Positions of Love

THE POSITIONS OF LOVE, BOOK I: THE POSITIONS OF LOVE …Matt slid off Vic but snuggled close to him, unwilling to go ver...

Author: Snyder J M

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THE POSITIONS OF LOVE, BOOK I: THE POSITIONS OF LOVE

…Matt slid off Vic but snuggled close to him, unwilling to go very far. Trailing a hand down Vic’s stomach, he plucked at the bulbous head of Vic’s cock. Each pinch, each squeeze, sent a shiver of delight through Vic. When the first beads of translucent pre-cum bubbled from his tip, Matt wiped them away with his hand, then put his finger in his mouth to savor the taste. “Fifty bucks,” he repeated. “That’s about all I spent. I mean, our anniversary’s a week later.” Vic sighed. Shit. That meant another present. But Matt kissed his cheek, his breath warm on Vic’s skin as he whispered, “Don’t worry, dinner and a movie will suffice for that.” “What about Christmas?” Vic asked. Matt’s hand traveled back down his stomach as if drawn to his crotch by a magnet. As he fondled Vic, he said, “Fifty bucks or so. And it has to be something sexual.” Vic laughed. “What?” “You heard me.” Matt shrugged. Lowering his cheek to the pillow beside Vic’s, he draped his free arm around Vic’s head to toy with his right ear. The other hand encircled his shaft, kneading gently to work him hard. “Something sexual. I figure we got plenty of time to use it, right? You’re getting off the whole week.”

Raising his hips up from the bed, Vic thrust into Matt’s hand. “I’m close to getting off now,” he admitted. “If you want to come with…” Matt stretched across Vic, reaching for the half-empty tube of lubricant on his bedside table. As he squirted a generous dollop into his palms and began to slick his cock, he laughed. “I’m already there. Turn over, big boy. Let me at that sexy ass of yours.” Vic hurried to comply…

ALSO BY J. M. SNYDER Beneath A Yankee Sky Crushed Matching Tats Persistence of Memory The Powers of Love Under A Confederate Moon

THE POSITIONS OF LOVE BOOK I

THE POSITIONS OF LOVE

BY J. M. SNYDER

AMBER Q UILL PRESS, LLC http://www.AmberQuill.com

THE POSITIONS OF LOVE AN AMBER QUILL PRESS BOOK This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. Amber Quill Press, LLC http://www.AmberQuill.com All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review. Copyright © 2007 by J. M. Snyder ISBN 978-1-60272-173-9 Cover Art © 2007 Trace Edward Zaber

Layout and Formatting provided by: Elemental Alchemy

PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA



As a bus driver for the City of Richmond, Vic Braunson was used to working odd shifts and the occasional holiday or two. When the roster came around, asking for volunteers to work the day after Thanksgiving, he signed up—his lover, Matt diLorenzo, had already warned Vic he had to be at the gym that day, and Vic saw no need to take time off if Matt weren’t home to share it. A swim instructor at a gym in the West End, Matt had scheduled a crew to come in that Friday while the gym was closed to clean out the Olympic-sized swimming pool, and he had to be there to supervise them. So Vic put his name down on the roster, and would take an extra day off at Christmas to make up for it. 1


He’d forgotten the day after Thanksgiving was only the busiest shopping day of the year. His shift started at seven in the morning; when he left the house at six thirty, the streets were already jammed with cars. Weekdays never saw so much traffic, and most businesses were closed for the long weekend holiday—where everyone came from, Vic had no clue. After ten minutes of riding his brakes, he growled as he zoomed through a yellow light and cut off a tractor trailer in his haste to take the turn onto the interstate, hoping to get out of the mess. But he only managed a few miles before he found himself once again ensnared in a bumper-to-bumper gridlock. Leaning on his car horn, he muttered under his breath, “What the fuck?” He turned on the radio, hoping for a traffic report. Only when the DJ mentioned “Black Friday” did he realize where all the cars were going—shopping. With a groan, he leaned his head back and stared at the dome light on the ceiling as he tried not to scream in frustration. He was going to be late. And if he were too late, that meant someone else would be called in to work his shift, and that meant no extra day in December. He already had plans for Christmas—plans that included long, uninterrupted days in bed with Matt, no clothing, no troubles, nothing but tender kisses and hot sex. “I’ve got a special present for you,” Matt kept telling him, with a wicked gleam in his eye that suggested to Vic exactly what type of gift it might be. Now that he had someone to share them with, Vic found 2


himself looking forward to the holidays. *

*

*

Earlier that morning, before either of them had left for work, Matt brought up the gift again. “We’ll unplug the phones and lock the door from Friday night through the day after Christmas,” Matt told him. “No one will disturb us.” Sipping his coffee at the dining room table, Vic grunted. He couldn’t quite match Matt’s enthusiasm this early—at quarter to six, he was lucky to be out of bed. Being awake was another matter altogether. But his lover enjoyed teasing him in the morning. When he didn’t answer immediately, Matt came up behind him and murmured into his ear, “I know what you’re thinking.” At the warm breath that curled through him, all coherent thought disappeared. Vic leaned back against the arms crossed behind his chair and muttered, “What?” “What about Santa Claus?” Matt asked. Vic’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What?” What exactly were they talking about again? Matt laughed. “He’s not invited. Let him find his own man.” He ran his hands over his lover’s shoulders and hugged him close. When he kissed the top of Vic’s bald head, his warm mouth left an imprint that tingled on Vic’s scalp. “You’re all mine.” “You want a piece of me right now?” Vic asked, finishing the rest of his java. Matt’s hands trailed down over Vic’s broad chest, slipping beneath his flannel robe to rub his 3


stomach. At his lover’s touch, Vic’s sleepiness dissolved beneath his wakened libido. “We’ve got some time.” In his ear, Matt whispered, “Then stand up.” As Vic complied, Matt uncinched the robe from his waist. It fell to the floor in a rush of fabric to pool at Vic’s feet. Beneath it, he was naked. Moving Vic’s chair out of the way, Matt stepped up behind his lover, his arms encircling Vic’s stocky waist, his hands trailing down over Vic’s shaved genitals. The start of an erection prodded Vic’s ample buttocks. With one hand cupping Vic’s balls, the other tickling along the length of his cock, Matt kissed a tender spot behind Vic’s ear. “Bend over.” Releasing Vic’s nuts, Matt brought that hand around between them to pinch Vic’s ass, which earned him a surprised yelp. Then strong fingers stroked down the cleft of Vic’s buttocks to rim his puckered hole. Vic gasped and leaned heavily on the table, his legs spreading wide as he arched his back, pressing against those fingers until one eased inside. Matt moved his finger slowly, gently, working his way in. Vic didn’t mind the lack of lubrication; he was an ass man, and anal play turned him on more than anything else. He liked it fast, and hard, and rough. But when Matt sank to his knees and kissed Vic’s trembling flesh, his tongue licking along Vic’s musky anus, the wet heat excited him more. With both hands now, Matt spread his buttocks wide, tasting him, biting at him, loving him. Vic melted onto the kitchen table, his thick legs limp, his chest pressed hard against the newspaper he had 4


been reading. Beneath his face, a plastic coaster stuck to his cheek; as Matt licked into him, Vic closed his eyes and gave in to the sensation. Suddenly his lover’s voice filled his head. ::Like that?:: Vic’s reply was a growl of lust. Matt ducked between Vic’s legs to suckle his balls, then licked along the length of his hard dick. Vic gripped the sides of the dining room table with both hands as he raised his hips, begging to be entered. ::Please.:: The thought passed between them easily, but when Matt didn’t respond, Vic added, ::Matty, what are you waiting for? Fuck me already.:: Behind him, Matt laughed. “Since you asked so nice…” His touch disappeared, and Vic thought he’d hump the table in a minute if he had to, he was that close to release. Reaching out with his mind, he slipped into Matt’s head and saw his lover retrieve a small jar of Vaseline from the nearby credenza. Matt scooped out a dollop of the petroleum jelly, then smeared it between Vic’s buttocks. Arching his back again, Vic spread his legs farther apart and muttered, “Sometime today—” The words escalated into a roar of delight as his lover’s thick cock, coated with the jelly, pressed into him. Their coupling was furious and hot, and Matt’s slick hands grappled at Vic’s hips as they fucked. Vic clung to the table, relishing the hardness beneath him and his lover’s body pressing him down. Mentally, he goaded Matt on, ::Harder, yes, yes, YES.:: Beneath their thrusts, the table skidded an inch or two, squealing along the dining room floor. ::Yes, yes, God Matty, 5


faster, yes!:: Through their mental connection, Vic sensed Matt’s orgasm a second before it flooded him, and he raised his legs up off the floor, straightening them, then bent his knees to wrap his calves around his lover’s buttocks. Crossing his ankles, he squeezed his legs together to pull Matt even closer to him, driving him farther in. Matt came in a hot rush, sparking Vic’s own simultaneous release. With his legs raised off the floor he felt free, floating, as if he had disappeared from the world and all its worries, with only Matt on him, with him, in him. Lips kissed Vic’s sweaty shoulder, and Matt pressed in just an inch or two more, filling Vic completely, as he stood on tiptoe to touch his mouth to Vic’s. “Love you, big guy,” he murmured. Then he took a step back, pulled free, and slapped Vic’s tingling ass. “You’re going to be late for work.” Rousing himself, Vic muttered, “I could call in.” “And give up a day at Christmas?” Matt laughed. “Not on your life, dude. That was just an inkling of what all I’ve got planned.” Vic’s cock swelled at the thought. *

*

*

But the interstate was a parking lot, and Vic feared maybe, despite his best efforts, he was going to lose that day after all. The radio buzzed with commentary, reporters surprised at the record number of shoppers out this year, exclaiming about the traffic back-ups, creaming their shorts over unbelievable 6


sales…when Vic tried to turn it down, the damn knob snapped off in his hand. Fuck. Just what he needed, a burst of super strength. That power, like the telepathy, came from Matt. More correctly, from his semen. How, Vic wasn’t sure. But since the first time they had had sex, Vic found himself endowed with strange superhuman powers. The strength and telepathy were constants, but others came and went. In the year they’d been together, Vic had discovered a plethora of abilities that seemed to depend on the positions they assumed during sex. He was still figuring them out, but tried to be subtle about it. Matt was overly sensitive about the powers he bestowed on his lover; he hated them, in fact, particularly whenever they put Vic in danger. So Vic didn’t experiment much—he let Matt decide when they’d make love, he wouldn’t push it. Matt had been hurt before by men who fucked him only for the powers. Vic didn’t care for them, didn’t need them; he wanted only Matt. Despite his appearance—Vic sported a shaved head and multiple piercings, loved leather, and had lost count of the number of tattoos scrawled all over his stout body—he preferred to bottom during sex. He loved to feel Matt’s thickly veined cock pierce his ass, drive deep within him, and spasm in the center of his being. Where Vic was brutish, his lover was lithe; though similar in height, Matt’s body looked taller, slimmer, and well honed from swimming. Vic’s arms and legs were thick with muscles, and even without the added strength Matt gave him, he could out-bench anyone at the gym. Matt’s olive skin was whorled with dark hair that curled on his head 7


and at his crotch. Vic preferred to keep himself shaved, scalp and genitals both. At first glance, they seemed to be two entirely different men. But they were perfect for each other. This would be their first Christmas together. Last year this time they had been friends, Matt hesitant to trust Vic more, and Vic biding his time until Matt let him in. Even then, they had been moving toward a deeper relationship, one they didn’t consummate until after midnight on New Year’s Day. Three months later, the day after his thirty-fifth birthday, Matt announced he was moving into Vic’s apartment. They had been inseparable since. Though he’s likely to leave me if I fuck up Christmas. The thought turned Vic’s stomach, and he craned his neck, trying to look beyond the cars ahead of him to see what the problem was. In the left-hand lane, traffic moved at a sluggish pace, but the cars in front of Vic didn’t even budge. If only I were over there… A nasty jolt shook him. For a second, Vic thought maybe he’d been rear-ended—his whole body surged forward as if jerked ahead. As the windshield rushed at him, he threw his hands in front of his face, shielding it. Motherfucker— But he never hit the glass. And suddenly someone beside him yelled, “Shit!” Lowering his arms, Vic glanced around. He no longer sat in his own car—he was in the passenger seat of someone else’s. The driver next to him was an older fellow, Indian, with dark skin and wide, staring eyes that eclipsed his face. 8


“What are you doing here?” he yelled. “Where did you come from?” Good questions. Vic turned to look out the window and saw his car, now empty, several vehicles back in the right lane. How the hell did he wind up here? And how was he supposed to get back without making a scene? “Hey!” the driver yelled beside him. “I’m talking to you.” “Then shut up,” Vic growled, trying to think. It had to be another one of Matt’s strange gifts. Why buy me something for Christmas? he thought wryly. Look what all you’ve given me so far. Super strength, telepathy, and now this. Vic had wished he could be in the left lane and poof! Suddenly he was, albeit in someone else’s car. So how did he get back to his own? Maybe if he just thought about it… That jolt came again, this time from the front, as if he’d been hit by a deploying airbag. Vic closed his eyes, swallowed the bile that rose in the back of his throat, and hoped he stopped in the right car. What exactly was this power called? The ability to think of a place and appear there instantly. He wondered if maybe he shouldn’t start reading comic books again to learn more. As the nausea passed, Vic opened one eye, cautious. He was in the right car, sitting in his own driver seat. With trembling hands, he put the car into gear, then maneuvered out of traffic onto the shoulder of the road. Some idiot drove up behind him, perhaps thinking he’d go around everyone else, but Vic ignored the horn that honked at him. Cutting off the engine, he flicked on his hazards and took a few deep breaths 9


in an effort to calm himself. Okay. So he could now…what? Teleport? The car behind him honked again. Rage and indignation filled Vic, fueled by fear of his own powers. Unlocking the door, he kicked it open, then climbed out of the car. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. When he turned toward the car behind him, he sent one telepathic thought to the ignorant driver. ::You are so dead.:: Behind his car sat a station wagon with a man in sunglasses and a baseball cap behind the wheel. When Vic glared at him, he must have looked terrifying—the sun gleamed off his bald head and the rings in his eyebrow and ears. His arms were tattooed and muscled, bulging from the torn sleeves of his denim shirt. With a negligent kick, he closed the car door behind him and took a step toward the station wagon. If he had to miss work, at least he’d take it out on somebody. The driver’s mouth widened into an O of surprise. Then he put his car in reverse and sped back down the shoulder, tires throwing gravel in their wake. ::Yeah,:: Vic thought, projecting into the driver’s mind. ::You better run. All I want to do is get to work—:: Another jolt shook him, this one like an earthquake beneath his feet. In mid-step, Vic stumbled; the ground rose up at him. He flung out his hands to absorb the impact… …And landed with a thud on a hard linoleum floor. Vic lay there, stunned, as he tried to get a grip on his new surroundings. The dingy floor and a constant drip of water 10


suggested he was in a bathroom somewhere. As he pushed himself to his knees, he looked around—he recognized this place. It was the men’s room off the employee lounge at the bus garage where he worked. As he got to his feet, he heard a toilet in one of the stalls flush. Thank God no one had seen him arrive… But how many people on the interstate saw him disappear? Would Matt hear about it on the news? Would his car get towed or impounded? How was he going to get it back? Or hell, get home? At the sink, Vic splashed cold water on his arms and face. No more thinking about going anywhere, until this power wore off. What a way to start the day. Fuck. *

*

*

Vic was the quiet type who kept to himself at work. He nodded when someone called his name, but he didn’t joke around with the other drivers in the lounge, didn’t hang out for beers after his shift. At his locker, he exchanged his ragged shirt and faded jeans for his work uniform, then headed over to the time clock. His boss, Rick Morrison, leaned against the wall, arms crossed as he watched his employees clock in. He was a big man, Vic’s girth, but more flab than muscle, and a good head and shoulders taller than Vic. Twenty years older, too, at least. He ran a tight ship, and usually hovered near the clock between shifts to ensure no one fudged on their timecards. Vic kept his head down and avoided his boss’s eye, but the 11


man’s thoughts drifted into Vic’s head uninvited—a downside to his telepathic ability. Yes, it let him forge an intimate connection with his lover, but it also tuned in everyone else’s thoughts, as well. He was still learning how to control them, and for the most part he succeeded, but the teleporting must have thrown him off more than he wanted to admit if he couldn’t concentrate enough to block out unwanted thoughts. Too short, Morrison was thinking as he cast a critical eye over the employees lined up at the time clock. Too skinny. Too…no. Just no. Vic kept his head down and crammed his card into the clock. Why was his boss checking them out? And did he really want to know? As the clock punched his time, Morrison’s thought rang out over the sound, crowing in Vic’s head. Perfect. “Braunson,” his boss snapped. “My office. Now.” Vic groaned as he replaced his timecard in its slot by the clock. What was this all about? Morrison’s office was down the hall. As he stalked away from the time clock, Vic followed behind him like a recalcitrant child, full of dread. Quickly he reached out with his mind, poking at Morrison’s thoughts, but for some reason all he could pick up was an image of Santa Claus. How strange. Inside the office, one large desk took up most of the space. Morrison had to squeeze around it to plop down in his chair, which wheezed beneath him in protest. With the back of his hand, Morrison indicated a rusty folding chair that leaned by 12


the door. “Braunson,” he said again. “Have a seat.” Vic opened the folding chair and sat down. The chair listed to the left, where the bolt holding the legs together on that side had rusted through, so Vic leaned to the right to compensate. For a long moment, the two men stared at each other across the span of the desk, each waiting for the other to speak. When it became obvious that Morrison was in no hurry, Vic asked, “What’s this all about?” “Braunson,” his boss sighed—Vic didn’t know if he should be worried that Morrison kept repeating his name, or if the man only said it so he wouldn’t forget it. “You’re a dependable man, you know that?” Uh-oh. Not a good sign. Vic frowned, unsure how to answer, so he settled for, “Sir?” Morrison rubbed his unshaven chin and closed one eye, as if assessing Vic. Then, making up his mind, he said, “I want you to work the Christmas—” “No,” Vic interrupted. Indignation welled up within him. “No, sir. I signed up to work today so I’d get the day after Christmas off. I already have plans—” Morrison shook his head. “Let me finish, will you?” Vic fell silent, but he glared at his boss, unwilling to let his anger disperse so easily. No way was he working Christmas. No fucking way. “As I was saying,” Morrison continued, “I want you to work the Christmas party. You can have off the day after, I don’t care. Hell, take the next day as well, with full pay. The party’s on a Saturday night and I need a Santa.” 13


“A…” Vic frowned, not quite comprehending what that had to do with him. “A Santa?” With a dismissive wave of his hand, Morrison explained, “You know, Kris Kringle, Saint Nick, Father Christmas, all that mess. Santa Claus.” For as long as Vic had been working for the City, Morrison had always dressed in a Santa suit for their Christmas party. He came in with jingling bells and big, clomping boots, and ho ho ho’ed his way around tables full of City bus drivers, controllers, admin staff, technicians, and mechanics. Spouses were welcome at the party, as were children, and sometime before the night was over, Morrison would let the kids take turns sitting on his lap, telling him what they wanted from Santa. One or two of the wives even climbed on his knee, much to their drunken husbands’ delight. Then Morrison would hand out gifts, small boxes full of gift certificates or inexpensive trinkets, little tokens from the company for all the employees’ hard work. The thought of doing any of that made Vic feel sick. “Sir,” he started. Morrison nodded at his protest. “I know what you’re thinking, Braunson. Why not me? But after my hernia, the doctor said I couldn’t put any weight on my legs, and I’m getting too old for this gig anyway. Let someone else join in the fun.” Fun was not the word Vic would have used. Excruciating, perhaps. Torturous. He tried again. “I don’t really think I’m right for—” 14


“Nonsense.” Morrison leaned back in his chair and the legs groaned beneath his weight. Vic wanted to wipe the selfsatisfied smirk off his boss’s face, and settled for popping his knuckles in a menacing way instead. His boss ignored the sound. “You’re perfect for the job. We’re about the same build, so I’m sure the costume would fit. You’ll need some padding around the belly, that’s all. Just take some of that metal off your face so you don’t scare the kiddies, and Jesus Christ, smile for once, lighten up a little. You’ll do fine.” Vic scowled harder. “If I do it,” he asked, emphasizing the if, “you said I can take an extra day at the end of the month?” “Take the whole damn week,” Morrison replied. “I’m feeling generous. But you have to be convincing.” For a week off? Hell, Vic would out-Santa the jolly old elf himself. *

*

*

Throughout his shift, traffic was hellacious. Vic’s mind grew so focused on work that he didn’t teleport again—he had too much to concentrate on, navigating the city bus through the busy streets, standing on the brake whenever a sporty little car zoomed in front of him, and cutting across the lanes to reach bus stops crowded with people carrying shopping bags. He kept a glower on his face to deter any of his passengers from talking to him, and growled whenever someone asked him a question. As the day wore on, the thought of playing Santa rankled in him, souring his mood. When he finally dropped off the last fare a little after six P.M. and turned the 15


bus sign to No Service, he wanted nothing more than to head home to a relaxing evening with his lover and forget his day. Then he remembered his car, left on the interstate. Fuck. His powers usually sparked brightest right after sex, then dwindled throughout the day, until they disappeared completely. The only ones that stayed around were the super strength and a constant level of telepathy that ran like a lowgrade fever through Vic’s mind at all times. By the end of his shift, the ability to teleport was gone. As he drove back to the garage, Vic called Matt. First he tried the house, but there was no answer. So he tried Matt’s cell phone, and on the second ring, his lover’s warm voice filled Vic’s ear. “Talk dirty to me, big guy.” The words dispersed Vic’s foul mood like the seeds of a dandelion blown in the wind. “If your day’s been half as bad as mine…” Matt laughed, a rich sound that made Vic’s toes curl to hear it. “I don’t know about bad,” he admitted, “but the cleaning crew put too much chlorine in the pool the first time they filled it and just about burned the gloss off the tile. Do you know how long it takes to empty a pool that size? I mean, completely drain it and fill it back up again?” “Two hours?” Vic asked, only because he knew Matt wanted him to guess. “Four,” Matt replied. “Four hours. This after we filled it the first time. I’m just now leaving the gym. Where are you?” Vic glanced around him. The darkened street seemed eerily empty after the hectic rush of the day. “Main and 16


Belvedere. Heading back to the garage.” “When will you be home?” Matt asked. “I can stop and grab us something to eat.” “Actually,” Vic said, “can you swing by and pick me up? I know it’s a bit out of the way, but my car—” “What?” In his mind, Vic could see Matt sit up a little straighter behind the wheel of his Jaguar, maybe tighten his hand on the steering wheel, as he frowned in concern. Matt always jumped to conclusions—Vic’s powers made him worry constantly. “What happened to your car? Are you all right?” Vic assured him, “I’m fine. The car’s on 95.” “Then how’d you get to work?” Matt asked. Vic laughed. “Wait ’til you hear this.” *

*

*

With Thanksgiving out of the way, the days seemed to race toward the end of the year, like cars picking up speed on a downhill slope. Before Vic knew it, November was over and December dawned. It grew harder and harder to throw back the warm blankets on his bed and face the cold day ahead. He would much rather cuddle with Matt than get ready for work any day. But eventually Vic had to drag himself into the real world. He hated the cold weather, and everything about it—he hated big coats that only added to his bulk, ski caps that made him look downright lethal, gloves that hindered his driving. He hated having to start his car ten minutes before he had to leave for work just so the engine could warm up. He hated sitting 17


behind the wheel after work, rubbing his hands together in the frigid night as he waited for the frost to clear off his windshield. He hated the added traffic around the shopping malls, and the kids that darted out into the street without looking, and those Santas who rang bells outside the stores and glared when he didn’t donate any change. Christmas had never been a big holiday for Vic. Growing up he liked it, sure, but there were times when his father’s drinking depleted whatever savings his mother might have scraped together, and just getting food on the table was nothing short of a miracle. Toys were frivolous things, unnecessary, unneeded. Vic learned early on that Santa didn’t exist. By the time he was ten years old, good ol’ Saint Nick seemed to forget where the Braunsons lived, and only Vic’s little sister Mary ever found anything under the tree on Christmas morn. Vic went to great lengths to ensure she had something to open, even if it were only a cheap stuffed animal he’d found at the Goodwill. As a teenager, things only grew worse. His father was in and out of jail most of the time, and his mother took to drinking. When Vic was sixteen, she downed a lethal dose of Valium chased with a bottle or two of Jim Beam, and never woke up again. Mary found her, a fact Vic never let himself live down. He should’ve been there, if only for his sister, but he’d stayed the night at a friend’s house because the guy had promised to suck him off. What could he say, in his defense? He had been young and stupid then, and that night was his first sexual experience. He’d felt so lost for so long, so out of 18


synch with the rest of the world, so alone, and just being with another, holding him, touching him, kissing him even, seemed to dull the desperation in his life. In the morning when he left his friend, he felt amazing, invincible…until he came home to find police tape barring the door and his sister crying on the step. She was only eight at the time. Without other relatives who could take them in and their father imprisoned, Vic and Mary became wards of the state. But no one wanted a surly teenager on the cusp of manhood—Mary was taken into foster care while Vic stayed at a state home for boys until he was old enough to get out on his own. He buckled down, took a day job at a garage as a mechanic and spent his nights at a technical college. He never saw or heard from Mary again. A few years later, he received a large envelope from the prison system with his father’s wallet and a letter that said the old man had died in a knife fight. In the wallet were two photographs—one of Vic as a small boy with a buzz cut and dark, haunted eyes; the other of Mary as a precocious toddler with a head of blonde curls. Those two pictures were in Vic’s wallet now. They used to be all he had of a family, before he met Matt. So Christmas had never exactly been high on his list of things to get excited about. Until now. *

*

*

Matt loved the holidays. There was an extra bounce in his step this time of the year, and his smile was contagious. Vic 19


thought maybe watching Matt get all worked up about Christmas would be better than the big day itself. His lover dragged Vic to the stores, to buy tinsel and garland and strings of lights that he rigged around their apartment anywhere he could. Tiny multi-colored bulbs winked in the living room, hanging from the walls; they lit up the balcony off the dining room, adding a festive touch to the wintry chill outside. Matt even hung a few strands of red lights around the light fixture in their bedroom. With the bedside lamps off and the Christmas lights plugged in, the room was plunged in a sexy reddish glow that seemed to sizzle in Vic’s blood. The light burnished Matt’s skin, giving it garnet hues, and pinked Vic’s own fair flesh. “I like this,” Vic sighed. He and Matt lay on their backs beneath the lights, staring up at the glow. Vic liked everything about this—his lover in his arms, the lights above them, the feel of the thin sheet covering their nude bodies, the darkened bedroom and the silent night beyond. If they never moved again, it would be too soon. Matt nodded, settling himself closer to Vic. He curled alongside his lover with his head on Vic’s shoulder, one hand smoothing over Vic’s broad chest. His knee was drawn up onto Vic’s hip, and pressed heavily against the start of an erection that, for now, Vic ignored. That ticklish hand on his chest trailed over to one nipple and tweaked it erect; Matt moved slightly and took the other nipple into his mouth. As his tongue swirled around the hard nugget, Vic felt a shot of pleasure spike through him, and 20


blood rushed down to pound in his cock. Running a hand through Matt’s thick black curls, Vic teased, “I thought we were just going to relax.” Matt sat up a bit, just enough so he could flash Vic a quick grin. When his lips parted, Vic saw his own nipple caught between his lover’s teeth. Telepathically, Matt replied, ::You telling me this isn’t relaxing?:: Wrapping his arm around Matt’s head, Vic hugged his lover to him. Matt settled back against Vic’s shoulder and threaded an arm beneath Vic’s body to lock his hands together around his waist. For a moment he stared at the lights above them; then he turned and licked out, tracing the inky pattern of a Celtic knot tattooed just beneath Vic’s armpit. “Tomorrow,” he sighed, and his breath tickled the damp imprint on Vic’s skin, “we’ll pick out a tree. Biggest they have. We’ll probably have to re-arrange the whole living room just to fit it in.” Vic tightened his arm around Matt’s shoulders and didn’t answer. He knew nothing about picking out a Christmas tree, or decorating it, or what to put beneath it. When they went shopping earlier for the lights, he’d felt like an alien in a strange new world where nothing made sense. He’d let Matt pull him along, his lover as excited as a child awaiting Santa, and part of him would have liked to feel something at the season, some inkling of what Matt felt. With all the seriousness of a man buying a new house, Matt went up and down each aisle, picking out the lights and ornaments and two stockings that now hung on the wall behind the TV. He grabbed wrapping paper, and Christmas cards, and CDs full of 21


holiday songs. Time and again he’d alluded to the gift he bought for Vic. “You’re gonna love it,” he kept saying. Here in the quiet of their bedroom, away from the bustling shoppers, tucked safe in their own bed, Vic allowed himself to admit softly, “Matty, I don’t know what to get you for Christmas.” Matt laughed and cuddled closer to Vic. “You don’t have to get me anything,” he said with a grin. “I’ve got you for a full week, all to myself. That’s present enough.” Vic sighed. “I’m being serious here. The last gift I gave somebody was twenty years ago. I just don’t know what to buy.” Setting his chin on Vic’s shoulder, Matt stared at him, through him. Vic felt his lover’s consciousness ease into his mind like tendrils of fog, covering his thoughts before sidling between them. Matt moved gently, picking his way across Vic’s emotions, leafing through memories he could never put into words. His sister, Mary. His parents. The years they didn’t even bother to get a Christmas tree. The Malibu Barbie Vic had stolen from a drug store their last Christmas Eve together, just so his sister would have a gift to open the next day. Matt knew it all—he often strolled through Vic’s mind, picking over his past, seeing what made his lover tick. As if he could chase away the unpleasant memories with his love alone, he hugged Vic tight. “This Christmas will be wonderful,” he promised. “You’ll see.” More than anything else, Vic wanted it to be. He’d never dated a man before Matt—yes, he’d had one-night stands and 22


heated hook-ups with buddies, but nothing serious, nothing permanent, and sure as hell nothing that warranted the exchange of gifts. As his lover rummaged through his mind, Vic puckered his lips and blew a kiss at the tip of Matt’s nose. “Tell me what to get you,” he murmured. “Or give me some ideas, at least. Maybe even some guidelines, you know? Do you want a cruise? Satellite radio for your car? What?” “Oh, Vic.” Releasing Vic’s waist, Matt scooted up to press his lips to his lover’s mouth, silencing him. One hand caressed the top of Vic’s bald head, the other brushed over his smooth, hairless cheek, massaging his face as Matt licked into him. Their kiss deepened; Vic found himself pinned back to the bed as Matt climbed onto him, his legs sliding open to straddle Vic’s girth, his buttocks mere inches from the tip of Vic’s thick cock. When he rocked back a little, breaking their kiss, Vic’s length bumped between Matt’s ass cheeks, exciting them both. “Guidelines,” Matt murmured, kissing Vic’s chin. “As long as this isn’t some sort of ploy to find out what I got you…” Vic’s hands came up over Matt’s hips to knead his ass. “Please. I could easily find out.” He closed his eyes in mock concentration, then expanded his mind until it pressed against Matt’s. “No!” his lover cried with a laugh. Instantly Vic found himself battering against a solid wall of resistance as Matt mentally held him back. “It’s a secret. You promised me you wouldn’t look.” Relaxing his thoughts, Vic squeezed Matt’s ass in both hands and leaned toward him for a quick kiss. “I’m just 23


playing. I don’t want to look—I want it to be a surprise. So you have some guidelines for me?” Matt pouted, and Vic kissed him again, lingering this time. With his lips on Matt’s, he opened his mouth to part his lover’s. His tongue licked over his own lower lip first, then tasted Matt’s. When it moved to the top lip, its touch feathery, Matt took over. Turning his head to one side, he covered Vic’s mouth fully with his own, his tongue insistent as it ran over the roof of Vic’s mouth. Vic held him close, his arms encircling Matt’s narrow waist; between them, Matt’s cock hardened, piqued by their mounting passion. Then Matt trailed tiny kisses along Vic’s jaw to his ear, where he took the pierced lobe between his teeth. Nibbling gently, he purred, “First off, keep it under fifty bucks.” Vic had almost forgotten about those damn guidelines. Another kiss or two and he’d flip onto his stomach, spread his legs wide, and give Matt a real present. But apparently Matt wasn’t ready to let the conversation devolve into sex just yet, so Vic pulled away from the mouth on his ear to frown at his lover. “What? That’s not much.” Propping his head up on one hand, his elbow buried in the pillow beside Vic’s head, Matt gave him a slow smile. “This is year one, Vic. You don’t go all out at the beginning or how do you top yourself next year?” “Now you’re speaking my language,” Vic teased. Matt slid off Vic but snuggled close to him, unwilling to go very far. Trailing a hand down Vic’s stomach, he plucked at the bulbous head of Vic’s cock. Each pinch, each squeeze, 24


sent a shiver of delight through Vic. When the first beads of translucent pre-cum bubbled from his tip, Matt wiped them away with his hand, then put his finger in his mouth to savor the taste. “Fifty bucks,” he repeated. “That’s about all I spent. I mean, our anniversary’s a week later.” Vic sighed. Shit. That meant another present. But Matt kissed his cheek, his breath warm on Vic’s skin as he whispered, “Don’t worry, dinner and a movie will suffice for that.” “What about Christmas?” Vic asked. Matt’s hand traveled back down his stomach as if drawn to his crotch by a magnet. As he fondled Vic, he said, “Fifty bucks or so. And it has to be something sexual.” Vic laughed. “What?” “You heard me.” Matt shrugged. Lowering his cheek to the pillow beside Vic’s, he draped his free arm around Vic’s head to toy with his right ear. The other hand encircled his shaft, kneading gently to work him hard. “Something sexual. I figure we got plenty of time to use it, right? You’re getting off the whole week.” Raising his hips up from the bed, Vic thrust into Matt’s hand. “I’m close to getting off now,” he admitted. “If you want to come with…” Matt stretched across Vic, reaching for the half-empty tube of lubricant on his bedside table. As he squirted a generous dollop into his palms and began to slick his cock, he laughed. “I’m already there. Turn over, big boy. Let me at that sexy ass of yours.” 25


Vic hurried to comply. *

*

*

After the second week of December, time seemed to scurry away at the approaching chill of winter. Before Vic knew it, the evening of the company Christmas party arrived. Last year he’d gone by himself to the party and had had a miserable time, wishing he could’ve been with Matt instead. This year, he’d have Matt by his side, but he was still miserable at the thought of donning the Santa suit Morrison had given him to wear. The red pants were baggy and way too long; Vic had to roll the waistband to keep from stepping on the bottom of the pant legs. The red coat with its white fur trim looked worn and moth-eaten, and the material itched wherever it touched Vic’s bare skin. When he put a long-sleeved T-shirt on beneath it, he started to sweat. “This fucking sucks,” he announced. He stood in his bedroom, the pants held up with one hand, the other fanning his flushed face. Matt lay on the bed in a pair of bright white briefs and an elegant button-down shirt. The top of the shirt was undone, exposing whorls of dark hair at the neck of Matt’s white undershirt, and a tie had been draped over his shoulders, waiting to be tied. Reaching out with one foot, he gave Vic’s ass a playful nudge and teased, “You look sexy in red.” “Shut up,” Vic grumbled, but there was no malice in his voice. As he struggled to belt the pants into place, he asked silently, ::You think so?:: 26


Matt’s toes curled in Vic’s pants and tugged, playful. ::I’ve been a good boy this year, Santa.:: Matt’s thought tickled into Vic’s mind like a lover’s gentle caress. ::What kind of present do you have for me?:: ::Something sinful,:: Vic promised. He clamped down his thoughts before Matt could glimpse further into his mind and see he hadn’t yet bought his lover a Christmas gift. But if he wanted a little something now… Giving up on the pants, Vic let them fall to the floor. In two stumbling steps, he crossed to the bed, then pulled down his underwear to moon his lover. “What about this?” he asked. He anticipated Matt’s appreciative growl, but when his lover’s tongue licked between his buttocks, Vic gasped and fell sideways onto the bed. “Jesus,” he sighed. His legs spread wider, the Santa pants slipping off one ankle, as he granted Matt access to the trembling skin at the center of his being. “Warn a man next time, Matty, will you?” His lover slapped his ass with a resounding smack! “Pull up your pants, Santa,” Matt said. On his knees behind Vic, he pressed his crotch to Vic’s ass—Vic felt the uncompromising erection hidden in those tight white briefs and found his own cock stiffen in response. “They turn me on.” Sliding off the bed, Vic stepped out of the pants, then out of his briefs, then pulled the pants back up over his bare butt. ::Where do you want me?:: he asked Matt. With a laugh, his lover teased, “Obedient. I like that in a man.” “Matty,” Vic warned. He wasn’t much for small talk 27


during sex. He wanted it hard, he wanted it rough, and he wanted it right now, damn it. “We don’t have much time…” “Santa has all the time in the world,” Matt said. “He only comes once a year. You don’t want to rush something like that.” Standing behind Vic, Matt guided him to the bed, which Vic climbed onto again with both knees this time, legs spread wide and pants held at his waist. Matt ran his fingers up under Vic’s Santa coat, tickling his ribs, then leaned against him as his arms encircled Vic’s waist. Easing his fingers between Vic’s, he grasped his lover’s hands in his, releasing the Santa pants. The back of the pants fell down, exposing Vic’s round ass, but the front tented beneath a thick erection that Matt grasped with both hands. Kissing Vic’s nape, Matt murmured, “Love you.” “Please,” Vic replied. Matt laughed, a breathy sound that energized Vic’s blood. Through the Santa pants, Matt stroked Vic’s erection, the itchy material rasping against his hard dick. Behind him, he felt Matt’s own cock prod his ass as if knocking to enter. Reading that thought, Matt humped against Vic, his cockhead bumping into him. “Let me in.” Vic leaned forward, arching his back, his buttocks spreading in invitation. When Matt released his dick, Vic took a moment to pull the pants down below his balls—the last thing he wanted were cum stains in his lap, not when he had to wear these pants to the Christmas party. He felt his lover’s touch disappear, and Vic was all too aware of the fact that he 28


knelt doggy-style on his bed with his ass in the air. “Matty? Sometime tonight.” His lover’s teeth nipped at the sensitive skin on his inner thigh, causing Vic to growl with lust. Through their mental connection, his teeth still biting Vic’s skin, Matt told him, ::I’m coming.:: “Me too, in a minute.” Vic leaned on his left elbow as his right hand found a steady rhythm along his length. He pinched the tip of his own dick, squeezed it hard, sending pleasure shooting through him. Thrusting into his fist, he moaned, “Matty—” Cool fingers slick with lube trailed down the crack in his ass, then circled his tight, hot hole, rimming him, before easing inside. Vic bucked against the hand, eager to feel his lover in him. Matt spread his fingers apart, working Vic wider. “Yes,” Vic sighed. The word echoed through him into Matt and back again, verbal and mental at the same time. “Yes, yes.” The arrow-shaped head of Matt’s cock pressed against Vic’s quivering hole. “Yes,” he sighed again, rocking back on his knees to pierce himself on his lover’s shaft. Matt’s length filled him like a spark that blazed from the tip of his dick and struck against Vic’s prostate as if trying to set his whole body ablaze. Vic rocked back, harder, meeting Matt thrust for thrust, until the cock in him seemed to catch fire and ignited his blood. “Yes,” Vic cried, clutching at the bed sheets with one hand as he jerked his own dick in frenzied desire. “Yes, yes, YES.” 29


At the last moment Matt shoved in as far as he could and came deep within Vic. The hot rush of semen filled him like a wildfire, racing through his veins, burning in his core. Vic’s orgasm ripped through him, slicking his hand with thick spunk. When Matt pulled free, he kissed the tender, swollen flesh between Vic’s buttocks, then moved lower, between Vic’s spread legs, to kiss the back of his balls. Then, lying down on his back between Vic’s legs, Matt kissed his way along Vic’s wilting erection, over Vic’s hands, his stomach, his chest. As Matt wriggled farther onto the bed, Vic clamped his knees on either side of Matt’s waist, pinning his lover beneath him. As those lips kissed their way up Vic’s neck to finally land on his mouth, Vic murmured into them, “Love you.” *

*

*

Vic felt conspicuous and stupid in the Santa suit, and Matt’s continuous snickers didn’t help improve his mood. When Vic asked his lover’s help in belting a large pillow to his stomach to fill out the suit, Matt had been unable to stand, he’d laughed so hard. “I’ll remember this on Christmas Eve,” Vic threatened. Somehow, Matt managed to contain himself long enough to help Vic dress. But when Vic pulled out the Santa hat, complete with white curly wig and attached white beard, Matt fell into giggles all over again. “I’m leaving you here,” Vic told him. “I feel like a fool enough as it is. I don’t need you laughing at me, too.” 30


“You look cute,” Matt said, breathless with laughter. Cute was not something Vic thought of in relation to himself. Giving his lover a mean glare, he growled, “And you’re sleeping on the couch.” “Oh, Vic.” Matt reined in his laughter and wiped the tears from his face. “Hush up, I’m just teasing. You know you can’t sleep without me.” In the car, Matt held Vic’s black Santa gloves in his lap— Vic couldn’t drive with them on. If he’d thought the suit was itchy, it felt like silk compared to the damn wig and beard. At each red light they hit, Vic scratched under the hat, until finally Matt took it off his head and dropped it with the gloves into his lap. “Why am I doing this again?” Vic groaned. “Full week off at Christmas,” Matt reminded him. Instead of elevating Vic’s spirits, that thought plunged him deeper into a black mood. He still had a gift to buy. The Christmas party was held in an empty maintenance bay at the bus garage. Outside, Vic let Matt adjust his costume as he peered through the dirty plastic window in the bay door. The setup was the same as the previous year’s had been, and the year before. Large folding tables spread out across the room, decorated with festive tablecloths and poinsettias as centerpieces. An office chair had been wrapped in aluminum foil and set up at the far end of the room, beside a lit Christmas tree and false fireplace, complete with fake flickering logs. Santa’s seat. How Vic was supposed to ho ho ho his way past those tables filled with his coworkers was beyond him. 31


“You look great,” Matt whispered. Pulling Vic’s beard into place, he leaned closer and kissed Vic through the fuzzy white hair. “Knock ’em dead.” Vic started, “I don’t think…” But Matt had already ducked through the door, leaving him alone outside with the sack of gifts. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Vic reached out with his mind to touch his lover’s. A surge of strength flooded him, and he felt Matt’s presence wrap around him as if in a tight hug. Then he picked up an undercurrent of excitement buzzing through the room. The telepathy he struggled to hold back came flooding over him as a myriad of kid’s voices hummed excitedly. Did you see him? Outside? Santa’s here! Santa Claus! I saw him, I DID! Suddenly Vic’s trepidation fell away. He’d forgotten about his coworkers’ families—some of their children in there had caught a glimpse of him when Matt entered the room, and those who had seen were gossiping with those who hadn’t. Anticipation roiled through the room like a tidal wave, washing everything else away. His coworkers didn’t care if he were decked out in this stupid suit; their wives and girlfriends and guests wouldn’t be upset if Santa didn’t show. But the children…they were beside themselves with glee, waiting. For him. The next breath he took strengthened his resolve, and as he shoved through the door, he bellowed out, “Ho, ho, ho!” He had to tamp down a silly grin that threatened to split his face at the shrieks that met his arrival. A horde of kids flung 32


themselves at his legs, and he felt like a rock star meeting a crowd of groupies, or a celebrity fighting his way through a throng of paparazzi. Matt stood nearby, camera in hand, the smile on his face all the encouragement Vic needed to belt out, “Merry Christmas!” One thought from his lover cut through the babble to warm Vic’s heart. Do you know how much I love you right now? *

*

*

Even Vic had to admit the party wasn’t that bad. The kids weren’t the only ones who enjoyed Vic’s grumpy impression of Santa Claus—after a few drinks, some of his coworkers dared each other to sit on his knee, and Vic found it hard to keep the frown on his face when he had a lapful of strong, young men. They were in high spirits, the whole lot of them, and no matter how he tried to hang onto his foul mood, Vic found their mirth contagious. He seemed to be the life of the party—everyone wanted to talk to him, sit beside him, plop down into his lap. It wasn’t just the Santa suit, Vic thought. It was something more, something almost animalistic. It made the men gather around him, made the kids cling to his arms and legs, made the women swoon as he passed. When Morrison’s wife tugged down his beard and puckered up, Vic anticipated her kiss and turned at the last minute, earning himself a smear of lipstick like war paint on his cheek. Matt followed him to the bathroom to get cleaned up. As he wiped at his face, Vic 33


muttered, “What the hell’s up with everyone tonight?” “You’re sexy,” Matt purred. He’d downed his fair share of beer, and couldn’t keep his hands off Vic, either. Wrapping his arms around Vic’s waist, Matt leaned against him heavily and sighed. “My man. You smell incredible.” Actually, he smelled pretty ripe—the suit was hot and he couldn’t seem to stop sweating. When he pulled at the front of his coat to fan himself, the odor that wafted up around his face nauseated him. But for some reason, it only made Matt melt against him. A lusty sigh escaped his lips, and Vic could feel his lover’s erection press into his ass. Almost unconsciously, he rubbed against Vic, like a dog in heat. It was as if Matt were drunk on him, or something… Pheromones. Like a missing puzzle piece, the word fell neatly into Vic’s mind. Pheromones, of course. That would explain all the attention he was getting—somehow, he must be giving off some sort of scent that made people want to swarm around him. Another heightened ability, like the telepathy and the super strength. Frowning at his reflection in the mirror, trying to ignore the press of his lover’s body along his, Vic let out a low growl. He should keep a journal so he’d remember which position gave him what ability. Note to self: sex on all fours in bed, wearing a damn Santa suit, makes me irresistible to the entire human race. By far, the crappiest power he’d drawn to date. The party couldn’t end soon enough for Vic. It seemed like hours later when Morrison finally wished 34


everyone a Merry Christmas and a safe drive home. Vic no longer wore his Santa hat—it sat perched on Matt’s black curls, the beard and wig askew above his lover’s drunken grin. Matt’s head lolled on Vic’s shoulder, his breath alcoholic enough to give Vic a buzz. He practically had to carry Matt out to the car; while Vic unlocked the passenger door, his lover leaned against his back, hands fumbling into Vic’s bright red Santa pants as if looking for a special treat. “Got something in here for me?” he mused, fingers easing beneath the pillow tied at Vic’s waist to curl into his warm crotch. Opening the car door, Vic announced, “You are drunk.” “You,” Matt slurred, mimicking Vic’s tone, “are right.” Vic managed to give Matt a quick kiss on the cheek before his lover dropped into the passenger seat. His hands tugged at Vic’s pants, trying to pull him down, too. Then there was a loud rip that seemed to tear apart the quiet night around them, and a sudden breeze wafted around Vic’s thighs. Matt doubled over with giggles. “I can see your Christmas balls!” he shrieked into the night. “Matty,” Vic warned. Matt’s hands rubbed over the front of Vic’s tight briefs. “Can I unwrap them? Make Santa come for me twice?” Shoving his lover’s hands away, Vic pulled his torn pants closed. “Get in,” Vic sighed. He nudged Matt’s legs with one foot, trying to turn him around in the seat so he could shut the door. “Come on, Matty. It’s getting late. I want to go home.” Matt leaned against Vic’s waist, his chin digging into the pillowy padding that enhanced his Santa image. Looking up at 35


Vic with large, wavering eyes, he pouted like a little boy and asked, “Can I open my present when we get there?” I haven’t bought it yet. The words almost slipped free from Vic’s mouth. Thank God Matt was half lit—his presence inside Vic’s thoughts was fuzzy, indistinct, and Vic managed to erase the thought from his mind before Matt could hear it. There were ten days left until Christmas. Earlier that morning, Vic had added still before that number; now, with Matt staring up at him like that poor boy in the movie who just wanted a Red Ryder BB gun, Vic found himself thinking there were only ten days, less than two full weeks—barely any time at all, and he hadn’t a clue what he’d buy his lover for Christmas. I’ll get something Monday, he promised himself. Cupping his crotch with a suggestive grin, he teased Matt, “Christmas is still a ways off, but I think I have a little something I can give you now. If you’ve been good…” Matt’s smile widened. “Good?” he laughed. “Santa baby, I’m the best.” *

*

*

Monday came and went. Vic only remembered he had planned to stop and get Matt’s present when he pulled up in front of the apartment they shared. By then, Matt already knew he was home—with their mental connection, Matt could “pick up” Vic’s presence a good two blocks from home. He couldn’t drive off without having to explain himself, and he didn’t want to ruin Matty’s Christmas mood by admitting he 36


hadn’t yet bought him a gift. As much as Matt might claim he didn’t need a present, Vic knew his lover would be sorely disappointed if there were nothing for him beneath their tree on Christmas morning. Matt’s self-imposed caveat of “something sexy” made it hard for Vic to think up a good gift. The only adult bookstore he knew of was on the Boulevard, on his way home from work. But it was right on the corner of the street, in plain sight, and he refused to park in their conspicuous lot. How many of his coworkers would pass by and see his car? And if someone like Kyle noticed it? Vic would never hear the end of it. No. Besides, from his experience, most adult stores catered to straight men. There was a gay bookstore downtown, Vic had been there a few times in the past, but it was mostly erotica books and jerk-off magazines—nothing he’d consider buying now that he was in a steady relationship. He needed something special, something unique. Something they could use together, to pleasure them both… Wednesday evening after his shift, Vic heard the radio DJ announce that there were officially only five shopping days left until Christmas. Five…the thought burned in Vic’s belly like indigestion. He had to find something, and he had to find it tonight. As he headed home, Vic paid careful attention to the stores he passed, but nothing struck his fancy. At the Boulevard where he normally turned right to head onto the Interstate, he swerved at the last minute and wound up in the left turning 37


lane. A few turns later, he found himself at the start of Cary, a one-way street downtown that ran near the James River. Dubbed “Carytown,” the street was a haven of boutiques and quirky little shops that constantly bustled with students from Virginia Commonwealth University. If Vic wanted something different, this would be the place to look. Cars lined the narrow street, and shoppers ran from one sidewalk to the other, sometimes jumping out in front of traffic with no regard for the stop lights. Vic slowed to a crawl in the middle lane as he tried to watch both sides of the street for an open parking spot along the curb. There were no parking lots or decks on Cary, and cars lined both sides of the street for as far as Vic could see. After a block or two without finding anything, he sped up, disgusted at the crowds and the other drivers. Forget it—he’d just go home. Ahead of him, an SUV pulled away from the curb directly into his path. Vic had to step on the brake to avoid rear-ending the huge vehicle. ::Fucking asshole!:: He shouted the curse in his mind, directing it at the driver in front of him. Instantly, the SUV’s brake lights came on, and Vic saw a young woman’s face in the driver’s side mirror as she glanced behind her. For a moment, she looked right at him. Vic narrowed his eyes and bared his teeth in a mean expression. Whatever she saw in Vic’s visage made her speed up through traffic, widening the gap between them. Behind Vic, another car honked its horn and his hands tightened on the 38


steering wheel. He hated driving in conditions like this. Bad enough he had to do it for a living. He should be home already, relaxing on the couch while Matt cooked dinner, not here fighting through crowds for a damn Christmas present… When the car behind him honked again, Vic swerved into the parking spot vacated by the SUV. He didn’t even bother to straighten out—just pulled in and cut off the engine. A car sped past, and though Vic glared out the window, the driver who had honked refused to look his way as he zoomed by. So Vic kicked open his door and stepped out of his car, enjoying the sudden squeal of brakes as drivers stopped to avoid hitting him. Go ahead, he prayed. I dare you. No one took him up on his offer. Skirting around his car, he let the jostling crowd on the sidewalk draw him along. He looked in the windows of the stores they passed, hoping to find something that might interest Matt, but nothing jumped out at Vic. With his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets, he stormed past a few restaurants, a bookstore, an old movie theater showing matinees for two bucks a piece, a consignment shop, a women’s clothing store… A block down from where he’d parked, a stuttering neon sign caught his attention. In bright pink lines, the sign depicted a claw-foot bathtub with a woman in it; every couple of seconds, the sign flickered as bubbles rising from the tub popped, and the store’s name scrolled along the side of the tub. Le Bain de Bulle. Vic recognized the words as French, but didn’t know what they meant. Something girly, no doubt. 39


Look at those damn bubbles… But a hand-written sign beneath the neon one stopped Vic in his tracks. When someone bumped into him with a, “Hey! Watch it, pal,” he didn’t even bother to turn and growl at them. He couldn’t look away from the flowing script that read, Pamper Your Feet! New products inside. To Vic, those words conjured up wicked images in his mind—Matt nude on the bed, one foot in Vic’s lap, the other massaged gently between Vic’s strong hands. Matt’s feet dangling over the edge of the bathtub, large and soapy and wet. The way his toes winked out from his pant legs as he dressed. The way they curled into socks, or gripped his sandals, or felt between Vic’s fingers. Matt’s feet were one of the first things Vic had noticed about him—huge, flipper-like, sculpted to perfection. The arch of his sole, the curve of his ankle. The knobby pads on the bottom of each little toe like smooth pearls that Vic loved to nuzzle and suck. The trim, clean nails, the dark fuzz along the top of his feet, the wicked things he could do with his big toe pressed into Vic’s crotch. Vic had many fetishes—he loved getting fucked up the ass, he loved the way his own body felt completely shaved, he loved tattoos and piercings and the rich, animalistic smell of damp leather. But most of all, he loved, loved, loved Matt’s feet. He’d found his gift. Then he entered the store and instantly regretted it. The place smelled strongly of roses and soap, a feminine scent that he didn’t much like. The walls were lined with bottles of all 40


shapes and sizes, each filled with a myriad of colored creams, gels, and liquids—they glistened in the dim lighting like magical potions in an alchemist’s lab. And despite the holiday traffic outside, he was the only customer in Le Bain de Bulle. Two sales clerks appeared as if conjured by the tinkling bell above the door that announced his presence. One was an older lady, probably the owner, and the other a young, collegeaged girl with a harried look that suggested she’d rather be anywhere else but here. With a quick glance to assess Vic, she told the other, “I’ve got it.” Before Vic could even move, she was heading his way. “Hey there. I’m Shawna. Can I help you?” “Um.” Vic looked around, but he couldn’t tell one display from the next—which of these bottles were the new products? Which pampered feet? And how would he find something he liked without having to open and sniff each single one? He felt like a heathen who had stumbled into a goddess’s shrine—as intriguing as all these effects might be, he couldn’t begin to figure out what they might be used for. If he planned to buy anything in this store, he would definitely need some help. Frowning down at Shawna, he admitted, “I need to buy a gift.” She was a short girl, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulders, and wore her long brown hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. His appearance, always a little rough around the edges, didn’t seem to phase her—at the mention of the word “gift,” her smile cranked up a notch and she giggled. “Something for your girlfriend?” she asked in a suggestive, sing-song voice. 41


Vic grunted. “No.” “Your mother?” she tried again. “No.” Maybe this wasn’t a good idea—if the store only catered to women, Vic wouldn’t find anything he wanted in here. He liked his man to smell…well, manly, to be honest. Taking a step toward the door, Vic started, “Maybe this isn’t—” Her smile turned smug. “I get it. Your boyfriend, right?” When Vic didn’t reply, she persisted, “Am I right?” Vic’s face closed into the mask he usually wore in public. He never lied about his sexuality but he wasn’t one to broadcast it, either. It was a private matter, no one’s business but his own. “I should go.” “No, wait.” Shawna reached out a hand to stop him. Her grip was surprisingly strong on his elbow. “It’s totally cool, believe me. My roommate’s gay.” Vic narrowed his eyes, menacing, but her smile never faltered. With a tug on his coat, she told him, “The men’s products are back here. Come on, I’ll show you.” He had to buy Matt something. And the thought of giving his lover a sensual foot massage as a prelude to making love was enough to entice him to follow Shawna. *

*

*

Christmas Eve dawned bright and cold. Though he had the day off from work and had nowhere he planned to go, Vic was up at six that morning, easing from between the covers with the hope that Matt wouldn’t wake before he returned. Tugging 42


on his flannel robe, he moved through their apartment on silent feet and unlocked the apartment door. He paused to scoop up his keys from the nearby phone table, then stepped out into the drafty hall. Closing the door quietly behind him, he cinched the robe tight. Then he hurried down the stairs and out the front door. The air was brittle and sharp when Vic breathed it in. The concrete stoop was so damn cold, it numbed his bare feet the moment he stepped outside; by the time he reached the sidewalk, he could feel nothing from his ankles down. A cutting wind pulled at his robe like a hungry lover, and as Vic huddled down against it, his mind returned to his bed, with the warm covers draped over Matt’s still sleeping form. Be back there soon enough. At the curb, his car glistened with a thin coat of ice that winked like crystals in the rising sun. Stepping out into the street, Vic unlocked the trunk of his car. Why he hadn’t thought to bring Matt’s presents in earlier was beyond him— since he’d bought them, they had stayed out in his car. Part of him wanted it to be a surprise, though Matt would know the moment he saw them that they were from Vic. But he hadn’t seen Matt place his gifts beneath the tree; one morning he woke up and suddenly there they were, a nice little pile wrapped in bright red paper. The stocking with Vic’s name on it above the TV had also filled out. As Christmas neared, Vic caught Matt glancing under the tree when he thought Vic wasn’t looking, as if he wondered why no other gifts had joined his. Because this is my first real Christmas, Vic 43


thought. I’m trying the best I can. Inside the trunk were two large shopping bags. The first and biggest bag was from Le Bain de Bulle. In it were the gifts Shawna had helped him pick out—creamy lotions, foot scrubs, a home pedicure kit, scented oils, a pair of massage gloves covered in hard rubber nubs, a picture book on foot reflexology, a “how to” book on sensual massage, a loofah for the bath…each item individually wrapped in festive gold paper. The store had also had a small sexual section, where Vic picked up more oils—one that warmed on the skin, another that turned cold, a third that felt like liquid satin. He bought blowjob mints, which would chill his tongue and mouth before he went down on Matt, and a candy cock ring he couldn’t wait to nibble off his lover. He’d spent well over fifty dollars at that one store alone, easily, but Matt was worth it. The second bag was marked Medallion Pools. Vic had noticed the store after he left the other. Surprised to find a pool store open in December, and knowing his lover’s love of swimming, Vic had ducked inside. The shelves were mostly empty, but there were a few items he thought Matt might like—new swim goggles, nose clips, a swim cap, some sort of lotion that was supposed to keep chlorine from damaging the skin, and a couple practical items for his office designed with a water aficionado in mind. Vic’s favorite item was also in the second bag: a pair of skin-tight Speedos made of black mesh. Mesh. The thought of his lover in them just about shortcircuited his mind. Of course, Matt would never wear them in public, but at home, for Vic… 44


A shiver of delight ran down Vic’s spine. It set off another tremor, this one deep in his chest, and he remembered he stood barefoot in freezing weather. Gathering his gifts together, he closed the trunk and hurried back inside. By the time he’d climbed the stairs to his apartment, the feeling in his feet was back, and his toes throbbed from the cold. At the door to his apartment, he stopped and stretched out his mind, brushing over Matt’s consciousness. He was still asleep. Good. Inside, Vic emptied the two shopping bags out onto the couch, then began arranging the items under the tree. Soon a golden stack of presents nestled beside Matt’s red-wrapped gifts under the branches. The smaller things were dropped into Matt’s stocking, until it bulged to match Vic’s. Then he balled up the shopping bags, shoved them into the trash can in the kitchen, and hurried back to bed, stopping only in the bathroom to slip off his robe. Sliding between the sheets again, Vic cuddled up to Matt’s warmth. As his cold, bare feet touched Matt’s leg, his lover woke and gasped. “Vic?” he murmured, turning toward him. “Damn, you’re freezing.” “Then warm me up,” Vic breathed. Matt’s legs parted, then clamped over Vic’s toes. His hands were thrust into Matt’s crotch, and loving arms rubbed over his shivering shoulders, holding him close. “Why’d you go outside?” Matt wanted to know. Vic silenced him with a kiss. 45


*

*

*

Dinner that evening was a quiet affair—just the two of them and a small baked ham that they ate by candlelight. “Don’t get too used to this,” Matt warned. “You lucked out of the traditional diLorenzo family fiasco this year, but next year, you won’t be so lucky.” To be honest, Vic looked forward to it. His own family had never made much of the holidays; it would be a nice change to see how the other side lived them up. Though the thought of meeting Matt’s parents did make him more than a little nervous, and he was stressed out enough this year as it was, trying to get the holiday right. Fortunately, Matt’s parents had decided on an extended vacation to the Mediterranean in lieu of weathering another cold, wet winter in Virginia—Vic had all next year to prepare himself to meet them. His stomach already churned at the thought. Later, there was a gleam in Matt’s eye as he knelt by the tree to appraise the gifts beneath it. He didn’t say anything, but Vic could feel his lover’s excitement humming through the room. “They aren’t much,” Vic started. “Hush,” Matt admonished. In one swift movement, he stood and pressed his body against Vic’s, arms encircling Vic’s waist as he touched his lips to Vic’s. “It’s the thought that counts.” Their quick kiss deepened, warming them both. Vic’s hands smoothed around Matt’s waist to cup his ass, then he hugged his lover to him, as close as their bodies would allow, as he licked between those sweet lips to taste his man. Matt 46


took a step back beneath Vic’s advance, then stood his ground; his arms came up between them to ease around Vic’s neck, one hand fisting in his tank top, the other rubbing over the back of his shaved head, pulling him closer, reeling him in. What had started out as a gentle peck grew heated, hungry. Matt grasped Vic’s tank top in both hands and yanked it up. As it slid over the top of Vic’s head, his lover stepped back, tugging the shirt off with him. “I’ve got an idea,” he said, eyes shiny with promise. Releasing his lover, Vic bent and held his arms out to let Matt pull the shirt off completely. “Let’s hear it.” One of Matt’s dark eyebrows rose like a challenge. “Strip.” The tank top was tossed aside, and Matt’s own shirt followed suit. Vic couldn’t get his pants off fast enough, but Matt was quicker—he unzipped his jeans, then shucked both them and his underwear to the ground. Vic’s gaze was drawn to the start of an erection already beginning to poke out from the thick hair at Matt’s crotch, and suddenly he couldn’t seem to work the zipper on his own pants. With a laugh, Matt turned to plug in the Christmas tree lights. “You’re holding us up here,” he teased. Vic’s zipper had caught in his briefs. He gave out a frustrated snarl and tried to rezip the pants, hoping to straighten things out, but the damn little metal slide refused to move up or down, and his own hard erection pressing against the material only complicated things. “Matty,” he muttered, wrestling with his zipper. “A little help here would be nice.” Matt laughed again. Coming up behind Vic, he leaned his 47


nude body against his lover—Vic felt hard nipples press into his bare shoulder blades, felt that thick cock butt against his jeans. Lust swirled through him, igniting his blood, dazzling his senses. With a burst of super strength, he tore open his fly. The zipper squealed in protest, denim ripped, and Matt stepped back as Vic kicked the remains of the jeans off his legs. Amid Matt’s snickering, Vic growled, “Come here, you.” But Matt had already moved to the floor lamp that illuminated the living room. “I want you on the couch,” he said, clicking off the light. The living room plunged into dusk, lit only by the twinkling multi-colored lights on the Christmas tree. Removing his briefs, Vic sank down on the end of the couch closest to the tree. As Matt approached, the lights played over his nude skin with a sensual, festive glow. “Turn around,” he instructed. “Legs on the couch, facing me.” Vic chuckled. “Yes, sir.” He turned to stretch his legs out along the length of the couch and leaned back against the arm. Reaching out, he trailed a finger beneath Matt’s hard length, which rose at his touch. With his finger, he angled the ruddy tip of Matt’s cock toward him, and sat up enough to lick out at it. When his tongue touched the slit in the cockhead, Matt gasped. “God, Vic.” That was all the encouragement Vic needed. He leaned forward, closing his lips over Matt’s bulbous tip, already suckling at the tender flesh. Strong hands rubbed over his scalp, tugged at his ears, pulled him closer. He took Matt’s 48


length in, licking along the hard, hot skin, closing his teeth just enough to rasp them gently along Matt’s dick. His lover thrust into him, forcing himself deep into Vic’s mouth, into his throat, where Vic’s muscles involuntarily massaged his length. “Yes,” Matt sighed, humping into him. “Yes.” Vic’s hands eased around Matt’s hips to knead his firm buttocks. Fingering the crack in his lover’s ass, Vic rimmed him with one forefinger, letting the other tickle along beneath his anus to fondle the skin behind his balls. Matt arched into Vic’s hands, one knee hitting the couch to prop himself up as Vic continued to suck at him, rim him, love him. “Yes,” Matt sighed again. Letting his lover’s length slip from his mouth, Vic nosed the slick dick aside to bury his face in the hair tangled at Matt’s crotch. He inhaled deeply, drawing Matt’s scent into him, a heady blend of musk and man and sweat he thought the sweetest smell in the world. His tongue licked out, wetting down kinked hair, tasting soft flesh, lapping up his lover’s heavenly scent. Moving lower, he kissed Matt’s balls, the smooth skin like silk on his lips; then he took the soft sac into his mouth and hummed faintly to stimulate it. Matt gasped and pushed against Vic’s forehead. “Vic, no, wait.” The humming stopped and Vic glanced up at Matt, his lover’s balls still held in his mouth. Without releasing them, he asked mentally, ::You don’t like this?:: “I love it,” Matt replied. “Jesus, Vic, it’s amazing. But I’m going to come in a minute if you don’t let up, and then where 49


will we be?” Vic didn’t see a problem with that, but Matt leaned down to kiss the top of his head and, as he did so, his sac slipped from between Vic’s lips. “If I’m getting off tonight,” he murmured, “I want you along for the ride. Lay back down.” Vic complied. “What do you have in mind?” “Just trust me,” Matt told him. He guided Vic until he sat back against the side of the couch, knees bent in front of him, legs parted. Matt knelt on the couch, facing him, then spread Vic’s knees apart to lean down between his legs. His hands found purchase in the cushions on either side of Vic’s waist as Matt laid down on Vic’s chest. Closing his eyes, Vic lay back and savored the feel of his lover against him, Matt’s bare skin warming Vic’s own, his nipples rubbing over Vic’s playfully. Settling into position, Matt pressed his lips to Vic’s in a tender kiss. Vic lowered one of his legs and hooked it around behind Matt, pinning him in place. His arms wrapped around his lover, holding him close. Matt’s saliva-damp cock lay alongside Vic’s own dick, each movement rubbing the two together with a sweet ache. Between kisses, Vic murmured, “Fuck me, Matty.” “You ask so nicely,” Matt teased. An image rose in his mind, passing easily into Vic’s thoughts—a tube of K-Y Jelly nestled in the drawer of the end table…at the other end of the couch. “Just let me…” But Vic didn’t want to lose this press of flesh, this body above his, this man just minutes from entering him. 50


Tightening an arm around Matt’s waist to keep him in place, Vic reached down behind him with his other hand and fumbled over the presents closest to the couch. He had no clue what he grabbed—everything he bought came in boxes that had then been wrapped—but as most of the bottles he’d bought contained something that could be used as lube, he figured he’d take his chances. Oil, lotion, gel, it was all the same to him. Handing Matt the present, he said, “Open it.” “Not yet,” Matt started. “Christmas is tomorrow.” Vic kissed the protest away. “I’m not letting you go until we’re finished here. You wanted lube? You got it. Open it up.” Without further prompting Matt did so, an eager grin on his face as he tore the paper away. Inside was a bottle of silicone-based lubricant that claimed to work like liquid ball bearings. Vic wasn’t too sure just what that meant, but the clear jelly felt sinful when Matt rubbed it onto his cock and balls. Sliding down a little, Vic angled his hips up to allow his lover access to his quivering hole, and Matt’s lubricated fingers glided over and around and into him easily. When Matt coated his own dick with the jelly and guided it into Vic, they locked together like two gears in clockwork, meshing as if they were two parts of one whole. “I like this,” Matt sighed, sinking his full length into Vic. Vic spread wide, taking Matt in, then wrapped his legs around Matt’s hips, crossing his ankles behind his lover to keep him in place. They moved together slowly, each thrust exquisite, and Vic clenched his muscles around Matt’s shaft, 51


holding him deep inside before letting him ease back out. Matt concentrated on Vic’s mouth, covering it with kisses, licking his lips, tasting him as they made love, while Vic focused on the cock that filled him, the buttocks beneath his hands, the puckered hole at Matt’s center that he fingered while they fucked. Caught between them, Vic’s own dick throbbed in pleasure, and his balls shuddered each time Matt’s tapped against them. Like two dancers in an ancient, timeless ritual, they allowed the moment and the movement and each other to bring them to the edge of abandon, the brink of frenzy—love turned to lust and their pace quickened, driving them on toward ecstasy, until they crested in a simultaneous orgasm that washed over them both. Lying against Vic’s chest, his wilting cock still deep within his lover’s ass, Matt murmured, “That’s called the Yawning Position.” With a breathless laugh, Vic hugged Matt tightly, unwilling to let him go. “The what?” Matt sat up to kiss the tip of Vic’s nose. “Let me show you.” Before Vic could protest, Matt sat back, pulling out of him, then slid off the couch to kneel by the Christmas tree. For a moment, he rummaged through the stacks of presents until he found what he wanted—a large, rectangular gift. Then he returned to the couch, resuming his position on top of Vic. As Vic’s legs wrapped around his thighs, Matt set the gift on Vic’s chest, then laid his head on his lover’s shoulder. “Open it,” he said. 52


Hefting the present, Vic suspected it was a hardback book. Of what, he had no clue. “But tomorrow—” “You gave me a gift already,” Matt pointed out. “And you’re too incommunicative in the mornings to properly enjoy this then. So open it now.” When Vic hesitated, Matt pouted up at him. “Please?” How could Vic possibly say no? Bringing his arm up around Matt’s shoulders, Vic tore off the bright red gift wrap and frowned at the back of the book. Eagerly, Matt turned it over for him, and snickered against Vic’s shoulder when he read the title. Kama Sutra for Gay Men. Vic turned the book over again, unsure of what his lover expected from him. “What’s this?” “The Kama Sutra.” At Vic’s blank expression, Matt explained, “It’s an ancient sex book, from India. Talks all about the art of making love. Foreplay, kissing, hugging, being intimate, stuff like that.” At the word “sex,” Vic’s libido perked up. But the fact that Matt thought he needed a…a manual for relationships sort of bothered him. Flipping through the pages, he asked, “So this is supposed to make me a better lover, or something?” He stopped on a page that showed two naked men in a graphic, rather acrobatic sexual position. “Whoa.” Matt hugged him tight. “I’m not saying you need it, Vic. God, don’t think that. You’re amazing as you are, and I love every inch of you.” Grinding his hips into Vic’s, he added, “Every inch, and you know it.” Flipping to another page, Vic turned the book sideways 53


and frowned at a photo of a man laying back on a stool, his thick erection glistening as it pointed up at his partner’s ass. The partner balanced on the stool’s rungs and hovered above the man, poised as if ready to impale himself on that hard cock. The whole setup looked…well, painful, to Vic. “Then why…” Matt took the book from him and turned to the front, to the table of contents. “Here’s why,” he said, running a finger down a list of positions detailed within the book. “The Kama Sutra lists all these funky positions, see? All these different ways to make love. And I was thinking, each time we have sex in a different way, you get a different superpower, right?” When Vic nodded, Matt gave him a disarming smile. “So maybe this might help us pinpoint what position gives you which powers. What do you think?” Vic didn’t know what to think. “You don’t like the powers,” he pointed out. “You don’t like me using them.” “Whether I like them or not,” Matt told him, “you get them regardless. You can’t help it, I can’t help it, so we might as well accept it. Maybe with something like this we can keep track of the powers and what we did to get them, so if there’s something we don’t like, we know how to keep from repeating it.” The trepidation that had bloomed in Vic when he realized the book was a sex manual dissipated. Instead, his chest filled with emotion, his heart seemed to swell until it pressed against the back of his throat, choking him up. This was a gift of love, given to him by Matt in the hopes of protecting him from the 54


powers he didn’t understand and couldn’t control. Tightening his arms around his lover, Vic gave him an ardent kiss that rekindled the lust simmering between them. *

*

*

They slept on the couch, Matt snuggled into Vic’s embrace, a thin afghan thrown over them both. The Christmas tree stayed lit all night, casting a flickering, multi-colored light that seeped into Vic’s brain to give him Technicolor dreams. Shortly after dawn, he felt Matt stir above him, then his lover’s warm mouth closed over one of Vic’s nipples, tongue and teeth teasing the tender bud erect. Like a suckling babe, Matt kept the nipple in his mouth, playing with it, biting it, letting the sensations he caused slowly extract Vic from sleep. When he finally yawned awake, Matt let go of his nipple to plant a quick kiss on his chin. “There’s my man. Up and Adam, Vic. Santa’s been here.” “Matty,” Vic growled. Anything more than that was pushing it—he didn’t believe in mornings, or rousing himself from a deep sleep, or even breathing before noon if he could help it. But when he tried to roll over, he found that he was pinned beneath Matt, and there was nowhere to roll to, exactly, because they already took up the entire couch. Stifling another yawn, Vic covered his face with his hands and stretched his legs out until his feet touched the opposite end of the couch. Then he raised his arms, stretching those muscles as well. Matt’s sudden laugh splashed over him like a slap of cold 55


water. “Look!” With a sullen groan, Vic turned to follow his lover’s gaze. His arms were still stretched above his head, near the Christmas tree, and the shiny silver tinsel that hung closest to him now stood straight out to point at his hands. When Vic lowered his arms, the tinsel moved to follow, like the needle of a compass. “Shit,” Vic muttered, sitting up quickly. Released from whatever attraction he exuded, the thin strands fell back to the tree. His lover cuddled up to him. “Do it again.” Vic shook his head. “I don’t even know what it is.” “Some kind of magnetic field,” Matt guessed. He sat back, tossing aside the afghan, and climbed off the couch as he stood to stretch. “Present time. What’d you get me?” “What?” It was still too early for Vic’s mind to focus, and the sight of his lover’s gloriously nude body only helped jumble his already incoherent thoughts. All he knew was that the warmth of Matt’s body on his quickly dissipated, and he wanted to hold his man in his arms again. But when he reached for Matt, the hairs on his lover’s legs stood up beneath his hand before Vic even touched him, same as the tinsel had, puffing up like the fur of a scared cat. Matt grinned. “My guess is you’re giving off some sort of static electricity field.” He turned, watching the hair on his legs rise toward Vic’s hand. Even the thick curls at his crotch stirred and his dick started to curve up, interested, but Matt smoothed it down with a laugh. “That’s not static,” he explained. “That’s 56


you.” Vic could feel energy tingle along his fingers when he brought his hand closer to Matt’s body. As he closed the distance between them, the energy seemed to build, prickling his skin, anticipating the touch. Then, when his hand was only an inch or two from Matt’s leg, a spark leapt from his flesh to Matt’s, shocking them both. With a yelp, Matt jumped back. Vic sat up on the couch and reached for him, only to shock him again. “Damn,” Matt complained, running his hands along his arms to smooth down the hair that stood on end. When Vic moved toward him again, he shrank back. “Don’t touch me!” “I hate this power,” Vic announced. Spying the Kama Sutra book on the floor by the couch, he snatched it up and flipped to the table of contents. “Where’s a pen? We’re crossing off this position.” Matt laughed. “We’ve got the whole rest of the book to find one we like.” Reaching out, he tried to touch Vic’s arm, but pulled back as another spark arced between them. He tried again, this time wincing through the pain, until his fingers clamped around Vic’s wrist. “You can’t shock me now,” he said with a grin. “I’m already touching you.” “Guess you just can’t let go until the power wears off,” Vic teased. Matt pulled him up from the couch for a tender, lingering kiss. “Who’s complaining?”

57

J. M. SNYDER

An author of gay erotic/romantic fiction, J. M. Snyder began self-publishing gay erotic fiction in 2002. Since then, Snyder has released several books in trade paperback format and has begun exploring the world of e-publishing, working with both Aspen Mountain Press and Amber Quill Press. Snyder’s highly erotic short gay fiction has been published online at Ruthie’s Club, Tit-Elation, Sticky Pen, and Amazon Shorts, as well as in anthologies by Aspen Mountain Press and Cleis Press. A full bibliography, as well as free fiction, book excerpts, purchasing information, and exclusive contests, can be found at: http://jmsnyder.net

AMBER QUILL PRESS, LLC HOME OF AMBER ALLURE! QUALITY GLBT FICTION IN BOTH PRINT AND ELECTRONIC FORMATS

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