Holiday Passion: A M/M Holiday Romance

by Tara Simon

  It doesn’t matter because Martin’s a little bit overwhelmed too. He feels his heart on his tongue but it’s clogging his throat too. It beats fast in his chest, and sends the blood churning through him. He’s thrumming all over, leaking emotion from every pore.

  Luther wrap his arms around him, letting his hands course down Martin’s back and arse.

  When Luther tightens his legs around him and starts moving against him, little grunts fall from his

  lips.

  Martin’s got to do something or he’s sure he’ll disintegrate from the punch of it all.

  He drops kisses on Luther’s jaw and chest, mouths down his torso and belly. He sucks at the junction between his hip and thigh, raising shivers in Luther. He noses at the softer flesh at the inside of his thigh. Luther’s muscles cord under his mouth.

  “Martin,” Luther says, in a deep voice that comes deep from his belly.

  “Turn around,” Martin says, goose flesh rising over his body when he considered what he’s said, how he’s said it.

  He expects Luther to notice, take the mickey but he doesn’t. His knuckles go white, his belly caves in, but then he moves, buries his head in his arms.

  Martin places a hand at the small of his back, kisses the indent there.

  Luther sucks in a breath and his body comes off the mattress.

  “I haven’t done anything yet,” Martin says, his heart swelling when he realises that Luther’s on edge too.

  “Well, then get on with it,” Luther says, head down, mostly talking to the covers.

  Martin nuzzles the curve of Luther’s arse, snorts when Luther yelps. Martin spreads his legs wide. Hands curled tight around Luther’s hips, he starts running his mouth down the tightening muscles to Luther’s hole.

  Luther releases a stifled groan.

  He mouths the soft flesh, seals his lips around the raised ridge of Luther’s hole. Luther’s body goes taut and he shouts, grabs the headboard. “Shh,” Martin says, colour staining his face. “The others are still downstairs eating Christmas dinner.”

  “Pardon me,” Luther pants out, “for not… for not sounding measured when you’re…” He makes a noise deep in his throat. “Eating me out.”

  “What a terrible pun.” Martin gives out a little laugh then goes back to work, licks at Luther’s hole, drenches it with his spit, noses at it, nips at it, before he laves at it with the flat of his tongue, pushing inside, going deep, and then deeper.

  “Martin,” Luther says, or rather huffs, before levering his body off the mattress and bucking into Martin.

  Martin kisses and suckles, fucks Luther with his tongue, until his chin is wet with his own saliva and Luther’s reduced to a fine tremble, wriggling his lower body, moving it up and down and sideways in snaps that make it clear he’s at the end of his tether.

  Considering their past, if there’s one thing Martin’s never let himself imagine it’s this. Luther wanting him, Luther needing him, with the breath stolen out of him because Martin’s touching him. He’s never let himself go there because knowing it wasn’t real would have broken him and ended their friendship. But now it’s real and Martin nearly can’t believe it.

  “Martin! I need more!”

  “All right, all right,” Martin says, pushing a spit-slick finger inside Luther.

  Luther tenses.

  “Is this working?” Martin asks, pressing his thumb around the rim, putting pressure behind Luther’s balls. He stops, squeezes down on his thigh. “Didn’t you want to—?”

  “Yes,” says Luther, looking up but not turning his head to look at Martin. “Just do it!”

  Martin opens Luther with his fingers, licking around them and at skin that feels soft and delicate, fluttering and yielding.

  When Luther huffs into his arms, Martin opens the lube, smears it down his fingers. The moment he believes Luther ready, he fumbles for the condom.

  Before he can get it out, Luther vaults around, bracketing Martin with his legs. He places a hand at his nape and a hand at his waist and says, “Like this.”

  Martin nods. It’s not as if he has the power to say anything at this point. The words have dried up in his mouth. His heart is beating rather too fast, and he can’t really concentrate on anything other than taking the next step, to make it happen. He wants to make it good for Luther, so he really can’t speak up much.

  Luther grins at him, looking both red-faced and a little smug, especially when Martin fumbles with the foil packet and drops the condom. Luther tuts, picks it up himself, slides it on Martin. At contact with Luther’s warm fingers, Martin hisses, closes his eyes.

  Luther cups his cheek, skims his face with his lips, says, “Come on, Martin,” and lies back down on the bed.

  Martin starts slow, nudging the head of his cock into Luther, concentrating on anything but the pressure, the tightness, how bloody, mystifyingly good and perfect this is.

  He edges on. Luther wraps his legs around Martin, jolts him forward. Martin sucks in a breath. Luther gentles him with a hand on his flank, rocks against him and Martin’s in to the hilt. He bats his lashes in surprise, sucks in a breath. The fit is snug, heaven. Martin roams his lips across Luther’s collarbone, skims his lips at the hollow of his throat.

  When he can’t anymore, when he needs to release all the energy that has gathered inside him, he bunches his shoulders and presses in before sliding nearly out. Luther bites his lips. Martin slides nearly all the way out before homing in again.

  “I…” Martin says, trying to remember English, which isn’t a feat that comes easy at this point. “I don’t think I can…” Last long he wants to add. But he flushes hot from head to foot and his belly liquefies and he doesn’t think he can say that.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Luther says, slipping a hand through his hair, combing it back, kissing his throat as he sits up. “I want you to.” He traces a line of kisses that goes up to Martin’s ear. “I want you to lose it. I want to be the one who makes you lose it.”

  At that Martin’s hips slot forward sharp and sudden. Luther groans, digging his fingers in, pulling Martin to him by the small of his back as he lies back down. Martin’s rhythm gets shot. He speeds up.

  His back arching, Luther lifts off the bed. Though he’s thrashing his head and can’t see what he’s doing he wraps his hand around his cock. It’s red and swollen, leaking fluid at the tip. He grits his teeth and calls out an approximation of Martin’s name.

  At sight of that, Martin loses control; he swivels his hips into the last thrust.

  Luther bites back a sob, bunches the duvet up in his fist, and comes.

  Martin likes him like this, mouth parted and eyes slitted. It’s not exactly hot, because there’s something about the way he scrunches his face up that’s not exactly it. But it makes warmth bloom in Martin, a sense of overwhelming fondness for all that is Luther. That’s him, his friend, his friend who rolls his eyes at him when Martin yanks his chain, the one who’s grown up by his side, who knows him through and through. And it’s that that melts him.

  He manages two more uneven strokes and then he comes with a strangled moan on his lips.

  He lands on Luther, belly to belly, sweat and come gluing them together. And they’re a mess, a complete and utter mess. Luther’s flushed like a pepper and his hair’s standing on end and Martin’s fairly sure he doesn’t look any better.

  But his heart is soaring. It feels like nothing could be better and then midnight chimes and it does get a little bit more so. He grins like a lunatic. “You must admit, this is a little bit romantic.”

  Luther swats him with a pillow, but then grabs him by the head and kisses his face.

  Martin’s eyes go small with mirth and he can’t see. They laugh. Wrestle on the bed, hit each other with the pillows, all of them. They roll and kick off the duvet which both of them refuse to pick back up. “We’ll freeze,” Martin says, his legs tangled with Luther.

  “Body heat,” Luther says, running his hands down Martin’s bod
y.

  “Is it going to be enough?”

  “Yes,” Luther says, fitting his lips to Martin. “Yes,”

  “Shouldn’t we go down to the others?” Martin says, burring with laughter. “You know and finish Christmas dinner? We left them hanging…”

  “No,” Luther says, his hands moving down Martin’s body with more purpose. “I want to stay here.” He loses the smile, some of his mirth. “I’ve never had you all for me before. There’s a lot I…” He drops his eyes, slows the rhythm of his caresses. “A lot I have to catch up on.”

  They spend the night doing exactly that.

  Chapter 12

  2002

  Dear Martin,

  Uni is grand. Some of the courses are boring, the theoretical ones mostly, but the hands on ones are brilliant. I think this is what I want to do. That I had the right idea. It’s not just about my mother. It’s about crafting something, spreading your own message. I don’t think I’m building myself up too much if I think I have something to say.

  Father is still a little sceptical. But Lin likes the idea. Then again she likes the idea of putting things on film. She accepted that modelling gig after all, but then again you know that because she’s always talking to you, which means she’ll have brought you up to speed.

  So let me do the same. I swear I won’t be all about me, me, me.

  I’m sharing a room with a bloke called Leon. He has a beard and wears shaggy Cardigans. He tapes study schedules to the wall and wants his tea to have steeped for exactly four minutes before he drinks it. The man has his quirks, but I suspect he’s alright. He likes sports, and does Nordic walking. It’s hiking but with a stick, you know. It’s a little bit old mannish as far as hobbies go, but I didn’t tell him.

  See, I can be gracious even when you’re not around. I do not miss you and your chatter at all. Not in the least.

  I’m coming to visit over the Christmas Break. I’ll probably try and persuade Leon to come too. See you then.

  Luther.

  PS: Would you check in on my father from time to time? I probably shouldn’t ask but sometimes I think he must be lonely without us.

  PPS: Skating on the lake will be on as soon as I’m back in town. I will race you and I will win.

  * * *

  When Martin wakes Luther is snugly snoring. He’s managed to steal all of the duvet and to push Martin onto the edge of the mattress. Martin elbows him, but Luther only rolls over, blankets going with him.

  “Right.”

  Since the room is flooded in pale light, Martin supposes he can cede the field to Luther and go downstairs. A spot of breakfast wouldn’t go amiss either considering that he skipped a big part of dinner to…

  He smiles. “Doesn’t mean I forgive you the bed hogging,” he mutters, before picking his clothes up very quickly. Hopping from foot to foot, he dresses. Finally, chilled to the bone because of the naked parade, he makes it past the door.

  He means to make a beeline for the bathroom, when he runs into Lin.

  “You didn’t come back yesterday night,” she says, squaring her jaw. “We finished dinner without you.”

  “I, erm,” he says, dancing from foot to foot. “Luther had a lot to discuss.”

  “In his bedroom?” Lin crosses her arms.

  Martin looks down, scratches the patch of skin above his ear. “Yes?”

  Lin presses her lips together. “You know noise carries well in this house, don’t you?”

  As he tries to recollect what kind of noises he made and what he said or rather shouted, Martin gets a little hot about the face. “Oops. It slipped my mind.”

  “I should probably go all big sister on you and warn you off,” Lin says, tapping her fingers on her forearm before unfurling a smile at him, “but I think you’re the best thing that’s happened to him in a long time.”

  “Really?” Martin asks, tipping his head up.

  “Yes, really,” Lin says, squeezing his arm. “It makes me glad.”

  Martin feels his smile stretch his lips too wide. “It really matters to me. Because you’re my friend.”

  “Are you really going?” she asks then, a cloud passing over her face. “Are you really moving to New Zealand?”

  Martin looks back to the door of Luther’s bedroom. “I don’t know yet. But we’ll talk about it and sort it all out.”

  “I’m sure you will.”

  Martin tips his head do the side. “How about you and Jacob? I mean are you sure you don’t want it to be a thing? I understand why you would back down, but Gwen’s made her choice. She’s marrying Leon and I don’t think she’d want you to be unhappy—”

  “Martin!” Lin says. “Just breathe.”

  Martin takes a lungful, and Lin is right, he does feel conspicuously less light-headed. “I just hope you’re not being self-sacrificial?”

  “Whenever have you known me to be?” Lin says, tutting a little.

  Martin concedes with a shrug.

  “Really, Martin,” Lin says, seeking his eyes, “we’re not all of us made for steady relationships. Jacob is hot and a good guy. We had sex. On a train—”

  “I kinda didn’t want to know you had high-speed sex—”

  “It’s a variation on the mile high club theme.” Lin flashes him a predatory smile. “And the lavatory stank. So it wasn’t all that romantic, even if Jacob himself is a gentleman. Still, it’s not going to go further. He’s going to Cambodia to fulfil his humanitarian dreams while I’m going to New York to embrace acting and be shallow.”

  “You’re not shallow,” Martin says. Lin’s so self-assured but sometimes he does wonder whether she knows she’s a great girl.

  “Thank you, Martin.” She bobs her head in acknowledgement. “Anyway we’re not all lobsters.” “Is that a telly reference?” Martin snorts. “No, we’re probably not.”

  Martin wants to say more, but Luther pokes his head out of the room. His hair is up in tufts and his eyes are red. There’s a pout in place on his lips and Martin’s heart clenches ever so tight he doesn’t mind it when Luther says, “You weren’t there!”

  “I had to shower!”

  “You’re making conversation with my sister!” Luther says, rounding his eyes. They now appear even more bloodshot. “You woke me.”

  “Well, I’m going now.”

  Lin scoffs, pushes off her toes to kiss Martin’s cheek. “When you’re ready, come downstairs. We didn’t open our presents yesterday because you two were MIA.”

  “See,” Martin says, lips twitching. “She can make us feel very guilty!” “Go shower, Martin!” brother and sister shout at him.

  The Christmas tree’s lights are blinking on and off. Martin’s guests are all gathered round it, smiles on their faces.

  “We were waiting for you!” Gwen says, when Luther and Martin stumble into the room. “Yeah, sorry,” Martin says, rubbing his scalp. “We’d have done this yesterday but—” “Please, do spare us,” says Leon, winking. “We know what you were up to.”

  “Not that we overheard much,” Gwen says, her eyelids hooding her eyes. “Actually we heard very little. Almost nothing.”

  “Personally,” says Leon, “I’m quite glad. This way I no longer have to keep my mouth shut about the two of you.”