The Counterfeit Claus
Dedication:
This story is dedicated to N.J. Nielsen, Tracy Tucker Faul, Val Hughes, Amara Devonte, and the evil urchin who sparked off the idea for the Rescue Twinks by spilling glitter all over my house. Thanks, kidlet!
...and as always, every story I will ever write is for my Balthazar.
Chapter One
The
sound of Justin Bieber’s twinkish tenor crooning his latest hit carved a jagged
little hole into the velvety silence cocooning Devon. He groaned, flailing one
long arm towards the pesky little voice. What the hell was Justin Bieber doing
in his bedroom anyway? A high note reverberated in his ears, exhorting him to
just open his eyes and—Devon snagged his cell phone, flipping it open.
“Sot—”
The thick southern twang combined with the use of his last name—or at least a
portion of it—told Devon who his caller was before his sluggish brain caught up
to the irony of a Bieber song announcing anything to do with “the one and only Michael Rose, badass extraordinaire.”.
“Rose,
you are so fucking dead.” Devon’s voice crawled up out of his chest like a
snarling, slavering beast. “You know I worked the show up on campus last night
before my regular job. Christ man, I musta told you five hundred times how
geeked I was to finally get a gig with campus security, even if—”
“Sargent
So—” The silence after Rose’s bitten off utterance had Devon rubbing at his
eyes and trying to figure out why in the hell Rose would be calling him at the
ungodly hour of ten-thirty am.
Well,
it was ungodly for someone who’d been at work until well after seven in the
morning. Devon lost a good fifteen seconds musing about how he should have gone
straight to bed when he got home. He rubbed a hand across his stubble covered
jaw. Instead he spent time he could have used to sleep obsessing over the
hottest guy he’d ever seen. Devon spotted Hottie McHotpants walking across
campus two days ago with Roses’ younger brother, Sam. The guy with Sam was a
pocket sized piece of perfection with the most delicious ass and—
A
hideous retching sound spilling from the tiny speaker at the top of his phone
snapped his attention back to the present. Devon sat up in bed, clapping a hand
over his mouth as his own stomach clenched and roiled in sync with the vile
squelching sounds coming from the other end of the phone.
“Jesus
Christ, Kid. What the hell is wrong with you?”
Rose
grunted. There was an ominous splashing noise accompanied by a low, piteous
sounding moan. A couple of gnarly, lung-and-stomach-clearing hacks later, his
normally honey drenched voice rasped over the line. “Sergeant Soto. Sarge. I
need a real favor. I’m due at work in like, an hour. Already talked to my boss,
and he said as long as I have a replacement he won’t write me up as a late
call-off. Please, Dev. You know the gig—the Santa thing, just like we did
during the last deployment, but usually with less camouflage and swearing.”
Devon
reached over to turn on the faux oil lamp he used as a bedside light. His
mother was always foisting off kitschy stuff on him. He would never in a
million years admit to anyone how much he actually liked the weird things him
mom gifted him with. A small smile graced his generous lips. His madre was a hot mess, but he loved her
beyond all reason and respected her right down to the soles of her feet. One of
the things she’d drummed into him long before the Drill Sergeants at Fort
Leonard Wood got their hands on him was that he was never to let down a friend
in need. Scrubbing a hand along his jaw, Devon resigned himself to a grueling
twenty-four hours before he could sleep again. “Rose, are you trying to say you
want me to fill in at your job at the mall?”
A
weak chuckle greeted his statement. “Yeah, could you? You’re the only one I
know who’s worked there before, and fits my suit—I’d hate to screw Andy over
after he bent over backwards to fit my work shifts around my classes.”
Devon
groaned. “Andy’s okay with me filling in for you?”
The
relief in Rose’s tone was palpable. “Yeah, in fact he suggested I ask you.”
Swinging
his legs off the bed and grabbing his favorite jeans off the floor, Devon
grunted. “Huh. I just bet he did.”
A
pained sigh sounded over the phone. “Dev, I’m sorry I—”
Yanking
the faded denim over his lean hips, Devon sighed. He picked up his tee shirt
from the day before, sniffed it, and shuddered. Nope, the shirt was so far
beyond wearable it should come with a bio-hazard warning. He turned, walking
toward the dark wood dresser against the far wall. “Not your fault man. We just
didn’t fit. Not Andy’s fault. I was the one too uncomfortable to work there
again this year. Me. Just—drop it, okay?”
After
a beat of silence Rose’s voice came back. “Okay. I meant it when I promised to
not try to set you up with anymore of my old high school buddies. Is that alright?”
Devon
snorted. Sometimes the kid was so damned dramatic. Really, how many of his
school pals could possibly be gay? Recalling what Rose had told him about the
group he hung out with in high school, Devon corrected his thought on the
matter. Rose had been friends with a disproportionately high number of gay and
bi kids in school. Devon took another step forward and then yelped as his bare
toes connected with the one of his five pound weights. Mierda, he’d forgotten about leaving those out yesterday. Rose’s voice
came with less Deep South honey and more combat medic concern this time. “Dev,
what happened?”
Rustling
cloth on the opposite end of the connection had Devon barking at Rose as though
he were still the man’s squad leader. “Lay your ass back down, Rose. I stubbed
my toe. Christ, Kid, one day you’ll be the death of me, but—”
Rose
grunted, and a muffled thud told Devon the younger man had just obeyed him.
“Hell, Sarge, I know how that ends. Today ain’t the day, right?”
Devon
paused long enough to pull a plain black tee-shirt out of the middle drawer and
slip it over his head. Spying the bottle of his favorite cologne, Drakkar Noir,
sitting dead center on the top of the dresser, Devon sprayed a shot on as he
checked himself out in the mirror. Same brown hair, same brown eyes as always.
Same faintly olive skin two shades lighter than that of all his cousins,
because his madre had gotten pregnant
by what she called a beautiful Englishman. Seeing as how it happened during her
senior class trip, Devon had to agree with his Abuelo when he called the man an unscrupulous cabron.
Devon
eyed himself drolly. If his madre, Rosario
Soto, had picked a nice Puerto Rican man like the rest of his aunts, then the
dark circles under his eyes might not be so damn apparent. He snorted. The
sleep deprived smudges were familiar from both his military stint and more
recently from working two jobs and going to school full time. They were not his
best look. He sprayed on another spritz of Drakkar to compensate for his
haggard appearance, answering Rose as he did so. The kid had always been his
favorite soldier, even though squad leaders weren’t supposed to have favorites.
Devon’s
exasperated smile shaped the sound of his voice. “That’s right, kid. You still
use the same locker combo?”
Rose
coughed, one of those polite little coughs people gave when they were
embarrassed as shit and didn’t know what to say. “Ah… yeah.”
Devon
rolled his eyes.
Rose
grunted. “Stop rolling your eyes, Dev. I only keep the stupid suit there. I
hate learning new combos and passwords and shit.”
Devon
sighed. Narrowing his eyes, he dropped his keys into his pocket and sat back on
the edge of the bed to pull his socks on. “Not addressing that right now. You
better believe we’re gonna deal with your lack of security as soon as you feel
better.”
Rose
full out whined. “Aw, Sarge, come on. That’s not fair.”
Devon
shrugged regardless of the fact that Rose couldn’t see him. Snagging the edges
of the duvet cover, blanket and top sheet all at once he flipped them all up
over his queen sized bed. He shifted the phone back to his shoulder to free
both hands. Devon straightened and smoothed the covers. “Life’s not fucking
fair, Rose. I’ve been telling you for three years now that you need to get
serious about protecting your identity. If it takes me kicking your ass at the
gym to get my point across, then so be it.”
The
petulance in Rose’s voice could be spread with a trowel. “Dev, you’re being a
dick.”
Damn,
the guy only got whiny like this when he was really sick. “Rose, is someone
there with you?”
No
answer came for a moment. Devon opened his mouth to ask the question again when
Rose’s response came over the line. “Not exactly.”
Devon
shook his head. Leaving his bedroom he strode into his living room and swiped
his brown leather bomber jacket up from the couch on his way to the front door.
“Not exactly had better mean you already called your brother and you’re just
waiting for him to show up or I’m going to call him myself.”
Rose
laughed weakly again. “Better. Mom’s coming.”
Devon’s
shoulders dropped down a whole inch at those words. “You mean Mrs. Jimenez, the
woman who mentored your Gay-Straight Alliance club all during high school?”
“Yeah,
that’s the one. She just has to drive over. I think she’s gonna bring me back
to her house if she doesn’t take me to the hospital.” Rose’s voice faded at the
end of the sentence, signaling his exhaustion.
Pulling
the front door open, Devon patted his pockets to make sure he had everything as
he answered. “Okay. I’m just leaving the house now. You’re lucky I showered
before I went to bed this morning, or I’d never have made it to the mall in
time. Don’t worry Rose— I’ll be there in plenty of time for your shift. Feel
better, and make sure Mrs. Jimenez has my number in case you need anything.”
Rose
mumbled a farewell, and disconnected after slurring out something Devon thought
was supposed to indicate giving Mrs. Jimenez Devon’s cell number.
Shaking
his head, Devon pulled his phone away from his ear and spoke to the blank
screen. “Kid, you are still a mess. I sweartagod, you and mi Madre are cut from the same cloth.”
Stepping
out into the chilly air, Devon pulled his sturdy, solid wood door closed. He
checked the door handle to make sure the locking mechanism had engaged, and
then slid his key into the deadbolt to engage that lock as well. Nodding to
himself, Devon jogged down his front steps and headed down the block to the
cross street he’d been forced to park on the night before. He should have
enough time to swing through a drive-thru to get coffee for the drive over to
the mall. Devon figured he’d need every drop of caffeine he could squeeze into
his body today, tonight and tomorrow morning. At least the Santa gig would be
over before he was tired enough to forget he was a civilian now. He snorted, pulling
his gloves out of his jacket pocket as he reached his Jeep. The shiny black
paint job made him smile even though he had to wash the damn thing twice a week
in the winter to keep his poor baby from looking like some kind of car hobo.
Clicking
the auto-lock device on his keys, Devon cracked a smile. At least Betsy hadn’t
been parked long enough to build up a heavy coating of snow. Hey, if he
couldn’t find a silver lining in almost any situation, he wouldn’t be Rosario
Soto’s son. The jeep cranked up beautifully. Devon sat for a full five minutes
to warm the engine before he considered pulling out to start toward—no,
Starbucks was in the wrong direction—double D’s it was, then. He’d get a little
caffeine boost, and then get two of the biggest damn dark roast coffee’s he
could get once he got to the mall. Course plotted, Devon eased the stick into
first gear. In thirty-six hours or so he’d be back, and his bed would be
waiting for him.
* * * *
“Shit,
shit, shit, shiiiiiitttttt!” The quiet popping, ripping sound of his elf hose
giving way sent Adrien’s heart into a triple-time rhythm that could only be
considered a good thing if he were trying to win a Salsa Dance competition
worth a year’s entry free of cover charge at
his favorite club. He so did not have time for this.
“Well,
I guess it’s a good thing I picked up a new pair last night before we left. If
I hit the lights right, I might be able to shave enough time off the drive to
get there on time. God, it would be so much easier to just live at home with
mom and dad some days.” His huge black cat, aptly named Michael Clarke Duncan,
blinked skeptical green eyes at him. Adrien blushed.
“Fat
lot you, know, Michael. And I am gonna get my ass chewed by Andy.” Adrien
huffed out a breath. Andy still hadn’t forgiven Adrien for going away for a
year after high school.
Adrien
blew a puff of air up toward his forehead in an attempt to move the long lock
of unruly brown bang off his face. The offending hair wafted up for a moment.
As soon as he stopped blowing upward his silky bang drifted right back down
over the right side of his face. He grabbed a plain gray pair of sweatpants out
of his dresser, because there was no way he could be seen outside in the
hot-pants Andy insisted were simply perfect
for all the elves. The things clung to Adrien’s ass so tightly it was a
wonder mall security didn’t try to arrest him for solicitation every day he
worked. To be fair, Adrien did have a bigger butt than most of the elves. On
the rest of them the damn things looked… cute, and respectably elfish. Only on
Adrien did they look like go-go boy attire. He caught a quick glance at the
clock on his bedside table, and started to really hustle.
Hopping
on one foot, attempting to pull the sweats up while he tucked his newly
highlighted hair behind his ear Adrien lost his balance. The hand that had been
fixing his hair flailed out, thunking against something soft and furry. Michael
the cat squalled out an indignant mewling noise. With a hiss, he ran across
Adrien’s stomach and chest en route for the bedroom door.
Adrien
lay for a moment, looking up through the brown and gold strands of his hair.
Heaving a sigh, he swiped the stuff out of his face again. Michael Clarke
Duncan yowled again from the living room. Cripes, it was a good thing Sam
wasn’t here. The whole humiliating episode would surely be hitting YouTube
right about now if Sam wasn’t off somewhere with the study group he’d put
together from his fellow nursing students.
Bounding
up off the bed, Adrien hesitantly turned to the mirror hanging on the back of
his closet door. His bare chest had a couple of ugly scratches, but thankfully
they weren’t bleeding badly. Even better, the cat’s claws entirely missed his
face. He so didn’t want to be the guy who scarred some little kid’s psyche and
ruined Christmas for them forever with visions of evil elves. That kind of
stuff was best left to their parents. A quick tally of his features assured him
he was still passably handsome. If you asked him, his lips were a touch too
thin, and his eyes a little too big, giving him an almost anime character look.
He cast a glance over his shoulder. It was a darn good thing he’d gotten his
mama’s gorgeous booty in the DNA lotto, or he’d have to work a lot harder for
dates.
Hurrying
into his private bath Adrien wet a washcloth, dabbed at the bloody stripes
across his chest and the two divots on his stomach. He quickly dabbed the spots
dry with a wad of toilet tissue. Sam was such a worry-wart, and the sight of
bloody tissues in the shared bath in the hallway of their two bedroom apartment
could only end with the brat making a panic call to their mom. Adrien
shuddered. Their mom was amazing… and sometimes, she was just a touch
overwhelming.
Adrien
sighed as he slipped on a tight fitting green tee shirt. Then he put on the
dizzying green and red top half of his elf uniform. He put his shiny green
elf-a-go-go shorts into his back pack. In his head, Adrien always called them go-go shorts. Without the opaque tights under
them that’s what they looked like on him. He shoved his feet into his
sneakers—the pointy toed leather elf shoes stayed in his locker at the mall so
he wouldn’t ruin them in the snow—and dashed towards his front door, only
tripping over Michael Clarke Duncan twice on the way out.
Chapter Two
The
awkward moment Devon expected when he saw Andy again showed up like a spoiled
debutante at a weeklong party with free cocaine. He groaned inwardly,
plastering a fake smile on his face. He had tried to tell Andy right from the
start that he wasn’t looking for anything more than a quick fuck back when they
met. Andy was cute as hell, and frighteningly capable of twisting anything said
to him to match what he wanted the speaker to say. He wasn’t a bad kid—and at
eight years younger than Devon chronologically and lifetimes younger in
experience he definitely seemed like a kid to Devon. Andy was in love with
being in love, and he fell in love at the drop of—well, not a hat, but surely
at the drop of a couple of pairs of pants.
Devon,
unfortunately didn’t find that particular tidbit of information out until after
he’d fucked the kid silly for an entire weekend. Damn Corporal Michael Rose for
not warning him about Andy the second he invited Devon to come home to Syracuse
for a visit when their leaves lined up so perfectly. Devon’s annual leave
started at the same time as the start of Rose’s terminal leave. With his mother
out of the country visiting relatives Devon didn’t care to see in Puerto Rico,
Devon was at loose ends. Going home with Rose had made perfect sense, and would
have been a perfect vacation if Rose had given him an appropriate situation
report.
If
Devon had known that the sweet assed nineteen year-old would be picking out
matching china the second he tapped said luscious ass he would fucking well
have steered clear. He ground his molars together as quietly as possible and
concentrated on being polite. He couldn’t stop himself from arching an eyebrow
at Andy’s perfectly made up and carefully stoic expression. He nodded at the
other man. “Andy. You look well. Which locker is Michael’s?”
Christ,
he should never have given in to his boredom on that trip. It wasn’t like he’d
needed to take a temporary job during his leave. Worse yet, he’d made assumptions
about Andy, and he’d never meant to leave the kid heart-broken when he went
back to Germany. It had actually been Andy’s tear stained letter that made him
reconsider re-enlistment. Not that Devon had any designs on the kid—far from
it. In fact, given Michael’s response to the whole of “Andy-gate”, Devon had
feared losing the best friend he’d ever had. He and Michael discussed the
incident exactly once. Devon apologized for hurting Michael’s friend. Michael
punched him in the jaw hard enough to knock him on his ass. Devon sat on the
floor, readjusting his whole thought process about how badly he’d fucked up
while he moved his jaw gingerly from side to side. Then he said the three words
that salvaged their friendship. “I didn’t know.”
Michael
stretched a hand down, pulled him up into a hug, and told Devon the beers were
on him for the rest of his trip. Devon figured the money spent paying a healthy
sized bar tab was the least he could have lost.
Andy
was talking again, tucking a hank of silky blond hair behind his almost
girlishly delicate ear. Devon had no idea what he’d said while Devon was
strolling down memory lane. “Sorry, could you say that again? I kind-of drifted
off a little. I worked last night… don’t worry, I’ll be okay for the shift. I
just need another cup of coffee.” Devon lobbed his Dunkin’ Donuts extra-large
cup into the trash can in the corner of the small locker room.
“I
said Michael’s locker is number seventeen.” Andy’s big dark blue eyes were
heavily lined with black and his hair was a shockingly bright blond Devon
didn’t remember from his previous encounters with the younger man. Whatever the
reason for his new and improved look, Andy’s voice was still the same, low and
husky. No wonder he’d managed to bend a straight arrow like Rose around… hell,
the kid was cute enough to have the Pope waving a rainbow flag.
Andy
gave him a shaky smile, finger-combing his long bangs down to frame his
incredible sapphire eyes. “Did Michael say what was wrong? He sounded really
sick, and he still made sure we were covered… oh, gosh, it’s almost time to
open the village. Can you get into costume and meet me out by Santa’s chair?
I’m afraid there’s something going around, and one of our elves is out sick as
well, and Adrien, the other elf isn’t here yet. Well, that’s not unusual,
because Adrien is almost always late. We’ve learned not to expect him until
fifteen minutes to a half an hour after his shift starts. If it’s longer than
that we call the hospitals to find out how late he’s going to be.”
The
stiff feeling in Devon’s cheeks eased as Andy turned his attention to things
other than gazing soulfully at him. He liked the genuine concern for Rose in
the kid’s sexy voice, and after he caught the other worker’s name, he tuned out
most of what Andy had to say about the guy. Devon snorted. Though, given the
little bit he’d actually caught about what Andy said about Aaron? Adrien?
Whatever his name was, it was just possible the hilarious stories Rose had told
about his younger brother’s friend were true.
Andy
shot Devon another wide eyed look when he snorted. The younger man bit at his
plush bottom lip before turning toward the door and hurrying off. Devon shook
his head. He’d better get his ass in
gear and get out to the Christmas Village before they were inundated with
screaming toddlers and exhausted parents.
Opening Rose’s locker was pathetically easy. Devon didn’t even need the
combination, as his former soldier hadn’t even bothered to check to make sure
the lock engaged fully.
Devon
huffed out an aggravated breath. He was definitely going to kick Rose’s ass as
soon as the guy could put up a decent fight. He’d trained Corporal Rose better
than this. Staying sharp with his police skills wasn’t something Devon had ever
thought he would have to beat into the youngster. There was clearly more wrong
with him than just a nasty case of stomach flu.
Devon
pulled out the familiar red suit, glad to see it still there. Slipping into the
outfit, he found the pants a little loose in the waist and the jacket a little
tight in the shoulders. Eh, not much he could do about the slight discomfort.
Hopefully the discomfort would help him stay awake and alert.
* * * *
Adrien
ran down the hallway to the tiny—and disgustingly smelly—locker room for the
male employees. As he rounded the last corner he smacked right into Andy. They
were roughly the same size—small—and bounced off in opposite directions, with
Andy getting the worst of the collision. Adrien fell on his nicely cushioned
ass, but poor Andy somehow managed to spin around and pull a full on face-plant
on the concrete floor. When he sat up, the skin of his cheek was split open,
and blood streamed freely down the creamy skin of his face.
“Oh
shit! Andy, I’m so sorry. Oh my god, oh my god, your pretty face… oh.” Adrien
clapped a hand over his mouth. Damn his clumsiness.
Andy
reached a hand up to his face, grimacing when he touched just below the wound.
He glanced over at Adrien, a panicked look on his face. “I’ll have to go to the
hospital. Oh, crap-doodly, Adrien, this is bad.”
Adrien
jumped up, and then thought better of his plan to rush over to help Andy. “Come
on, Andy, I’ll walk you over to security. Liam’s on duty today He’ll give you a
ride to the hospital and then go back and pick you up when you’re done. I’m so
sorry. Do we need to close the Village?”
Andy
shook his head. “No, you know how everything runs. I’m putting you in charge.”
Handing over his keys and clipboard, Andy smiled. “I didn’t pick up the cash
box yet… I can’t give that to you, so just let the parents know if they want to
either leave checks or pay by credit card we’ll mail the pictures or they can
come back next week to pick them up… and I guess if they have cash… um, give
them a “rein-check” to come back next week, and we’ll give them a twenty-five
percent discount for their trouble. Can you manage that?”
Adrien’s
head spun. Yeah he knew how to do all the little tasks of running the village,
but Andy had always put Michael in charge when he couldn’t be present before.
“I… you aren’t going to put Michael in charge.”
Andy
shook his head, grimaced, and then gripped the sides of his head carefully.
“No. That won’t work today
He
swayed then, and Adrien grabbed his arm to steady him. The security office was
only a few more steps down the hall. “Hey, Liam! Help!”
Liam
came boiling out of the security office in a flash, a thunderous expression on
his lean face. He took in Andy’s battered condition and Adrien’s disheveled
appearance in a glance. The anger melted off his face, an exasperated look
crossing in its stead. “Damn, Adrien, you usually don’t take out casual bystanders.”
Adrien
winced. “I know. I just. Shit.”
Andy
patted his shoulder. “It was bound to happen at some time. You’re like a
walking bio-hazard-natural-disaster and I’m a place waiting for an accident to
happen.”
Adrien’s
gut clenched. Oh. He hadn’t realized Andy just expected to get hurt all the
time. Admittedly, Andy did get hurt a surprising amount—but to just expect the bad stuff was kinda like he
was inviting those things to visit him. Gnawing on the inside of his bottom
lip, Adrien glanced up at Liam. “Li, will your boss cut you enough slack to
take Andy to the hospital?”
Liam
nodded. “Yeah, he’s got a soft spot for Andy, just like the rest of us.” He
rapped on the door to the security office. A huge bald-headed black man opened
it. Liam grinned up at him. “Hey, Scotty, I gotta take Danger Mouse here to the
hospital to get his pretty cheek stitched up. You need me to clock out?”
Adrien
wanted to hide behind Andy when the big, older man’s gaze bored into him.
Scotty was mountain sized, and he had mad-crazy ninja skills. The guy’s hands
the size of small countries. Adrien swallowed hard. “I—” His voice squeaked and
broke. He ducked his chin down, and then forced himself to look back up. “It
was an accident!”
Scotty
and Liam both got identical exasperated expressions on their faces. Liam shook
his head at the Security Chief. “Never mind, Scotty. I’ll sort him out later.
Adrien, you’d better get into your costume and over to the Village… you guys
were supposed to open five minutes ago.”
Adrien
squeaked again, and turned around on the spot. As he picked up his foot to take
his first step, three voices rang out behind him. “Carefully!”
Glancing
over his shoulder, Adrien nodded his head. He could do careful.
Andy
sighed loudly, and Liam gave a frustrated sounding grunt. Scotty’s deep rumble
was low enough that he probably hadn’t intended for Adrien to hear it. “Liam,
we have to do something about that boy. He needs a damn keeper. Or a leash.”
Oh.
Ouch. That hurt worse than the fall had. Adrien hustled very carefully to the
locker room and very, very carefully put on his new tights and go-go elf-boy
shorts. Then he very, very, very carefully went to find Santa. This had to be
the worst day ever. Maybe Michael would be able to cheer him up.
Chapter Three
Devon
looked around at the Christmas Village, warmth spreading through his center.
The set up was identical to the last time he’d been here… but that wasn’t what
made him want to work here every single day of the holiday season. No, what choked
him up just a little was the way the damn Village looked almost identical to
the one his madre used to take a
train and two buses to bring him to every December when he was a kid. It even
smelled the same, like fake pine and real peppermint. They’d been dirt poor
back then, but his madre—well,
Rosario Soto somehow always managed to find not only enough extra money for the
double bus fare on a non-work day, but she also managed lunch at the mall and a
cocoa at the transfer station on the way home.
The
first time Devon asked Santa to bring his dad—just for a visit—and St. Nick
didn’t follow through, he’d figured out that the jolly old guy in the snazzy
red suit really didn’t have any special powers… but his mom did. He was six. He
went along with his madre’s stories
about Santa for another seven years before he could bring himself to let on
that he’d long ago figured out that she was the one who brought magic and light
to his world. Devon made his way past the handful of families in line, noting
that most of the kids were already half-way out of their winter gear and
starting to whine as hat bobbled in their small hands and scarves dragged on
the ground. He walked behind the raised partition that gave the kids the
illusion of a private time with Santa while allowing their parents to stand to
one side with an unobstructed view of the whole area. He settled into his seat,
and prepared to do his part to help spread a little magic in the world… just as
soon as his helper elf showed up to get things rolling.
Twenty
minutes later Devon faced an ever lengthening line of children and parents with
absolutely no idea where either Andy or the promised “elf or elves” were. A
little sprite of a girl with curly reddish brown hair, thick black eyelashes,
summer blue eyes and chocolate on her face started crying. Sad faces spread up
and down the line. Devon stood up, about to make up something about his helper
elves dealing with a toy emergency at the North Pole. The young, fresh faced
mother standing in line rocking her baby and petting the infant’s fluff of
blond hair at random moments had even started to sniffle a bit as she rocked
the baby against her shoulder. Suddenly, her eyes widened and she took a step
back, bumping the man behind her. Out of the corner of his eye, Devon caught
sight of a streak of green and red tumbling out of the hall where the locker
rooms were. At first Devon thought the exaggerated flailing was part of an act.
Then he realized the elf was actually in danger of falling and hurting himself
or worse yet, one of the kids. The little fool had come around the corner from
the locker room area at a dead run. At that pace, in the slick little leather
slippers he had on his feet Devon would have to say the real Christmas miracle
had to be that the guy hadn’t fallen and cracked his head open yet.
Devon
was damned if something that potentially traumatizing to all these kid was
going to happen on his watch. Not to mention what could happen to the poor,
dumb elf. The elf flailed again, but this time he overcorrected. Everything
broke down into scatter-shots of time, each instant moving as slowly as whole
minutes. Snap. The little elf’s feet
flew out in front of him. Snap. Devon
launched himself off the platform in a long dive. Snap.
Devon
had a golden moment where he seemed to float in the air. He could see he was
going to just make it to the man before his head hit. Mierda,
when he crashed down on the hard floor the padding for his Santa belly
would protect him from some of the impact but it was going to hurt like hell.
The possible cracked ribs could be hidden from all the kids in line, though.
Cracked ribs and bruises would heal.
If elf-boy smashed his melon on the pretty, hard as hell marble flooring there
was no telling if he would live long enough to heal.
* * * *
By
the time Adrien figured out he didn’t have everything under control—and that he
couldn’t even pull off a controlled crash without risking really hurting one of
the smaller kids in the line he’d already overbalanced. He flung his arms out behind
him, hoping to fall away from the kids. His feet sliding out in front of him
answered his wish in seconds.
Adrien
was going to end the day in one of the local hospitals, having traumatized
countless kids in the process, because even if his brother Sam wasn’t here to
catch the footage and post it to YouTube, dollars to donuts someone had their
phone out and was already taping his latest bit of clumsiness.
He
had an awful vision of mean bully older kids with hard faces showing the clip
to horrified five, six and seven year olds for years to come. A whole
generation of kids would forever think of Christmas as “the season when clumsy
elves die.” As he slid past Santa’s throne in an ungainly skid headed more
toward the horizontal than the vertical, Michael launched himself off the
platform yelling at the top of his fool lungs. “Noooooooo!”
Remembering
the horde of pint-sized shoppers watching in horror, Adrien kept his composure
enough to bite back the utterance fighting to get out of his throat, which was
a hearty “OH SHIT!” He didn’t even cry out Michael’s name. He wanted to do
anything necessary in a desperate attempt to get the big goof-ball to use some
of those finely tuned military police skills he loved bragging about. They
would come in uber-handy for saving Adrien’s ass right about now.
Michael
hit the floor with a sickening thud. Adrien winced, both in anticipation of his
own eminent thud, and at Michael’s having hurt himself to no good effect. The
big idiot belly flopping on the floor couldn’t possibly save Adrien.
Except,
somehow, it did.
Adrien
had forgotten to take into account how the slick velvet of the Santa suit would
keep Michael sliding forward. Just before Adrien hit the floor, Michael was
there. He’d turned half on his side, and managed to catch Adrien’s head in the
palm of one broad hand.
Adrien
realized several pertinent facts simultaneously. The man in the shiny red Santa
suit, the same one who had saved him from what could easily have been a serious
injury, was not Michael. His fluffy
white beard was twisted half off his face, showing a stubble-covered jaw that
looked positively edible. A tsunami of lust crashed down on Adrien, and the
only coherent thought he could muster for a second had to do with wanting to
spend a few weeks nibbling on the not-Michael
Santa. Reason returned with the realization that Adrien had fallen in a
weird pretzel twist that showed off his flexibility in the most humiliating way
possible.
His
left ankle ended up somewhere around his right ear, his right leg bent and
twisted so that leg was under his butt. His left arm was flung up above his
head. He’d even managed to smack himself with his right hand. Sheesh. His only
saving grace in the whole ridiculous mess was that the undignified heap he was
in fell squarely between the counterfeit Santa and the kids.
The
breadth of his shoulders, while not god-like, was enough to hide Santa’s
dishabille for a critical few seconds. Thinking quickly, he decided to camp
things up so the adult guests of Christmas Village could be left with a scrap
of plausible deniability when their young charges started questioning Santa’s
very un-Santa like behavior.
“Oh,
Santa, I didn’t see the ice! That must be why you’re always telling all the
elves to walk carefully.” Adrien used every bit of his high school theater
training to project his voice as he wiggled closer to the strange Santa facing
him. As soon as the crowd behind them broke out in exclamations, he leaned
forward. Whispering quickly, in barely audible tones, Adrien broke the bad
news. “Santa, your beard is broken. Pretend you’ve got to take me to Mrs. Claus
for a quick bit of mothering, and then carry me out of here so we can hide your
face.”
Santa’s
big brown eyes widened and then narrowed intently. His voice came out in an
equally hushed baritone. “Mierda! I
don’t care how cute you are… I am not picking you up, Papi.”
The
man’s voice poured into Adrien’s ears hotly, an aural aphrodisiac. He closed
his eyes for a split second. Between falling three times in less than two hours
and the effect Counterfeit Claus was having on his libido, he really might need
to be carried. Adrien sucked in a deep breath. “Crap-Doodly.”
A
warm hand cupped his cheek. His eyes flew back open, meeting a piercing brown
gaze. Adrien hurried to explain the important parts of the situation to the
slow-coach in front of him. “We have to get you out of here—Santa—at least long enough to fix your
beard. If you don’t wanna pick me up so I can shield your face, just pretend
you hit your head or something. You should be able to pull that off.”
Adrien
untangled his limbs. As he lowered his left leg, managing to keep his body
between Santa and the crowd, the big man on the floor with him watched him
intently. Adrien ignored the man’s increasingly heated looks, turning to the
crowd instead. “Folks, I’m afraid Santa bumped his head saving me. We just have
to go get a good cup of cocoa from Mrs. Claus and some of her delicious cookies
to fix us right up. We’ll be back in half an hour if you want to wait.”
Santa
sat up next to him, one hand pressed to his temple to hold the edge of his
beard in place. With a suppressed grunt he was on his feet. He bent down,
wrapped one huge paw around Adrien’s slim arm and hauled Adrien upright with an
ease that made Adrien’s heart beat faster. A delicious smell permeated the air
around him… oh. Oh dear Lord, the damn man was wearing Drakkar Noir. The scent
of Drakkar invariably made Adrien want to strip out of whatever he was wearing
and offer his ass up to the nearest likely candidate.
Not
that he was a slut. Really. The response was conditioned by his first lover.
Adrien shivered. The man had been a complete prick outside of the bedroom, but
holy shit-balls, he had a skill bordering on miraculous between the sheets.
Adrien sucked in a deep breath and forced his wandering thoughts back to the
present.
Tipping
his head back, he looked up and up again into smoldering brown eyes. Holy
guacamole, his whole body was going to burn to cinders in the wake of this
man’s heated looks. Santa manhandled him around, turning him towards the locker
room. Adrien went willingly when a broad hand pressed between his shoulders.
He’d forgotten about the kids and Christmas Village the second the big man put
his hands on him. The skin of Adrien’s upper arms tingled where the man’s rough
palms rested, guiding Adrien along in front of him. The strange Santa walked
close, heat from his big body radiating across the space between them. They
turned the corner away from where the families could see them. Santa’s hands
fell away from Adrien’s arms.
Adrien
bit back a moan. Nibbling at one corner of his lip, he looked over his
shoulder. The man had stepped back, and now stood slightly more than an arm’s
length away, his eyes locked on Adrien’s elf-a-go-go clad ass. He looked up all
at once, his whole posture changing, becoming more intent. The effect was
startling. Adrien met his hot, dark eyes. A shiver swept him from head to feet.
Santa’s sinfully bitable lips curved into a wicked smile. Stepping forward, he
reached past Adrien to push open the locker room door. Adrien licked his bottom
lip, sucking it into his mouth afterward. The counterfeit Santa stepped
forward, leaning down to whisper in Adrien’s ear. “We should probably go into
the locker room. I imagine some of the nosier folks are working up their nerve
to follow us around that corner.”
The
hot rush of air against his ear combined with his two falls, and Adrien’s knees
gave out on him. Okay, so the warm, moist air from that beautiful mouth could
easily make him weak kneed all by itself. Even without the added zinger of
the—oh God, Adrien’s clothes really needed to come off—damned Drakkar. He
clutched at Santa’s sleeves. “Santa, I’m going to—”
A
husky chuckle cut across his words. “You can call me Devon. I just play Santa
on TV.”
Laughter
shook loose from Adrien in quick bursts that rocked his compact frame and put
enough starch back into his knees to keep him standing. After a moment he
manfully tamped the noise down by biting him bottom lip as he looked down. One
glance up into Devon’s twinkling brown eyes ended his attempted decorum.
Giggling helplessly, Adrien stumbled backward into the locker room. Muscles in his
neck and shoulders loosened from the knots two hours of nearly continuous
catastrophes had caused.
Santa—Devon’s
smile grew wider, his slight Hispanic accent growing stronger with every word.
“You are just a hot little mess, aren’t you? I didn’t believe Michael when he
said he knew someone who was more trouble than he could ever dream of being,
but here chu are, papi.”
Adrien’s
mouth dropped open. During the big brou-ha-ha out at the Village, the man must
have hit his head. There was no other acceptable explanation for him—
“Did
you just call me a mess?”
Chapter Four
Devon
took a quick inventory. He’d learned a long time ago not to assume the feeling
was mutual just because he was hot
for someone. His sweet little mess—Adrien’s— pupils were dilated, leaving only
a thin line of golden brown around them. He was taking short, shallow breaths,
and ay-ay-ay, the hot little elf had
enough wood in his tight shorts to keep Santa’s fires stoked for quite a while.
The wash of heat flooding his body cranked up in intensity. He put his hands on
the compact form in front of him just to feel those finely sculpted muscles
flex under his fingers.
What
had Adrien asked him? Oh, right… Adrien asked if he’d called the pocket sized
beauty a mess. Devon gave his best lecherous grin and waggled his eyebrows at
Adrien. “No. I mean, yeah, I did call you that, but not just a mess. I called
you a hot mess.”
While
he spoke, Devon slid the hands he’d wrapped around Adrien’s upper arms along
the soft skin of the man’s biceps. Mierda,
he wanted a bite of that caramel colored flesh. Curling his fingers around
the back where Adrien’s triceps flexed and bunched under the hem of his short
sleeved tee shirt he picked the smaller man up. Two steps put them at the end
of the row of lockers. He turned and pressed Adrien’s back against the smooth
metal side of the row. Adrien squeaked, his eyes enormous above his high cheeks
bones. Devon spread his legs, bent slightly at the knees and pressed his chest
hard against Adrien’s. Another jolt of heat flashed through him. Devon growled,
and then fought to control his breathing. He refused to allow himself act like
an animal. He would give the sexy little man a choice about what happened next.
He
leaned down to breathe his words directly into Adrien’s ear. “I’m going to kiss
you, hard and deep enough you’re still going to feel it tomorrow. After I’m
done kissing you, you’re gonna help me fix this damn beard, and we’re going to
go back out to the Village and make those kids believe we just spent a half an
hour getting patched up by Mrs. Claus. And at the end of the day, I’m either
going to walk you to your car, or I’m going to walk you to mine. If you come to
my car, I’m going to put you in my Jeep, drive you to my place on Walnut Street,
call off my other job and screw you until the only name you remember is mine
because you’re so busy screaming it. If I walk you to your car, I’ll wait until
you get it started and drive away. And that will be that. No—don’t speak now.
After I kiss you, if you don’t want to come with me tonight, say mistletoe. Got
it?”
Adrien’s
head nodded, brushing his cheek against the line of Devon’s jaw. The silk of
his brown and gold mop of hair brushed Devon’s temple. His stomach flexed where
it pressed against Devon’s, and his legs—ay-ay—parted
to wrap around Devon’s waist. He tilted his head back against the cool metal
behind him and closed his eyes in a classic waiting-for-a-kiss pose. His long,
dark lashes cast faint shadows on his cheeks, and the trusting pose sparked a
feeling of possessiveness in Devon. He pulled Adrien forward enough to slip his
arms behind the other man’s back. Crushing Adrien’s lithe form against his
chest, he sealed his mouth over the sassy little elf’s lips.
* * * *
Adrien’s
chest stung where his cat had scratched him, his bottom was bruised from the
earlier debacle with Andy, and his side throbbed something fierce from his most
recent fall. Devon had one hand on his jaw though, massaging gently as the sexy
man licked across the seam of Adrien’s lips. The cool metal at his back had
warmed, and Devon’s other hand held a goodly portion of his left ass cheek.
Right
in this moment, every single bite of pain just amped his arousal higher. Adrien
moaned, opening his mouth for plundering. Devon made an indescribable
noise—half chuckle, half moan and half growl. There were too many halves, and
that made perfect sense, because the one thing Adrien was sure of was that this
was entirely too much man for him. He wrapped his arms tightly around Devon’s
neck. There really ought to be a way to crawl right into the man’s skin with
him.
Devon
lifted his head, lapping at Adrien’s lips in a barely there tease. Adrien
growled, chasing the other man’s mouth. Devon pulled farther back, moving the
hand on Adrien’s jaw around until he was tracing the damp line of Adrien’s lips
with one finger. Adrien closed his mouth. He shot Devon a petulant look. Devon
chuckled and pressed down on Adrien’s lower lip. Electricity arced through
Adrien, bowing his back up and forcing a tiny whine out of his throat. He
caught Devon’s finger in his mouth. A warm, slightly salty taste burst across
his taste buds. He wanted more. Nownownownownow. He bit down lightly, liking
the way Devon’s finger felt in his mouth. He licked around the base, right over
the webbing between one finger and the next and then sucked Devon’s longer
middle finger into the hot depths of his mouth.
He bit down again, a touch harder.
Devon
growled down at him, nostrils flaring as he fought to keep his breathing
steady. His eyes, hot and dark, were almost wet looking as he snarled out the
most possessive thing Adrien had ever heard and liked. “You are going to be
mine.”
The
words washed warmly over Adrien. He wanted that. He wanted to be naked in this
man’s bed, with those big hands holding him down and pushing him high enough to
burn like the center of the sun.
Damn
it. The Anthropology exam was tomorrow. His timing always sucked. He released
the big man’s finger reluctantly. “I sure hope so, but does it have to be
tonight? Tonight doesn’t work for me at all. I have an exam tomorrow morning
and I still have to study for it.”
He
unlocked his ankles from where he’d hooked them together at the small of
Devon’s back. Letting go of Devon felt wrong, and Adrien hurried to push words
between them. “We’d better get your beard fixed. Our half-hour’s nearly over.”
Adrien
pushed against Devon’s chest, his legs slipping down a fraction—
“Where
do you think you’re going?” Devon’s hands grasped Adrien’s thighs, and he
leaned in, pinning Adrien in place, a low moan slipping from him as his hips
surged against Adrien.
“I—we
have to get back to the village.” Adrien stared at Devon’s jaw as the words
slipped breathlessly from his mouth. The muscles and—oh god—the tendons there
flexed. Adrien’s mouth watered for a tiny nibble of the lightly tanned skin.
Silence
slipped a thin, cold wall between them. Devon’s body held Adrien pinned against
the locker as his hands loosened, sliding up the outsides of Adrien’s thighs.
Devon’s hands laid a trial of fire all along Adrien’s sides as they traced a
simmering trail of awareness up from hip to chest. He stopped there a moment.
Adrien held his breath. Devon peeled his hands away long enough to grip
Adrien’s upper arms again. He eased Adrien down until he stood on the floor,
his own shaking legs all that held him up. Then Devon stepped back until there
was half an arm’s length between them. Something dark and hurtful flitted
across his face. He stepped farther back, the look solidifying into a lip curl
and eyes narrowed to slits. “If you didn’t want me to touch you like that all
you had to do was say so. Fuck, I gave you time.”
Shaking
his head in denial, Adrien swallowed hard and tried again. “I’m not like this.
I don’t wanna be the guy you fucked in the locker room at the mall, Devon.
You’re hot, you’re wearing Drakkar—which is like, my favorite scent to jack-off
to ever since Michael accidentally left a shirt some friend of his wore and
left at Michael’s and then Michael left it at my house but that doesn’t matter
now—and Oh. My. God. You just went all super-hero-action-figure on me and saved
me from getting hurt, or worse yet squishing one of those tiny minions of Doom
out there into kid-jelly all over the floor of the mall. Don’t be stupid. Of
course I want you. I just—I really do have an exam, and we have to get back to
the Village. You’re filling in for Michael, okay. I need this job. This isn’t a
fill in gig for me. I can’t afford to lose my rent money over one fuck from a
hot guy.”
His
stomach burned. Devon stopped backing away, his angry look softening. He
nodded, one corner of his mouth lifting in a wry curl. “Okay. I shouldn’t call
off tonight anyway—we’re short staffed right now with all the student workers who
went home for the holidays already.”
Everything
in Adrien loosened. He ignored the feeling, tilting his head to the side like
it would somehow give him a better perspective on what was happening. He used
words in his best smoke and mirror style to deflect the vaguely questioning
look in Devon’s eyes. “Give me a sec to get the spirit gum I keep in my locker…
Michael lost his beard entirely one day, when a little girl decided to pull on
it. It happened right at the end of our shift, and there weren’t that many kids
around, but still… it was just awful. After that we both thought it would be
better if we glued it down every day.”
Devon
cocked an eyebrow at him. He didn’t say a word, just looked at Adrien straight
on and waited.
Adrien
flung his hands in the air, sidling around Devon to get to his locker. “What? I
was well aware that I was gay in high school. The theater department was like a
second home.”
If
Devon’s dammed eyebrow climbed any farther up his forehead the freaking thing
would be in danger of falling off the back of his head. Adrien bristled. “Oh,
whatever—I could give two shits if the stereotypical nature of my being a gay
boy who liked theater offends your manly sensibilities, Mr. Action-Hero.”
Devon
choked, and then threw back his head to laugh, his teeth gleaming whitely
against his honey colored skin. Watching the way the man laughed made Adrien’s
heart hurt a little. The openness of his face and the strong line of his throat
reached right in through the walls of Adrien’s chest, grabbed his heart and
squeezed. Adrien’s breath caught in his throat. For just a second, he forgot
everything but Devon again while his unruly cock screamed out a litany of
gimme-gimme-gotta-gotta-have-it-bay-beeeee. Adrien shuddered, and Devon caught
the reaction as he finished laughing and lowered his chin to look back at
Adrien.
Devon
just watched him silently for a handful of heartbeats. Adrien thought he
wouldn’t be able to stop himself from grabbing Devon’s face between his hands
so he could hold the big man still while he kissed him again. Adrien’s mouth
watered at the thought of licking the little divot on Devon’s chin. Right then,
in the second before he moved, Devon walked over, tapped Adrien on the nose,
and sat down on the bench between Adrien and the lockers. “Do your stuff, Mr.
Theater. We really do need to get back out there asap. We can still make it so
their parents have a shot at keeping this a good trip to see Santa for most of
these kids… I wouldn’t want them to have bad memories about Christmas because
of me.”
Devon’s
voice dropped a little at the end of his little speech, and Adrien knew.
Somebody somewhere had fucked up Santa for this guy, and for whatever reason
the hurt had been big enough, or important enough to linger well into his adulthood.
Adrien let his eyes wander a meandering path from the tousled top of Devon’s
head to the tips of his shiny black boots. The urge to peel the man out of his
shiny red suit and lick all the points in between those boots and then along
his chiseled jaw to his dimpled chin left Adrien flushed with a wild mix of
anger, sorrow and yearning. Maybe there was a way to make whatever it was up to
Devon? Adrien kept his questions about who’d messed Santa up for Devon on hold
for the moment. This was not the time, nor the place. Hopefully he’d get
another chance to ask them.
Chapter Five
Devon
sat still, letting Adrien apply the spirit gum to his face, and press the beard
down. Adrien stood between his spread thighs, his lean hands moving delicately
over Devon’s face. With the younger man intent on his task, Devon took
advantage of the opportunity to observe him closely. Adrien’s lashes were
tipped with gold, and he had the faintest smattering of freckles across his
nose. Devon’s stomach lurched as he realized that in another few hours he’d be
parting company with Adrien. He might never get a chance to really map those
freckles, not unless Adrien gave him permission. Adrien was the Hottie
McHotpants he’d been obsessing over since the first time he saw him. Hell, if
he was honest with himself, he’d been intrigued ever since the first story Rose
had told about Adrien. He had to get Adrien to commit to going out on a date
with him. His breath hitched as Adrien leaned closer. Then the brush of
Adrien’s firm thigh against the sensitive spot on the side of his knee shot a
flash of heat through him.
Devon
blurted out the first reasonable word he could dredge from a brain rapidly
losing blood to points south. “When?”
Adrien’s
head jerked back. As he met Devon’s gaze, his brows lifted. “When what?”
Devon
groaned. Oh, suave. He’d only blurted out the one word. Way to sound like a
freak of nature. “When can I see you again?”
A
little smile tipped the corner of Adrien’s firm little mouth up. “You’re seeing
me now, Devon. We’re in the middle of a shift. You’re going to be seeing me for
several more hours.”
Devon
lifted his hands up, resting them lightly on Adrien’s sides and giving him a
little shake. “Don’t be deliberately obtuse, Adrien. When can I take you out?
You know, on a date?”
Adrien’s
mouth made a sweet little “O”, all pink and luscious looking. Devon met his
eyes, tightening his fingers fractionally on Adrien’s sides before he
continued. “I wanna take you out. You can ask Rose—Michael, about me. He’ll
vouch for me. I was his squad leader, you know? The man lived practically in my
pocket for two years. You ask him anything you want to know. I’ll tell him it’s
okay to tell you the answer to anything you wanna know.”
Adrien’s
lashes dipped down as he listened. He drew in a fast breath, peeping out from
underneath those thick lashes. “I know about you. Michael used to write me
letters. He said you were an okay guy, and if I ever got around to wanting to
settle down I should steer clear of you, but if I just wanted to play, you were
the go-to guy.”
A
jolt of something lava hot and sharper than the edge of his bayonet cut into
the center of Devon’s chest. “Rose said that?”
Adrien
opened his eyes wide. “Yeah, and I’m not looking to settle down—but I wouldn’t
mind playing with you for a bit… just not in a locker room at work, you know,
and not tonight. I have that exam tomorrow.”
A
thin wire of hurt cut into Devon’s throat like a skillfully applied garrote,
choking the words he’d been meaning to say to Adrien. He closed his eyes.
“Okay. Maybe give me your number before we leave tonight, and I’ll call you
sometime.”
Those
weren’t the impulsive, baby-be-mine words that had been scratching to get out
of his throat just minutes before. And maybe that was for the best.
* * * *
As
they walked back towards Christmas Village, Adrien gnawed on his lower lip.
Normally, nothing was less like him than telling a whopper like the one he’d
just laid on Devon… but he’d heard Andy’s side of things, and well… he didn’t
want to be just another notch on Santa Devon’s wide black belt. As they passed
Annie’s Cookies, his favorite counter-girl, LaTrece, came hurrying over with
two mugs filled to the brim and topped with small mounds of whipped cream. The
scent of baking cookies and chocolate wafted with her. She smiled and lifted an
eyebrow as she reached them. “Here, take these. Hah. I guess this makes me Mrs.
Claus, huh?”
Devon
snorted with laughter. Adrien looked between the two of them, his forehead
crinkling up for a moment. “Oh, right. We were gonna get coco from Mrs. Claus
to fix us up. Good save, Trece.”
Handing
off the drinks, LaTrece flipped a hand at Adrien. The bright white of her smile
grew wider in the rich brown of her flawless skin as she spoke. Within seconds
the expression lit her whole face. “Baby, you the only one I let get away with
dropping the La from the front of my name. You are just so damn cute, I can’t
stay mad at you. Get back over to your village before those parents make
another run on my coco and cookies. Some of us actually want to get out of here
on time tonight!”
Adrien
reached to hand Devon his drink, and as Devon took the cup, their fingers
brushed. A spark of electricity jumped between their hands. Adrien gasped, his
gaze flying up to meet Devon’s. The big man’s eyes were dark pools of pained
longing. Adrien threw caution to the wind, baring his heart right there in the
echoing cavern of the food court. “I didn’t mean it. I do have an exam tonight,
but I lied about the other thing. I—Michael used to write me about you and he
did say I should be careful but he also said he thought when you were ready to
settle down that I should—that he thought I was maybe the guy who could get you
to. Settle down. But not settle, because he said he thought maybe you’d be—”
The
seconds between when Devon placed his fingers against Adrien’s mouth and when
he started to speak were the longest in Adrien’s whole life. “If we weren’t
standing in full sight of at least twenty-five to forty little kids and their
parents, I’d kiss you until your knees gave out again. In a moment, I’m gonna
take my hand away from your mouth, and you’re gonna say—yes, Devon—and you’re
gonna be saying yes to these things: me coming to your house tonight. I’ll make
dinner, and you’ll study, and then when you’re done I’ll put away whatever I’m
doing and we’ll go to bed. I’m not going to have sex with you tonight, because
if we get started, you won’t get any sleep, and then you’ll flunk your exam. So
you’ll sleep under the blankets and I’ll sleep on top, but I’ll still have you
in my arms all night. Then, tomorrow, after your exam is over and I get home
from my regular job, we’ll spend a little time talking. You’re gonna have the
night off because you’re gonna call Andy first thing in the morning, and I’m not
covering another night for Rose. He never stays sick longer than a day anyway.
And after we talk, I’m gonna take you to bed, but not to sleep. After that
we’ll see where this thing is going.”
He
lifted his fingers, and Adrien grinned up at him. Devon stared down at him, and
the whole mall seemed to fall away, all the noises of restless children and
muzak versions of at least three different Christmas carols fading into the
back ground. Adrien lifted his to-go cup of hot coco to his face, breathed in
the warm rich chocolate and cinnamon smell of the drink and with a heart as
light as the fragrant steam rising from his drink spoke the only two words
possible. “Yes, Devon.”
The End
As Promised
The cover for the sequel
PS: on another day I am going to pimp some more of Cherie's Xmas stories so keep your eyes open on- DECEMBER 21 for:
Christmas Rum Balls
&
