by J. M. Snyder
Catching sight of Lane, Remy waved and called out, “Hey, babe! Or, wait—honey, we’re home!”
Lane hopped down the porch steps and started towards them. “Hey, guys. Just in time for lunch.”
Braden’s head peered around the side of the car door. When he saw Lane, he shrieked, “Don’t look!”
Lane’s step faltered. He glanced at Remy for an explanation. “What?”
“Dad, he’ll see what I got him!” Braden cried. There was real fear in his voice, as if the last thing he wanted in the entire world was for Lane to see what the car door was hiding.
Remy rolled his eyes and shook his head, but his smile was one of amusement. “Stop right there, will you?” he asked Lane.
Lane did. Shoving his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, he said, “All right. I’m stopped. What’s this all about.”
“Close your eyes,” Remy told him.
Lane did as he was told. It was hard to keep them shut when he heard father and son whispering across the front seat of the Jeep, and the rattle of a plastic shopping bag being taken out of the car, but he managed. He heard Remy’s footsteps as his lover circled around the Jeep, then the solid thunk! of the closing door. Then more footsteps—quicker this time, lighter, obviously Braden’s—as the little boy raced past Lane to the cabin. His feet thudded up the steps and across the porch. Something heavy was dropped onto the porch as Braden opened the front door. Then his steps disappeared inside, dragging a shopping bag along after them.
Lane smirked. “Is he gone? Can I open them now?”
More footsteps—Remy’s, measured and even. Widely spaced. A man’s saunter. Lane had to squeeze his eyes shut to keep from looking. When the footsteps stopped and he sensed his lover was standing right in front of him, Lane waited. He kept his shoulders relaxed, his hands tucked into his pockets. What was coming next?
Warm lips brushed his. Lane’s mouth parted, an invitation for more. Remy kissed him again, harder this time, their mouths pressed together with an insatiable thirst. Remy’s tongue licked into him, gentle but probing, eliciting a response in him that started somewhere behind his balls and coursed up his spine to tingle the back of his teeth. Without touching, the two men kissed, linked by lust and love, and when Remy stepped back, they stayed connected a moment longer by a tenuous thread of saliva stretching between them.
Lane opened one eye and grinned. “Hello to you, too, mister. What if Braden sees us?”
“We talked about it,” Remy said. He hugged his lover around the waist, threading his arms through Lane’s to clasp his hands together in the small of Lane’s back. His fingers flicked up the hem of Lane’s coat to tuck themselves into the waistband of Lane’s jeans where the warmth of denim and skin warmed them up. With another, softer kiss, Remy murmured, “Did you know he was so upset because he thought you were going to turn me gay?”
“Oh, yeah, like that’s all my fault,” Lane joked, rubbing his nose against Remy’s. “What’d you tell him?”
Remy shrugged, settling himself closer to his lover. “That you didn’t turn me gay, but you’d probably be the major factor in keeping me that way.”
Lane’s eyes went wide. “You didn’t! Now he’ll hate me forever.”
“He likes you just fine,” Remy assured him, chasing the words with another kiss. “He bought you a present. That’s what all this was about.”
“And here I thought you just wanted to suck face outside,” Lane teased.
“That, too.” Another kiss, this one tender and drawn out. When Remy pulled back, his teeth closed over Lane’s bottom lip and tugged it playfully before letting go.
From inside the cabin, Braden hollered, “Dad! You said you’d help me wrap it!”
Remy sighed and rested his forehead against Lane’s. “Would it be a bad thing to say I can’t wait for his bedtime? He has the world’s worst timing.”
Puckering his lips to reach Remy’s, Lane gave him one last kiss. “You go help him. I’ll start on the groceries. I hope he got me something good.”
“He got you something, all right,” Remy replied with a cryptic grin.
* * * *
After the shopping bags were brought inside and the groceries all put away, Lane whipped up a quick lunch of deli sandwiches and potato chips. There was soda for the kid and beers for the men. Braden chose a different seat than the one where he had sat for breakfast, deciding to put his back to the sliding glass window and look into the cabin, instead. At first Lane thought maybe the boy had moved closer to him to show there were no hard feelings from the night before, but as they ate, he realized Braden’s seat offered the perfect view of the Christmas tree. He had already wrapped Lane’s gift and stuck it under “his tree,” as he called it, and Remy had to call him two or three times before he came to the table because he’d been too busy rooting through the other gifts beneath the tree.
Braden hadn’t even swallowed his last bite before he slid off his chair and raced over to the tree. “Can I start decorating it?” he asked, diving into the shopping bags full of ornaments without waiting for approval.
By the time Remy and Lane had cleared away the lunch plates and joined him, the tree was only half-decorated. There was a very obvious line midway up the branches where the ornaments stopped because Braden simply couldn’t reach any higher. As Remy dug into the pile of ornaments strewn about the floor at the base of the tree, though, Lane settled on the couch in front of the unlit fireplace.
“Aren’t you going to help?” Remy asked.
“I’ve done my part already.” Turning towards the tree, Lane stretched out along the length of the couch and crossed his ankles. His head rested on a pillow leaning against the arm of the couch. He set his half-empty beer can on his chest and settled in to watch.
Remy stuck out his tongue. “I get it. You’re supervising, is that it?”
“It’s what I do best,” Lane joked.
With a laugh, Remy teased, “Oh, so tonight you’re going to make me do all the work while you just sit back and relax, is that what you’re saying?”
Beside him, Braden said, “I’m helping out, too, Dad. You’re not doing it all.”
Lane snorted as Remy’s double entendre came back to bite him. Thin color flushed his cheeks and he hurriedly assured his son, “No, I know. You’re helping, too.” Over his shoulder, Remy growled, “What’s that they say about little pitchers having big ears?”
“I play shortstop, Dad,” Braden reminded him.
“I know, I know.” Remy rolled his eyes and made a face behind his son’s back. Lane sipped from his beer can to keep from laughing out loud.
As Braden filled and overfilled the lowest branches of the tree with ornaments, Remy went around behind him and rehung most of them higher. He had bought only boxes of ornaments, not single ones. Most were colorful glass balls or sparkling baubles, but there were also a dozen small stars fashioned from tin, a couple cute little stockings, and a set of eight cartoon characters Braden had picked out. They clashed completely with the rest of the tree, but Braden hung them proudly. Lane noticed Remy tried to sneak one or two around to the back of the tree where they would be out of sight, but Braden insisted he move them back in front. “Hang this one right under the star,” Braden said, brandishing the gaudiest ornament Lane had ever seen.
Remy obeyed. When they were finished, they stepped back to admire their handiwork. From where he lay on the couch, Lane admitted, “It looks better than I thought it would.” From a distance, everything sort of blended together with an overly holiday sense of cheer.
Remy sat on the arm of the couch and took one of Lane’s sock-covered feet in both hands. His fingers massaged the arch of Lane’s foot with expert ease. “Are those all the presents under the tree?”
“All but Santa’s,” Lane said, giving Braden a pointed, sideways glance. “Oh, and yours. I unpacked one of your bags—”
“Lane!” Remy cried. His grip tightened on Lane’s foot.
Lane wriggled
his toes. “Not that one, jeez. Trust me, much?”
Remy’s fingers relaxed, and he ran his thumb up the underside of Lane’s foot, a ticklish touch. “Good. Let me go put that one away, and I’ll add my gifts to the rest of them under the tree. No peeking, though.”
“I won’t, you know that,” Lane said. “I like surprises.”
Suddenly Braden spoke. “I got you a surprise. Dad says you won’t like it, but I think you will.”
With his lover’s hands massaging his foot, Lane had forgotten all about Remy’s son, who was sitting on the floor out of sight in front of the tree. Now he shook one of the gifts, and Lane heard a hearty rattle that reminded him of beads or blocks inside a plastic case. “What’s that?” he asked.
“What I got you,” Braden replied. He held up the present, but over Remy’s lap, all Lane could see was the top of the wrapped gift. “See? You’ll love it.”
Lane grinned at Remy. “Really?”
Remy widened his eyes and made a face that said otherwise. “Someone will love it, anyway,” he said with a nod at his son. Releasing Lane’s foot, he patted his lover’s leg and stood. “Let me put the rest of my stuff away. I don’t want to be the only one living out of a bag for the rest of the time here. Brae, you need to unpack, too.”
“Lane already did for me,” Braden said. He shook something else under the tree; Lane heard the crinkle of wrapping paper.
Remy said, “Stop that. Find something else to do.”
“Da-ad,” Braden whined. “Like what?”
“Like your DS,” Remy countered. “Something that doesn’t involve trying to figure out what everyone got you for Christmas.”
Braden started, “I’m not—”
“You are.” Remy threw Lane a quick smile, then headed for their bedroom to unpack. “I’m serious, young man. If you shake my present, it’ll break, and I won’t be able to take it back to the store for a replacement. They’ll know you broke it.”
Braden sighed. “Fine.” He hauled himself to his feet and popped up at the far end of the couch. He saw Lane looking at him and made a sour face. It was exactly the same sort of thing Remy would do, and his resemblance to his father at that moment was uncanny.
With a laugh, Lane told him, “You can shake mine.”
“I already did,” Braden said. “It’s a game. Which I can’t even play because we don’t have a TV here.”
“Maybe it’s a DS game,” Lane suggested.
But Braden shook his head. “It’s too small. It’s for the Wii, or maybe for the computer. Either way, I can’t play it until I get home.”
From the bedroom, Remy called out, “Then find something you can play with now to keep you busy, you hear? And stop pestering Lane.”
Braden’s brow darkened. “I’m not pestering him!” he cried. “You told me to be nice and that’s what I’m doing!”
“I know what you’re doing,” Remy warned. “No pestering people about their presents! Christmas will be here soon enough.”
“I wasn’t,” Braden muttered as he dragged himself away from the Christmas tree in search of something to do.
Chapter 11
Remy hadn’t had time to wrap Lane’s gifts before they left for the cabin. To be honest, he hadn’t thought of wrapping them, but once he noticed the presents under the tree, he changed his mind. In addition to the ring, Remy had bought Lane a new leather cover for his Kindle, an Amazon gift card, and a pair of matching wine glasses with the word His written on each. There were a couple other things, like chocolate-covered espresso beans, a business card holder with a drafting design on it, a T-shirt that said Gay RVA in a pale blue that would mirror Lane’s eyes.
Fun gifts, really. Nothing that would compare to the ring, and thankfully Remy hadn’t bought anything outlandish or overtly sexy. He had considered a basket of sex toys, just for laughs, but that would have been completely inappropriate now that his son was staying with them. As it was, Remy wondered if he and Lane would even get a few moments alone at any point during their vacation. It seemed the only time they would spend together were the few hours they shared a bed at night. And even that, Braden interrupted.
Once he unpacked his duffle bag, Remy put the gifts for Lane back in it and zipped it up. He took a quick glance out into the main room of the cabin to make sure he wasn’t being watched—he could see tufts of Lane’s blond hair on the arm of the couch, so the coast was clear. Pocketing the key to the third bedroom, Remy took his duffle bag in there and shut the door behind him.
Braden’s Santa gifts had been wrapped and placed back in the black garbage bags Kate had used to store them originally. The bags rested against the ladder on the bunk beds, and what remained of the wrapping paper lay across the bottom bunk. There were scissors and tape and gift tags, everything he needed. Remy sat on the bunk and wrapped his gifts.
When he finished, he left the room with the duffle bag in one hand, the key in the other. As Remy was relocking the door, Braden came to stand in the doorway to his bedroom. “What’re you doing?” he asked.
Remy gave his son a quick grin. “Just wrapping Lane’s presents.”
Braden watched him turning the key. “Why are you locking that door?”
“We’re not using this room,” Remy told him.
“But why lock it?” Braden persisted.
Because I don’t want you nosing around your gifts until Christmas morning, Remy wanted to say, but if he even hinted that there were presents inside, it would only fuel Braden’s curiosity. So instead, he shrugged and said, “No reason.”
“Why’d you go in there then?” Braden wanted to know.
Remy held up his duffle bag. “I didn’t want Lane to see what I got him, okay?”
“What did you get him?” Braden asked.
Remy groaned. “Hello? He’s right over there.”
Braden glanced at the back of the couch. “Oh. Well, come in my room and tell me.”
“No, you’ll see on Christmas when he opens them.” Remy stuck the bedroom key in his pocket—he didn’t want Braden to see him put it on his dresser and get any ideas about checking out the room when Remy wasn’t looking.
He crossed the main room, heading for the Christmas tree, his son at his heels. “You didn’t get him what I got him, did you?” Braden asked, worried.
Remy laughed. “No. Trust me.”
Still, his son hovered over him as he added his presents to the piles already in place. Fortunately, nothing Remy had for Lane was large enough to rival the package Braden had wrapped, and he relaxed when the duffle bag was empty. “Okay, good,” Braden said. Then he pointed at the small box containing the ring. “What’s in that? It’s so tiny.”
“I’m not telling you,” Remy said again.
Braden looked over his shoulder at Lane, then hunkered down closer to his father. “You can tell me now,” he said in a loud stage whisper. “I think he’s sleeping.”
“You’ll see when he opens it,” Remy replied. He glanced at his lover as he stood—sure enough, Lane had fallen fast asleep. He must have still been pretty worn out from the drive, not to mention chopping down the tree, trimming it, and wrapping Braden’s gifts. Moving quietly, Remy plucked the empty beer can from where it rested on Lane’s chest and set it on the coffee table, then pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over his lover.
“See?” Braden whispered. “Sleeping.”
“Yes, I see, so let him sleep,” Remy said. “Go back to your room and play or something, okay?”
Braden frowned at his father. “What are you going to do?”
Remy checked his watch. It was early afternoon, and a nap sounded good to him, too. If it were just the two of them, he would have stretched out alongside Lane, nudging his lover over to make room, and they would have dozed together. But he could put away the rest of things they had bought at the store—make sure the bathroom was fully stocked so there were no more early morning intrusions—and maybe bring in some firewood. It would be nice
to turn down the heat and relax in front of a roaring fire after dinner. Speaking of which, maybe he should start thinking about what to make. Was it too cold to use the grill? He’d picked up a few steaks just in case. They didn’t have to actually eat outside…
Distracted, Remy began picking up all the ornament boxes, now empty husks of cardboard. The ones that weren’t too badly torn up, he tucked into the box that used to be filled with Kate’s decorations. The rest he set by the fireplace. They would be added to the fire later once it got started.
Braden trailed behind him. As Remy headed into the kitchen, he told his son, “Look, I have some things to do. You don’t have to follow me around.”
“But I don’t want to go to my room,” Braden said. “I want to stay with you.”
Remy took a deep breath. He wasn’t used to having his son so constantly underfoot, but it was the holiday season. Braden wasn’t the only one who needed to be nice.
“All right,” Remy conceded. “Bring your game out here and sit at the kitchen table, okay?”
Braden’s face lit up with glee and he squealed a little in his excitement.
“But keep it down,” Remy warned. “Lane’s trying to sleep.”
Braden nodded quickly, then hurried to his room to retrieve his Nintendo DS.
* * * *
Lane napped all afternoon. When dinner was almost ready, Remy carried two glasses of wine to the main room and set them on the coffee table. He spent several minutes getting a fire going in the fireplace; he had brought in a small stack of wood, now sitting between the fireplace and the Christmas tree, and the cardboard ornament boxes ignited quickly, but the logs themselves took longer to catch. Soon a small, orange flame licked the wood, and Remy fed more cardboard into the fireplace to keep the fire going.
