by Gem Frost
Oh, hell, it makes me think of a lot of things I’m never going to have in my life, like family and kids gathering around a tree on Christmas morning, while I record the chaos and steal the candy canes out of the kids’ stockings. Sure, Madison’s kids are great, but what I want is my own kids, and my own…
I shake myself mentally, thinking I must be out of my fucking mind. I don’t want a family, and I don’t want kids. I like my life just the way it is, damn it. And why shouldn’t I? Look at the way Madison and her wife wound up, not to mention the way Syd and I ended up. Relationships are a pain in the ass, and more often than not, they don’t end well. In fact, all too often they’re a disaster.
So, wishing for marriage and kids and Christmas…well, it must be a combination of watching It’s a Wonderful Life, along with some sort of hallucinogen in the soap, making my mind wander this way.
Not that the soap’s ever affected me that way before. But it never smells as good on me as it does on Syd’s skin.
Drawn irresistibly by his scent, I bend my head and press my lips lightly against the hollow of his throat. He gives a soft moan of pleasure, and encouraged, I let my lips travel across his skin, down to the sensitive spot just beneath his collarbone. He quivers against me.
“Nick.”
I’ve almost forgotten how much I love the sound of my name on his lips when he’s gasping with passion. His soft, intent voice sends a stab of urgent lust through me.
I’ve come twice this evening already, and yet I want nothing more than to shove him back against the mattress, to plunge into him like a pool in the desert. But I manage to control myself. I’m not going to take him like an animal. I want to make love to him slowly and carefully, to give him something to remember me by.
Because I’ll never make love to Syd again.
The thought weighs on me like an anvil, but I do my best to shove it away. Right now, I want to focus on this moment. I don’t want to think about anything but him, stretched naked on my bed, quivering as he waits for me to touch him.
I want to taste him all over, so I begin by letting my lips trail over his chest. Despite what he says, he’s got a nice build, and the solidity of his pecs feels good beneath my lips. I explore his muscles for long moments, until his hand reaches up and catches my hair, tugging insistently. And then I move my head and trail my tongue over his nipple.
He cries out, and the desperate intensity of the sound makes something catch fire inside me. I remember he always liked to have his nipples played with, and they’re so delicately sensitive that I always relished teasing them. I let my tongue trace his pebbled nipples, outlining them, tracing their contours, until his fingers dig into my hair, a silent plea for more. At last I drew a nipple slowly into my mouth and suck on it, hearing his long, low moan of pleasure, and exulting in it.
God, I love bringing him pleasure. Always did. It’s one reason I haven’t made love to anyone, male or female, since he dumped me. I simply can’t imagine enjoying anyone else’s passion more than I enjoy Syd’s. He tends to be a little restrained at first, but when he finally gets lost in sensation, he lets himself go so completely that it’s intoxicating.
While I suck and bite at his nipples, I let my fingers do some walking, trailing down his flat abs, running over his taut thighs. At last I brush a hand over his cock, discovering that it’s hard and hot again. Even though we’ve come twice tonight, he’s ready for me. The knowledge makes a shudder of anticipation run through me.
Part of me wants to wait, to go slow, to run my hands across every inch of his warm, strong body, to taste and to smell him, to commit every last detail of his body to memory. Never again is still ringing in my head like a death knell. But even so, lust gathers inside me like a thunderstorm, powerful and irresistible, an electrical force of nature I can’t fight against. I’m helpless in its grip.
Incapable of waiting any longer, I grope for the lube I left on the nightstand, and the condoms Syd contributed to this effort. No matter how hot I am, I need to make sure Syd is ready.
But he reaches for the little bottle of lube and swipes it right out of my hand.
“No,” he says. “It’s your turn.”
I raise myself up on my arms and stare down at him. At first, I’m not quite sure what he means. I’ve always topped, always run things. Not just with him, but with every sexual partner I’ve ever had. I don’t know how to let someone else be in control. But I remember the way he took charge in the car, and another bolt of electricity sizzles through me like lightning.
I’ve never been the bottom, but there’s a first time for everything.
His hands press against my shoulders, and I roll over obediently and flop onto my back. Now his mouth is on me, his hands running over my bare skin, and I love it. I don’t have the wildly sensitive nipples he does, but even so, every touch of his mouth and fingers is glorious.
He’s licking my cock, stroking his index finger behind my balls, running his toes down my calf, and I can’t do anything but writhe helplessly against the sheets. Except for our brief encounters tonight, I haven’t been touched in far too long, and the gentle, insistent brushes of his lips and hands and body jumble together in a confused overload of sensations that my brain can hardly process.
When his lubed finger starts exploring my hole, I barely notice. I’m lost in a sea of sensation at that point, every nerve ending firing, my muscles twitching more or less at random, my skin a sheet of flame. The pressure down there feels a little odd, and I’m not entirely sure I like it, but when his finger slips gently inside, I decide that yes, I definitely do like it.
Hell, I like everything and anything Syd might choose to do to me.
I’m still trying to touch him too, my lips caressing anything I can reach—his throat, his shoulders, the curly top of his head. Once I kiss the end of his nose, and I hear him chuckle. But mostly I’ve lost control of my own body. I’m entirely his.
Although I’m new at this particular activity, a second finger doesn’t bother me much. In fact, I enjoy feeling my body stretching to accommodate him. I like the sensation of penetration, the feeling that he’s claiming me as his. When he slips in a third finger, though, I can’t help but tense a little. But once he finds my prostate and begins teasing it, liquid flame rushes through me. My hips begin jerking, with absolutely no input from me, and every gentle brush of his finger there makes me cry out his name helplessly.
His voice is soft and low. “You’ve never touched yourself like this?”
I shake my head, breathless, voiceless. I can’t explain that my dad’s homophobia made me feel weird about this sort of exploration when I was younger. I was made to feel that bisexuality was sinful, maybe even evil, and playing around with myself that way seemed like it might be a sin. And later, when my dad kicked me out and I rebelled against his stupid beliefs, I still had a hard time getting past certain things.
Along the way, I somehow decided that being a top was acceptably manly, whereas being a bottom was, well, effeminate. Realizing this now makes me feel a little ashamed, makes me realize that my dad’s toxic beliefs about gay and bi people are still living inside me, even though he shuffled off this mortal coil years ago. Maybe, just maybe, I should do a little mental housecleaning at some point.
But right now isn’t the time. Syd’s fingers are moving inside me, stroking that magical spot until my thighs shake and my body quivers in helpless pleasure. I hear someone crying out, whimpering, moaning, and through a hazy fog of ecstasy I realize it’s me.
His hand slips out of me, and I hear myself sobbing for more, begging him not to stop, to never stop. He kneels between my thighs, and I slit my eyes open enough to see him rolling on a condom. And then he leans into me, and I lift my legs, hooking them over his hips, opening myself to him completely.
He slides into me, very gently, like he’s afraid of hurting me. But there’s no pain at all, just the wonderful sensation of an achingly intense connection I’ve never truly known before now. I
gasp with desperate relief, because this is what I’ve needed all along. I just never knew it before now. Syd’s inside me, filling me, part of me, and I want this to last forever. I want him to be part of me for always.
He thrusts a little harder, and I feel my body yielding to him. He always worried about being small, but he feels exactly right to me. My body stretches around him, but there’s no pain, no discomfort, only a glorious and perfect pleasure. The head of his cock begins to slam up against my prostate with each increasingly fast thrust, and I hear myself crying out, feel my own cock jerking and twitching and spilling out precome. I’m close, so close, and I want this to last forever, but it’s not going to, I can’t hold back—
He must feel the tension in my body, because he slows the pace, and the urgency that threatened to overwhelm me loosens its iron grip just a bit. He moves in me, slowly and deliberately, stretching out the moment into an endlessly unwinding ribbon of pure physical sensation, and it’s so good I can hardly bear it. My back arches and my toes clench and my fists dig into the sheets.
Someone is still crying out, and it’s probably me again. No, I realize it’s both of us, both making animal sounds of lust, feral sounds of need and desire. If Santa and his reindeer happened to land on the roof just now, hooves stamping and sleigh bells jingling, neither of us would hear it. We’re far too wrapped up in each other to have any awareness of the outside world.
The tension builds in me, the experience of being fucked a strangely thrilling pleasure I’ve never known before. But now I can’t imagine how I lived without it all these years. I want him to make love to me every day of my life, exactly like this. His cock, forceful and demanding, thrusting into me, making me helpless and weak with rapture. Making me his.
I groan as scorching heat sizzles through me like a wildfire, burning away three years of resentment and anger and filling me with a sensation of tranquility, of joy, I’ve all but forgotten. I’m yours, I think, as he thrusts hard and fast and the rapture bursts apart inside me, filling me with ecstasy and a sense of wondrous completion I’ve never felt before. I feel like the fucking Grinch, my heart swelling inside my chest as the true meaning of Christmas fills me.
Christmas means love, and love…
Love is what I feel for Syd. It’s what I’ve always felt for him, and three years apart hasn’t changed that. I still love him, damn it.
I think I always will.
Afterward, Syd rolls off me and gets rid of the condom. I move around till I find the pillow—we wound up sprawled crosswise on the bed somehow—and switch off the light. I pull Syd against my chest, cuddling him, holding him the way I’ve longed to hold him for three long years.
For a moment, everything is perfect. But then I hear the soft, irregular sound of his breathing, and realize he’s crying. Crying in the dark.
“What’s wrong?” I whisper.
“I should go,” he says softly, but I hear the tremor in his voice.
Involuntarily, my arms tighten around him. I can’t bear the idea of him leaving so soon. Yeah, I meant for this to be nothing more than casual sex, but somehow, it’s shifted into something different, something so incredibly meaningful I can’t bear to see it end yet.
I speak just as softly, and I hear my voice quavering, too.
“Don’t go, Syd. Please.”
There’s a long silence.
“Fine,” he whispers at last. “I’ll stay.”
Relief flows through me like a river breaking free of winter’s ice, and I press my lips against the top of his head, grateful that he isn’t going to run away this time. Grateful that he’s at least going to give me a chance. It’s more than he gave me last time. It might not be a lifetime commitment, but I’ll take it.
I let my eyelids flutter shut, feeling unbelievably lucky that he’s decided to stay. The evening hasn’t gone quite the way I intended it to. I’d meant to do everything for him, to bring him to a screaming climax, but instead he took charge, fulfilling every one of my dreams and fantasies… even ones I’d never known I’d had. I’d never imagined sex could be so powerful. So transformative.
And yet, although it had been incredible, making love to Syd hadn’t been anywhere near as rewarding as the simple act of falling asleep with him in my arms.
✽✽✽
Syd
I awaken in the morning to the sound of running water. Sleepily, I stretch and yawn. My hand comes in contact with smooth wood instead of the metal headboard on my own bed, and blearily I realize I’m not in my own condo.
I open my eyes to find myself looking at a big Palladian window. Outside, snowflakes are falling in a soft white curtain. It’s Christmas, and I’m in Nick Brant’s bed. Just as if the past three years never happened at all.
Beyond the snowflakes, the sky is gloomy and gray, and that fits my mood entirely too well. I get to my feet hastily and locate my clothes. My brain is a whirl of confusion that matches the snow spiraling outside. I don’t know how this happened, damn it. I’d intended for last night to be simple and straightforward—nothing more than meaningless pleasure.
And instead I’ve discovered I’m still in love.
What an idiot I am. Nick is still a jerk, and based on everything Madison’s told me, he sleeps around as much as he ever did. And yet I can’t help loving him.
The real problem is that he’s incapable of loving me in return. Oh, sure, he obviously enjoyed having sex with me, but he probably enjoys it with anyone and everyone. But he doesn’t love me and never did… and never will. Which means the smartest thing to do is get the hell out of here while he’s still in the shower. Get the hell out… and forget this ever happened.
I yank on my clothes—well, except for my totally wrecked boxers. I’ll have to go commando. Jeans and sweater on, I run for the bedroom door. I remember that I left my car at Madison’s house, and it’ll be a two-mile walk to retrieve it, but at this point I’d be willing to hike through Antarctica to get away from Nick and his dangerously seductive smile.
But no. I’m being a coward again. Three years ago, I dumped him by text, and I’ve regretted it ever since. And for good reason—texting someone like that and then ghosting them is a rotten thing to do. Obviously, Nick’s emotions aren’t really involved this time—I seriously doubt they were really involved last time—but it’s still gutless as hell to run away without even acknowledging the evening.
I really ought to leave a note. Something like, “Thanks for the evening… it really was one hell of a Christmas ride.”
No, that sounds just a tad on the bitter side. But I do have to leave a note letting him know I’m gone. For the sake of my own self-respect, I can’t just walk out again.
I glance around the room, remembering Nick always kept a pad of paper and a pencil in the top drawer of the nightstand. He could never learn to take notes on his iPhone like a normal person—said that he remembered things better on paper. Walking over, I yank open the drawer, and sure enough, the pad of paper’s still sitting there.
And next to it sits a small present, wrapped in sparkly green and red paper. The label reads, “To Syd, with love from Nick.”
I stare at it for a long moment, confused, trying to figure out what the hell a package addressed to me is doing there. Nick couldn’t have had the faintest clue I’d be here in his house last night. Unless Madison had been playing us both—but no, I replay last night in my head, and remember the all-too-evident confusion on her face. She had no idea I knew Nick until last night. I’m sure of it.
So did Nick get up early and wrap it? That doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, either. He doesn’t have any hint of Christmas in his house—no tree, no garlands, no lights. It doesn’t seem likely he’s got wrapping paper and pretty sparkly bows lying around, either. Besides, why would he want to give me a present, after a night of sex we both agreed was meaningless and empty?
Most puzzling of all, what’s with the sentence, “with love from Nick”? He doesn’t love me. He never did.
Almost like it’s been sitting there for three years.
A deep voice speaks from behind me.
“Go ahead. Unwrap it.”
I jolt with shock, realizing I’ve been so preoccupied I didn’t hear him turn off the water. I turn to see Nick standing behind me, a green towel wrapped around his still-damp waist. He’s staring at me with an expression I can’t begin to identify.
“What the hell…?” I turn it over again, as if maybe I can figure out the puzzle by looking at it from all angles. Tape, a glittery bow, and shiny wrapping paper is all I see. But what’s inside?
I can’t guess, and there’s no way of knowing without opening it. Something I never managed to do with Nick. Maybe I never really knew what was inside him, any more than I know what’s in this little present.
I’m starting to suspect that maybe I never knew what was inside myself, either.
“I was going to give that to you for Christmas,” he says, in a carefully even voice that I’m absolutely certain conceals some deep emotion. “Three years ago. But you texted me on Christmas Eve and told me you wouldn’t be coming. That we were through.”
Yeah. I’m a coward, and I know it. I should never have just texted him, and then vanished. He’d sent me text after text, and I’d just ignored them. I hadn’t even dared to look at them, for fear that I’d change my mind. After a day I’d blocked him.
The thing was, I’d been all too aware by that point that he was never going to commit, and I couldn’t go on wondering how long it would be before he found someone else to replace me.
Because he was tall and gorgeous and sexy, and sooner or later he’d realize I wasn’t in his league, that I was just a nerdy little guy that no one ever looked twice at. Sooner or later, he’d find someone more like him, whether it was a beautiful woman or a handsome guy. There was no possible way he could be happy with someone like me forever. And it was pretty plain that he wasn’t planning on forever, anyway.
