by J. M. Snyder
“You said it was only four days,” Lane reminded him.
With a smile, Remy unbuckled Lane’s belt, then unbuttoned his jeans. Easing a hand into Lane’s pants, Remy sighed as his fingers plunged into thick pubic hair. “I barely know where to start.”
Leaning closer, Lane whispered, ‘How about here?”
His kiss was as gentle as the snow falling outside, but warm and vibrant and moist, alive. His mouth opened Remy’s and his tongue licked over Remy’s bottom lip, then the top one, then the back of Remy’s front teeth. Then he delved in deeper, no longer satisfied to just taste his lover. He wanted to drink deep of the man, grow drunk on Remy’s love, and swoon beneath pleasure and lust. Lane pressed Remy to the back of the couch, pinning him there with kisses that grew in intensity, from tender and sweet to hungry, demanding. He had waited long enough for this moment, this man.
Their kisses deepened. Hands thrust under shirts, into pants. Fingers caressed hidden flesh, stroking sensitive skin until it quivered with desire. In the confines of Lane’s jeans, Remy’s hand encircled his cock, squeezing, kneading, making him harder. Bringing him close to the edge of release. With deft moves, Remy knew just where to touch Lane to please him. Where to kiss, how to love. Lane let himself be swept up in his lover’s ministrations, eager for an end to the missed connections and almost-theres that had plagued them so far this holiday season.
Just when Lane was ready to give in and give up, Remy released him and laid a hand flat against the slight swell of his pubic mound. Breaking their kiss, Remy murmured, “Hey, sexy. Let’s take this in the other room, what do you say?”
What could Lane say? Yes, a thousand times. He wanted more than mere kisses. He wanted every part of Remy, everything his lover had to give, and he wanted it now.
But as they helped each other up off the couch, something wasn’t quite right. “Hold on,” Lane said, looking around.
Remy kissed his cheek. “Hmm? What is it?”
Lane wasn’t sure. The fire still smoldered in the hearth—the flames had banked, but the embers still glowed. But the rest of the room around them seemed too dark all of a sudden. Why? Remy had turned out the lights earlier, so that wasn’t it. And the fire had burned down a little, but that wasn’t it, either. Even the Christmas tree—
Frowning, Lane glanced at the Christmas tree. Its lights had turned off.
“The tree’s out,” Lane said. “It was on earlier, right?”
“Right.” Remy turned to look over the back of the couch, calling softly, “Braden? Is that you?”
Lane stood and listened. The door to Braden’s room was still shut; he didn’t think the boy had turned off the tree. He was probably fast asleep, eager for morning to come. The cabin was too damn quiet, though. Nothing Lane could quite put his finger on…
Then it hit him, just why things were too quiet. The fridge isn’t running.
“Remy,” Lane said, “I think the power’s out.”
* * * *
They checked the other rooms. All the digital clocks were dark, and none of the light switches worked. Normally, Lane wouldn’t have been too worried about the power, but they had a refrigerator stuffed to overflowing with food that was supposed to last them for two whole weeks, and if the power wasn’t restored by morning, the food might start going bad. Not to mention that they were sort of in the middle of nowhere, and on the one holiday when the entire country shut down completely. Add in the snow, which had by now probably covered the only road leading out of the woods, and he suspected they were good and truly screwed.
“There’s a backup generator,” Remy reminded him.
Lane frowned. He wasn’t exactly sure how generators worked, but he thought they were supposed to kick in when the power went out. This one hadn’t. “Does it work?”
Remy shrugged. “I was told yes, but shouldn’t it be on already? Maybe we have to turn it on or something.”
“I don’t even know where it is!” Lane wanted to laugh—not because it was funny, but at least laughter would relieve some of the tension he felt. The earlier sensual moment they had shared on the couch felt as if it had happened hours ago, or days, even. All thoughts of sex were pushed out of his mind. They needed power to keep their food from going to waste and to keep the cabin heated. The fireplace couldn’t be left unattended overnight, and its warmth would never reach the bedrooms, anyway.
Parting the vertical blinds, Remy pressed against the sliding glass door and peered into the night. “I saw it against the side of the cabin when I was outside earlier. It’s just over there somewhere…” He pointed out into the darkness.
Without thinking, Lane flicked the switch for the porch light. Nothing happened.
Of course, he thought, flicking it off again. Duh.
“Well, maybe we can run out and take a look,” Lane suggested. He unlatched the sliding door and opened it. A rush of icy air filled with snowflakes swirled around him, making him shiver. Wrapping his arms around himself, he ducked out onto the porch and into a blinding storm. The snow was coming down harder now, so thick he couldn’t see past the end of his nose. If he couldn’t find the porch steps, he knew he’d never be able to locate the generator. And what would he do if he did? He didn’t know the first thing about how to hook it up or turn it on.
He hurried back inside. Remy shut the door behind him and locked it, then brushed snow off Lane’s hair and shoulders. “The snow probably took down a power line somewhere,” Remy told him, “and I bet it broke the generator line, too. What the hell good is a generator if the bitch won’t start when it’s supposed to?”
Lane shook off the last of the snow and stamped his feet to knock off the snow on his slippers, too. “We’ll look at it in the morning.”
“But what about tonight?” Remy asked.
Lane looked around, thinking. In Richmond, the power didn’t go out often, but they had had their fair share of hurricanes over the years. Once, when Lane first moved to the city, a huge storm flooded the bottom floor of his condo and he’d been stranded for two days until the water receded. Without power, without internet, without a phone because his cell battery died and he didn’t have any way to recharge it. The only thing that saved him was his Kindle, which he used sparingly to check the electric company’s website for updates on the outage.
Now he told Remy, “If we don’t open the fridge, everything should be okay in there for eight hours or so. It’s cold outside anyway, and without heat in here, nothing should melt or spoil just yet.”
“Damn fine vacation this is turning out to be,” Remy groused.
Lane ignored him, focusing on what needed to be done. “We’ll build up the fire and move the coffee table out of the way. Spread our blankets and pillows out here and sleep.”
“What about Braden?” Remy asked.
Lane wanted to suggest they bring the boy out to the main room with them, but if Braden should wake up, he might get scared. Letting him sleep in his bedroom might be best. “He should be okay,” Lane said. “Don’t you think?”
Remy nodded. “Oh, he’s out like a light. Like all the lights. I’m talking about tomorrow when he wakes up and the Christmas tree won’t come on, and he can’t open the fridge to get something to drink. That’s going to be fun.”
“We’ll deal with that when it happens,” Lane told him. “Besides, I’m thinking we’ll have the generator up and running as soon as the sun comes up. If the power doesn’t come back on during the night. Come on, you see to the fire and I’ll get our bedding.”
With a leer, Remy tugged on Lane’s unbuckled belt. “And then maybe we can get back to where we were a moment ago. Making our own heat.”
* * * *
The temperature in their bedroom had already dropped. Lane didn’t know if he was more sensitive to it because he had made the mistake of going outside or if the heat from the fireplace just made the main room seem warmer, but he was definitely glad they weren’t going to be sleeping in their bed tonight. He grabbed the heavy
blanket off the top of the bed, then both his and Remy’s pillows, and carried the whole bundle into the main room. He dropped the items on the couch and watched a moment as Remy fed more wood into the fireplace.
“We should probably wear something to bed,” Lane suggested.
Over his shoulder, Remy grimaced. “That’s no fun, man.”
“It’s better than scrambling for clothes when Braden wakes us up at the crack of dawn,” Lane pointed out.
Remy sighed heavily. “Fine. So much for an erotic evening in front of the fire.”
“I didn’t say we had to wear anything at first,” Lane said with a laugh.
Standing, Remy put the grate back in front of the fireplace, then stepped around the coffee table to claim a quick kiss. “I’m ready when you are, lover.”
Lane grinned against Remy’s lips. “Let me get some more blankets and I’ll be right with you.”
Back in their bedroom, Lane fumbled around until he found the chair in the corner, still stacked high with the blankets they hadn’t used on the bed. He scooped them up, then found the dresser by touch—or, more precisely, backed into the edge of it rather painfully. The second drawer down contained underwear. Briefs, longjohns, undershirts, socks. Luckily Lane and Remy wore roughly the same size, though Lane’s longjohns would be a bit too long on Remy’s shorter body. Still, he couldn’t see to pick out his clothes from clothing that belonged to Remy, so he grabbed what he thought would be enough and headed back out into the main room.
As he dropped the latest batch of items on the couch, Remy was already spreading blankets out on the floor. He had moved aside the coffee table; it now stood against the front wall of the cabin, behind the Christmas tree. Speaking of which…
“Maybe we should get the gifts out now, too,” Lane said.
Remy rolled his eyes. “We’re never going to get a moment to ourselves, are we?”
“I’m just saying we might not feel like getting them out later.” Lane rifled through the clothing he had picked, longjohns and T-shirts, and thought that, with the blankets, they should be enough to keep them warm through the night. “I mean, you know, when we’re finished. I know I’m not going to want to play Santa when I can stay snuggled up against you after we make love.”
“Fine,” Remy said again, a bit perturbed.
Lane blew his lover a kiss. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”
“You better,” Remy growled.
The key to the third bedroom was on their dresser. Lane found it in the dark and unlocked the bedroom door. Then he stumbled into the room, making too much noise as he tripped over a roll of wrapping paper someone had left on the floor. He knew he had left it on the bed, so there was only one other person who could’ve moved it. “Remy!” he cried, kicking the roll aside.
The doorway darkened as his lover appeared. “What? Jeez, it’s cold in here.”
Lane found the trash bags full of presents and pulled them past him towards Remy. “Take a few of these, will you? And don’t trip over the wrapping paper someone left in the middle of the floor.”
“Hey, it wasn’t—whoa!” Remy grabbed Lane’s arm to keep from falling. “Yeah, okay, that was me. Sorry.”
Together they dragged the bags out into the main room. By the light of the fire, they emptied the bags, stacking the presents into piles around the base of the Christmas tree. When they were finished, the tree really did look as if Santa had stopped by to visit. While Lane couldn’t wait to see his lover’s reaction to the gifts he had bought Remy, part of him was looking forward to seeing how excited Braden would be in the morning.
Remy finished making up their “beds” in front of the fireplace and picked out something to sleep in. “Let me go get out of these jeans and use the bathroom,” he said. “Then I’ll be ready to light up your Christmas. Wait, can you flush a toilet when the power’s out?”
“I don’t see why not,” Lane replied. “You could just change out here.”
“But I can’t pee out here,” Remy noted. “I’ll be right back.”
Lane stripped off his jeans and shirt, then his underwear. He pulled on a T-shirt, which fit fine, but the remaining pair of longjohns weren’t his. They came up too far on his legs, like pedal pushers. Good thing I found out now, he mused as he went back into the bedroom to swap them out. I wouldn’t feel like being bothered later.
He tried on another pair of longjohns that fit much better. On his way out of the bedroom, though, his gaze fell on Braden’s shut door. Lane wondered if the boy’s bedroom was as cold as their own. He could just peek in and see if the kid was still asleep. No use waking him, but still, it wouldn’t hurt to check.
As quietly as he could, Lane turned the knob on Braden’s door. He inched it open, expecting to see nothing but darkness and hear the sleepy half-snores he’d heard when Braden fell asleep that first night in the back of the Jeep.
The last thing he was prepared for was the glow of Braden’s Nintendo DS just inches away.
“Hey,” Lane whispered, opening the door wider. “Aren’t you supposed to be in bed?”
Braden shuffled closer, and Lane could see there were no remnants of sleep on his face. “The power’s out.”
Lane frowned. “Why would that wake you up? Your lights weren’t on.”
“My nightlight was,” Braden confirmed. “When you turn out my lamp, a little light near the floor clicks on. But now it’s off. I have my DS.”
He held up the gaming console to show Lane. “Yeah, well,” Lane said, “your dad’s going to be mad you’re not in bed.”
“Where is he?” Braden asked, glancing past Lane.
“In the bathroom.”
Braden took a step closer to the door. “Can I get a drink?”
With a sigh, Lane explained, “We can’t open the fridge. If we do, the food might go bad.”
“I can get a glass of water,” Braden offered.
This was one line of argument Lane could already tell he wasn’t going to win. He should have closed the door and told Braden to get back to bed. Or, better yet, he should have never opened the door in the first place. Now he had no choice but to open the door wider and tell Braden, “Come on. Quickly. You really should be in bed.”
“Thanks.” As Braden stepped out of his room, his gaze swept the cabin. When he saw the presents under the tree, his eyes widened. “Santa came!”
Bemused, Lane placed a hand on Braden’s back and steered him toward the kitchen. “I thought you said you didn’t believe in Santa.”
“That’s just what I tell the kids at school,” Braden explained. “And to tease my dad. But really, I kind of do. Did you see him?”
In the kitchen, Lane filled a glass with water from the tap and handed it to Braden. “The power went out, remember? The fire was almost out, too, and it was really dark.”
Braden lowered the glass and looked up at Lane. “Were you and Daddy kissing again?” he asked with a grimace.
“We were…busy,” Lane conceded. Planning to get busier, too, but apparently that’s not going to happen now. Ruffling Braden’s hair, he said, “Suffice it to say, we didn’t see Santa. When we got the fire going again, the presents were already there.”
Braden’s eyes looked huge, as if they were in danger of popping out of his head. “Can I open them now?” he whispered.
Like father, like son, Lane thought. Aloud, he said, “I think your dad wants us both to wait until morning, don’t you?”
Braden pouted but finished the water. Handing the glass back to Lane, he said, “You know, I didn’t like you at first.”
Lane laughed, surprised at the boy’s frankness. “No, really? I couldn’t tell. But what, you like me now?”
Braden nodded, his gaze drifting back to the presents under the tree. “Yeah, you’re okay. I mean, you’re cooler than Mike.” Lowering his voice, Braden confided, “He’s kind of a nerd.”
Trying to tamp down his grin, Lane asked, “Why do you say that?”
“You met
him, right? You saw it yourself. He’s a nerd.” The sardonic expression on Braden’s face looked so out of place, Lane laughed again.
“He’s a nice guy,” Lane said, though to be honest, he only knew the man from what Remy had said. “He seems nice anyway.”
“Yeah, he’s okay.” Braden shrugged. “He calls me slugger, but I don’t know why. It makes him sound so old.”
Lane reminded him, “I’m old.”
“Older than me,” Braden corrected, “but you’re not old. You listen to cool music. You had Q94 on when I got in your car. Mike listens to Lite 98.”
Leaning back against the sink, Lane asked, “Is that the station you listen to? Q94?”
“All the kids do,” Braden assured him. “And only cool adults. Like Daddy, and you.”
Gingerly, Lane asked the one question that had haunted him since they first met. “Are you mad at me for kissing your daddy?”
Braden tilted his head, mouth pursed in thought. After a long, excruciating moment, he shook his head. “No, you can kiss him. Just not where any of my friends might be able to see. Out here it’s okay. No one else is here. But back home…”
“I’ll be careful,” Lane promised. “I love him very much.”
Braden nodded. “Yeah.”
It was said so innocently, as if his love for Remy was a given, that Lane had to snicker. “I’ll tell you a secret,” he said, leaning down.
Braden looked up at him, all eyes. “Yeah?”
“I’m going to ask him to marry me,” Lane whispered.
“Can you do that?” Braden wanted to know.
“I bought a ring,” Lane said. “It’s—”
“In the little box under the tree,” Braden interrupted. “Yeah, I know. I thought that was a piece of jewelry. Mike got my mom a necklace in the same sort of box. Daddy got you something, too—”
The bathroom door opened and Remy’s voice rang across the room. “What are you doing out of bed, little man?”
“The power went out,” Braden explained. As if Remy might not know.
