by B. G. Thomas
“When you make a name for yourself,” Gay interrupted.
“—nativities are what I need to focus on.”
“Well, I hope you make that name soon,” Charlie said. And thinking about Tory’s name made him feel all warm inside. And wanting to help Tory pay his bills, he turned back to the elves on shelves and picked out one.
“Is this where you get them each year?” he asked Gay.
“From Tory, yes! But even I don’t have a steady enough hand for those eyes. I buy his completed pieces.”
Whoa. The eyes would be hard.
“I can help you if you want,” Tory offered, and Charlie smiled at the thought of owning a piece that both he and Tory had painted.
It was nice when Tory leaned over his shoulder, chest touching his back, to demonstrate that using more than one color on the elf’s hair made it look more natural. He was reminded a bit of that scene from Ghost with Demi Moore and Patrick Swayze at the potter’s wheel. He could feel Tory’s breath on his ear. And gosh, he was getting hard again. So hard it hurt. Was Tory flirting or not? It was difficult to tell. He seemed to flirt with everyone!
“Is he flirting?” he whispered to Gay when Tory went upstairs to get them all refreshments.
Gay looked at him as if he were crazy. “Gee whiz. He’s practically humping you! You can’t tell?”
His face went hot, and he glanced around the room to see if anyone had heard.
“Uh-huh,” gasped Karey, the girl painting teapots.
And his face positively blazed.
But it wasn’t until Tory did the elf’s eyes that he near completely lost it. Tory said he wanted to paint Charlie’s eyes.
“That’s what he does,” Gay said. “All his elves have his friend’s eyes.”
So Charlie sat there while Tory painted, looking at him, looking at his eyes. Looking into them. Charlie was almost shaking after a while. The only way for this to work was that he had to gaze back, at Tory. And the contact was intense. Those eyes. Oh God. Those eyes! Had eyes ever made him feel like this before? Had he ever looked into someone’s eyes for so long? Hadn’t he read that people didn’t like eye contact that lasted more than—what was it? Five seconds or something?
But he looked at those beautiful eyes. Tried not to fall into them. Get lost in them. His heart was pounding. He could barely breathe. Had he thought they were hazel? They were hazel and beyond. A kaleidoscope. Stars and patterns….
What are you afraid of?
What a stupid question!
Do it. Lose yourself. Fall….
I can’t!
You can!
Why was it taking Tory so damned long to paint such tiny eyes?
Do it!
Oh, Aunt Charlotte.
Do it!
I-I….
Then…. He did.
And he didn’t so much fall into those eyes as let Tory in.
Heart pounding.
It was like he’d suddenly gotten high. It was dizzying. There was no chair beneath him. The world vanished. He was floating. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry. He was chilled. He was hot. He felt sweat break out, felt it rolling down his sides, and he started trembling.
There was only him and Tory. That was it.
Nothing. No. One. Else.
Finally—just when Charlie thought he might burst into tears from the intensity of it all—Tory was done.
Tory looked away, and Charlie was back in the world, aware of the chair beneath him. Breathing again. Eyes brimming.
God!
Tory showed him the completed piece.
Charlie gasped.
It was like looking into his own eyes.
Tory said he had to go upstairs for a moment, and he stood and—whoa—did Charlie see what he thought he saw? Did Tory have a…?
He looked around the table and saw Karey staring at him openmouthed. “That was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever fucking seen in my fucking life,” she said in a breathless whisper. “Now I know what eye fucking means! I think I almost came. I have got to go!” She leaped up, grabbed her purse, asked them to apologize to Tory that she didn’t clean up—and was gone.
G.O.N.E.—Gone.
Chapter Twelve
TORY STOOD at the sink, staring at his reflection, near shaking.
He wasn’t sure how he’d done it.
It had started easily enough. Yeah, maybe he was flirting a little. Or had meant to. But then—God—something happened. Something powerful.
Tory had no clue how he’d finished painting. Especially there at the very end.
God!
And he was hard. He couldn’t remember ever being so hard. Why, there had been times he’d gone home with someone and couldn’t perform. The flirting had been one thing, but when it wasn’t a game, when it was real and he was at someone’s house or apartment and the clothes were coming off, sometimes things didn’t… work.
Especially if it was someone his age.
“Is it a dad thing?” Cody asked him once. Once.
“Wh-what do you mean?” he replied.
“I mean… you lost your father so young. Is it like… you’re looking for a father?”
Ewww!
The thought made his stomach turn.
“No,” he said, voice going cold. He’d been teased about it before, but he realized Cody meant it. And quite suddenly he realized that most people who said it had meant it. He liked older men, so that equaled father issues? Really?
Cody wasn’t some kind of asshole, but dammit, Cody was his friend. A question like that meant people thought there was something wrong with you. It was like the ultimate idiotic things people asked gay men. Maybe if you had sex with the right woman? How can you not like boobs? Which of you is the man, and which of you is the woman? Did something bad happen to you as a kid? Are you a homosexual because you had a weak father and a strong mother?
Pure… stupid… bullshit!
In fact in his case, his father had been okay. Not father of the year. Way too religious—weirdly so in some ways. But okay. It wasn’t until he found out Tory was gay, shortly after Tory turned eighteen, that things suddenly changed. And it was that religion thing that did it.
Growing up he’d had no doubt he was gay, and he knew it would be trouble if his parents found out. Especially his father.
But it was never the boys, his peers, who he was drawn to. It wasn’t until he was well into high school that he saw that it was truly, only, always, older men. Somehow older meant more masculine to him. The same way that some of his gay friends thought big cigar-chomping men were masculine. Or cowboys or construction workers or policemen.
Men Tory thought of as strong and righteous and somehow holders of the secret of what it meant to be a real man. Men who could teach him those secrets. Out of bed as well as in. No. Especially out of bed.
But he waited. Waited until his eighteenth birthday exactly. And he snuck into a gay bar in Asheville, where he lived at the time, and snagged a man named Bruce—and hadn’t that struck him as hypermasculine?—who was fifty-five. They went back to his apartment, and Tory had been almost as hard as he was right now. A man without a supposedly perfect body. No six-pack. A bit of beer gut. Deep lines around his eyes. Gray at his temples. A man who had seen things. A man with worldly wisdom. Experiences. Who had good and bad things happen in his life and could truly say, “It gets better,” because he knew it did. A man who had experienced all that. And the experience to know what he was doing in bed.
That’s what Tory was attracted to.
He wanted to tell Cody to fuck off. But instead, he gritted his teeth and explained it all, and then he stormed off. He didn’t talk to Cody for weeks after that, but when he could finally talk to Cody again, they became close friends. Cody probably was Tory’s best friend.
Because Cody said he understood. Told Tory how he’d always been attracted to big heavy hairy men for a similar reason. And he said he’d seen things. Things that defied belief. Magical things, even. A
nd Tory had almost believed him.
And now?
Now he had to face this thing with Charlie.
If Cody could believe in magic, couldn’t he?
With that thought, he went back downstairs.
Chapter Thirteen
“GEE WHIZ,” Gay said as Charlie wrapped his elf, then moved to help him. “That must be the reason women watch gay porn. The way the two of you were eyeballing each other?” She put the elf down long enough to fan herself with her hand. “Whew! What did that girl say? Eye fucking?” She covered her mouth. She’d say shit, but she didn’t like saying fuck.
Tory came into the room then, and Charlie held his breath. Caught those eyes (eye fucking?) for a second. There was caution there now. Caution to meet his. But more. Desire. He saw it. Desire to meet his own.
This wasn’t flirting. Somehow, it was something much more.
He cleared this throat. Gulped. “Thank you for this evening, Tory.”
A nod in return. “Sure.”
“I will cherish my elf.”
“I’m glad.”
“What do I owe you?”
Tory totaled the numbers to a ridiculously low price.
“Tory, are you doing it again?”
Tory shook his head. “No. Really.” He laughed. “Really!” And then to prove it, showed Charlie the written receipt. It was all there, nine napkin rings and the elf, with the cost of the studio and glazes, just at twenty dollars. “I told you it was cheaper to come do it yourself.”
“That’s what I said,” Gay added. “I can’t figure out how he pays his rent!”
“Sometimes it’s a close call.” Tory shrugged. “Thankfully I have a lot of shows this time of year, and I bank a lot of what I make. I’ve got a show at the midtown VFW hall this weekend.”
“But my eyes, Tory….” And Charlie blushed, thinking about their… moment. Their endless moment. He’d meant Tory’s paint job, but his mind was filled with….
Eye fucking, Aunt Charlotte said. He could hear her laughter and smiled.
“I mean, my elf’s eyes. What about your time? Your talent—”
“Free of charge,” Tory said, interrupting.
“Tory!” You do have rent!
“It was a pleasure,” Tory replied, and then he blushed (adorable!), and that made Charlie’s cheeks burn all the more.
“Well,” Charlie said, “I’ll be back next week. To do my part in keeping your roof over your adorable head.” Now his face felt feverish, he was blushing so hard. Had he actually said adorable out loud?
“I’ll be waiting,” Tory said.
And then Charlie fled, trusting Gay to follow. One moment more and he didn’t know what he might say!
Chapter Fourteen
HEART IN his throat, Charlie got out of his car and walked the block to the VFW hall. His heart was racing. Should he really do this?
You’ll see him Tuesday!
But that was four days away and crazy as it was, he just didn’t think he could wait. Those eyes. He wanted to look at those eyes again.
Fall into them?
He only hoped he was at the right place. But when he got to the door and saw the sign—Bright Blessings Bazaar—all bordered with holly and stars, he figured this had to be it.
Taking a deep breath, he walked in, crossed the foyer to another similar sign on another set of doors, and stepped through.
Yes. This was it! Tables everywhere, all full to overflowing with every art and craft imaginable. Although as he walked the aisles looking for Tory, there was something a little… different about the place.
Very few Santas, and they were more of the Father Christmas variety. But nothing much really overly… Christmassy. Reindeer were few and far between, but there were snowmen (people).
He forgot about it all the second he saw Tory and had to hold back to keep himself from running to the table.
When he got there, he tried to act casual, as if he had forgotten Tory would even be there. Tory was talking to a plump man about Tory’s age who was obviously with another taller, slightly older, broader-shouldered man. He was rubbing the shoulder of the shorter one, and even with a coat, Charlie could see his arms were big. They were so clearly a couple, Charlie took it as a good sign.
“I just don’t know,” the younger one was saying. “I love the Holly King. I really do….”
“I know he’s a little pricey,” Tory replied. “But I had to alter two statues to make him. There aren’t any Holly Kings that I could find. So, I took the head off of a Father Christmas and put him on the body of a Heracles and then added clay to make more fur on the robes and make the boots look like they were made of fur as well. It’s pretty time-consuming. And I’ll have an Oak King soon.”
Now that seemed to pique the little bear’s interest, and he looked up at his partner.
“Wyatt,” said the taller man, “don’t worry about the price! We can afford it. You want it as a Yule present?”
Wyatt smiled and said, “Really, Kevin?”
“You know I can’t refuse you anything,” Kevin replied and kissed him ever so gently, and Charlie saw a flash of gold on his ring finger and realized they were married.
Gerald would never have married Charlie. It was hard not to envy the couple.
But aren’t you glad you didn’t marry Kill-Joy? Aunt Charlotte asked him. Wouldn’t you much rather be married to—
Stop!
Charlie hesitated to approach the table until they were done, but then Tory spotted him. The expression on Tory’s face…! Why, he looked so happy!
Like he’s about to start doing a jig, Aunt Charlotte said.
Stop! Please!
“Charlie!” Tory all but shouted. “I can’t believe you’re here, handsome man!”
Handsome man? Charlie almost looked over his shoulder to see if Tory was talking to someone else. So with that, he approached the table. The two bears gave him big smiles, paid for their purchase, and with a “Merry Solstice” (and wasn’t that different?), disappeared into the crowd.
Tory, to Charlie’s surprise, came from around the table and hugged him. Really hugged him, and not that phony way most people did. It felt good. It felt real. And Tory felt good in his arms.
Tory pulled back then and looked up at him with a “Gosh, I hope you didn’t think that was too, I don’t know, forward? I’m just a hugger.”
“I didn’t mind at all.” Not one bit!
A couple—straight?—came to the table then, the woman, round in all the right ways, with a big bear of a man. “Morning, Tory!” the woman said.
“Erin! Blair!” And again, more hugging commenced.
“I’m hoping you have the pentacle plates ready?” she asked when they were done.
Charlie used the time to drool over Tory’s holly collection while Tory helped his customers.
“I do,” Tory was saying.
“Seven, right?” she asked.
“Seven it is,” and he pulled a box out from under the table and brought out a plate with a big star on it.
“Oh yes!” she cried. “These are exactly what I wanted. Blair?”
He seemed pretty pleased.
“They’re going to be wonderful Yule presents for our friend’s altars.”
Altars?
Charlie left the three of them to their business and was trying to make up his mind about the gravy boat when he realized that the couple were done. They hugged Tory—he was a hugger—and then were on their way.
“They are so nice,” said Tory. “I love them both.”
Charlie nodded, not realizing his hands were still touching the gravy boat.
“You know, I just thought of something,” Tory said.
“What’s that?” Charlie asked. That you want to hug me again? That would be really nice!
“I know you’re really wrestling with the cost of my pieces—”
“Oh!” Charlie said. “I know they’re worth every—”
“—and I thought I’d tell you
that I have been known to let people work for my pieces.”
“Work for?” Charlie asked.
Tory smiled. “I could use the help. With the table? I can take a break that way. Go to the bathroom. Have help packing up and loading my car. And it would be really nice to have some company.”
What? Spend time with you? Get to know you?
Well, yes!
Hell yes!
He said, “Well, sure. I could do that,” trying to keep a squeal out of his voice.
“You didn’t have anything else to do today?” Tory asked.
“I could sit around my house watching Netflix.”
Tory gave him an “Oh, come on!” look, and then said, “Surely that isn’t how you spend all your time. A handsome man like you? And surely you’ve got friends.”
Once more Charlie almost looked over his shoulder. Tory was calling him handsome?
Charlie shrugged. “Sure. But they’re busy this weekend.”
Tory grinned. “Then have a seat,” he said, motioning to the empty chair beside him.
And sit he did.
I’m sitting next to Tory.
Good for you, dear came Aunt Charlotte’s voice. Good for you.
It turned out to be a very nice day.
Chapter Fifteen
IT TURNED out to be a very nice day.
They didn’t talk about the other night in his basement. The “eye thing” as Tory had come to think of it (and sometimes the eye fucking thing). The way their gazes had locked! And how they—or at least he—had seemed to fall into Charlie’s eyes. Yuppers. They avoided that, although every now and then, they would catch each other’s eyes, for just a second or two, and damned if he didn’t blush and—it made Tory smile inwardly—watch Charlie blush as well.
Tory didn’t know what to make of Charlie. He wasn’t the rough, tough kind. And he seemed shy and vulnerable. And… well…. Tory liked it. Yes, an older man came with knowledge and experience, and he’d longed for a guide, a teacher in life. But they could also come with a lot of arrogance and the feeling that they could order people (him) about, take advantage of younger people (again, him), and worse, take others (him) for granted.
