by Ali Ryecart
A soft thud sounded, as a part of the half-built snowman fell away and landed on the ground. It was breaking up and falling apart.
“Let me help you, Georgie. Let me help you put it together and make it whole.”
Roland’s hand gripped at his wrist. Not tight, it would take nothing to pull away, but Roland’s palm was warm and strong, and Christ, didn’t he need some warmth and strength in his life?
“I’m so tired of doing all of it on my own,” Georgie whispered.
“You don’t have to—to struggle. Please, give me a chance to help you, Georgie. Let’s help each other.”
Help. When had anybody ever really wanted to help him?
“Why should I trust you?” Georgie whispered.
Roland shrugged, a sad smile tugging at his lips. “I can’t answer that. All I ask is that you do. It’s not much of an answer and I deserve to be told to go to hell. I wouldn’t blame you, but I hope you won’t.”
As one, they turned to the snowman.
Half-built, falling to pieces, incomplete. No matter how hard Georgie tried, how hard he worked, everything fell apart around him. What was the point in trying?
Roland released his grip. Bending down he gathered up some snow and, balling it in his hands, placed it on top of the tilting mess that was Georgie’s solo effort. It stuck, perfectly, in place.
The wind dropped, and the snow petered out until it was no more than a few meandering wispy flakes, floating on the gentlest of breezes. In silence, and in harmony, they worked together until at last the snowman was complete.
Georgie stepped back, and smiled. He could never have done it on his own.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“You shouldn’t have had to do it alone. I should have helped from the start.”
Roland coiled his arms around Georgie’s waist, and this time Georgie didn’t pull back, just like he didn’t pull back when Roland’s lips found his. Georgie closed his eyes and savoured every moment. Warm as winter spice, sweeter than marzipan, and richer than brandy butter, it was Christmas in a kiss.
“It’s dark,” Georgie breathed against Roland’s lips. “When did it get to be dark?” He didn’t know, but more than that he didn’t care. He tilted his head back, gazed into the black sky, and gasped. “I’ve never seen so many stars.”
The night sky was alive with twinkling, diamond-bright pinpricks of light, every one of them pulsing, as though breathing with life. He leaned back against Roland, and smiled when the older man nuzzled into his hair.
“Look.” Roland pointed towards the hotel.
The heavy wooden doors were flung wide, and Nicholas was silhouetted in the light that shone from behind him, one arm raised.
“He’s waving us over. Come on, let’s see what he wants,” Roland said.
Georgie let Roland take his hand and lead him forward.
“Gentlemen, I need to leave you alone for this evening. I have a busy night ahead of me, with much work to do.”
“Work?” Georgie said, “but it’s Christmas Eve.”
Georgie peered at Nicholas. Whatever the old man’s work entailed, it was outside, because he wore the same red anorak, and heavy black boots he’d been wearing when he’d rescued Roland and him from their crash. He was even wearing a floppy Santa hat, just like the lifelike plaster model in the lounge.
On the ground next to him was a large hessian sack, bulky with Georgie didn’t know what. Nicholas hefted it onto one shoulder as though it weighed no more than a snowflake.
“Can we help? I feel it’s the least we — or rather I — should do,” Roland asked.
Nicholas said nothing, only smiled, and Roland smiled back. Something, Georgie didn’t know what, and couldn’t even guess at, seemed to pass between the older men but whatever it was, something told him that it was for them alone to know.
“Thank you, but I have plenty of help. I’ve taken the liberty of laying out a light supper for you both. You’ll find it in the lounge, in front of the fire which has been banked up. A very Merry Christmas to you both.”
“But Christmas isn’t until—”
Georgie jumped as deep, rich booms, tinkling chimes and everything in-between burst from the open door behind Nicholas. The ornamental clocks that were in every room rang and beat and chimed their midnight chorus as they heralded in Christmas Day.
“Happy Christmas, Georgie,” Roland said, and Georgie smiled and sighed, as Roland placed a soft kiss on the tip of his nose, before turning to Nicholas. “Happy Christmas, Nich—oh.” Roland’s greeting stopped dead.
“Where…?” Georgie said, looking from Roland to the doorway of the hotel.
Nicholas was gone, leaving nothing behind him other than the fading echoes of the clocks and the start of Christmas Day.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Roland yawned and stretched. He couldn’t remember feeling so comfortable. The banked up cushions on the lounge floor in front of the fire were more comfortable than any bed. He looked down and smiled at Georgie, snuggled up and dozing against his side.
Georgie felt good in his arms. He felt right.
Roland tightened his hold, and sighed.
He was free. Of the fear and shame and anger, he was free of it all. It was strange, but heady and thrilling, too, to know that the knot that had held him tied and bound had been untied and thrown to the wind. He was free, to live his life without being chained to the past. Telling Georgie his sorry tale had unlocked his heart, letting its rusty catch spring open. But he’d needed help, a push, to make him tell, and it had been Nicholas who’d given him that shove to take his first, stumbling steps to mending what he’d broken with Georgie.
How had the old man known? It had been Roland’s secret, his secret shame, for so long, buried deep within him. He wasn’t ashamed he had fallen in love, or what he’d believed was love, at least at first. No, that wasn’t what was shameful. It was the way he had been seen and treated as something to be exploited. That had been his shame, and that he’d not had the strength or will to fight back. Nicholas had known, but he hadn’t looked at him as weak, or pathetic. Instead, the man had opened his eyes, and his heart.
Roland gazed into the glowing red embers of the fire. He wouldn’t question the old man, just like he wouldn’t ask for the name of this strange hotel, or ask where they were. He doubted he would get any answers, and as he lay with Georgie, the two of them wrapped in each other’s arms, he didn’t want them, because he wanted only to accept.
“Morning,” Georgie mumbled as he shifted out of Roland’s embrace.
Roland’s heart danced. Adorable. It was the only word to describe a sleepy, fuzzy, soft around the edges Georgie, blinking up at him through smokey grey eyes.
“Good morning, and Happy Christmas.”
“Christmas?” Georgie’s eyes widened as sleep faded, and understanding flooded in. “Of course. I’d kind of forgotten, because all I can feel is how, how…” His brow wrinkled for a moment as he searched for the word. “Content. Yes, that’s it, because of how content I feel. Never felt that before, so it might take a bit of time to get used to it,” he said, his face reddening.
Content. It was a good word. It was the right word. Roland had never felt content. Pursuing his career to ever greater heights, as his personal life withered and atrophied. Yes, he could get used to content, more than used to it.
“I can’t believe we fell asleep down here,” Georgie said, turning onto his stomach and propping his chin in his hands. “Though perhaps we should get up, otherwise Nicholas will find us. That would be embarrassing. Two guests, camping out in the lounge and naked in front of the fire.”
Roland laughed. “I suppose it would, but somehow I don’t think he’ll be back until later. We’re alone here, and I’m more than happy with that.” Roland ran his fingers through Georgie’s hair, his heart thrilling when Georgie sighed and pushed into his touch.
“S’nice. Like it when you do that. But I like this more.”
&n
bsp; Georgie shifted across, the brush of his lips against Roland’s as soft and light as a feather. Roland groaned as, without breaking the kiss, Georgie straddled him, deepening the kiss as he moved his hips in a gentle rock.
“Like that?” Georgie murmured.
“Oh, God…”
Yes, he liked it. He liked it very much.
“But maybe I like this just as much.”
Georgie’s yelp turned into a joyous, throaty laugh as Roland tipped him from his lap and reversed their positions.
Roland kept his eyes trained on Georgie, drinking him in as he rocked his hips into Georgie, his pulse racing as his man matched him roll for roll, thrust for thrust, enjoying the delicious friction of their swollen cocks.
His man. Georgie was his man.
The thought was heady and mouthwatering.
“Got to kiss you,” Roland growled, swooping forward and claiming Georgie’s red and pillowy lips.
The kiss was wild, deep and wet, rough and noisy. Roland had never kissed a man with so much passion, want and longing, and he never would again.
He pulled back, breathing hard and fast. He gazed down at Georgie, and his heart pirouetted in his chest.
Georgie, his lips kiss-roughened, swollen and damp, his eyes bright, his face flushed, his dark, heavy hair falling forward, was a beautiful fallen angel. His fallen angel.
“Oh, yes,” Georgie breathed, as Roland inched down his body.
Roland’s mouth watered, his heart jumped, and his cock pulsed as Georgie lay spread before him, his long, narrow dick flushed and wet from the precum coating the bulbous head and dripping down his length.
“Roland? Please,” Georgie whined.
Roland smiled, closing his eyes as he took Georgie into his mouth.
Perfect. So, so perfect…
Roland licked and laved, sucked and kissed, swept his tongue over Georgie’s salty, wet slit. But what was more perfect were Georgie’s cries and moans, and breathless pleading for more. For more of him.
He pulled off, with a wet smack of lips.
Georgie groaned, then gasped, as Roland chuckled before sucking both of Georgie’s balls into his mouth, rolling them over his tongue, stretching out the thin skin of the sac. The scrape of his scruff over Georgie’s sensitive, nerve-laden skin brought a sharp intake of breath from the younger man, before it dissolved into a breathy sigh.
Too sweet, too delicious, Roland’s mouth found Georgie’s cock once more. Georgie wasn’t going to last, he was racing towards the edge. Roland felt it in Georgie’s heat, in his pulse and swell of his cock, in the grasp of his hands, thrust deep into Roland’s hair.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh, fucking hell!” Georgie yelled as his climax burst from him, pumping streams of hot cum into Roland’s mouth.
Roland squeezed his eyes closed as the universe exploded in a chaos of light in the blackness, and his own orgasm drenched his hand, wrapped around his dick.
He lay panting, his head resting on Georgie’s hot, wet thigh. The fingers that had grabbed at his hair now carded softly through it.
“Best Christmas present I’ve ever had,” Georgie said.
Roland looked up into Georgie’s flushed face. His small grin was part brash, part shy, and all Georgie.
“You certainly unwrapped me,” Roland said, swallowing down the lump in his throat. Georgie had done that, in more ways than one.
“Then let me tidy up.”
Georgie wriggled down, and slowly, taking his time, taking care, not missing a single drop, he trailed his tongue across Roland’s skin, lapping up his release.
“Best breakfast, too,” Georgie said, inching up Roland’s body.
“Better than bacon and eggs or toast and marmalade?” Roland quirked a brow.
Georgie smiled and tilted his head. “You decide.”
Roland opened his mouth to Georgie, tasting their mingled release, revelling in the juicy, salty tang of them both.
“More than good enough to go on the breakfast menu at the Manor.”
Georgie laughed, clear, bright and carefree, as he flopped back into the pillows at Roland’s side.
“I’m sure if you gave it a fancy French name nobody would know.”
“I—” Roland said, but he got no further as his stomach rumbled. “Maybe bacon and eggs aren’t such a bad idea,” he said, laughing. “Got to keep up with our protein intake, after all.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Are you sure about this?” Georgie asked, as Roland sizzled bacon in a large frying pan.
“Of course I am. You read the note, saying we were to help ourselves. He’s left everything for breakfast. We’re the only ones here, Georgie. If I don’t cook for us, nobody else will.”
That was true. The note had been propped up on the mantle shelf next to the clock, when they’d returned from the shower they’d spent far too long in, and where they’d replenished their protein stores. Georgie was sure it hadn’t been there the night before, or even earlier, or as sure as he was about anything, from the moment they had walked into the strange, nameless hotel.
It should creep me out… But it didn’t. He was happy, relaxed, content, and he wasn’t going to do anything to rock that boat.
He buttered toast. Eggs, bacon, sausage, fruit and yogurt. Bread. Croissants. It had all been left for them, as Roland said.
Don’t question. Just accept.
Roland piled the food onto plates, and Georgie’s stomach rumbled.
“Sorry,” he said, grinning. “Not used to so much exercise first thing in the morning.”
“No. Erm, nor me.”
Was Roland blushing? Yes, he was. I did that to him. Me. Warmth flooded through Georgie, warmer than the bacon and eggs, or the croissants fresh from the oven.
They took everything back to the lounge and set themselves up on the floor, the food spread out between them.
“Where do you think he’s gone? Nicholas, I mean,” Georgie said, sucking melting butter from his fingers.
“I don’t know.”
Georgie peered at Roland.
“You’re looking kind of — sneaky. Did he tell you?”
“No.”
Georgie narrowed his eyes. Something had passed between the two men, the night before. Some kind of understanding known only to them.
Don’t push.
Georgie shivered, in spite of the warmth from the still glowing embers in the grate, and he looked over his shoulder, expecting to see who had whispered the words in his ear.
Silly…
“Are you okay?”
Roland was smiling at him.
Georgie nodded. Yes, he was more than okay. A lot more than okay.
“Hang on. If Nicholas has left to do whatever, that means the roads must be clear. Which means we could leave, I suppose…Oh. The car. The windscreen’s cracked and it’s got a flat.”
“It’s cracked but not shattered, and I’ve a spare tyre. But—but do you want to go?”
“No,” Georgie said, looking down.
He didn’t want to go, and leave the cocoon of the hotel. And where would he go? It was Christmas Day, and no trains were running. All he wanted was to stay wrapped up in the warm, wrapped up in Roland, with the world shut out.
He put down his toast and wriggled over to Roland, placing a palm on his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin, the rasp of stubble.
“No. I want to stay here with you, for as long as we can. It feels right, being here. Just us.”
Roland’s smile was sweet rain falling in the desert.
“Then let’s stay. We’ve only ourselves to please.”
After breakfast, they lay in front of the fire, sharing soft kisses and softer touches, sensual without being sexual, warm without the heat.
Georgie stretched out and looked around the room. The fire in the old-fashioned grate, the lush and verdant garland adorning the mantle shelf, and the plaster Santa which had been turned back around — somehow it now seemed comforting, rather than cree
py in a vague, unformed way — and at the heavily dressed tree. It was the perfect image of Christmas.
The tree. Georgie’s eyes settled on the big, bushy Scotch Pine. There was something wrong with the tree, there were no—
“What happened to all the piled up presents?” The presents that were really only empty boxes. “There are only two.”
“What?” Roland said, unwrapping himself from around Georgie, and sitting up. “I don’t know. They’ve got labels on them, do you see?”
And Georgie did.
He shuffled across and pulled the boxes towards him. They were small, but heavy, each wrapped in bright red foil, and tied with a green bow.
Georgie read the labels. His name on one, Roland’s on the other.
“It’s the same handwriting as on the diversion signs that brought us here.” Georgie lifted his box, feeling the weight. “Do you think Nicholas left them?”
Roland nodded his head slowly. “Yes, I think he did. Shall we open them together?”
“That feels kind of right.” Georgie smiled into Roland’s eyes.
They untied the bows, letting the silky ribbons slip to the floor, followed by the bright foil wrapping. Georgie and Roland each held an identical wooden box.
Georgie glanced up at Roland and, at his nod, they opened the boxes together.
Georgie stared down at the dark blue velvet cushion.
“I don’t understand.”
He shifted his gaze to Roland’s box, to the identical blue velvet pillow, to the identical silver, heart shaped—
Lock.
“Don’t you?” Roland picked up his lock and turned it over. “Georgie,” he read.
“What?”
“The lock, it’s got your name on it. There’s a key, too, underneath.”
Georgie watched, mesmerised, as Roland slipped the slender key into the lock. With a soft click, it opened.
“The key to your heart, Georgie. I’ve unlocked your heart. Can you do the same for me?”
Georgie nodded. He couldn’t speak, he didn’t trust himself to speak, as with shaky fingers he picked up the lock and turned it over to read the inscribed name. Roland. The key was cool in his hand, and heavy, but as he slid it into the lock, his hand became sure and steady. Like the lock Roland held, it clicked open.
