The Twelve Disasters of Christmas

by J P Sayle

  Brad jumped up and grabbed a pad and pen before returning to the table. He scribbled all the things Nick said, with Joe chipping in. A plan formulated in Brad’s mind. He tapped the pen against his chin, eyeing Joe with excitement. An excitement that had his jeans feeling as if he’d shrunk them in the dryer.

  He shifted, asking Joe, “When are you going to use this withholding on Stuart so I can coordinate my plan with yours?”

  There was a glint of approval in Nick’s eyes as he sat back smirking at Joe. Brad’s face glowed, this time in pleasure when Nick spoke to Joe.

  “I think the student has just surpassed the master.”

  “Sod off.” Joe gave Nick the bird and chuckled.

  “Okay, sensei. Let’s plan this for Christmas Eve. I should think by then Stuart and Martin will be climbing the walls. I also have a feeling Greg will want in on this. I’m not sure you’ll all fit in our bedroom, but we’ll make it work.” Joe shrugged.

  Brad wiggled in the chair, excitement making his cock bounce hard against his zipper. He gave it a nudge. He remembered he was going to have to wait till Sunday before he’d get any action. He gave Joe a quick glance when Joe shuffled around on his seat.

  It would seem he is in the same predicament as me.

  Brad was sidetracked when Nick interjected.

  “It’s a pity that Greg is dating my brother, or I’d defo want in on that action. Maybe you could doctor the tape, Joe, so I could watch after?” Nick’s question had Joe’s chocolate eyes seem to melt into a pool of goo.

  “I’ll try, just for you.” Joe paused when Nick gave him a thumbs up. “As long as I get to watch with you. I’d like to see what you look like naked, playing with yourself. I bet you’d be a sight to behold.” The eye roll Nick threw at an unrepentant Joe had Brad’s dimples deepen.

  Brad struggled to sit still with the images Joe had created in his head. Getting up from the chair, Brad hid his predicament by pulling down his forest green woolly jumper. He shook his head, hoping to dislodge the pictures of a naked Nick pleasuring himself from watching him and the others having sex.

  Hold your horses there, matey boy. Martin hasn’t agreed yet.

  That thought threw cold water over his raging hormones.

  Brad gave a small huff, heading back to the shopping scattered over the counter. “Come on, let’s get sorted so I can put my plan of action into play. Martin will be home soon, and I want to be ready.” He wagged his brows at the laughing men still sat at the table. Brad shimmed around the countertop, humming to himself.

  Martin had better watch out!

  Let’s see which baby he prefers the best after I get through with him.

  Brad stilled as he heard the front door open a couple of hours later. He drew in a deep breath, hoping it would calm his skyrocketing pulse. He gripped the wooden spoon he was using to stir the pasta sauce, remembering Joe and Nick’s words of encouragement.

  I hold the power. I hold the power!

  Then why do I feel like I’m gonna pass out?

  Brad let out the breath he’d been holding. Letting his lungs fill up, he took several quick breaths when the sound of footsteps got louder. Brad forced his shoulder blades back. He could do this. He could!

  He acted nonchalant when Martin walked into the kitchen. He gave him a quick smile over his shoulder, pretending to be busy. Brad wanted to groan when his cock took notice of Martin’s attire. The pale grey fitted suit hugged him in all the right places, showing off his broad chest and long, lean legs. The charcoal shirt and matching tie seemed to make his dark hair and azure eyes pop with vibrancy. He turned back to the cooker, mentally slapping himself. The urge to climb Martin left him aching and his cock in desperate need of some relief.

  Stop right there!

  Brad shouted at himself, trying to resist temptation. He missed the first part of what Martin was saying. He clenched the spoon he was holding and prayed for strength for what he had to do next.

  “Sorry, I’m late, baby. We’re still playing catch-up with the work Greg missed on Monday. I’ll never understand why he couldn’t come in. A hangover and two black eyes. For fuck’s sake, you’d think he’d had major surgery the way Aaden went on.”

  Brad glanced at Martin in time to see a dark scowl cross his hard features. Brad chewed his lip to stop the sarcastic comment from leaving his mouth. He looked back at the pot of bubbling sauce. He listened to the tirade he’d heard far too many times over the last couple of days.

  “Why he felt the need to get between Vic and Aaden? What the hell was he playing at? You could see that was going to end in disaster.” Martin’s voice increased in volume as he approached Brad.

  Brad felt his resolution to be strong take hold the longer Martin went on. He tensed, then tried to release his muscles when Martin turned him to give him a kiss.

  Brad clamped his lips together to stop his tongue from misbehaving. He pulled back the second he felt Martin try and deepen the kiss. Martin’s scent weaved around him, making him want to melt against his broad chest.

  Brad felt his desperation rise along with his blood pressure. He knew what he had to do, but that didn’t make it any easier. His stomach knotted as he exhaled. Acting absent minded, he brought the spoon up, waving it around when Martin touched his arm. His hand made sure to splash a big dollop of tomato sauce on Martin’s suit jacket.

  He lowered his eyes, trying to look contrite. “Upsy-daisy.”

  Brad sucked his lips into his mouth to stop them from revealing his smile when he saw how much of a mess he’d made.

  “What the fuck, Brad. Upsy-daisy, my backside! You’ve probably just ruined my jacket. It cost a bloody fortune. Shitting hell.”

  Martin’s blustered angry retort and retreating back took his tempting body and musky scent with him. Brad breathed a sigh of relief.

  Brad carefully put the spoon back in the pot. He ignored the deep furrow between Martin’s eyes while he rubbed at the offending stain with a wet cloth.

  “Come on, it’s only a jacket.” Brad knew it was the wrong thing to say. But he was in too deep now to stop. And as the plan was to get Martin angry, he couldn’t back down now. Not when Martin’s azure eyes pinned him to the spot. Brad acknowledged that, without a shadow of doubt, there was a storm brewing between them.

  Martin stuttered. “Only… a… jacket! This jacket cost me close to a thousand pounds, and now in all likelihood it’s ruined. All because you were careless.”

  The accusation exploded between them, causing a crater in the middle of the kitchen floor that appeared larger than any river he’d seen on the TV. Brad would bet his whole inheritance that it would be safer to swim with crocodiles than cross his kitchen floor to Martin, who was vibrating with anger.

  Hell, I think I’d rather swim with crocodiles.

  Brad felt his own anger simmer, just like the sauce in the pot on the stove. It was ready to boil and spit at anything that came near it.

  “Careless, was I? It had nothing to do with you distracting me while I was co…”

  Brad didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. Martin shouted over the top of him, jabbing the air between them with the cloth he held tightly in his hand.

  “Don’t you try and blame me for your stupidity. First, you damaged my baby and now my jacket. Whatever will be next?” He could see Martin bite his lip when he finished shouting. Not sure if it was regret he saw flash in the depth of his eyes.

  Brad banked down the guilt that had his earlier meal rebel and fight against the confines of his stomach.

  He opened his mouth and then shut it. He was at a complete loss for words when he registered Martin had yet again called his car “baby.” He marched on righteous anger to Martin, remembering what the guys had said. He let his eyes fill with tears, giving Martin the hurt expression he’d practiced with Nick and Joe before allowing the tears to flow. He sniffed up, his lips wobbling. He used every weapon in his arsenal. He stuck his nose in the air before turning on his heel and marchi
ng quickly out of the kitchen. But not before he saw how Martin’s face fell and a look of despair replaced the anger.

  The sound of heavy footfall chasing after him gave him a feeling of triumph that smothered the genuine anger he’d felt at Martin’s harsh accusations.

  “Brad, I’m sorry. Come back. Please, I didn’t mean it. It’s just it’s been a crap day at work. Really, I’m sorry. Come back. I promise not to say anything else stupid, please.” As he heard the whine in Martin’s voice, he wanted to stop.

  Brad clenched his hands and willed his feet to keep going up the stairs. He kept his gaze forward, even when Martin carried on shouting after him.

  He opened their bedroom door and stepped inside. When Martin gave chase, he made sure to wait to slam the door just as he got to the top of the stairs. He flicked the lock for good measure, and he gave a little fist pump at the loud snick. When the door handle rattled a moment later, Brad let loose his grin.

  “Brad, open this bloody door. You’re taking this far too seriously. And you’re acting like a child.” The muffled words had Brad still.

  I’m taking this far too seriously, am I? Childish?

  Brad felt his smile dip. He moved back to the door, making sure he shouted loud enough for Martin to hear.

  “I’m as serious as a heart attack. You, my arsehole fiancé, can go sleep with your other baby. Let’s see if it can keep you warm and give you a mind-blowing orgasm, shall we? Childish, my arse!” He kept the smile off his face until he’d finished as he didn’t want Martin to detect any humour in his voice.

  When he heard the sound of feet thundering back downstairs, he reminded himself that Martin loved him and that his fear about him leaving if they had a fight was all in his head. They were soulmates, and he knew deep down, Martin would never purposefully hurt him. It was just that at the moment he was letting his obsession with his things rule his feelings. That, as far as Brad was concerned, was going to stop right now.

  Let’s see how Martin copes with my little temper tantrum.

  Brad felt his pocket vibrate, and he pulled out his phone. He grinned at Joe’s text.

  Do we have lift-off yet? Martin’s just stalked into my kitchen wanting to talk to Stuart. I’m sure there was smoke coming out of his ears!!!

  Brad chuckled, typing out a response.

  The plan worked like a dream. He was so mad about his suit jacket. He nearly stroked out when I got the sauce on it. And you were right. That was defo the way to go ☺

  Brad felt a slither of regret slide past his anger, as he sat on the bed ruthlessly plucking at his handmade cover. He forced the guilt back into its box when he recalled how angry Martin got over his car.

  The vibration in his hand had him bring his attention back to his phone.

  I told you it would. Martin is a things person. Why else would you spend £100,000 on a car!!!

  Brad’s mind boggled at the figure on the screen. His mouth suddenly felt far too small for his teeth. The guilt he’d put away sprung out of its box faster than a jack-in-the-box.

  “Holy shit! Who the hell pays that amount of money for a car?” Brad shut his mouth quickly as he realised he’d spoken aloud, only to remember Martin was at Stuart’s complaining about him.

  He sighed as he slumped onto the bed.

  My fiancé, it would seem. I had no clue it cost that much. Now I feel like shit.

  He’d no sooner hit reply than his phone buzzed again.

  STOP THAT RIGHT NOW. He’s downstairs shouting up a storm about how careless you’ve been with his stuff.

  Brad felt his lips twitch at the shouty capital letters.

  Okay, keep your hair on. I said I’d stick to the plan. And come hell or high water, I will!

  Rolling onto his back, he leant over and opened the drawer at the side of his bed. He pulled out the big bag of treats he’d put in there when they’d formulated the plan.

  Brad nibbled on some Maltesers, letting the chocolate melt on his tongue. He sucked the remaining sweet honeycomb till it disintegrated in his mouth, letting it linger on his taste buds. All the while he contemplated how he was going to keep up this pretense.

  Brad let his head rest on his soft pillow. He reiterated to himself what the end goal was.

  His past had always been a problem and had limited his sexual encounters. Martin had changed that. The courage he’d given Brad to face his demons had him coming out of his shell. Now he was intrigued by Joe’s suggestion and offer. And though he was a little nervous—okay, a lot nervous—he wanted to experience what Joe had talked about, with Martin.

  Martin didn’t often talk about his sexual history, but Brad wasn’t stupid. He knew Martin had a wealth of experience. It was all too obvious when they were naked and in bed together. The problem was that Brad wasn’t sure how to voice what he wanted. He’d viewed Martin as the dominant, and his research in that area said Martin would dictate what they did.

  But Martin had changed him, and for once, he wanted to ask for what he wanted.

  With Nick and Joe’s explanation today about dominant and submissive relationships, he could see that wasn’t quite what he and Martin had. Martin was just dominant, and Brad had let him lead because of his inexperience.

  But can I change that?

  Brad eyed his locked oak bedroom door and shrugged.

  It would seem I can, and I have.

  Princess hid her head between her paws. Her ears flattened against her head at the noise level in the kitchen. . How had they ended up fighting over a bit of spilt sauce? But Brad and Martin’s screeches sounded like howling banshees, giving her a hideous headache.

  The argument seemed to have reached epic proportions when she heard Brad spin round and storm out of the kitchen. The sound of Martin giving chase had her head lifting.

  She tutted. She was in a good mind to go after the pair of them so she could bang their heads together and see if it would make them see sense. Hadn’t she got enough on her plate without their fighting adding to the load?

  Her mother had been working tirelessly to find a way to get an appointment with King Manannán. To see if she could sort out the whole awful mess that Max’s little witch was trying to cause her.

  Princess hadn’t been idle, either. She had been stalking Max for days to see if she could find little miss witchy poo. The same little witch who wanted her body but not her soul. And wasn’t that the kicker.

  What Princess didn’t get was why. Why the witch would suddenly appear from nowhere and want her body? Yes, she had felt different since the shooting and somehow stronger. But the other stuff, memories of times she knew had happened before her birth, the sound of conversations between Aaden and Greg that filtered through at odd times. How can that be when she wasn’t able to hear other conversations unless she was their guardian?

  Frightened to ask her mother, she worried her whiskers at the meaning of these changes. If Max hadn’t been such a prick, she would have asked him if he knew.

  Don’t I have enough to deal with?

  Her head rolled up when she heard the slam of a door above her.

  Dear God! Why me?

  Princess closed her ears to the feet that thundered downstairs and the following door banging shut. Instead she licked her fur, cleaning herself. Her mind pondered where Max could be hiding out. All her hard work had failed in finding his hiding place.

  It was tiresome having to constantly keep her angst to herself. She was still too pissed off with Brad to seek any comfort, with him being a traitor, keeping secrets from her.

  Princess lay her head on her freshly washed paws and stared out the darkened window.

  She hissed at her own reflection. Her worried eyes stared back at her. Her blue eyes seemed to be drowning in fear. A fear that was all too real when she considered whether this time she would prevail through the coming storm. A storm that could sweep her out to sea, making sure she was never to be seen again.

  Princess shut her glistening eyes, letting go. She felt her tears
dripping onto her fur. Shivering, she sniffed and rubbed her wet nose into the velvet cushion. She sobbed silently as she prayed her mother could fix this for her because death was just not an option she wanted to consider.

  On the ninth day of Christmas my true friends gave to me:

  The proposition and the planner

  21st December

  Joe rolled back into the solid warm, naked body behind him. He breathed in the heavy scent of Stuart’s musk, humming in the back of his throat in pleasure when muscular arms hugged him closer. The shifting of the warm, soft cotton duvet was followed by the feel of Stuart’s growing erection nestling between his arse cheeks. Hot breath ghosted over his bare shoulder before plump lips nuzzled into the crook of his neck, eliciting a moan from Joe.

  Joe’s eyes shot open. His brain suddenly remembered that this was not the plan. He scrabbled frantically to get out of Stuart’s embrace. He jumped out of bed like his arse was on fire and jogged starkers to the bathroom door. He gave his swelling cock a hard thump before opening the en-suite bathroom door and rushed inside.

  He heard Stuart’s mumbled grumble of “where was he going” as he shut the bathroom door firmly on Stuart’s sexy rasp. He blocked it out, though how he could hear him with his heart jackhammering against his ribcage was anyone’s business. He felt like he’d just jogged ten miles the way he was sweating. He lay against the cold wood, letting the coolness help with his overheated body.

  Joe eyed the waving pole jutting from his body. Come on, you know you can go without sex. You did it for months. The loud voice that answered him back “that was before you met Stuart” made him sigh.

  Joe jerked away from the door and grabbed his bare chest, feeling his heart thud rapidly at the handle rattling at his back. So lost in thought, he hadn’t heard Stuart come to the door. Joe leapt towards the door, remembering he hadn’t locked it. Pressing his weight against the door, he attempted to lock it silently. When it barely made a noise, he let go of a silent breath, sending a thank you to the gods.