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The Interview

Lee Brazil

Prompt: librarian / Under the Christmas tree / ball of yarn

Dedication

This story is dedicated to Cooper Mackenzie,

who provided the perfect prompt to get my imagination stirring!

Chapter 1

The notes of "I'll Be Home for Christmas" wafted through the air. It seemed that

no matter how many spritely and cheerful Christmas songs there were, I never heard any

but the melancholy ones lately. Those that weren't blatantly sad served to remind me of

what I was missing this Christmas. Who wanted to hear about couples cuddling in front

of the fire when they were spending the holiday alone? And who cared if Parson Brown

asked to marry them when they couldn't get their boyfriend to commit to living in the

same state?

I tugged my red wool cap down farther over my ears, shoved dark glasses on to

block the sun from my aching eyes, and headed to the library. I wanted to snarl at

whatever idiot had his music playing so loud in the staff parking lot, but it wasn't worth

the effort of speaking. Today was the last day of classes before winter break at the

university, and I had exactly six hours of work at the library before my holiday, such as it

was, started.

My boots crunched on the salted sidewalk as I wove my way between

beleaguered students. The last finals were today, and the stress showed on everyone's

faces. When the third student with his nose in a book nearly slammed into me, I darted

from the semi-clear sidewalk and tromped through the new layer of snow. I took bitter

satisfaction in marring that pristine sparkling surface with my boot prints. I didn't even

care that this little side excursion might ruin my leather boots. Who cared? They were

sleek and sexy, not real cold weather boots, but if no one was going to admire me in

them, then what was the point?

Six miserable hours that I wished would drag out for four more days. I wasn't

looking forward to going home at the end of this shift and spending the next few days

being reminded that I was alone. I'd have way too much time to think about Cris and our

years together. He should have been there. We'd planned for him to be there. Except, last

weekend he'd called and told me about a new offer he had for an excellent position, great

benefits, no more traveling. I could tell he really wanted that job.

Property of the Unseen Unheard Library

I really wanted him to be around more, too. So I told him to go for it. Then the

other shoe fell. I should have known there was a catch. There was always a catch. Turned

out the only time he could interview for this position was Christmas Eve.

I'd assured him it was fine, that all would be well, that my family would keep me

busy and I'd barely miss him if he stayed in California for the interview. After all, we

weren't kids. He could arrive on December 26th and we could celebrate just fine.

But I was lying and he damn sure should have known it. Cris just accepted it

though. Accepted and carried on as we always had, calling and texting and emailing and

having our lovely long distance, open relationship.

The one I was beginning to loathe with all my being.

The familiar chirp of my cell phone had me reaching into my pocket, pausing near

some evergreen shrubs just outside the library. I pushed my hair back over my shoulder

as the wind whipped around the corner and sent it flying. Thin strands clung to the

Chapstick that I'd lined my lips with. Ordinarily I'd have used my favorite lip maximizer,

but I'd been so down, I hadn't bothered to go through my usual winter ritual of applying

mashed papaya paste to exfoliate and soften my lips. Which I guess was kind of crazy,

because the whole purpose of the ritual was to keep my lips kissable in appearance and

texture despite the dry cold, and just because Cris was arriving four days late didn't mean

there wouldn't be plenty of kissing when he got here,

"Hello." I should have checked to see who it was before I answered. It was Cris,

and I had to pretend to be cheerful and brimming with Christmas spirit when I was

anything but.

"Hey, Ben, I just called to remind you to get the tree after work today. You said

last night that you hadn't gotten it yet, and I know it's one of your favorite things to do."

With you. I held the guilt-inducing words back. With Cris, shopping for the

perfect tree was my favorite holiday tradition. We made an event out of the whole thing.

A thermos of hot cocoa with marshmallows in hand, we would wander through the tree

lots looking for the perfect vehicle to display the antique and handmade ornaments that I

inherited from my grandmother. We measured the distance between branches, studied

every Scotch pine and every blue spruce, knowing all the while that we'd settle for a

fragrant Douglas or red fir with its sturdy, widely spaced branches to show off the

ornaments better.

I wasn't so much looking forward to finding a tree alone, or decorating it alone.

Hanging crocheted snowflakes, tinsel, and Grandma's vintage glass bird ornaments

wouldn't have the same appeal without Cris's firm grip guiding my hand to the perfect

spot on the tree. He tried very hard, my Cris, not to let his obsessive demand for

symmetry and order mar the holidays, but the twitching always got to be too much. I

confess, I deliberately placed an ornament or two in an awkward spot just to feel his hand

on mine, the heat of his body close behind me.

"Yeah. I'll go when I get done here. Can you call me around four?" It would be a

little bit better if I could talk to him about the choices, maybe send a photo of the final

product.

"Ummm. I'll try, but I can't promise anything."

So I probably wouldn't even get that solace. "Okay. Call if you can. I have to go.

Work awaits."

I hid in the stacks all day, shelving cart after cart of books, losing myself in the

scent of leather and old paper. It beat working the counter where the aroma of pine from

the decorative evergreen boughs—genuine, despite fire codes—and the peppermint of the

candy dish just screamed Christmas. It beat smiling cheerfully and wishing sleep

deprived young adults a happy holiday—because it was a state funded school and Merry

Christmas was just too politically incorrect.

In the end, I didn't bother with the measuring tape or the cocoa, just pointed my

'67 Mustang straight for the nearest tree lot. Go in, pick a tree, go home, and set it up so

the branches could drop. I could do this. I didn't need Cris holding my hand to choose a

tree.

My confidence in my ability to function as a rational adult was shaken when my

first step on the tree lot brought tears to my eyes and bitterness to my heart. The scent of

the pine trees made me nauseous, and the laughter of the kids running about chasing each

other from Santa's sleigh to the giant snowman cut-out made me weepy. I'd never been

much of a people person, but I'd never felt such a need for companionship either. Being

on the tree lot without Cris, I was lonely. Overwhelmingly so.

I didn't have the heart to look around. Cris would have played tag with those kids.

He would have coaxed me into the silly decorated sleigh and charmed some passing

stranger into taking our picture.

I grabbed the first tree I found that seemed less than six feet tall and more than

four. The tree needed to be tall enough to set on the low table in front of the street-side

window of my living room. Everything else, I could work around. So what if the

ornaments didn't line up perfectly because the branches weren't symmetrical?

I wouldn't say I wound up with a Charlie Brown tree, but the fact that the tree

wasn't perfect soothed me a bit. The fact that it cost about half what we normally paid

shocked me. Who knew? Somehow I had always assumed a tree for under a hundred

bucks was impossible to find. I dropped the change into a bell-ringing Santa's bucket,

feeling a bit better about both myself and my tree.

Funny how that works; I hadn't bought a cheaper tree intentionally to donate the

rest of what I would have spent to any worthy cause. It just happened. And I felt the

tiniest bit lighter, happier, afterward.

I helped the two lot workers in red and black flannel shirts fix the tree to the roof

of my car by staying the hell out of their way and not protesting about my paint job more

than twice while they secured the tree with tarp and bungee cords that I provided. Cris

would have been all over that, double checking and testing the quality of the knots.

On impulse, I headed back over to the sleigh, where a weary looking young mom

was struggling to get two rambunctious kids to sit still long enough so she could snap a

picture.

"I'll take the picture if you want to get in there with them," I offered a bit

awkwardly. Hopefully she wouldn't think I was some kind of stalking perv.

"Would you?" She seemed relieved and excited, maybe the rest of the world

wasn't as paranoid and leery as I.

"Sure, if you'll snap a picture of me for my boyfriend after." Cris would get his

annual photo of me in the Christmas sleigh after all.

She held out her gloved hand. "I'm Debbie Adams. The mischievous angels"—she

grimaced wryly as I awkwardly took her hand—"are Chad and Brad."

"Ben Cavelli. Twins, huh?" I accepted her camera as she seated herself between

the two boys.

With their mom between them, the two demons turned into angels, smiling and

snuggling into their mom's down coat, looking up at her with laughing blue eyes. I must

have taken half dozen candid shots before mom got the kids positioned the way she

wanted them.

Five minutes, that was all the stillness the little ones could take, but I did snap the

pic the now smiling mom wanted.

I handed her my phone, showed her how to take a picture with it, and brushed off

her thanks. Instead of climbing into the seat of the sleigh though, I leaned back against

the painted side of the crimson vehicle and whipped off my dark glasses. I would send

the picture, along with one of the tree, to Cris before I went to bed tonight. I wouldn't be

looking my best, not without eyeliner and lip gloss, but I'd be genuinely smiling.

Sitting in my car, I laughed to see that the young mother had also taken a few

candid shots…one of my ass in the tight denim jeans that was absolutely making the

send-to-Cris cut.

Chapter 2

My parents and siblings knew, of course, that Cris wasn't coming home as

scheduled. The six messages on my phone by the time I got home made it perfectly clear

they had decided to make sure I didn't have time to mourn his absence.

I wrestled the tree into the house and brought the tree stand in from the garden

shed. I could call my family as I decorated, then send pictures of the tree and the tree lot

to Cris before I went to bed.

My family wasn't that patient. I was cursing the tree stand and on the verge of

cursing Cris's golden opportunity when the doorbell rang. Flinging the wrench and

screwdriver aside, I lurched to my feet and stomped petulantly to the door. The murmur

of voices on the other side was indistinguishable, but it sounded like a lot of people.

It was. Mom and Dad stood at the head of a whole crowd of family—my sister

and her husband, their two kids, my younger brother Abe, and his friend Trey who

practically lived at my parents' house. Everyone held some offering of food, and my mom

held a wrapped package.

My stomach rumbled at the delicious odors wafting from the food dishes, and I

stepped back to allow them all entry. The teens headed to the kitchen to grab sodas, the

adults to the dining room. My mom grabbed my hand and held me in place as I moved to

follow. I looked down into sympathetic green eyes.

"How are you doing, Ben honey?"

Tears gathered at her concern, but I brushed them away. Whether Cris was here or

not, my family loved me. I could always count on them. Unlike a certain six foot golden-

skinned blond charmer who was noticeably absent.

"I'm fine, Mom. Starving though," I hinted, dodging toward the dining room

again.

"You boys, you've been starving since you turned five. Before that you wouldn't

eat a darn thing but chicken nuggets dipped in mayonnaise. I just have to give you this,

and then you can eat." She placed the wrapped box reverently in my hands.

I looked at the cheerful snowman paper in surprise. "What is it?"

"I don't know. Cris sent it FedEx to the house with express instructions to bring it

over here tonight."

Cris did? I blinked rapidly but a tear made its way from the corner of my eye,

leaving a hot track down my cheek. "Thanks, Mom." Torn, I glanced to the dining room

where laughter and the clink of silverware and china mingled.

"You're supposed to open it now," Mom urged. "Dinner will be here when you get

done."

She left me in the hallway with my package and a cloud of White Diamonds,

feeling wishy-washy and on the verge of a meltdown. Cris was thinking about me. I

tugged the sparkly white ribbon wrapped around the gift. Cris must have either paid

someone to do the wrapping or spent hours on it.

Oh, he never did anything sloppy, but the wrapping of gifts was usually my

department. Cris would neatly wrap something in red or green paper, stick a contrasting

bow on it, and call it good.

The paper fell away to reveal a carved oak box. I knew this box. It was Cris's

father's work. He'd retired years ago and set up a shop in his garage. There he managed to

avoid getting under his wife's feet by woodworking. He built bookshelves and boxes,

turned pens and candlesticks. This box had all the hallmarks of Doug Martin's woodshop.

Quality wood, meticulous attention to detail.

On the box lid was carved an ornate sprig of mistletoe inlaid with mother of pearl

berries and some kind of green enamel for the leaves. Underneath in scrolling script, it

said Christmas 2011.

I lifted the lid of the box to find, nested on a bed of black velvet, a glass apple

ornament that looked to be from the same era as my grandmother's birds. The tears I'd

managed to stave off flowed unheeded as I touched the ornament with a trembling finger.

Strong fingers curled around my shoulder. "Everything all right, Son?"

I blinked back the tears, wiped my cheeks on the sleeve of my shirt. "Yeah, Dad.

Fine."

"Then come on and eat. Everyone's waiting for you." I followed him into the

room, laughing a bit to see that he'd chosen the seat at the metaphoric head of the round

table for himself. Tradition. It was a beautiful thing.

"Need some help getting the tree up?" My sister Becky asked.

"I can handle it," I asserted, spooning fragrant jasmine rice onto my plate.

"Oh, let us help." My mom and dad spoke at the same time. It was just an excuse

not to leave right after dinner. I gave in gracefully. An extra pair or three of hands might

help in getting that tree in the stand.

"Can we decorate it today?" Sherri chimed in.

Just turned thirteen, she was the youngest member of the family, my sister's

youngest child, and much indulged.

"Don't be a doofus." Her brother Ryan, two years older and proud of it, snapped.

"The branches have to drop before you decorate it."

Sherri's innocent question sparked a debate over the merits of setting up the tree

and letting it sit overnight before decorating versus decorating immediately after

standing. The family fell in predictable lines, with Ryan leading the charge to prove how

wrong his sibling was to even suggest it.

Finally, I couldn't stand the disappointment on her face any longer when it looked

like the practical wait for the branches to fall crowd was going to win. "I think we can do

it tonight."

Besides, decorating the tree would keep company in the house a while longer.

"We can set it up, then do dishes, bake some brownies, play some video games, and then

decorate." A few hours in between would have to do.

Mom beamed her approval at me across the table, and Sherri glowed with

happiness. Everyone else accepted the decree as though humoring me were more

important than being right.

We ate chicken curry and beef satay, talked about the weather, the kids, and

everything except the holidays. It was weird, but nice. I knew they wanted to avoid the

subject of Cris's absence.

After dinner, Mom and Becky ejected me from the kitchen so they could do the

dishes. I trailed after my dad and Becky's husband, Jake, into the living room where my

not quite Charlie Brown tree rested against the front window in an awkward sprawl.

My dad and Jake immediately fell to muttering about the tools available and

grunting over the best way to do this. I slid onto the couch and put my feet on the coffee

table, watching, smiling. The melancholy was fading and when Sherri turned on the CD

player, the joyful notes of "Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree" filled the room and my

heart.

I snapped a few quick pictures with my camera then waved Trey and Abe and my

nephew Ryan ahead of me as I headed down the hall to the unused back bedroom. It had

become a catch-all storage room. The red and green Rubbermaid Christmas ornament

storage boxes were easily identified, and we carried them into the living room to discover

that between Jake and my dad, they had managed to get the tree steady and upright in its

stand.

Together we wrangled the tree into position atop the table in front of the window,

and I searched through the first box for the red plaid tree skirt my mother had given me

my first Christmas in the house. Tree skirt in place, I stepped back to survey my work.

My family stared at the tree in disbelief. Jake wrapped an arm around my shoulders. "It's

not so bad," he said dubiously.

Abe and Trey snickered in the background and my mom shushed them loudly. I

sighed. "Well, how about those brownies? Who's going to bake with me?"

Jake and I headed to the kitchen while my mom and sister trailed behind. The rest

of them settled on the sofa and turned on the TV.

"The Grinch! The Grinch is on," Abe called after us excitedly.

"Record it! We can watch it together in a few minutes." I opened the cupboard

and started pulling out baking chocolate and flour.

"You don't have a box mix?" Jake teased. He knew better. I learned to cook in the

kitchen at my mom's side. Boxed mixes never made their way to my shelves any more

than they did hers. Why bother, when it's just as fast and easy to mix it yourself?

"You're kidding, right?" I asked, swiping at his head with the carton of eggs.

My mom and sister took out the blender and dug through my freezer. While Jake

and I chatted and measured ingredients for the brownies, they whipped up a batch of

phony eggnog. Phony meaning no alcohol in honor of the underaged among us.

"Ben, are you coming over in the morning to make cookies with me?" Another

family tradition. This one came with its own boatload of stress. I'd be expected to bake

dozens and dozens of cookies, assemble them into gift boxes, and assist in distributing

them to the grateful recipients.

Still, it would serve to fill the day, and I'd be so busy I wouldn't have time to think

about Cris. "Sure. I'll be there at seven."

With the rich scent of baking brownies in the air, we sat around the living room

and watched as the citizens of Whoville taught the miserly Grinch just what Christmas

was all about.

Fast forwarding through the recorded commercials put the film over at exactly the

right time to indulge in brownies and eggnog before decorating the tree.

An hour later, the shabby tree glowed with tiny white lights and sparkled with

silvery tinsel. The crocheted snowflakes alternated with the glittering glass birds. It was

done. Almost. I retreated unnoticed to the foyer to pick up Cris's box. I withdrew the

glass apple, and aware of all the eyes following my movements, hung it carefully on the

tree. A flash of light in the corner of my eye told me someone had thought to capture the

moment.

I bade my family goodbye at the door, anxious to get back to the living area to

snap a few more pics of the now ritzy Charlie Brown tree to add to the collection I'd be

sending Cris.

Chapter 3

After emailing the pictures to Cris, I crawled between the blankets on the king-

size bed that barely fit into the small master bedroom of my little house. On my own it

was too big, sometimes I felt lost in the expanse of smooth flannel sheets and mounds of

blankets and pillows. When Cris was around it felt tiny; he was a big man who took up a

lot of space, and the king-size was necessary to accommodate his height.

I piled the pillows in the center of the bed and pulled the quilt up over my naked

chest. My cell phone was on the table, waiting for the call I knew would come before

either of us slipped into slumber.

Netflix provided the entertainment, and I was into the third episode of the fourth

season of my favorite show when the phone emitted Cris's distinctive ringtone.

"Did I wake you?" His deep voice was a husky caress I felt from my sensitive ear

all throughout my body. Hairs prickled and my skin felt slightly more sensitive.

I sighed with pleasure. "You know you didn't." I traced a hand down my neck to

my inner elbow, where the sensitive skin responded as though Cris had pressed his lips

there in a gentle kiss.

"I hoped I wouldn't." His voice was deeper.

"I got your gift. It's incredibly beautiful."

"I saw it on the tree in the pictures you sent. Some very, very fine pictures, I

might add." There was a moment of silence. "I got you another gift."

"Another one? Let's wait and exchange them when you get here."

"Not this one. I want you to open it now."

"Now?" I asked, looking around the room warily.

"Now," he agreed. "Are you wearing those flannel pajama pants your mom got us

last year?"

Of course, I was. Who could resist Grinch pajamas when they were alone at the

holiday season? I laughed. "You know me pretty well, don't you?"

"I think so. Take them off." I obeyed before I even thought about it. He sounded

so confident and in control.

"Um…what are you wearing?" I asked to hide a sudden strange shyness that

overcame me.

"Me? I'm wearing your favorite outfit. Open the nightstand on my side of the bed.

There're two wrapped boxes in there. Open the red one first. I'll wait. Hey, maybe put me

on speaker."

Bemused, I obeyed. We exchanged gifts at the holidays, sure. But usually just one

or two gifts on Christmas day. This was different, it was fun, and it kind of made up a bit

for the loneliness of Cris's absence. I opened the drawer in the tiny table that served as a

nightstand and discovered the two boxes he'd spoken of. One was gaily wrapped in red

paper, the other in silver.

"The red one first," Cris admonished, as though he could hear in my breathing

how drawn I was to the longer, sparkly package.

"Okay, okay." I chuckled and began to meticulously slide my finger under the

first strip of clear tape.

"Oh, just rip it!" Cris was getting impatient.

I did and laughed aloud. "Nice. Yes lubricant? Like we don't have enough of a

variety here already?"

"Well, I picked it for the name. I wanted you to have yes on the brain when you

open the second package and hopefully agree to try what I'm about to suggest."

Curious, I picked up the second package. Shook it a bit. "What is it?"

"Open it." I heard him catch his breath, then release it slowly.

"Are you…" I trailed off. My own cock was half hard in anticipation of where this

call would end, but it sounded almost as if Cris was way ahead of me.

"Open it."

I made short work of the silver paper and the plain brown box. I blinked in

astonishment at the contents. "You're kidding, right?"

"No, I'm not. It's a vibrator."

"I can see that." Boy, could I see that. It was a slick black plastic vibrator, and it

was intimidating. "You want me to say yes to this?"

"God, yes. I want to think of you—using it."

"I've never used one of these before." I was hesitant to try it. I didn't want to

disappoint Cris, but toys like this weren't something I had a lot of familiarity with.

"Not tonight, then." I hated hearing the disappointment in his voice, but I just

couldn't do it right then.

"Tell me," I whispered, wanting to distract him, reaching for my cock. "Tell me

what you feel when you think of me using it." I resolved to try the darn thing before Cris

got home.

A familiar low moan wrapped itself around my senses and provoked a predictable

response. I swallowed hard. "Are you…jerking off while you talk to me?"

"I'd have waited for you…but the images in my head were too hot." Cris's breath

came a little faster now, his voice dropping to a husky level.

I closed my eyes to visualize Cris, stretched across some anonymous hotel bed. I

wanted him here, with me, so I could be the one running my hand up that firmly muscled

chest, threading my fingers through his hair. I wanted to lick the drops of pre-cum off the

tip of his cock as he stroked himself, to feel the urgent beat of his heart under my palm.

"Tell me, baby. I want to be there with you…make me feel it with you…" I reached for

my own fully erect cock, stroking it absently.

"I'm in the hotel on the bed. It has the ugliest fucking comforter I've ever seen.

You'd hate it. I just got out of the shower and called you, 'cause I couldn't wait any

longer. I'm lying back against the pillows, with one knee to the side. Thinking about you

made me so hard, I couldn't resist. I'm stroking myself, but I wish you were here with me,

coming with me."

"Ohh, baby, I wish I were there too. What would you do? If I were, I mean." I

swiped my thumb across my own dripping tip, brought it to my mouth to lick off as I

listened intently to Cris's breathing come faster and deeper.

A smile glimmered in Cris's voice now. "Hmmm, if you were here, I'd still be

stroking myself, but you could stand by me, so I could suck you while I do it."

Fuuuck. Orgasm loomed, I could feel it hovering in the pit of my stomach, the

tightening of my balls. "Hmm," I grunted, nearly beyond forming genuine words.

"I'm close, are you ready? Come with me," he pleaded. "Don't want to come

alone."

Chapter 4

I missed Cris, too. No matter how much I tried not to say it, it hung over my head

like a cartoon cloud over Elmer Fudd. I woke ridiculously early, and the first thing my

eyes fell on was that silicone dildo nestled in its box. I still couldn't believe that Cris had

left me the thing. He knew I'd never played with toys before, although I knew he found

them interesting.

To me, it seemed like he was offering a substitute. He was gone so often, was this

his way of saying he didn't like the "open" aspect of our relationship any more than I did?

Of course he didn't know that I hadn't taken advantage of that get out of jail free for

cheating card in years. Back when we first hooked up, sure. He'd leave town for a month,

and by the second weekend, I'd be out at the bars, looking with my friends. But long ago,

I'd come to the conclusion that a guy who only wanted to get off wasn't what I was

looking for. I enjoyed the sex, but I also wanted touch…and to be touched casually,

lovingly. I wanted the relationship.

Did this gift mean that Cris had seen that in me? The idea was both appealing and

horribly humiliating. The toy fascinated and repelled me. I sat up against the head of the

bed and stretched out a hand to touch it. I ran a finger over the smooth surface, shivered a

little at the onslaught of ideas it spurred. Cris wanted to think of me, using this. He

wanted to watch me play with it.

I extracted it from the box and studied it from all angles. The idea of being on

display for Cris, and not knowing what the hell I was doing with it scared me a little. I

don't know why, it was just one of those things. I didn't like not knowing… I did like Cris

watching though, and he'd never asked me to do anything that hadn't turned out to be

phenomenal.

I twisted the base of the device, and a quiet purr filled the silence. My heart stilled

a bit. Was I really going to do this? I slid down the blankets, brought the toy to my lips.

The vibrating purr instantly sensitized them. I felt the tingling sensation bring prickles of

awareness throughout my body. It was definitely worth investigating further. It was

different, not the same reaction I got from a kiss, from the heat and pressure of Cris's

mouth on mine, but it wasn't unpleasant.

I licked the tip, shivering again. I grasped my stirring cock in my other hand,

stroked it slowly. My eyes drifted shut and I pictured Cris watching in approval. His eyes

would light up, he'd smile and murmur encouragement.

My breathing increased, and I dragged the toy from my mouth down the column

of my neck, swallowing as it pressed against my Adam's apple. Curious, I trailed it

around my body, to the spot below my ear where Cris's teeth made me shudder, to the

crook of my elbow, where a lick at the right time could make me convulse, to the little

spot on my hip that drove me absolutely crazy.

When my thighs tensed and my belly tightened, when I came, it felt like Cris was

there with me. I rested just a moment on the bed, before tossing the toy aside and

jumping up. It wasn't exactly what Cris had meant me to do with his gift, I knew that. But

still, getting comfortable with it would go a long way to actually using it. I wasn't sure I'd

manage using it until Cris got home anyway. I kind of liked the idea of staring into his

eyes.

But for now, I had cookies to bake, package, and deliver with my mom, and that

would keep me busy.

A quick shower then a few minutes in the car, and I stood in my mom's kitchen,

surrounded by chattering relatives. The scent of vanilla and cinnamon mingled with

chocolate and maple as we measured, mixed, and baked.

"You miss him, don't you?" my mom asked.

"Of course," I answered simply. "But this is an opportunity that cannot be missed.

If he gets this job, we can spend a lot more time together."

She smiled and patted me on the arm. "I'm sure he'll get the job, honey. You

know, we weren't in favor of this when you first brought him home back then."

I knew it. Mom and Dad hadn't exactly made any secret of the fact that they found

Cris a disappointment. Not because he was a man, I knew that they didn't care whether, in

the end, I chose a man or a woman. "I know. You were afraid he'd convince me to travel

with him."

Mom nodded without looking at me. She dumped a cup of raisins into a batch of

oatmeal cookie dough. "That, and we were scared he'd break your heart. I don't

understand this open relationship thing. I never have, but he's been good to you, and

we've seen it ourselves. We might not understand it, but it works."

I nodded. Once, her acceptance of my relationship would have pleased me. Now,

I wasn't happy with my "open relationship" and her approval felt a little…like reproof.

Did she know I was uncomfortable with things as they were between Cris and me?

Maybe. Mom was perceptive. I got the message though. She liked Cris. He'd

become family despite the irregular relationship we had. I shouldn't rock the boat by

asking for more than Cris was ready to give.

"I'm not going anywhere, Mom. My life is here. And Cris isn't going to break my

heart."

"I know, dear." She handed me a tray of cookies to put in the oven. "Set the timer

on those for eleven minutes." Her eyes were misty, and she wiped at them with her apron,

leaving a trail of flour across her cheek.

I wiped it away with the oven mitt, laughing. Her tremulous smile puzzled me,

but I didn't have the chance to ask what was bothering her.

"Ben." My dad hovered in the doorway, dressed in winter gear and waving his car

keys.

I turned and raised a brow, waiting. I knew what was coming. It was another

tradition. One I'd gotten roped into at the age of twelve, when I'd casually asked my dad

what he'd gotten my mom for Christmas.

"I need your help with some stuff." He gestured dramatically toward the garage

door. I laughed. He needed me to jump in the car with him and drive out to the mall. It

was Christmas Eve, the shops closed in six hours, and Dad had done none of his

shopping. He was going to drag me through every shop in the mall in search of the

perfect gifts for all of us.

"Can you excuse me, Mom?"

She laughed and shook her head. "I told him to get that done last week while I did

mine. He said he didn't want to disappoint you and that you look forward to shopping

with him every year."

I did, too. I enjoyed choosing gifts for my family. I did my own shopping, sure,

but I had a budget and did a lot of my shopping at the bookstore. I had a reputation as a

librarian to uphold, after all. Dad, however, was always so desperate; he was willing to

shell out big bucks for the best gift, partly because he felt guilty for waiting till the last

minute, and partly because he enjoyed the smiles on Christmas morning.

She handed me one of the boxes of mixed cookies we'd made. "Here, don't forget

this!"

I looked at the box. What a stupid thing to bring tears to my eyes. "Mom, I can't

eat all those cookies." I could if Cris were sitting with me though. We'd sit in front of the

tree, drink hot cocoa, eat cookies, and watch the lights twinkle while our favorite holiday

movies played in the background. We'd maybe nibble cookies through It's a Wonderful

Life, maybe through How the Grinch Stole Christmas. We might even get crumbs in the

bed.

"You can take them," she insisted. Dad honked the horn, growing impatient. I

accepted the box reluctantly. "Freeze them until Cris gets home if you want, honey."

That was an option. I gave her a light kiss on the brow and called goodbye to the

rest of my family as Dad honked impatiently again, revving the engine of his little '64

Mustang.

Chapter 5

Ordinarily, I'd have been bouncing in my seat or teasing Dad to let me drive. He

never would, though. This car was his pride and joy, taken out of the garage for special

occasions only. Christmas shopping was one of those occasions. Why he felt brave

enough to park it in the mall parking lot on the busiest shopping day of the year, I didn't

know. But since that first time when I was twelve, it was a treat I wouldn't question.

Driving to the mall in the classic car, listening to the engine purr, I wished each year I'd

get the chance to drive it one day. That day had never actually come, but I still dreamed

of it. This car was more than half the reason I'd bought my own Mustang. Didn't look like

I'd ever share the ride with a son of my own, but still.

This year I wasn't bouncing. I was realizing that I hadn't done much shopping for

Cris either. I'd gotten the kids their graphic novels, my brother his Douglas Adams. In

fact, I'd chosen perfect books for everyone else. I hadn't picked up anything for Cris. I

knew why, too. I couldn't stare at his gifts under the tree, knowing they'd still be there,

wrapped in shiny paper and tied with silly bows, when all the others were gone on

Christmas morning.

It was our tradition, his and mine. My family always opened gifts after Santa's

visit, in the early hours of Christmas morning. Cris's family had the same tradition. We

never spent Christmas morning together as a result. We always had Christmas Eve. We

celebrated Our Christmas the night before and went to our respective families the next

day.

I trailed Dad around the mall, pointing out new game systems, smart phones,

tablet computers, and diamonds. He nodded, bought pretzels and soda, cookies—even

though I reminded him that Mom was baking more as we shopped. He compared

sweaters, and videos, and collected bags and boxes.

I watched. Frowning people hurried to and fro, whispering furiously into cell

phones and pushing their way into stores. Everyone was single-mindedly focused on

getting in and getting out. No one looked like they were having much fun. They didn't

seem to have the holiday spirit any more than I did.

Except, in the DVD store, while Dad searched for the latest teen vampire flick, I

found a little out of the way corner near the documentaries, leaned against the wall, and

watched. It was crowded. The theme of the season seemed to be—when in doubt, buy a

DVD. A little ways away, a young boy—maybe five or six—stood with his mom, clearly

torn between a military movie and a kid's cartoon.

"You only have ten dollars, Mason," his mother said patiently. "Which one do you

think Daddy will like?"

The boy looked reluctantly from Platoon to GI Joe. He put the cartoon back on

the shelf and patted it gently, then handed the other to his mom with a smile. I watched

them wander off to the checkout, where the woman spoke briefly to the clerk. A few

minutes later, while I still thoughtfully pondered the little interaction, she came back and

picked up the cartoon as the little boy paid for his father's gift.

I picked up both the cartoon and Platoon. Cris and I enjoyed movies, and I

remembered GI Joe fondly as a child. I hadn't seen the movie, but it might be worth a

laugh on a Saturday morning in bed. I felt better after that. I had gifts for Cris, ones I was

sure would make him smile, and I had a smile of my own.

After the DVD store, Dad insisted on getting Chinese at the food court. I trailed

along behind him, letting a clerk pile lo-mein noodles and fragrant rice on a tray. The

spicy orange chicken was aromatic and tempted me. My stomach growled. I was actually

hungry it seemed, for the first time in ages.

Dad refused to let me pay and dropped his tray on a nearby table distressingly

close to a jazz ensemble playing Christmas tunes with halfhearted flair. I stuck a straw in

my soda and eyed him over the food. I looked up from my plate to catch a wince on his

face as the saxophonist hit a sour note and the cymbals clanged discordantly. He caught

my glance and smiled broadly. It looked somewhat forced, but it was a valiant attempt.

Something wasn't right about this shopping expedition. We'd been all over the

mall, he had gifts for everyone on his list, I had a growing pile of gifts for Cris, the

DVDs, a sweater, some cologne I particularly liked. And yet, Dad was ambling along

leisurely, eating and listening to the band playing music near the food court, as though

there were no urgency at all.

"Dad…" I slowly chewed a bite of noodles. "Is there something I should know?"

He looked startled for a moment, and then shook his head. He flushed a bit, and I

ate more food, waiting. He was a terrible liar. I watched as he shifted restlessly, and then

shoved a huge bite of rice in his mouth.

I couldn't believe Dad was really hungry, what with the pretzels and cookies and

all he'd already eaten. It hardly seemed possible that he was starving enough to forget his

table manners. The more he ate, the more convinced I was that he was hiding bad news.

What more could it be? "So, Dad, is someone sick, dying, knocked up, or getting

married?"

I shouldn't have been so blunt. He choked on his noodles and gulped his soda.

"No one! Jesus! Ben, what kind of question is that?"

"Dad, you're acting strangely. We shopped. We got something for everyone, twice

over. We should be rushing home so you can wrap this stuff and catch Mom under the

mistletoe. Instead, you're stuffing me, eating food you can't stand, listening to music that

usually drives you mad, and showing every sign of staying here until they kick us out.

What gives?"

Then the other shoe dropped. It was another of my family's well-meaning plots.

"Mom told you to do this, didn't she?"

He looked desperately relieved, nodding furiously. "She did."

"She's afraid I'll be lonely and sad if I go home alone." Sweet, but hardly

necessary.

"She means well, Ben," Dad put in, shoving aside his half eaten plate of food.

"I know. But it doesn't matter, Dad. You don't have to babysit me. I'll miss Cris,

but I want to wrap his gifts and get them under the tree. I'll call him and we'll talk through

It's a Wonderful Life and I'll be okay. He won't be here tonight, but he will be here soon

and I'm an adult. I'll cope with it."

My voice rose as I went on, and my dad turned startled eyes from the band to me.

"I know. But you don't have to cope alone. You have family. It's what we're here for."

Company would be nice. I nodded. "Okay. Fine…but can we just go watch a

movie or something? I can't eat any more mall food and this is by far the worst jazz

version of "I'll Be Home for Christmas" that I've ever heard."

Chapter 6

The moon rode high in the sky by the time I got back to my own house, and I was

pleasantly tired. Dad and I had watched a movie, then headed back home to wrap gifts in

the garage. It hadn't taken long to wrap Cris's gifts, but I think Dad was regretting his

generosity once the eggnog pitcher ran dry and he was still fumbling with ribbon and

wrap.

Wrapping is an inherited talent; I guess I inherited it from my mom, because Dad

sure didn't have the gift. Eventually we'd managed to get it all done and under the tree. I

kissed my mom and thanked her, ignoring her faked look of surprise as I left.

At home, I bent to place my shopping under the tree, and something that shouldn't

have been there caught my attention. There was a new box under the tree, neatly wrapped

in the same paper the dildo had been wrapped in. It was obviously another gift from Cris.

My mom must have let herself in and placed it there for me while I was out with my dad.

I felt again that funny little melty sensation and my lips quirked into what I was sure was

a dorky smile.

I picked up the box and shook it slightly, but other than a muffled sliding noise, I

got no clues as to the contents. I sat cross-legged on the floor and considered my options.

I could open the box and see what was in it, then call Cris to thank him, or I could call

him and we could open it together, as it were.

I pulled out my phone and hit the speed dial button for Cris. He picked up

immediately. I paused in my greeting as a muffled sound at the back of the house tried to

distract me.

"Hello, baby," he purred in my ear.

"Guess where I am."

Silence. "Where are you?" He sounded cautious.

"Sitting under the Christmas tree. Guess what I have in my hand?"

"Are you holding my gift?" Can you hear a smile? I swear I could.

"Yes. I'm opening it now." I made a show of rustling the paper loudly into the

phone as I pulled it off to reveal the square box. I tossed the paper aside to clean up later.

"There, the paper's off, now let's see…" My voice trailed off as I noticed for the first time

that a bit of yarn had been threaded through a hole in the bottom of the box.

"Did you open it, Ben?"

"Yeah." I tugged at the yarn, a rough bit of cheery red. It didn't seem to end. I rose

slowly, tucking the phone between my shoulder and my ear. "Cris? There's yarn. What's

this all about?"

"Follow it."

Follow it? Okay, I wound the yarn around my hand, following it through the

living room to the kitchen, where it was wrapped around a tray of cookies and a pitcher

of eggnog."

"Where are you now?" he asked.

"In the kitchen, there's cookies and eggnog. Mom must have been here." I put the

pitcher in the fridge and the cookies in the cabinet. The yarn trailed on. I wrapped it

around my hand, telling Cris about my parents' kindness. The trail led down the hall to

my bedroom door. I was running out of ideas about what was on the other end of this

yarn. All I could really think of was that Cris had gotten me a kitten. Probably a full

grown cat someone had dumped at the local animal shelter. Knowing Cris, a full grown,

moody cat who would as soon scratch out my eyes as cuddle. He liked spirited things,

Cris did.

It was the perfect gift, really. "I love you, you know?" I said as I pushed the

bedroom door open.

"I know," he said, tossing his phone on the nightstand and opening his arms.

I gaped like a fish out of water. In the middle of my bed, naked as the day he was

born, only a hell of a lot sexier, was Cris, a bit of red yarn tied around one toe, and a huge

red Christmas bow on the golden skin over his heart.

I dropped my phone and jumped on the bed, throwing myself on top of him.

He managed an "oof" before I closed his mouth with my own, and things were hot

and heavy in seconds.

"I can't believe you're here," I whispered, pulling away to gaze in awe, to run my

hands over his body. Was I dreaming? Cris smiled and pulled me down again.

"I wanted to surprise you."

"You succeeded." In the haze of lust a conclusion pushed its way forward. "Dad

and Mom were in on this? That's why he kept me out at the mall all day?"

Cris nodded again and apparently gave up on kissing for the moment. I forgave

him for that as he trailed his lips across my collarbone to that sensitive spot. He had a

plan, I could tell. Every movement was fraught with intent, every touch magnified

sensation. Hard hands closed around my hips, dragging me in tight against his erection.

The red bow was briefly crushed between us before he inched back a bit.

Cris's mouth trailed hotly from my ear to my chin, and up again to my temple, his

warm breath stirring the tiny hairs there. My own hands were busy reclaiming territory I

hadn't felt for what seemed like ages. I licked and kissed every bit of skin I could reach,

gasping as he flipped us over, shifting so that he knelt between my spread thighs.

I reached to straighten the bow; it looked kind of sad all crushed. Cris pushed my

hand away, and with a grimace, ripped it off.

"Son of a…" He bit off the last words as I pressed my lips to the slightly red spot

the bow had so recently adorned.

"Hurt?" I whispered into his warm skin.

"Not anymore." He breathed deeply. "We need to slow this down. I have things I

want to say…"

My hand closed around his cock, stroked it. I bit down hard into my bottom lip,

watched his eyes darken. "I have things I want to do. Actions speak louder than words,

you know."

His perfect ruby lips parted as though to protest, but he shrugged and nodded.

"Did you like my gift?"

"This is the best gift I've ever received," I assured him.

He shook his head, stubble scraping lightly against my cheek. "No, the other one."

The sleek toy flashed through my mind. I froze. What to say? "Oh, that one. Um. I

think I might like it."

Chuckles. "You might?"

"Maybe. If you don't mind waiting for a while. You know I don't adjust well to

new concepts." The heat on my skin was as much embarrassment as arousal now.

His lips skimmed over my cheek to my mouth again, and I parted my lips in

anticipation. The kiss as much as anything else was something I had waited for. A scant

minute of regret for my neglected winter lip regiment, and I automatically tilted my head

to the angle that would provide the most intimate contact. I let my eyes drift closed as

Cris sucked my bottom lip into his mouth and traced it with his tongue.

A sigh of pleasure escaped as I relaxed even farther into the mattress. The warm

spicy flavor of Cris seeped into my mouth. This man, this feeling, was home. Sharp teeth

nibbled lightly, tugging gently, and then Cris's tongue slid inside, rubbing silkily along

my own. I cupped the back of his neck, holding him in place while I responded freely

with all the hunger the separation had stored up. No toy could compare to this.

A low groan swiftly followed Cris's muffled laugh as I refused to let him back out

of the kiss. The press of heated flesh on heated flesh, the weeks of pent up want pushed

desire quickly into flagrant need. I didn't just want Cris, inside, now. I thought I'd die if

he didn't move things along.

At the same time, he was going to have to figure out how to deal with me not

releasing his mouth. I missed the kissing as much as the fucking and I wasn't giving up

the luxurious heat of Cris's mouth any time soon.

Cris was suddenly more urgent, grinding against me, leaking slick drops of pre-

cum. "Now," he ground out, pulling his mouth from mine. "I can't hold back anymore."

I wanted that too, the raw brand of Cris's cock buried inside, claiming me for his

own. Loving Cris was the only thing that would assuage the fire of need that raged

through me. Using both hands, Cris pushed my thighs farther apart, breathing harshly as

he paused to admire the view. The expression on his face alone nearly sent me over the

edge. I had no doubt in this moment that Cris found me beautiful. In his eyes I wasn't

interestingly pale, slightly built, or passably good looking.

I looked down to see what he saw, my cock curving hard and thick to leak against

my flat stomach. He dipped his head down, blocking my view, and I whimpered as his

broad tongue swiped roughly across me. "Oh God," I moaned. "Don't…"

"You don't want me to kiss you?" He suited action to words, pressing his slightly

open mouth to my tip, caressing my sensitive flesh with lips and warm breath.

"I want you to." I shifted restlessly. "Later. I want to come this time, with you

inside me. Please." My back arched, my cock brushed his mouth again.

Cris licked me, then sat back up. "Later," he promised, his eyes a heated caress. I

stared into those passionate green depths, licked my lips, and pushed upward.

"I want you to make love to me." I didn't even think my wording through until the

words echoed in my head, and Cris's eyes drifted shut, blocking me from reading his

thoughts. Make love. I should have said what I always said before. I should have said I

wanted him to fuck me. I didn't though. And who cared if he knew it? We'd been talking

about love for years, so what if he knew I meant it for real?

"Condom?" He opened his eyes, peering toward my nightstand. He knew that was

where they were. I stretched a hand out across the mattress and snagged the new bottle of

lube from the nightstand surface. I tossed it to him and fumbled the drawer open.

I focused my attention on opening and applying the condom while Cris pressed

his lubed fingers to my hole. I inhaled sharply as they stretched the muscles, sliding deep.

My hands shook so badly I couldn't tear the packet, and I ended up gripping it between

my teeth and tearing it open. It wasn’t sexy or cool looking, but it got the job done. It

rolled down Cris's cock with less grace than I would have liked, but his fingers nudging

against my prostate made it hard to give a damn. As soon as it was securely in place, I

transferred my hands to his shoulders. "Now, enough playing around."

Our eyes met as Cris pressed the tip of his sheathed cock against my hole. Our

breaths caught in unison as he pushed forward, stretching me around him. Pure, dark

pleasure spread through me as he slid home. He fell to his elbows over me, still staring

deep into my eyes. No more hiding whatever he'd been thinking earlier.

"I love you." He punctuated each word with a wriggling little thrust that made me

whimper.

"Mmm," I moaned, pushing up, pulling him closer, rubbing my aching cock

against his smoothly furred belly. I shuddered. It wouldn't take much, and he knew it. I

kissed his neck, the plane of shoulder, anything I could reach, urging him to move on, to

race for the finish with me.

I shifted again, seeking more friction on my cock, when the sudden surge of

sensitivity, the tightening in my belly signaled imminent release. Cris groaned. Beautiful.

Chapter 7

I blinked. I could barely think, and he wanted to talk. There was something

seriously wrong with this picture. "Umm…" I shoved him off me and slid out of bed.

What the fuck? "You sure you wouldn't just like to roll over and go to sleep?"

The sweet image of Cris lying in my bed, waiting for me, gift wrapped as it were,

was fading fast. What was so fucking important he couldn't let me enjoy the afterglow?

Snuggle a bit?

Cris shoved the blankets away and sat up. He pulled the condom off and knotted

it, aiming it at the wastebasket near the desk. He missed of course. He always missed.

"Look, Ben. I don't know what the fuck just happened here, but I told you before,

I have things I want to say." He rose determinedly from the bed and proceeded to stalk

me around the room as I retreated in the face of his glare.

"So talk. Who's stopping you?"

He scowled, neatly trapping me between his arms and the closet door where I'd

intended to find a pair of shoes and jeans. "No one, I guess. It's just kind of hard to say

what I need to say when you're acting like this."

I narrowed my eyes, crossed my arms over my chest, and waited.

He sighed, tried to pull me forward. "Ben, this isn't how I wanted to do this."

"I swear to God if you say it's not me, it's you, I'll knee you in the groin without a

second thought." I don't know on what planet it was considered acceptable to fuck

someone before you break up with them, but at this point I was contemplating buying

Cris a one-way ticket there.

"Ben. Listen to me. Quit getting all dramatic. I don't know what it's not me, it's

you is supposed to mean. As far as I'm concerned, it's both of us. Remember a few

minutes ago, I said I love you."

I remembered. "Men say all kinds of things during sex that they don't mean. I say

all kinds of things during sex that I don't mean." I tacked on snidely.

"Fuck you, Ben. I don't, and you know it." He stopped, drew in a few deep

breaths, his chest swelling to press against me. I caught myself nearly leaning into that

contact, pressed back against the door again.

"So."

"So. I meant it when I said I loved you. I don't know what you're thinking. I never

know what you're thinking. My brother says it should be easier for me to understand you,

'cause you're a guy and I'm a guy and we should be on the same fucking page. Right now,

I don't think we're even reading the same fucking book."

I wasn't sure I was reading anything. The words swirled around in my head, but

damn if any of them made sense. I closed my eyes and pictured Cris wrapped in ribbon

on my bed. That was the memory I'd keep when he was gone. Love shining in his eyes,

his delight at surprising me plain to see. My heart stopped beating for just a moment. I

stopped reacting and started thinking. "Cris," I ventured into the taut silence.

"Yeah?" He sounded defeated. I skimmed my hands up his sides and rested them

on his shoulders.

"I love you. Thank you for the Christmas gift. Now, can you tell me what you

want to talk about before my agile mind leaps to any more unfounded conclusions?"

He rested his forehead against mine, and I caught the twitch of his lips and his

exhale of relief. "I'm taking a job here in town. It's a full time live-in position. The pay's

not as great as my previous job, but there's less travel and I'll have a great boss."

Why that urgently required my attention, I didn't know. I nodded. "Sounds

awesome, Cris. I'm so happy for you. The interview went well then."

"It was beyond my wildest dreams. I had no idea you'd put me through the ringer

like that."

I blinked and swallowed. "Me?"

"Ben, will you marry me?"

My knees went weak, and I leaned on the door for support because I needed it, not

because it was the farthest I could get from Cris. "Marry?"

"I want to spend the rest of my life, here with you. I want to live with you, to love

you, to fight with you." His lips twisted into a wry grimace. "Though not right now. Now,

I'd like to just know that you feel the same way I do and all this plotting and planning

isn't going to be wasted."

"Plotting and planning?" I rolled my eyes. "I'm a little lost. Your new job is going

to keep you here more, and you want to get married." The idea was warming on me.

"That's kind of a huge step, from open relationship to ball and chain, isn't it?"

He growled. Literally, actually growled. "Open relationship? I don't know about

you, but I stopped seeing other people so long ago I can't remember what sex with

anyone else is like. You'd better just nod and agree with me, because if you have been

seeing other people, I don't really want to know about it."

"I haven't. I haven't wanted to, either. But, you know…you could just move in

here, we could take things slowly." My head was speaking but my heart demanded to

know if I was crazy. I'd just been bemoaning my boyfriend who didn't want to commit

twenty-four hours ago. Why couldn't I just accept this and run with it?

Cris wrapped his arms around me, spun us both around and settled me against his

chest as he leaned on the door. "Look around you, Ben. What do you see?"

"Our room." I played along.

"Your nightstand, our bed, my nightstand. Your chest of drawers, my chest of

drawers. Your side of the closet." He emphasized that with a thump of his heel on the

door. "My side of the closet. I already live here. The only thing of mine that isn't here is

my mail. I'll just give up the apartment. It's a little pricy for a mailbox, anyway."

It was true. Seen from that perspective, it wasn't as much of a leap as I had

imagined. The problem wasn't that Cris was skipping steps, it was my habitual aversion

to change. Not all change was bad, though, as I had learned through my playing with

Cris's gift. If Cris was going to be home more, then things would be changing anyway. I

made a snap decision. I'd do it. "Yes. Yes. I accept. Get rid of the mailbox, have a yard

sale. My mom is going to freak. She was just telling me about how she approved of you."

The other shoe dropped. I'm always waiting for that to happen, and this time it dropped

with a tremendous thud. "They were in on this, weren't they? Knew what you were going

to do?"

"Yes. I couldn't have done it without them. Later, I need to call and thank them

for all the help. For now, does that mean I got the job, boss man?"

Slow on the uptake, that was me. "Yeah, you're hired."

Epilogue

I was grateful that my mom hadn't used her key. We at least had the two minutes

of warning that the doorbell ringing and loud voices calling greetings gave us. Just

enough time to throw on those pajama pants and a T-shirt plus get the door to the

bedroom closed.

I opened the front door to find not only my parents and brother on the doorstep,

but also Cris's parents and his brother as well. My face literally burned. Greeting my

mom in Grinch pajamas was one thing, greeting my future in-laws in pajamas of any sort

seemed a bad omen.

"Umm, hi?" I stood in the doorway, blocking the entrance to the house while Cris

rushed around the living area cleaning up the mess of cookies and eggnog and wrapping

paper and whatever else we'd left behind the night before.

"Merry Christmas! We were all up and thought, you know…It's such a shame for

Ben to be alone on Christmas morning, so we came right over." Mom shoved a box at

me. Dad pushed gently at the door. Cris's parents stood with stoic expressions, though I

noticed his mom's eyes seemed a little bright and his dad's lip twitched erratically.

Abe rolled his eyes, and I smirked as I noticed his Big Bird pajamas under the

winter coat. They hadn't all been awake. "Well, and here's Mr. and Mrs. Martin as well."

Doug Martin's eyes sparkled, his mouth stretched in a broad grin, and he grabbed

my hand, shaking it vigorously. "Ben, good to see you."

The door was pulled from my grasp, and I knew from the warmth at my back that

Cris had succeeded in cleaning the living room. "Ben, baby, it's freezing out. Why are

you keeping everyone standing in the cold? Come in, Mr. Cavelli, Mona. Mom, Dad, nice

to see you. Abe…Vince. No Jake and Becky?"

"They wouldn't be here this early. Their kids will be opening gifts and doing the

holiday thing." Rolling my eyes, I stepped back into the hall and the troops filed past me

into the living area. That was when I noticed Cris had apparently taken the time to change

his clothes and wore neat Dockers and a seasonal sweater. I punched him in the arm as I

passed to let him know what I thought of that.

"They just happened to be awake?" I hissed into Abe's ear.

"Dude, do I look like I was awake?" He curled into a ball on my sofa and I

plopped next to him. We matched, being the only two present in our pajamas. Cris came

over to sit next to me, but I glared at him.

"What?" he asked innocently.

"You took the time to change?" I looked pointedly at my pajamas.

"Well, yeah. I didn't want your parents to see me in my pajamas."

"Duh." Abe snickered.

"So, Cris, are you going to tell us what was so important you called at the ass

crack of dawn this morning?" Vince, Cris's older brother, spoke up.

All eyes were on us, or I'd have punched him again. Of course there was no way

that his family and mine would coincidentally end up on my doorstep at exactly the same

time on a holiday morning they normally spent apart without a little deus ex machina.

"You called them? And didn't tell me?"

He had the grace to blush.

"You can fight later." Abe nudged me with his toe. "I got up early. On my

vacation. This better be good."

"Well?" I tried to scowl, but my lips didn't want to do anything but grin stupidly

and, pajamas or not, I really did want to tell my parents the news.

"Last night," Cris began, looking at his father and mine in turn. "I asked Ben to

marry me."

"And I said yes."

Two squealing moms can drown out any number of manly congratulations, but

nothing speaks louder of welcome to the family than a big wood-scented bear hug from

your future father-in-law. I smiled at Cris, who stood with my father's arms wrapped

around his shoulders, and I could see he felt the same about the axle grease scented hug

he'd just received.

Moms replaced Dads and brothers looked on indulgently. When the first clamor

died down, I ended up on the sofa with Cris on one side and my mom on the other. Cris

twined our fingers together and kissed my knuckles. I think, bells or no bells, an angel

got its wings at that exact moment, because surely that warm soft feeling that washed

Story Orgy

Bios

JR Boyd

You can currently find me living near Dallas, Texas, with my significant other, my frogs and fish, and one
spirited bird named Annabel Lee. I spent much of my early life dabbling in the craft of writing poetry and
short stories. Conversely, my degree in business lends to my knack for business writing and large-scale
communications. Most recently, my endeavors have steered me onto a path of erotic writing with the Story
Orgy group. I can be found online at

http://jr-boyd.blogspot.com/

Lee Brazil

I’m an avid reader and former teacher of grammar and composition who believes that falling in love is the
grandest adventure anyone can have. In a nutshell, that’s every story I have to tell.
Relocating from the crazy pace of life in Southern California's Orange County to the beautiful and leisurely
atmosphere of the Illinois countryside has given me the time to indulge the desire to write that I set aside
when I started teaching fourteen years ago. Readers can find out more about me and my writing by visiting
me at my blog,

Lee's Musings

or finding me on

Facebook

. Feel free to drop me a line at

lee.brazil@ymail.com

Hank Edwards

Hank Edwards is the author of the Charlie Heggensford series: Fluffers, Inc., A Carnal Cruise, and the
Lambda Award Finalist Vancouver Nights, all available from Lethe Press. He has also published three
books through Loose Id: Holed Up, Destiny’s Bastard, and Plus Ones. His first self-published novel,
Bounty, is available at Amazon, Smashwords, and All Romance eBooks. With the Story Orgy group, Hank
has produced a number of serialized gay romance stories, some of which appear in the group’s first
anthology, And the Prompt Is… Volume One, as well as Word Play, now available from Breathless Press.
Find out more at

www.hankedwardsbooks.com

Havan Fellows

Something about me? Hmmmm … well I'm a mild mannered person with an imagination that makes me
blush, and I'm itching to get under your skin as we speak. I thoroughly love getting lost in a book or two
and pray for the day my kiddos or family won't find me there. I write with the group Story Orgy and hope
to continue doing so for a long time and I follow my muse where ever he takes me … he hasn't failed me
yet! And just like every other red blooded human – I love hearing from people. So feel free to drop me a
line – whether it's a comment on my blog, an email, a tweet or you track me down on FaceBook or Google
+ … it's easy to catch someone who wants to be caught. I annoy, love, respect, scare, seduce, hurt, anger,
infatuate, frustrate, flatter, envy, amuse and tolerate everyone. I just do it better in writing thanks to a little
thing called . . . edits.
Blog -

http://havanshawthaven.blogspot.com/

Email –

havan.fellows@ymail.com

FaceBook -

http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100001739733797

Google + -

https://plus.google.com/100539863028704367957/posts

Em Woods

Not so long ago, I was an Army brat, which lends to my imagination (Oh, the places I have seen…lol) and I
am the mother of two energetic little boys, which gives me my sense of humor. I should mention that I’ve
been married to the most wonderful and understanding man for 14 years.
I have lived everywhere thanks to the travel bug I inherited from my parents, but currently am push-pinned
in southeast Michigan. A typical day is a little crazy but I always work in writing time (though sometimes I
sacrifice sleep!).