The Twelve Days of Randy

by Heidi Cullinan

  He did his best to play it cool. “I texted you.” He reached for his glass on the bar, missing it four times before he captured it. “A lot.”

  Ethan leaned on the bar and motioned to the bartender before murmuring his order. When he finished, he turned back to Randy. “I saw your email.”

  Randy downed the last of his beer. “Sorry. I was pissed off.”

  Ethan sighed. “I know. I let him get to me. He told me not to let you quit.”

  Randy couldn’t tell if this explanation didn’t make sense because it didn’t make sense or because he was drunk. He watched Ethan’s hands caressing his glass as he attempted to work it out and got distracted. God, but he wanted to fuck Ethan. Right now.

  “It’s my fault.” Ethan sat back on his stool and leaned against a wooden pillar supporting the faux awning over the bar. He stared off at the sea of liquor bottles twinkling in the soft light above the bar mirror. “I’m jealous. Why am I so jealous?”

  Ethan was wearing a suit. His tie was long gone, and his shirt was unbuttoned far enough to reveal a tiny tease of light-brown hair. His feet were propped on the bottom rung of the barstool, his legs sagging open at the knees. Randy wanted to crawl into the vee and wrap the ankles around his waist as he ground their hips together.

  Belatedly, he realized Ethan had said something to him and was waiting for a response. “What was that?”

  Ethan’s mouth broke into a deliciously crooked smile. “You’re too drunk to have this conversation, aren’t you?”

  Randy took a sip of Ethan’s drink. Always a G&T. He set the glass down and put his hand high on his husband’s thigh. “I want to fuck you.”

  Ethan stared at him for a long moment, his eyes going slowly dark. “Right now?”

  “Right fucking now.”

  Ethan ran a hand down the front of Randy’s T-shirt, hooking his thumb in the gap at Randy’s waistband. The din of the bar, already barely registering on Randy’s radar, dropped away completely. Ethan called the bartender over and slipped a hundred dollar bill into his hand.

  “I need to borrow your office.” Ethan never broke eye contact with Randy and never let go of his waistband either.

  The beautiful thing about alcohol, Randy decided as Ethan pressed him to the closed door, was the way it made you fuzzy. It shut off your head, or at least made it so jumbled you couldn’t listen to it. You just closed your eyes, opened your mouth, and moaned as your husband made love to your neck and shoved his hand into your jeans. You gasped and sagged and turned around willingly, bracing against the wall and bending forward to open your ass more as your lover ran his tongue down your crack.

  The not-so-beautiful thing about alcohol was the way it made you start babbling, saying shit you should damn well not say, especially while you were getting fucked and everything was going so well.

  “I don’t want Crabtree,” Randy breathed as Ethan tongued him deep. “I don’t want him like I want you.”

  There was a distinct stillness in the area of Randy’s ass. “But you want him?”

  Fuck. Trap, trap, it’s a trap! Don’t say anything! “Well—yeah.” Shit! “I mean—no. No, I don’t. Not at all. I mean—” Randy turned around in Ethan’s arms. “I don’t want him. Ignore me. I’m drunk.”

  Ethan looked resigned and stroked Randy’s face. “You want him. I know.”

  “I want a lot of people. But I don’t want any of them the way I want you.” His hands dug into Ethan’s shoulders. “And I will never fuck anyone else again, ever, if that’s what you want. You know I don’t want him like you. You know I would choose you over him every day. That I do choose you over him. You could blindfold me and I’d choose you. You know this.”

  Ethan pressed a kiss against the side of Randy’s mouth. It smelled like musk, which aroused him, but Ethan didn’t seem ready to get back to the good stuff. “I just… I want to best him. I want to feel like I’m besting him. I want to be better than him.”

  “Are you kidding? You’re so much better than him. You best him every damn day.” When this didn’t move Ethan, Randy poked him in the ribs. “You think I’d get married to him? Ever? For anything?”

  “Domestically partnered.”

  Randy grabbed Ethan’s chin and forced him to look at him. “Married.”

  Ethan’s eyes went soft, and he stroked Randy’s face. “You said you wanted to fuck me.”

  Randy’s cock, which had never fully thrown in the towel during all the serious discussion, rose back to full mast with a private Woohoo! “Oh yeah?” Randy kissed him and fumbled with Ethan’s belt, undoing his pants.

  Thank God the owner of the Watering Hole kept lube on the shelf behind his desk. Randy made quick use of it, slicking his husband up before sliding his dick into place, fucking hard into Ethan as he resumed his position at the wall. It was a quick, dirty bone, lewd and raw, Randy swimming in alcohol. He could hear everything going on in the bar beyond the door, and he realized Ethan hadn’t locked the door.

  “God, I hope someone comes in and sees me fucking you like this,” he rasped.

  Ethan glanced over his shoulder, breathing against the thrusts. “Maybe you should take a picture. Send it to Lance.”

  The thought sent a sudden burst of jealousy through Randy, and he locked the door before leaning over Ethan to kiss the back of his neck.

  “Changed my mind. This side of you is only for me.”

  Smiling, Ethan reached back to stroked Randy’s hair as he pushed into Randy’s thrust.

  Randy gripped Ethan’s hips, bit his neck, and gave his husband his hundred dollars’ worth.

  THEY DIDN’T DISCUSS the Twelve Days of Randy further, and after some private deliberation, Randy let the days continue, though he kept the celebrations subdued. For day six, he gave out cookies. It made him nervous, because usually he only gave cookies to a few of the employees he knew personally, and it was a fuck-lot of work to make that many, but the gesture went over quite well. He decided he’d do that part again next year.

  On day seven, he auctioned himself off to play ten hours of poker in someone’s stead. He got some grief from a few people about how tame his stunts had become, and Crabtree kept watching him carefully, but Randy ignored them all. The only person Randy paid attention to was Ethan.

  He still couldn’t read his husband for shit on this hand. He had no idea if Ethan was happy over the way Randy was playing this game or whether he was waiting for something else. On the morning of day eight, he gave up and told him so.

  Ethan seemed confused. “What do you mean, you can’t read me? Why do you need to read me? We’re on the same side.”

  Randy dropped his box of cereal on the counter and stared at him. “Are you serious? Nobody’s on the same side. Everybody in life is always your opponent, Slick. The more someone looks like an ally, the more closely you have to watch them.”

  Ethan blinked at him. “You honestly believe that, don’t you.”

  “Of course I do. We’ve gone over this. Everything in life is poker.”

  Randy had a bad feeling this was about to become a fight, and he tensed, ready to make jokes or downplay things as needed. Ethan didn’t argue, though, only sighed and leaned forward to kiss Randy’s forehead. “I’m going to the casino. Do you want to come by and pick me up for lunch?”

  “I’ll do lunch with you, but I’ll just stick around and play tables awhile. I’m going to head in with you and get the day’s stunt over with.”

  “Over with. So it’s still a chore, is it?”

  There was an interesting note of innocence in Ethan’s voice, something Randy couldn’t read for the life of him. This was what he’d been trying to explain to Slick. Everything in life was poker, and this game he played with Slick was one he always lost, because in addition to never being able to tell what his opponent was thinking, he never had the best of it. You couldn’t, when all you wanted was the guy on the other side of the table to win.

  Ethan explained nothing, though, only glanced at hi
s watch. “I need to leave. Are you ready to go right now?”

  Randy glanced at the dirty dishes in the sink, but the look of quiet mischief in Ethan’s eye won out. “Yes.”

  Ethan smiled, grabbed his keys, and headed for the door to the garage.

  All the way to the casino, Randy tried to guess what was going on, but he didn’t ask anything out loud. It was clear Ethan wasn’t going to tell him.

  “What do you have planned for today?” Ethan asked a few blocks from Herod’s.

  Randy shrugged. “I was going to sing ‘Santa Baby’ to the demon statue.”

  “That’s good.” They’d arrived at the casino, where he pulled up to the valet stand. “Save it for tomorrow, though. I have today’s stunt covered.”

  “What?” Randy asked, but Ethan was already getting out of the car.

  Randy followed him into the casino. “What’s going on? What—?”

  He stopped short when he saw a four-foot-tall and three-foot-wide glitter-encrusted present in front of the head poker table.

  Ethan moved to stand beside it, clearly quite pleased with himself. He nodded to the package. “Go ahead. Open it. It’s for you.”

  The casino staff had started gathering around, all of them looking like cats with cream. Whatever was in there, they were in on the joke. Randy eyed Ethan warily.

  Ethan motioned again to the package. “Seriously, don’t take too long. Open it, Randy.”

  Randy stepped forward, uncertain and uncomfortable. He glanced up to the balcony and saw Crabtree standing at the rail, but he gave no clues away. There was nothing to do but walk up to the present. He put his hand on the top, pushing the lid up a crack—

  It flew off, and Randy drew back. Then he saw what had pushed the lid back, and he froze, too stunned to move. Sam Keller-Tedsoe beamed from inside the box and held out his arms. “Merry Christmas, Randy!”

  “Peaches?” Randy whispered, still not able to believe it.

  Laughing, Sam climbed out and launched himself at Randy. As Sam kissed his neck and squeezed him tight enough to bruise him, Mitch stepped out from behind an advertisement display, grinning.

  “As I said,” Ethan said from beside him, putting his hand on Randy’s waist, “I have day eight covered.”

  The reality of it all hit Randy, and he laughed. “You fucking do,” he agreed, then picked up Sam and spun him around as the casino staff cheered.

  Chapter Six

  “I CAN’T BELIEVE you guys came here for Christmas,” Randy said for the umpteenth time as they sprawled in Ethan’s office. Well, he and Sam were sprawled on the couch. Ethan leaned against his desk, looking proud of himself, and Mitch lounged in the fat leather easy chair on the other side of the coffee table, his fingers laced idly over his stomach.

  “Ethan said you guys needed us.” Sam had his head in Randy’s lap facing Mitch, but now he turned to look up at Randy quizzically. “What’s going on, anyway?”

  “Fuck if I know. Peaches, you hate warm climates at Christmas. I remember your argument quite vividly.”

  Sam blushed. “Well, yes. I like snow and cold for the holiday. But family is family.”

  It was ridiculous how that simple statement went straight into Randy’s soul. He couldn’t say anything else, so he bent down and kissed Sam’s forehead.

  Sam stroked the back of Randy’s hair, and a prickle of arousal ran through Randy’s body. Goddamn, but Slick could not have come up with a better Christmas present than this. He looked forward to thanking his husband profusely later.

  Ethan sighed. “I called you back here because of Crabtree.”

  Mitch grunted. “Of course the problem is Crabtree. What did he do now?”

  Ethan gave a quick recap of Randy’s history at the Christmas parties, of his declining to participate this year, and Crabtree’s goading them back into it. “I upped the ante to twelve days,” Ethan finished. “Which Randy tells me is too much.”

  Randy rolled his eyes. “Fuck, it’s killing me.”

  “Good to hear even your debauchery has its limits, Skeet,” Mitch drawled.

  Randy flipped him off.

  Sam frowned. “I don’t understand. Why is Crabtree a problem? If Randy doesn’t want to do it, then don’t do it.”

  Ethan’s mouth flattened into a frustrated line. “It’s complicated.” He kept his eyes on the floor, but Randy didn’t need to look closely to see he was embarrassed.

  Sam shook his head. “But I still don’t understand.”

  Randy opened his mouth to try to explain, but then Mitch said, “Sunshine,” with a quiet firmness, and Sam retreated into the couch.

  God, but Randy had missed them.

  He sat up and clapped his hands together once with a broad smile. “Who wants to hit a buffet for brunch? Bellagio? Paris? Main Street?”

  They ended up at Rio, which never upset Randy, and two hours later they were slumped in their chairs, fat and happy and ready for naps.

  “Can you take the day off work, baby?” Randy ran his hand down the slope of Ethan’s suited arm. “Hang out with us at the house?”

  Ethan rubbed his nose thoughtfully with his thumb, then nodded. “I’ll have to pop in remotely every now and again and keep my cell on me, but yes.” He smiled and caught Randy’s hand for a quick squeeze.

  Randy squeezed back and turned to the others. “How long are you staying?”

  Mitch was slumped in his chair with his eyes closed. “Through New Year’s. Got a job lined up for the third.”

  Randy squelched the desire to pump his arm into the air and shout. He turned to Sam. “You got off work that long?”

  Sam didn’t smile. In fact, he looked distinctly unhappy. “No work right now. I’m going on the road with Mitch.”

  “What?” Randy frowned. “I thought you had a contract through March.”

  Sam shook his head. “It was contingent on their fourth-quarter margin. I could have worked through the end of the year, but I’d have had to work Christmas Eve and Day. I settled for a buyout, and now I’m hunting again.”

  “That nine-month job in Des Moines looks good.” Mitch reached over to rub Sam’s shoulder reassuringly. “We’ll find something, Sunshine.”

  Sam nodded, but it was clear they were both worried. Mitch had hinted before that jobs for both of them were drying up left and right. Randy hoped to hell Ethan had paid for their flight.

  Randy forced a smile. “So. Four days to go. I have tomorrow covered, so that’s just three more stunts left. Any ideas, boys?”

  Sam brightened. “I’ll help. Can I do a stunt with you? Ethan says you have a slutty elf outfit. I could wear it, and you could be Santa.”

  The image of Sam in the raunchy elf costume made Randy instantly hard, and the thought of him grinding onto Randy’s lap while Ethan and Mitch watched made him clear his throat and shift in his seat. “We’ll save that for playing at home, Peaches. Anyway, it’s supposed to be the Twelve Days of Me. Though the Santa idea isn’t bad. I could go around with a naughty-or-nice meter and a paddle.”

  “Are you paddling the nice or the naughty?” Ethan asked with a wry smile.

  “You could paddle the naughty and let the nice paddle you,” Mitch suggested. His voice was a little husky, and Randy suspected he was imagining some home scenarios too. Fuck but this was going to be a great Christmas.

  “That’s a good idea,” Randy agreed. “I can decide who gets to do what. Excellent. That’s done, then. Caryle can get me a costume, I’m sure. And I’ve already got the paddle. So that’s one left, and the party.”

  “We can sing a song,” Sam suggested. “Like Kurt and Blaine in Glee. We can even do ‘Baby, It’s Cold Outside’ like they did.”

  Randy gave him an exasperated look. “Peaches, I don’t sing. Plus that song is about a stalker.” Then he paused. “But I could lip sync. Maybe Elvis’s ‘Blue Christmas’? It’s a repeat of the demon statue, but I’m okay with it.”

  “You could do drag.” Sam practically bounced on his
chair. “We could be Gaga and Beyoncé and do ‘Telephone’.”

  “What the hell does this have to do with Christmas?” Randy demanded.

  Sam glowered and folded his arms over his chest. “I want to do something.”

  Randy held up his hands in defense. “Okay. For the eleventh day, there will be a guest stunt. The show is yours, Sam.”

  “Really? Oh—I’ll do Kylie. ‘Let It Snow.’ I’ll do a dance too, and you can be my partner.”

  “That’s settled then.” Randy laughed when Sam launched himself at Randy and enveloped him in a hug.

  “Just the actual staff party left.” Ethan had the forced casualness of a man trying not to let anyone know how much the thought of said party was making him sweat despite his best efforts. Goddamn you, Crabtree.

  Randy wasn’t giving Crabtree this, and he was done waiting for Ethan to sort things out. They could go back to their weird war after Christmas. Right now the gang was back together, and Randy was making sure every moment was savored. “I think we should do something together for the party.”

  “The point, as I understand it, was that this was to be whatever you wanted.” Ethan stood. “But we can discuss this later. Shall we go back to the house?”

  “I have to get some shopping done at some point,” Sam said. He didn’t appear excited about it. Mitch didn’t either. Fuck, money was a problem. A big one.

  “I’ve got that one covered.” Randy rose, trying to beam happiness on to them all. “But don’t buy anything for us. Simply having you here is present enough.”

  It was a sappy and corny thing to say, he knew. The thing was, it was true. Sam and Mitch were here: the sun had come out again. Between this and Ethan, it was going to be the best Christmas ever.

  So long as he survived the staff party on Christmas Eve.

  THINGS WERE BETTER now that Sam and Mitch had come. But then, they were always better when it was all four of them.