by Joey W. Hill
“If the proper suggestions were planted. Which would be your area of expertise.”
“Excuse me?” Marcus’s brows lifted.
“I’m sure as hell not having that discussion with him. But beyond that, no matter how he acts around you, I think he respects you and senses… Well, don’t get all inflated beyond your usual enormous ego, but he responds to your natural authority on certain things.”
“Enormous ego?”
“Just stating the obvious.”
Thomas held out one of the ornaments. Marcus took it, nodding when Thomas gestured to an empty branch as a suggestion. But he didn’t move. Glancing at his profile, Thomas noted his jaw had gotten a little tighter, and the look on his face said his focus had once again shifted to something deeper inside, some paralyzing memory. Thomas closed his fingers over Marcus’s hand, pulling his attention from the past to the present. With his quiet encouragement, they hung the red ball on the tree together. The tree lights shone off the glass with pretty effect.
“These are really nice.” Thomas offered another ornament to Marcus. Even pulled back to the present, Marcus looked like he usually did right before he’d excuse himself for a phone call or anything else. This time, though, Thomas could see Marcus’s awareness of it, his struggle not to let it take over.
“What were you about to say, in the bedroom?” Thomas asked softly. “You said ‘I almost…but I couldn’t…’”
Marcus glanced his way, looked back at the tree. Leaning forward almost stiffly, he hung one of the oblong shaped ornaments. Then stepped back and drew a breath. Jesus, this was really hard for him. It almost made Thomas feel guilty for pushing it, but then he remembered what Marcus had said. Marcus didn’t say what he didn’t mean and, beyond that, Thomas knew he was right. Marcus had shied away from Thomas’s nurturing at first, yet when push came to shove, in rare, key moments, he had an aching hunger for it. Like now maybe. So Thomas brushed a hand along Marcus’s back, delighted he hadn’t put on a shirt as he pressed against his side and offered the third ball. Hooking his finger in the waistband of his Master’s slacks, he stroked firm skin above it as he pointed to a higher branch. “That would be a good place for one.”
“Yeah.” Marcus cleared his throat, stretched. When he did, Thomas dipped his head to put a kiss in the pocket of his throat. He slid his hand up high enough to tangle it in Marcus’s hair, tug his head back so he could suck lightly on the Adam’s apple, give it a nip. The clearly demanding gesture was a trigger that tripped an interested ripple through Marcus’s body. His arm coiled around Thomas’s back as he came down, his palm settling high on Thomas’s gloriously abused ass.
“You looking for more attention, pet? Another reminder of who belongs to who?”
“I think we both know the answer to that.” Thomas reached for the last ball, but he knew he wasn’t going to get away with that one. Marcus pulled him back and put one of those hot, sucking kisses on his mouth that had his fingers digging into Marcus’s bare shoulders, an oath slipping from his lips as Marcus nudged his head to the side impatiently, breaking the kiss to give Thomas’s throat a much sharper bite in return. His Master loved marking his skin. Once, in the throes of passion, he’d told Thomas it was his own personal canvas to decorate as he wished.
Marcus drew back. That heavy-lidded look told Thomas he’d probably be on his hands and knees before long, but he glanced past Thomas at the box, took a breath. “One more.”
“Yeah.” Thomas cleared his throat, retrieved it, holding it by the hook. “How about there, right near the top?”
Marcus looked at the branch and nodded, but Thomas noticed his gaze continued to the summit of the tree and stopped there. They didn’t have a tree topper, so Thomas had grouped several ornaments beneath that point to mask it. Though Thomas had picked out other ornaments, he’d been determined not to pick out the tree topper alone. Even if they had to wait twenty Christmases to be ready for it.
“Want me to hang this last one?” Thomas ventured, when Marcus didn’t say anything.
“No. I can do it.” Tearing his eyes from the top of the tree, Marcus took the ball, moving in closer to the tree to reach up and hang it. But Thomas caught the hard tremor in his arm, fortunately in time to catch the ball when Marcus fumbled it from nerveless fingers.
He stepped back from Thomas and the tree as if he’d been poleaxed, staring at the ornament in Thomas’s hand. “Fuck. I just… I can’t. Give me some space for a bit, all right?”
Marcus pivoted and left the room, his shoulders tight, back muscles knotted. When he closed the door of the bedroom firmly after him, it was a clear message he was taking a few minutes alone. Thomas stood there, holding the red ball and hurting for him, but they’d gotten three out of four on the tree. Marcus had brought them home, and they’d had that talk…Thomas would hold onto the hope those things brought.
They loved one another. That was all they needed to figure this out.
* * *
Thomas gave him about fifteen minutes, then brought his bags to the door. Knocking before he eased it open, he found Marcus sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling through his texts and messages. “Julie’s flight is running on time,” he said, not looking up. “She says she’ll be on it if she doesn’t murder her family. If that happens, she’s relying on us to get her to a country which has no extradition.”
“Good to know.” Thomas settled down next to him and proffered a straight candy cane he’d plucked from a jar on the kitchen counter. Marcus glanced at it. “What’s that for?”
“I figured if you were going to have a stick up your ass, it might as well be festive.”
Marcus’s lips quirked. Thomas bumped his shoulder, giving him a warm look. “Wiseass,” his Master muttered. But he took the candy, setting the phone aside. Reaching over him, Thomas snagged the device, feeling the weight of Marcus’s regard as he pocketed it.
“I’ll let you know if anything important comes through.”
Marcus pushed Thomas to his back on the bed. Sliding his touch down Thomas’s chest, over the fastener of his jeans, he curled his fingers up and used his knuckles to give Thomas’s cock a firm stroke. Then those long fingers reached into his pocket, fishing out the phone and teasing his testicles before they retreated. Thomas tightened his lips, holding back a protest when Marcus rose. He was glad he did, because Marcus surprised him. As Thomas pushed up onto his elbows, his Master moved to his sock drawer and tucked the phone in between folded pairs of footwear.
“Text Julie and tell her to use your phone if she needs anything. Gallery’s closed until New Year’s. I’ll check it once a day to make sure Mom or John hasn’t called, but it can stay there for now.”
“Okay,” Thomas said. Marcus turned from the dresser. Unwrapping the candy cane, he gave it an experimental lick, then pointed it at Thomas.
“Don’t look smug or I will put the pointy end up your ass and break it off. Unpack my stuff.”
“Since when did I become your maid?” But it was cheerful complaining. Thomas was happy to comply.
* * *
By the time they retrieved Julie from the airport one hour away, things were on an even keel. Thomas drove his Nova, Marcus not in the mood to drive. Plus the Nova was more comfortable for three than the sporty Maserati. The front bench seat allowed all three of them to ride up front, Julie between them. Her cheerful cynicism only enhanced the festive mood. “Oh God, Marcus, I should have caught that flight with you. I swear, I do it to myself every year. It’s the Stepford Family Christmas.”
“Damn. I watched the Walton Christmas special instead of that one. My loss.” Thomas dropped his hand from the wheel to squeeze her knee. “Are you saying all the Ramirezes aren’t as warm and fuzzy as you?”
Julie snorted. “My mother was giving me dual-cheek air kisses when I was a toddler. Hugs are only appropriate when there’s a death in the family, and there’s a three-second hold rule on those. God, I know I was switched in the hospital. The Waltons brough
t home a prissy tight-ass demon baby and my parents got me. They’re leaving with my brother tomorrow for Europe. Their annual high-brow, ten-city tour for the twelve days after Christmas. They consider that a holiday tradition. Whatever. Not for me.”
She drew her knees up so she could hook her bare feet on the seat edge, since she’d already dumped her shoes in the back. “I’m going to eat your mother’s awesome strawberry pie, go shopping with Les and Daralyn in the closest Podunk town that has a mall with tacky Christmas decorations, and have an absolutely awesome time. Sometimes New York can be just so…New York. Way too full of itself. I’ll come back to do the Times Square thing like any proper New Yorker, but for this week, I’m going to tease up my hair, chew on a straw and wear short shorts while looking for big, strapping farm boys.”
“Thanks for not stereotyping us Southerners,” Thomas said dryly. “Bitch.”
“Takes one to know one.”
Thomas chuckled. “God help the high school guys working for Rory as seasonal help. Every one of them is big and strapping.”
“Ooh, thanks for the tip. Reduces my search time.”
“I’d pass on the shorts,” Marcus advised. “It’s not North cold, but your cute ass will turn blue.”
“Fine. I’ll settle for a snug Christmas sweater that shows my big breasts, which can be perky with the right bra. I can do the cougar thing and teach those boys how to make some teenage girls really happy.”
Thomas rolled his eyes but he couldn’t help but throw her a fond look. “We’re really glad you joined us. You know, you don’t have to go over to Mom’s tomorrow night.”
“Nope. I’m not horning in on your first Christmas morning waking up as a married couple. We’ll see you later that day. Your mom said you’re coming over to cook an enormous turkey while she, Les and Daralyn whip up an orgy of carbs.”
“I’m pretty sure she didn’t use those words.”
“Something like that.” Grabbing Thomas’s hand and seizing one of Marcus’s, Julie squeezed them on her lap. “You guys look so happy with one another. The way the universe should be. One look between you two is a whole conversation. If I wasn’t so happy for you both, I’d cut you up with a chain saw.”
“Based on that comment, our offer to let you sleep over tonight might be rescinded,” Marcus said. “What happened to your promising date with the online guy? Sounded like you were really compatible.”
“Yeah, we were both apples. Only his apple already had worms. I really should know better. I’m just going to sign up for one of those Friends with Benefits sites so I can have the occasional dinner and sex night and throw myself into the theater the rest of the time. There’s always man candy coming through there anyway. Unfortunately, they’re so used to being ogled, they don’t know what foreplay is. They think they can just flash their manly goodies to get a woman wet.”
“Well,” Marcus began. Julie flicked his ear.
“Except for you, that doesn’t really happen. And that’s just one of God’s cruel tricks. ‘Hey, look at the world’s most gorgeous guy. He’s hung like a horse and was built to fuck but, oh, sorry girls, he’s gay!’ Not even bi, not even bi-curious, not even able to close his eyes and pretend, just to give a girl a break.”
“You really need to let that go.”
“Nope. I hold a grudge.” She scooted into his lap, winning a grumbling complaint from Marcus about not squashing the horse’s tender equipment, but she ignored him and propped her feet on Thomas’s thigh as she crooked her arm around Marcus’s shoulder. “Okay, so tell me about this new show you and J. Martin are planning.” She glanced at Marcus. “Did Thomas pee himself when you told him?”
Marcus laughed outright and Thomas sent them both a narrow look. “No, I did not,” he said.
“He did squeal like a girl. A bit.”
“It’s a long walk to the house. Nobody will pick up two Yankee city slickers.”
Julie chuckled. “Not true. I’ve heard all about Southern hospitality. They might make us ride in the back of the truck with the pigs, but they’ll still give us a lift. Hey, is there going to be time for a nap before dinner? I’m a bit jet lagged and would love to recharge.”
“Absolutely. Marcus should probably do the same. He’s fading around the edges.”
“How can you tell?” Julie stared into Marcus’s face at three-inch range, earning a glinting gaze. “He always looks in mint condition to the rest of us.”
“As it should be,” Marcus said.
Marcus had his arm around Julie, holding her securely, but he extended his other hand, no matter that she could see the gesture. Thomas took it, squeezing and was then amazed when Marcus left their hands linked, resting on Julie’s knee. Yeah, all was good for now. Things were out in the open and just needed time to balance.
Julie yawned and dropped her head on Marcus’s shoulder. “You know, if you paid me a stipend, I’d leave New York behind and become your live-in service sub. You could both repay me with the occasional orgasm. Or maybe a daily orgasm. Fair’s fair. I’d even iron Marcus’s endless supply of shirts.”
“Where did you learn that term?” Thomas shot her a glance. He saw Marcus’s eyes sharpen, reflecting his own concern.
“Well, that night you guys…you know, the thing you did for my birthday. It’s gotten me thinking a lot since then. I’ve visited some sites, talked to some Doms. I’m intrigued. Don’t know if I roll that way, but you know, I’m flexible, and it seems some people do it to keep things lively, not necessarily because they’re dyed in the wool like you two.”
“If you explore deeper than that, you keep us in the loop.” Marcus tugged her brown hair, pulling her head back to give her a look Thomas recognized well enough to make his toes curl in his thick tread work shoes. “You don’t go investigating that world by yourself, Julie.”
“I’m not going to be taking any weird risks…”
“Julie.”
“Fine, fine.” She blew out a breath, looked at Thomas. “Okay, so there are some guys who can give you the instant-panty-flood with just a look. Wow.”
He knew just what she meant.
Once back at the house, he checked on the thawing Christmas Day turkey and took some time to lay out what he’d need to prepare the Christmas Eve dinner, adding some to-dos to his prep list. While he did that, Marcus took Julie for a sunset tour of their place, the back fields, Thomas’s studio, Marcus’s office. Though he had an office area in the house, Marcus had another one in the studio barn so wherever Thomas was, Marcus could be if he so desired. Marcus had insisted, and that insistence had pleased Thomas ridiculously. God, he was so over the moon over the bastard. He’d never thought of two guys having a honeymoon period, but he guessed that was exactly what they had going. Which probably justified Julie’s reaction about the chainsaw. He grinned.
Marcus and Julie came back to the porch eventually. Despite the cool temperatures, Thomas had left the door open so he could hear the rise and fall of their voices through the screen door. He checked on them a couple times, bringing both a glass of shiraz and engaging in some relaxing conversation before returning to the inside to finish cleaning up the things that he’d had out to decorate. Marcus and Julie both offered to help, but he told them to take their ease, letting Marcus entertain their guest while he caught up with the things Marcus’s arrival had pleasantly put off track.
By the time he finished, he realized it had gotten quiet. Thinking they might have left the porch once again, but not recalling the telltale creak of the boards, he moved to the screen door. A smile crossed his features.
They’d both dozed off. Julie was stretched out on the swing, her head on Marcus’s thigh, his arm lying loosely over her waist. He had his other hand hooked in the swing’s chain, his head resting against it. Even in a doze, Marcus kept them in motion, the unconscious movement of the ball of his foot against the board rocking the swing like a cradle.
Crossing his arms over his chest, Thomas leaned against the doorframe a
nd indulged one of his private pleasures—watching Marcus sleep. The unguarded look of that princely face roused protective, loving feelings in Thomas. Before they’d committed to one another permanently, Marcus had often chosen to sleep alone, and Thomas had suspected it was because Marcus didn’t sleep well. But since they’d married, Marcus’s sleep had become deeper and more peaceful than Thomas had ever seen it. One precious night, their bare bodies twined together in a damp, intimate aftermath, Marcus had spoken in the darkness, his voice slurred as he tipped on the edge of dreamland. He’d told Thomas he slept better with him because, with Thomas, he felt like he was home.
Thomas held the words buried in his heart like the treasure he knew they were.
As if he felt his regard, Marcus’s eyes opened then, mere slits. Thomas held his gaze, letting him see everything he felt. Marcus’s expression flickered, then he lifted a finger from the grasp he had on the chain, the slight movement clear as if he issued the command aloud. Come here.
Thomas slid out the door and crossed the porch, avoiding the creaking boards. When he reached Marcus, his Master reached up, curled his fingers in the neck of Thomas’s shirt. Slipped several buttons with deft efficiency and slid his fingers inside, stroking flesh. Thomas bit back a sound as those fingers moved over his left nipple, teased, pinched. Then Marcus had hold of the fabric and was pulling him down to meet his mouth in a heated, promising kiss. Tongue stroking Thomas’s, fingers sliding up to the side of his throat, his jaw, caressing, while Julie slept below them. Marcus moved his lips across Thomas’s cheekbone, taking a firmer hold on his nape as he spoke in his ear.
“If you stand there looking at me like that, pet, we’re going to be sending Julie over to your mother’s a lot earlier.”
