A Good Thing

A Good Thing

By Julia Talbot

Once upon a time I was a real Christmas fan. Oh, yeah. I decorated. I waited patiently for Santa. I believed. It wasn't just childish faith. It was adult zeal. Wreaths, strings of twinkly lights, a fresh cut tree every year. I would bellow Christmas carols like a bridge troll, all deep voice and enthusiasm, if not skill. That was all before Christmas Eve, Two Thousand and Four. Or what I like to call Black Christmas. It's going to sound impossible, like one of those "Urban Myth or True Tale?" TV shows. I swear it’s the truth, though. I was waiting for my friend and pretty regular fuck-buddy Anthony to show A Torquere Press Single Shot - 1

up. Mulling cider, making those break and bake cookies, I was watching White Christmas. It was like, midnight, it was snowing, and it looked like paradise outside, all glowing lights on pristine white. Ha. That should have told me something. About the time I pulled the cookies out of the oven, I heard the screech of brakes and the crash tinkle of a car hitting something. Hard. Sounded like it came from the tight-assed curve that ran out in front of my property. I had one of those little four acre lots on the creek, with the little stone fence that bordered the road… Dropping the cookies on the stovetop, I grabbed my jacket and my phone, heading out to see if someone needed help. The car was lodged in my rock wall, halfway through it, in fact, front wheels still spinning. Bile rose in my throat when I realized the car was a familiar red Mazda, the sporty, low-slung front all crushed up. Anthony. I pelted through the snow, slipping and sliding, dialing 911 as I went. Jesus, I thought, oh Jesus, just let him be all right. Anthony wasn't all right. He had a concussion, a cracked collarbone, and two broken legs. "Fucking hate snow, Dan," he said when the ambulance pulled away. "Fucking hate Christmas." So much for my nice Christmas Eve fuck, huh? I was going to the house to close up and grab my keys, meaning to follow Anthony to the hospital. Stomping the mud and snow off my boots (my yard was not so pristine, now, with boot tracks all over) I stopped, sniffing the air. Shit. Something was burning. I ran into the kitchen just in time to see flames shoot out of the oven, the cook top already burning merrily away. The potholder I'd used to pull the cookies out looked like a cinder, and the counter next to the stove caught even as I reached for the little fire extinguisher I kept by the sink. Yeah. I lost a third of my house. The kitchen, dining room, laundry room and mudroom all went up in smoke, and all of the breakers went when the toaster exploded, burning up my TV, my computer and all of my damned Christmas lights. I didn't make it to the hospital to see Anthony for two days, where he was laid up, all up in traction because of his broken femur.

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He never spoke to me again. Even moved out of town, from what I heard. I wouldn't know firsthand. All I knew was that he'd sent me back everything I ever gave him, including the big dildo we'd used for fun sometimes. In pieces. So, I think it's no wonder that when I passed the guy wearing Birks and a Santa hat along with his board shorts and sweatshirt, I snarled a little at his cheery, "Merry Christmas." Even three years later. "Whoa, dude," the guy said. "What's with the 'Bah Humbug'?" It was bad enough that I had to look at the twinkling lights and smell mulling cider just to get to my office to pack up my laptop. Hell, it was worse that the downtown association was having a Christmas Eve walk and all the stores were still open. People milled about looking red-cheeked and happy, like giant elves, and everyone was glad-handing and ho-hoing. But to have some random guy grab my arm and try to shake some Christmas spirit into me was just too much. I turned on him, growling. "Fucking hate Christmas. I'm not here to buy anything you're selling. Leave me the fuck alone." Blue eyes went wide, the smile turning to shock. "Fuck, dude! I was just trying to be nice." "Nice people don't grab strangers on the street." Warming to my rant, I advanced on him, hands clenched into fists. "Nice people don't accost hard-working folks and force them to be friendly when all they want is a beer and a pizza and a quiet night at home away from all the fucking Christmas loonies." "I am not a loony!" The guy stepped right into my space, bumping chests. "Fuck you." Oh, now. That was much better. I grinned, backing down just enough to put an inch between us. There was much satisfaction to be found in making someone else blow a fuse. "That's the spirit." "Jeez. You try to be nice…" I looked him over. Snowboarder. No doubt about it. He had the sun-bleached hair hanging out from under the hat, the winter tan, and the bounciness. "What, did you pull community service or something?" "No! Man, you got a suspicious mind. I'm selling hot chocolate for the retired veterans. My dad's one. You want some?" God. Maybe the guy was younger than I thought. I sighed, shaking my head. "Nope. I want a beer, like I said. Have a good one."

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I started off toward my office, but he fell in beside me, swinging his little thermos. "How about the Rockslide? I'm almost out of hot chocolate. I could have a beer myself. Maybe some onion and jalapeno toothpicks." "Huh," I grunted. What else could I say? He had the same idea I did, and if he could say fuck you

on Christmas Eve when everyone was all happy, happy? I could sit with him.

We got in, got us a booth in the bar, and ordered. "Hey, Sandy," the guy said. "Get me my mug?"

"Sure, Chris. You too, Dan?"

"Uh-huh. Dude. You have your own mug? How come I never see you? You gotta be a regular."

You could buy a big pewter or glass mug at the Rockslide, and they put it on the wall with your

name on it, just for you to use when you came in.

"I bet you come in on weekends," Chris said, those blue eyes glinting happily. "I board on

weekends. I come in on Tuesday and Thursday."

"Ah." Yeah. I came in on Wednesdays and Saturdays. Things were looking up, though. Santa boy

and I had more in common all the time.

"Look, could you take the hat off? It's…"

"Oh, sure!" Chris took the hat off, stuffing it down in the seat. "Part of the gig. 'Course now I have

hat head."

"Nah. Now, if you'd had a gimme cap on, that would be different."

"That's like, cowboy talk, man. I thought you were a suit."

"I work for the BLM." A suit. Well, I was wearing nice pants and a tie today, thanks to a meeting

with the big wigs. Usually I'm a jeans and t-shirt kind of guy. Boots. Yadda ya. They went with my

short brown hair, wide-shouldered bod and tiny butt. Or so I'd been told.

"Oh, cool. What do you do?"

I wasn't sure if I wanted to talk about work, but I explained how I did some days in the field,

working on everything from mosquitoes to water quality. Then I worked on reports. "I guess you

could call me quality control."

"Dude, that's cool."

"You?" Ah. Beer. It arrived and I sipped.

"Oh, I work in a bike shop. Board on weekends, like I said."

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"You any good?" I'd known some Olympic quality boarders, and they were all kind of fuck-ups in real life. "Okay, I guess. I've won some small-time stuff." "Go you." We ordered, and I got a calzone, extra pepperoni. The kid got some kind of salad. Salad. Lord. I thought he was a vegetarian until I realized the salad came with fried chicken. The onions and jalapenos came not long after, and we dug in. "So what are you doing after supper?" he finally asked around a mouthful of chipotle ranch. "Going home. It's Christmas Eve. I intend to lay fucking low. I swear, this night has it out for me." "No way! Man, no one should spend Christmas Eve alone. It's sad." He kept staring at me with this poor puppy expression much longer and I was gonna put his lights out. "The last time I tried to spend Christmas Eve with someone, it was a disaster," I told him. Come on, kid. Drop it. "What are you doing tonight?" "Oh, I was gonna hang out with some buddies. My folks are all in Idaho, and they kinda don't approve of me." "Yeah? Bummer." I knew that one. Some folks didn't like having gay relations, that was for sure. "Because you 'board?" "Nah. Because I'm queer as a three-dollar bill." Huh. Well. Maybe there was some Christmas spirit left in the world. Santa had just dropped a blond, blue-eyed present in my lap. "These friends of yours. Would they miss you if you hung out with someone else?" That was as blatant as I was willing to be. Far be it from me to push fate too much, get my house burned down again or something. "I could call and see." Man, his eyes lit up brighter than the Christmas lights outside. "I bet you they'd understand not wanting to let someone go home alone on a holiday." "There you go." We didn't talk on it much after that. Chris flipped out a tiny cell phone and called his buddies, and even I could hear some good-natured ribbing on the other end of the line. Our food came, and I tucked into it, knowing I'd need my strength, though after a 'Slide calzone I would probably need a nap more. Chris chattered on about snow and how Utah and Idaho had better storms than Colorado, and about the virtues of Powderhorn versus Vail or Telluride, and I sat back and listened. It was cute. It was also kinda comforting. It had been three years since I let myself and bullshit, even if someone else was doing most of the bull.

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Once we were full of beer and food and I had relaxed about a gazillion times more than before, I jerked my head toward the door. "So, you want to come with me to get my laptop and shit? Then I'll be ready." "Sure, man. I'm all about the going and doing. Hell, I come with my own hot chocolate stash." "This is true." I almost smiled. Almost. I still wasn't sure I wanted to tempt the gods of smiting or

whatever.

"So..." The kid popped a twenty and a five on the table, stood with an expectant look on his face

and plopped that fucking hat back on.

Sighing, I tossed a few more bucks down, waving at Sandy to come get our mugs to put away. "So.

Come on."

The hat was doing a lot to send my hard-on to anti-Christmas land.

"Look, man. You don't have to do this, huh?" Those fucking blue eyes were all earnest and shit. It

was fucking cute.

And irritating.

Asshole.

"I want to." How could I explain that I was pretty damned eager, just afraid of the chance that there

was a lightning bolt waiting to strike?

"Well, then. I'm right behind you." I got a wink, a grin and a wave of that thermos.

Turning on my heel, I headed for my office, climbing up the stairs in between the bookstore and the

weird little gift shop. I didn't say a word when we got inside, just turned and pressed Chris against

the door, begging a kiss.

Might as well test the chemistry first.

Chris' lips crashed down on mine like a freight train, tongue pushing right in with a confidence I

hadn't fucking expected. Damn. Oh, damn, this could be very good, or very bad. I kissed him back,

hands sliding up to cup Chris' cheeks. I wanted all of a sudden.

Looked like the chemistry was right there for us.

Hot hands landed on my ass, dragging me in close, rubbing me against that hard, long cock.

I grunted, nuzzling his neck. "I don't have anything here. In the office, I mean."

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"We'll just take the edge off. Real quick. Then we'll go to your place." Chris tugged the hat off

again, making it easier to concentrate on the good shit.

"Okay. I can do that." Oh, better without the hat. I could touch his blond hair, slip my fingers along

the back of his head. I was always a tactile bastard. Anthony had been kinda snotty about it.

Chris, though? He moaned and leaned back into it, eyes going all heavy-lidded and sultry and shit. That was way better, to my way of thinking. Hell, maybe this was my chance to get a little of my own back. Maybe I'd come full circle. That was getting way ahead of what was really going on,

though, so I just sank into the kiss and started rubbing Chris' cock through his shorts.

Long and thin, hard as Chinese algebra, that cock just throbbed, saying hello and howdy to my

palm.

"Sweet." I liked a nice hard cock. It had been too damned long since I held one that wasn't my own,

too, so I unzipped him, pulling that prick out so I could rub up and down. Soft, soft skin, hot as fire,

but not as dangerous, I hoped.

"Yeah. Yours, too." It didn't take long from him to tug my cock out, weigh it and tug it with intent.

"Christ." Laughing as I heard a Christmas carol start up downstairs, I humped his hand, loving how

he had these great calluses. They added an extra bit of friction.

His tongue traced my lips, just slow and seductive, a complete contrast to the way our hands were moving, flying over our cocks. I could do seductive. I could. So I licked along his lower lip, kissing my way down his throat. My hand wasn't gonna slow down, though.

"Damn. That." He swallowed, shook a little, and damn, that made my balls ache.

"Uh-huh. That. Right there." I moved closer, rubbing our cocks together, listening to the sound he

made.

"Yeah." One of his legs slid in between mine, nudging my balls good and hard.

Felt like heaven. It really did. I rubbed and rubbed, trying hard to get more of him, more of his heat

and more of his hot mouth.

He just gave it up for me, too - moaning and pushing, teeth bruising my bottom lip. Chris was

hungry as all hell, and I was starting to get desperate.

"Come on, man. Come on. That edge is getting sharp." I needed to come in the worst way. Really.

Like soon.

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"Like ice." He grunted and arched some, so I squeezed and boom. Orgasm.

When I came it was like a bomb went off, and I could swear I heard Christmas lights exploding

somewhere. That was probably just me being paranoid, though. I had issues, I admit.

"Uhn. Better, man." His forehead rested against my cheek, just a little sweaty.

Nodding, I licked a little salt from his throat, the taste threatening to send me ratcheting up again.

"Papers. Laptop. Home. I have some good beer. Or a bottle of mead from the place in Palisade."

I even had cider, which had seemed like taking a huge chance when I bought it, but I liked my hot

buttered rum.

"Works for me. Dry your hands first. Don't want your papers sticky." Little shit.

"We can wash up a little. It's not exactly and executive bathroom, but it'll do." All of the old

buildings downtown had been apartments at one time upstairs, and had rickety little bathrooms. I'd done mine up in new tile and shit, at least. I dragged Chris on in, got us washed up and tucked away. "Hey, it's not bad at all. You should see the set up my friend Beau has. It makes this look like the Taj."

"Yeah?" I wasn't sure I wanted to hear about his friend Beau, which was probably pretty shitty of

me. "Come on, man. I'm ready to get home."

Before anything bad happened, I figured.

"Sure." The kid snagged his hat and his thermos, slipping earphones in his ears before heading for

the door, holding it open for me.

Lord, I was getting old. That was all I could think while I followed that sweet ass down the stairs

and out into the cold Christmas Eve. Good thing I wasn't too old for a second orgasm in one night, though. Shit, I might even manage three. ***

My place wasn't as filthy as I was afraid it would be. In fact, despite the lack of Christmas stuff

hanging around, it looked pretty cheerful. When I rebuilt I put in a sparkly new kitchen and

hardwood floors in the front room, and I had some good looking leather couches.

"It's not much," I told Chris, "but it will do."

"It's sweet, man. Real nice." The Santa hat got hung up on my coat rack, the thermos went into the

kitchen.

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"You think? I try." Okay, so I'm kind of a neatnick. A neatnick without a toaster. "You want some

of that hot chocolate? Or maybe a hot buttered rum?"

"Rum works for me, sure." Gloves went into pockets, the coat slid off, showing that tight-tight little

belly under the thin sweatshirt.

"Cool. Come on to the kitchen." There were three fire extinguishers and I hoped he didn't ask. I put the pan of apple cider on the stove, pottering around to find butter and cinnamon sticks, grabbing my bottle of spiced rum. Chris wandered, going from door to window, humming "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" under his breath.

I tried not to roll my eyes. I was having a pretty merry one so far, if a little awkward. "I got a fire

laid if you want to start it up. Just make sure to close the fire screen once it's going."

"You got flue issues?"

"Huh? Oh, no. I just have serious fire safety issues." I grinned a little, trying to pass it off, but it

still gave me the cold sweats.

"Ah. You're the Christmas Eve Fire dude. Got it."

Well, at least I didn't have to explain. The Junction was still small enough for word to get around,

and it had. "I am. I have a few issues." Still, him knowing had me grinning, the relief kinda

stunning. "C'mere."

Chris grinned right back, pushing into my arms with a hum, hands wrapping right around my waist.

"You rang?"

"I did. The cider has to boil. We have a little time to mess around, huh?" Yeah. I was getting back

into the swing of the whole touching thing, grabbing his ass to pull him up.

"Messing around is a particular talent of mine." Yeah. Yeah, I guessed so, with the way his fingers

drew things in the small of my back, nails scratching, just a little bit.

"Well, that's good. I'm a little rusty." Cupping his ass firmly, I hauled him up, setting him on the kitchen counter. The granite must have been cold, because he yelped. His legs wrapped around my legs, though, ankles crossing behind my ass.

"That's a nice appetizer, huh?" I usually wasn't so damned chatty during an encounter of the hot

kind, but man, it had been awhile.

"Mmm. Hell, yeah. Kiss me, man. You've got a great mouth."

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"Okay." Who was I to argue? Anthony had always said I kissed too much. I kissed Chris with everything I had in me, determined to enjoy someone who liked it. Man, Chris pushed right up against me, tongue pushing into my mouth and sliding against my teeth. Hell, yes. There was something to be said for a guy that liked to kiss. I held him still and licked his lips, sucking the lower one into my mouth. All the while, my hips went crazy, humping up, trying to get to him. It wasn't easy; I wasn't quite tall enough, but we managed it. His heels rubbed my ass, keeping me so close that I couldn't move too much, couldn't thrust the way I wanted to. It didn't matter a bit. Everything felt so damned good that I didn't want to move. I just wanted to feel him against me. His hands moved, up and down, dragging on my spine, tugging on my shirt. Demanding. I liked it. Leaning back as much as I could, I yanked off my shirt, giving him skin. Not just him. I needed to feel it. Bad. "Oh. Pretty, dude. Rockin'." He leaned forward, got his lips on my collarbone, my shoulder, teeth damn near stinging. "Christ!" There was something about him, something completely unexpected and hot and I needed more. I grabbed his shirt next, tugging it up and off. I leaned back to look, just to see what I was touching. Oh, ink. Lots and lots of ink - dragons and fish and birds and flowers and flames in all of these wild colors, all looking like they were moving and covering his chest and upper arms. "Oh, damn. Look at you." Good thing I liked ink. I'd always wanted some, but it just seemed un cowboy like. Or something. Possibly painful. "You like?" Chris stretched up, shifting, making the ink move. "I like a lot. A lot." I touched every bit that I could reach, tracing black lines and colored scenes. The designs were amazing. Someone did really good work. He arched for me, skin goosepimpling up, tickling and teasing my fingertips. "You like it, too, huh? Show off," I teased, thumbs rubbing over his nipples. "Show off? Because I get off on being touched?" "Uh-huh. It makes me hot. Really." I figured he could tell how hot I was, the way I was filling out my pants again.

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"Good." Chris got hold of my nipples, tweaking good and hard, before heading south. Uhn. I was worried I was gonna go off the minute he touched my cock, but I didn't. At least not while he was still feeling me up through fabric. He kept feeling my balls, teasing my cock through my pants. Trying to make me crazy. It was working. Goddamn.

"Come on, honey," I finally said, panting against his neck. "All the way naked."

"Uh-huh. You too. Both of us. Turn off the rum. The juice. The stuff."

"Shit." Yeah. I turned off the cider before it bubbled over, which gave me room to strip off my

pants and start working on his. I wanted to see if he had ink everywhere.

It wasn't everywhere - but it was damn close. From his shoulders down the outside of his thighs, it just made his body come alive. "Fuck, you're like a Christmas present all on your own, man," I said, sinking to my knees in front of him to lick at his hip. "Mmm. You've unwrapped me, now I'm all yours to play with." Fuck, he smelled good. Deep and earthy, musky. He made me want to eat him up. "Play..." It had been too fucking long since sex was play, not work. I licked at Chris' thigh, jonesing on the taste of salt, at the hint of winter air.

"Mmhmm. Your own personal snowboarding fully-functional, anatomically correct horny guy."

That just cracked me up, and I leaned against his thigh, laughing like a loon. Good lord. Definitely

play.

Chris' hands brushed through my short hair. "Fuck, you're hot when you laugh."

"You're hot all over." My hands started moving, up and down the backs of his legs, my fingers

catching on the short, curly hairs on his thighs.

His legs spread, letting me have a look at those heavy balls, the tight little hole, the wrinkled bit of

skin between. My hands had to go right there, cupping Chris' balls, my fingertips sliding over the

wrinkled skin, the fuzzy hair. Oh, fuck.

"Uhn. Damn. Again."

"Right there?" One hand stayed on his balls. I let the other slide around to his ass, barely touching

his hole.

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"Uh. Uh-huh. Right fucking there." Man, his hole twitched, jerked at my touch.

Someone was wanting. Ready, and I was more than willing. I pushed at him again, letting my

finger slide a little way in, not willing to hurt.

Fucking soft.

Hot.

Chris slid a little closer, let me in a little deeper.

Carefully, I worked my finger in, squeezing his balls a bit, just to let him feel it. See what he would

do.

A man could live a thousand fucking years on that sound. Honest to God. Chris pushed right up to

me, muscles clenching.

"We need to move this where I have lube, honey." I hated to ruin the mood, but I sure didn't want

to continue on with this if it could get that much better being horizontal and having slick.

"Yeah. Yeah, somewhere soft and big enough to play on." He slid down and rubbed against me the

whole fucking way.

"Come on, then." I made sure nothing was left on and that the fire out in the front room was

covered before dragging him off to my bedroom. Hopefully he'd approve of the big lodge bed.

He did, pouncing right in the middle of it, spread like cheap margarine. Chris looked like the

Christmas feast on some TV special, all ready to eat up.

Hello nurse! Grinning, I hopped up with him, letting his sense of fun buoy me, make me happy.

How could I resist? I even blew a raspberry on his belly.

Fuck, that was a great laugh. Chris curled around my head, fingers reaching for my ribs, just

tickling the living shit out of me.

"No! No tickling!" Oh, Christ, if I wet myself, it might kill the mood for sure. I was so ticklish it

almost hurt, so I retaliated, tickling him everywhere I could reach.

We ended up sharing kisses, laughing into each other's mouths. The touches stopped being so tickly

and started being more about the feeling.

His ribs were just a bit bumpy, but his arms and chest were roped with muscle, and his ink

fascinated my fingers. I wanted to lick every inch, so I started with his shoulder.

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There was a goldfish, there, with a wildly colored tail that faded into a weird-assed mum. I flicked my tongue against the tail, laughing when Chris squirmed. I was quickly becoming addicted to that skin. "More." That nipple went tight, just calling for my tongue. Goddamn.

"Uh-huh. Everything." I bit down, then sucked to try and ease the sting a little. Then I bit again.

"Fuck. Fuck, yeah." Oh, damn. He was a firecracker and I was getting all lit up.

Licking my way over to the other nipple I found a dragon surrounded by waves, a pearl in one

clenched claw. Tracing the lines of it gave me extreme joy.

"Goddamn. You've got the best mouth. I could just... Yeah..." He arched a little, giving me more,

letting me know it was good. That I was remembering how to play just fine.

"Thanks," I said, and I meant it. No one liked to be told they sucked at sucking. Moving down his

flat belly, I caught the very edge of his abs, tracing each ridge.

There was a bird here, wings outspread, a rainbow under one wing, a rainstorm under the other.

"So hot..." I loved the ink. Really loved it. I had no idea I had a jones for it, really. Maybe it was

just Chris' ink. He was amazing.

"Glad you like it. Never been so fucking glad someone liked it."

"Good." Bypassing his cock, I worked down over one sharp hipbone and licked along the little

crease where thigh met torso. The heat and salt there just blew me away.

Chris' balls drew up and I had to decide - look at the ink on those thighs or taste that wrinkled skin.

Decisions, decisions. I went for his balls, wanting to taste, to feel. I pushed them with the flat of my

tongue, moving them back and forth.

Damn, Chris was a flexible son of a bitch. He grabbed his knees and tugged, pulling them up and

out, spreading for me. Those legs just bent back, almost at right angles.

"Mmmm." Had to let him know I liked what he was doing, but I wasn't sure I could be coherent. So

I hummed and licked and nuzzled in, breathing deep.

"Oh. Oh, sweet fuck." He started babbling, cussing and groaning and telling me how good it was.

"Chris." The word vibrated against his balls, and I could feel his answering groan.

"Uh. Uh-huh. Dan. I. So fucking good, man." Those balls drew up, wrinkled and moved against my

lips.

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I loved hearing him say my name. "More?" I asked, turning to nip at the inside of his thigh.

"All you got, Dan. Everything."

"I can do that." Pushing him back even more, I worked under his balls, tongue slipping along that

tiny strip of skin behind.

Chris started rocking, shifting and sliding and moving against my tongue.

He was so hot that I could barely believe it, could hardly stand it. I did, though, because I wanted

more. Pressing hard to that little piece of skin, I rubbed my tongue against it.

Fuck, he smelled like sex.

I pushed harder, licking, rubbing that strip of skin.

When he was moaning and gasping and humping against me, I pushed up, kissing his belly, my

hips pressing his thighs open. "Want in you."

"Yeah. Yeah, fuck me, man. Let me feel you." Eager, horny, pretty and smiling at me - perfect.

"You sure?" I wasn't gonna do anything he didn't want to. Hell, I wasn't sure I had all the stuff. I

hadn't at the office, but hope did spring eternal at home.

He wiggled for me, nodded. "Positive."

"Let me just..." The night stand seemed awfully far away, but I made the reach, and there was a

stash I thought was probably still good. Score.

Chris leaned up as I reached, lips on my ribs, tongue dragging on my skin, hot and wet and slick.

"Uhn." Man, that was working for me. I opened the condoms, handing him the lube. "Or should I

do it the other way?"

"Mmm. I'll slick you, you slick me. That way we're both having fun."

"Sounds good." I liked fun a lot more somehow, all of a sudden.

He took the condom from me, had me squirt a little bit of lube onto his fingers. Then I got my

fingers wet, pushing up against him with my cock while I reached down to rub his hole. So tight

and hot. So damned good.

We managed to find a rhythm, even just getting each other ready and my cock was so hard it ache

by the time he got the rubber in place. My fingers were sliding in and out of his ass, slicking him.

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He was so snug, his muscles pulling at me, and I grunted, pushing him a little wider. "I'm ready, honey," I said. "More than." "Come on in, then. I'm right here." "Thank God." I set my cock to his opening, trying to keep my hands from shaking. Trying hard to be smooth enough to get the job done. He helped, though, arching up, impaling himself on my prick like it was what he was made for. Fuck. The last time something had felt so good I was still in my twenties. Maybe my teens. Goddamn. I pushed hard with my hips, sinking as deep as I could. "Dan! Fuck!" Chris' shoulders left the mattress and he reached for me, hands squeezing the hell out of my upper arms. The tiny pain was delicious. "Again." "Like this?" I rocked up into him, filling him full, even the condom not stopping me from feeling his heat. We were on fucking fire. "Fuck, yeah. Just like that." He nodded, grinned at me, all wild and needy. "I can do that." Over and over and over. My hips snapped, my cock pushing inside him until I thought I would scream. When I remembered that I could move my hands, I stroked his chest, his belly, finally reaching for his cock. Those blue eyes popped open, staring right into me. Goddamn. "Hot. Hard. You feel good, man." Maybe it sounded corny, but I liked the talking, knowing he was listening. I got a nod, Chris' throat working. "Hard." "Uh-huh." Taking a deep breath, I started working it, slamming into him. He was ready now, loosening up to let me in and out. The fucking bed sang for us, the springs bouncing and creaking up a storm. We rocked together, making the best noises I'd heard in ages. Better than Christmas music or bells or some shit. No, this was pure, primal male sex. I could feel Chris' orgasm. I could feel it in the shuddering muscles around my cock, in the way Chris fucking grabbed me. So fucking close. I stroked his cock, my own prick sliding in and out of fucking heaven. I was on the razor's edge myself. All I needed was for him to come. He made this sound before he shot, loud and rough and raw, then come sprayed over my fingers, Chris' ass tight around my prick.

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That was all I could take. I lost it, slamming into him one last time before I came, feeling everything in me just shoot right out. Fucking A. Fucking perfect.

I slumped against him, panting, our sweat making our skin sticky. I licked at the fish on his

shoulder, smiling against his skin.

"Fuck. That was. I mean. Damn." Incoherence was a damn good look on him.

"Good is an understatement, honey." Feeling a little dazed myself, I kissed Chris again, just

because I could.

He hummed into my mouth, licking my lips. "Merry Christmas, man."

"You know it. The merriest I've had in a long damned, time. Can you stay a bit?" We still had hot

buttered rum to make. Snacks and shit.

"You've got me." He draped one arm around my shoulders, winked, looking like the cat who got

the cream. "Yours to play with."

"Playing is suddenly something I want to try all over again." Laughing, I kissed him one more time,

just sort of wrapping around him.

Without that silly Santa hat, he was damned easy to be around.

***

We had cider and some cheese and crackers and we sat in front of the fire. Chris never said dick

about my lack of Christmas, and I never said anything about him not saying anything. Hell, he

didn't even call me a psycho for making sure the fire was completely out before we went to bed.

Maybe he had issues about the Easter bunny that we'd explore at some later date. Maybe fireworks

made him bark at the moon.

I slept like a fucking baby, knowing I'd wake up on Christmas morning with the best gift I'd had in

years.

Someone there. Warm, willing, and ready to make my day.

When I woke up, Chris was curled up against me, clinging like a limpet. His inked body looked

surprisingly good against my dark sheets. It was kinda crazy, especially considering how we'd met,

and considering how much younger than me he was, but I liked Chris a lot.

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Maybe it was all rampaging hormones or something, because I'd gotten laid like I hadn’t in a long, long, time, but I thought it was more than that. Maybe I'd come all the way around and gotten a Christmas bonus. Rolling out of bed, I went to the kitchen to make coffee, looking out the window to see a light crust of snow on the ground. The way the sun was shining I knew it would be gone by noon, but we could have waffles or something, right there by the sliding glass doors, watch the sun on the snow and be all Christmassy. I wondered if I had time to go collect some greenery. Shit, I didn't even know if Chris liked waffles. I'd bet he did, though. Sensual little fuck. He'd want syrup and butter and it would stain his lips… Okay, so I was getting a stiffy just thinking about it. His mouth was inspiring. Humming, I went and grabbed the coffee, setting up the pot before hunting around the kitchen for the Bisquik. There. Pancake mix, heavy cream, eggs. Whisk. Waffles. I had just set the damned waffle iron up when the doorbell rang. It says a lot about my state of mind that I didn't bother to turn it off and unplug it before I went to see who the hell was on my doorstep at nine a.m. on Christmas morning. Maybe it was one of the neighbors or something, because my family sure as shit wasn't gonna show. I knew better than to even hope for that, and really, I didn't. Dear old mom and dad kinda sucked in the understanding department anyway, and I had a naked guy in my bed. When I opened the door, though, it was more of a shock than it would have been if mom, dad, Santa Claus and all his reindeer had shown up. With a brass band and the Rockettes. Dark brown hair, green eyes, and a winning grin competed with a trim, size-queen body and a dapper wool coat. Anthony. "Hey, Danny. Merry Christmas," he said, holding out a brightly-colored gift bag. I blinked, just to make sure it wasn't a sun-blind mirage or something that was making me see an ex-fuck buddy I hadn't spoken to in three years. It wasn't. "Tony. What the hell are you doing here?" "Let me in and I'll tell you," he said, his smile dimming just a bit on the wattage. He hated to be uncertain, always liked to be in control. "Uh, well, now isn’t exactly the best time." Not at all. Maybe not ever.

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"Oh, come on. I know we didn't part on the best of terms, but my counselor says I really need

closure on this. I've been thinking about you a lot. Let me in."

"Couldn't we meet for supper tomorrow or something? I kind of have plans…" Kind of had plans to

tear Chris up and spend the day playing.

Anthony frowned and moved in on me, pushing by me before I could even blink. He shook the snow off his boots and thrust his gift into my hands before taking his coat off and hanging it on the rack by the door. "Oh, nice. I like what you've done with the foyer, honey. It's much more modern than what you had

before."

Christ. How had I spent so much time with a guy who said "foh-yay"?

"Thanks. Look, Tony."

"Is something burning?" he asked, sniffing the air, and I yelped and high-tailed it for the kitchen,

remembering the waffle iron.

Thank God there was nothing in it or on it. It was just overheated a little. I turned it off and

unplugged, turning just in time to see Anthony pouring himself a cup of coffee.

"You know, you'd think if your house was mostly destroyed, you could have gotten matching

coffee cups, honey."

"Matching… Jesus, Tony. You know I like weird coffee mugs." Shit, I could remember his shoe size, his underwear preference and how he liked his martinis. You'd think he could remember that I had a yen for mugs that said shit like 'Cowboys Are My Weakness'. "Well, yes, but one would think you'd develop better taste over time. Open your present." Stupidly, unable to think of anything else to do, I did. I dug through the tissue paper and pulled out

a fancy ass manicure kit, a bottle of top of the line lube, and a…

Holy giant dick, Batman. A dildo. I guess to replace the one he'd sent back to me three years ago,

all shredded. I stared at it, mouth open, probably looking like a damned fish.

"I pretty much thought of everything, huh?" Tony asked with the smile firmly back in place. "Want

to see my scars?"

"Tony. What makes you think I'm not involved? I mean, I would swear you left town…"

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"I did. My sister works at the bank across the street from your office, you know." He moved closer, one hand landing on my hip, the other still holding his steaming coffee. "She talks to Lorena all the time. You know, the teller you deal with for all of your deposits." Right. He chatted with Lorena a lot, as she was a sympathetic ear. Too bad she also had a big mouth.

"So what, you were in town and you thought you'd stop in for a little nookie? Just to clear the

record?"

"No! I mean, I planned this a while back. I broke up with a guy a few months, back, thought I'd see

if you wanted to hook up. I missed you."

Oh, bullshit, he missed me. I'd spent weeks, maybe months feeling like shit for something that was

really not my fault. He was the one who'd crashed his fucking car, and the rest had gone to shit

from there. Somehow I'd managed to make it all me, though, so I'd felt like I'd deserved it when

he'd left town rather than be the Christmas accident guy like I was the Christmas fire dude…

If he'd shown up a day earlier, I might have taken him back with open arms, too. How fucking

weird was that?

"Look, Tony, I appreciate the thought and all, but I really think this is a bad idea."

He pouted and went up on his tiptoes to try and kiss me, which took me so aback that I let him.

Naturally that's when I heard the clearing of a throat from the doorway.

Chris. Oh, sweet Jesus.

Tony sprang back, his coffee cup tilting, spilling hot liquid right down the front of my bare legs. A

few inches higher and he would have hit something vital, but at least it had gone down the minute I

saw Anthony standing at the door.

Cursing, I mopped coffee and Anthony fluttered, and Chris came to my rescue, mopping me up with some cold, wet paper towels. "Sorry," Chris said, carefully not meeting my eyes. "I didn’t mean to interrupt."

He'd grabbed my robe off the back of my bathroom door, and it looked cute as hell on him, all but

dragging the floor. I took a moment to admire the look before grabbing his arm.

"You weren't interrupting. Tony was just leaving."

Chris finally met my eyes, the blue dark and hot. With justifiable anger. Then he glanced down at

my other hand. The big, flesh-colored dildo was still right there.

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"Looks like he planned to stay. I'll just get my shit and go." "Oh, don't leave on my account," Anthony said, sounding as snooty as only someone from back East could sound. "I can find my way out." "No worries, man. I'm gonna head off." Shaking off my hand, Chris left the kitchen, putting his feet down hard. I glared at Anthony. "You'd better watch it, or the only closure you'll get is me knocking your teeth out." Turning on my heel, I left him there, hurrying to catch up with Chris, who was in my bedroom, throwing his clothes on. "You don't have to leave," I told him. "Anthony is under the mistaken impression that…" "Hey, you don't have to explain to me, man," Chris said, smiling at me. It was strained around the eyes. "I've got my cell. I'll just call one of my buddies and have him pick me up here. I can wait outside." "It snowed," I said stupidly, moving in to grab his arms. "It's cold out there, and all you have for shoes is Birks." "I can deal. 'Boarder, remember?" He shook me off, jerking his sweatshirt on over his shorts. "Chris." "No, look, Dan. One way or the other, you've got to deal with this, and I'll be in the way. I'll just go, and if you want to hang out sometime, you could, you know, drop by the 'Slide and see me." Before I could get my shit together and protest or anything else, he was slipping past me, grabbing his coat and scarf off the hook by the front door, and closing the door behind him. There was no way I was ready to let him go, but just about the time I was ready to go after him, I heard wood hitting the grate in my fireplace, and the striking of a match. Fucking Anthony. Whirling around, I advanced on him, my hands clenching into fists. "You don't write, you don't call, and now you think I'm going to let you light a fire in my HOUSE?" "Oh, come on, Danny. Sit with me and talk. He was just a one night thing, right?" Batting those long eyelashes at me, Anthony blew out the match and sank down on my couch, looking like it would take a bulldozer to get him moved.

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"I'd rather he not be, if you want to know the truth." Sighing, I rubbed the back of my neck, suddenly wanting to go back to bed and hide the way I'd planned to spend Christmas. "He kisses me." Anthony nodded sagely. "My counselor told me that was something I would have to get over that if I wanted us to work." I rolled my eyes, watching through the window as Chris wandered out to the gate, hopping up and down to keep warm. I didn't want him to go, but he was right. I had to sort this shit out, first. "Go you and your counselor, Tony, but there is no us. There never really was. I'm glad to see you back in town, and I'd be happy to have lunch or something, but I gave up on an us a long time ago." He pouted, and I thought about someone else's lips, about how good they'd felt on my skin. Damn it all. "We used to be friends, Tony," I said. "I'd be happy to go there, but I'm not going anywhere else with you. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to make nice with Chris. What say you take your dildo and go?" Huffing, Anthony climbed to his feet and came to give me a hug. "I hope he's worth it. I was ready to be a giver." That actually made me smile. I had loved Anthony dearly, as a friend and as a fuck, but he had never been the type to give without a thought to what he would get. Chris struck me as the kind of guy who liked to do for a guy without thinking of the consequences. "Give me your number, man. I'll call you while you're still in town." "I'm here for three more days," Anthony said, scribbling a number on a card and handing it over. He'd come for nookie with his fucking business coat on. Some things never changed. "Call me when you come to your senses." Anthony left, slamming the front door behind him, and I grabbed some sweats real quick, hoping that Chris' buddies lived far enough away that it would take them awhile to find my place. I was kinda in bum fuck north Grand Junction. Slipping my feet into my old work boots, I hit the door at a trot, getting there just in time to see Anthony's sweet rental car slide out my gate, slinging snow. At least he didn't crash. Chris was still standing there, waiting for his ride, hands in his pockets. Thank God. I still had time. Just before I ran out the door to holler his name, though, I had a thought. He'd left his Santa hat behind, the silly thing all garish and red, the white pom-pom dangling.

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Yeah. That could be just the gesture I needed.

I grabbed the stupid hat and plopped it on my head, wading out into the snow to go get the best

present I could remember getting.

***

The snow had coated my boots by the time I caught up with Chris, and it was so clear and cold that

I figured his legs had to be freezing off in those board shorts. He probably couldn't feel his feet. He

was pacing a little, back and forth by the gate, trying not to look at me.

"Hey," I began. "You might have noticed he left."

"Yeah. I. Dude, I didn't mean to like, interfere and shit."

"No." I held out a hand to him, needing to touch, to make sure he got it. "I haven't seen him since...

well, in three years. I didn't even know he was in town. I, uh. I made coffee. For you, not him."

"I smelled waffles." His fingers slid against mine, squeezed a little. "Man, not every guy brings you

a Christmas dildo..."

I squeezed back, laughing a little. "I threw it out. Kinda wigged me. I can still make waffles.

Bacon, too." I knew he wasn't a vegetarian from the way he'd eaten last night.

"Sounds good."

A little Toyota Celica with a ski rack pulled up and Chris gave me a hard, long look. "You're sure,

huh? Mike's not gonna drive out again."

"Mike can have a cup of coffee before he goes, but yeah. I'm sure. I want." I couldn't remember

wanting anything more. It was freaky, but cool.

"Nah. I'll talk to him." I got a shot of his tight little butt as Chris bent to talk to his friend, both of

them chuckling, laughing a little.

I stood, shifting from foot to foot. It was my turn to feel awkward as hell, and I knew a little of how

Chris must have felt.

It didn't take long before Chris stood, turned to me and the Mike-guy waved out of his window.

"Take care of him, man. Merry Christmas and happy fucking!"

Then the little Toyota went zipping away.

"Happy fucking, huh?" My cheeks went hot, which was a welcome thing, as cold as it was.

"Waffles first?"

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"Hell, yeah. And coffee. It's fucking cold." He pushed up next to me, shivering. "Nice hat."

"Yeah. Someone I know left it at my house. Come on." Putting an arm around his waist, I guided

him back to the house, warming us both up.

His fingers slid up under my sweater, tickling and teasing my back and dipping into my waistband.

Goddamn. Icy.

"Shit, honey! Cold." He'd been out there a while, damn it. Skittering away from those frozen

fingers, I went and poured him a cup of coffee, handing it over. I had the crazy urge to rub his blue toes. "Oh, good." He buried his face in the mug, breathing deep.

"Yeah. I thought it was nice." Nice. Lord. Smooth, Danny. I got the waffle iron all ready again,

mixing a little more cream into the waffle batter to thin it out again. Perfect.

My "Cowboys Ride Harder" mug clinked on the counter beside me; Chris' fingers landed on my

belly again, warm this time. "Mmm. That smells almost as good as sex."

"Almost. Not quite," I said, remembering how he'd smelled the night before, all musky and warm.

"Gingerbread is a good thing, though."

His hands moved down, slipped under my sweats to cup my balls, roll them a little. "It so is."

Well, at least his hands were warmer now. "Gonna make me burn them, honey. You know how I

feel about fire."

"No burning. You watch; I'll touch. It'll be good." It fucking was. Good. Hot. Whatever.

The little light on the waffle iron went off, and I pulled the first batch out, putting them on a little

plate. Hard to do when I was standing on tiptoe, letting Chris roll my balls.

"Mmm. Steamy." I wasn't sure if Chris was talking about us or the waffles. I was pretty sure it

didn't matter.

"I have maple syrup." That could be messy. Fun, though. Messy fun. He liked to play, right?

"Oh, man. I bet you taste good all mapled up. We could try it after breakfast, in the shower. You

know, a little Christmas morning treat?"

"Oh, that sounds good." I was up and ready now, but my belly was rumbling and I knew we needed

to eat. In the shower was a smart plan.

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"I'm thinking you're right. Where's the bacon, man, and I'll play elf and get it sizzling." "You rock. In the fridge. Bottom shelf. The good skillet is next to the stove." Pouring more waffles gave me a nice distraction from his ass. It wasn't long before we had a feast - waffles, bacon, scrambled eggs and coffee. He'd stolen the hat back and was building a fire while I got the plates put on the end table.

"Looks good, huh?" I said, sitting next to Chris on the floor, letting myself lean against him a little.

"Not bad. Not bad at all, Dan." One long finger dragged through the syrup, traced my lips, so that

Chris could lick them clean. "Merry merry merry."

"You know it." Shit, if Anthony showing up was the worst that happened all day, I was good to go.

I licked right back before forking up some waffles and feeding him. By bite five, he was in my lap,

feeding me bacon and sharing slow, coffee-flavored kisses with me, the ball on Chris' hat tickling

my ear.

I batted at it, getting it out of my hair before pushing the plate aside and tumbling him to the floor.

I'd never done anything as clichéd as fucking on the floor next to the fire, but I was willing to try. If

not fucking, at least some nice tussling.

"Mmm." He wrapped around me, cock full and hot against my belly. I could see the fire reflected in

those big blue eyes and, somehow, it didn't fuck with my brains.

I struggled out of my sweats and got him out of his clothes, and then we were skin to skin, kissing and rubbing, rolling so I was on my back with Chris on top. Hot damn. "Mmm. Spicy." Chris laughed against my lips, cock sliding against mine, nice and steady. "Bacon." Wait. Bacon wasn't spicy. Oh, who cared? I pushed up against him, willing to settle for rubbing off. Fucking could come later, in the shower. "Ginger." I fucking loved that laugh, already.

Damn.

We started moving, Chris humping down against me, shifting us away from the fire when it got too

warm.

"I thought you had a hot ass," I said, laughing against his lips when I pulled him down, warming

my hands on his skin. "That might be a bit too much, huh?"

"Yep. No scorching the fully functional, anatomically correct Christmas present."

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"Nope." I let my fingers trail along his crease, fingers pushing at his hole, just the tiniest bit. "I

have plans for it."

"Oh, hell yes." I got another of those happy fucking grins. "Ho, ho, fucking ho."

"Come on, honey," I urged, "let's get that first present out of the way. Then we can take a long,

long time exploring the others." We needed to take the edge off and finish breakfast. Then I'd ruin

him for life.

***

The fire crackled brightly in the hearth, the little chain grate we'd compromised on pulled across.

Chris liked to see the sparks dance, and I was getting better at letting them.

We'd put in a bigger tile surround, just in case.

This year there was a Christmas tree and twinkly lights and all of the regular Christmas shit. I had

baked cookies. Snickerdoodles and chocolate chips. Chris had made bon bons.

We'd gone skiing. It was just really domestic and shit.

"Hey, babe," Chris said, coming to sit next to me by the fire. He had a plate of gingerbread cookies.

"Beau and Mike want us to come to their place for New Year's Eve. How do you feel about that?"

I had met most of his buddies by now, surprised to find some older guys, and a good mix of

boarders, outdoorsy guys and cowboys among them. I liked Beau a lot, for all that I hadn't wanted

to hear a thing about him back in our early days.

"Sounds good," I said, leaning on him, kissing his neck. "What did they think of your new ink?"

We'd gotten him a new tattoo, a little heart with flames on it, about two weeks before Christmas. I

had a matching one. My first ink.

Anthony would shit a brick if he ever saw it.

"They loved it, man. Wanna see?" Ever eager to get naked, Chris stripped off his sweats, letting me

see the little tattoo, right there on his hip.

"I always want to see." My hands fell on his thighs and I leaned forward to kiss him, tasting ginger

and hot chocolate. "Spicy."

"Not bacon," he returned, laughing like a loon.

"Nope. Not bacon." I pushed him down, straddling him, the fire warm on my ass, but not a threat to

my anatomy. God knew I didn't want to singe my balls off. 'Course, I had a lot more confidence around fire these days. I'd even gone to a Winter Solstice bonfire with Chris. Go me.

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"So, we could open a present," he said, nodding toward the tree, where I had gone a little crazy

with gift wrap and tape. It had been a long time since I'd had someone to spoil.

"You already did," I told him. "You took your clothes off."

"Do I still qualify as a Christmas present?" he asked, cupping my ass in his hands.

"You do. Anatomically correct, ready to play, no batteries required."

"Cool. Kiss me again."

I kissed him with everything in me. The last year hadn't been perfect, or even easy. I was kind of

anal. He was a slob. I'd gotten a promotion. He'd lost his job at the bike shop and started really

touring with the snowboard circuit.

It worked, though, and I had learned to really let go, let the fires rage, and let myself have fun.

The kiss went on and on, both of us moaning, wiggling, to get more skin, more heat, more together.

His cock rubbed mine, and I reached between us to rub and rub, pressing us together, thumb

pressing against his slit, then mine.

We worked it hard, Chris biting at my lips, at my neck, me squeezing and rubbing his ass when I

rolled him on top. God, I needed more, needed his heat.

When we came, we came within seconds of each other, both of us crying out in our own hallelujah

chorus.

We lay together, panting, the sweat drying on our skin.

"Merry Christmas, baby," he said. "How do you feel about Christmas these days?"

"Well, I got to tell you, honey, it's better than it has been in a long time. You've made me into a

Christmas fan again."

Yeah, I didn’t have to wait for Santa anymore. I really didn't. I had gotten the best gift ever without

ever writing a letter to the North Pole.

I was a believer, though. Through and through.

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A Good Thing Copyright © 2007 by Julia Talbot All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address Torquere Press, Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78680 ISBN-13: 978-1-60370-234-8 ISBN-10: 1-60370-234-2 Printed in the United States of America. Torquere Press, Inc.: Single Shot electronic edition / December 2007 Torquere Press eBooks are published by Torquere Press, Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78680

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