Just another 37 minutes, Jackie s voice floated in through the open door. Clockwatcher, Tim grumbled, flipping to the next page of the report. The world did not stop at one o clock, just because it was Christmas Eve. The paperwork certainly didn t stop. Tim couldn t remember exactly when the work ethic had changed, but he knew he didn t like it. Do you have plans for Christmas, Mr. K? Emily stood in the door, slim and bright with the holiday and youth, her felt reindeer antlers slightly askew on her head. Tim suspected an addition to the eggnog. Not really. He looked over his glasses at the computer, then down through them at the page. Geeze, Mr. K, you know it s all right to relax once in a while, right? Thank you, Emily, I m aware. But you re always working. She paused, carefully sculpted brows drawing together at some unpleasant thought. You re not going to work all Christmas Eve, are you? It s not a holiday I celebrate, so I don t see why I shouldn t. But -- it s Christmas! As if that explained everything. You -- are you going to work tomorrow, too? On Christmas? Emily looked lost, stopped like a broken clock, her overly red lips caught forming some letter her brain neglected to supply sound and air for. Tim laid his elbows on the desk and looked at her over his glasses. He d try for gentle. Emily, what I do with my time... I m sorry, Mr. K, Jackie said, appearing in the doorway. We ll let you get back to work. Jackie was solid and metered, a woman whose passions burst out at unpredictable intervals. Tim had always liked her. But he doesn t do Christmas! Jackie s hands on her shoulders startled Emily back to life. Aren t you going to get with your family and exchange presents? Go to church? Sing carols? Do you even hang lights? Tim sighed and pulled his glasses off, rubbing at his face. His olive complexion gave him a permanent tan, though it lightened in the winter months. Emily, not everyone has the same traditions. I understand Christmas is a big part of your personal holiday season, but it s not of mine. It is merely another day, one which will pass like all the others. Jackie looked apologetic, but Emily was on fire. But if you don t give your family gifts, how will they know you love them? Because I tell them? Emily, Tim held up his hand to forestall her next protest. I am not a young man. I have accumulated quite enough stuff. Enough for several lifetimes. And a certain someone kept trying to sneak more home. So has my extended family, so we have no need to exchange material tokens. That -- just feels sad, somehow. It works for us. And for the record, we have a tree. And lights. Tim restrained his sigh at the last. Well, that s a start, I guess. Emily remained unconvinced. There isn t anything you want for Christmas? We re about finished up out here, Mr. K, Jackie cut in, saving Emily from a lecture on rabid materialism. Thank you, Jackie. Has anyone called in the last 30 minutes? Not in the last three hours, Emily whined, allowing Jackie to herd her back out the door. At least, Jackie s hand was between her shoulder blades, and Emily wasn t resisting the gentle pressure in the direction of the outer office. Okay. Then at your discretion, Jackie, folks may leave whenever. Tim slid his glasses back on, and picked up where he d left off. The clock ticked, the computer hummed, and the papers on his desk methodically shuffled from one stack into the next until a light knock on the door made him glance up. Jackie had her coat on and was tying a scarf on over her hair. Everything s closed up, Mr. K, so I was going to head out, if that s all right? It was nearly three. Tim glanced at the clock to confirm. Did you mean to stay so late? Well, no, but there were some things I needed to finish up, because I know you ll be in the day after Christmas. If not sooner. There was more humor in her voice than censure. You spoil me. No, I understand not celebrating the holiday. It does seem silly sometimes. She finished tying on the scarf and fiddled with her bag. Emily is a good girl, she didn t mean anything by... Tim waved her off. I know. He gave her a gentle smile. Emily just hasn t had enough life yet to challenge her WASP upbringing. WASP? Jackie s laugh was light and musical. I haven t heard that term in years. Though it is appropriate. I must be getting old. Harder and harder to keep up with the lingo as the years go by. Old, geeze. Your hair s still mostly black. Hair, yes. There s a reason I shave every day. Tim ran his hand over his jaw, feeling the tell-tale prickles of the damn beard. Many people thought he d look good with a beard. Tim found the itching too irritating to bother finding out. Jackie dismissed his age woes with a wave. All I m saying, Mr. K, is -- not that I m looking -- you re better built than my husband, and he s only 33. Speaking of, you should get home to him. She blushed, and buttoned up her coat. Enjoy your time off, Jackie. Tim kept the teasing out of his voice. She still felt self-conscious about marrying a man a decade younger. An unpredicted burst of passion that had settled into a lovely simmer. Thank you. And -- Merry Christmas, Mr. K. Happy Holidays, Jackie. He watched her go, footsteps quick on the carpet, carrying her home to her love. Tim turned back to his work. There was no need to rush, but there was always more to get done. It piled up when he wasn t looking. Mr. K? Is that you? A woman s voice, vaguely familiar. Tim looked up. The sunlight had faded, leaving the outer office in darkness. Yes. Who s there? Building Security. Ah. Come in, Darlene. Darlene was a cross between Lucille Ball and a pit bull, her temperament dryer than the sands of time. Arms crossed over her ample bosom, she glared at him. On Christmas Eve. Really. Didn t we have this argument last year? Tim moved the current page to the finished pile and grabbed the next one. And the year before that? Just like clockwork. I ve always appreciated adherence to a schedule. And brook no departure from it, I warrant. Don t you have someone waiting at home for you? Don t you? She arched one elegantly drawn eyebrow at him, red to match her Poodle-cut hair. Tim chose confession over confrontation. There is someone, but if I went home, I d be the one waiting. So you d rather be here, moping? I hardly think that being productive is moping. Well, you will be moping if you miss the last bus and have to pay for a taxi in this awful weather. Tim lifted and dropped one thin shoulder. I ll manage. Look, Mr. K, do us both a favor and go home? She returned his withering gaze with one of her own. You re the last one left in the building. With you in here, I gotta keep making rounds instead of sitting in my nice cozy office, and that just annoys me. You d rather be alone in the building with all the ghosts of Christmas Past? Yeah. Them and the steamy romance novel I got back in my cube. So shift it. I got long-haired Lotharios to get back to. Bodice rippers? I believe that is more about your personal life than I care to know, Darlene. Then get moving, before I go get the book and start reading you select passages. You fight dirty. Very well. Tim knocked everything into neat piles, saved his files, and shut off the computer. He turned to grab his coat, bending over to pick up the scarf when it fell to the floor. Unf. Tim turned around to find Darlene s gaze rising back up to eye level. With a brief stop at his chest. I don t want to know, do I? Let s just say, whoever you re going home to? Is one lucky individual. Good night, Darlene. I can show myself out. You sure? I d be happy to walk you to the door. I am positive. Go back to your Fabio clone and his constricting pantaloons. You know just what to say to a girl. Merry Christmas, Mr. K. Happy Holidays, Darlene. Tim swung his coat on, a heavy wool one that fell past his knees, winding the gray scarf around his neck and tucking the ends in before buttoning up. He remembered to tip a cup of water into the planter in his office before shutting off the light and locking the door. Manhattan was never truly silent, never truly still, but the snow wafting down muffled the noise and the lights and made it seem, for a moment, peaceful. A moment caught in time, like the swirl of snow in a globe. Tim stuck his hand out, swishing his hand through the air, watching the flakes eddy briefly in a mock of a globe before falling to earth. The people around him covered their heads, pulled collars tight against the sneaky snowflakes, ducked into busses and cabs and the subway. They held their hands tightly around their coffees and chocolates and, if they looked at the weather at all, glared balefully. Tim rolled his shoulders back, glad to be out of the chair, and turned his face to the sky. There were no stars visible through the city lights, and the snow seemed to materialize out of the light haze and the fog. But it was pretty, in its own way. Tim settled his hands lightly in his pockets, ignored the bus and started walking. There was plenty of time. It was late when he unlocked the door to the brownstone and let himself in, shaking the snow off his coat in the foyer. He knocked the snow off his shoes and set them by the door, knowing better than to track any weather into the house. Pulling off his socks and rolling up the wet cuffs of his slacks, Tim hopped into the kitchen to check the clock over the stove. As he d suspected, just after midnight. Perfect. He pulled the pot out of the fridge and set it on the stove, turning on the burner. It was an old, cast iron Dutch oven they d picked up at some point, one of the countless adventures he d been dragged on over the years. Tim dumped the meat, the spices and the broth on top of the prepped veggies, giving it all a stir before putting the lid on. Then he went to find dry slacks. The house was warm, so he kept the dress shirt on, though he hung the tie over the closet doorknob. A fresh pair of slacks and socks and Tim planned to ensconce himself in the living room by the softly crackling fire. An old book and a glass of wine he d procured while adding some to the stew would help the hours pass. Tim hovered over the chair, about to sit, when the dark mass of the tree caught his eye in the firelight. I ll never hear the end of it. He set the book down and got up to turn on the tree lights. With the wind picking up, and the snow pelting the windows, the glowing tree did make it easier to read. And somehow, made the room seem more cheery and cozy, not that Tim would admit it. When the fire was nearly down to embers, Tim set the book aside and rose. The night was dark, though night in the city was never completely black. The snow still caressed the windowpanes, bright specks appearing out of the darkness to linger or fade, each in their season. A snowy Christmas morning usually meant a long day in bed, curled under the covers. Emily would be proud of him. Heady steam rose with the lid from the Dutch oven. He scented, seasoned, stirred, and tasted. Perfect. The lid replaced, a flick of his wrist dialed the burner down to keep it warm. A sudden clatter in the living room preceded the stereo turning on. It was thankfully a CD, and not the overly chipper holiday radio. Something soothing and classical but wholly in tune with the season accompanied the entrance of a man with closely-cropped white hair, neatly trimmed beard and a broad smile on his wind-chilled cheeks. Cold out there! Don t you dare put your freezing hands on me, Christopher. Spoilsport. Tim found himself caught, pulled by strong arms into a stronger embrace. The beard was long enough it tickled instead of prickled, the cold lips a thrilling shock. Chris warm tongue made an interesting counterbalance as it coaxed Tim s lips apart. You finished my wine. Chris shrugged and palmed Tim s ass. Tim sighed as their hips pressed together. He took another lingering kiss. Stopover? Or are you finished? Done! It s nearly four. If I was only to New York by this time of night, I d be in trouble! Chris pulled back, squirming the suspenders off his shoulders and peeling off his long-sleeved undershirt. Tim fought distraction with the reveal of flat belly and strong chest, all covered in short white hairs. Where did your jacket and hat get to? Chris stopped, bare-chested, arms still tangled in the Henley, hair sticking up at the back. Tim sighed again and set down the soup ladle. If so much as a flake gets past the foyer, I get in trouble, but you undress in the living room with impunity. He turned sideways to move behind Chris towards the living room. On the way he trailed his hand over Chris bare lower back and felt the heat leach out of his hand into the cooled skin. It should be dripping onto the hearth? Chris sounded hopeful. Tim grabbed up the heavy jacket and matching hat, which were dripping onto the hardwood, and carried them back into the stone-floored kitchen. The stew smells good? Chris tried the twinkle on him. I got you a present? You know I don t need anything. Tim discarded the task of remembering what tiny thing he d mentioned wanting or needing as hopeless. He tried to be careful with those words, because Chris was a giver looking for an excuse. You know I ve got the one thing I truly want. Tim reached out, snagging one of Chris suspender straps and reeling him in. Chris swaggered forward, lean hips swaying until stopped by Tim settling his hands on the line between flesh and pants. I like that you wait up every year. I like that you still think you can distract me with sex. Chris wrapped strong arms around Tim, pulling him into an abrupt kiss. Tim grabbed a fistful of Chris hair, as much as the short strands would allow, and held his lover close. Chris was the one who pulled back, still licking his lips, tilting his head so their foreheads rested together. Tim stroked the nicely shaved line of Chris beard. He d done a good job trimming it, if he did say so himself. He refrained from asking when he d be allowed to shave it off completely. Chris belly rumbled. Are you hungry? Yes? Chris sounded guilty. For you, as well as for the food. But -- could we eat first? Tim stroked fingers over Chris flat belly. The skin still cool under his warm fingers. Yes. If you promise not to fall asleep immediately after. I promise. Tim released his lover and moved past to the stove. The Dutch oven opened in a puff of steam and the smell of perfectly cooked stew. Tim turned the burner off before reaching into the cupboard to grab two bowls. Will you slice the bread? Chris arms wrapped around him from behind. Strong hands, lined with the scars of a craftsman, clutched each other in front of Tim s heart. I miss you so much this time of year. Chris had pressed his head between Tim s shoulder blades. Tim leaned back into the embrace. I miss you whenever you re gone. Really? Chris moved to rest his head on Tim s shoulder, tightening the hug. You re hard to read. Except when you re exasperated with me. Tim set the bowls down and turned. He smoothed Chris hair and cupped the back of his skull. You are the world s biggest child. Still-bright eyes twinkled at him. And you love me. Every second of every minute of every day. Tim traced the wrinkles at the corners of Chris eyes, the lines on his forehead. Similar to his own. They were getting older, bit by bit. Will you still love me in a thousand years? Tim paused, settling his arms around Chris waist. His gaze went soft, looking through Chris chest into some other time than Now. I will love you as I have loved you, for all the years that have and are to come, until the candle of this world goes out. And if permitted, I will love you for all the days and all the nights in all the worlds beyond that. Chris jerked him close, pressing kisses along the open neck of Tim s dress shirt. Tim rested his head against his lover s, breathing in the scent of his body, the smell of snow and wind and sawdust and spices and a subtle scent of coal. Chris was unbuttoning his shirt. You are the joy I want to share with the world. Tim caught Chris face in his hands and resumed their kiss, walking Chris back until they bumped into the kitchen island. Chris tugged his shirt loose and Tim tried not to mind the chilly hands sliding up his back. The strong thigh pushing between his own warmed him back up. Will the stew keep? As long as we need. Tim kissed down the flexing neck, past the strong collarbone to the broad chest with its dusting of snowy hair. Take me to bed. Tim slipped his fingers into Chris trousers, undoing the first button. Christopher. What? Fingers dug into him as Chris humped forward, trying to rub his cock against fingers that were too close and too far. Dessert before dinner? You re going to end up on the Naughty List. Hopefully twice. Are you going to take my pants off, or what? Tim laughed and Chris echoed him, the full, joyous sound filling the brownstone as they fought their way down the hall towards the bedroom. They fell together into the bed, a tangle of limbs and kisses and breathlessness and polished black boots that should have been left in the hall. Tim opened his eyes. Less than two hours since their stumble down the hall and tumble into bed. Chris was splayed on top of the covers as usual, oblivious to the cold. Right where he d been when Tim finished his shower after the night s activities. Tim ran his hand down the strong back, tracing the knobs of spine until they gave way to firm mounds of flesh he d dove so joyously into the night before. He slipped out of bed and pulled a robe on. Morning already? Chris hair was mussed, sticking up here and there. His voice was full of sleep, his blue eyes still darkened. Nearly. The sun will be up soon. Tim stood still, hoping Chris would fall back asleep with no movement to distract him. An hour of sugarplum dreams was not enough after Chris long shift. Chris rolled over and stretched, popping his back. Evidence of the load he d fucked out of Tim had dried on his stomach. Chris reached his hand out. Tim took it and allowed himself to be pulled towards the bed. I can still feel you. Chris sounded pleased at the firm debauching he d received during their first frantic clench. Tim was feeling well used himself, even if Chris had been half asleep the second time. We can do it again later. Later? Not now? Chris tone was as rough as the rock of his hips against Tim s leg. I. Tim raised his eyes to the dark windowpane. What? Chris pressed up on one elbow. Tim, what is it? I think I want to see the sun rise. Whatever you want. A warm mouth pressed against his own, then Chris was gone, rummaging in the closet for something to wear. Ten minutes found them on the street, hand-in-hand, Tim in his dark overcoat and gray scarf. He had acquiesced to Chris unsubtle comments about relaxing and worn a sweater with his slacks, instead of the tie and jacket. Chris had donned a worn army jacket and a bright red, hand-knit scarf. If Tim held his hand firmly, it was only to avoid grabbing the tight ass on display in the jeans. Chris skipped through the snow, humming random snatches of Christmas songs as they walked along the frosty sidewalks. Chris admired the decorations and Tim indulged him, pulling him in for a distracting kiss when Chris got too enthusiastic. With the sunlight already touching the tallest buildings, they rounded the corner to a view of the waterfront and Chris broke into a run, arms out and laughing. The morning would dawn clear, and cold because of it, their breath evident in the frosty air. A light breeze stirred, kicking some of the snow into the air and Chris spun, sticking out his tongue. Stop it. Tim grabbed the back of Chris skull, hauling his lover back to his side. You re too old for that, and that snow has been on the ground. Spoilsport. Tim grunted as strong arms wrapped around him and dragged him towards the boardwalk railing. Tim dropped his arm to dangle around Chris waist. As they stepped up to the rail, the sun broke over the horizon, flooding the city with light. Chris closed his eyes and leaned close, basking in the rays. Tim kept his eyes open, watching the sun rise above the rim of the world. He tugged Chris more fully against his side. You always time things just right. The best for you. Tim ran his hand down the strong back, pressed a kiss into the white hair. Does this mean that when we get back home, breakfast will be ready? No. But it means there will be a table empty when we get to the diner. Chris smiled up at him. Pie? For breakfast? Tim turned them back towards the city, perpendicular to the rising sun. Why not? Didn t you get your fill of sweets last night? You know me and my sweet tooth. Tim made a non-committal noise and they walked, arms loosely around each other as the city came to life, quietly and softly and with squeals of joy at presents that hadn t been there the night before. Did you have plans for the rest of today? No. Tim shook his head, enjoying the way the sun and shadows played on one of the historical buildings. It was beautiful, this lingering moment of dawn, the world dyed gold. No? No. Huh. Chris leaned into him. They walked away from the waterfront, vaguely back towards the brownstone, taking their time. When do you have to be back at work? Chris shrugged. Should go help clean up the mess, but it was a busy one, and the boys deserve some time off. And before you say anything, we ve already discussed delegation to death. Tim ignored the pointed look. So. A day at a time, then? As long as part of the day is spent in bed. Tim paused three steps from the diner door to turn to his lover. There is always time for loving you. Chris grinned and bent forward to meet Tim s lips. The kiss was accompanied by bells as the door of the diner burst open. Tim gripped Chris shoulders tight as the wind kicked up again, swirling snow around them with a breathless chill. Music wrapped around them with the wind, loud and merry and ringing out into the world. Can we please go home now? I want to see what Santa... A family burst out, led by a little girl who d stopped dead at the sight of Chris. Her red Christmas dress was beautiful against her dark skin, green and gold ribbons pulled her hair into a puffball at the back of her head. Eyes locked on Chris, she whined when her father tried to move her. Sweetie, Her mother, dark skin radiant in the morning light, put her hands on her daughter s shoulders. We re in their way. But, Mama... A quivering finger pointed at Chris, the little girl getting shy now. Tim stood back, enjoying Chris enjoying the moment. No, honey. Remember we talked about Santa s helpers at the mall? She turned to Chris. I m sorry, sir. Chris ignored the mother, sinking down to his knees on the cold pavement. Santa came to your house? He got a wide-eyed nod. Are you sure? The cookies an milk were gone, was the whispered secret. Mmm, Santa loves those. Did you make the cookies yourself? The ribbons bobbed as she nodded. Mama helped. Chris grinned broadly. Homemade cookies are the best. Maybe he left you something extra special. Tim caught Chris and pulled him up, an instant before the parent s bewilderment turned to concern. Enjoy your Christmas. He smiled to the parents, in motion again. Merry Christmas! Chris echoed. Same to you! The girl s father picked her up with a playful growl. She squirmed around, eyes on Chris as she was carried off. Tim couldn t prevent Chris giving the little girl a wink. Stop it. He grabbed the collar of Chris coat and pushed him into the diner. Daddy, does Santa have a boyfriend? The tiny voice floated back on the crisp air. Tim pulled the door firmly shut. The diner was warm, Chris already stripping off his coat. Underneath he wore an old, worn Henley that matched his blue eyes, the throat spreading open. Tim tried not to stare. There s an empty table, boys. Be right with you. Chris gave Tim a meaningful Look. Tim shrugged and carefully unwound his own scarf. They sat on opposite sides of the table, hands meeting in the middle, fingers entwining to match their feet underneath. Think you can hare off work tomorrow? Chris looked at the table, stealing glances up at Tim s face. I think they can do without me, for a day or two. Two whole days. Chris stacked the creamers with his free hand. Can you do without work for that long? I m sure you ll distract me. Chris smile was dazzling. Can -- can we go skating at Rockefeller? Tim leaned across the table, catching Chris chin in his fingers, tilting the handsome face up until Chris met his eyes. I ll even let you drink my hot chocolate. Chris squeezed his hand and smiled, skin at the corners of his eyes crinkling. Almost as one, they turned to watch the sun crawl further up into the sky, as the world paused, just for a moment, to indulge in wonder, and joy and the constancy of new beginnings. For all the days, and all the nights, for all the years, Chris. Tim said softly before Chris could ask. Chris squeezed his fingers and pressed his knee more firmly into Tim s thigh. The year had turned again to Christmas Day. But they had plenty of time to sit and enjoy the sunrise and each other. All the time in the world. Tim would make certain of that. END. If you enjoyed this, you might also like Dog Days March from Liam Grey and Torquere Press.