An Australian Christmas in New York
Page 2
“You won’t have a bathroom for over a year. Talk him out of it, Mum.”
“Believe me, I am!”
He could hear the rumbling of his father’s voice in the background.
“Your dad says hello,” his mum said.
“Put him on,” Vince replied.
There was the sound of shuffling in the background, and his dad came on the line. “Hi, Vince.”
“Hey, Dad. How are you?”
“Good. You?”
“Yeah, same-old, same-old. How’s the weather over there?”
“It dropped to negative two yesterday. Fahrenheit. Sleet and snow.”
“Well, it’s going to be forty-two here on Boxing Day.”
Vince whistled. “Good cricket weather.”
“You got it. I’ll speak to you tomorrow again, but I’ll put you back on to your mother.”
Vince laughed softly to himself. The typical father/son conversation: greetings, weather comparisons, goodbyes, here’s your mum.
“Are you okay?” It was his mum again.
The question jostled him out of his mirth. “What?”
“You don’t sound a hundred percent. I think Chuck’s worried about you.”
Vince tilted back in his chair to watch Chuck in the kitchen. He was whipping cream by the looks of things. “Did he call you, or did you call here?”
His mother deftly avoided the question. “Did you get your package?”
“I did, thanks.”
“I’m not happy that the presents haven’t turned up yet. I sent both packages at the same time.”
“You know what Christmas mail is like, Mum. And you’re avoiding my question.”
His mother trilled nervously. “Oh, your sister’s here! I better go, darling. Speak to you tomorrow! But have a good night tonight and be nice to Chuck.”
Be nice to Chuck? When wasn’t he?
He said his goodbyes and hung up. The level of homesickness was still high, but it was manageable. It did good to hear his parents’ voices, though; it served to alleviate some of it.
Returning to the kitchen, Vince caught Chuck looking up from the stove with his spoon frozen in midair.
“Are you finally going to tell me what you’re doing?” Vince asked.
“Mom just asked me to help out with some of the food for tomorrow,” Chuck replied just a little too quickly.
“Your mother has never asked you to help with food, she always has it covered and enough to feed an army besides.”
“Well, Caroline’s stove is acting up, so Mom needs some extra hands on this year.” Chuck started drizzling pan juices over the sizzling meat again.
“Okay.” Vince shrugged. “I’m going to go and wrap the last of the presents. Are you sure you don’t need some help?”
Chuck shook his head. “All under control.” At that moment one of the pots on the stove boiled over, and Chuck lunged to lower the heat. “See? All fine!”
Vince nodded, his mother’s words ringing in his head: Be nice to Chuck.
He was always nice to Chuck.
A couple of hours later, when their chores were done, they met back in the living area and ordered in Thai for dinner. Despite having been stuck in the kitchen for the better part of the day, Chuck practically attacked Vince in bed, and Vince fell asleep a much happier man than he had woken that morning.
* * *
He woke up with an uncomfortably dry mouth and the strange sensation of being overheated and sticky with sweat. Not the way one usually woke up in New York on a December morning. In fact, he had even kicked the blankets off his naked body and was lying out in the cold air—
Oh, shit, I better not be coming down with something…
—except that it wasn’t cold air at all. No wonder he had kicked off the blankets; it was bloody sweltering in their bedroom! Had the heat finally started working?
He groggily swung his legs over the side of the bed and stretched himself to become more awake. As he yawned he could hear Chuck banging around in the kitchen. When he opened his eyes fully this time, he stared down at the footboard of the bed and saw a gigantic heater set at its highest level.
Where did that come from?
The amount of energy the heater was putting out was staggering. Vince padded over to their bureau and pulled out a pair of clean boxers from one of the drawers. With this much heat, there was no need to wear anything else.
The small hallway that separated their bedroom from the rest of their apartment was also amazingly warm. Vince entered a kitchen that was more like a steam room; another heater was set up in the corner, and with the oven on he could feel sweat beginning to bead on his forehead.
Chuck was also dressed for the occasion, in boxers with a matching dark blue tank and bare feet. “Merry Christmas,” he said, dropping the tray onto the counter so he could meet Vince with a kiss.
Still surprised, Vince could barely return the kiss, and Chuck stepped back with a cheeky glint to his eye.
“Barefoot but not pregnant,” he said, indicating himself. “Do you like?”
“You look… good,” Vince finally said, and he meant it. It was very un-Chuck-like. He hated his feet, for a start, and usually kept them covered up. It had taken him almost a year to let Vince play with them in any form.
“So do you,” Chuck said, leering at the fine chest on display before him. “Is this the way all Aussies dress for Christmas Day?”
“Well,” Vince admitted, “I may be a little underdressed. Not for the pool, though.”
“Thank God for pools, then.” Chuck laughed. He came in close to Vince again and kissed him.
There was just something about the heat that made the libido want to come out and play. Vince crushed Chuck against him, and they fell against the table. Supported a little more now, Vince wrapped one leg around Chuck’s lower back to trap him. Their mouths worked furiously against each other, and Vince insistently sought entry with his tongue. His cock was getting delicious friction, caught between his belly and Chuck’s thigh, and he could tell Chuck was in a similar position by the way he bucked himself wildly against him. They fought for breath but didn’t pull away—the heat of the kitchen, the warmth of Chuck’s mouth, and the hellishly delicious panting of Chuck’s need for release all came together in a white hot vacuum that faded away and found Vince on his back against the table, an exhausted Chuck lying against him.
Vince began to laugh, and Chuck propped himself up on his partner’s chest. “What?”
“Thinking of a bad pun,” Vince wheezed. “Christmas came early this year.”
Chuck whacked him affectionately. “Idiot.”
“I couldn’t help myself. You looked so hot….”
“Well, it is hot in here.”
“Where did you get the heaters from?”
“Mom,” Chuck replied. “Caroline. And Alice lent me one as well.”
“Didn’t they ask what they were for?”
“I told them I was trying to give you an Australian Christmas. Of course, they think I’m insane.”
Vince pulled a sweaty lock of hair out of Chuck’s eyes. “You are. But I love you for it.”
“The roast is being reheated. I saved a pack of cheese and onion chips from your relief package. I even found Cascade beer at the import liquor store on Fourth Avenue.”
“You’re going to have a beer at nine in the morning?” Vince asked in disbelief.
“We have to start early if we’re going to be at my parents’ by two.”
Vince pulled him back down. “I love you.”
Chuck smiled, looking a little abashed. “And I love you. That’s why I’m looking like a fool. Are you sure this is what I would be wearing if I was at your parents’ house today?”
Vince looked around him and found a cracker lying near his head. He offered an end to Chuck, and puzzled, his partner took it. They both pulled, and a loud crack and the smell of fulminate filled the air. A small object tied with a rubber band fell out, and Vince deftly
caught it with his left hand. He unfolded the paper crown and pulled it over Chuck’s head. It barely fit and tore slightly at one corner.
“There, fat-head. Now you’re fully dressed.”
Chuck laughed and kissed him again. “Last night, I called Mum. I got her trifle recipe.”
Vince sat up excitedly. “You didn’t!”
Chuck nodded. “I did.”
“She doesn’t give that to just anybody!”
“I guess she loves me too,” Chuck said smugly.
Be nice to Chuck. Bloody old woman.
They showered together quickly, as neither had been expecting the passionate explosion that had taken place at the kitchen table. Chuck, as always, was dried and dressed before Vince, and when Vince made his way back into the kitchen he caught Chuck cleaning the table.
Sheepishly, Chuck smiled at him, went to the fridge and got them both beers. It felt strangely decadent to be drinking at twenty past nine in the morning, but it was Christmas. The cheese and onion chips were the perfect appetizer for the roast and veggies that followed. They kept the heaters on and had to wipe the sweat from their faces as they ate. More beer helped them cool down and move on to the plum pudding and custard.
“I don’t know how we’re going to eat at your parents’,” Vince said, his belly straining already.
“So you don’t want trifle, then?”
Vince’s eyes lit up. “Serve it up, baby!”
He took a moment to savor it all. The strawberries on top of the sliced jam roll glistened through the ruby-red but still translucent jelly, and the cream and custard layers made it look like a colorful slice of heaven that would taste just like it as well.
Chuck looked at him expectantly.
Vince made a show of deftly spooning through the dessert. “The trick to eating trifle is not to do it in layers. You have to get a bit of all the layers on your spoon and eat it as one explosion of flavor.”
Chuck laughed. “You sound exactly like your mum. That’s what she told me last night.”
Vince moaned with a heady pleasure as the trifle hit his tongue, and he swallowed it greedily. It brought back years of memories, of sitting around the table with his family. Their heights changed, the table even changed a few times, but somehow the food and the decorations always remained the same in some blessedly traditional and familial way. He had to sniff back a sudden tear as he reached for his second mouthful, and Chuck looked at him in concern.
“It’s okay,” Vince told him. “Really.”
“Should I not have done this?”
“It’s fantastic. Fan-bloody-tastic, even.” He reached across the table for Chuck’s hand. “You’re fan-bloody-tastic too.”
Chuck pulled Vince’s hand up and kissed the knuckle. That simple act of affection nearly brought Vince undone again. However, this time it was bittersweet—he was still homesick, but he wasn’t sad about it now. He had started a new existence here with Chuck, and he couldn’t imagine life without him. It was time for new traditions to be formed, ones that could still sit alongside the old ones.
“You do know you’re going to have to make trifle every year now,” he joked.
“It’s a deal,” Chuck said. “But you have to get the beer. Do you know how many crazy Australians I had to wrestle to get that last six pack?”
Vince could imagine.
It was only fair that as Chuck had cooked, Vince cleaned up. Chuck went to catch a quick nap between meals and to try to digest enough to make room for their next round at the next house. Vince crawled beside him, setting the alarm to give him half an hour’s sleep as well.
Chuck shifted against him, and eyes closed, murmured, “Sorry I couldn’t get you a pool to swim in.”
Vince kissed his forehead and burrowed into his partner’s warm body; the heaters had long been turned off, and the apartment was returning to its natural frigidness. “Doesn’t matter. But maybe you can help me build a snowman later.” Chuck’s parents lived in Queens, where you actually could build a snowman when the snow fell.
“Really?”
“Really.”
He was heartened by the smile that Chuck gave as he fell asleep again. Old traditions and new traditions… that was what it was all about.
Vince drifted off to sleep, visions of trifles and snowmen dancing in his head.
Got Mistletoe Madness?
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About the Author
Sean Kennedy lives in the second-most isolated city in the world, so it’s just as well he has his imagination for company when real-life friends are otherwise occupied. He has far too many ideas and wishes he had the power to feed them directly from his brain into the laptop so they won’t get lost in the ether.
Visit Sean's web site at http://www.seankennedybooks.com/.
Copyright
An Australian Christmas in New York ©Copyright Sean Kennedy, 2009
Published by
Dreamspinner Press
4760 Preston Road
Suite 244-149
Frisco, TX 75034
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Art by Paul Richmond http://www.paulrichmondstudio.com
Cover Design by Mara McKennen
This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. This eBook cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this eBook can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the publisher. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press at: 4760 Preston Road, Suite 244-149, Frisco, TX 75034 http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/
Released in the United States of America
December 2009
eBook Edition
eBook ISBN: 978-1-61581-313-1