The Night Before Christmas: A collection of four short Christmas Eve stories

by Angelique Jurd

  “Not yet.”

  “Hello beautiful.” The puppy sweeps her tongue up the length of his face, making him grin. “Nice to meet you too. What are we going to call you?” Dodging another wet lick, he stands with her in his arms and turns to Connor. “She’s gorgeous. Thank you.”

  “She’s got all her papers and had all her vaccinations to date but we can’t take her out for walks yet. We’ve got enough food and things for her until after Christmas.” Connor holds his hand up when Lucas leans forward to kiss him. “Nope, I saw that tongue. Not until you’ve showered.”

  Showering seems a lot less urgent now there’s puppy in his arms. Lucas goes to the living room and sits down with her on his lap. She stands up on her hind paws, front paws on his chest, to lick his face again, promptly losing her balance and tumbling to the ground. Stunned, she looks around the room, then barks and pounces on Lucas’ foot, tugging at his shoelaces.

  “According to your dad, we owe your mum a pair of slippers, so you might not want to let her do that.” Connor sits down next to him and scoops the pup up. “What about Fluffy?”

  Lucas scowls. “You want to call our Great Dane puppy Fluffy?”

  “Cream Puff?”

  “No.”

  “Snookums?”

  “You think you’re funny, but really you’re just sad.” Lucas presses his nose to the pup’s. “Don’t worry baby girl, I won’t let him name you.”

  “Muffin?”

  “Go heat up some pasta, I’m starving.”

  Grinning, Connor stands and goes to the kitchen. “How about Bluebell?” he calls over his shoulder.

  “How about no?”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  By the time they’ve eaten and showered, they’ve still not agreed on a name for the pup, now asleep in her basket in the corner of their room. Connor is pushing for Spritz after two rather large puddles appeared, one of which soaked his socks. Lucas spreads newspaper on the floor of the bedroom in anticipation of any further surprises. He climbs onto the bed next to Connor with a sigh and stretches out.

  “I love you.” He traces the line of Connor’s collar bone with kisses. “And I love Nameless Puppy.”

  “Really? Nameless Puppy? That’s what you’re going with?”

  Grinning, Lucas throws a leg over Connor and shifts until he’s straddling him.

  “For now, yeah.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Connor grins and runs his thumbs up Lucas’ thighs. Smiles at the little shudder he sees run through him.

  “How’s your side?”

  “Same as last time you asked me.” Lucas rolls his eyes. “If I answer you, will stop asking me and keep doing that?”

  “Doing what?” This time, Connor slips his hands around to cup Lucas’ ass and gives a gentle squeeze, taking care not to damage the grafted skin beneath the cotton sleep pants.

  “That.” Lucas’ voice is soft and breathy with lust. “My side is fine now the pain killer has kicked in. No worse than any other day.”

  As a reward, Connor runs one hand up Lucas’ crease to the elastic waist of the pants and tugs at them. With his other hand, he gropes in the drawer of the night table for the bottle of lube. Lucas leans down and kisses him. Gentle at first, the kiss builds as Connor works his fingers down to circle Lucas’ hole. Lucas groans and grinds down against him sending sensation zinging through him like lightning. To hell with fatigue, they can sleep later. Oh God that feels good against his cock. He rolls his hips up, rubbing against Lucas’ hard length.

  “Off. Off!” Connor tugs at the sleep pants, trying to get Lucas out of them with one hand and the lube open with the other, while avoiding the pressure bandage still over the new graft. Finally Connor can feel skin against his own and breathes a sigh of relief. Rocking gently against him, leaving a damp smear of precum against Connor’s belly, Lucas takes the lube and opens it. Pours some over his fingers and then reaches between their bodies, through his legs to press them into his own hole.

  “Oh fuck,” Connor groans. He loves watching Lucas work himself almost as much as he loves doing it himself. Breathless, he tightens his grip on Lucas’ thighs, lifting him carefully to get a better view. Lucas drops his head back on a slow, deep moan and steadies himself with his free hand on Connor’s chest.

  “Connor.” That’s enough for Connor. Just the desperate quality to Lucas’ voice is enough to break him from the spell of watching. He scrabbles for the lube and smooths some of the liquid over his cock, rubbing his thumb over the damp head. With his other hand, he strokes Lucas’ shaft, catching his breath at the bead of precum that appears at the slit. Catches it with the tip of his finger and licks it off. Lucas whines and jerks his hips forward.

  “It’s okay, babe.” Connor’s voice trembles. They’re too tired for finesse. Too tired for taking it slow. He eases Lucas’ fingers from his body, then rubs the head of his cock over the area winning another desperate whine. “I’m going to take care of you.”

  As Lucas presses down against him, Connor lifts up. Feels the first resistance of the damp ring of muscle and pushes harder. Bites his lip as he slides into the silken heat of Lucas’s body. He holds himself still, letting Lucas get used to him. Letting him set the pace.

  “Move.” Lucas’ eyes are shut tight, his fingers digging into Connor’s chest. Connor begins to thrust, dragging Lucas down onto him at the same time. The air is filled with soft moans and gasps. The slap of skin against skin. The faint slick sound of lube easing the way. Winter cold is forgotten in the rising warmth and when Lucas scrapes his nails over Connor’s nipples, he lifts his shoulders from the bed with a cry. He’s not going to last. Not this time.

  He wraps his fingers around Lucas’ cock again and begins to jerk him in time with their movements. Lucas’ panting gives way to the whimpers Connor knows herald his orgasm.

  “Connor.” This time the word is heavy with warning and Connor thrusts harder, body quivering, chasing release. “Connor… please… please… oh God…”

  “That’s it babe. Let go.” Connor tightens his grip and gives a small flick of his wrist. It’s enough to send Lucas over the edge. He stiffens with a strangled cry and cums, cock pulsing and twitching in Connor’s hand. His muscles lock around Connor and he grinds down, hard, and Connor can’t take anymore.

  “Cumming. Oh fuck, babe.” Everything is reduced to the point where they’re joined. Where Lucas clenches around him, seeming to drag his orgasm from him. Where he can feel himself harden and strain even further as he arches up.

  When his head begins to clear and he drops back onto the mattress, his softening cock slipping free, he presses a kiss to the side of Lucas’ head.

  “I love you,” he murmurs.

  “I love you too.” Lucas nuzzles the side of his neck and shifts off him. “We should go clean up.”

  “In a minute.”

  Within seconds they’re both asleep.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  The room is dim with early morning light when a sound drags Connor from sleep. Was Lucas having a nightmare? No. He’s still asleep, curled on his uninjured side, breathing even and peaceful. Connor frowns in the gloom. Looks at the clock. Nearly five. The sound comes again and this time he understands. He leans over Lucas to find himself nose to nose with the puppy. She has both paws on the bed and is trying to climb up. Chuckling he leans a little further until he can put a hand under her rump and help.

  As soon as she’s on the bed, she snuggles up to Lucas, resting her muzzle on his bicep and watching Connor with bright eyes.

  “What are you doing?” Lucas asks, words slurred and uneven. When his Christmas present licks his face, he opens one eye to look at her. “Oh.”

  “I’ve got a name for her.”

  “We’re not calling her Snookums.” Lucas wraps his arm around her and she gives a soft wuff as she settles in.

  “Spoil sport. What about Dawn?”

  “Huh?”

  “Dawn. It’s five in the morning and she just woke us up bec
ause she wanted a cuddle.”

  “She woke you up. And I think you wanted a cuddle.” Lucas smiles at him over his shoulder. “But I like it. Dawn. Now can we all go back to sleep?”

  Connor lies down, curling himself around Lucas’s form and covering his hand with his own.”

  “Merry Christmas babe.”

  FIN

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Christmas Tree Cat

  (Hunter & Noah)

  Hunter pulls the headphones off his ears and listens. Was that Noah?

  “Hunter!” The voice carries down the hallway again. Definitely Noah. “Hunter she’s in the tree again and there are decorations everywhere.” Standing, Hunter hangs the headphones on their hook and grins to himself. Rosie has been driving poor Noah crazy since they decorated for Christmas. At every opportunity she’s scaling it or knocking decorations off it. Twice she’s hid in the branches to leap on Noah as he went past and Hunter isn’t sure if he’s ever going to be forgiven for laughing at that. Cats and Christmas trees. “Hunter! The whole damned tree is going to come down!”

  From the living room comes a clattering and a loud rustling followed by a string of vivid expletives. Hunter hurries around the corner into the living room just in time to see Noah disappearing under a shower of pine needles, tinsel, and decorations. He bounds over and catches the tip of the tree and pushes it back upright. Rosie leaps to the floor, eyes them both with a smug look, and wanders away.

  “Hunter, you promised.” The warning tone in Noah’s voice is enough to cut Hunter’s laughter off before it begins. “She’s going to hurt herself. Or kill me with the tree.”

  “She’s not going to hurt herself.” He leans over to kiss the tip of Noah’s nose, ignoring his scowl. “Or kill you. She’s just being a cat.”

  “Well, she needs to knock it off.” Noah hangs a final bauble on one of the branches and goes to sit on the sofa next to Daisy, who hasn’t moved apart from the occasional tail thump against the cushions. “It’s like she’s committed to killing something and if it’s not the tree, it’s the people who put it up.”

  “She’s a -”

  “I know, I know – she’s a cat. Spare me.”

  Hunter goes to the kitchen, gets two beers from the fridge, and comes back. Opens one and hands it to Noah, then sits on the floor at his feet. His parents will be here later tonight. Noah’s folks have kindly offered to let them stay in their guest room and they’re all getting together for dinner later. Tomorrow they’ll all come here for presents and to call his sister Maggie. None of which is making their first major celebration together as a couple any easier. He wraps an arm around Noah’s calf.

  “She’s going to destroy it while we’re over at Mom and Dad’s, you know.” Noah sighs. “Can we lock her in the bedroom at least?”

  Aware that Noah’s probably right, Hunter agrees to put Rosie’s litter box in their bathroom, so she can be locked in the bedroom for the evening. He lets his head drop back against Noah’s knees and looks up at him with a smile. It’s probably not a good idea to tell him that Daisy ate an entire bag of bread rolls this morning; Noah will just think he’s being spiteful. Trying to play tit for tat. Besides it probably is worse that Rosie appears to have decided that destroying the Christmas tree is her sole purpose in life.

  Daisy gives a soft woof and when Hunter looks over, Rosie is slinking along the wall, headed toward the tree. He nudges Noah, chuckling at the frustrated groan he makes. Hunter rolls to his knees, crawls over and scoops her into his arms. Rosie flattens her ears, narrows her eyes, and extends a paw to rest on his chin. Rosie-speak for back off buster, I’m busy. Under his palm he can feel the bare patch where the hair has never grown back after the fire. The skin, about half the width of his hand, is twisted and scarred now that it’s healed.

  “Rosie, I think if you go near that tree one more time today, Noah might actually feed you to the pigeons.”

  Since their arrival in the city, Noah has threatened - on a daily basis – to put Rosie out on the balcony and leave her as an offering to the pigeons. To say the cat has had a hard time settling to apartment life after being a rural cat her entire life is an understatement. She’s shredded wallpaper and curtains, peed on plans while Noah was working on them, and threw up a large hair ball on his chest one Sunday morning while he was sleeping. Hunter isn’t worried by the threat; he knows Noah won’t really do anything. That said he might decide to punish Hunter if she succeeds in ruining the Christmas tree.

  He tries to convince her to curl up and nap on his knee, stroking her and murmuring reassurances to her. All he achieves is her claws dug into his thigh and a low, steady purr. Her eyes never leave the tree.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Watching Daisy chase a large bowl of turkey around his Mom’s kitchen, Noah calls to Hunter.

  “And you’re sure it okay for her to eat the gravy?”

  “Well vet school didn’t specifically cover your mom’s Christmas gravy, but I think she’s good.”

  Hunter appears in the kitchen doorway, cradling a glass of wine in his hand and grinning. Smart ass. Noah raises his middle finger and pours himself another drink. From the other room comes the sound of their parents laughing as they share embarrassing stories of the two of them growing up. It’s currently Noah’s turn which is precisely why he came to check on Daisy and top his glass up. He lived through – and survived – the skateboard incident; he doesn’t need reminding.

  “At least you didn’t have to learn to dance with Miss Grenfell.” Hunter pulls him closer and brushes a kiss over his mouth. Smacks his lips and steals a second one. “You taste good.”

  The words send a rush of warmth through Noah and he checks the time. Is it too early to go home? Would that be rude? Exactly what is the protocol for Christmas Eve? Eric would only ever agree to calling in for drinks on the way out somewhere, arguing that they had to spend time with their parents on Christmas Day, so what was the point?

  The point, it turns out, is to relax. To enjoy watching his mother laughing with Hunter’ mother and exchanging Christmas recipes. To sit, warm and full of food, listening to Dad and Allen discuss sport and cars. To lean into Hunter’s embrace and close his eyes. To know that tucked away under the tree back home is an enlarged, framed photograph of Hunter holding Rosie up to the light. He’s laughing and she has a paw on his nose. Noah took it a week after they’d moved into the apartment, still surrounded by the chaos of empty packing boxes and Hunter doesn’t even know it exists. Assuming it survives Rosie’s attacks on the tree.

  “Do you think she’s okay?” He tightens his arms around Hunter. It’s not that he dislikes her. Rather, he thinks she’s cool in a very bossy, somewhat psychotic way. Daisy gives way to her at every turn and Rosie seems determined to have Noah do the same. They’ve spent the past couple of months in an uneasy power struggle. A power struggle he’s in danger of losing thanks to the damned tree. Still, he feels a little guilty having locked her in the bedroom. “Maybe we shouldn’t leave her alone for too long.”

  Pointing out she’s probably not even noticed they’re gone, Hunter leads him back to the dining table. Thankfully the conversation appears to have changed from his inability to find balance on a skateboard to New Year’s resolutions.

  “Well I’m definitely going to lose fifteen pounds,” Catherine says. “I just have to.”

  “Mom, you’re fine.” Hunter kisses her head as they walk around her to their seats. Noah laughs at the way she brushes him away; he’s had that conversation with his own mother, Rose.

  “What about you boys?” Allen asks. “What plans do you have for the coming year?”

  Noah shoots a sidelong look at Hunter to see if he’ll say anything. Shrugs when Hunter raises an eyebrow.

  “Actually, we have quite a bit planned.” Noah rubs his foot along Hunter’s. “We’ve got Hunter’s fortieth next month so that should kick things off nicely.”

  “And I’d like to open a new clinic.”

  Both fathers l
ook surprised.

  “In the city?” Allen asks.

  Hunter snorts. “No, probably not. It’s impossible to compete with the franchise vets and I’d rather be independent. No, we’ll probably start looking around the suburbs when the weather warms up.”

  Concerned glances are exchanged between Rose and Catherine, making Noah bite his lip. He knows his mother is worried about him moving too far away again while Catherine doesn’t want a replay of Newton for either of them. He picks up his glass, takes a sip, and decides to distract them.

  “Maybe this time next year, a wedding.”

  Silence fills the room and he’s aware of both sets of parents staring at the two of them.

  “A wedding?” His mother’s tone is cautious as if she’s not sure if he’s talking about a wedding they’re attending, or … something else.

  “We both quite like the idea of a winter wedding.” Hunter grins. “No snakes that way. “

  Noah kicks him. “Not funny, you ass.”

  “Noah!” Caution has been replaced by frustration. “What do you mean by a wedding? Do you mean…are you…”

  He grins. “You know for an English teacher you appear to be having trouble forming words.” Squeezing Hunter’s hand, he takes pity on her and nods. “Yes. We were going to tell you tomorrow but since you as-”

  His words are lost under her shrieks as she throws her arms around him. Dad says something about opening more wine and chairs are scraped back from the table. When Noah can finally extricate himself from his mother’s embrace, he looks over to see Hunter pulling out of his father’s hug and turning to face his mother. Tears stream down Catherine’s face but she’s smiling as he opens his arms to her.

  “Merry Christmas, Mom.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  It’s after midnight when they finally get home. Daisy races down the hallway in search of Rosie or food, Hunter isn’t sure which. He smiles to himself when Noah follows Daisy but goes straight to the bedroom and opens the door. Hunter follows and leans against the doorway, arms folded over his chest, smiling at the scene unfolding before him.