by J P Sayle
The End
How did Brad find himself planning a Christmas Eve party? A party, he didn’t want in his home. Can his budding relationship with Martin survive?
Brad has never had a memorable Christmas: the family he was born to made sure of that. With his first Christmas with Martin looming, Brad’s plans are blown out of the water.
Until Joe, Greg and Nick step in.
Nick’s need to offer friendship without the boundaries of his past opens Brad’s eyes to all kinds of possibilities.
Greg’s ability to love unconditionally allows Brad to experience what life is like with true friends.
Joe shows Brad that sometimes a little kink can be the spice of life.
But Brad has never taken again for granted. A witch, a car accident, a disappearing cat, a secret, a lie, an artful dodger, all work against Brad, Joe, Greg and Nick. Can they work as a team and give Brad the Christmas he dreamed of?
The 12 Disasters of Christmas is the fifth book in the Manx Cat Guardian Series, this book is not standalones. These books need to be read in order to gain the background. It is an MM romance, with soulmate connections, voyeurism, hot steamy scenes, and ancient paranormal cats and a very naughty witch that likes to interfere. This book has an underlying secondary story that is left on a cliff hanger.
To my family and friends who have supported me. The love I feel for you guys is unmeasurable. Your continued support makes my heart sing and dance with joy.
Bobster, my rock, my own soulmate, I’m sure you’d recognise some of these chapters if you ever had the courage to read them.
Mandy, who knew twins could have so much fun when they were left on their own. Love you beyond time and space.
To those who have taken a chance and read my books and have messaged me with your thoughts. You have my unwavering thanks. I hope my stories give you a little relief from everyday life.
To Tanja, Pam, Jay, Keren, and Stacey. You give my books that added sheen and polish I would never have achieved on my own, and I thank you all from the bottom of my heart.
Brad
Christmas Eve
Brad chewed his lips. The panic swirled in his jumpy stomach as his frantic eyes checked and rechecked everything was in its designated place. Why the hell did I agree to this again? Twelve months ago was I running around like a headless chicken, trying to arrange a party for people I don’t really know?
No, I fucking wasn’t.
No, he’d been quite happily ensconced in his office working on his IT projects, eating crap, and listening to Christmas music while Princess kept him company.
The bell chimed twice, breaking his quiet internal meltdown. To Brad, the noise sounded like it was spelling out his doom. The tiny inner critic that had been berating him told him to stop whining like a big baby. Explaining in a voice that sounded far too much like Martin’s, that twelve months ago, he’d been lonely, barely existing in the real world. A world that was colourless and as bland as a bowl of old porridge.
The pale wintery sun filtering through the windows caught his attention when the light reflected off the sparkling coloured Christmas lights that hung around the kitchen. It reminded him of the brightness that now completed his life. A life filled with laughter, friendship, and, more importantly, love.
Brad sighed loudly, knowing he wouldn’t change a thing. Though it didn’t mean he had to like it or that he’d been conned into this party.
No siree, it doesn’t mean that at all.
His lips pursed as he glanced at the hallway, praying he would keep it together and not kill Martin before he got to the fun part of the evening when everyone left.
He wiped his hands down his grey trousers, hoping it didn’t leave a sweaty mark. Pasting a smile on his face, he prayed it looked genuine. He walked out into the hall. He winced with each step. As he strode forward, his arse had him wanting to groan, but whether that was in pleasure or despair, he couldn’t quite decide.
He silently cursed Martin and his sexy fucking ways. This was all his fault. How he had fallen for it, he’d never know. Didn’t he know better than to agree to anything when Martin was driving him wild?
Yes, of course I do!
But did that stop him from agreeing to this madness? Nope.
His mind seemed determined to remind him exactly how he’d got into this mess. Memories flooded his brain, causing him to pause at the front door while his mind replayed the night from two weeks earlier, in vivid technicolour.
Brad lay spread-eagled across the bed. His wrists and ankles were tied to the bedposts as Martin walked around the bed, surveying his handiwork.
Brad tried not to squirm under Martin’s desire-laden azure gaze. The heat of his caress tingled over his naked body. Tiny shivers shot up his erection, making the cock ring tighten. Brad sucked his lips in between his teeth to stop himself from begging.
Fuck.
They’d hardly got started, and Martin already had him on edge, and the gleam in Martin’s eyes told him that whatever he had planned, it was going to last a long time.
He’d learnt to gauge when Martin wanted something extra, like tonight. So he’d lain down on the bed, allowing Martin to do as he wished with him.
There was an air of mischief about him tonight, almost as if he had a sign above his head flashing a warning that he was up to something. Brad’s thoughts were confirmed a second later when he watched Martin go to his toy drawer. His arse pulsed in anticipation. His cock leaked onto his stomach, totally on board with what Martin held up to show him.
Brad felt his heart rate increase when Martin made a show of switching it on to make sure it worked before walking to the bedside cabinet. It was only then that Brad spied the can of squirty cream.
Oh dear God, love us and save us!
Brad hadn’t realised he spoken out loud until Martin laughed.
“There is nothing godly about what I’m going to do to you. And I’m sure as hell no one is going to save us.”
Martin’s raspy chuckle slid over his skin, making his sac tighten and his balls ache. The urge to beg was back with a vengeance. Brad tried to relax his taut muscles when Martin mounted the bed, kneeling between his spread thighs.
“Now where to start?”
Brad knew it wasn’t a question he needed to answer. He kept quiet, waiting not so patiently for Martin to start tormenting him. He’d guessed straight off it was going to be torture time when Martin lubed up the dildo.
Brad shivered when the cold lube spread over his hot pucker. His hole clenched as if trying to suck the dildo in. Brad found his hips lifting when all Martin did was tease his rim.
“Tut, tut. We’ll have less of that. I’m in charge, baby.”
Martin’s sexy rasp had his backside move of its own accord. Brad’s body was unwilling to listen when it knew what it wanted.
Delirious pleasure coursed through him as Martin switched on the dildo, making it pulse at his hole. He held it at the rim, teasing him as the vibration skittered up his sac and into his cock. It bounced with joy, adding to the mess that was cooling on his stomach.
Martin tormented him for what felt like hours before he finally took pity on him and pushed it in deeper. Brad moaned. His body strained for more when Martin made sure it didn’t connect with his gland.
Brad wiggled, hoping to make it slip deeper.
“Stop that. Do you want me to spank you, baby?”
“Anything… please give me… more… I need it.” Brad panted, his body craving more. “Please… don’t tease me… I’ll do anything.”
Hot breath ghosted his lips as Martin leant forward, his pelvis grinding down on Brad’s cock. He mewled as his cock slid against Martin’s. Silky steel erections clashed together when Martin gyrated his hips, increasing the pleasure building inside Brad’s hole, but still it wasn’t enough.
“You’ll do anything for me?”
The question hardly registered, but Brad was past caring. He just wanted Martin inside him, now. He nodded when he found his mouth
too dry to speak. The flare of what looked like triumph didn’t penetrate. His befuddled mind couldn’t get to grips with why Martin would look triumphant when he wasn’t inside him, yet.
“Will you host a party for me, baby, on Christmas Eve? Hmm, will you do that small thing for me, here in our home?” The question didn’t register when Martin’s tongue slid over his lips. Brad groaned, wanting more. He lifted his head, trying to mesh his mouth to Martin’s. Martin pulled back at the last second, instead nipping at his jaw while his hips continued to do a slow grind against him, making the vibrating plug slip a little deeper.
Brad felt his eyes cross before rolling into the back of his head when the dildo hit his spark plug and lit up his backside.
“Will you do that small thing for me, baby?”
Brad whined. He nodded again, uncaring what he agreed to. All he wanted was for Martin to never stop.
“Brad. Brad, why are you standing staring at the front door? It won’t answer itself.” Martin’s voice, no longer sounding raspy or sexy, interrupted his thoughts.
Brad blinked his eyes back into focus. His face heated when he glanced down at his trousers and sighed. He avoided making eye contact with Martin, convinced his wayward thoughts were written all over his face, showing off his predicament. A predicament that seemed to have collided spectacularly with his zipper. He mentally slapped himself at the prospect of opening the front door with a raging boner and giving Martin’s guests an eye full.
Brad wanted to scream in frustration. Instead, he yanked at his hair, spinning on his heel away from the door. “No, it won’t answer itself, so you better do it.” He threw the angry retort over his shoulder, not daring to look at Martin fully when his brow wrinkled.
Brad stomped back to the kitchen to find his fight club. A fight club his friends had started, all because his cock hadn’t listened to sense. Sense that had flown right out the window when his brain failed to engage and had left his cock in charge.
On the twelfth day of Christmas what did my true love give to me?
Brad rubbed his face, his mouth forming into a grin. His dimples winked to life when he stepped into the kitchen thinking about exactly what the twelfth day of Christmas would give him, later when the party was over.
Now all they had to do was get there without another disaster, and that, it would seem, was easier said than done.
On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me:
The con and the artful dodger
Brad & Joe
13th December
“Shit, shit!” Brad dropped the several heavy shopping bags by the front door. The loud clinking had him eyeing them with disgust. He looked down at his poor abused palms, seeing deep indents. He grumbled, kicking at the bags of alcohol he’d bought.
Desperation had him consider the bags again, giving him an idea. He slammed the front door shut, bellowing up the stairs as he flew towards the kitchen. “Princess. Princess, where the hell are you?”
The loud meow that rumbled from upstairs had him stop mid-stride. Brad felt his grin slide past his internal misery, hearing the thud of paws on the stairs. The following lighter sound of a second set of paws a second later had a chuckle escape. He knew exactly where Princess had been hiding out.
He hid his smirk as he went to the fridge. It wouldn’t do to get caught, not when he was looking for sympathy.
Opening the fridge, he searched for the chilled white wine they had opened last night and grabbed the bottle. His humour died a nanosecond later with his returning reality. Brad uncorked and chugged straight from the wine bottle, uncaring how he looked.
He ignored the two cats sitting behind him in the doorway, feeling their judgement rolling towards him as he swallowed deeply. He took another swig, hoping it would settle his nerves or at least numb the layer of panic in his belly. Panic that had him wanting to run and hide in his office, and bury himself under a pile of work, never to be seen again.
Brad sat at the kitchen table, staring mournfully at the wine bottle.
How the hell did I get myself into this situation?
Brad glared into space, disregarding the twitch in his pants that told him exactly who and what had got him into this mess. He looked at the empty hall, knowing the culprit was probably quite happy at work, getting on with his day while he was wallowing in self-pity.
Brad slammed his fist on the table, making the bottle of wine he’d just put down wobble. He ignored it and got up. He stomped around the kitchen, willing the wine to take effect on his tattered nerves.
He cast a glance at the clock above the cooker.
Crap, crap, crap.
It was barely bloody noon. He eyed the bottle like a drowning man would a lifeboat.
This is an emergency.
He stomped back to the table and grabbed the bottle, guzzling back a big mouthful. Feeling his legs get a little shaky after the fourth swig, he remembered a little too late he’d not eaten breakfast. He plonked his backside on one of the oak chairs sitting around his large kitchen table, keeping hold of the bottle.
He looked about the kitchen, hoping it would take the edge of his dread. The watery sunshine pouring through the large patio doors caught the crystals hanging around his kitchen, casting shimmering rainbow patterns across the gleaming wood.
He huffed, blowing his curls out of his eyes, and admired the gleaming teak cabinets, bright red aga, and rainbow-coloured tiles. Bright, bold tiles now covered the two walls that housed the kitchen cabinets. Martin had arranged it as a surprise when they’d been on holiday. As he looked at them now, he couldn’t find the happy feeling they usually gave him.
Brad sank down in the chair, shoulders sagging, moaning in despair. His stomach churned queasily at the movement. His legs fared no better when he felt them go laden, under the effects of the wine.
“Why the hell are you staring at me?” Brad pointed an accusing finger at Princess and Max. “Hey, I know it’s early. But this is a crisis, and my nerves are in tatters over here.” The whiney sound of his voice had him spontaneously hunching into his jumper.
Brad snorted. When he didn’t get a response, he directed his miserable face towards Princess.
Princess’s speculative look had a silly grin slip over his mouth. His dimples winked to life against his will. The absurdity of the moment was not completely lost on him.
Brad eyed both cats when Max followed Princess as she moved splaying herself across the new, large velvet cat bed. Aaden had bought it, thinking Princess would share. Well, Brad had news for Aaden. There ain’t any sharing going on here, with anything, as far as he could see.
Her recent run-in with a gun and Joe’s ex had given them all a fright. A fright he could well have done without when he was on his first ever romantic holiday with Martin. The fact that Martin had insisted they finish their holiday and stay out of harm’s way until Aaden could fix things only added to his stress levels. Knowing Princess was injured and enduring all sorts of God knows what while he couldn’t get to her worried him more than he’d let on.
It hadn’t helped to find on their return that she was still at the vet’s. For some reason, she hadn’t recovered as fast as she should have. He’d panicked, making Martin take him straight to the vet before they’d even had chance to do more than throw their bags inside the house. His guilt had been overwhelming him by the time he’d got to the vet’s.
Yet the sight that had greeted him of Aaden’s large white Manx cat, Max, sitting outside her cage, had somehow allayed the guilt. He knew that Max’s presence reassured him in ways nothing else could have, and even with the complications, it hadn’t changed his mind.
Brad stared down at Max, watching him stretch his large, white gleaming body out beside Princess’s tiny black body. His bicoloured eyes never wavered from her.
Shifting on the wooden seat, Brad considered Max. He was unlike any other cat Brad had ever met. Usually he avoided talking about Princess’s differences, but he’d felt compelled to ask Martin if
he sensed how Max seemed the same as Princess. His suggestion that they ask Aaden about Max’s origins was immediately vetoed by Martin, telling him it was best to let sleeping dogs lie.
Martin had quite categorically stated “what they didn’t know couldn’t hurt them.” Brad wasn’t quite so sure about that, but he’d let it go at the time. Now he wondered if he should have when Max turned, locking eyes with him. He held him captive for a second before he slowly blinked, severing the connection.
Brad shivered when a sudden feeling skittered up his spine, making a question pop into his head. Where has Max been hiding out this past week?
There was something off about Max since his return on Monday Brad couldn’t put his finger on. It gave him an odd sense of disquiet, which was starting to tick him off.
As Max lowered his large head, Brad shook off his worrisome thoughts when he didn’t find any answers. His mind decided then to remind him of the other worries he had to be concerned about. One in particular, and why he’d felt the urge to get drunk at eleven fifty-five in the morning. Martin.
Brad buried his head in his hands.
He tried to think of a way out of his problem or a way to solve them. He yanked at his curls. Pain registered dully, even as his mind continued to come up blank. The days would start counting down, and that thought had his hands tighten on his hair.
Brad released his hair and got up. His shaky legs had him grappling for the table for a second as he righted himself. He wobbled across the tiled floor, the wine bottle clutched in his hand.
“You two are supposed to be helping me.” He slurred, his free hand waving in no particular direction. Brad squinted at the two-thirds empty bottle as he moved slowly down the hall, unsure how much had been left before he’d started.
He shrugged. What did it matter? He was doomed anyway.
