by Amy Lane
“Not exactly. Apparently I told him he was an unprofessional child and I could win the case against him with a dog walker as my second chair, and if he wasn’t standing on the backs of some first-rate people, we’d all see what a little, tiny penis he really was.”
“You don’t remember that?”
“Brenda swears those were my exact words. And then I quit. And she followed me.”
Sandy couldn’t quite seem to catch his breath. His chest was thick with pride, and his eyes were burning, and holy God, his dick was hard as a rock.
“Please tell me you’re not joking.”
Carter took off his glasses to wipe away the fog and peered at him. “I just quit a job with bennies and equity in the company, Sandy—this is totally serious.”
Oh God. “You are so going to get laid tonight,” Sandy breathed. “I’ll study blowjobs too. I’ll give you the Pied Piper extra-spiffy Sandy’s-gonna-top blowjob. You’ll know yourself for the god you are. You quit!”
Carter put his glasses on and smiled shyly. “Right before Christmas. With only seven independent cases to my name. Yeah. I quit.”
“I don’t care.” Sandy stepped into his space and took that dear, angular, plain, and perfect face between his gloved hands. “I’ll move in and pay rent. I’ll become your paralegal. We’ll have Alexis move in so we can keep the house. You quit. You’re going to keep going with the independent cases—because seven is a lot after a month, and people just keep showing up.”
It seemed a compassionate lawyer who took a reasonable retainer and worked hard to tell the truth (even if it was, as it had been on one case, not what the plaintiff wanted to hear) was worth his weight in gold. And if Carter was specializing in pet cases, well, he had an almost-certified expert at his disposal, and Sandy was happy to help.
“I can hire Brenda as a paralegal,” Carter confessed. “I have savings.” He watched Freckles search out a gopher hole and start to dig. “Enough to last two years, after my severance package kicks in.”
“You get a severance package after you quit?” Sandy said, impressed.
Carter smiled faintly. “I negotiated the contract.” His sincerity was touching. “I am a lawyer you know.”
“You are,” Sandy said, pretty sure the shock was still setting in. “And now you work for the world’s greatest boss.”
Carter gazed at him, like he was searching for firm ground. “It’s okay? I’m not quite a grown-up now. I’m a . . . a . . .”
“A start-up business,” Sandy said. “And I’m a thirty-three-year-old college student. And we’re going to have Christmas together, and I’m going to move in for the New Year.”
“Really?” Carter asked, mouth slightly parted. “It’s not too soon?”
“It’s not soon enough.” Sandy kissed him there, on some stranger’s front lawn, pulling back before the kiss got urgent. “I am so giving you awesome sex tonight.”
Carter studied the dog for a moment, biting his lower lip. “You give me awesome sex almost every night.” He flashed an impish smile up.
“Damned right I do.”
But that night really was special.
That night Sandy took Carter, easing into his body and then smiling at his earnest look of concentration as he accustomed himself to the fullness—and the pleasure. Sandy was usually sort of a wild man on top—top was tequila and bondage for Sandy, but not tonight. Tonight, he went slow.
Tonight, he went perfect.
Tonight, he moved just right, waiting . . . waiting . . . waiting . . . until Carter let out a low, heedless cry, coming without touching himself, blind and lost in pleasure, and in trust.
The next night, Christmas Eve, they exchanged gifts. Carter got Sandy a year’s worth of auto service, for which Sandy would be exceptionally grateful.
Sandy got Carter a Christmas ornament: a snow globe, with a puppy and a stocking, and a father in glasses chasing after the both of them. It played “That Doggie in the Window” in bright, tinny notes when the key was twisted. A little maudlin, perhaps, but Sandy thought it was appropriate—and prophetic—like a crystal ball for the two of them. Carter chased the joy, the puppy chased the prize, and Sandy got to keep them both, happy and hopeful, while his family and friends gathered in the Christmas holiday he and his sister had always dreamed of.
But Sandy didn’t really need gifts on Christmas Eve, or family and dinner on Christmas Day, to know it was all going to be okay.
He only needed Carter, gasping, coming apart in his arms, lost in the promise of Sandy, and Freckles, and the many, great, amazing things the three of them could accomplish together.
And of the wonderful thing that Sandy and Carter had already become.
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Happy Sunshiny Amy
Country Mouse, with Aleksandr Voinov
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RITA-Award-nominee Amy Lane exists happily with her noisy family in a crumbling suburban crapmansion, and equally happily with the surprisingly demanding voices who live in her head.
She loves cats, movies, yarn, pretty colors, pretty men, shiny things, and Twu Wuv, and despises house cleaning, low-fat granola bars, and vainglorious prickweenies.
She can be found at her computer, dodging housework, or simultaneously reading, watching television, and knitting, because she likes to freak people out by proving it can be done.
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