by A. R. Moler
“What do you want, Jason?” Tristan asked.
“Tris, you gotta get me outta this. Some fucker says he’s gonna charge me with a DUI.” Jason’s voice was a thick slur.
Analyzing the words charge and DUI, Tristan reached the conclusion his brother had just been arrested for driving drunk. “Not my problem.”
“You’re a cop. You can fix it, damn it.”
“Are you on the side of the road or in jail?”
“At the building, the cop building. They’re about to do the book thing. You have to make ‘em stop. Get me out of it.”
Tristan ground his teeth. God, the guy sounded absolutely shit-faced. “Shouldn’t you be calling a lawyer rather than me?” He paced toward the window.
“Dad’ll be pissed. ‘specially when you can wave your badge and make it go away.”
“It doesn’t work like that. Solve your own fucking problems.” He jammed his thumb against the screen to end the call. Temptation raged to throw the phone at the wall. Finally, he looked at Brian.
“Why is he calling you?” Brian asked. “I’m guessing it’s some legal thing?” He was sitting up, cross-legged on the bed again.
“He’s at a precinct. I don’t even know which one. He got picked up for a DUI.”
“And of course he thinks you can magically fix the whole thing because you’re a detective and he’s your brother,” Brian said. “What an asshole.”
“Always.”
Tristan turned back to face the window, bracing a hand on the frame, staring out through the slit in the curtains. The street outside had only a little traffic. He wanted to punch something, preferably his brother.
A warm hand touched his back. “Come to bed. For sleeping purposes. The universe has decided interruptions are the order of the night.”
Count to ten. Remember the man standing behind you is your support system. Remember he loves you no matter what crap your family dishes out. Slowly he turned to face Brian.
Brian looped his arms around Tristan’s neck. “It’s okay. It’s Christmas and we’re together, and that’s what counts.” He drew Tristan into a kiss.
Giving up on the idea of sex for now, Tristan climbed into bed, pulling up the blankets.
Brian held him close, fingers rubbing his arm, breathing softly against his shoulder. “I love you always, no matter what.”
It took a long time for Tristan to relax enough to sleep.
* * * *
The goose was in the oven cooking. All four adults were in the den with coffee in hand.
“Love the slippers, Sis,” Brian said, gesturing toward Heather’s feet.
She wore a pair of slippers shaped like pigs with wings. They all still had on pajamas, with the loose game plan being to shower and dress after gift opening.
She wiggled her feet. “They were just too cute to resist. So, who’s going first?”
“Tristan,” Brian replied. He picked up the small box from under the tree and handed it to his husband. “This year we appear to have reversed the gift size discrepancy of last year.”
Tristan opened the box to reveal the expensive watch. “Wow.” He leaned over and kissed Brian. “It’s gorgeous.”
“Since the one you had got broken beyond repair…I got this one engraved.”
Pulling the watch from the case and flipping it over to look at the back, Tristan read out loud, “From Brian with love.” He put the watch on. “Your turn.”
“Does it matter which one I start with?” Brian asked, eyeing the four moderate sized boxes.
“No…it all…goes together.”
Brian picked up a box. It was fairly heavy. He set it on the sofa between him and Tristan. Paper off, it revealed a brown cardboard box, heavily taped shut. “Well, crap, I don’t think I’m going to be getting that open with my fingernails.”
“I’ll go get a knife from the kitchen,” Heather volunteered as she got up. She left the room.
“Zeke, you should go grab yours and Heather’s,” Tristan suggested.
The front doorbell rang.
Heather called out, “I’ll get it.” She was in the foyer.
Brian got to his feet, hypothesizing that Heather would likely be unfamiliar with whoever it was.
He saw Heather open the door. Althea Blake was on the doorstep. Her mouth hung open for a moment as she stared at Heather. “Who the hell are you?”
Brian stepped up beside Heather. “Hello, Althea. Having you drop by on Christmas day is becoming close to a habit. This is my sister Heather. Would you like to come in?” Not that he really wanted her to, but maybe this would be over fast.
Althea came into the foyer. “Do not call me by my first name. Where’s…”
“I’m right here, Mother.” Tristan’s tone was tense as he approached.
Brian made motions for Heather to return to the den.
“You have ruined my Christmas!” Althea began. “Do you know that my baby boy spent the night in a jail cell? How dare you. You could have gotten him out. Your father had to drive to a police station to pick him up!”
“It was undoubtedly a holding cell, not an actual jail cell and I’d be willing to bet it wasn’t more than just a few hours since it’s only nine thirty now,” Tristan said.
“This whole situation is just unbelievable! Jason said you refused to fix this.”
“One, I can’t fix this as you seem to think. Two, it’s not my problem he was too stupid to call a cab to take him home or wherever the hell he was going. He drinks like a fucking fish.” Tristan crossed his arms and glared at his mother.
“Tristan! Language!”
“I’m an adult, not a six-year-old. Go home, Mother. Go home and call a lawyer and throw money at the problem like you always do.”
Althea made a face. “Like you’re dirt poor.”
“I work for a living. A real job. And yes, Grandfather left me the house, but I pay my own bills. Jason has never worked an honest day in his life.”
“My father would be horrified to know that you live here with another sodomite!”
“No, actually, he wouldn’t. He knew I was gay long before you did. Go home, mother. Leave me alone.”
She stood, shaking in fury for about two seconds then stalked out the front door, leaving it hanging open as she went down the front steps.
Tristan shut the front door and then leaned back against it. “Wasn’t that fun?” Sarcasm dripped from his voice.
Brian crossed the foyer, stopped directly in front of Tristan, and cupped his hands around Tristan’s face. He kissed Tristan softly. “Come back into the den.”
Tristan gave him a small nod and followed him halfway back across the foyer before grabbing Brian’s hand and pulling him to a stop. “I’d happily fuck you against that front door…if we didn’t have company.”
Brian smiled. “I may hold you to that promise.”
Back in the den, Heather handed him a paring knife. “Maybe I should have waved this in her direction when I opened the door?”
“Tempting, very tempting,” Brian confessed.
“Is it always like that?”
“Second year in a row,” Tristan said. “So are we heading toward a precedent?”
Brian cut the packing tape that held the box on the sofa and pulled out an object in brown paper. As he unwrapped it, it was a dinner plate, white with a silver and gray border and tiny white leaves.
“Eleven place settings was all they had,” Tristan said.
“Oh my God, where did you get this? It’s gorgeous and almost old enough to be vintage. Estate sale?”
Tristan made a rueful face. “I made an antique dealer rather happy. And yes, there’s a platter for the goose in among the stuff in the boxes. And a few serving dishes.”
“It’s beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. They are absolutely beautiful.” Brian was impressed by the attention to what he liked by Tristan.
The Townsends had a family tradition now that both kids were adults. Give one edible/ drinkable gift and
one that wasn’t. Further gift opening involved a six-pack of Samuel Smith Oatmeal stout and a Lego architecture Trafalgar square model from Heather. Brian gave Heather a pair of Frye boots and a box of Sappho’s chocolate truffles. Zeke was given a cashmere sweater and bottle of Jameson Irish whiskey.
Brian was impressed that Heather gave Tristan a four inch model of a rocket and bottle of Egri Bakaver, a red wine that was difficult to find. It proved she had paid attention to conversations that had gone on the weekend of the wedding.
* * * *
Dinner was served at three p.m. The goose came out very well. It was accompanied by bread, white potatoes and sweet potatoes, salad, baked apples and Brussels sprouts. Tristan had sort of adjusted to the fact that Brian was fond of those little green cabbage like balls. Apparently so was Heather. Tristan thought they were kind of weird.
Heather, Tristan, and Zeke had all helped unpack the china and place it on the table for use. Truthfully, it did look very nice. Tristan mused for a moment on the formal dinners with his extended family. Yes, of course, the expensive china, crystal and silver was used but it was never relaxed.
“I told you we would eat a whole pound of Dalek eggs between us,” Heather teased.
Zeke made a quizzical face. “The what?”
“The sprouts, also known as Dalek eggs,” Brian said. “My parents and their friends call them that. After all, Doctor Who has been around for more than fifty years.”
“You two are such geeks,” Zeke said.
Clean up involved hand washing both the china and the wine glasses. Tristan and Zeke masterminded that since they had none of the cooking. Brian and Heather lounged at the kitchen table talking to their overseas parents on the phone.
After an hour, Heather brought the trifle out of the fridge and set it on the table. It was layers of cake and lemon pudding topped with raspberries and whipped cream.
“I thought I smelled lemon something or other when I came in last night,” Tristan commented.
“Tristan bought me one for Christmas last year,” Brian said.
“What flavor?” Heather asked.
“It was kind of a caramel custard thing.”
“Good?”
“Yeah.”
“I drizzled some limoncello over the cake part,” Heather warned.
The meal wound down over the trifle and coffee.
Heather suggested, “Next year, if Mom and Dad actually stay in the U.S. for the holidays, you and Brian should come to Buffalo.”
“That will probably depend on his work schedule,” Brian replied, looking at Tristan.
“Unfortunately true, but I think I’ll worry about that later. Tristan traced a finger along the rim of his near empty coffee cup.
“I guess we should grab luggage and head across the city,” Heather said. She and Zeke had plans for meeting some friends of his for drinks in the West village area and then spending the night there.
“Do you want a cab or an Uber?” Brian asked. Zeke and his sister had taken a train to come see them.
“Enh, Uber seems like a simpler idea.” Heather walked in the direction of the staircase, Zeke trailing after her.
* * * *
The front door clicked as Tristan pushed it shut. Heather and Zeke had been picked up…and that left him alone with Brian. Tristan locked the door and set the alarm, then turned to face Brian, who was lingering in the foyer.
“That was very deliberate,” Brian said with a wicked smile. “Planning on following through with earlier suggestions?”
Tristan crooked a finger toward his husband then held out his arms. Brian walked into the embrace and Tristan held him tightly, kissing him…and noticing just how damn cold it was leaning back on the door.
“So, was this a good Christmas?” Brian asked. “Well, minus the part with Althea anyway.”
Tristan gazed at Brian. “I like your sister. Her boyfriend seems…all right. And any holiday I get to spend with you falls in the good category.”
“Gonna screw me against the door?”
“No.”
“The window is frosted and the porch light is out.”
“No, but only because the door is so freaking cold you might end up with frostbite on important parts. Sometimes I forget how chilly certain areas of this house can be in the winter.”
“So we need to add weather stripping and improved insulation to our to do list,” Brian said.
“You, are on my to do list, but how ‘bout we start where we got interrupted last night?”
“If you turn off the lights and turn on the tree, I’ll light the fire and get the blanket off the sofa.”
It took just a couple of minutes to set the room, only firelight and Christmas tree lights for illumination.
Brian sat on a blanket in front of the fire, legs stretched out, leaning back on his hands. “No interruptions this time.”
“Which is half the reason I set the damn alarm.” Tristan knelt down in front of Brian. “Are everyone’s lives this crazy?”
“I think everyone has some level of family thing going on.”
“I must be especially lucky.” Tristan rolled his eyes, thinking about the nightmare of his family.
“I’m in the mood to get lucky.” Brian tugged at Tristan’s shirt.
Tristan pushed Brian flat and unbuckled the man’s belt. No pajamas this time, so it would take a little more effort, but also there shouldn’t be anyone walking in on them. He lowered the zipper and pushed Brian’s shirt up. A few light nips of the skin on Brian’s belly and a kiss right at the edge of his boxers led to a low chuckle from Brian. The bulge beneath the fabric was already getting stiffer.
“I could make life easier and just go ahead and get naked,” Brian suggested.
“I think I like you half-dressed and aroused right now. Maybe we’ll move on to the naked part in a bit.”
Brian smiled. Oh what a wicked little smirk. Tristan rubbed his face across the tenting segment of Brian’s underwear, exhaling, nibbling, leaving a spot of wetness with his tongue. Brian groaned.
Tristan tortured him a minute more before finally hooking fingers in the waistband and pulling the boxers down. Brian lifted his ass to make the maneuver easier, his cock rigid at attention as it was exposed. A lick up the underside and across the tip, then Tristan began to suck. Brian made delicious noises as his fingers clutched at the blanket beneath him.
There had to be lube around here somewhere. Tristan groped under the sofa and found the bottle, slicking a finger. Tristan returned to sucking and stroking Brian’s cock, and nudged him to flex his knees. Knees up, feet on the floor, Brian looked at Tristan with heavy lidded eyes, obviously enjoying the event. Tristan pushed a slippery finger into Brian, in and out, while he sucked. Brian whimpered and then moaned, hands clenching as he came in Tristan’s mouth.
Tristan wiped his mouth on his sleeve. He looked down at Brian. This was the man he loved, blissed out, debauched, pants around his thighs in the flickering firelight.
Brian reached out and groped Tristan’s crotch. “Your turn.”
Rearranging of bodies, Tristan ended up spread on the blanket, half naked. He was already turned on enough he knew he wouldn’t last very long. Brian sucked Tristan’s prick, fondled Tristan’s balls, all just lightly enough Tristan hung on the edge, not quite coming for seconds and seconds, his whole body tightening without release…Then Brian deep throated him, a long filthy divine sensation and Tristan unloaded.
Equally relaxed and satisfied, they pulled their pants back up and curled in each other’s arms before the fire.
“The fire and the lights…it’s romantic,” Brian murmured.
Tristan placed a soft kiss on Brian’s lips. “You’re my fire, Brian. You keep my heart warm.”
THE END
ABOUT A.R. MOLER
A.R. Moler is a chemistry professor at a community college, a homeschooling mom, and an avid science fiction fan. She is a devotee of first hand research for her writing whenever possible a
nd to this end has: learned to fire a handgun, been rappelling, ridden with both EMS and the police, flown a helicopter, bought a motorcycle, and learned to ride it. She has traveled to nearly all the places where her stories are set and taken hundreds of photos for documentation. She has been writing since her high school years, but only recently has become published.
For more information, visit armoler.com.
ABOUT JMS BOOKS LLC
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