Day Ten of Advent

This isn't very old but I loved writing it so I'm reposting. Original characters.


Lighting Up My Life

Living out in the country meant no one but a wandering bear (not the sexy kind, but the real deal. Still hairy with a growl, but less likely to be in a leather bar) would see our Christmas lights, but I wanted them up anyway.

So I like a little twinkle with my season. It’s not a crime. And, yes, for a log cabin, the furnishings are less woodland rustic and more Parisian loft chic, but a space is a space and I could make a tent look ready for a photo-shoot in a décor mag.

Or if Kelly was lying on the sleeping bag naked, a few autumn leaves scattered across that gorgeous bod, berry juice drizzled across his nipples, cock as stiff as a tree trunk, an entirely different kind of publication.

Kelly’s the troll under the bridge to my goat. He’s big and gruff and I trip along happily, anyway, It was a goat in the story, right? My parents never read me stories – I know, sob, sob – and we lived too far from town to make the library an option. I missed out on huge chunks of stuff everyone else knows. If they didn’t make a movie of it, I’m lost. Kelly’s never without a book or three on the go and he reads to me when I ask, deep voice slow on the words, giving me time to put them into order in my head.

Love him. Love him so fucking much. Even if he took a box of battery operated diamond lights from me in the store last week and said we had enough, no more.

There’s always room for another book, but not my impulse buys. I’d pout over it if he didn’t have a teensy, tiny point. And he’s right; blowing a circuit and spending Christmas in the dark would suck.

It was snowing lightly this Christmas Eve, and we had one more string to put up. It was a special string, the one I save until last because Kelly got for me the day we met. I couldn’t get the box down from the shelf and no one would help me. Not out of meanness. Crater’s a nice country town in Southern Ontario. It’s big enough that we’re not the only gay guys or gals around, but people were super busy and I was ready to swarm up the fucking shelves and risk them tipping over if I could just get my hands on that box of candy red twinklers.

I started to climb, foot on the shelf, about to push off and up, when an arm snaked around my waist and hauled me back. I spun around, and trust me, a sassy pivot in snow boots isn’t easy to pull off, but I did it. Found myself looking at a plaid shirt and a wide chest. I tilted back and stared at into blue eyes and a frown.

“That’s dangerous.”

Stamping my foot was overkill but my toes twitched with the need to act out. My inner child’s a brat. “I want those lights. They’re worth the risk.”

He grinned, slow and hot, like soup simmering. “Ask nicely.”

I don’t bend that easily. “Point me at Mr. Nicely and I will.”

He hummed, the sound coming from deep in his chest. Be fun to feel it up close, let it tickle my ear. “Sassy mouth.”

I licked my lips. Bad idea in the winter, but I had lip balm in two pockets. Raspberry-lemon and choc-mint. I like a mixed message. “You have no idea how right you are.”

I expected it to scare him off or freak him out, but he tapped his finger on my lips as if he was testing them for something. Maybe just to see if I’d pooch them up automatically in a kiss, which I did. “Sassy’s good. Polite’s better.”

I widened my eyes, green contacts that day, nice and seasonal (red was too, but…yeah. No.) and addressed an empty piece of air. “Dear Santa, please send a sweet little elf to get me down that box of lights. I swear I’ve been good all year. And if I was naughty once or twice, well, it’s Christmas, so let me off with a warning.”

He snorted, amusement putting sparks in his eyes. “Don’t think it works that way, and I’m no elf, but if you want those lights that badly you’ll flirt with someone like me, I’ll reach them down.”

He handed them to me and nodded before walking away. Hell, yeah, I went after him. Someone like him? The hell? Whoever had done a number on his confidence I didn’t know (still don’t) but I was good at rebuilding a man’s ego. And the rest is history. Our history. So we live together in my granddaddy’s cabin and he rents snowmobiles to tourists in the winter and canoes in the summer and me, well, I do this, that, and the other to help out. We get by.

And now he was up on a stepladder with me holding on to keep the steps from spilling him into a drift.

Interesting view. My face was a few inches from an area I knew intimately. He reached up, grunting as he fought to hook the strand over the nails I’d hammered into wood in the shape of a star and his jacket rode up. Even better view now. Worn denim and a zipper over a shape I wanted defined, promising. In our bedroom, snuggled under a thick quilt, I could get his cock up and hard in a matter of seconds, but out here in the cold was more of a challenge.

Kelly’s shy behind the growl. Outdoor sex isn’t his thing, but it was close to dusk and the woods were silent. Okay, not totally silent. Woods never are. But there were no people noises, just the creak of snow-laden branches and the sigh of a breeze. We were invisible. Safe behind a curtain of falling flakes and darkness.

I breathed out. No way had he felt it through denim, but he jerked as if he had. “Stop that.”

“Too late for you to send my gifts back to the North Pole. Last time I checked, Santa was on his way.” I tugged his zipper down, the rasp of metal zinging over my nerves. I wasn’t hard, but I was turned on. Kind of weird, body and mind out of sync. It didn’t matter. I was doing this for him.

Well…maybe a little for me. Love getting my mouth filled and stretched by his cock. He’s always so fucking gentle until I push him to a rougher place. I hate myself afterward but never at the time.

“I’m busy. And on a ladder.”

I slipped off my gloves, then worked his cock through the gap, shivering reflexively. The only bare skin I was offering up to the air was on my hands and face and I planned to keep it that way. “You’re here and I’ll catch you if you fall.”

Physical impossibility, but he knew what I meant.

“I’m not doing this.” He sounded firm, but his cock was too. It uncurled, stiffening, straightening, and I grinned and listened to it, not him.

“You’ve got a job to do, mister. String those lights. Just ignore me.”

He muttered something under his breath I was intended to hear and I sniffed. For that, he was getting a BJ to leave his knees shaky and his heart pounding, helpless moans and whimpers pouring out with his spunk.

I’d teach him to liken me to a mosquito when he knows how much I hate those tiny bits of hell spawn.

Slow licks, hot puffs of breath… Like the organic version of wax and ice play, all natural and pure. The air around us, spangled with frozen snow, added light touches of cold with every flake settling on his cock. I held off from taking him deep, entranced by the way they held their shape for a split second, white on red, like the most lickable candy cane ever, then melted.

If they melted, his cock couldn’t be that cold, right?

I swirled the tip of my tongue here and there, darting licks, making it last. I got a hit of his taste, the warm aroma of his skin down there lost to me because the cold had shut down my nose. Shame. I adored breathing in his scent, earthy, trapped in the dense mass of dark hair clouding the shape of his balls.

He stopped moving. Were the lights in place? I didn’t look. Too busy concentrating. I’d dropped my gloves, slush had worked its way inside my boots and turned my socks to clammy heaviness and I didn’t care.

The act itself was familiar. I wasn’t doing anything I hadn’t done to him a hundred times before. My mouth on his cock. Sucking, tongue caressing hot stiffness, me trying to deep throat him and failing because the spirit’s willing and the gag reflex is really, really strong.

It was the setting making it magical. And, okay, Kelly on a ladder and me standing in a drift, head wedged against the metal rungs, was awkward as hell, but it didn’t matter. I could feel his silent laughter, the flex of his stomach as he kept that laughter from shattering the hush around us. Could tell when amusement faded and he surrendered, the string of lights hanging down, forgotten, as he reached to touch my cheek. Gentle fingers, soft as the whiteness and he came in a slow, sweet wave, spunk breaking over my tongue.

I pulled back, then nuzzled into the flesh I’d left wet and vulnerable, shielding it from the icy air. I was hard now, but it was a distant arousal, a comfortable ache I could wait for Kelly to soothe later.

Something in his front pocket, all straight lines and hard edges, dug into my cheek. I made a puzzled sound and he eased me off him and zipped up. With a grunt, he jumped off the ladder and came around it to hug me.

“You’re wicked.”

“If you’re waiting for an apology…”

“Nope. I like your brand of wicked.” He reached into his pocket and took out a jewelry box. “I like it this much.”

Sweet Saint Nick. A ring. It glittered from a cushion of pale satin, a circle of white gold set with tiny rubies. My lights in miniature.

“I should be on my knees for this.” He scratched his chin. “The hell. Why not?” He sank into the snow and looked up at me. “Marry me? Please? And if the answer’s ‘no’, wear the ring anyway because it’s as pretty as you.”

“I—” Speechless. My throat closed around the words I wanted to say to him, my beautiful giant, kneeling in front of me, every barrier down, letting me see into his heart. I’d never been loved before. Never known how it felt to be the needed one, the necessary one. He was offering me more than metal and stone, more than his name linked with mine.

He was giving me everything I’d ever wanted and I gave him a ‘yes’ he couldn’t have heard, it was so quiet.

I ended up on my back in the snow, the ring warm on my finger as he kissed me. Maybe he’d got really good hearing, because he grinned before his mouth met mine. When the kiss ended, I stared past his head and up, dizzy at the sight of the flakes spinning around, a wild cloud of them.

Best Christmas ever. Or it would be.

“Get off me. You need to finish the lights.” I fluttered snow-wet eyelashes when he frowned. Maybe a few tears in the mix, but I’d never tell. “Please?”

“This time, you hold the ladder, not my dick.”

I didn’t promise, so I wasn’t technically being naughty when my hand slipped and slid sideways. I was holding him steady, I swear.

Holding him close, always.