by Meg Harding
“Should I be worried?” asks William. “I like to think it’s pretty nice.”
Brady snorts, forehead dropping to William’s stomach as his shoulders shake with laughter. “Oh my God,” he says. “I’m playing. We’ve got time now. We can do that. Tease and go slow and all that jazz.”
In contradiction to his “go slow” comment, he shoves William’s slacks over his ass, and they crumple to tangle around his ankles. He hums, not wasting time taking William’s briefs on the same path. William’s cock slaps his stomach, standing tall and proud.
Like it knows its prowess was being doubted, in jest or not.
Brady tilts his head, and then he’s slicking his tongue over the head, sucking William in like he’s a lollipop. William has to grip Brady’s shoulders to remain upright, but he quickly brings one hand to wind through Brady’s curls. He resists the urge to push and pull, letting Brady set the torturous pace.
That lasts until his balls are tightening and he’s half a second from reenacting his stamina from their very first time. Staggering back, he gasps for breath and control, dropping to his knees to work on Brady’s pants. Helpfully, Brady raises his hips so William can slide them and his electric blue briefs down and off, tossing them to the side.
It’s time to return the favor.
Brady groans when William sucks him in, hollowing his cheeks and humming around the leaking head. He uses his tongue to massage the sensitive bundle of nerves just under the cap, and with a deep breath in through his nose, sinks farther down till Brady’s at the back of his throat and his eyes are streaming from his effort. Brady has a hand in his hair and one on the back of his neck, holding him in place as he rocks his hips into William. Brady looks all sweet and innocent, but in bed he likes control. There’s nothing innocent about him. Sometimes he is a little sweet, though. In the best kind of way.
Thank God that apparently hasn’t changed.
He’s yanked off and up by the hold Brady has in his hair, urging him to rise from his knees and climb onto the bed. They kiss, a little sloppy and a lot “I’ll die if we stop” passionate, as they worm their way across the bed. It’s a slow process to get it so their feet aren’t hanging over the edge, but they’ve got nothing but time.
And oh, fuck, the full-body contact.
William’s on the edge from that alone. His chest to Brady’s, their dicks side by side and rubbing, their legs slotted together like puzzle pieces. This is undoubtedly heaven. He can’t think of anything but heat and more and yes, yes, yes.
When Brady rolls them, William goes eagerly, thighs splaying wide to fit Brady’s hips. With his arms braced on either side of William’s head, he sinks his tongue into William’s mouth at the same time he twists his hips and drags them forward. William claws at Brady’s back, his own arching in a bid to get impossibly closer.
It’s perfect, but things could be even more so, and William wants. “Please,” he says, voice cracking halfway.
Brady dips his head, sucks on William’s neck. “Please what?” he asks, words muffled by William’s extremely sensitive skin. He feels like he’s coming out of his body.
William lifts his hips, trying to slide Brady’s cock where he really, really fucking would like it to be right now. It takes a little maneuvering, but he manages, and Brady’s dick slips over his hole, nudges his sac. William grunts, bearing down, trying to repeat the movement.
Brady’s mouth goes slack, and a low moan slides from between his lips. “Fuck,” he says. “All right. All right.”
It takes a second, but then he’s slinking down, his hands on the inside of William’s thighs, spreading them wider as he slots his shoulders between them. William thunks his head to the pillow. “Lube,” he says. “You need to get the lube.”
He jerks like a live wire when Brady blows a hot breath over his hole, darts his tongue out to tease. He follows up with a finger, not pushing in, just tracing the rim.
“You reach for the lube. I’ll have some fun,” he says.
And then his mouth is on William, driving him insane and tearing embarrassing noises from William’s throat. How is William supposed to concentrate to reach his bedside drawer like this?
He flails a hand out, his entire body fighting him as he needs to move away from the intense pleasure to reach.
His fingers brush the wood of the nightstand.
Brady slides a single finger into him. William sees stars for a second. God, it’s been so long, and this is Brady, and oh, fuck. He’s going to come. Just from this. Brady closes his hand around the bottom of his shaft, and William’s orgasm is abruptly cut off.
“Lube, now,” says Brady.
“Evil,” says William. Brady is pure evil. Breathing like he’s run a marathon, William finally gets the drawer open, and he tosses the lube to Brady, then collapses onto his back and pulls his knees to his chest. There’s no mistaking what he wants and that he’s ready. “Fast now, slow next time,” he says. They’ve got all night. He definitely plans for this to be only the first of many more times in the next several hours.
William is very vocal as Brady stretches him. He thinks Brady’s fingers are the best thing in the world as he twists them, rubs William’s channel, and nudges his prostate, insistently applying pressure until William’s hips aren’t on the bed and he’s damn near hoarse from shouting. He’s got fistfuls of his comforter, and he’s pretty sure his nails are going to leave holes in it. Somewhere in all the moaning, he manages to get in begging. “Now, now. Please. Fuck. Fuck me. Brady. Brady. Brady!”
Eventually Brady runs out of his river of patience, and then they’re face to face, brown gaze to bright green as Brady shoves home. William’s mouth parts on a silent cry, and Brady’s kissing him, panting into his mouth as his hips set a hard, relentless rhythm. He’s not taking his time anymore. Brady laces their fingers together, bringing William’s hands up beside his head and holding them there as he moves his body in a steady, rocking wave.
William’s got his heels digging into Brady’s ass, trying to keep him from pulling out too far. His cock is being continuously massaged by the press of their stomachs, and Brady’s dick seems to have a homing beacon on his prostate because damn if it isn’t pounding the thing with every thrust.
There’s precome all over their bellies.
William comes first, everything in him going tense, clenching. It’s a current running through him, fast and furious, and he shakes with it, feels like the head of his dick is fit to burst with each heavy spurt of release between them. He clings to Brady’s hands, mouths helplessly at his cheek as he gasps through it. Over him, Brady shudders, tipping over the edge himself. He’s pulsing inside William, blinding warmth and an overwhelmingly full feeling slamming into him.
When Brady collapses, body going limp at the same time as William’s, William doesn’t let Brady spare him his weight. He wants Brady on him, pushing him down into the bedding. He wants to feel him soften and slip out slowly. He’s not ready to feel empty just yet.
They’re panting on each other’s necks, and William runs his fingers through Brady’s curls, getting them stuck in what has become a bird’s nest thanks to their activities. He tries to gently remove the knots.
The first thing Brady says to him is, “Merry Christmas.”
William blinks blankly up at the ceiling. “It’s Christmas,” he says. “I’ve hated Christmas for the longest fucking time.”
Brady kisses his chin. His eyelashes brush William’s cheek. “I’m thinking we can make new memories of Christmas for you. We’ll wake up in twelve hours”—he ignores William’s snort—“and we’ll make breakfast together. We’ll eat it in bed. Maybe off each other, how about that? And we’ll talk about our lives and what we’ve missed of each other’s, and we’ll get to know everything we don’t know. Of course there will be breaks for kissing. Plenty of those. Can’t have too many. We can go to my apartment and get all my shit and move it over here. ’Cause I’m not living somewhere else. It’s you and me
and this bed from now on. We’ll ignore our phones and all the real world problems till the holiday is over, because they’re not important.” He kisses the tip of his nose. “We start the rest of our lives together from this day forward.”
Brady’s green eyes are serious, even hazy with sated lust as they are right now.
William bumps their noses, brushes a kiss over Brady’s lips. There’s a list of things they should probably worry about (their jobs that they’d walked away from tonight without thinking twice and the fact that as far as William knows he can’t age), but for the moment… for the moment William is going to revel in only the good stuff. Namely the perfect human being in his arms.
“Merry Christmas. To the rest of our lives,” he says, and with a twist of his lower half, he flips them so he’s hovering over Brady.
It’s never too soon to start round two.
Epilogue
Twenty Years Later
IT’S DECEMBER twenty-fifth. The sun is shining, the waves are lapping at the shore, and their Christmas tree is an umbrella planted deep in the sand. William digs his toes into the tiny grains, watches his feet steadily disappear. For the moment, he’s alone on the beach, everyone else still asleep at the house. He’d driven out early, trunk loaded with presents for Brady, the kids, and the makeshift family they’ve acquired over the years. He’d left a note for them, under the real Christmas tree in the family room.
Being alive for two hundred plus years has its financial benefits. William is rolling in the proverbial dough. A nice house on an island in the Bahamas had seemed like the thing to do with that money. They’re a mere boat ride from civilization, and they’ve got a place all to themselves. It’s fantastic.
They’ve turned into beach bums.
William gives boat tours of the island to tourists, and Brady leads diving excursions and hikes.
Trisha had followed him to the Bahamas to act as a personal assistant and all-around lifesaver for William & Brady’s Bahama Excursions (lame name, but they couldn’t agree on anything else). He’d been surprised—and on the verge of tears—to find out how much Trisha cared for him. And she’d quickly adopted Brady into her big heart.
Neither of them had returned to their jobs after the Christmas that changed everything. Long discussions about what they both wanted had led them to decide starting over together was the right thing, and somehow they’d landed on this.
They’ve built a happy, successful life out of it.
They’ve got friends on the islands, two kids they adopted three and a half years apart, and a herd of animals—Brady picks up strays like it’s nothing.
William stares out at the softly flowing waves and is beyond grateful for how things have changed. He’d lived for so long dreading this time of year, stuck in a never-ending rut of despair and unable to imagine happiness like this. And yet he has it. The impossible happened. There’s gray in his hair that didn’t come from a box, and the wrinkles in his skin are from being in the sun and age. Not makeup.
Brady and he are aging together.
Another twenty years and Brady’s vision of the future will be a reality. They’ll be sitting in their chairs, soaking in the view and the sun.
It’s a scary but ultimately lovely thought.
He hears his family approaching before he sees them. Anastasia and Cole—ten and eight respectively—haven’t mastered the art of stealth yet. They’re loud and wild and currently bickering over who probably got the cooler presents. William rolls his eyes, knowing that Brady—walking alongside them and probably holding their hands—is no doubt doing the same. It’s a motion they’ve got synchronized by this point.
They’ve had Anastasia since the day she was born—the product of a teen pregnancy and a mother who had known from the start she wasn’t ready. Cole had come to them at a little over a year old. His parents had died in a car accident and been friends of theirs. They’d gladly taken him in. The two of them combined are an unholy nightmare of impish attitude and endless energy wrapped in partially toothless smiles and big “I didn’t do it” eyes.
William and Brady love them more than anything.
Cole slams into William, giggling and throwing his arms around him. “Merry Christmas,” he shouts, high voice nearly deafening William.
William stands and swings him around, encouraging the shouting and laughter. Sand flies everywhere, making noise as it bounces off the wrapping paper. Brady’s grinning broadly at him, and William returns it over Cole’s shoulder, crouching and holding out an arm so Anastasia can barrel into him. He kisses the top of her head, repeating her muffled “Merry Christmas” back to her.
Beside Brady is Trisha and her girlfriend, Ginger. Ginger is anything but ginger. She’s five foot two and has a thing for five-inch heels. Her hair is a dark brown-black color, and her skin is light brown. She’s gorgeous and fiery, and she drives Trisha absolutely crazy. She’s a dancer at one of the tourist bars, and she teaches online eighth grade math.
The second he lets go of the kids, they’re tearing toward the presents. “Don’t open anything,” says Brady at the same time as William. They exchange a sweet kiss when Brady’s close enough, sliding their arms around each other’s waists. William noses along Brady’s jaw and presses a kiss to the corner. He tastes like sleep and the slightest tang of salt from the breeze.
“You could have told me what you were doing,” says Brady in a low murmur, slipping his fingers under the hem of William’s tank. “I’d have helped.”
William wiggles his hand into Brady’s back pocket (and maybe cops a feel). “Then it wouldn’t have been a surprise.” He grins. “And I wouldn’t have gotten a chance to shake all the boxes with my name on them.”
Brady’s elbow to his ribs doesn’t actually hurt, but William gasps anyway. Brady’s laughing as he shoves him away. William nearly falls over, feet uncoordinated in the sand. “You did not,” says Brady, instinctively reaching to steady William. “You spent the last week telling the kids they couldn’t shake them.”
He didn’t shake them, but he smiles and shrugs anyway, because he knows the possibility of it will linger in Brady’s mind. He loves when Brady tries to pry the truth out of him. He has… pleasurable methods. William will leave it at that.
They spread beach towels in a half circle around the umbrella and take their seats, the kids sitting closest to the mound of presents. Brady and William distribute the excessive amount. (There’s a chance they might be spoiling their kids, but no more than they spoil each other.) Trisha and Ginger have a decent-sized pile from both of them as well. No one’s been skimped on.
All the adults take pictures of Anastasia and Cole unwrapping their gifts. They’ve got a routine when it comes to these things. The kids unwrap, show their new belongings off, posing obnoxiously (and cutely) while they do. Once they’ve reduced their pile to nothing, the grown-ups get to take their turn.
They decline to be photographed.
William and Brady trade off on trash responsibility, chasing down stray wrapping paper before it can make a break and stuffing it into the trash bag brought just for this. With the strong beach breeze, it’s a constant job. Both kids are too excited—and too willy-nilly—when it comes to how they rip through the paper to ensure that little pieces don’t end up elsewhere. There’s a chance William hadn’t thought this whole thing completely through, but it’s fine. They’ve got it under control.
Cole’s scream when he unwraps the largest box of the pile and opens it to find a bicycle has them all wincing, even as they smile at his sheer delight.
Brady looks at William smugly, silently saying, “I told you it’d be better if we wrapped it.”
William sticks his tongue out.
When the kids are done, it’s their turn to pretend to be that young again. They start with the gifts from Anastasia and Cole, making sure to ooh and ahh and appropriately express their delight. Both of them are currently in an arts and craft phase, and it shows in the homemade shell picture frames
and magnets—of all things. They’re kitschy and cute, and Brady’s eyes predictably water when he gets a look at the pictures the kids have chosen to put in the frames.
Apparently the two of them had raided the photo albums and come away with images that span the years of Brady and William’s life together. There’s one of them kissing on their honeymoon and another of them holding baby Anastasia while trying to mop spit-up off of the other’s shirt. There’s Cole on the boogie board they’d gotten him for his fifth birthday, crying because he scraped his knee, and William trying to calm him down.
William’s throat gets tight.
The kids squeal as William and Brady mob them for hugs and kisses, but they look over the moon that their parents love the gifts so much.
Trisha and Ginger got them combined gifts of tacky board shorts (their gag gift) and a couples’ spa package for a weekend of their choosing at one of the fancy resorts nearby. “We’ll watch the kids, and you two can go get pampered.”
Brady and William exchange a look. They’d gotten the women the same thing.
Their gifts to themselves are simple and sweet, little things they knew the other had been wanting for a while or would like. Brady collects kitchenware, loving to cook, so William had bought him this new “all the rage” bread maker and a home ice cream machine as well. He figures the kids will get a kick out of that. Brady got William books, a whole bunch of them, some with shiny new covers and others with lovingly worn-down spines.
With the presents done, they take to the ocean to play around. Everyone had wisely come in their bathing suits, and it’s just a matter of neatly stacking everything and tying off the trash bag before they can run into the chilly water with abandon. Both Anastasia and Cole know how to swim like fish, but that doesn’t stop William and Brady from hovering over them, never taking their eye off them and yelling when they go a little too far. William thinks their kids will be twenty and they’ll still probably try to tell them, “Nope, that’s too far. Come back in now.”
