The Twelve Disasters of Christmas

by J P Sayle

  Why couldn’t I just keep my mouth shut and say nothing?

  Why, why, why?

  Nick lowered his gaze. It landed on his semi-hard cock that was attempting to push out of his pretty white lace manties.

  Oh, shitting hell. Whatever next!

  Nick’s head fired up, knocking straight into Brody’s forehead. Nick let out a screech when his vision greyed at the edges. He lifted his hand to touch the lump growing under his tangled hair as Brody sat him down on the unmade bed and jumped up. He rubbed at his forehead and stomped to the door, cursing with every step.

  He turned as he opened the door. “Stay put while I get some ice for your shoulder and our heads. How the fuck can someone so fucking small cause so many problems.”

  Nick didn’t respond as Brody crashed down the stairs.

  He sniffed, scrubbing at his watery eyes. The throb in his shoulder and head dimmed under the sting of Brody’s harsh words. Nick got up and hopped to the door. Slamming it shut, he gave a small fist pump when he saw the key in the lock. Thanking the fates, he locked the door, jumping on one leg back to the bed. He dragged a pair of shorts and a T-shirt out of his bag and slipped them on. He climbed into the unmade bed. Yanking the duvet up off the floor, he buried himself under the cover.

  The loud hammering and door handle rattling had him bury his head in the pillow, shutting out the noise.

  “Merry fucking Christmas to me,” he muttered into the pillow, feeling the first tear slide down his cheek, followed by another. Once they started, Nick found he couldn’t make them stop. The stress of the last few days caught up with him. Fuck, who am I kidding? The stress was definitely not just from the last few days. He’d always felt stressed, anxious, and downright out of sorts when Brody was around him. And it had been that way since forever.

  Nick rolled over onto his back, ignoring the shouts coming through the door. He sniffed, scrubbing at his wet cheeks. He swallowed the sobs back while he struggled to pull himself together.

  Why did Brody have to move in next to us?

  Nick could still picture the first time he’d met Brody.

  Brody’s father had come over to introduce himself and had dragged an unwilling Brody with him. Nick had been sitting in the kitchen, chewing the tip of his pen as he’d tried to figure out a maths equation. His mum was at the cooker, singing softly to the music coming from the radio. A radio that was always playing whenever she was in the kitchen.

  The sound of the doorbell had Nick leap from his seat, looking for any distraction from finishing his homework. The first year of high school sucked big time, and he couldn’t understand why he had to go when he only wanted to be a carpenter. He sulked as he ran to the door with his mother shouting behind him.

  “If that’s one of your friends, you can forget going out. It’s teatime, and you still haven’t finished your homework.”

  Nick rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

  “I saw that.” The laughing shout had Nick cast a glance back over his shoulder to the kitchen.

  How does she do that?

  Nick shook his head as he opened the door.

  He felt his head tilt back as his startled eyes travelled up the two figures towering over him. Both men were similar in stature, though one was slightly taller with a bulkier body, whereas the smaller man was leaner. He noticed they both wore similar clothes, blue jeans and sweaters, one grey, the other navy. Both had dark hair with glints of red that the sunlight pouring from behind them captured as they moved. But it was the grey-green eyes of the smaller man that caught his attention and caused his stomach to do a flip-flop.

  No, not a man but a teenager, Nick corrected himself. With the light behind them, he hadn’t noticed initially that the leaner man was much younger. Though the aura he gave off was that of someone well beyond his years. Nick would bet his Marvel comic collection he was probably around the same age as Aaden, maybe a year or two older.

  Remembering his manners, Nick wet his lips, hoping his voice didn’t sound like a croaking frog when his throat dried.

  “Hiya. Err… are you looking for my dad?” Pleased when he’d only sounded a little croaky, Nick gave them both a big smile. The sound of an indrawn breath had him quickly look back at the boy. The odd look in his grey-green eyes did something funny to Nick’s body. It heated, making something stir inside his chest.

  He didn’t hear what the man’s response was, not with all the blood rushing in his ears. Nick struggled to get his mind to work. Stepping back, unsure what to make of it, Nick did what any child would do. He called for his mum, not caring if he looked like a spaz.

  “Mum, we have visitors.”

  The stupid grin that formed on the younger guy’s face had Nick’s hands ball tightly at his sides. His slick palms had him worry there was something wrong with him. His palms never got sweaty, so why now?

  He heard the sound of Aaden’s feet coming down the stairs as his mum came out of the kitchen.

  Nick felt Aaden’s warm hand land on his shoulder, squeezing as if reassuring him everything was fine, as he joined him at the front door.

  Aaden had always been his protector. Nick didn’t know what he was going to do when Aaden finally left high school. His miniscule height, pale complexion, pretty features, and white-blond hair made him the perfect target for bullies. Bullies that Aaden, on a regular basis, had to kick their arses to stop Nick sustaining too many bruises.

  Aaden’s deep rumbling voice interrupted his pity party.

  “Hey, can I help? I’m Aaden, and this here’s my brother, Nick.”

  Nick felt Aaden pull him back slightly from the door when the boy kept his gaze fixed on Nick as the man spoke again.

  “Hi. We just wanted to introduce ourselves. I’m Brody Quilliam senior, and this is my son, Brody junior. My wife, Lena, would have come with us, but she had some kitchen crisis.”

  Nick felt his mum come up behind him before she gently moved him to the side.

  She offered her hand, after she dried it on the tea towel she was holding. “Hello, I’m Rita, and you’ve met my sons. My husband, John, is round the corner there.”

  Nick watched his mum point to the garage.

  “He’s pottering in the garage if you want to stick your head in and say hello. I’m sure Brody would like to come in and have some chocolate chip cookies and get the gossip from Aaden on his new school.”

  Nick would have taken his hat off to his mother if he’d been wearing one. Clearly that was not what Brody junior wanted when his brows disappeared under his fringe and his lower lip poked out. But somehow his mother had manoeuvred him into the kitchen and placed a cookie and fizzy drink in front of him before he could protest.

  The rest of the afternoon was a blur. Nick could, however, remember how Aaden had warmed to Brody, laughing and joking. All the while, he sat knowing he was wearing a sullen expression. While his stomach and chest had done some weird kind of breakdance when Brody watched him with those strange grey-green eyes of his.

  The quiet outside the door roused him from the past.

  Nick sighed.

  A hiccup escaped, then another. His head felt as if he’d stuffed it with cotton wool. And he was sure his eyes were swollen and red from crying. Moving his pillow to avoid the wet patch, he settled onto his side, hugging it closer to his chest.

  He hoped his friends were having a better time than him, though he was sure that wouldn’t be difficult. He closed his eyes, praying he’d get some sleep, knowing that tomorrow was going to be hard enough when he had to face an angry Brody.

  “He wouldn’t be angry if you had only opened the door.”

  Christina’s haughty voice had him scrabble back. His backside hung off the bed as he grabbed at the duvet. “What the fuck are you playing at?” He hissed at the apparition now sitting perched on the end of his bed.

  She fluttered her dark eyelashes at him, grinning. “Me? I’m playing at nothing, though you seem to be, playing that is, with Brody.”

  Her
chuckle had him move to get comfortable. He avoided putting his broken foot anywhere near her. He noticed she didn’t miss the move when she rested her hands back in her lap.

  “I’m not here to hurt you. I’ve come to make amends for my silly little trick.”

  Nick blustered. “Silly little trick, you fucking broke my foot with the stunt you pulled. I could feel your magic. You forget it’s not the first time you’ve used it on me. And I’m no longer naïve enough not to notice.” Nick pursed his lips when all she did was shrug her tiny shoulders.

  “What do you want, Christina? You never give anything for free.” Nick chuckled when that earned him a scowl.

  “Come on, spill. Some of us want to get some sleep.” He hadn’t finished speaking when she jumped off the bed and paced the floor.

  “I just wanted to know if you’d seen Max. I’ve looked everywhere, and I can’t find him. And now his little Princess has disappeared as well.”

  Nick felt a shiver skitter up his spine. Shit, when was the last time I saw Max?

  Yesterday?

  His forehead creased with concern. “I don’t know, to be honest. I’ve spent so much time helping Brad I couldn’t say. Not for sure anyway. I think. No, no, I know I saw him yesterday, but I’ve been at Brad’s all day today. And as he comes and goes as he pleases, I’m not sure if he’s been here today.” Nick felt his pulse rate pick up. Aaden would be distraught if anything happened to Max.

  Nick tapped his head. “I’m so fucking stupid. Aaden can talk to Max wherever he is. When I see Aaden in the morning, I’ll ask him then. Max will be fine, I’m sure.” The slight edge of doubt he could hear in his voice had him chew on his lip.

  His eyes narrowed when Christina gave the closed door a thoughtful look. “You leave them alone. I mean it, Christina. You’ve caused enough bother. And remember, they all know what you’ve proposed, so you won’t be met with open arms if you go over to Stuart’s demanding answers.” The sag of her shoulders told him he’d won for now. But for how long? Well, that was anyone’s guess.

  Nick’s head flew to Christina. His mouth opened but nothing came out as she spoke.

  “I’ll heal your foot. I’m sorry for the mishap.”

  He felt a heat build in his foot before the ache that had been his constant companion disappeared in a flash.

  Nick gulped.

  His hands trembled when he pulled his foot free of the sheets. He touched the wrinkled skin. Feeling no discomfort at all, he put it on the ground and on shaky legs stood up. He blinked back the tears that gathered at the corner of his eyes. He rubbed at his eyes before he turned to Christina to thank her, only to find empty space.

  Nick whispered into the silent room, “thanks,” as he strolled around the room grinning at nothing.

  “Happy Christmas to meeeeee, happy Christmas to meeeee.” He danced and wiggled his backside as he sashayed back to the bed and lay down. A little breathless, he looked up at the pale sand ceiling. “Now all I have to do is explain how my foot healed so quickly!”

  Piece of piss, right!

  Christmas Day

  Heading down the stairs to find where the glorious smell was coming from, Stuart felt his arse twinge as he walked. A sappy grin had his mouth twitching.

  The worry over last night had given him a couple of restless nights sleep and a whole heap of distraction at work. It had finally twigged when he’d walked into the bedroom naked and more aroused than he’d been in his life. His worries had been unfounded. Now he’d tried the whole “bring your friends to watch” scenario, he would be interested in doing it again.

  Hell. The feel of all those eyes on him and Joe had him coming harder than he’d ever had in his life. Joe, the little fucker, had played him better than the world-renowned violinist, Mark Wood. His whole body had danced to Joe’s tune, and he found he was more than happy with that.

  So much so that it had reinforced his plan for today. A plan that had Stuart’s mouth dry and his feet falter as he hit the bottom of the stairs. He felt the wave of heat from the radiators and the fire Joe would have lit the minute he’d got downstairs. A drop of sweat slid down his forehead, tickling the side of his left eye. Stuart swiped at it with the back of his hand. He couldn’t help but notice the slight tremble when he pulled it away to wipe it against his other hand.

  He could pretend he was sweating bullets from the heat, but he knew better. The little box he’d shoved into the bottom of the bag of gifts they were taking to Brad and Martin’s so they could open them all together was the real culprit.

  “Stuart, what are you doing hovering in the hall?” Joe’s laughter filtered down the hall from the kitchen as he shouted. Joe had heard Stuart coming down the stairs a full five minutes ago, and then for some reason, he’d stopped.

  Joe poked his head out of the kitchen, checking out Stuart’s expression. He hoped like hell he wasn’t regretting what they’d done last night.

  Fuck. Or should that be fuckity fuck?

  Joe pulled his now flaming face back into the kitchen when Stuart’s rigid back seemed to relax. Joe hid his face behind his hair, letting it flop forward over his cheeks to hide the stain of red heating them.

  He’d gone and reviewed the recording from last night while Stuart slept. He’d wanted to make copies for the guys, as gifts. In hindsight, he wasn’t so sure that had been a good idea when he’d needed to have a quick wank in his freezing van. His body hadn’t give a shit how cold it was in there. All it had wanted was to combust at what he was seeing on the screen.

  Joe wafted his hand in front of his face, doing his best to cool himself, but that was nigh on impossible when the images were burned into his retinas.

  Stuart strolled into the kitchen, interrupting his thoughts. He shifted his thickening length before turning from the cooker. Thankfully there was a genuine smile lighting Stuart’s face as he offered up his lips and gave him a thorough kiss. A kiss that melted away any anxiety he’d had, but it didn’t help the action that was going on in his trousers.

  Joe moaned into Stuart’s mouth. The taste of toothpaste combined with Stuart’s unique flavour made the breakfast he’d been cooking seem bland. Stuart wrapped his hands under his arse cheeks, lifting him until he was plastered against Stuart’s chest. Their turgid lengths met when Joe wrapped his legs around Stuart’s waist and humped. He let his body take over when Stuart dragged his mouth from his lips and slid up his neck. He could feel his lips draw on the sensitive skin behind his ear. His chest heaved in time with Stuart’s. Their breathless moans filled the kitchen, drowning out the sound of sizzling.

  Joe jerked back at the sound of the fire alarm blaring to life. He turned his unfocused gaze back to the cooker and the now charred sausages he’d been frying, his nose at last registering the smell of burning meat.

  Joe chuckled.

  He shouted over the noise, “You and your mouth are bloody lethal.” He slid down Stuart, forcing his body to co-operate when it was the last thing he wanted to do. But setting fire to the kitchen was also not on his to-do list today.

  “Can you open the patio door and switch off the bloody alarm before it has all the neighbours complaining.” Joe grabbed the pan off the heat, hoping to salvage some of the food.

  The sudden silence had him looking back at Stuart, offering him a grin of thanks.

  Stuart strolled back to Joe after opening the door to let out the smoky air. Stuart watched Joe plating up the other food warming under the grill. Joe glared at the burnt sausages before picking the two that looked the least cremated and putting them on a plate.

  Stuart struggled to keep his face straight. His lips twitched at Joe’s furrowed brow and pouting lips. He took the plates from Joe, giving his pouting mouth a quick brush with his. His aching cock was not so happy with that, but Stuart could see the effort Joe had gone to, to make a full English breakfast. He disregarded the tightness below his belt.

  Stuart’s eyes landed on the table. He blinked slowly, taking a breath. He hoped to Go
d he didn’t cry. The welling tears he could feel aching at the back of his eyes had him wishing that they’d stay put.

  The red cloth covering the wood had bold Christmas decorations printed on the fabric. The bright and cheerful cloth had matching serviettes. There were two beautiful wine glasses with red stems sitting by gleaming cutlery. A Christmas yuletide log sat in the middle of the table with a fat Santa sitting on a sleigh, which was being pulled by half a dozen reindeer. There were dark green and silver crackers placed next to the two colourful place mats that clashed with the crackers. But Stuart couldn’t find it in him to care when he could clearly see how much effort Joe had made for their first Christmas breakfast together.

  He sat down, placing the food on the table, and blinked rapidly. He swallowed. He prayed he’d be able to eat and hold down the food when his stomach reminded him of what he had planned for later.

  Stuart snatched up his knife and fork, counting to calm his pounding pulse. He watched as Joe’s brow scrunched up.

  “You okay?” The slight tremble in Joe’s tone had Stuart offer him a big grin.

  “You bet your gorgeous backside. Come on, sit and eat.” Stuart chatted, hoping Joe didn’t notice his nervousness. He flicked a quick glance at the wall clock, sighing at the time. He wasn’t sure how many hours he could keep this up for before he broke down and demanded they open their gifts here.

  He chewed his food slowly, enjoying the crispy taste of the bacon. He wondered if Brad and Martin were up early and they could change the time they went over?

  Greg groaned loudly. His body melted into the mattress as Aaden rolled to the side, collapsing onto his back. His sweaty chest was heaving.

  “I’m already loving Christmas. And I haven’t even got all my presents yet.” Greg’s breathless words were met with total stillness. He cast a glance at Aaden and saw a wary expression cover his face.

  “Why are you looking like that?” Greg held his breath, waiting for an answer. He pouted at the prospect of not having any more gifts, other than the bare cock he’d just had in his arse. Not that that, in itself, wasn’t the best gift ever. But he’d kinda expected to get other gifts as well.