Christmas According to Liam

by V. L. Locey

  He gave me a sweet, loving little kiss. “And you wish to share our love with a child?”

  “Yes, yes, exactly so. What do you think? Can we perhaps talk about it seriously as opposed to it being a misty, ‘sometime in the future’ thing? I’m not getting any younger, my love. I’d like to still possess the energy needed to keep up with a child when one comes our way.”

  “Such a decrepit thing you are.” He patted my stomach. “Withered up old man with a rock hard six pack. Yes, I can see you’ve gone downhill fast.”

  I grabbed the hand on my belly, sniggering softly, and lifted it to my lips. “Joke if you will, but I can clearly see the end of my career in five years or so. My hips and knees creak in the cold already.”

  “You’ll play well past forty simply to show the world that you can,” he teased as I dropped kisses to his knuckles. His beautiful green eyes met mine. “If you’re sure you want to talk about it, then I’m all in for talking. But first we must eat our snacks and then we must make sweet orange-flavored love.”

  “I love you,” I whispered, and released his hand so that I could feed him my dinner roll. His eyes widened at the gesture. He leaned in to take a bite. I yearned for him now, the soft love glowing in his eyes and the heat of his flesh sweeping over me as he always did.

  A phone chirruped. Michael sighed dramatically, held up a finger, swallowed, and slipped out of the bed to locate his cell lying on his dresser. Frowning at the knowledge that the moment was gone, I nibbled at my roll, debating if I should indulge or not. I had skate in the morning, and as I’d already stuffed down an enormous meal with pie for dessert, perhaps I should let Michael have both the rolls and—

  “No, no, it’s fine. No, I totally get it. A night at a nice little resort might save the holiday.” Michael dropped back into the bed, mouthing Kelly to me as he picked up his roll and took a bite. “It’s fine. No, go ahead and stop for the night. Why drive through after the funeral? How is his grandmother? Oh good, she sounds like a strong woman. Yes, mm-hmm, it is good that his parents live close-by. Okay, no, I’m serious, Liam is welcome here forever, you know that. What? Yep, it’ll be good training for Bryn is right.”

  He winked at me, then waggled his brows as he stuffed what remained of the dinner roll into his mouth. My eyebrows flew up my forehead, getting a snort of amusement from my husband. “Okay, enjoy. Oh my God, Kelly, it’s fine. Grab a little cheer if you can. It’s fine. He’s in bed already. Yep, he was exhausted. Nope, we’re sitting here having a snack and talking about life. Bryn is thrilled to have the boy here. Yes, he is. Kelly, go and enjoy the ski lodge. I know it’s silly to stop for the night at a ski lodge when neither of you ski and it’s dark out, but hey, embrace the chance. Okay, right, yes, we will be. Have fun. Love you. Okay, bye.” He ended the call with a hearty exhalation. “She’s such a chatterbox. So, long story short, she and Adam have stopped at a ski resort for the night instead of driving through. That’s a smart thing to do.”

  “I agree,” I said, then smiled when he disappeared under the covers. We were just about to start sampling other parts of each other’s bodies when his phone rang yet again. I groaned aloud and gave the man wedged between my legs a gentle nudge. He picked his head up, hot emerald eyes hooded, and shook his head while keeping the tip of my cock between his puffy lips. “Nope, no, I’m not picking that up.” I counted off the seconds in my head as the phone rang. Michael’s eyebrows knotted up in frustration and he whipped the sheet off his head. Grumbling, he snatched the phone from the nightstand and slapped it to his ear.

  “Honestly, Kelly, it’s perfectly fine to—Oh, I’m so sorry.” He grimaced as if he’d just had a lemon in his mouth and not my dick. “No, it’s perfectly fine to call, Mrs. Rawlings. Yes, we know of Peter. Liam talks about him all the time. Did they? Well, I’m happy to know that Liam knows my phone number, as well as his mother’s.” Michael looked over his shoulder at me, silently begging me to forgive him. I closed my eyes, drew in a breath, and patiently waited. There was nothing wrong with delaying the gratification. Besides, Michael was a gregarious man who enjoyed chatting with people. He was a blessing to have along at the many social events I went to. When I wanted to clam up and retreat, Michael eased me back into being more outgoing. “Tomorrow? I think Liam would love it. A lunch time play date sounds marvelous. Oh, thank you. I enjoy the blog a great deal. Yes, I’m going to be adding some new content this weekend. You’re too kind. That would be fine. Thank you for calling, Liam will be ecstatic. Yep see you at noon tomorrow. Happy holidays.”

  He hung up, a happy smile on his face. “So, I take it that was Peter’s mother?”

  “Yes, it was. Wait, let me set this to ‘do not disturb’ before we get back to business.” He tapped at his phone, nodded once, then chucked the cell to the nightstand. I reached for him, easing him back down to the bed, rolling over him to steal a few kisses. “Mm, I love when you get all pushy caveman.”

  “Do you now? Would you like me to tell you what we’re going to do next?”

  “God, yes,” he panted, his cock leaking fluid as it rubbed against my hipbone.

  “I’m going to bend you up like a soft pretzel then slide my cock deep inside you.”

  The man melted like sweet milk chocolate on a high flame. His eyes ignited, his limbs went soft, and his mouth formed a perfect O that I claimed in another wet kiss. He was eager, folding his legs into a tight little knot, exposing his sweet ass to me. Quite aware that any time we could sneak was precious time, I wasted little of it in getting lubed up. With a minimal of fuss—his insistence, not mine—I worked some slick up into him then pushed into his heat. My toes curled as his body closed around me, welcoming me in, clinging to me as he groaned softly into the heel of his hand.

  The house was still, silent, aside from the small groans of the bed as I rocked in and out of my husband’s ass. Oh, but he was making some delightful noises under me. Michael was a robust bottom, but with a child sleeping across the hall, his exuberance had to be curbed.

  “Are you close?” I asked every few minutes, his stifled grunts, moans, and heated whimpers hard to read from under the hand that he had clamped over his mouth. Tight, slick flesh tightened round my cock, and I grabbed his cock at the base, stroking him in time with my thrusts. His eyes rolled upward. His ass grabbed me and he shot thick ropes of cum all over his beautiful soft belly and chest. With his spunk still warm on my fingers, I carried his spend to my mouth, licking each finger clean as I pounded my way to an orgasm that caused me to see spots. Michael grabbed my ass as I shuddered, fingers digging into my cheeks, and held me in place. Cock kicking, I filled him fully, easing out a moment later before we had a wet mess. I slid from the bed, found a dirty sock in the hamper, and eased it between his buttocks.

  “Master has given Michael a sock,” he said in a terrible Dobby impersonation, wiping at the mess I’d left him. Chuckling at his foolishness, I bent over to grab a kiss. His fingers carded into my hair and he tugged me back to the bed. We made out languidly, hearts slowing, skin cooling. “Mm, I’m all sloopy.”

  “Sloppy as well,” I murmured, wiggling free of his tempting arms to go wash up.

  When I returned to the bedroom, he’d pulled on his sleeping pants and was resting under the covers, all signs of sin gone, as long as one didn’t nose around in the hamper too closely. He lifted the covers on my side, and after I stepped into some comfortable pajama bottoms, I slid under the blanket and sheet, his smell thick on the bedding and my skin.

  Cradling him close for a moment, I pressed little flighty kisses to his hair and forehead. He sighed then yawned, drifting off in my arms just as I whispered ‘Happy Christmas, my love’ to him. He mumbled something about house elves and butterbeer in reply. I drifted off with a smile on my face.

  Chapter Five

  Michael

  The next morning we managed to wake up before Liam. It was a Christmas miracle!

  Obviously the holiday had exhausted the lad. I was kind of slo
w to rouse myself, given the fine round of loving that Bryn and I had enjoyed last night, but rise I did. Bryn had a morning skate at nine, and I wanted to work on an idea I had had for Life According to Liam while the star of the blog slept off his toy-induced hangover.

  Bryn rapped gently on the bedroom door. I glanced up from my laptop balanced on my thighs, my face breaking into a smile as soon as I looked upon him. The man was so damn fine!

  “You look nice,” I said, taking in the soft gray sweater and black jeans he wore to practice. While I loved him in the suits that the players were required to wear to games, Bryn Mettler in casual chic toasted my bagel. As did Bryn Mettler in fashionable underwear and—my all-time favorite—Bryn Mettler naked. “Off to the arena?”

  “Yes, then I have a meeting with the head of my charity for brunch. Would you like me to pick up something for you and Liam for a late lunch?”

  “Thank you, but we have that play date with Peter Rawlings today at noon. I’m assuming there will be food for the boys, and I can grab something quick on the way to the office.”

  “Oh? I thought you had the rest of the week off?” He lounged on the doorframe. My heart went skip-skip-skip. What a sexy man in an equally sexy pose. I wondered if my friend, the gay hockey romance author, had ever heard of a genre dedicated to the doorframe lounge. If not there certainly should be one.

  “I do. I just wanted to pick up some notes I forgot in the mad dash to leave work and pick up Liam.”

  “Yes, of course. Why don’t I stop on the way home at Isabella’s on 6th Street and get us all something for dinner? We can have it warming in the oven when Kelly and Adam arrive. I’m sure they’re not going to want to cook.”

  “That is a brilliant idea!” I adored the stuffed shells at Isabella’s. “Liam loves the food there as much as we do.”

  “Can I have the food?” Liam asked, wiggling around Bryn and making a mad dash at the bed, his stuffed Captain America bouncing madly in his hand. “I’m so hungry I could eat this pillow!” he announced as I quickly closed my laptop and held it over my head. The boy pounced on my pillow and started gnawing on it, his snarls and growls quite fierce. Bryn padded over to take my laptop. I thanked him with a kiss, then rolled out of bed. Liam was on all fours, shaking the living shit out of my pillow like some sort of mad dog.

  “Guess I better get him some food before he ingests the duvet next,” I tossed out.

  “If I eats the doo-vet then I would fart feathers,” Liam giggled, then farted. “No feather farts!” He leapt from the bed and ran off yelling about feather farts and food for his hangry belly.

  “Oh, what it must be like to wake up with that much energy,” I sighed as I snuck a fast hug in before Bryn left for the arena.

  “Mm, yes, I recall those days of waking up refreshed and full of zest. Now, I’m tired when I wake up and it only goes downhill from there.”

  I chuckled against his neck, then kissed his ear. “I can so relate. Right, so, off to work with you.” I swatted his backside. That made him jump a bit. “I have to feed the wild man of Borneo, then clean up the kitchen and get him to the Rawlings house at noon.”

  “Have fun. I’ll see you around two.” He pressed his lips to mine and left me to my day. “Be good for your Uncle Michael, Liam. I’m going to bring dinner home tonight. What would you like from Isabella’s?” Bryn called as he walked through the condo.

  “A burger meal with a boy toy!”

  I snorted. Well, of course he did. What kid didn’t? “No, child, I said from Isabella’s, not McDonald’s. Would you like some baked rigatoni?” Bryn asked again.

  “Yes! Yes! Yes! I love baked tonis!” Liam shrieked.

  Bryn shushed him and the conversation quieted. I tidied the bed then went out to see what Liam wanted to eat, besides my pillow. Turned out toast with butter and jam was his preferred choice for breaking his fast, along with some milk in a star-spangled mug.

  “Peter’s mother called last night,” I said, sitting across from the boy as he slurped loudly, then belched on command. “Nice one,” I chuckled. “Don’t do that in front of your mother. If she ever learns I taught you how to do that, she’ll whip me like an old rug.”

  “Girls are silly,” he lamented, then shoved his toast into his mouth.

  “Liam, small bites, please. And firstly, girls aren’t silly at all, they’re just less prone to laughing at noises that come out of bodies then boys are. So, about Peter’s mom calling. While I think it’s great that—no, don’t try to feed Cap any toast. Remember the last time?”

  “His face was forever stained by the chocolate syrup,” he replied with great emotion. I nodded. He flicked a chunk of strawberry off Captain America’s felt face. Where the sticky gob went, I do not know.

  “That’s right, so let’s try this again. While I think it’s great that you know my phone number as well as your own, you shouldn’t give it to people who Uncle Bryn or I don’t say you can share it with.”

  “Why? Peter is my friend.”

  I took a sip of coffee to infuse my sluggish brain with caffeine. “Well, yes, I know he is, and I’m sure his parents are lovely people, but there are people out there who might misuse our phone number.” He blinked big green eyes at me, his lips smeared with jam and melted butter. Right, he was confused. An explanation was required, one that worked for a nearly six year old. “Uncle Bryn is a famous man. Sometimes famous people have to keep things private, like Spider-Man has to protect his identity to keep his family safe. So we don’t give out our phone number to reporters or fans.”

  “But Uncle Bryn says he loves the Ravens fans.”

  “Yes, he does, but when he gets home he wants to have some privacy.”

  “So he can kiss you and grab your butt in the bathroom when you two are shaving naked?”

  I nearly coughed up a lung. Dear Lord. “Okay,” I sputtered and took a calming sip of coffee. “First off, Uncle Bryn and I do not shave naked.”

  His blond head bobbed up and down. “Uh-huh, you do. I seen you last time I was here. Your butt was naked and he was grabbing it.”

  Quick Mike, make it a good one! Think fast!

  “Oh, well, that was just the way they ask someone to move aside in Germany. They give you a butt honk.”

  “Why did you both have no clothes on? Can I ask my teacher to move with a butt honk?”

  “No! No butt honks for anyone other than your future wife or husband. That’s a married people thing. Okay? Promise me you will not butt honk anyone.”

  “Okay. Did Peter’s mom call to ask us over to play?”

  “Yes, yes she did.” He squealed in joy. I exhaled in relief. With any luck, the naked shaving butt honk topic would never see the light of day again. Also, note to self: make sure to shower wearing underwear when Liam was here. Also, note two to self: find how the child spied on us in our master bath and plug up any spy holes with putty.

  Thankfully, the conversation drifted from naked shaving—Oh My God—to other things that were less mortifying. And people ask me all the time about how I come up with blog posts. That there was a future post for sure, and while he was upstairs packing his Captain America backpack full of toys to take to Peter’s house, I scribbled some notes down on a Ravens notepad by the coffee maker. This would be a hilarious post, if I could figure out how to word it and save face. Maybe omitting the naked shaving part and just make it into a loving pat on a well-covered fanny. My cheeks were still warm. Kids, honestly.

  With a full morning ahead, I bundled Liam up and got him settled into the back of the Forester, his cheeks red from the cold, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

  Once the bulging bag of toys was placed beside his car seat, I slid in behind the wheel and adjusted the phone mount on the dash. Liam smiled at the image of himself. The child was such a ham.

  “Good morning Pittsburgh, and happy holidays!” I said then Liam shouted the same thing, making my right ear vibrate. “We here in the Mettler house hope you and yours had a wonderful
time with your family or loved ones, be they blood or chosen family. We’re off to run a few errands on this bitter cold day after Christmas. First, we’re heading to—”

  “I got a bike!” Liam yelled. “And new clothes, and a tie from Gramma and Grampy Mettler. They mailed the tie and a book all across the world from Germany! Uncle Bryn says they have good books there. And beer.”

  I winked at the camera and eased away from the curb as Liam did what Liam does best. Talk and enchant people. He tended to run on at times, so while he was filling in the viewers on his holiday haul, I let my mind wander to the stops we had to make. First, there was the post office, then—

  “…on his penis. Then another boy picked it off his penis. Then another boy felled over in the water. I didn’t know if there was a swamp bug on his penis but he fell over. Then they found a dead boy and—”

  “Whoa! Whoa!” I braked at the upcoming red light, then grabbed the phone to pause the recording. Liam looked at me in bewilderment when I craned my head to look at him. “What in the name of gummy bears are you talking about?”

  “The movie on Uncle Bryn’s phone,” the lad replied with wide-eyed innocence. “They had penis bugs then a train come and the boys were running on a bridge and one falled down and—and the train was hooting its horn at the boys.”

  “Oh, okay, that was Stand by Me.” I sagged in relief. “How exactly did you open Uncle Bryn’s phone?”

  “I made the square then an x on the dots,” he informed me as if I were a dolt. Right. Note number three to self: tell Bryn to change his security pattern.

  “You shouldn’t use grown-up phones without permission.”

  “But you was sleeping and Santa didn’t come yet so I founded the phone in the kitchen and watched movies under my covers. The train scared me.”

  The thought of the boy prowling the house in the middle of the night freaked me out, but I didn’t show it. We’d have to station a guard dog outside his door or a silent alarm that only Tom Cruise could outmaneuver.