"Sounds good," said Clayton, a little tremble to his mouth. He stood up too, and wondered, his heart beating hard, if he should wait for that kiss or step forward and ask for it. He wanted both, he wanted either. He wanted what Kyle wanted.
Kyle crooked his finger at Clayton and Clayton, in a daze, stumbled forward. His sock-footed toes met Kyle's sock-footed toes as he placed a hand on Kyle's slender waist, lightly, so that Kyle could move where he wanted. He tipped his head down and kissed Kyle's sweet mouth.
That mouth tasted a little like salt and a little like butter, but it was good, like a dreamy Christmas gift he'd not been expecting. He felt the flicker of Kyle's tongue across his lower lip, and then it was gone. He straightened up and lifted his head and smiled, rubbing his thumb across his mouth.
"Our first Christmas kiss," said Clayton, soft, a shiverrunning through him, a deep river beneath that of something else that felt more like desire than he could have imagined.
"Not our last, I think," said Kyle. "Now, go pick that movie and let me get used to you slowly."
Heart still beating hard, Clayton focused on the task of getting a movie going on the flat-screen TV. Then he needlessly plumped the pillows on the couch and rose on his tiptoes as he watched Kyle come into the living room. He had two glasses of rum-laced eggnog, one in each hand, and his mouth was curved in a smile that held secrets and promises, as if wonderful ideas were racing behind those blue eyes that looked at Clayton. He hoped there were, wonderful ideas and dreams that they could chase together.
His jaw worked as they sat down, and Kyle handed him his glass. He'd not expected this for Christmas, not at all, and while he wasn't afraid of it, he was on the verge of thinking that he didn't quite deserve it. That is, until Kyle leaned against Clayton, forcing his way into the crook of Clayton's shoulder, and the only thing Clayton could do was to lift his arm and lower it around Kyle. Which he did, gently and carefully, until his arm was settled and he could feel the warmth of Kyle's body like a hearth fire.
"Easy now," said Kyle as he leaned his weight into Clayton. His hand reached out to gently pat Clayton's thigh, an intimate, slow gesture that was comforting and exciting at the same time. "We're just going to watch a movie and drink our eggnog and talk the way couples do when the main part of Christmas day is over and we're winding down before we start planning for next year."
"The way couples do," said Clayton, swallowing, nervous and pleased all at once.
"Yes," said Kyle. He held out his glass so that Clayton could clink his glass against Kyle's. "The way couples do."
This made the warmth and joy inside of Clayton, which hadbegun as a tiny dot only two days ago, blossom full force, and he had to catch his breath. But Kyle's body was warm and close beside him, and Kyle was focused on that movie, and everything else was still and quiet and peaceful.
Clayton made himself breathe slowly until he settled down, though that warmth and joy was still inside him in a way that it had not been since before his parents died. This was good, this was very good, and he didn't have to run at it and grab it or chase it, like he'd always felt he had to with everything else in his life. He could sit very quietly, and it would simply be there with him, the way it was now.
The calmness he felt while the movie blathered on was good, and he drank his eggnog, and rounded his mouth around the taste of rum, and just was. With Kyle leaning against him, breathing steadily, warm and sweet and wonderful.
That is, until Kyle drained the last of his eggnog and leaned forward to put the empty glass on the coffee table. Was serious conversation about to start? Clayton didn't know that he was up for that, though he knew it had to happen, eventually. He just wanted this moment, and a million others like it, to simply go on and on until the end of time.
Kyle shifted against him and scooted until he could wrap his arm around Clayton's waist. Then he snuggled firmly against Clayton with his head full upon Clayton's shoulder.
"Where does the F-150 come in?" asked Kyle, surprising him. "I know I mentioned a truck and an Airstream, but where did the F-150 come from?"
"You need a truck like that," said Clayton, grateful to be given a subject he knew, and promised himself that he'd do the same for Kyle, over and over, whenever Kyle needed it. "You need one that's big, maybe even something bigger than that, to haul a thirty-foot Airstream?—"
"Thirty feet?" asked Kyle, his voice rising.
He looked up at Clayton and the lights in his eyes was sovery blue and handsome that Clayton wanted to lean down then and there and start on their second kiss. But he restrained himself.
"Why do I need thirty feet of Airstream?" asked Kyle, his voice serious, like this was a familiar and comfortable old argument between them. "I was looking at one of the littler ones?—"
"You need thirty feet so you can have your supplies inside the trailer, so you can work on them," said Clayton, happily responding in kind. "You need to have what you need inside, without having to go back and forth to your truck bed to get anything. Like in bad weather."
"And there needs to be a place for you and me, I guess," said Kyle, the tease in his voice, and the flirt in his eyes making Clayton's spine shiver. "At night. To keep each other warm."
"Yes, there's that," said Clayton, his voice cracking a bit. He smiled, half to himself, and leaned down to get that second Christmas kiss, and this one tasted sweet with rum. "There's that."
Together they settled back on the couch and watched the movie, which Clayton couldn't focus on, all of his attention being on Kyle. When he shifted, when he stroked Clayton's thigh, when he snuggled closer, his hand around Clayton's back, his fingers twined in a wrinkle of Clayton's t-shirt. There were richer men than he, more powerful men, but none more contented than he was at being right where he was. Watching a movie on Christmas day, the way couples do.
CHAPTER 12
Three quarters of the way through the movie, Kyle's phone rang in the kitchen, and seeing as both of them had people who knew where they were, he got up and went into the kitchen to answer it. Clayton listened with half an ear, not wanting to intrude, but when Kyle's voice rose with laughter, he got up from the couch and went to the kitchen doorway. There, he leaned against the doorjamb a little bit, so that Kyle could tell him to go away if he wanted to.
"Oh yes," said Kyle, nodding, gesturing Clayton closer. "He's not an axe murderer, I am quite sure. And he makes the best grilled cheese—no, it's better than yours, he uses regular cheddar and not all that fancy stuff, and guess what—wait a second, I'm telling you, he's invited me to his sister's tomorrow, if the roads are clear?—"
Kyle listened for a moment and then held the phone out to Clayton.
"They want to talk to you," said Kyle. "It's Brent and Richard."
Gingerly, Clayton took the phone from Kyle's hand and held it to his ear.
