Quite a Spectacle

by Meg Harding

  Max’s head peaked over the side of the roof. “Can you really blame her? Hey, why don’t you come up here?”

  Given Max’s fear of heights, the fact that Michael had even got him to go up on the roof was fairly impressive, so he indulged him and headed on up. He was just pinning the last of the lights down when Michael got to him.

  “This looks really good,” said Michael, surveying the neat little swirls that covered the roof.

  “Glad you think so.” Max stood up straight and arched his back, the cracking sound loud in the quiet air. “Ugh,” he groaned. “You owe me a massage.”

  He walked into Michael’s open arms and bit the tip of his nose. Michael jerked his head away and Max laughed. “Come on,” he said, pulling away and leading Michael to the middle of the roof. “Since we’re up here we might as well enjoy this.”

  “Are we going to have sex on the roof?” That would definitely be a first, and he felt his breathing speed up at the idea.

  Max turned to look at him with a stern expression, his eyebrow subtly arched. “We’re going to sit and watch the sunset while you massage my back.”

  Michael couldn’t help his sigh of disappointment.

  Max tugged him down, situating his body in the V of Michael’s legs. He tipped his head back and nipped at Michael’s earlobe. “And then tonight we’re going to sneak out to the gazebo in the back, and I’m going to fuck you.”

  “Merry Christmas to me,” laughed Michael. His cock was hard as a rock in his trousers, and going by the way Max was squirming against him, he could feel it too. “Stop that,” he admonished, clutching his hips and holding him still.

  He settled down with a laugh, scooting forward so Michael had enough room to give him the massage. “My lower back to start, please.”

  Michael dug his thumbs into the arch in Max’s back beneath his coat, sliding them firmly up and down. He used the heel of his hand next, kneading the tight muscles. Max was releasing breathy little moans, so Michael figured he was doing something right.

  The sun was starting to set, the sky turning an orange-red color as the sun progressed lower and lower. Little snowflakes fell from the sky, and Michael blew a few from Max’s hair.

  Max had a hand resting on Michael’s ankle, curled up under his jeans. His thumb was stroking the skin in broad sweeps. “You can move up to my shoulders now,” he directed after awhile.

  Michael withdrew his hands from under his coat. “You’re going to have to take off your coat,” he warned.

  “No, I’m not.” With a little bit of maneuvering Max was able to awkwardly shrug his coat down enough that his shoulders were free of the fabric. “M’necks cold,” he muttered, shivering without the coat collar there to shield him.

  Getting to work, Michael dug in, kneading flesh and muscle and trying to draw from every massage he had ever gotten to make this one as good as possible. Max’s moans were turning into little grunts, but he didn’t sound like he was in pain, so Michael kept going. He made sure to pay attention to Max’s neck, trying to keep the skin warm with his hands.

  His nose was getting cold, and he was burrowing his chin down into his scarf for warmth, but he didn’t think he’d ever been more comfortable or happy. Max was propped against his knees, his moans doing nothing to help with Michael’s raging erection that was starting to hurt tucked in the confines of his jeans, and the sun had completely disappeared from the sky, leaving nothing but an array of colors and fading light.

  When the back of Max’s neck started to get red from exposure to the cool air, Michael pulled away, tugging his coat back into place. He wrapped an arm around Max’s waist and yanked him back so they were chest to back once more. He propped his chin on Max’s shoulder and stared out at the twinkling lights of London.

  “It’s gorgeous,” he said. “I wish I had my camera.”

  He could feel the stubble on Max’s cheek scratching him as he rubbed his cheek against Michael’s.

  “Why don’t you take a picture with your phone, and you can paint it when we’re home?”

  “You think I could do this justice?”

  Max titled his head back so he was staring straight up at the sky and the emerging stars. “I think you can do far more justice than a mere photo would.” He stuck out his tongue, his eyes crossing as a snowflake drifted down to land on the tip.

  “That’s unsanitary,” Michael pointed out.

  Max ignored him, waiting for it to melt. Once it did he turned and captured Michael’s lips for a sloppy kiss. His tongue stroked over Michael’s once, then twice, before he pulled away, a wide smirk on his face.

  “I FEEL like a teenager again,” Michael whispered as they snuck out of the house and made their way to the gazebo in the back. “We would just need to do it in the car instead.”

  Max snickered, collapsing on the swing in the gazebo and tossing the blanket he had brought to the side. He grabbed Michael by the hips and pulled him down to straddle him. “We’re not doing it in the car.”

  Michael sank down onto his lap, rolling his hips lazily against him. “Bummer,” he laughed, bending to kiss Max. His lips were cold, and Michael tried to warm them up. Max was wriggling his hands up under Michael’s coat, icy cold fingers trailing over Michael’s warm skin causing him to jerk.

  “Fuck,” he groaned.

  There was laughter being breathed into his mouth as Max flattened his palms against Michael’s sides. Newly warmed lips separated from his after a second. “Open my coat,” Max ordered, his own hands trailing up Michael’s back now, nails lightly scratching his sensitive skin.

  Shivering, as much from cold as from what Max was doing, Michael fumbled to pull down the zipper on Max’s coat. It took him far longer than it should have, and even though he kept his head ducked, he just knew that Max was rolling his eyes at him.

  When he succeeded, he breathed an “Aha!” He slid his hands into the open sides of the coat, pressing closer to Max’s warmth.

  One of Max’s hands started to undo Michael’s trousers and he slid the other one right down the back the moment there was enough slack. He squeezed Michael’s butt cheek, fingers digging into the meaty flesh.

  “I want you to ride me,” he whispered, mouthing up Michael’s neck and behind his ear. He brought the hand that had been undoing Michael’s pants up and slid it into his hair, tugging on the strands, pulling his head to the side for better access.

  Michael moaned, grinding down into the hand on his ass, his eyes closing briefly at the little pinpricks of pain in his scalp. “Clothes on?” he managed to ask.

  Max bit him, not a light little nip, but hard enough that Michael damn near drew blood when he bit his lip to stop from yelling. “Fuuuuck,” he groaned, “son of a bitch.” He squirmed on Max’s lap, knocking his hard length against Max’s stomach. Max let him rut, mouthing at his neck and chuckling whenever Michael released a particularly desperate whine.

  When he withdrew his hand from down the back of Michael’s pants, Michael stilled himself with a mighty effort. Max fished around in the pocket of his coat for the lube and pulled it out with a triumphant smirk. He nudged Michael, saying, “Up and turn around.”

  Michael scrambled to obey.

  He could hear the snick of the lube as it was opened and the creak of the swing as Max shifted closer. “Pull your trousers down.”

  Grimacing—he wasn’t looking forward to the cold—Michael did as he was told. The curse he released when his cock was introduced to the cool night air was not one of pleasure. He stopped with his trousers tucked right under his cheeks and waited. He twitched when a cool hand came to rest on his hip. “Bend over.”

  Extremely conscious of the fact that they were outside in the open, Michael bent himself in half ’til his fingers touched his toes. Behind him Max moaned, his hand sliding down Michael’s hip and moving to knead his cheeks. “God, you’re perfect,” he said.

  Michael wanted to hurry him on, but he refrained from doing so. If he tried to order Max arou
nd when he was like this, Michael would just end up with his ass in the air for twice as long.

  “Reach back and spread ’em for me.”

  Blushing, Michael did as told.

  It wasn’t but a second later when hot breath blew over his hole and the warm touch of a tongue flicked over it. His knees shook with the urge to buckle. He bit his lip as a low whine escaped.

  Max went to town. His tongue was absolute magic twirling over Michael’s hole, teasingly probing at the wrinkled flesh as it fluttered. Michael was a mess under the ministrations, little cries escaping him as Max introduced his finger into the equation. It slid right in with just the slightest burn, causing Michael to cry out and bring his hand forward to catch himself lest he tumble over.

  That earned him two hard swats to his ass, and Max pulled away, stopping until Michael’s hand was back where it should be, keeping himself spread wide. “Good boy,” Max chuckled, before resuming his business.

  Despite the cold, Michael’s cock was hard as iron and pointing right up at him. There were lines of pearly liquid trailing down the front of his coat from where he was leaking all over himself.

  A second finger joined the first, and Max wasted no time in scissoring them apart. His tongue slipped in and Michael might have sobbed just a little at the sensation, which he was then promptly robbed of as Max pulled away.

  “Pants completely off and on my lap,” he said, the swing creaking as he shifted back onto it fully.

  Michael toed his shoes off, and his jeans quickly followed. When he turned it was to the sight of Max waiting for him, stretched out and regal looking with his legs spread and his cock in his hand. He was lazily stroking it, tightening his grip on the upstroke just like he loved.

  He patted his lap with his free hand. “Come on,” he urged.

  Michael climbed up and Max let go of his cock to lean over and snatch up the blanket. He spread it over them, shielding them just a little from the cold. He smirked up at Michael’s surprised expression. “Did you really think I was going to let you freeze?”

  Michael shook his head and bent to kiss him as he lined himself up with the head of Max’s cock. He held himself still, waiting.

  Max gripped Michael’s hips, his lips pressed tight to Michael’s, but didn’t move. They were very still.

  And then Max shoved up.

  Michael shouted into his mouth, dropping his hips down to meet Max’s thrust. His hands held tight to Max’s shoulders as his breath shuddered from him.

  “Okay?” Max asked him, kissing him gently between words.

  Michael didn’t have any words to give, but he nodded his head, shuddering into Max’s kiss.

  “Then move,” Max told him.

  Move Michael did. His hips rolled, the swing swaying beneath them with the movement. His breathing was harsh in the still night air, and Max’s didn’t sound any better as his quiet grunts started to join Michael’s stuttered whimpers. He used Max’s shoulders to brace himself, only pausing once to lift Max’s shirt so his cock could slide against warm skin as he rutted.

  It felt like his blood was on a slow simmer, that tingly feeling spreading through his body lazily. His muscles strained, and beneath him he could feel the tenseness in Max’s muscles as he held himself back and just enjoyed the ride. Like this Max was especially beautiful, his eyes sleepy and glazed, his lips puffy from kissing and his cheeks flushed with passion.

  As Max’s breathing sped up, his hips started to finally hitch, no longer wanting to remain passive. Michael smirked against his lips, breathing into his mouth as Max breathed back into his. At this point they weren’t even kissing, just sharing air as they grew closer and closer to completion.

  Michael came first, and it was like a tsunami. It was slow and boiling at first, the knowledge that he was right at the edge, about to go flying forward, and then he was over, and it was like being flung forward, a steady crash that had him crying out and shuddering and clenching around Max.

  Beneath him Max was doing his own shuddering and crying out, his hands squeezing so tight to Michael’s hips that Michael knew there would be bruises there come the morning. His release was hot inside Michael, a fine contrast to the chilly air on his skin.

  Michael leaned back to tug up Max’s shirt from where it had been covering his cock. Max’s belly was painted with his come, and Michael ran a finger through it, bringing it to his mouth and sucking it in with a lazy pop. Max groaned, tugging his finger out of his mouth and replacing it with his tongue.

  When he pulled away, he looked like the cat that had gotten the cream. “We’re going to need a shower,” he said, trying to mop up Michael’s mess with his shirt. “I’m all sticky.”

  Laughing, Michael slowly hefted himself up and bent to retrieve his pants. Max managed to land one solid smack before Michael had them back in place.

  They stumbled inside, arms wrapped around each other’s waist, feeling sleepy and slow and more than a little cold. Then they saw the light in the living room, and they stopped in surprise as Mr. Stewart looked up at them from the armchair where he was reading.

  His eyebrow went up and he, oddly enough, looked amused. “You could have just used the bed. Unless hypothermia was something you were trying for.”

  Michael’s mouth dropped open. Max’s face went red like a tomato. Neither of them managed to say anything.

  Mr. Stewart flicked to the next page of his book. “You might want to shower,” he said. “You smell like a brothel, and it’s getting late.”

  They went silently up the stairs. About halfway up they heard him chuckling.

  “Oh my god,” breathed Michael as they shut the bathroom door behind them. “It’s exactly like being a teenager again.”

  Laughter verging on the hysterical filled the bathroom as they fought to catch their breath. Max recovered first, turning on the shower and tugging Michael under the spray.

  “At least my father won’t tell anyone.”

  Chapter Six

  WOLF WHISTLES and catcalls greeted them as they descended the stairs the following morning. Everyone else was already in the family room, stacks of presents neatly piled beside them. Michael made as if he were going to turn around and go right back to his room.

  Max looked like he was considering it.

  “I don’t think so, boys. Sit down,” said Mr. Stewart. He was sitting in his armchair, a stack of presents at his feet and a cup of tea in his hand. He primly took a sip, clearly watching them over the rim of the mug as they entered the room and took a seat side by side on the floor by Catherine.

  Their presents were already waiting for them in two neat little piles beside one another. Michael looked at his personal stack and looked at Max. He knew for a fact they weren’t all from Max.

  Catherine clapped her hands together and the children in the room wriggled in their spots. “Can we open them now?” she asked.

  Mr. Stewart’s smile was fond as he nodded his head. “Happy Christmas everyone. Begin unwrapping.”

  It was a bit like a race. Michael watched in awe as teacups and mugs were set aside, and wrapping paper went flying through the air. Even Max was tearing into his presents.

  He pulled the first from his stack and set to unwrapping. Max gifted him a snazzy new watch, with multiple unknown dials and little buttons, and a cardigan in a lovely royal blue shade. He pecked him on the lips in thanks and continued with his pile.

  Catherine had bought him a collector’s edition set of Lord of the Rings bobbleheads and a pair of padded black handcuffs. He stared down at the handcuffs for several seconds, and when he looked up, it was to find her smirking at him. She winked. He shook his head, laughing quietly, and tucked them back away in their box. They would definitely be of use in the future.

  Most of the other presents in the stack were of the couple variety—little odds and ends for their house and such.

  The very last present in the stack was addressed solely to him and the “from” bit of the tag read: Jonathon. He frown
ed. Who was Jonathon?

  “That would be from me, Michael.”

  He looked up in surprise at Mr. Stewart, then back down at the present. He bit his bottom lip as he tore into the wrapping paper to reveal a plain box. He worked through the packing tape holding the box together—Jonathon was an excessive tape user, it seemed—and flipped the top off.

  “Oh my god,” he breathed, staring down at the custom paints. There were acrylics and watercolors and some of the nicest-looking brushes he had ever seen. “This is… this is so much.” Hundreds of dollars’ worth of art supplies. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you, Sir.” He dragged his fingers over the brushes and the paints, truly at a loss for words.

  “You can call me Jonathon.”

  His mouth may have dropped open a little, as his system took a minute to reboot from the shock. When it did he made sure to make eye contact as he said, “Thank you. Jonathon.”

  Beside him Max was pressed tight to his side, and when he turned to look at him he was beaming. Michael kissed the side of his face, turning his head just the tiniest bit so he could whisper, “Did you hear that?”

  Max nodded, reaching for Michael’s hand and clasping it tight.

  Following the opening of the presents, pictures were taken, which everyone was forced to partake in, and then the rush to get the Christmas meal done was on.

  Michael and Max refrained from going into the kitchen—from which quite a bit of shouting could be heard as everyone got in everyone else’s way. A good 70 percent of the shouting was coming from Jonathon and Felisha as they bickered back and forth.

  Max looked mightily content with it all.

  “I missed this,” he sighed, as a very loud and excessive amount of curse words flew from his mother’s mouth.

  Darren snickered from where he was stretched out on the floor, playing a card game with one of the children and Catherine.

  “Michael’s family does it, too,” Max said. “Michael’s father and his aunt spend a good portion of Christmas day yelling at each other. His mother doesn’t cook, which is probably for the best.”