The Christmas Deal

by Keira Andrews

  Seth laughed softly. “Been dying to do that, huh?”

  “Yep.”

  “Thank you. I know it couldn’t have been easy tonight. And that cake really was delicious. I just might have another piece to celebrate our success.” He pushed off the door, and Logan followed into the kitchen, pleased that Seth liked the cake so much. With a smile, he watched Seth pour a glass of milk and then lift the carton in question.

  Logan said, “A celebratory glass of milk? Not scotch?”

  Seth wrinkled his nose. “Milk goes way better with cake. You want?”

  “Sure. Cake too. Glad you like it.”

  “Mmm.” Seth cut off two big wedges and ran his finger along the dull part of the knife, licking up the frosting. “So creamy. Sweet, but not cloyingly so. It really is an excellent cake.” His tongue darted out to grab a stray bit of chocolate from the corner of his mouth. “Logan?”

  “Uh-huh.” He realized he’d been staring as Seth licked his finger clean. “Um, thanks.”

  They stood by the island, eating cake and sipping milk, a Christmas song filling the air with a gentle melody about snow and mistletoe. Logan didn’t want to think about it too much yet, but he couldn’t help saying, “That was nice of her—about jobs. Might not lead to anything, but…”

  “But it just might! I think we have every reason to be optimistic. If anyone can get something done, it’s Angela Barker.”

  Logan watched Seth lick milk from his upper lip. We.

  Seth frowned at him. “I know you’re afraid to hope, but I really think you can look on the bright side here.”

  “Yeah,” Logan said. “We’ll see. But thanks.” He ate a big forkful of cake and gulped his milk, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Should turn off the lights outside.”

  His socks were quiet on the hardwood as he returned to the front door and flipped the switch. In the sitting room, he leaned over the golden little tree in the window, switching it off. He could see the car tracks down the driveway being filled in already with fresh snow, the mailbox in the distance with a fluffy lid of flakes.

  “Oh, that reminds me,” he said, walking back into the kitchen. He opened one of the drawers on the island where he’d stuffed the mail. “When I came in earlier, I noticed the mailbox was overflowing. Probably mostly fliers and crap, but here you go.” He dropped the pile on top of the island with a thwap and took his last bite of cake.

  Seth was frozen with his fork halfway to his mouth, staring at the mail with a strange expression. Logan watched, swallowing his cake with a gulp. He realized it was fear on Seth’s face, clear in the shallow breaths he was taking and the way his gaze was locked on the mail as if Logan had dropped a big hairy spider there.

  “What is it?” Logan asked. He eyed the flyers and letters, trying to see the problem and wanting to fix it. He didn’t like seeing Seth like this. Not at all.

  Seth tried to smile, ripping his gaze away and blinking at Logan. “Hmm? Oh, nothing.” His voice was high and tight.

  “Bullshit. Tell me what’s wrong.” Logan looked at the mail again. He still had no fucking clue what it could be. “Are you expecting bad news or something?” Most mail these days was junk anyway. Did anyone still write bad news that wasn’t delivered online or over the phone first?

  Seth closed his eyes for a moment and exhaled heavily. He shook his head and pushed away his plate before reaching for the pile. Part of Logan wanted to move closer and touch him—maybe squeeze his shoulder or something—but he stayed put. Best not to crowd him.

  “It’s silly,” Seth mumbled. He stood straighter and determinedly leafed through the flyers, a few envelopes sprinkled throughout. His hand froze, and his bitter smile sent a shiver of dread down Logan’s spine. Seth lifted the square, red envelope.

  Logan could see the delivery address had been crossed out, and return to sender had been scrawled across the front in huge letters. It looked like a Christmas card or something. He couldn’t make out who it had been sent to.

  Seth answered the unasked questions. “My parents.” He flicked through the mail, drawing out two more identical red envelopes. He held them up. “My brother and sister.” Dropping the three cards on the island, he added, “I don’t bother trying with my grandparents or my aunts and uncles and cousins anymore. But every year I still send these three. Hoping…”

  “Fuck. I’m sorry.” He should have just left the mail alone. Stupid.

  Shaking his head, Seth attempted a laugh. “It’s the definition of insanity, right? Doing the same thing and expecting a different outcome?” He ran a fingertip over one of the red envelopes. “The cards have always come back on the same day, as if my family has marched to the mailbox together to return my pathetic little olive branch in tandem disgust.” His gaze ran over the pile of mail. “Not sure which day it was this year. I haven’t checked the mail for two weeks. Last year…”

  After a few dull thuds of his heart, Logan quietly asked, “What?”

  Seth picked up one of the envelopes, staring at it. “They came back on the twenty-third. I’d almost convinced myself it would be the year my family kept the cards. It would be the year that maybe we could find a way to have some peace between us. Even if they’d just kept the cards, at least I’d be able to believe they don’t wish I was dead.” He dropped the envelope back to the counter with a soft slap.

  “I’m sure they don’t wish that.” They were fucking assholes if they did. Even more than Logan had thought.

  Seth laughed, and Logan hadn’t realized how much he liked the usual gentle baritone of Seth’s laughter until he heard this ragged bark that set his teeth on edge.

  “Oh, they definitely wish I was dead.”

  “I’m sure—”

  “No, I’m sure. Here, I’ll prove it.” He pivoted and strode to the stairs, thumping up them without waiting to see if Logan was following. Which he was, his pulse racing. This was all so wrong, and maybe he could still fix it.

  In his bedroom, Seth flicked on the overhead light and marched to his dresser to open one of the top drawers. He pulled out a square leather box, dark brown and expensive looking. Logan waited in the doorway, wary. He should have kept his damn mouth shut and just left Seth alone.

  Seth was practically shaking with tension or maybe fury. Logan wasn’t sure. He only knew he hated it.

  Whipping around, Seth held out a folded piece of paper. “Here.” It sounded like he’d swallowed sand.

  Logan didn’t have a choice but to come inside and take the paper, which was bent a bit at the edges and seemed to have been read many times. When Logan unfolded it, the crease down the middle was deep. It was typed, which he wasn’t expecting for some reason. He blinked at the words that ran in a narrow column down the page.

  MARSTON, SETH

  October 2, 1981—December 24, 2006

  Seth Michael Marston passed away suddenly. Seth was raised in the loving arms of Christ by his parents, Mary and Stephen; grandparents Doris and John, and Sarah (reunited with Christ 1998) and Michael; alongside his loving siblings Christine (David) and Paul (Bethany).

  Seth tragically chose the abominable path of the devil, sinning without shame And choosing the wicked homosexual lifestyle. He broke the hearts of his family, who weep for his loss and take solace in Jesus Christ our Lord.

  There will be no service. Memorial donations gratefully accepted at The Church of Christ’s Grace in Macon, Georgia.

  Logan stared at the words, first with confusion, then disbelief. Then the horror slammed into him, his throat painfully tight. He had to swallow twice before he whispered, “They wrote your obituary?” The paper shook in his hand. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

  Seth laughed harshly. “Indeed. They published it too, in the local paper. I’d have never thought they’d want a soul to know the truth, but this way, I guess they were in control. They probably knew rumors would run rampant, and this way, they were the righteous victims. And I think they expected me to be so humiliated and ashamed that
I’d repent my sins and beg forgiveness. But I didn’t. Couldn’t.”

  “Shouldn’t!” Logan stared down at the hateful words dressed up in religion. “This isn’t what Christians should do. Jesus wouldn’t do this.”

  Seth smiled thinly, taking the paper back. “I don’t think so either. There are many accepting churches out there, but mine wasn’t one of them, to put it mildly. Everyone knew—all my old friends, extended family. No one ever talked to me again.”

  He folded the piece of paper back into the box and closed it away in the drawer. “I think maybe they still expect me to beg forgiveness and repent. Crawl back to them.”

  Logan wondered why Seth hung onto that piece of paper at all, let alone in a fancy box like it was something precious, but he kept his trap shut. “That’s fucked up.”

  Tense from head to foot, Seth nodded. “I’d been living in Atlanta with Brandon for three years after college. In a studio apartment. I mean, I thought they might piece it together when they came to visit one summer, but apparently not. So I decided that year to tell them all when I came home for Christmas.”

  He paced a few steps, his fingers digging into his arms where they were crossed. “I told them I was gay and in love with Brandon. That I knew I’d never be able to change, no matter how much I prayed. That… That I didn’t want to change. That this was the way God made me.”

  Seth jerked his shoulders in a shrug. “The next morning, my dad and my brother dragged me out of the house. Threw my suitcase after me. Then my mom gave me that piece of paper with the obituary they’d written. My sister and grandparents were there too. They watched from the porch. Everyone was crying and praying. They turned their backs on me and locked the door. That was it.”

  “Unless you changed your mind?”

  “Right. Obviously that’s not going to happen.” He paced again, shaking his head. “And every year I send them Christmas cards and tell them about my life as if I think it will make any bit of difference. They’re bigots. They’re not going to change. But I keep hoping anyway. I’m an idiot. Pathetic.”

  “Hey, stop that.” Logan stepped closer. “You are not. Don’t be mad at yourself. Be mad at them. They’re the assholes.” Fucking cowardly pieces of shit who don’t deserve you.

  Seth stared at him, and as the silence stretched out, Logan was afraid he’d gone too far even though he’d choked down most of what he’d wanted to say. Then Seth lunged toward him, clutching at Logan painfully. Trying to breathe, Logan didn’t know what to do, standing there with his arms at his sides and Seth attached to him.

  He’d never hugged another guy—at least not like this. There was no back-slapping, and it went on and on, Seth hanging on like his life depended on it, his arms in a vise around Logan, face pressed against Logan’s neck, wet and warm.

  Shit, he was trembling, and Logan wrapped his arms around him. “Shhh,” he murmured, since that’s what he would have done with Veronica or one of his old girlfriends. Not that Seth was a woman, but he was upset and clearly needed comforting.

  They were practically the same height, and Seth was stooped with his face in Logan’s neck, still clinging to him. Logan didn’t think he was crying, just hanging on real tight. Instead of slapping Seth’s back, Logan stroked it tentatively and said, “It’s okay.”

  “I’m sorry,” Seth mumbled, his breath hot on Logan’s neck. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” They were pressed together, and Logan had to admit it felt good. Warm and solid. They stood there, and it probably should have been really awkward or weird, but…it wasn’t.

  “I need…” Shaking, Seth kissed Logan’s throat, his hands tightening and sliding down to his hips. Sparks flared as Seth rocked their bodies together. “I want…” He exhaled sharply. “Shit.”

  It was the strongest curse word Logan had heard from Seth, and it sparked something in Logan. He couldn’t fix Seth’s terrible family, but this? This he could do.

  He smoothed a palm down over Seth’s ass. “You want me to fuck you?”

  Logan could hear and feel the sigh of relief that washed through Seth. “Yes. Please. Please do that.”

  Seth didn’t seem able to say the words, but Logan had the feeling he liked hearing them. That it was what he needed. “That’s what you want? My cock inside you?”

  Almost whimpering, Seth nodded against Logan’s neck, rutting his hips forward.

  “How do you want it? Want it rough?”

  Groaning, Seth broke away. “Yes.” He opened a drawer beside the bed and took out a bottle of lube and an unopened box of condoms, dropping them on the neatly made bed. He jerked off his clothes with shaking hands and left everything in a pile on the carpet.

  Logan was still kicking off his slacks as Seth yanked down the duvet and crawled onto his hands and knees on the sheets. Struggling with his skivvies, Logan realized he was hard as rock, lust roaring in his veins. His breath was short, but his chest didn’t hurt.

  He squirted lube all over the place, managing to get some on his fingers before kneeling behind Seth. He stared at Seth’s firm, amazing ass and grabbed hold.

  “Fuck, you’re hot.” The words were out before Logan could stop them. A distant voice hissed that there was something different about this than the other times he’d gotten off with guys.

  He and Seth were completely naked together, and although he’d fucked guys before, it had never been on a bed. He’d never said any of them were hot.

  “Please,” Seth begged, his head hanging low, body shaking.

  “You want my cock? Want me inside you?” Logan’s words made his own balls tingle and tighten. With guys there usually hadn’t been any talking aside from maybe a “thanks, man,” once they’d gotten each other off.

  But the way Seth moaned and let go, the words turning him on and giving him what he needed—what he couldn’t say—that made Logan crazy horny.

  “I’m going to fuck you so hard, baby.” Baby? Where the hell did that come from?

  Seth cried out, pushing back against Logan’s hands and widening his knees. “Please.”

  When Logan had fucked guys before, the men had usually prepared themselves, or they’d just used spit. Hadn’t always been a lot of options in Iraq or the bunkhouse. But now he was tentative, pushing the tip of one finger inside Seth, not wanting to hurt him. Never wanting to hurt him.

  Seth squeezed around Logan’s finger, and holy shit, he imagined what that would be like on his dick. Amazing. He pushed in farther, making sure his finger was dripping with lube. “You like that?”

  “Yes.”

  Logan was dying to bury himself in Seth, but he went slowly, eventually easing in another finger as Seth trembled. Then another.

  “Please just do it. I need it.” Seth moaned as Logan inched in. “Need you.”

  Logan tried to ignore the way those two words made his chest feel light and his dick even harder. “You want it now?” He could not screw this up. He asked again, “Rough?”

  “Yes, yes—like that.”

  After unrolling a condom and slathering on lube, he spread Seth’s ass and inched into him. It had to hurt, although Seth didn’t complain, only grunting and groaning along. Logan tried to soothe him with gentle touches over his head and shoulders.

  Whimpering, Seth bore down, muttering encouragement Logan couldn’t quite make out—more noises than actual words. Then he clearly pleaded, “Harder.”

  “Fuck, you’re so tight. So good.” Logan thrust fully into him, making it rough but glad of the lube. He didn’t want to risk really hurting Seth. “You like that? You wanna come on my dick?”

  “Yes,” Seth panted. Sweat beaded between his shoulder blades already, and Logan bent to lick his salty skin. Seth said something else he didn’t hear, and Logan lifted his head. There had been an urgency in his tone.

  “What did you say?” Was he going too hard? He slowed his thrusts, running his hand over Seth’s head, fingers sliding through that thick hair. “You okay?”

/>   “Yes!” It came out almost like a sob. “I said I’m a queer. It’s what I am.” He pushed back against Logan, turning to look over his shoulder with wild, defiant eyes, his cheeks red and hair sticking up. “It’s what I am. I’m not sorry. I’ll never be sorry. Even if they never talk to me again, I can’t be sorry.”

  “That’s right, baby. Fuck them. They’re the ones going to hell, not you. You’re perfect like this.” To punctuate his words, Logan pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in, their skin slapping together.

  Sweat dampened Logan’s forehead, and he breathed hard, his chest tight, but not in the danger zone. Even if it was, he wouldn’t stop. He was going to give this to Seth. He was going to fuck him and make him come harder than that piece of shit Brandon ever did.

  Holding Seth’s hip with one hand and reaching below him with the other, Logan stroked Seth’s straining cock. He was leaking, and Logan smeared the liquid with his thumb, muttering, “You got more of this for me? You want to come? You like being fucked like a dog? Baby, you take my dick like you were born for it.”

  “Yes!” Seth gasped, his whole body jerking. “There. That’s—”

  Logan angled to get more pressure on just the right place, and Seth unloaded with a shout, shaking and clamping down. Logan jerked him through it, Seth’s cock throbbing and twitching. He loved the feel of it in his hand, so alive and strong but vulnerable at the same time. It made his balls ache. He shoved his face onto the side of Seth’s neck, lips open and pressing, feeling a wild pulse.

  Seth’s arms gave out, and he collapsed to his elbows, breathing loudly, his ass still up in the air, beautiful and tight. Logan took hold of his hips, still going hard, chasing his own orgasm.

  “Fuck, you feel so good,” he muttered. “Going to come hard. Seth…” Holding Seth’s hips, he unleashed, wishing there was no condom so he could come inside him until it was dripping out.

  “Fuck,” he groaned, the pleasure so pure and deep he twitched, Seth squeezing around him perfectly, more intense than any sex Logan could remember.