Hope Is the Thing with Feathers

by Brandon Witt

  “Raymond, what are you—” The sounds reached me then. Easily my favorite sounds in the world. Small little chirps. “What did you do?”

  He smiled at me. A huge happily nervous smile. He walked over to the table and placed the box on top and removed the blanket.

  The chirping got louder. The top of the box was open and there was a small red bow, the kind with the sticky back, placed awkwardly on the side.

  “Merry Christmas, Samuel. Even if it’s a bit early.”

  I glanced at him in wonder, then walked over to the table, peering inside. There were a couple dozen fluffy black chicks and six yellow ones. They were pecking around at some food scattered over the newspaper-covered floor of the box, some of them looking up at me. I just stared at them. In complete wonder. They couldn’t be. They just couldn’t.

  Tearing my gaze away from the baby chicks, I looked over at Raymond, speechless.

  He looked more nervous than before, and he shrugged. “The black ones are those Swedish Black Hens you wanted. They’re my way of saying Merry Christmas and that I’d like to explore how our weird lives might look together.” He laughed. “Though I didn’t quite realize just how weird we were talking until now.”

  I looked back down. Swedish Black Hens. I couldn’t believe it. Then really looked. There were so many of them. “Raymond. These had to cost a fortune. You shouldn’t have done—”

  He cut me off. “Money is to be spent, and I’ve got plenty of it. And, even if I didn’t, the look on your face right now is worth twice what I spent.” He pointed to the yellow ones that I just realized weren’t baby chickens at all. “Those little guys, the yella ones, are my way of saying I’m sorry about your turkey. I hate that I hurt you. When I ordered the chicks, I asked if they had any fancy turkeys. They suggested these. White something-or-others.”

  I let out a breath of awe. “White Holland turkeys. They’re all white when they grow up. They’re gorgeous.”

  “Yeah. They said if you liked show birds, you’d like these. I don’t know if you really wanted another breed of turkeys, but I thought—”

  “I can’t believe you did this.”

  I searched his gaze, blown away by this strange, infuriating man. Strange, infuriating, wonderful man.

  “I’m not playing games, Samuel. I’m sorry if I caused you stress the past few weeks. I thought I was giving you time.”

  I waved it away, forgetting the chicks for a moment, and for the first time, I kissed him first. A kiss as full of thanks, and care, and hope. As full as I could make it.

  After several minutes, we pulled apart. Raymond’s voice was raspy with lust. “So, those little guys are the reason I’m not taking you to bed until later. I didn’t want them to stay in the Winnebago. And I figured you’d want to take them out to the coop before it got too dark.” He glanced out the window. “Which it looks like I’m already a little late for.”

  I reared back. “The coop? Are you kidding? We can’t put the babies with all others. Especially in this weather. They’d die in minutes.” I rushed to the closet and began pulling out jackets and scarves. “Here, layer up over yours, this is gonna take a bit. I’ve got to get all the other birds fed and put away, and then we’ll go to the shed. I’ve got some heating lamps out there and baby chick feeders. I can set up a place for them in the laundry room until they’re big enough to join the others.” I paused, one arm in the jacket. “Actually, I should probably build another coop. We can put the Black Swedes and the White Hollands together, but I don’t want them to crossbreed with the other chickens and turkeys. I’ve been wanting to get heat to all the coops. We could start with the new one. We can really go all out. In fact we could—” I broke off at Raymond’s expression. “What?”

  He smiled and sounded a bit amazed. “You’re saying we. That we’re going to do all those things.”

  Oh shit. I was. “Uhm, sorry. I guess I got ahead—”

  “No. I like it. We. We’ll make them a new coop.”

  We stared at each other across the room to the sound of happy chirping. We stared at each other, already settling into a new way of existing. “You know, I was about to say, with the heat, maybe you could help me make them off grid. Like you say, so the government doesn’t know what the chickens are up to.”

  He laughed. A beautiful, cheerful sound. “Yeah, I think that would be best.”

  SIX

  RAYMOND’S ERECTION lived up to its dangling promise. I stared at it from where I sat on the edge of the bed as he approached from across the room. “It’s been a while. I can’t guarantee I can take all of… that this evening. Might have to work up to it.”

  He laughed and grabbed my dick when he got to the bed. “You’re no small fry either, and that’s some goal I have no problem spending time working our way up to. Besides, who said I have to be in you tonight? I can take it just as good as I can give it.”

  For some reason, I’d not pictured Raymond as a guy who would bottom. Though I wasn’t really sure why. It was rare that I played the top role, and while it sounded exciting, I felt a momentary sense of loss at the thought. I wanted to feel him inside of me. To feel him move in his own rhythm as my hands clenched his chest hair. To watch his face above me, see if he kept that teasing, sexy smile the whole time or it if would give way to something more primal. To be assured by the very physical act that I was not just one man.

  Raymond must have been able to read my expression in the dim light. “Or, we’ll take our time.” He squeezed my dick. “This monster will most definitely be inside of me tomorrow. But, tonight, if the other is what you want….”

  “It is.” I looked him full in the face. No more games, real or otherwise. “I want to feel you inside of me. I want your body over me. I want to watch your face as you come.”

  His eyes grew wide for a second, probably taken aback by my boldness, and then they grew heated. “We can do that. All of that.” He bent down and kissed me, gave my dick a final squeeze, and then lifted his hand, cupping the back of my head.

  I didn’t even try to hold back the sigh that escaped.

  After a bit, at his nudging, I scooted back on the bed. He followed, crawling over me as I lay down. For a second I nearly asked permission, then didn’t. I reached up, sinking both of my hands into the thick mass of silver hair over his chest. He shivered. I gave a little tug, and he let out a groan.

  Kneeling over me, he began exploring my body, running his hands over my chest and shoulders, then down my arms. “You’re even more muscly than I thought. You have the body of a forty-eight-year-old.”

  I could tell he was teasing, kinda. “Good thing I’m a spry fifty-six, huh? And muscles come from life on a farm, even if the middle of it was in the city. The cattle keep me healthy. The birds keep me happy.” From downstairs as if on cue, a soft chirp sounded.

  Raymond grinned. “Well, I’m glad you have more of them to keep you happy, but I’m going to do my best to give them a run for their money in the happy department.” He trailed his fingers down my stomach and gripped my dick once more. “Speaking of….” He shifted down the bed, intentionally letting his dick and low-hanging testicles scrape against my leg as he moved. He gave me another grin and then lowered his head, taking me into his mouth.

  I let my eyes close, even though I loved watching him move. The few experiences I’d had with strangers in the city over the past many years were little more than body mechanics. Just getting a need met. And maybe the actions weren’t any different with Raymond, but they felt like it. As he explored my body, I couldn’t keep from picturing us caring for the birds together, or maybe going on a trip in his Winnebago. Maybe even across state lines. Maybe.

  The joy and contentment increased with every new pass of his hand, with every new lick and squeeze. And hope. There was hope. Of a kind I’d not even realized I’d wanted or been missing. And along with it, came that fear.

  We didn’t know each other. Not really.

  But it felt like we did. Like we fit in
some strange way.

  Later, when he was inside of me, his gaze watching, his wicked smile in place, his words about the three loves floated between us. Yeah, maybe we fit.

  And when he came, that Raymond-esque smile broke, for just a second. Just long enough to let me know he’d lost control in that moment.

  I was going to have a wonderful time causing that expression over and over again.

  AS EVERY Christmas night before, I sat on the sofa by the fire, a book in my hands. The Christmas tree twinkled in the corner of the room, beside the window looking out over a fresh snowfall glistening in the moonlight. Instrumental holiday music played softly. Laying the book on the arm of the sofa, I carefully reached over and broke off a piece of the gingerbread cookie from the nearby platter and popped it in my mouth. I let my eyes close, letting the scent and flavor carry me back over the years. To when I was a child and my parents sat on a different sofa in this same location as I played with my new toys. To when I was older, and Dad was gone, and it was just Mom and me. To when it was just me.

  Raymond shifted his head on my lap and let out a soft snort of a snore. Still chewing the cookie, I was brought back to the present. Christmases past mingling over this one, somehow watching over us both.

  I stroked his white hair, then smoothed out his eyebrows. It had been a miracle he’d actually used the eyebrow trimmer I’d given him that morning. Thank God. The man needed grooming.

  How strange that he was here. That in just a few weeks my life had changed. That, even with the risk of losing again, I had hope. I had love.

  The chirps that carried over the music were louder now. The chicks already entering that ugly, gangly stage. The noise was just as beautiful as the carols.

  I sighed with contentment and looked over to the group of family portraits. I have to get one of Raymond and me before the next holiday season. Maybe for Valentine’s Day, to replace where the gingerbread farm was placed. I chuckled as I looked at it again. The barn was the same. As were the cattle, fences, and trees. However, just like my life, it had morphed into something more. Raymond had insisted there be black chickens and white turkeys roaming around the gingerbread panorama. There was also a large gingerbread wind turbine that Raymond had actually gotten to spin with the help of a little battery pack.

  And, there were now two little gingerbread farmers. One of them was naked and had a little pink Tic Tac for a penis. I assured Raymond he’d chosen the wrong candy if he’d wanted it to be to scale, but he insisted that he wanted something that would still be okay for me to lick when we tore the thing apart in a couple of months. The things I’d do for that man.

  I couldn’t help but laugh again, looking at the stupid, adorable… stupid naked gingerbread man.

  Raymond shifted again, then arched his back with a groan. He sat up, leaving my lap missing the heat and weight of his head. “Sorry, I guess I fell asleep.” He leaned over, kissed me for several seconds, then straightened into a stretch. He flinched suddenly. “Oh shit. Is it still Christmas, or did I sleep past midnight?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Really? You think I’d still be awake if it were past midnight?” I motioned to the grandfather clock. “It’s a quarter till nine.”

  “Oh. Thank God!” He stood quickly. “I’ll be right back.”

  It was amazing how fast he could move, considering how soundly he’d been asleep. I called after him. “We really don’t have to do this. It’s a little bit ridiculous.”

  “How dare you call my creations ridiculous!” His voice was muffled as he banged around in the kitchen. Why it required banging of any kind, I had no idea.

  Raymond beamed as he walked back in, passing in front of the gingerbread farm. “You promised. For Christmas. Ridiculous or not.”

  He sat down beside me and held up the plate of brownies in front of me like it was a work of art. “Care for some magic, my crazy man?”

  BRANDON WITT’s outlook on life is greatly influenced by his first eighteen years of growing up gay in a small town in the Ozarks, as well as fifteen years as a counselor and special education teacher for students with severe emotional disabilities. Add to that his obsession with corgis and mermaids, then factor in an unhealthy love affair with cheeseburgers, and you realize that with all those issues, he’s got plenty to write about…

  Website: www.brandonwitt.com

  Author Facebook page: www.facebook.com/brandon.witt.author

  Twitter: @wittauthor

  YouTube: www.youtube.com/channel/UCO5cFqYKyNyDCxExAonFPRA

  By Brandon Witt

  Christmas Miracles of a Recently Fallen Spruce

  Grand Adventures (Dreamspinner Anthology)

  Hope Is the Thing with Feathers

  The Imperfection of Swans

  The Shattered Door (Audio Only)

  Shifting Silver

  Son of Money

  Teddy Bears

  Then the Stars Fall

  Under a Sky of Ash

  MARY’S BOYS

  Nachos & Hash

  Vodka & Handcuffs

  Mascara & Bandages

  Deeds & Confetti

  The Mary’s Boys Collection (Print Only Anthology)

  ROCKY MOUNTAIN BOYS

  Mapping the Forest

  Braving the Rapids

  Published by DREAMSPINNER PRESS

  www.dreamspinnerpress.com

  Published by

  DREAMSPINNER PRESS

  5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886 USA

  www.dreamspinnerpress.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Hope Is the Thing with Feathers

  © 2017 Brandon Witt.

  Cover Art

  © 2017 L.C. Chase.

  http://www.lcchase.com

  Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.

  All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA, or www.dreamspinnerpress.com.

  Digital ISBN: 978-1-64080-291-9

  Published December 2017

  v. 1.0

  Printed in the United States of America