Home for the Holidays: Mr Frosty Pants, Mr Naughty List

by Leta Blake

  On either side of the couch, drawn close enough to use the table easily, was a set of matching green chairs. Constance rested in one of them, her golden eyes glowing, shining bright against her black fur. Aaron glared at her.

  “That’s Constance,” he said, motioning toward her. She hopped down from the chair and sauntered from the room like she was putting on a show just for RJ. Aaron chuckled. “She’s a stinky brat, but I love her.”

  “I know. I’ve seen your Instagram account. Or should I say Constance’s Instagram account?” RJ laughed easily as Aaron knelt to lift the lid off the litter box, the scent of Constance’s gift rising even more strongly through the loft. The bedroom and bathroom were down a brick-lined hallway, and the windows in Aaron’s room looked out on First Presbyterian Church. Which felt decadently transgressive, given the porn Aaron watched in that room whenever he had a chance.

  “It’s all yours? Or do you rent?” RJ asked.

  “It’s all mine. Thanks to an inheritance.”

  RJ stood and made a slow turn around the open space, taking in the kitchen table by the long counter. The stove, the microwave, and the refrigerator were all in a neat row, and the dishwasher and sink were installed in the counter facing the living room—the better to wash dishes while watching TV, Aaron guessed. He’d never actually done it himself.

  “No Christmas tree?”

  Aaron shook his head. “I have those, though.” He nodded to the small string of colored Christmas lights he’d hung over the loft’s big front window.

  RJ sauntered over to the window and switched on the light. “I have to admit, Mr. Danvers, I expected more holiday spirit out of the man who turned his classroom into a blizzard of hand-cut snowflakes, à la the movie Elf. Or do you just save all the merry for the students?”

  “Pretty much.” Aaron never decorated his loft for the holidays beyond a string of lights and whatever trinkets he got as teacher gifts from the kids.

  On Christmas Eve, he always headed out to his father’s farm in Strawberry Plains, where he, his dad, aunts, uncles, and cousins spent the evening together. Then they exchanged small gifts beneath his father’s tree. And Aaron always spent Christmas Day itself with his mom in her condo, where he enjoyed her tree.

  “Are you a secret grinch?”

  Aaron laughed. “No. I love Christmas. It’s my favorite time of the year.”

  RJ’s brow quirked, interest gleaming in his eye, but then he gestured around at the apartment. “Could have fooled me, Mr. Danvers.”

  “It’s a long story, but I split my holiday between my parents, always have. I help them decorate their places. It just seems like overkill to decorate here too when I’m the only one who’ll see it.”

  “Right. You’d see it.” RJ shoved his hands in his pockets, rocked back on his heels, and appraised Aaron. Flushing, Aaron really wished he was on his knees naked instead of holding a poop scoop. “That’s important too,” RJ said. “To do things just for yourself.”

  “I know. It’s just I’m barely here.” Were they going to discuss his decorations, or lack thereof, or were they going to fuck? Damn you, Constance! He grabbed a plastic baggy from the stash he kept near the litter box and dipped the scoop into the litter, covering the giant turd so that it would clump easily.

  “I decorated my hotel rooms when I was on tour,” RJ said. “Trees, lights, the works.”

  Aaron laughed awkwardly. “Did you come here to fuck me or would you rather we went down to the corner and bought a Christmas tree?”

  RJ smirked. “We could do both. So your folks are divorced?”

  “Yeah.” Aaron slipped the giant poop in the bag. He might as well clear out all the clumped pee while he was at it since now they were making small instead of dirty talk. Then he’d spray some air freshener and try to move things back toward sexy times.

  “Mine too. Kinda. They were never married, but they aren’t together.”

  “Do you see them both?”

  “Nah. My father wasn’t part of my life. Except when he was. And that’s not worth talking about. It was best when he was gone.” He shrugged. “I liked being the man of the house.”

  “I bet you were good at it.”

  RJ ignored that as he sat on the couch again, legs spread. Tone casual. “You said you still split the holidays. How’s that work?”

  This hookup was rapidly devolving. Aaron hoped he could find a way to get it back to evolving. Hopefully into a red-hot, role-playing spank-fest, but at this point even a quick fuck would do. He scooped faster and waved off the question. “Doesn’t matter.”

  “This is a pricey place for a teacher’s salary,” RJ said. “Family money, you said?”

  A glance RJ’s way showed he held one hand over his crotch and was absently rubbing the soft fabric of the sofa with the other. “Nosy much?”

  RJ smirked but didn’t deny it.

  Aaron finished shoveling the litter. “Not family money, no. Well, not anymore. I used what my papaw left to me when he died to buy this place. I figured it was a good investment. Downtown was growing again, and this place was a bargain. It’s tripled in value already.” He couldn’t help but brag a little.

  RJ whistled low. “Hot damn. That sounds lucky.”

  “It was.”

  Papaw’s legacy had covered the entire mortgage and left enough for him to furnish the place. He’d been free and clear of any family financial obligations and able to live on his measly public-school teacher salary. It was one less way he had to answer to anyone else for his life choices. Papaw probably wouldn’t have appreciated Aaron’s life choices, though. He’d died without knowing Aaron was gay—and for good reason. Aaron shrugged off those thoughts and finished up with the litter.

  “Nice piece,” RJ observed, nodding toward the antique chest of drawers Aaron used to store his less attractive books. No sense in putting ugly books out on shelves where people could see them.

  “It was Papaw’s. Took it from his old place out on the farm. My cousins didn’t want it.”

  “I like your apartment,” RJ said with a nod. “Spic and span, just the way I knew it would be. And books. Lots of books.” He eyed the bookshelves lining the opposite wall.

  Aaron had cleaned the loft earlier in the day, but Constance had ruined the perfect presentation with her shit. Tying off the baggy, he grimaced. He supposed he had nothing to hide now since his cover of being a fantasy fuck had been blown by his cat.

  RJ didn’t seem to notice his frustration, though. He lounged on the sofa with his hand on his crotch, looking around the room with a piercing, judging gaze. Aaron’s stomach flipped over, imagining RJ looking at his naked body like that: judging him, appraising him, and hopefully finding him satisfactory.

  But what if he didn’t find him pleasing? What would RJ do then?

  Aaron’s gut curled with lust. He had a feeling RJ would have a very good idea of exactly how to handle any situation where Aaron didn’t please him. And Aaron was dying to know what that would feel like. Maybe he should be just a little bit of a tease, a bit of a brat. See if RJ pushed back. If he handled him the way Aaron needed to be handled. Or was he just expecting too much now?

  Constance meowed and returned to the room without any evidence of shame. She proceeded to sniff the cuffs of RJ’s jeans, checking him out. Aaron grumbled, trash bag in hand.

  “She’s pretty,” RJ offered, putting his fingers down to let Constance butt up against them. “Black cats are my favorite.”

  Aaron smirked, taking the collected litter out the side door to a small balcony area, putting it in the lidded can where it wouldn’t stink. He’d take the whole thing down to the big dumpster by the church later. When he returned inside, he said, “A punk rocker with a preference for black cats. Try not to be such a big cliché, RJ.” He sprayed air freshener around liberally.

  “Mr. Danvers,” RJ smirked. “C’mere, and I’ll show you how big my cliché is.”

  Yes. Let’s get back on track. Aaron bit down on his b
ottom lip and chuckled, shoving the air freshener back into the cleaning closet.

  Aaron’s gut fluttered, and he stared at RJ, who raised a challenging brow at him. He was tempted to get down on the floor and crawl right up into RJ’s lap, but… “Let me wash my hands first.”

  “Always so prissy,” RJ said, squeezing himself. “Luckily, I’ve always liked that about you.”

  Running his hands under hot water in the kitchen sink and lathering up, Aaron’s mind tripped on itself. “Prissy?” He’d never considered himself especially feminine. He didn’t think he read as overtly “gay” even, but that was because his mother had strictly forbidden any behaviors that could be seen that way.

  As a teen, he’d worked hard to reduce his so-called lisp, and to prevent his swiveling hips and fluttering hands from outing him before he was ready. Some days, when he really thought about it, the amount of effort he’d put into training himself out of his natural behaviors pissed him off. He could have done something so much more interesting with all that energy and stress. What would it be like to be free and loved for who you were born to be?

  But, on other days, like at parent-teacher meetings, when he was seated across from a big, burly football dad, he was glad of his mother’s training. Most of the time. Hell, he wasn’t sure how he felt. He just knew that when he’d started working as a teacher the last thing he’d wanted was to be read as queer, so he’d worked extra hard to stifle it. Now, acting masc just came naturally. Or so he’d thought.

  “You always…” Aaron cleared his throat again, trying to keep the squeak out of his voice. “You found me prissy?”

  “Yeah. Uptight, fussy,” RJ clarified with a hot grin. “You kept your things on your desk just so.” He groaned like that was incredibly sexy. “And you always dressed like a magazine had decided to feature you in a best-dressed teacher spread.” He smiled again. “You know the type, Mr. Danvers. You are the type.”

  “I’m not—” He wanted to deny it, but even as the words left his mouth, he found himself carefully folding the kitchen towel he’d wiped his hands on and placing it on the counter top like RJ had said—“just so.” Aaron stifled the rest of the denial and instead said, “You like that type?”

  “Like it? I lust after it. After you. For years.” RJ grinned again. “C’mere, Mr. Danvers. Get on my lap. I want to see if you taste as good as you always look.”

  Aaron’s heart skittered and his cock thumped with blood. He stepped carefully toward RJ like he might be dangerous, his mind trying to gauge just how much trouble he was getting himself into by letting this boy, this former student, boss him around.

  He didn’t care. He wanted it.

  “You should call me Aaron.”

  “I’ll call you whatever I damn well please.”

  Aaron’s blood rushed. He peeled off the tweed jacket he was still wearing, sweat dampening his armpits now, and dumped it on a chair, trying not to be fussy or hang it “just so.” Touching the top button of his shirt, he swallowed hard. “Should I…?”

  RJ shook his head. “I’ll do it. Just get on my lap. Now.”

  Aaron didn’t know what came over him, an undeniable longing to obey perhaps. It didn’t escape his notice that he’d yearned for this exact thing as they’d chatted outside the pub: to sit on RJ’s lap, to be held by him.

  Aaron straddled RJ’s long legs, his own pants rubbing against his now fiercely hard dick. They both groaned.

  RJ’s head went back on the sofa, exposing his long neck and prominent Adam’s apple. He gripped Aaron’s ass and held him down while shoving his hips up, pushing his hard cock against Aaron’s butt. “Mr. Danvers, you have no idea…fuck.”

  Aaron got the idea very quickly when RJ gripped a handful of his hair and tugged him down into the hottest, wildest kiss he’d ever experienced. Tongues and teeth, lips and spit, and both of them breathing like racehorses. His chin burned with the scrape of RJ’s stubble as they made out hot and heavy like teens hopped up on fresh testosterone and the newness of their bodies.

  “Damn,” RJ whispered when they broke apart to breathe. “I knew you’d be hot for it. Knew you’d be just like this.” And then Aaron was on his back on the sofa, his legs spread, and his body undulating under RJ. Their clothes scraped and rubbed as he escalated toward what promised to be an earthshaking orgasm, bearing down on him hard and fast.

  Before he could get there, though, RJ pulled back and knelt between Aaron’s spread knees. “Look at me.”

  Aaron met his blue eyes and shivered.

  RJ peered down at him, gaze hungry and intense. Then he reached to unbutton Aaron’s shirt. His big fingers fumbled with the first two at the top. He cursed under his breath. “This a favorite of yours?”

  Aaron shook his head.

  “Would you miss it?” RJ gripped both sides of the collar and gently tugged in imitation of ripping it open. “This okay?”

  Aaron gulped. He did like the shirt, but he liked this more. He whispered, “It’s okay.”

  RJ grinned and tore the shirt open, buttons bursting, fabric tearing, and cool air rushing over Aaron’s chest, raising his nipples. Aaron’s torso jerked up with the force of the rip and he cried out before collapsing back against the sofa, shirt destroyed.

  Aaron’s breath heaved and sweat popped on his bare skin, making him shiver.

  “Mr. Danvers, I think you’d let me do anything to you,” RJ murmured, running his finger down Aaron’s chest, circling each sensitive nipple, and then down toward his belly button. “Is that right? You gonna let me do anything?” He poked his finger into Aaron’s belly button and then trailed it back up again.

  Aaron nodded.

  His words had flown somewhere far away, and he hoped RJ wasn’t one of those guys who made him say yes to everything they did before they did it, because that just wasn’t happening. He could barely think through the white noise of lust in his head and the throb of his cock, and the wonder of this man kneeling over him, holding him to the sofa with just one finger and the heat from his eyes.

  Who’d have ever thought?

  RJ Blitz. Christ.

  Making Aaron weak with need.

  “Good. Because I like it when I can do anything.” RJ bent and sucked Aaron’s nipple into his mouth. Aaron arched and gripped RJ’s head, his hands slipping through the soft, short hair.

  “Fuck!”

  “Mmm, yeah. For sure,” RJ hissed. “But first we’re going to play. I think I’m going to like playing with you, Mr. Danvers. I think you’re going to like it too.”

  Constance darted from the room in a surge of movement, and RJ laughed. “I think I scared her. Or maybe you did, with all that noise you’re making.”

  RJ’s single finger reached Aaron’s belt buckle, and he started to undo it. As he worked it off, and Aaron lifted his hips to help him pull it through the loops, RJ grinned. “Good God, Mr. Danvers, I think this is going to be the best night of my life.”

  Aaron still couldn’t talk, but he was starting to feel exactly the same way. Cat shit and all.

  Chapter Five

  Mr. Danvers’s loft apartment was tidy and neat, and so was his body. He was shorn and shaven, tight and firm. His chest hair was light, and his nipples peeked out pink and perfect. His stomach wasn’t a ripped six-pack—it was just a bit soft. But in the best way, displaying a tender vulnerability that made RJ feel protective and hot all over.

  He wiped the sweat off his upper lip and stared down at the man beneath him, still struggling out of his pants and looking shy about his boxer briefs, hung up as they were on his hard cock. Mr. Danvers was like a miraculous present wrapped up just for RJ by the baby Jesus himself.

  Holy shit. Merry Christmas to me. Fuck.

  RJ ran his hands down the length of Mr. Danvers’s body, fitting his palms into the grooves at his hips, and then rapidly freed him from the boxer briefs, shoving them down and leaning back to tug them off. “Yes,” he hissed. “That’s better. Fuck, look at you.”

  Mr
. Danvers shivered lightly, and RJ couldn’t resist touching again, smoothing his hands down and up again, rubbing his torso, plucking his nipples, and then skimming past his gorgeous cock to stroke his thighs and spread them apart. RJ popped open his own jeans, shoving them down to mid-thigh.

  “Condoms?” he breathed.

  “Bedroom.”

  “Mmm.” RJ bent low and kissed Mr. Danvers again, his red lips still swollen from the ferocious kisses they’d shared before. “Gonna make you come so hard.” He trailed kisses down Mr. Danvers’s scratchy cheek to suck his earlobe, gratified when Mr. Danvers arched and whimpered. “Gonna make you come so many times.”

  “Fuck,” Mr. Danvers said, gripping RJ hard and tugging at his T-shirt. “Get it off.”

  “You want me naked?”

  “Fuck,” Mr. Danvers said again. “Want you.”

  “Yeah? How much?”

  Mr. Danvers groaned and kissed RJ hard, tugging him down so that their dicks lined up as they rutted together. RJ tugged Mr. Danvers’s head back and licked up his neck, loving how Mr. Danvers’s breathing hitched and wobbled, how he gripped RJ’s ass harder and pulled him in tight.

  “Like that?”

  Mr. Danvers moaned. His eyes were closed, and he was working himself into a frenzy, his cock jamming against RJ’s hard stomach and rubbing against RJ’s aching cock. They were both going to come if they kept on much longer.

  RJ wanted that, but he also wanted Mr. Danvers to beg. He lifted off Mr. Danvers’s body and resisted his urgent grunts and reaching hands long enough to stand up, tug his jeans back up over his aching dick, and reach a hand down to the teacher he’d wanted to fuck for six years.

  This was happening. Holy fuck.

  He was about to bury himself in that hot ass. He’d never believed in miracles, but this sure as hell had the hand of God written all over it, as far as he was concerned.