“Now,” Darren said. “The tree is bare, and as you said, the lights go on first.”
Marlon held his arms out, laughing. “I feel like an idiot.”
“And you look gorgeous; so be a good little Christmas tree and shut up. I’ve got work to do.” Darren began looping loose coils of the twinkling lights around Marlon’s naked body. He anchored each loop and coil with a kiss or a nip and grinned impishly as Marlon began to twitch. Darren accented the lines of Marlon’s chest with loops of white light, nipping and lashing each nipple in turn until Marlon was practically writhing. He wrapped a few more loops around Marlon’s arms, planting light kisses on the tops of his shoulders and the inside of his elbows as he worked. When he finished Darren stood back to critique his work. “You’re right. Smaller swoops do look better.” Darren started to adjust some of the coils.
“Leave them, they’re fine.” Marlon panted and his dick dripped a steady stream of clear liquid. He collected a few drops and gave them to Darren, who accepted eagerly. “Whatever else you’re going to do, you better do it fast because I can’t hang on much longer.” Marlon’s voice was low and insistent.
“Now, it’s my turn,” Darren said. His voice was equally intense. “You’re going to decorate me.”
“What with?”
“You, baby. You’re all the decoration I need,” Darren said, and he stripped.
As soon as Darren kicked his pants free, Marlon grabbed the back of his head and drew him in.
They came together in a rush, almost painfully as their lips crushed together, each overwhelmed by the need to taste, touch, and possess the other.
As their tongues slid together, caressing and searching, Marlon wrapped his draped arms around Darren’s back and drew him closer. The warmth of the tiny light bulbs made small pockets of heat against their bare skin. An answering heat raced through Darren’s body as Marlon’s hands caressed his shoulders, his back, and the curves of his ass. The dangling lights sliding along his skin doubled and trebled the sensations and made his head spin with longing.
“Take me, baby. Please?” Darren’s whisper throbbed with desire.
Marlon nodded, his eyes wide in the glitter of the lights. He turned Darren to face away and looped several of the coils over his head until both were wrapped, head to toe, in glittering lights. Briefly, Darren wondered how that was possible. It was only a hundred-count string, after all, but Marlon’s smooth entry behind him took his breath away and drove all thought from his mind.
A trip hammer pounding suddenly sounded in Darren’s ears, startling him badly and breaking his rhythm. Bursts of noise broken by periods of silence in which the lights surrounding them grew brighter and brighter, until both were encased in a cocoon of brilliant white light. Darren felt Marlon swell inside him, felt his own release steal the strength from his legs. Darren collapsed and hit the floor, hard. The light fell away from his body, ripped to tatters by the impact and leaving him cold and naked. He called out to Marlon, reached for his comfort and safety, but Marlon was gone, and the sound in his ears grew louder still.
Darren woke with a start. The remnants of his dream spun around him, leaving faint splashes of memory around the room like gossamer cobwebs.
The sound came again, louder this time and somehow more frantic. Darren staggered to the front door and opened it.
Max stood on the stoop, his fist raised to knock again. The intense relief on his face would have been comical if it had not so closely mirrored his own. “Darren! God, you had me scared to death. I’ve been knocking for five minutes. Where were you?”
“I fell asleep,” Darren said, still haunted by remnants of his dream. “It was about Marlon.” He shook himself with an effort. “Anyway, get your butt in here. You look half frozen.”
Max stamped his feet and came in, pausing only long enough to shuck his coat before wrapping Darren in a bear hug.
“Hey, wow. What’s this for?” Darren laughed and hugged Max in return. “Not that I mind or anything.”
“I just… I… Never mind. I was just being stupid.” Max let go and stepped back. “How’s that Irish coffee coming along?”
“Burned, by the smell of it. Help me start a fresh pot.” Darren took Max’s hand and dragged him into the kitchen. Maybe it was his dream or just a longing for human company on a day like today, but Darren found himself strangely reluctant to let the man out of his sight, even for a moment.
9
The two men sat huddled together on a sprung sofa, drinking Irish coffee that was perhaps a bit too strong as the snow fell outside the bare picture window. The flickering flames of a gas fireplace cast dancing light and shadows across their faces, giving each the aspects of angels and demons in turns. The storm, which had heralded the day and faded, had returned with a vengeance and set a chill in the air that had nothing to do with temperature.
“Darren,” Max said. “I have something I need to tell you.” The words ruffled Darren’s hair and tickled his ear where Max was lightly rubbing his cheek against Darren’s temple.
“A good something or a bad something?” Darren said, teasing. He tilted his head and nuzzled the underside of Max’s jaw.
Max flinched and pulled away, laughing. “That tickles.”
“I know,” Darren said. “Now, hold still so I can get the other side.”
Max held out until his laughter nearly spilled his coffee. He leaned over to set the cup down on the end table. When he straightened, his face was serious.
“Uh, oh. It must be a bad something.” Darren’s smile faltered when Max’s face remained stoic. “Max?”
“That’s just the thing, Darren. I don’t know if it’s good or bad.” Max laid a hand on Darren’s leg. “Wait a minute. I’ll be right back.”
Darren nodded and sipped his coffee as Max got up. The sudden butterflies in his stomach threatened to send his coffee back where it came from.
Max returned a moment later holding a small square box gaily wrapped in red foil. The flickering firelight made it gleam like a jewel.
“Hey, I thought you weren’t going to make me do Christmas this year?” Darren said as Max handed him the package. He took Darren’s cup and set it on the table beside his own.
“It’s not from me, baby. Read the card.”
Darren folded back the slip of paper and read the tiny card taped to the top.
To: Darry
From: Marlon
Love, always
Darren stared at the slip of paper for a long, long time. Max sat down beside him and tried to pull him close, but Darren’s body was rigid. “I don’t understand,” he finally said. “Max, where did this come from?”
Max sighed and sat back. He angled his body to face Darren. “Marlon gave it to me the night he died.”
“But it has my name on it.”
“I know, baby.”
“And that was four years ago.”
“I know, Darren—”
“So why are you only just now giving it to me?”
“Darren, please….”
Darren stopped, caught by the entreaty in Max’s voice. Still, it was a piece of Marlon he held in his hands. A piece of Marlon that had been kept from him for four years.
“I’m listening,” Darren said, and his tone was glacial. “Why only now?”
“I’m afraid it might not be good news,” Max said simply.
“That doesn’t make any sense. Why would he give me anything that day that wasn’t….” Darren broke off, considering. “Unless—”
“Yeah. That,” Max agreed, but the look on his face said he was anything but happy about it.
Darren stared at the package in his hand, suddenly colder than he had ever been in his life. A deep, bone-shattering cold that permeated his entire body like hoarfrost. “We had a fight that day, Max. Did I ever tell you that?”
“No,” Max said as he scooted closer. He had a sudden flashback to that night out on the porch swing at his parents’ house and shivered. “You never told
me, but Marlon did.”
Darren’s head shot up, and his eyes locked on Max. “When? How could he?”
“He said he left early because of that fight. He came to my house,” Max said. “He was awfully upset about it; the fight, I mean. Marlon said he wasn’t sure if this one was fixable.”
Darren’s eyes fell away. He put the package down on the couch between them. It sat there, gleaming and dangerous, like a snake. “Did he tell you what the fight was about?” When Max shook his head, Darren continued. “It was my fault. I wanted him to quit his job so he wouldn’t have to be away on Christmas Eve. He wouldn’t do it.”
“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Max said cautiously.
“It’s not,” Darren agreed, his face set as if it had been carved in ice. “The worst of it, the part that forced him away, was when I told him to choose; either his job, or me.”
Max’s breath caught for a moment, confused. “But he didn’t even like his job. That doesn’t make sense.”
“You don’t understand, Max. His job wasn’t really the question. It was his obligation that was on the line. I was asking him—” Darren broke off. “I was demanding he choose between me and his own integrity.”
The ice in Darren’s eyes began to melt, sending tiny drops of water coursing down his cheeks. Max reached for him, but he pulled away, grabbing a throw pillow instead. Darren sat hunched around it, rocking slightly.
“How could I do that to him, Max? How could I make him choose like that?”
“I don’t know, Darren, but it explains a few things.”
Darren looked up at that. “What did he say?”
“Not much, really. He only stayed about a half hour and then left. Next thing I know he’s back again, with that in his hand. He wouldn’t come inside. He just stood on the porch and told me to give that to you; that it would take care of everything, once and for all.”
The finality of those words bored their way into Darren’s gut and shattered the ice there into razor shards. “What does that mean? Was he breaking up with me?”
“I don’t know, Darren. That’s why I was afraid to give it to you. I forgot about it until after the funeral. When I remembered, I was afraid it was bad news, and you were already so devastated.” Max’s face hardened and froze, etched in lines of self-loathing. “Maybe if I wasn’t such a coward….” Max let the words fall away. “It feels like I am betraying him somehow. He trusted me to do something for him, and yet, if I did it, things would have been so much worse for you.”
Darren stared at Max’s face for a long time, but instead of seeing the obdurate stone of his remorse, he saw Max on a dozen different occasions. Max standing in the background while a group of strangers who had once been Darren’s friends shouted and cheered on his birthday. Max at a football game, his eyes shining as he turned to clutch at Darren as they cheered a touchdown. Max, watching him, over and over again as the years passed and Darren withdrew further and further. Comfortable Max. Reliable Max. Max, with love and regret in equal measure shining in his eyes as Darren pushed him away, held him at arm’s length and refused to see what was there all along, simply because he was wrapped too tightly in his own guilt and pain.
It hit Darren like an avalanche and he gasped with the weight of it. In an instant, Darren finally saw, with the clarity of hindsight, what he had done to himself, to his friends, and to Max these past four years, all in the name of his own belief that no one could hurt as much as he. Like the last few pieces in a nearly complete puzzle, things fell into place and Darren saw the result of his greed. How his friends had stopped calling and coming over so often, why he hadn’t had much in the way of promotions at work, and how Max—comfortable, dependable Max—was always there, his patient, beautiful face tinctured by regret.
Darren tossed his pillow aside and moved the package to the end of the couch. He leaned, took hold of Max, and drew him closer, tucking the man’s head beneath his chin and drawing Max’s body tight against his own. For once, maybe for the first time since he and Marlon had met, it was Darren’s turn to give comfort where he had always simply taken it before, and in doing so, Darren understood Marlon’s gift didn’t really matter. Not after all this time. What truly mattered was the man who had brought it to him.
“Max, Max. I’ve been so selfish all these years. I’m so sorry.” Darren rocked him back and forth, cradling him like a hurt child. Instead of being calmed, however, Max seemed to grow more agitated. “Max, what is it? What’s wrong?”
Max looked up into Darren’s face for a moment and then turned away. “I should have thrown it away. I should have forgotten about it and let you keep your memories of Marlon untainted.”
Darren hushed him. “It’s okay, Max. All my memories of Marlon are good, when I bother to let them out.”
The stone of Max’s face cracked, and pain leaked out of the fissures. “No, no, you don’t understand.” Max’s shoulders shook as he struggled to speak. -“I brought it to you today hoping you would finally let him go.” Max lifted his head and his eyes were red rimmed and streaming. “I wanted you for myself,” he said and looked away. “I’ve always wanted you, ever since the first day we met.”
Darren pulled back to stare at Max. His face wore a startled expression for a moment, and then it softened. He began to laugh, a rich, full-throated sound that chased the shadows away and rendered the firelight cheerful and inviting. “Max, don’t you get it? You already have me.”
10
Darren cradled Max in his arms, marveling at the strength it gave him to comfort another. Max let himself be rocked for a long moment before lifting his head to look at Darren. The question on his face was obvious, even in the dancing shadows.
“Ever since that night on the porch at your mother’s house, you’ve had me.” Darren brushed at Max’s face and kissed his forehead. “I just didn’t know it at the time.” He tucked Max’s head beneath his chin again and stroked his hair. “Did I tell you I dreamed about Marlon while I was waiting for you?”
Max nodded and wrapped his arms around Darren’s waist, holding on like a drowning victim who’s just been rescued. “What happened?”
“He let me go, Max. He was loving me, and at the end he let me go. I can’t help but think it was so you could find me, or better yet, so I could find you.” Darren kissed the top of Max’s head again, letting his lips linger amidst the silky surfaces. When he spoke again, the tiny puffs of air made Max’s body tremble.
“He adored you, Max. Did you know that? He used to talk about you constantly.” Darren laughed ruefully. “It used to make me crazy sometimes, the way he would go on and on about the things you did together.”
“He loved you, too, Darren.” Max’s voice was a low rumble against Darren’s chest.
“I know he did, baby, but you know what else? I think that if you two hadn’t been so young, if you had met under different circumstances, it would have been you, instead of me.”
Max stiffened and tried to pull away, but Darren held him firm.
“Don’t, Max. I don’t mean that as a bad thing. I just know he loved you very much, just as he loved me.”
Max’s body relaxed, and the weight against Darren’s chest snapped the last remaining barriers between them. Darren bent his head as Max raised his, and their lips met. Their kiss was tender and sweet, owing more promise than passion, and when they separated to look into each others eyes, neither man’s face held any hint of regret or remorse. They held each other in silence, staring into the fire and lost in memories until Darren sighed. “You know, I miss having a Christmas tree.”
Max chuckled. “It’s a wonder Marlon hasn’t been haunting you since day one for the lack.” He reached up and slid his fingers through Darren’s hair. “We still have time. Do you want to get one tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I think I do,” Darren said. “But under one condition. You have to help me pick it out.”
“I have had some experience in that area,” Max said, and he began unbuttoning Da
rren’s shirt. The little package was all but forgotten.
* * *
Darren’s eyes were misty as Max plugged in the extension cord. Soft white light filled the room, reminding him forcibly of his dream the day before. The tree they had chosen, amidst much laughter and argument, stood shining like a beacon in the center of the large front window.
“Come on!” Max said as he grabbed Darren’s hand and pulled him toward the door. “We have to see what it looks like from the outside.”
“The same as it looks from the inside, only warmer,” Darren replied, but he let himself be dragged down to the snow-covered walk.
“It’s beautiful,” Max said as they huddled together staring at the perfectly framed tree. “Marlon would be proud of you.”
“Of both of us, I think,” Darren agreed. “Now, back inside before we freeze to death and I’ll make us some chocolate.”
“As long as you make it Irish,” Max said, and the two raced for the door.
* * *
“Darren? What do you want to do about this?” Max held up the small red package as Darren came in from the kitchen carrying two steaming mugs. He set them down on the hearth where Max was sitting.
“I don’t know,” Darren admitted. “I think I’m afraid to open it.”
“Do you want me to open it for you?”
Darren thought about it before picking up his mug and taking a sip of the aromatic chocolate. “No. You have been doing things for me for a long time, Max. It’s time I did something for myself.” He took the package from Max and tore it open, almost as if he were pulling a BAND-AID from tender skin. Darren stared, dumbfounded, at the cellophane window set into the side of the box. A ridiculously cheerful Santa face stared back at him, winking. “Oh my God, he knows how much I hate this shit.” Laughter sparkled in his eyes as he handed the box to Max.
The Santa Mug Page 5
