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Home for the Holidays: Mr Frosty Pants, Mr Naughty List

Page 33

by Leta Blake


  What he did have were a ton of stories, a lingering, now-never-indulged desire to snort coke and smoke pot, a history of a few shitty relationships, and memories of being on stages of all shapes and sizes, and in so many different countries that he’d once started a list to keep track of where he’d been.

  And he wouldn’t trade any of it. Not really. Even if the traveling life ate at him as time went on, wearing him down, killing him little by little with the lack of stability. God, his head was kind of a muddle. He both loved and hated his career right now.

  But RJ knew how to paint over the whole messy business with the rosy brush of humor, fun, and scandal, keeping the dark side of the industry out of it. Plus, he wasn’t an idiot. Mr. Danvers wouldn’t be seduced by stories of feeling burned out and too old for his years, or how much he wished he’d put some serious cash aside earlier in his career so that he could buy a little house to call his own.

  Maybe here in Knoxville, maybe not. He didn’t care. He just wanted to crash for a few weeks now and again to catch his breath in a comfortable place he could recall from the chaos of Singapore and know it was there waiting for him.

  Burnout stories did work to seduce certain kinds of men. The ones who wanted to take care of RJ, soothe his pain. That sort of thing. But that wasn’t really RJ’s jam. He didn’t like to play that role. He preferred to be the one doing the soothing. After he’d inflicted pain of the fun variety, that is.

  And RJ could tell… Mr. Danvers would be seduced by the awesome stuff: the wild fans, the huge crowds, the beautiful theaters, and the long, spangled nights when RJ was too keyed up after a show to get to sleep. He’d seen some of the most glorious sunrises because of that post-show high. Including one from Montmartre in Paris, on the steps of Sacre-Coeur. That sunrise had changed his life.

  “It made me want to be a better person,” RJ explained. “That’s why I came home for Christmas this year. I wanted to get to know my little half-siblings and make peace with my past. Well, that sunrise and the religieuse I was eating at the time. Have you had one? Better than an éclair.” RJ smiled. “They don’t taste the same outside of France. Different butter, you know. So, you’ll have to go there to experience the real, life-changing deal. But it’s worth it.”

  Mr. Danvers had listened with bright-eyed enthusiasm, and now sat with his nearly entirely empty whiskey glass clutched in his beautiful fingers, and with a fond, pleased expression on his face. “I haven’t been to Paris,” he murmured. “I haven’t been many places, to be honest.”

  RJ shrugged. “You’re young. You’ve got time.”

  Mr. Danvers laughed, his eyes scrunching up adorably. “I’m young. So says my former student.”

  “Well, I’ve heard that the student becomes the teacher.”

  “So true. They often do.” Mr. Danvers rubbed his fingertips around the side of the whiskey glass. “And now what? You’re here in town, playing some gigs with some local friends, or…?”

  “Yeah. Joel, Becca, and Casey have been pals of mine since high school. We were in a band back then. Don’t know if you remember it? It was pretty bad. We called ourselves the Old Skool Millennials.”

  Mr. Danvers snorted softly. “I think I remember seeing a flyer or two around the school, yeah. Any bigger plans?”

  “You could say so.” Seducing you. He gave Mr. Danvers a coy smile.

  “I’m impressed, RJ. What a life you’ve been leading.” Mr. Danvers’s gaze lingered on RJ’s mouth, before he brought it back up to RJ’s eyes again. He hesitated but asked, sounding a bit breathless, “What else is the holiday bringing you? Anything good?”

  “I doubt it. I’m pretty sure I’m on Santa’s naughty list.” RJ grinned.

  “Come on, Mr. Naughty List,” Mr. Danvers teased. “There must be something you’re especially looking forward to?”

  In that moment, Mr. Danvers sounded exactly like the middle school teacher he was. RJ could just imagine him asking that same question to a thirteen-year-old like his stepbrother, Carter. He chuckled under his breath and Mr. Danvers laughed too.

  “I haven’t gotten any truly great presents in years.” RJ supposed his little siblings weren’t bad gifts in of themselves, but they’d both been summer babies. “Maybe ever. Christmas was always a disappointment growing up—no money meant no presents.”

  Mr. Danvers winced, and RJ reconsidered his revelation. Exposing his vulnerabilities wasn’t the way to seduce this man, so he went back to the happy stuff. “But as an adult I’ve found it the merriest time of the year. That’s why I wanted to do Christmas gigs, specifically. Seeing all the people having a good time, with all the Christmas packaging to go with it? Always fun.”

  And he’d hoped playing to small, enthusiastic crowds like this one might act as a kind of holiday medicine to ease his travel-weary heart. So far, with one show in the bag, he could say it was helping to mend his worn-down soul.

  Mr. Danvers smiled. “You were fantastic up there. Have you ever thought about doing your own album? Instead of just playing for other people?”

  RJ raised his brow and smiled prettily, sucking on his teeth and thinking of the best way to answer. “I have.” He pondered his small group. Madison had mad talent, but he wasn’t about to go down the path of putting together a band with her. Too much hassle. “But I really love touring. I’m just in town to get my bearings and visit my family.”

  And, yes, okay, also to record a little demo record for his agent to pass around. But he didn’t need a band for that. After a few weeks here, he’d hopefully be rested and ready to get back out on the road. He wasn’t in Knoxville to make commitments, just amends.

  “Is that all you want out of music? To tour for other people?”

  “Maybe,” RJ said, kicking back in his chair again. “I’m young yet. Who knows what I really want out of music, or life?”

  Besides, RJ didn’t know the last time when he wasn’t on a stage that he’d gotten what he truly wanted out of anything. Maybe that morning on Montmartre. Maybe that’s why he’d brought it up.

  “It’s all good, though. Don’t worry about me, Mr. Danvers. This Christmas is bound to be a decent one.”

  Sitting in the cold on the Scruffy City Hall patio with Mr. Danvers was already his favorite night since that Montmartre sunrise. He’d enjoyed watching Mr. Danvers’s reactions to all his crazy stories. The crinkle of his eyes, the guffaw of disbelief followed by wide-eyed amazement, and the way he’d thrown his head back when he laughed.

  It was adorable to watch the man give in to the humor so thoroughly that laughter shook his body. And getting that kind of reaction out of the teacher he’d crushed on so desperately in school—and remembered obsessively ever since—was a pretty damn awesome high.

  It definitely beat cocaine and was way more exhilarating than pot.

  RJ ached to know more of Mr. Danvers’s non-teacherly reactions. Sexy ones especially. As soon as possible. But he wasn’t entirely sure how to pivot from telling stories about touring to getting Mr. Danvers to consider him as a viable hookup option. He knew that’d been his plan, but somehow the execution was harder than the fantasy.

  “Some life you’re living, RJ,” Mr. Danvers said again. He tucked his hands between his legs and shivered despite his coat.

  RJ shivered too. He rubbed his hands up and down his arms over the goosebumps. Breaking eye contact with Mr. Danvers, he checked the weather app on his phone. The temperature was dropping, nearing forty-three degrees now. Cold enough that when the breeze came through it really bit into him. Maybe he should suggest they take this somewhere inside? That could be the pivot?

  “Here,” Mr. Danvers said, shrugging out of his tweed sports jacket. “Put this on to warm up a little. I’m wearing long sleeves. You’re in nothing but a T-shirt.”

  “Or we could go inside,” RJ suggested, hoping he sounded seductive.

  Mr. Danvers pondered the offer and then scooted closer. “It’d be harder to talk in there, and, well, I’m enjoying this c
onversation.” Mr. Danvers bit into his lower lip, a coy gleam in his eye. “You get me?”

  RJ’s cock twitched. He licked his lips and his voice almost cracked as he said, “Yeah. Me too. And I get you.”

  “Good.” Mr. Danvers held the coat out again. “Put it on.”

  RJ’s cock rushed hot as he pulled the tight jacket on.

  Maybe he’d managed the pivot after all. Maybe he was on exactly the right track.

  Chapter Three

  Well, this wasn’t going to plan.

  RJ, as it turned out, was an intelligent, funny, thoughtful man who had seen more of the world than Aaron had at this point. So much for him being dull or stupid. RJ, with his stories about Paris, Finland, and Singapore, made Aaron feel like the student. A very naughty one who kept thinking about his young teacher’s lips, and hands, and package. God help him.

  And now, shivering in the cold wind, he couldn’t stop imagining a scenario where he breached the space between them and curled up on RJ’s spacious lap to share the warmth of the too-small tweed coat that barely covered RJ’s arms and tugged at his broad, angular shoulders.

  Truly, RJ looked ridiculous in it, but sexy too. Like a big, sexy man in a doll’s jacket.

  Christ. Aaron rubbed his forehead. He was absurd.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Tonight didn’t turn out like I’d planned, that’s all.”

  “Typical of a Tinder date, I guess.” RJ shrugged.

  “Grindr, more like,” Aaron said, taking a gamble. A flush chased through him as he reached for his glass and downed the last drops of his whiskey.

  Silence held for a few beats, save for the pop music from the ice-skating ring and the beat of the dance music in the pub behind them.

  “Yeah. I’m more of a Grindr man, myself,” RJ finally said, meeting Aaron’s gaze with a challenge.

  Aaron had known. Of course he had. He’d known deep down as soon as he’d seen RJ sitting at the table, he’d known by the way RJ had kicked out the chair and looked up at him with heated eyes. RJ was gay and wanted him.

  Still, his heart raced, and his palms went damp despite the cold.

  Was this happening? Was he really going to do this?

  Oh God, those questions always preceded his hottest, most reckless fucks. His dick thickened in his pants. His nipples ached.

  RJ said, “Don’t get me wrong, I’ve met some nice guys on Tinder.” He huffed a laugh. “The truly nice kind, I mean. Men who are always looking for more than I’m prepared to give.”

  It was Aaron’s turn to chuckle. “Oh? Is that how you are? You like to hook up and then…what? Hit the road again?” He smirked. “Go to Finland mid-January with some band?”

  “Something like that.”

  Aaron licked his lips and tilted his head.

  That’s good. That could be…perfect.

  Gathering bravery to him like sticks to burn, he leaned forward. “Your ID said you’re twenty-four now.” He swallowed thickly. “I’m twenty-eight. Just another two years and I’m thirty. Ancient in gay years.”

  “You’re still hot.” RJ met his gaze head on, warm and knowing. He was no child. He clearly understood exactly what Aaron was getting at now, and he wasn’t running from it.

  Aaron stared at him a moment longer. “I hadn’t thought about you in years until I saw you on the stage earlier tonight. Something about you up there…” He groaned softly.

  “I know.”

  Another laugh punched through Aaron.

  “I have stage presence.” RJ shrugged. “It’s a problem sometimes with the front men I tour with. They think I pull too much attention.” He rolled his eyes.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” RJ smirked. “For what it’s worth, I’ve thought about you a lot over the years. Found your Facebook, your Instagram.” He appraised Aaron again with a long, slow, up and down that made Aaron’s insides turn to goo. “Your cat’s pretty cute. So are you.”

  Aaron stared at him, his palms sweating, filled with desire and hesitation. What was he doing? He knew better. This man was a former student. He couldn’t afford another Coach McAllister situation.

  But…fuck, his cock was hard, and his asshole was hungry. He had a strange feeling that RJ Blitz really knew how to fuck. Rough, and strong, and right. With a creamy ending, like that French pastry he’d mentioned, the one he’d eaten during a beautiful sunrise in Paris. If RJ ate ass with half as much enjoyment…

  Aaron shivered and licked his lips. “So, what you’re saying is it’d be a dream come true for you, then?” His heart shot off wildly. He didn’t remember the last time he’d been this nervous picking someone up. Had he ever?

  RJ’s eyes widened, and he sucked in a sharp breath. “Yeah. You could say that. You’ve been a long-time fantasy of mine.”

  “My place is just up the street.” Aaron rashly threw his gathered-up courage onto the fire of lust. “Why don’t you walk me home?” He took a deep breath. In for a penny… “You can tell me everything you’ve ever imagined doing to me.”

  RJ almost knocked over his chair standing up, all coltish, raw eagerness. He lost it again immediately, though. Suave smoothness replaced the lapse. His eyes went dark as he stripped off Aaron’s small sports coat and handed it back to him. “Let’s go.”

  Aaron stood more slowly, sliding the jacket back on, shuddering at the delicious body heat RJ had left behind. Then RJ put his hand out for Aaron’s, and when he put his fingers against RJ’s palm, excitement shot up his spine. RJ’s hand was bigger and more calloused than Aaron had expected. Guitar strings left their mark.

  “Oh God,” Aaron whispered.

  “Lead on, Mr. Danvers.” RJ’s gritty baritone seemed to wrap around his balls and tug.

  “Yeah, okay.” Aaron’s knees felt weak. “It’s this way.”

  Leaving their empties on the patio table, Aaron pulled RJ away. A tremble started deep in his muscles: anticipation or cold, he didn’t know or care.

  Holy shit. He was taking a former student home. Some part of him knew it couldn’t possibly be a good idea. But when RJ’s big hand released his, only to settle against his lower back, silently urging him toward his apartment and all the things they were going to do there, Aaron no longer gave a shit about prudence or good judgment.

  He just wanted more.

  The jingling Christmas songs of the busker on the corner followed them as they left the holiday cheer of Market Square and started toward the lights of Gay Street, which was more fitting than ever.

  Without warning, RJ rumbled low and soft in Aaron’s ear, “I imagined bending you over that desk and spanking your sweet ass. With a ruler.”

  Aaron’s nipples tingled. “You thought about that…in…in class?”

  “So many times. Nearly came in my pants most days.” RJ’s hand drifted lower, gripped Aaron’s left ass cheek possessively, and then quickly released it.

  Aaron almost choked on his own spit. How had this happened? How had he gotten lucky enough to run into RJ, who admitted to wanting exactly what Aaron needed tonight? What he’d tried and failed to get before?

  “That was my obsession,” RJ added. “You’d write on that fucking smart board, so serious and earnest as hell, going on about grammar and symbolism or whatever. But all I could imagine was you on your stomach, ass shiny red from my hand, begging for my cock, pleading for me to fuck you. I’m amazed I passed, actually.”

  “Me too. Holy shit.”

  “Have I left you speechless, Mr. Danvers?”

  “No.”

  “Are you into that fantasy?”

  “Fuck yes.”

  He should probably tell RJ to call him Aaron, but there was something so dirty about him calling him by his teaching name.

  RJ shifted his hand from Aaron’s lower back to his own crotch as he groaned. “How far is this place of yours?”

  “Just around the corner. Not far.”

  “Thank fuck.”

  The twinkle lights in the shop wi
ndows along the street, the blue lights of the massive Christmas tree erected just ahead, and the shining bulbs of the Tennessee Theater sign couldn’t distract Aaron from one bright, pulsing thought: praise the baby Jesus, he was about to get his ass beaten and then get laid.

  “It’s just up here.”

  RJ squeezed Aaron’s ass cheek again, and Aaron shuddered. “I’m going to fuck you, Mr. Danvers, until you can’t see straight.”

  Hallelujah!

  Chapter Four

  They stumbled inside Aaron’s loft, and RJ had him pressed up against the door forcefully as soon as it was shut. Aaron gasped. Oh yes, hallelujah. Praise Santa for delivering the early present he needed so badly.

  Still fully dressed, they rubbed against each other, breath mingling as RJ said, “I’m going to get you on your knees. On your back. On your stomach. I’m going to have you every way there is, and you’re going to fucking love it, Mr. Danvers. I’m—” RJ sniffed, his nose wrinkling up.

  Aaron sniffed too and groaned.

  Shit.

  Literally.

  Dammit, Constance, I love you but…really? Tonight?

  He considered hustling RJ back to his bedroom and starting the fun and games, but the air usually pulled back that way if he turned the overhead fan on. And he hoped to get hot and sweaty enough to need the fan. Aaron cleared his throat, wondering how to maintain their boner-making banter and a sexy ambiance while cleaning up putrid-smelling cat shit.

  Damn Constance for being so cute and fluffy and for choosing right now to lay a massive turd.

  Rubbing his palms against his pants, Aaron cleared his throat. He gestured toward Constance’s litter box, placed on a towel near the door out to the side entry by the kitchen. “Cat box. Let me just deal with that? I think we’ll both enjoy ourselves more without the…” He wrinkled his nose and waved his hand in front of it.

  “Yeah, good idea,” RJ said with a warm smile. He took off his boots, crossed the loft’s living room, and dropped down onto Aaron’s green mid-century sofa, long legs spread wide. His still swollen crotch was on display. “I’ll wait.” He placed his hand over the bulge in his jeans, and Aaron flushed hot all over.

 

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