Better Than People

by Roan Parrish

  Simon glared.

  It was so damn easy for Jack. After Simon’s days of thinking and worrying and scheming, Jack had just tossed the question out like it was nothing.

  “Whoa. Uh. So maybe...you don’t want to?”

  “Goddamn it,” Simon grumbled. He shoved Jack’s shoulders then hugged him tight. “Yes, please.”

  Jack rubbed soothing strokes up and down his spine.

  “Also your brother is coming for Christmas Eve.”

  “He is?” Jack put distance between them so he could see Simon’s face. “You...did you contact Charlie?”

  He beamed and Simon nodded miserably.

  “I was going to try and plan a whole thing, but I got...” He shook his head and buried his face in Jack’s shoulder. “We could plan it together?”

  “What’s that, darlin’?”

  “Maybe it’s better if we plan together?”

  Jack’s smile and soft eyes made it all worth sacrificing the element of surprise. In fact, as he bundled up against the cold and followed Jack out into the snow, he wasn’t sure why he’d ever thought a surprise was the way to go.

  Jack was talking animatedly about Christmas trees when they got into his truck—local pines and root balls and ground thaw temperature and replant viability—and when they arrived at a tree farm twenty minutes away, Jack didn’t even hesitate, just grabbed Simon’s hand and pulled him into the fray.

  Simon appreciated every accommodation Jack had made for him. Every questioning look to see if he needed to go home, every firm hug that soothed his nervous system, every massage that calmed his twitching muscles.

  But this moment when Jack was so excited to do something with Simon that he didn’t even think about making accommodations shifted something between them.

  Jack wanted him. Wanted Simon with him, no matter what.

  They made their way through a maze of trees with their trunks wrapped in burlap and perched in buckets.

  “What’s up with that?” Simon asked, pointing.

  “That’s to protect the root ball. I was just talking about this for like ten minutes.”

  “Sorry,” Simon said, sheepish.

  “I was saying that we can replant it when the ground thaws. I can’t believe people cut down whole trees just to throw them away.”

  Simon squeezed his hand. He’d been right about that, anyway.

  Jack continued on about deforestation and climate change as they walked. His copper hair gleamed where it stuck out of his maroon beanie and his shoulders looked impossibly broad in his heavy navy coat.

  Simon couldn’t believe that he was picking out a Christmas tree with this man. That he got to touch him, kiss him, wake up with him. His mind buzzed with dizzy joy but when Jack looked at him he couldn’t remember one iota of what Jack had been saying. And he didn’t really care.

  He tugged Jack behind one of the larger trees in the corner of the lot and pulled him into a kiss.

  “I like being shut up that way,” Jack said.

  Simon swallowed, then leaned to whisper in Jack’s ear.

  “I want to suck your cock.”

  Jack froze, then groaned and dragged Simon tight against him like he was about to fall.

  “Fuuuuck, I can’t believe you just said that. At a Christmas tree farm,” he added, clearly scandalized.

  Simon could hardly believe it himself but now that he had, all he could think about was dropping to his knees in a forest of pine trees and taking Jack in his mouth. The thought of Jack’s big hands on his face and in his hair, of Jack in full winter gear with his cock out, of Jack coming down his throat while the cold air caressed him, made him shiver with want.

  Jack cupped his cheek, eyes fixed on his mouth. He pressed his thumb to Simon’s lips and Simon felt his mouth give just enough to let Jack inside.

  “Fuck,” Jack muttered.

  Jack had a tree in the truck so fast Simon wasn’t even sure he’d paid for it.

  When they pulled up in front of the cabin, Jack hurried toward the door, but Simon stopped him.

  “We don’t have to—” Jack began, instantly gentle.

  “I want to...out here.”

  Jack’s pupils dilated and he nodded, then pulled Simon to the copse of trees at the side of the cabin.

  Simon shoved Jack against a thick tree, dropped to his knees, and pressed his face against Jack’s thighs. He was overwhelmed, which was different than anxious, and turned on. He wanted to touch Jack, pleasure him, not have to think.

  He undid Jack’s belt and pulled his pants down, sucking Jack’s cock into his mouth before the cold air could chill him. Jack gasped and slid a hand into Simon’s hair.

  “You look so fucking hot like that. Swallowing my dick, hungry for it. Fuuuuuck,” he groaned when Simon took him deeper.

  Jack’s powerful thighs were tight and Simon squeezed his ass, then pulled him forward, encouraging Jack to thrust in and out of his mouth.

  “Fuck, baby, you feel amazing. You want me to keep talking?”

  Simon moaned and nodded. Nothing got to him like hearing all the things Jack wanted to do to him.

  Simon closed his eyes, focusing on the slick slide of Jack’s cock over his lips and into his throat. He relished the sensation of choosing something to block his speech and breath.

  “Shit, you look like a fuckin’ angel, Simon. Like all you want in the whole world is to have your mouth on me. Maybe I should keep you between my legs all day when I’m drawing, keep my dick in your mouth, just—oh god—have you kneel there and service me whenever I want.”

  Simon moaned and shoved a hand in his pants, so turned on it wouldn’t take much.

  “Don’t make yourself come,” Jack said sharply. “Just touch that hot dick and wait for me.” Simon almost choked as lust rolled through him and he squeezed the base of his cock to keep from coming at Jack’s command.

  “So close, shit,” Jack gasped.

  Simon swallowed around him and Jack came, pulsing hotly down Simon’s throat with each thrust.

  Before Simon had gotten his breath, Jack dragged him off his knees and kissed him deeply, breathing hard. He slid a hand into Simon’s jeans and fucked him with his tongue as he fondled him. When Jack fisted his cock and jerked hard, Simon’s vision whited out and he came, gasping and swearing, into Jack’s hand.

  “Jesus Christ,” Jack groaned and Simon whimpered and let himself fall against Jack.

  When he could open his eyes, he let out a creaky laugh.

  “Hmm?” Jack inquired.

  Simon turned them slightly and pointed, too wrung out to speak.

  Pickles, Mayonnaise, and Louis were lined up side by side in the kitchen window, staring at them, heads cocked.

  * * *

  The afternoon of Christmas Eve, Simon paced the basement and refreshed the UPS tracking link one million times. The perfect gift for Jack had come to him in the middle of the night and if it didn’t get here on time he was going to flip his shit.

  No, he told himself as his heart started to race. He lay down on his back on the rug and stretched. You won’t flip out. You’ll just give Jack his present after Christmas. It’s not that big a deal.

  He breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth for a few minutes, then practically screamed when the doorbell rang, startling him.

  He bolted up the stairs and wrenched the door open to claim the package before he even thought about the awkwardness of having to see the delivery person.

  He had the envelope in hand and was flush with relief that the heavy snows of the past week hadn’t scuttled his plan when his grandmother came downstairs.

  “Do you want your gift now or later?” she asked.

  “Are you sure you wanna go to Mom and Dad’s instead of coming to Jack’s?”

  Jack had been really disappoint
ed when Grandma Jean had said she thought she should go to Simon’s parents’ house for Christmas and had asked for a raincheck for the next year.

  “I think I can stand my own son for a few hours.”

  She winked at him and Simon smiled.

  “I just mean...it’s the first Christmas without Grandpa, and...”

  Simon had his suspicions that she’d turned down Jack’s invitation because she wanted a quick holiday visit and then the night to herself to remember him, so he hadn’t pushed.

  Jean patted Simon’s cheek.

  “I’ll miss your grandfather wherever I am today. And every day,” she said.

  Simon swallowed and nodded.

  “So. Presents?”

  “Okay, now.” Simon smiled.

  He ran downstairs to grab hers and they met in the living room. This was their tradition.

  They opened them at the same time and when Simon saw her face he knew he’d won before he even got the paper off.

  The needlepoint pattern was of a photo of Simon and his grandparents when he was a toddler. He was wearing a red hooded sweatshirt and his grandparents each had hold of one of his hands, swinging him above the ground. Simon was grinning at the camera with glee, but his grandparents were smiling at each other.

  “I made it on this site online where you can—”

  Jean grabbed him and pulled him into a fierce hug. Her cheek was damp against his.

  “It’s wonderful.”

  She stroked his hair back and smiled through tears.

  “Go on, then.”

  He pulled the rest of the paper off and found a needlepoint kit of a giant St. Bernard dog that looked very much like Bernard—wait, it was Bernard, and it had a decorative border made of bones.

  “Is this—?”

  “Great minds and all that,” she said, smiling. “I got the picture from Jack.”

  “You’re awesome,” Simon said. “Thank you. Merry Christmas.”

  * * *

  With all the snow the drive to Jack’s cabin took twice as long as usual, but when he turned up the long drive, Simon saw lights glittering through the trees and heard happy barking from inside as he parked.

  For a moment as Simon looked at Jack’s front door he was back months before when he’d first taken the winding road and ended up here. That day, it had felt like it would take a force of energy greater than the sum of everything Simon had inside him to even open the car door. And once he had, his very hand had rebelled against knocking on the door.

  Now, behind that door was everything Simon wanted. The man he loved, the animals he loved, the place that felt like home and safety and freedom. His future.

  The door opened.

  “Hey, darlin’, need a hand?”

  Jack was already tugging on a coat to come help him and Simon felt unexpected tears prickle in his eyes.

  Jack hadn’t shaved in a few days and it tickled Simon’s face when Jack leaned in to kiss him.

  “You okay?” Jack asked, catching his chin.

  Simon nodded but he knew if he spoke he’d cry.

  Jack stroked his cheek, then caught him up in a crushing hug. Simon felt like he could have lifted up his legs and gone slack and still Jack’s arms would have held him.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Jack

  Simon was leaky from the moment he arrived. A little teary-eyed, yeah, but Jack could feel the emotion pouring out of him. It happened sometimes. Like Simon felt so much it overflowed the bounds of his skin and poured out into the world. It always made Jack want to wrap him up in his arms or his bed and let Simon flow into him until he could absorb whatever excess Simon was emanating. Share in the aureole of pure feeling from a man who was used to trying to hold everything inside.

  But today he couldn’t just bundle Simon into the bedroom and hold him, so he made do with squeezing and kissing the stuffing out of him whenever he looked up from cooking.

  Charlie arrived, smiling and hauling a bag of junk so big he looked like a very buff Santa.

  “What’s all this?”

  “Merry Christmas, little brother,” Charlie said, dropping the bag inside the door and patting Bernard, who’d come to investigate.

  He held out his arms. Jack couldn’t remember the last time they’d hugged but the feeling of his brother’s arms around him was familiar and safe.

  “Merry Christmas, Charlie.”

  Simon poked his head out of the kitchen, smiling shyly.

  “Hi, Charlie. Merry C-Christmas.”

  Charlie smiled and tentatively held out an arm. Simon blinked, then gave Charlie a quick hug. Jack had never seen him touch anyone except Jean.

  From the bag, Charlie pulled garland that Jack recognized from the shop, a fruitcake, and more dog and cat toys than any house should hold. He dropped them onto the living room floor and there was immediate chaos as the pack converged to nose and paw at the new arrivals and stake their claims.

  One toy, a plush caterpillar with a crinkly nose that Jack felt sure was actually a baby toy, caused a tug of war between Rat and Dandelion that ripped it in half in ten seconds flat.

  “Welp, that’s my life,” Jack said to Charlie. “Thanks anyway.”

  “No problem,” Charlie said. Then from the bag he pulled a set of reindeer antlers on headbands and proceeded to try and stick them on various animals’ heads.

  “What’s happening?” Simon murmured.

  “Charlie’s trying to recruit a team of reindeer dogs for his sleigh slash dogsled?”

  Charlie stood from trying to put antlers on Puddles, who, it seemed, had another fear to add to his list—though whether it was a fear of headbands, of antlers, or of looking like an idiot was impossible to deduce with certainty.

  “Just being festive,” he grumbled.

  Jack socked him on the shoulder, but Simon said, “It’s nice.”

  Charlie smiled and Simon went to finish cooking.

  “How’s the store?”

  “Pretty good,” Charlie said. “I’m hiring another person for spring, I think.”

  He told Jack about the new line of paint he was carrying at the store and about the insulation he’d put in the addition to his house. Finally, he said, “You seem good, Jack.”

  “I am.”

  Charlie nodded.

  “Good.”

  “You all right?”

  Charlie looked up and for the first time Jack noticed grooves around his mouth and wrinkles at the corners of his eyes even when he wasn’t smiling. He noticed a cut along his jaw from shaving and a Band-Aid on his thumb.

  “Yeah, I’m just...you know. Tired, I guess.”

  “You work too hard, bro.”

  Charlie waved that away.

  “Simon told me you’ve been drawing again?”

  “Simon told you? He talked to you?”

  Jack’s heart swelled.

  “Texted me, yeah. When he invited me here. I’m glad you’re working again. Your drawings are... They’re amazing.”

  Charlie had always been enthusiastic about Jack’s love of art but Jack assumed he’d be just as supportive of whatever he chose to do. This sounded different, though. Particular.

  “Do you wanna see?”

  Charlie nodded and followed him into his studio.

  Over the last few weeks, Jack’s insistently casual sketches had ordered themselves into the roughest of stories in his mind.

  At the center of it was a man—faceless and nameless—who walked the land. He spoke the language of the animals and the trees and the dirt beneath his feet but human language fell on him like violence. At his touch, plants flourished and wounds of the earth healed, but he was alone. Until a clearing in the trees opened and the man stepped through to a place that was made of a gentler material. In that place, he lay down and th
e animals came to him, arranged themselves around him, and he could rest.

  “This is Simon?” Charlie said.

  “What? Oh. Well, I don’t know. Kind of.”

  Charlie closed the folder.

  “I’m sorry he hurt you.”

  “Huh?” Jack said. “He didn’t hurt me.”

  “Not Simon, Davis. It kills me that he fucked with you and I couldn’t do anything to fix it. But it’s over now, right? You’re back. You’re...better?”

  Charlie’s cracked voice was made of one part anger and nine parts fear, and it inspired Jack to reach out and squeeze his shoulder.

  “Yeah. I’m better. I’m great, actually.”

  The look of relief in Charlie’s eyes was staggering.

  * * *

  After dinner they sat by the fire with the animals.

  “I feel like we should be doing something Christmassy,” Simon said. “But Christmassy things are s-stupid.”

  He was a little tipsy from the wine they’d had with dinner.

  “We could watch a Christmas movie?” Charlie suggested, but no one was terribly excited about that.

  “A walk?” Jack offered. The animals perked up at that.

  “Okay,” Simon said.

  “Hey, look at that, Charlie, you’ll get your reindeer dogs guiding your sleigh after all,” Jack teased, pointing to Dandelion, whose antler headband was still firmly in place.

  Charlie grumbled something unintelligible, but stepped into his boots.

  With the pack leashed and the antlers affixed to varying degrees, they set off into the cold evening dark.

  The snow fell lightly, dusting eyelashes and cheeks and making Pirate dance to catch it in the air. Puddles especially loved winter walks as the likelihood of encountering puddles or lightning shaped sticks was much diminished.

  There was a magic in the air that felt like possibility. Jack caught Simon’s free hand in his and Simon smiled up at him, soft and easy.

  “We used to take walks with Mom and Dad on Christmas,” Charlie said softly. He’d been quiet the whole walk. “Remember?”