Drake hung the wreath, then nudged it slightly

to get it straight. “Well, Tim’s sister and nephew, they were
driving to us, but…”

Sally made a face. “They don’t mention this stuff in the

white Christmas songs, right?” She shifted, pulling her hood
tighter. “We thought some of the people who can’t get home
would like to get together, maybe? For dinner or something
on Christmas day.”

Drake nudged the wreath again, giving himself a few

seconds to think. He didn’t know many people in the
building, Sally and Georgina aside, and having people realize
they were a couple still wasn’t as safe for Tim’s career as
they might like. On the other hand, one of the things Drake
liked best about working Christmas was being surrounded
by fellow agents instead of being home on his own, and it
would make the absence of Annie and Simon less obvious.
“Let me ask Tim, yeah?”

“Sure.” Sally pushed herself away from the door. “We’re

not going anywhere.”

Drake checked the wreath one more time, said goodbye

to Sally, and ducked back into the apartment. “Tim?”

“In here,” Tim’s voice called back from the living room,

accompanied by the muffled sound of the radio.

“How’s Annie doing?” Drake called, stowing the hammer

and nails. “Tim, did you— Oh.”

When Drake opened the door, Tim was lounging on the

couch, top two buttons of his jeans popped open, his hand

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23

idly stroking the trail of hair down to the covered line of his
cock. “The hell took you so long?”

“I was—” On second thought, Drake was pretty sure he

didn’t want to talk about Sally while he was getting turned
on. “Looks like you figured out a way to warm up.”

Tim groaned, rolling his eyes. “I knew you wouldn’t be

able to resist.” He nudged his fingertips under the open fly of
his jeans and sighed a little. “Come over here. I want to fuck
you.”

The space heater combined with the closed doors had

warmed the room up enough for Drake to strip off his
sweater and long-sleeved T-shirt as he crossed the room,
straddling Tim’s hips. Tim was still wearing a shirt over a T-
shirt, his hairline a little flushed. “You been thinking about
this?” Drake asked.

Tim just raised a mocking eyebrow in response.

“You been thinking about me riding you like this?”

Drake corrected.

“Not exactly.” Drake felt Tim tense under him. Before he

could do anything, Tim’s hands were on his biceps, and Tim
pushed them up and over. Drake’s head bounced off the
padded arm of the couch, leaving him on his back, Tim
pinning him there, most of his body weight on Drake. “More
like this.”

He ground down against Drake, his cock hard and fiery

even through two layers of denim. Drake moaned, pushing
up to get closer.

The Perils and Pleasures of a White Christmas • Emily Moreton

24

“Ack,” Tim said sharply. His knee dug into Drake’s side

as he caught his balance, making Drake groan for a
completely different reason before they both stilled. “You
make everything so complicated.”

“You’re the one who wants to fuck on the couch. Which,

I’m pretty sure, is not designed for two grown men to do that
on.”

“Where there’s a will….” Tim got his knees on either side

of Drake’s hips and pushed himself up. “Lift your hips.”

Drake obliged, forcing himself to keep still when Tim’s

fingers brushed against his cock as he opened Drake’s jeans
and shoved them as far down as they’d go. “You’ve got lube,
right?”

Tim drew a breath, then closed his mouth. “Be right

back.”

“We were much better at this when we were fucking in

supply tents,” Drake called after him. Not that he missed the
fear that they’d be caught and discharged. It hadn’t been his
only reason for quitting the army for the FBI, but it had been
up there.

He listened to Tim pawing through the night-stand for

lube, and took advantage of the chance to push his jeans all
the way off.

“We’ll go camping in the summer,” Tim called back.

“Right.” Drake lost the thread slightly, lying back and

idly stroking his cock hard.

The Perils and Pleasures of a White Christmas • Emily Moreton

25

“You started without me,” Tim said, wandering back into

the room.

“Just catching up.” Drake grabbed Tim’s belt loop and

pulled him down for a kiss.

Tim got his leg between Drake’s thighs and nudged. It

took Drake a second to get it, but Tim, like always, had the
better spatial awareness of the two of them. Drake rested
one ankle on the back of the couch, let his other leg drop to
the side, his foot on the floor. Tim pressed a little closer to
him, then shifted to the side so he could get at the lube.

“I love you like this,” he said, so quiet Drake could

hardly hear him.

Two fingers circled slick over Drake’s entrance, pushed

in. Drake gasped at the penetration—he didn’t bottom very
often, and maybe hadn’t been quite as ready as he’d
thought. Tim went slowly, rubbing at Drake’s prostate as he
did. Drake took a deep breath, then another, the spark of
pain easing into pleasure. “Keep going.”

“Yeah?” A third finger joined the first two. “You like

this?”

“Yeah.” Drake lifted his head, kissed Tim until his neck

ached and he had to break away. “Come on.”

Tim fumbled with his left hand as the remaining

buttons on his jeans, his other hand going still inside Drake.
He wasn’t wearing any underwear, which was all kinds of
sexy. Drake hardly had time to appreciate the sight before

The Perils and Pleasures of a White Christmas • Emily Moreton

26

Tim was pulling his cock free and stroking it a couple of
times, lube glistening on bare skin. “Gonna be messy.”

Drake managed to stop thinking about the fingers inside

him for long enough to glare. “S’always messy. That’s the
best part of being exclusive.”

“Remind yourself of that when you’re complaining about

cleaning the couch.”

Drake clenched down on Tim’s fingers. “If you’re

thinking about housework while we’re fucking, I think we’re
doing it wrong.”

“Oh, yeah?” The glint of mischief in Tim’s eyes should

have made Drake nervous. Instead, it just made him want.

Tim pulled his fingers out, his dick sliding into their

place before Drake could feel anything but a momentary
emptiness. “Ready?”

“For—” Tim pulled back and thrust in, fast and hard.

Drake broke off into a half gasp, half moan, feeling Tim
everywhere—the pressure against his hole, the rough drag
over his prostate. “Yeah, like that.”

Tim didn’t say anything, just ground his fingers into

Drake’s skin and fucked him, relentless and deep until
Drake was panting, reaching frantically for his cock.

“No.” Tim twisted his hips as he thrust in, just enough

for Drake to lose the intention to touch, lost in how good it
felt. “Don’t—”

The Perils and Pleasures of a White Christmas • Emily Moreton

27

Drake shuddered, pinned and fucked under him. “What

d’you want?”

Tim moaned, pushing in hard enough to shift Drake a

little on the cushions. Drake reached back automatically for
the headboard of the bed, found nothing but empty space as
Tim fucked into him again.

“Christ.” He let his arms drop, twisting to press his

hands against the side of the couch. The air was thick and
sultry, full of the sound of their breathing and the smell of
their sweat. Drake had to close his eyes against the picture
of himself, splayed out, pushing back into Drake’s thrusts,
his cock dripping onto his stomach.

“Look at me.” Tim’s voice was raw, his hands on Drake

hard enough to leave bruises. “Drake.”

Drake dragged his eyes open. Above him, Tim’s face was

tight with concentration, his close-cropped hair damp with
sweat. “So close.”

“Don’t come.”

Drake was pretty sure that wouldn’t be a problem, no

matter how close he was. He’d never been able to come
without someone touching his cock. “Please.”

“Please what?” Tim’s expression was slipping, the

glazed, half-open one that meant he was about to come.

“Want to come with you in me.” Drake pressed his

hands harder against the couch, feeling the way he was
shaking. “Please, Tim.”

The Perils and Pleasures of a White Christmas • Emily Moreton

28

“Fuck.” Tim dropped his head for a moment,

shuddering. “Okay, just—”

The last thing Drake expected was for Tim to pull out.

He moaned, feeling open and empty, confused.

“Turn over,” Tim added, already manhandling him onto

his stomach, then up onto his knees. “Yeah, like that.”

Drake clutched the back of the couch, took a breath,

and then Tim was pushing back into him. Tim pounded him,
Drake’s moans breaking with the force of it. He couldn’t do
anything like this, needed both hands to avoid going head
first over the couch.

Except it didn’t matter, because Tim’s hand was

cupping his cock, Tim’s thrusts were pushing him into Tim’s
hand, and his orgasm was coiling, thick and tight, in the
base of his spine. “Don’t stop. Fuck, Tim, don’t—”

He felt Tim start to come inside him, and that was all it

took for his own orgasm to hit him, hard enough that the
world tipped sideways for a moment.

Or maybe it was him that had tipped sideways; when he

came back to himself, he was pressed between Tim and the
back of the couch, Tim’s arm around his waist, Tim’s cock
softening inside him.

“Fuck,” he managed. His voice was half-gone, and he

really hoped he hadn’t been screaming, suspected he had.

“Yeah.” The soft word stirred the damp hair clinging to

Drake’s neck, making him abruptly aware of how hot and
sticky he was.

The Perils and Pleasures of a White Christmas • Emily Moreton

29

“We should take a shower.”

“We should stay here and nap,” Tim corrected. Drake

kind of didn’t want to argue. He felt warm and sleepy and
safe, content to stay right where he was. “Here,” Tim added,
the quilt on the back of the couch settling haphazardly over
the two of them.

Drake snuggled down into it. “Annie’s not coming, right?

Shouldn’t get come on her quilt.”

“Staying up with Simon.” Tim broke off to yawn. “Roads

are no good.”

“S’okay, then.” Drake shivered slightly at the touch of

fabric against his sensitive cock and stretched out, aching
thighs.

“All good.” Tim petted clumsily at Drake’s hair. “Nap

now. Decorations when we wake up.”

Drake tried to say something about Sally’s invitation to

Christmas dinner, but the words slipped away. After a nap,
he told himself, and closed his eyes.

Come home for holiday romance.

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About the Author

E

MILY

M

ORETON

has been writing since she was a child,

when her stories mostly involved her and her sister saving
the world (or at least the back garden). Since then, her
writing has developed somewhat, and she’s published several
short stories, only some of which have included saving the
world, and has been nominated for the Push Cart awards.
She now lives in Bristol, where she works four jobs and
spends most of the rest of her free time volunteering at the
local concert hall.
Visit Emily’s web site at http://purple-pen.dreamwidth.org.

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Copyright

The Perils and Pleasures of a White Christmas ©Copyright Emily Moreton, 2012

Published by
Dreamspinner Press
5032 Capital Circle SW
Ste 2, PMB# 279
Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the
authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover Art by Paul Richmond http://www.paulrichmondstudio.com

This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is
illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon
conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. This eBook cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No
part of this eBook can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the Publisher. To
request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press at: 5032 Capital Circle SW,
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Released in the United States of America
December 2012

eBook Edition
eBook ISBN: 978-1-62380-208-0