The Holidays Series

by Tara Sivec

  “It’s called a beard, Mom, not a mustache,” Noel corrects her.

  “No offense, but that boring kiss says otherwise.” Aunt Bobbie shrugs. “Leon, trade places with me, I’ll show you how it’s done.”

  What the fuck? I am NOT gay!

  “It’s okay if you’re gay. We like the gays and we fully support them,” Bev assures me with a kind smile.

  “I’m not gay,” I state, finally finding my voice and defending myself.

  “Okay, whatever you say,” Bev replies, not believing a word.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” I mutter, my hands still on Noel’s hips, wondering if I should just lay one on her to shut everyone up.

  “Mom, give it a rest. We’re tired and we’re going to bed.”

  I notice Noel doesn’t reiterate that I’m not gay and that doesn’t sit well with me. Sure, that kiss was pretty boring and sad, and you couldn’t even really call it a kiss since it lasted shorter than a blink, but give me a break. We’re standing in her parent’s living room with her mother giving me a pitying look, her ancle staring at me like she wants to eat me whole, and her father cursing under his breath in the kitchen down the hall, the sounds of cartons of milk and containers of sour cream thumping into the bottom of the trash can while he makes sure I stay far away from Noel’s eggnog.

  “I’m just saying, a boyfriend should kiss his girlfriend like he means it, not like he’s kissing a dead fish. If it walks like a gay and kisses like a gay…” her mother trails off.

  Oh, for fuck’s sake.

  When Noel opens her mouth, probably to tell her mother about how tired we are again instead of defending my heterosexuality, I decide to take matters into my own hands and fuck the fact that her family is sitting right here looking at us. Letting go of her hips, I quickly move my hands up, grab her face, and turn it toward me, pulling her mouth to mine.

  I cut off her words and her breath, sliding my tongue between her surprised, slightly parted lips. A soft moan floats from her mouth into mine when our tongues meet, and I feel her hands against my chest clutch tightly to the front of my shirt when I use my palms to angle her head to the side for better access. I suck her tongue gently, then swirl mine around it, deepening the kiss until I forget where I am and everything around me. She tastes like home cooking and heaven, her mouth hot and wet against mine as our lips move together in perfect sync, like we’ve been kissing for years. There’s no sloppy mess of drool or awkward darting of tongues; there’s just sliding and sucking, tasting and exploring.

  My grip on her face tightens just enough so she won’t pull away, and she responds by molding her body to mine until we’re pressed together fully from hip to chest. I can feel the pounding of her heart against mine as our tongues tangle together, the kiss moving well beyond sweet to downright sinful, until my dick is so painfully hard in my jeans that there is no way she can’t feel it between us. She moans softly into my mouth again, and I feel the vibrations on my tongue, turning me on more than anything ever has in my life. With each slide of her perfect, delicious tongue against mine, I feel my balls tighten until they want to explode, wishing we were anywhere but in this living room so I could sink myself inside of her and see if her mouth isn’t the only part of her that’s hot and wet. I’ve lost all sense of time and have no idea how long we’ve been standing here kissing under the marijuana dangling from the ceiling.

  Our mouths are molded together until I have no idea where my lips end and hers begin, our tongues battling gently together like they were made to be touching. Our heads move in opposite directions every few seconds to deepen the kiss and I feel Noel’s hands let go of their death grip on my shirt. Her palms flatten again as they skim down my chest and around my body until they are wrapped tightly around my back, holding me as close to her as possible. It’s impossible to stop a moan of my own from releasing into her mouth when the closeness of our bodies makes her hips bump against my dick.

  “Definitely not gay.”

  The quietly murmured words from across the room break into my horny conscience, and even with Noel’s tongue still in my mouth and her body pressed so tightly up against mine that I can feel every amazing curve, it’s like a bucket of cold water on my libido. With one last thrust of my tongue against hers to make sure she knows this is in no way over, but it has to stop for now since I finally came back down to earth and remembered we have an audience, I slowly pull my mouth away from hers and look down at her face. Her eyes are closed, her lips are wet and plump from the kiss, and they are still parted like she’s just waiting for me to dive back in and keep going.

  “I think you’ve had just about enough of my daughter’s cottage cheese.”

  Noel’s eyes fly open and I watch her cheeks flush with embarrassment when her dad scolds me, standing right next to us with his foot tapping angrily on the hallway floor.

  Dropping my hands from her face, I take a step back from the warmth of her body, hoping the dim lighting in the room hides the massive hard-on I’ve got going on in my jeans.

  “Reggie, stop being a cock-blocker,” Aunt Bobbie laughs. “Move aside and let Noel and her non-gay boyfriend go to bed. She’s got a package to unwrap.”

  Everyone’s eyes immediately zero in on my crotch.

  So much for dim lighting.

  Noel wraps her hand around my elbow and pulls me out from under the pot mistletoe, stopping to give her father a quick kiss on the cheek as we walk by him.

  “Goodnight, everyone!” she calls back over her shoulder, pulling me down the hall and toward the stairs.

  “Don’t get any funny ideas up in that bedroom. Her milk is expired!” Noel’s father yells after us as we quickly move up the steps. I look back over my shoulder and give him an awkward wave.

  As Noel quickly ushers us upstairs and we walk past a few closed doors, we finally reach the last room at the end of the hall and she pushes the wooden door open, gesturing for me to go in first.

  “Welcome to my childhood bedroom,” she announces, closing the door behind us.

  I take a few steps into the room, my feet sinking into the dark blue, plush carpet and stop dead in my tracks when I get inside, my eyes darting around the room at all the non-girly items.

  “Um, Leon, you’ve got some explaining to do,” I mutter, hoping to God I didn’t just almost come in my pants while kissing a dude.

  5

  Spill It, Leon

  Noel

  Who’s Leon? Is he Leon? Is the bed Leon? What day is it? Where am I?

  I did a great job acting like what just happened down in the living room was no big deal as I quickly ushered Sam upstairs to my old bedroom. Now that we’re here, in this tiny room and his hulking, muscular, hot body takes up half of the small space, all I can think about is his lips on mine. His tongue sliding against mine. His body pressed up to mine and the flex of the muscles in his back under my palms when I slid my hands around him, the sound of his moan of pleasure in my mouth when I greedily sucked on his lips, and the hard piece of steel jabbing against the seam of my jeans when I pushed my hips against his, and, and, and…

  Sweet Baby Barracuda, he’s hung like a Christmas donkey. Like Dominic the Donkey, but much less annoying and unpleasing to the ears. Very pleasing to the vagina.

  “I’m heartbroken, jobless, and homeless,” I blurt in response to his question. Whatever his question was. Did he ask a question? I’m pretty sure he asked a question. Seriously, where the fuck am I?

  “We established that at the airport,” Sam responds dryly, his eyes moving quickly around the room. “Spill it, Leon. You look like a girl, feel like a girl, and taste like a girl, but after seeing how well Aunt Bobbie pulls off cleavage in that dress she’s wearing, and now seeing the contents of your old bedroom, you’ll have to forgive me if I’m confused. And by I’m, I mean my dick. My dick is very, very confused. My dick is never confused, Leon.”

  His words come out more rapidly with each sentence, and when I finally get my brain back down
to earth instead of floating around in the clouds of the small town I like to call FuckMeAgainstTheWallville, I look around the room and finally see what he’s seeing, quickly understanding where his concerns are coming from. Not only are the walls of my old bedroom still painted in the same eggshell blue from the day my mother found out she was pregnant with me and my father started decorating this extra bedroom into a nursery, the carpet is dark blue and the dresser, nightstand and two bookshelves are dark walnut, as well as the headboard of the twin bed. Which is covered in a thick comforter of different swirls of blue. In case you haven’t guessed, my parents assumed I would be a boy. My parents wanted another boy when they found out they were pregnant again two years after my older brother was born. The color of this room probably wouldn’t give anyone much pause, but the trophies, plaques, and blue first-place ribbons that adorn every available surface for everything from wrestling to hockey to baseball and football might. I’m also guessing Sam is struggling right now due to all of the framed team photos that go along with each trophy, propped up next to the corresponding award, filled with nothing but the smiling faces of all boys.

  “I am most definitely a girl, and these are not my things,” I reassure him.

  Moving into the room and over to one of the shelves against the wall closest to me, I pick up a photo from my brother’s senior year of college when his baseball team won the state conference. Turning around, I hold up the frame and point to the guy kneeling in the front row with a smirk on his face, his short hair the same dark red as mine.

  “That cocky asshole in the front is my brother, Nicholas, and this is all of his stuff,” I explain. “When my parents ran out of room for all of his shit in his old room and their room, they decided my room should also become a shrine to the Great and Powerful Nicholas Holiday.”

  Sam chuckles and I cut off his laugh with a glare.

  “Yes, Noel and Nicholas Holiday. Clearly you’ve already noticed my parents love Christmas, so cut that shit out,” I warn him.

  He quickly wipes the amused smile from his face and walks over to me, taking the photo from my hand and gently placing it back on the shelf where I took it.

  “So, he’s the golden child and you’re…”

  “A screw-up who has yet to settle down and give them grandchildren, and who they like to constantly remind me shits on everything I touch,” I finish.

  “Stop it,” he scolds. “You aren’t a screw-up. You’re just going through a rough patch.”

  The softness in his voice makes me want to cry and that’s just not good. It’s bad enough I’ve spilled my guts to a virtual stranger, I’ve now brought him home and dumped my crazy life all over him. I will not be one of those crazy chicks who practically humps a guy one minute and then starts sobbing all over him the next.

  “Sure. A rough patch that’s lasted thirty-four years, no big deal,” I tell him with a shrug, blinking the tears away and blowing out a frustrated breath. “It’s fine, really. I’m used to it at this point. Nicholas married his high-school-sweetheart two months after they graduated college, and their first child is due any day now.”

  Walking around Sam, I flop down on my old bed and kick my feet rhythmically against the side of it as I continue word-vomiting all over the room. He knows most of my humiliations at this point, what’s a few more?

  “He’s been in the same, high paying job since college as a web designer and they have a beautiful home four miles down the road where my parents can visit any time they like. Meanwhile, I live across the country with a guy they’ve never met, in an apartment they’ve never seen, with a job I hate but at least it pays the bills, and no desire to have kids in the next century. Well, I used to have all of that. At least my aversion to children still stands strong.”

  Sam waltzes over, squatting down in front of me and resting his hands on my thighs as he looks up into my face. I stare at his light blue eyes and try not to think about how hot and heavy and strong his hands feel and refuse to let my mind wander and imagine how they would feel on my bare skin, sliding up my thighs and between my legs.

  “And the Leon thing? What’s the deal with that?” he asks quietly.

  I finally let out a small laugh, remembering his earlier panic.

  “Not as nefarious as you’d like to think. What does Leon spell backward?” I ask him with a smile.

  His face scrunches up in thought, and it only takes a few seconds for the light bulb to come on and he lets out a small, frustrated laugh and shakes his head.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me…” he mutters. “If you weren’t so hot and distracting, I would’ve caught that immediately, just so you know.”

  My entire body from the top of my head to the tips of my toes warms at his words, a little extra blast of fire igniting between my legs that I push away with chuckle at his expense.

  “Yep. Leon spelled backward is Noel,” I reiterate. “My family got so tired of me bitching at strangers when I was a teenager and they’d make a stupid comment about my name around this time of year, that they took to calling me Leon just to shut me up. You must have missed the gold, metal stocking hangers on the mantle downstairs that also spell out Leon. My family thinks they’re hilarious.”

  Sam pushes off of my thighs to stand back up and moves across the room to his backpack and giant duffle bag that my dad must have chucked angrily against the wall after he placed my luggage neatly by the door.

  “You’re family isn’t so bad. At least you have one,” he says softly, bending down to unzip the duffle bag and grab a few items of clothing from inside.

  Every bad thing I’ve ever thought or said about my family suddenly feels like a heavy rock in my stomach. and I wish I could take back all of my bitching. Sam has no one. He’s never had anyone, and all I’ve done since we met tonight is complain about the people in my life who love me unconditionally, even if they do complain about my choices and pick on me incessantly.

  “Sam, I-”

  “Where’s the bathroom?” he asks, cutting me off as he turns around and holds up a flannel pair of pajama bottoms and a small black toiletry bag. “I’m about ready to pass out from exhaustion so I should probably get changed.”

  I silently point to the closed door next to my bed that leads to the adjoining bathroom and he walks by me, opening the door and disappearing inside without another word. When I hear the sound of running water, I quickly get up from the bed and grab my suitcase, changing into a pair of sweatpants and a tank top while he’s still in the bathroom. I busy myself by grabbing the extra blankets and pillows out of the closet and making up a bed on the floor, wondering if he’s going to just assume we’ll sleep in the same bed together. My hands pause after shaking out the blanket and I picture myself lying on my side on the bed with his warm, hard body pressed up against my back, his strong arms wrapped around me, holding me close while his nose is nestled in the crook of my neck, and his lips press to my skin in the darkness of the room. My sigh of pleasure in the middle of my hot daydream is cut off when Sam’s voice fills the room.

  “I hope you’re making that bed up for me. There’s no way I’m letting you sleep on the floor. Unless of course you’re just throwing those down there for no reason because you’re going to let me sleep next to you. In that case, carry on.”

  Mentally reminding myself yet again that I am heartbroken and not on the prowl for a man, I finish laying out the blankets and arranging the pillows then quickly jump on top of the bed. My hands pause in the process of pulling the covers back when I look up and see Sam walk out of the bathroom wearing nothing but the plaid pajama bottoms he took in there. His chest is bare, completely smooth, and looks like it was carved out of stone. I watch him walk around the end of my bed with my mouth hanging open and a little bit of drool dripping down my chin when I see those two little indents down by the waistband of his pants that turns every woman on earth into brainless, panting idiots. Including me. I’m pretty sure I’m panting, and I’m most definitely an idiot. I’ve bee
n rendered dumb by waist indents and a tiny hint of dark, happy trail hair under his belly button that could double as an arrow pointing down to his crotch like one of those giant, blinking signs on the highway announcing road construction.

  Warning! Slow Down! Large Package in Pants Ahead! $200 Fine and Possible Loss of All Brain Function if Barrier is Crossed!

  “You’re damn right you’re sleeping on the floor. There will be no hanky-panky going on with my parents a few feet down the hall and Aunt Bobbie right next door just waiting to come in here at the first sound of said hanky-panky,” I inform him, my eyes glued to the muscles of his naked back as he bends down and tosses his toiletry bag back inside his duffle.

  Getting my head back on track and focusing on sleep instead of large packages in pants that my hands itch to touch, I finish yanking back the covers and climb under them. Unfortunately, I don’t move fast enough and I forgot all about the pajama pants that I grabbed from my bag and threw on while he was in the bathroom.

  “Do your pants say ‘After Sex Pants’?” he asks with a raise of one eyebrow.

  I huff, sliding the offending legs wearing the pants deeper under the covers while I fluff my pillows and flop my head back on them in annoyance.

  “Yes, yes they do. Remember? I ran out of mine and Logan’s apartment as fast as I could, and I wasn’t really paying attention to the items I grabbed from my dresser. They were a gift from Logan for my birthday. They were meant to be funny,” I tell him, not finding any humor at all in them now.

  Or then, really, considering our sex life was nothing to write home about or announce on a pair of pajama pants. Maybe that’s why Sam has me all hot-and-bothered and thinking so many dirty thoughts I could write ten erotic novels about just that kiss we shared downstairs. I’ve been sex-starved since the first time Logan and I did the deed and he finished long before my orgasm was even on the horizon and I faked it just so he wouldn’t feel bad. Which pretty much set the stage for every time we had sex after that. One little moan of pleasure from me and he took it as his cue that I was good to go and he could quickly finish, roll over, and go to sleep.