by Eden Winters
The radio station they listened to occasionally broke from playing Christmas carols to give, “The Santa Report,” telling kids the last place Santa had been spotted.
While Lucky would never suggest to Bo they decorate in his preferred style, this wasn’t his idea of decorations. “Turn left up here.” The way led to a less affluent neighborhood.
Bo drove about two blocks in the direction Lucky indicated and let out a low whistle. “Damn. I bet when they plug up the lights at night the neighbors lose power.” He stopped the car and stared up through the windshield. “I swear there’s a plane up there fixing to land.”
Yeah, the place did have more lights than an airport. Every inch of the yard held some kind of decoration: inflatable penguins, plastic Santas, some old enough to be from the 50s and 60s. Lights hung from every tree, around the eaves, around the door, around the ’57 Chevy parked in the driveway. Blinking lights, solid lights, chasing lights, some strands with burned-out bulbs. Tackiest Christmas decorations since Christmas began.
Lucky fucking loved every shiny inch—not that he’d admit to his tacky lights obsession. Here were some people who didn’t give a rat’s ass what anyone thought, they were keeping the holiday their own way.
As Ty would say, “You do you.”
They rode slowly down the street, some houses dark, others in competition with the display he’d already declared The Tackiest of Them All.
“Want some hot cocoa?” Bo slowed the truck near a diner with a placard out front that read, “Try our hot chocolate.”
Interesting. “Is this going on the list?”
“Only if you want it to.”
Lucky eyed Bo in the dark, the glittering of his eyes. He’d been a good boy, seen his sister off, had dinner with the boss, now he had plans to carry out.
Before he got too tired and fell asleep. “Can we get that hot chocolate to go?”
***
“Christmas Eve and all alone. Just the two of us. Whatever shall we do?” Bo murmured the moment he’d closed and locked their front door, turning his smile to full wattage and bringing out an appearance of The Dimple.
Their first Christmas alone. And maybe their last for a long, long time. With any luck they’d hang a “Baby’s First Christmas” ornament on the tree next year.
But for now…
“Wait right here!” Without waiting for an answer Lucky dashed into the bedroom, yanked a shopping bag out of the closet, and ran to the bathroom. One by one he lit the candles he’d bought, hands shaking so badly he barely got them lit.
Why were his hands shaking? It wasn’t like his first time or anything. Next, he dragged out the plant he’d swiped from work earlier, arranging the Christmas cactus on the dresser, tendrils and blooms spilling over the flowerpot.
A rented house in Florida, and a wet-behind-the-ears rookie determined to make the most of the holidays. Instead of a tree, Bo had brought in the cactus. They’d placed gifts beneath the greenery, gifts Lucky hadn’t gotten to give the man who’d pinged on his nerves, but now made up the center of his universe.
Now, all these years later, he’d make up for a bad decision.
“Follow me.” Lucky returned to the living room, grabbed Bo by the hand, and practically dragged him to the bathroom off their bedroom.
“Wow!” Bo stopped in the doorway. Fat candles lined the edges of the jacuzzi tub, giving off the faint scent of what the package called, “Old-Fashioned Christmas.” Two wine glasses also sat on the ledge around the tub, filled with sparkling grape juice.
“You really went all out, didn’t you?” Bo stripped off his clothes in record time, of course folding his jeans and T-shirt and placing them on the bed.
Lucky was more of a let-them-lie-where-they-fall kinda guy.
At least he kicked the mound of clothes out of the way to avoid a tripping hazard. Bo slipped into the tub. “Oh, this is nice.”
Lucky climbed in behind him, pulling his man to his chest.
Bo leaned back, resting his head on Lucky’s shoulder.
Lucky lifted the remote he’d hidden by the tub and jabbed a button, cueing Otis Redding’s Merry Christmas, Baby.
Laughter reverberated through Lucky’s chest, a joyous, nerve-soothing sound from a happy Bo. “You remembered! You thought of everything, didn’t you?”
Lucky surely hoped so. He wouldn’t get sappy and tell Bo how much this holiday meant to him. Instead, he laced the fingers of their left hands, angling to make Bo’s band catch the light. They might not be legally married in the eyes of the law, but Lucky considered them joined.
His and Bo’s opinions mattered, nobody else’s.
Bo sighed and brought his free hand up to stroke Lucky’s shoulder. Normally Lucky would have Bo on his knees by now. Or back. Or the sink cabinet. No, tonight he’d take his time.
The bath was only phase one.
***
While Bo dried off, Lucky put phase two into action, turning on the Christmas tree lights, putting the pets in Ty’s room, and dashing into the kitchen.
By the time Bo came out to see what all the banging and swearing was about, Lucky had moved the couch back and spread a blanket out in front of the fireplace, where a roaring fake fire made things homey.
Bo arched an eyebrow, lowering his chin and rolling his eyes upward in an “Oh, really?” gesture. Yeah, so all this romance crap didn’t come easy to Lucky.
For Bo he’d try.
And would keep right on trying.
To the tune of Eartha Kitt’s Santa Baby.
***
Firelight painted shadows and light over the smooth expanses of Bo’s skin. He lay on the quilt, stretched out, proudly displaying the wonder of his body to Lucky’s eyes.
The tousled hair, the come-hither smile. Every instinct screamed, “Hurry, hurry, hurry!” Lucky’s cock took notice. Oh, to plunge inside the tight heat of Bo’s ass, feel the shift and flex of muscles beneath him.
Nope. No hurrying. Not this time.
He sank to his knees, lifting the bottle he’d placed beside their pallet. He smiled, pouring out a bit of the contents and warming the oil between his hands.
Straddling Bo’s body, with both of their cocks well on the way to full hardness, Lucky placed his slick hands on Bo’s chest. Breathing in and out slowly to calm himself, he concentrated on muscle groups, the way he’d seen in the videos he’d been sneaking to watch.
Pecs, abs, farther down, stroking, kneading, working all tension from Bo’s body.
Bo arched up. “That feels so damned good.” His moans guided Lucky’s hands to the most responsive areas.
Lucky picked up one of Bo’s arms, reapplying oil and practicing the hand massage technique he’d researched on YouTube. If Bo’s happy sighs were anything to go by, he needed to go back to that video and hit the “like” button.
With every touch he longed to slick up and slide home. No! He’d invested too much time in making tonight perfect.
He rolled Bo over to work on his back, ignoring—for now—the mouthwatering erection tempting him to bypass the foreplay and get right to the main event. Summoning up all his willpower, he slid his thumbs along each side of Bo’s backbone. Bo bent one knee to give his swollen cock some room.
“I’ll give you three hours to stop that.” Bo’s words came out muffled by the arms he’d folded together to pillow his head.
Damn it! Lucky should’ve gotten Bo a pillow. Too late now.
Feet, head, hands, body, Lucky ignored the ache in his groin. He’d give Bo the loving of his life.
Tonight they didn’t have sex to fill a cup for baby-making purposes. Tonight was about them, only them, and a day too long in coming.
Languidly Bo shifted onto his back, jutting cock finally ready for direct attention. Lucky bent over his lover and swiped his tongue up the length of Bo’s shaft. Oh, what a sweet drop waited at the head.
He licked the moisture away, pausing to enjoy the taste on his tongue. As slowly as he’d caressed Bo’s
muscles, Lucky now caressed Bo’s cock with tongue and lips, Bo moaning and bucking up into the heat of an eager mouth.
One hand aiming Bo’s cock, Lucky reached the other back behind Bo’s balls, pressing against the spot Bo once intimated he loved.
Bo writhed on the quilt, breathy pants escaping his mouth.
“Like that?” Lucky pulled off enough to ask.
“Like is a little too mild a word.”
Uh-oh, the ability to string together full sentences meant Lucky wasn’t doing his job. He ran his hands up Bo’s sides, fingers sliding in the oily residue.
Bo fisted his hands in the quilt, raising one knee only to lower it again, constantly in motion. With a groan and thrust, he threaded his fingers into Lucky’s hair. “Stop teasing and fuck me.”
Oh, yes, Lucky would.
But not right now. “Impatient much?”
“With you blowing me? Oh, hell yeah. I’m not sure if I’ve ever told you or not, but you’re damned good at sucking cock.”
“Sweet talker.” He hadn’t seen nothing yet. Lucky gave Bo’s shaft a few quick strokes with his hand, then alternated between hand and mouth, taking Bo to the very edge.
Bo gasped and tensed.
Lucky backed off.
“Stop teasing, damn it!” Bo ground out from between clenched teeth.
Lucky picked up the lube he’d dropped onto the quilt and slicked his own cock. Oh, damn. He paused, eyes closed and breathing hard. Who knew after so much of admiring Bo’s body Lucky would be ready to spill at his own touch?
“It’s about damned time,” Bo groused.
Lucky opened his eyelids, hoping Bo saw every bit of his desire reflected in his eyes.
Bo parted his legs, knees bent and feet flat on the floor. Harmonized voices and ringing bells filled the air from their bedroom. All the music Lucky needed was in Bo’s moans, whimpers, and chanted, “Oh my God!”
He slicked Bo’s hole, pushing in one digit and watching his finger disappear into Bo’s warmth. The sight made him stop again, fighting for control. If he didn’t get a grip this night might end before it had truly begun.
One finger became two, Bo grinding back against Lucky’s hand. The fake fire warmed Lucky’s back. What lay beneath him won the hotness contest.
At last he lined up and thrust forward, breeching the tight ring of muscle with the tip of his cock.
“Ahhhh!” Bo cried out.
Lucky stopped. “You okay?”
“Damn it, Lucky! Move!” Bo thrust back to make his point.
Weight held up on his arms, Lucky worked himself farther inside.
Bo clutched at Lucky’s shoulders, fingers scrabbling for purchase on sweat-slicked skin. Mental note: when planning a romantic scene in front of the fireplace, turn the heat down first.
Then the temperature no longer mattered, but the slide of himself into Bo, then tension in taut muscles, the scent of soap, cologne, sweat, and candles.
He lowered himself down, capturing Bo’s mouth. Slipping his hand under Bo’s arms, Lucky gripped his shoulders, leveraging himself to hit just right.
“Lucky! There! Yes!” Bo exclaimed.
Lucky could so do that. In and out, thrusting his hips, watching the sheer ecstasy on Bo’s face. He’d accomplished his goal of making this good for Bo, but Lucky had crossed the point where he could control his body’s reactions.
He kept the pace deliberately slow, reveling in every stroke, no matter how much Bo grabbed his ass and tried to quicken the pace. One deep thrust, one shallow, a few fast, others slow.
“Faster, damn it!”
“What’s your hurry?” Lucky murmured, faking complete self-control. Holding back took its toll. Finally, unable to contain himself any longer, Lucky snapped his hips, filling Bo and withdrawing until only the head of his dick remained inside, only to slam back in again. How good it felt, how perfect.
“Oh, Lucky,” Bo rasped out on a heady moan. He snaked a hand between their bellies, grabbing his cock and pumping hard. “I’m gonna cum!” Muscles seizing, he stilled his hand. He jerked as though hit with a 220 current, shouting as he came.
Lucky thrust in once more, twice more, and added his voice to Bo’s in a heartfelt, “Oh, yessss!” Wave after wave of sheer pleasure nearly fried his circuits.
Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn.
How could it still be so good between them after years of monogamy?
Because they knew each other so well.
Lucky balanced on his shaky arms, panting to recover his breath. His cock slowly softened and he slipped out of his favorite place to be, collapsing onto the quilt and throwing an arm and leg over an equally wrung-out Bo.
Bo rested an arm over his eyes and laughed, a deep, right sound. “Remember when you asked me to count to see if you’d screwed my brains out?”
Vaguely. “I’m not sure I even remember my name at the moment.”
“You should. I spent the last half hour calling it.” Bo peeked out from under his arm, brown eyes intense. “I love you. That was awesome. Feel free to do a full repeat anytime.”
Anytime they had the house to themselves.
“I intend to. And I love you too.” Lucky sealed his words with a kiss. He’d gotten this right. Yay!
They lay on the quilt, alternately staring at the firelight or the twinkling lights on the tree. Lucky rose long enough to grab a bottle of sparkling cider and two glasses from the fridge. Technically, alcohol was neither of their drugs of choice, but why push fate?
Lucky sat on the quilt, Bo using him for a back rest.
“If I’d known spending Christmas with you would be this awesome, I’d have moved Heaven and Earth to make it happen.” Lucky ran his lips up Bo’s neck and skated his tongue along the shell of Bo’s ear. “And we’ve been living together for a year and haven’t killed each other yet.”
“Wow! Only took me three years to get you civilized enough to live with.” Bo’s gentle laugh softened his words into an endearment. “We’ve come a long way since Florida, haven’t we?”
Florida, the first case they’d worked together, when Bo had been no more than an annoying newbie with an amazing ass.
Lucky had been a snarky sonofabitch biding his time and counting the days until he could say goodbye to the SNB forever.
Now look at him, all domestic with that newbie, training more newbies, and pretty much married to the department of Diversion Prevention and Control’s next director.
Where once a nine to five existence would’ve been his idea of hell, now he couldn’t wait to come home in the evenings.
To Bo.
Maybe soon a little Bo too. Who the hell would’ve thought he’d be a happily married man with a kid, a dog, and a cat?
Certainly not him.
Bo turned and looked at Lucky over his shoulder, shifted his wineglass to the other hand, and poked his index finger between Lucky’s brows. “You’re thinking too hard. You’ve got that trench thing going on again.”
Lucky willed his face to smooth out. “Just thinking about the last few Christmases.”
Bo’s eyes sparkled in the firelight. “Don’t. This one and the ones to come are all that matter.”
This time, Lucky didn’t mind Bo being right.
Chapter 5
Lucky smacked the clock to silence the alarm.
Beside him, a sleepy Bo yawned. “Why did you set the clock? We’re off today.”
“Accident. I forgot to unset it. Go back to sleep.” Lucky held still until the snoring started, then carefully lifted Bo’s arm from around his waist without a moment to spare.
He fed the dog and cat, let them into the back yard, and headed out to the garage where they’d stored Charlotte’s belongings, in particular, the refrigerator toward the back that he’d plugged in and filled up.
The Tofurky needed to be first. He took the imitation turkey into the kitchen and turned the double oven on to preheat. In his bachelor days he would’ve looked inside first to make sure he hadn�
�t left a takeout container in there.
Moose and Cat Lucky waited at the back door. He let them in and secured them in Ty’s room with a water bowl and their favorite toys.. He’d have nothing left for dinner with those two moochers around.
With notes from his computer bag propped on the counter, he went to work, melting butter and adding herbs.
Three more trips to the garage and he had the cornbread dressing ready to pop into the oven—mostly made earlier under the watchful eye of his boss’s wife. While his boss sat nearby failing to hide a laugh.
Boiling water for macaroni pie was pretty easy, but he nearly wore his arm out grating two cups of cheese.
The recipe came from his mother. He retrieved the pecan pies he’d made at Rett’s. They didn’t turn out as pretty as hers and the crust was a little brown, but what could he expect from his first real attempt to cook?
Would Bo be impressed or horrified? What if he burned everything, or added too much salt?
What if, what if, what if.
He was mixing up the sweet potato casserole when Bo staggered into the room, knuckling one eye.
“What is this?” Bo perused the kitchen, taking in the mess.
Oh, crap. Why couldn’t Bo sleep a little longer and give Lucky more time to prepare his surprise? Pretty much every dish they owned lay on the counter, in various states of use. “I’m making Christmas dinner.”
“You what? I could’ve help you, I…” Bo’s brain caught up to the subject at hand. “You… cooked? Since when do you cook more than grilled burgers?”
Ouch. “Since I wanted to make everything perfect.” Over the years Lucky had changed his name a few times. His new name must be “Sap.”
Bo’s face stayed blank. Too long. Way too long. Did he love it? Hate it? A grin and The Dimple had Lucky whooshing out a pent-up breath. “You cooked? For me? Awww… But how?”
Heat crept up Lucky’s cheeks. “You know all the times lately I’ve had to go to Rett’s, Mrs. Griggs’, or the Smith’s?