"Hey," said Kyle. He scooted close and brushed Clayton's forearm gently, and the gesture moved Clayton to his core. "She knows the effort you've made, with the knife, with driving through a blizzard. She knows you care about her."
"You think?" asked Clayton, without any heat in his voice.
"Yes," said Kyle, in a burry, low way that soaked into Clayton's skin. "I know."
On impulse, Clayton laid his hand on top of Kyle's for a good long minute, and then moved away. You didn't just go into a guy's house and start pawing him, especially if you didn't know how he was inclined.
"How about you?" asked Clayton, turning the tables as he took the red woolen blanket from the arm of the chair and folded it before placing it back. "What's a guy like you doing out in the middle of nowhere?"
"My parents threw me out at the end of my junior year atcollege because I was gay," said Kyle, and it didn't surprise Clayton one bit, not that Kyle was so honest and, actually, not even that he was gay. "I wanted to get away, far away; Brent and Richard let me stay with them in their beautiful apartment?—"
"Where did you know them from?" asked Clayton, interrupting, taking another small swallow of eggnog.
"They came to the campus and did one of those presentations, you know, do you want to be a CPA, do you want to be a high-priced lawyer."
"Is that what they are?"
"Yes," said Kyle, laughing. "I was doing software, so I finished with that. They make a lot of money, but they're always working, it seems, too much to enjoy their own apartment. I came out here where there are a lot of software jobs and found one where I could work from home. I bought this property last year, or maybe it was a year and a half ago, fixed it up, and here I am."
"All alone," said Clayton.
"Yeah," said Kyle. "But I have my dream, you know the one."
"Yeah, I do," said Clayton, and the idea of it seemed to make more sense now. Kyle was getting himself settled in his own head, probably still reeling after the rejection of his parents the way Clayton had after the rejection of his sister. It took time to get over something like that, and he was glad that Kyle had had such good friends to help him out.
They finished decorating the tree to Kyle's exacting standards and turned off the music. Kyle popped more popcorn on the stove, sprinkling it with salt, drizzling it with butter.
"There's an older black and white version from 1938," said Kyle as he settled near Clayton on the couch, tucking the bowl of popcorn between them. "But I like this one better." Using the remote, Kyle switched on the last of the versions ofA Christmas Carol, the old black and white one from 1951, starring Alastair Sim.
"Sounds good," said Clayton. At this point, Kyle could haveregaled him with stories of his dreams of the open road, or made him watch a documentary on the history of fishes and it wouldn't have mattered. He was more content and relaxed than he'd been in years, since before his parents had died, making all the Christmases that followed seem a waste of time.
The movie was a really good, enjoyable version, which surprised Clayton, but at times the story got short shrift as they floated in and out of conversation, always with the bowl of popcorn tucked between them as they sat close on the couch. Clayton told himself he'd moved toward Kyle so that he wouldn't have to lean to see around the Christmas tree branches, but really, it was nice to be close, sitting just like this, listening to Kyle talk. He stretched both his arms, holding the glass with eggnog and rum gently cupped in one hand. The other hand just about brushed the middle of Kyle's warm back.
Kyle described the truck he was going to get to haul his 28 foot Airstream with a pair of twin beds in the back. And how one of the twin beds would be turned into a workstation, where he could do his leather work and keep his tools all in one place.
"I'll keep my supplies in the back of the truck, I think," said Kyle, whispering a little as though they were in a movie theater with other patrons who might be disturbed by the level of detail in Kyle's dream life.
"Why don't you just get the Classic," said Clayton, whispering back, not taking his eyes from the TV screen, though all of his attention was focused on Kyle. "You'll have more room to store your stuff without taking up a whole bed for your supplies and tools."
"You know Airstream trailers?" asked Kyle, not whispering now, his voice rising with surprise as he turned on the couch. As he did this, he nearly upset the popcorn bowl, which Clayton steadied with one quick hand that he dropped between them.
"Sure," said Clayton, talking normally now. "I drive so much in the company truck, I get a hankering to slow down and stayat some of the lovely places I see on the road. Every now and then, I stop at the dealers to look at the new models, you know? Just to appease my wanderlust."
Kyle was watching him with those wide eyes of his, the blue of them touched with silver from the glitter on the Christmas tree and the black and white images on the TV screen. He had beautiful eyes and a lovely, quirky mouth, and such a passion for everything that Clayton found himself leaning towards him as if they meant to kiss. But at the last minute, he realized that he'd had too much to drink, and that he ought not to be hitting on his host, not if he was being a good Christmas guest, which he promised himself he'd be.
Instead, he leaned back and groused to himself about missed chances and never being able to go back to that moment. Then again, he'd only known Kyle a little more than twenty-four hours, and it wouldn't do to make a pass. Kyle deserved better, and it was then that Clayton realized he needed to remove himself from the situation if he was having thoughts like that.
Keeping that in mind, he casually relaxed into the couch until the movie was over, and stretched when Kyle got up to turn off the TV and the Christmas lights.
"I have stockings," said Kyle, with a little laugh. "Of course I do, but they've got Brent and Richard's names on them. And mine, as well."
"That's okay," said Clayton as he got up from the couch. "I don't need a stocking."
"Oh, yes you do," said Kyle, firmly, in that way of his when he wanted what he wanted. "I'm a good Christmas host, and you shall have a stocking. Look, they're right here."
With a bit of laughter, they hung up the three stockings because it seemed to please Kyle to see them there, just as he'd planned.
"What about presents?" asked Clayton. "Is Santa going to bring those as well as fill the stockings?"
