Christmastime in the City
by Gail (gem225@hotmail.com)
alternating Brian's and Michael's povs, part number to be assigned later, but after Wine, Man, and Song
Rating: adult
Please do not archive this story without asking me first. The copyright belongs to me.
The title of this story is taken from a line in "Silver Bells".
This story is an extremely belated birthday present (1/7/06) for dearest Tinnean, who beta'd it too, for which I thank her profusely. Since I'm posting it the day after Scarlet's birthday (7/25/06), she can take it as a present, if she likes, and if not, then not.
*****
(Brian)
Since Christmas fell this year on a Tuesday, I decided not to try to visit my family. I told them that in a phone call three weeks before Christmas, and they said that they understood my decision and that they thought it was a good one, that they'd miss me, that they'd send me my presents the next day, and that I was welcome home any time. I told them I'd be home some weekend soon, and meant it - I loved my parents and missed them - and sent their presents off the next day as well, well in time for them to get them and put them under the tree.
I knew that part of the reason that I didn't take some vacation time - I had it, and it wouldn't have been a problem to take it - was because of Michael. I was pretty sure that he'd spend it with his family or that if he didn't he'd spend it with friends - and that wasn't a problem. The problem was that I didn't want to go home and have to lie to my family about who I was seeing. I didn't feel right telling them that I was seeing a man and then not be able to tell them his name or anything else about him. They'd want to know that, and they'd want to know when they'd get to meet him. I knew that they'd keep my secret, but I'd given Michael my word, and I wasn't going to break it. No, better to make my own Christmas. I'd done it before. I'd be fine.
I'd spend a quiet Christmas at home, watching my tape of 'It's A Wonderful Life' followed by 'A Charlie Brown Christmas' after a dinner of roast chicken, a baked potato or mashed if I got ambitious. I'd listen to holiday music and take it easy and have some coffee and butter cookies for dessert. It would be nice.
I pushed my cart through the grocery store the day before Christmas as I thought this out again. Why was it taking so much from me to make a simple decision? Why did I keep going over it, questioning it, rationalizing, justifying? What was I avoiding by doing this?
Because what I wanted was to spend Christmas with Michael.
I'd loved our Beaujolais Day together, and he'd seemed to enjoy it too. Maybe next year we'd celebrate Christmas together, early if necessary, but I didn't feel as though it would be wise of me to try to arrange it this year. We'd been together a while, but Michael still had his issues. I'd picked out a cashmere sweater for him, which I'd give to him when I saw him again, and I'd sent him a card. He'd sent me one too. He'd signed it with a formal 'Sincerely, Michael Barry,' but it had a price on the back, so it wasn't from a boxed set. He'd picked it out for me.
Yes, I'd have a merry Christmas, and I'd have Michael in the coming year even if I couldn't have him naked with a big red bow on his cock waiting for me by my tree.
I laughed out loud, and a woman pushing her cart down the same aisle gave me a puzzled look. I smiled at her to reassure her, and she smiled back, but hurried to the end of the aisle.
Well, some people weren't interested in humoring the happy, or as they thought, the insane. I was happy and I knew it.
I picked out a steak to have that night - something Michael would approve of, I was sure - and kept shopping.
*****
(Michael)
I stared at the check that had fluttered out of the envelope and its blank piece of paper. Nice of my father to think of me at all during the holidays, but unnecessary. I was long past being grateful for two-hundred-dollar checks. I didn't need the money, and he didn't care enough to figure out what I did need, or, to be fair, he assumed that I was like him and would be happy with money. At least he hadn't let the current wife pick out a present. That would have been something I'd have hated. I'd bet money on it.
Christmas. I was alone on Christmas. I didn't have anyone who wanted to spend Christmas with me.
Ridiculous self-pity, and I was indulging in it. I'd stop that, now. I had people I could have spent Christmas with, but I'd chosen not to. I'd looked forward to a day to myself, and it had been a good one. I'd slept in, read a novel I'd had for a while, listened to some CDs There was no reason to get idiotic about being alone now. I had food I could heat up if I got hungry, and I had wine and spirits to drink, and sweets in the gift basket my sisters had sent me. Surprising that they'd managed to agree on anything, but it was the season of miracles.
I put the check back in the envelope. Tomorrow I'd deposit it in the bank and spend it on something or other. Maybe I should spend it on something for Brian. My father would hate the thought of him.
Brian. What was he doing today? He'd be somewhere, having fun. People liked him.
They liked me too, dammit. Enough with the self-pity.
I picked up my glass. Empty. I could get more water, but I'd gotten a good bottle of scotch from my Secret Santa at work, so why not switch to that? Hell, it was Christmas. I'd have a drink or two, then go back to water. Then I'd go to bed so that I'd be rested for work in the morning.
*****
Good scotch. How many had I had now? Three? Four? Three sounded right, but I wasn't sure. Still, whatever. It didn't matter. Looked like time for another. It was still early, right? Right. Only nine-thirty. Lots of time before I had to go to bed.
Not like I wanted to go to bed. It'd be cold and lonely there. Better to stay up and keep drinking. I was an adult. I could stay up as long as I damned well wanted. I could do anything I damned well wanted to do. Work - I could go in late tomorrow, or even call in sick. Not too many people would be interested in pursuing legal issues the day after Christmas.
I pushed myself off the couch. Damn, I was drunker than I'd thought. I'd better break out the food, but I still wasn't hungry, so why bother?
I should call Brian and tell him to get over here. He'd want to spend Christmas with me - he was that kind of sentimental fool. But he'd probably gone home to his family. He'd talked about them some. They sounded nice, the kind of people my father would look down on. Well, fuck him. If they made Brian happy I liked them.
I should have told Brian to stay home and spend Christmas with me. That was what was bothering me. I missed him and I hated that I missed him and I wanted him, now.
I made my way into the kitchen and filled my glass with water instead of scotch. I didn't like where my thoughts had gone. I didn't miss Brian. I wanted him, but that was all right. Missing him, though - not all right.
*****
After some potato chips and water, I settled back on the couch with a glass of water and another of scotch. Now what? Nothing on TV I would be interested in, and I didn't feel like watching anyway.
I was restless and bored when I should be content. Something wasn't right, and I didn't like that. Maybe bed was the right place for me.
But I wasn't sleepy.
It was too bad Brian wasn't around. Fucking him would be fun. But he wasn't and that was that.
I took a long sip of the scotch, then another. Very nice. I hoped whomever had given it to me had gotten something just as nice.
I could call Brian, confirm that he wasn't there. Then I'd be able to stop thinking about him, have a drink or two more, relax, get some sleep. Maybe I'd leave a message on his machine and he'd call me when he got back and want to come running. He'd be desperate for me by then, whenever then was.
Yes, I'd do that.
I set down the glass and reached for the phone, hit the speed button for his number - I hated dialing - and listened to it ring.
*****
(Brian)
Was that the phone? I hit the pause button and listened. Yes, it was.
I put down the remote and hurried into the kitchen. Maybe it was my family again, calling to tell me how their day had gone. They'd called late morning to wish me a merry Christmas, and I knew that they wanted to be sure I was all right.
"Hello?"
"Brian?"
Michael, and he sounded startled and not quite himself. "Yes. Merry Christmas, Michael." His card had been a Christmas one, not a holiday one, so I was safe saying that. "It's good to hear from you."
"You're not with your family, or wait, did you forward your calls?"
"No. I'm here. Work tomorrow, you know."
"Yeah, work." He was quiet a moment. "Listen, I've got food here. Come over. Keep me company."
Keep him company - that sounded like a wonderful idea. I started smiling and couldn't stop.
"Well?"
He sounded impatient. Of course - I hadn't answered him.
"I'll be there as soon as the subway will get me there."
"Take a cab, dammit. I'll pay for it. I want you here now."
Had the phone rung at all or had I fallen asleep while watching 'It's a Wonderful Life' and was now dreaming this? I pinched my arm. No, I was awake, unless I was dreaming the pinching... no, I wouldn't get metaphysical. Michael was really on the phone on Christmas night, asking me over and saying that he wanted me there now with that impatient note I loved hearing.
"All right." It would be quicker to take the subway, and I would if I didn't find a cab waiting outside, which I doubted I would, but it would make him happier to hear that I'd do what he wanted.
"Good. Get going then. You're hungry?"
"Yes." I'd had some dinner, but I hadn't been too hungry. I was hungrier now. If Michael wanted to feed me, I'd eat.
Was he drunk? Possibly? Did I care? No. I'd take this and be glad of it. I loved him. Maybe tonight I'd get the chance to show him.
"I'll make us some sandwiches. Just get over here."
"I will, Michael."
"Good." His voice softened. "I hate being alone. I'm glad you'll be here with me."
The world was ending, but I didn't care as long as I could spend it with Michael. "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else."
"Like hearing that."
And I liked being able to say that. "See you soon."
"Yeah."
I hung up the phone as soon as I was sure he'd hung up and went for my jacket, shutting the movie and TV off on the way.
Michael wanted to see me on Christmas. I'd gotten the best present.
*****
Michael flung open the door a bare second after I knocked, with a big smile on his face. I smiled back, then gasped when he grabbed my arm and dragged me inside.
"Hi there." He wrapped his arms around me, and even before he planted his lips on mine, I smelled the liquor he'd been drinking. Well, that answered one question - he was drunk, or at least not sober. Not that I minded. It was wonderful to have Michael so free and happy with me. I just hoped that tomorrow, when he was sober again, he'd either not remember or not worry about whatever he'd done, but that was tomorrow. I'd enjoy tonight and hope this would be the first of many relaxed times we'd have together.
He lifted his lips off mine, and I smiled at him. "Hi, Michael."
He didn't let go of me. "You took long enough, dammit."
That was more the Michael I knew.
"Traffic, nothing more."
"Yeah. Well, you're here now and you're not leaving." He squeezed me. "Can you take tomorrow off? I'm gonna. I don't need to be there. No one else'll be except a couple of people to answer the phones, and they'll have nothing to do since no one'll call. Don't know why I ever thought I had to go in."
"You could have gone home, then."
He released me - not something I wanted - and glared. "I *am* home. What other home would I have?"
He'd mentioned his father a time or two, but nothing more than that. "I'm sorry. I assumed your parents were around." And that they'd want to spend time with him, just as mine would with me.
He snorted. "My father's off on a cruise with Stepmother Number... hell if I know any more. Anyway, they're off and having a blast, I guess."
And his father and stepmother hadn't invited him to join them? Well, they were adults, and maybe this was the only time they could get away together, but still... it didn't seem right to me. They could have come to Boston and spent the day with him, at least.
"It's too bad you couldn't go with them." I knew that I was taking a chance keeping on the same subject, from the frown on his face, but I wanted to know. How could anyone not want him around?
He laughed in a way I thought was sour. "Your parents wanted you home for Christmas, right?"
"Why, yes."
"Yeah. Well, not all parents are like yours, Brian. Trust me on that." He turned away. "I promised you food. You hungry?"
I took off my coat and hung it up, then put his present down. I'd give it to him later. So his parents did not want to spend time with him. That was sad, and their loss. It was time to let that subject go, though. "Food would be good." I wanted to be sure that he ate. "What is there?" I had room for something, but not a whole plate of heavy food.
"There's a roast chicken and... stuff. I ate some of the chips, but I think there's another bag. Hope so. I like chips."
"Let's go see."
"You didn't answer my question. Can you take tomorrow off?"
"Yes." There was work for me to do, but there always was, and nothing was urgent enough for me not to be able to take the day off. And Michael wanted me with him. That was even more of a present.
"Good. C'mon, let's get you some food."
I followed him into the kitchen. "Wouldn't you like something?"
"Not hungry." He opened the refrigerator and rummaged around in it. "Dammit, where the hell's the food? I know my housekeeper told me there'd be something here. I paid her extra."
I swallowed my smile at how petulant he sounded. "Let me look."
"Fine, you look." He pushed himself up and stepped back, giving me just enough room to get closer. "Maybe I've had too many drinks. I don't know. I just... dammit, it's Christmas and I'm tired and you're here..." He stopped. "You find anything?"
I had, but there was something I had to do first. I stood, got my arms around him, and hugged him. "I'm here, and I'm glad to be."
He hugged me back, but only for a moment, then he let go. I'd expected that. I wanted to tell him that I loved him and that I was so glad to be there with him and that he could always count on me, but it wasn't fair of me to push him. I'd go along with what he needed tonight.
"Yes." I took out some containers. "Now let's see what's in them."
I put the containers on the counter and opened the lids. Michael stood right behind me, and I liked it. "Roast chicken, some kind of green bean dish - "
"Hope it's got bacon in it. I love green beans with bacon."
I couldn't stop my smile at that. "It looks to have bacon."
"Cool." I could feel him crane to see too. "Yeah, and those crunchy fried onion things on top. Great."
"And there's some salad, roast beef, and macaroni and cheese."
"Pile what you want on a plate, and I'll stick it in the microwave."
"What will you have? I'll fix yours too."
"Don't bother. I'm not hungry. There's bread over there if you want a sandwich. What are you doing?"
I kept picking up the containers. "Michael, you invited me over to have dinner with you. If you're not going to eat, I'm not going to either."
I was stubborn. Perhaps Michael didn't realize that.
"That's stupid. If you're hungry, eat."
Michael was stubborn too, but on this matter I was determined to be more stubborn.
"So what will you have?" I stood with all but two of the containers I'd taken out in my arms.
"Dammit, you're the fucking stubbornest man on Earth." He grabbed the top container away from me. "Fine, I'll eat."
I put the rest of the containers back down and resisted the urge to gloat, instead opening them again. "Would you get down two plates, please?"
He muttered something that sounded like 'fucking *stubborn*' and moved over to the cabinet with the plates, and I grinned. Yes, I was, and it would behoove him to get that through his head now.
*****
All I could get Michael to eat was a helping of the green bean dish and a slice of cold roast beef, but it was better than nothing. He heaped my plate, and I finished it all.
"Good to see you eat."
"I like eating."
"Want me to get you another plateful?"
"No, thank you."
"There's lots."
"I know, but I'm full now."
"O.K. I'm gonna make a habit of making sure you eat from now on."
"I like that idea. Next time, let's go out to dinner."
He stopped smiling and just stared at me, and I cursed myself. Nice one. Why had I brought that up? Things were going so well, and I had to go and throw out something I knew he'd never go for.
Then he smiled. "Yeah, we could. You got somewhere you want me to try?"
If this was what drinking did to my Michael, I'd keep him drunk for the rest of our lives. No, that would be bad for him and wrong, but I was tempted nonetheless.
"Yes, I do, and I'll bet you have some restaurants I'd love."
"Yeah. Next time, then."
God, I loved him so much. I smiled and nodded to answer him.
He gave me one of the most brilliant smiles I'd ever seen from him and leaned back. "You're not gonna take off on me, right?"
"You want me, I'm here." I could say that now. He... he wanted me there.
"Yeah, I want you." He yawned. "Tired. Let's go to bed."
Would he ever be like this again? Possibly not, but it didn't matter. I had him now, the way I'd wanted him for a long time - relaxed, open, happy. Mine.
"Bed it is, then. Just let me get these plates in the kitchen."
He waved an imperious hand. "Nope. Leave 'em there. I want you in my bed and I don't want to wait." He yawned again. "Shit. Don't know why I'm so damned tired."
"How much did you drink?" More than was wise, I was sure.
"Lots." He lifted his glass and drained it. "But I'm through now."
I was glad to hear that.
He put the glass down, pushed himself up with an effort, and reached his hand out toward me. "Come *on*. I said it was bedtime."
Would this be what it was like, living with him? If so, I'd be fine with it. I could make his life better. He didn't have a tree up, or any decorations, or even any cards to show that anyone had remembered him. I was very glad that I hadn't gone to my parents' for Christmas after all.
I smiled up at him and stood. "Yes, Michael."
"Like the way you say that." His voice was husky. "Like lots about you. You know that?"
"Yes, I know that." I hoped he heard how touched I was by what he said, and that tomorrow if he remembered he wouldn't hate me for it.
"Good. Bed. You'll keep me warm. I get so damned cold by myself."
"Call me. I'll come anytime."
"Yeah? You say that now, but you don't mean it. No one means that. Raoul - " He stopped, and I asked before I could convince myself not to.
"Who's Raoul?"
"He was this guy who... dammit, when it came down to it, he didn't give a fuck about me." He turned away. "I... I'm drunk. Never mind about him. He's been gone for a hell of a long time. He doesn't matter now. Don't know why I brought him up. You coming to bed?"
I wanted to know more about this Raoul who'd hurt my Michael so badly, but he didn't want to talk about him, and I knew enough. Michael had cared about him, and he'd abandoned Michael in some kind of crisis. Maybe someday Michael would tell me.
And maybe someday Michael would admit he loved me.
Neither seemed like much of a bet, but I loved Michael, and I'd be fine.
I took enough steps to be able to touch his shoulder. "Yes, of course." Spending the night with Michael was something I wasn't going to miss.
"Good." He yawned again. "Shouldn't've drunk so much. Dumb."
"Everyone overindulges at Christmas. You're not dumb."
"Yeah, but I'll have a hangover."
"Some water and aspirin will help with that."
He turned, with a smile that made me want to take him in my arms and never let him go. "You like taking care of people."
"Yes." I liked taking care of him more than of anyone else. "Let's go get you some water and aspirin."
"Used to take a cold shower to get rid of a hangover." He grinned. "Wanna come in with me?"
"Only if you insist. And I think a warm shower would do just as well." Cold showers, the devil's work.
He threw back his head and laughed. "OK, OK, no cold showers for you. Got it. Now c'mon so we can go to bed."
*****
I'd hoped for something more than Michael falling asleep, but that was not to be. He was snoring a few breaths after his head was on the pillow. The light was still on, and I watched him. Christmas night, and I was here with him. Maybe next year he wouldn't drink so much, and we'd celebrate with some lovemaking.
Maybe I could wake him in the morning with a blow job. He'd like that.
He'd asked me to take tomorrow off and spend it with him. Probably in the morning he'd deny that and head off to work, but he *had* asked.
He muttered and turned over, away from the light, and I shut it off, then slid down and curled my arm around him. He sighed and relaxed against me.
Tomorrow was its own problem. I had Michael with me tonight, and that was what I'd focus on.
******
(Michael)
I yawned and opened my eyes. Was this warm person against me Brian? I hoped so.
I managed to turn over - not easy with how close I was being held - and checked. Yes, that was Brian's arm.
Right - I'd asked him over last night, we'd talked, eaten, laughed - I'd even said things to him I'd never believed I'd say, but I was drunk, and he probably had been too. Everyone got drunk on Christmas. It was the law or something. There was nothing to worry about.
He opened his eyes and smiled at me. "Good morning, Michael."
"Morning."
He squeezed me, then let go and sat up. "I'll get some coffee going. Are you going to work today?"
I had a vague recollection of having said that I wouldn't the night before, but I could be wrong. "Yes, but not until later." I didn't have a hangover, but I liked the thought of lazing around with Brian. "You'll stay?"
"Yes. As long as you want me."
He would, too. But I didn't say that.
"Fine."
He threw off the covers, and I grabbed them back. "Where do you think you're going?"
"To make coffee."
I laughed and found his dick with my right hand. "No, you're going to stay here with me. I want you."
His dick hardened in my hand. "I want you too."
"Good." I squeezed his erection, and he shivered. "Ah, Brian - " I stopped. I'd been about to say that I loved having him with me. What the hell was I thinking? I was not going to say that.
"Yes?"
I still wanted to say that, dammit. "Hands and knees."
He didn't move. "I don't want you to fuck me now." What? "I want to suck your cock until you come."
Ah, well, if he didn't want to get fucked, he didn't. I could deal with getting my dick sucked without any problem. "What are you waiting for?"
He gave me one of the hungriest looks I'd ever seen from him and dove into my crotch. Within a few breaths I was coming into his mouth.
God, he was good.
He was up by my side again, his dick in his hand, panting and moaning, and I realized he was close to coming. Not like that, he wasn't.
"Brian. Stop."
His hand stilled and he looked up at me. "Michael?"
"Let me get you off."
"You don't have to - "
I grabbed his erection, and he moaned. "You're in my bed, and you're telling me I don't have to do something? Trust me," I was close enough to lick his lips, and I did, "I do what I want here."
"Oh god, yes, please, Michael!"
He shuddered, and I kept licking his lips as I worked his dick with my hand. Soon he was breathless and gasping, and soon after that he moaned loudly and came. I liked knowing I could make him get off so hard.
"Michael?" He was still breathing hard. I was good.
I reached for a tissue and wiped off my hand. "Yes?"
He kissed my shoulder. "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
"I'm very glad you invited me over last night." He was smiling at me.
I was glad I had too. "Yes. I'm... glad you were home."
"It's not like you to say things like that," he said softly and put his arm around me. "Another Christmas gift. Thank you." He squeezed and didn't let go, and I didn't want him to. But after a few moments I disengaged.
"You said something about coffee."
"Yes. I'll go make some. Laze around if you want. I'll bring you a mug."
"I'll get up - "
"No. Please. Just stay here."
It was nice and warm in bed, and he was already up. "All right."
"Thank you." He pulled up his jeans and hurried out, and I let out a long breath and relaxed back into the pillows.
I could get used to him being there in the morning. Maybe it would be good if I had him stay over more often. He could store a spare outfit or two - it wasn't like he dressed that much for work - and it would make him feel more wanted. Brian liked feeling wanted. I knew that.
And god knows I did want him. It was scary how much, but I was handling it and I wasn't going to give him up and no one could make me and it was under control, I had it all under control.
"Michael?"
I opened my eyes to see Brian there with two mugs of coffee and a box wrapped in bright blue shiny paper with silver bells and stars printed on it under his arm.
"I wasn't sleeping. Just thinking."
"Happy thoughts, I hope."
"Yes." I took one of the mugs from him. "What is that?"
"Your Christmas present. I should have given it to you last night, but I forgot. Open it, please." He sat down on the bed, and I took the box from him. A present. I hadn't gotten him anything. Stupid of me. It was so like Brian to do this. I should have known he'd show up with a present for me. I'd use the money my father had given me, get him something appropriate.
"But your present hasn't arrived yet." Well, because I hadn't bought it.
He smiled. "I don't mind waiting for mine, but I don't want to wait to see you open this. Please, Michael."
I smiled too. "You're sure?"
He leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. "As sure as when I went to bed with you that first time."
I couldn't argue with that. Well, I could have, but I didn't. I wanted to see what he'd gotten me. I didn't want to wait.
When I got the paper off of the box and the box open, I saw that he'd gotten me some kind of clothing, blue and gray and purple. I lifted it out of the tissue and held it up. A sweater. The kind of sweater I'd have picked for myself. I looked at the label. Cashmere, as I'd suspected. I loved cashmere.
"If it's the wrong size, tell me and I'll take it back."
I held it against my torso. "It looks like it'll fit me just fine."
His smile was blinding. "I'm glad."
He'd spent some serious money on this, and he'd put in the time to select something I'd like. "I'll wear it today."
"You like it, then."
"I like it very much." Did I have anything for breakfast? Probably not, dammit. Well, I wasn't that hungry. Maybe he wasn't either. Or maybe there was something he could have for breakfast. Granola bars? I used to have them. Or Pop Tarts. I hadn't had them in too long. I'd have to stock up again. Funny how I'd thought of them again.
"You've made me very happy." He blinked, then stood. "You stay here. I'll make breakfast. You'll eat it?"
He wanted to cook for me. I'd spent Christmas alone, except for him. My family... fuck them. I was tired of worrying about their opinion of me. "I certainly will, but there's a very good chance there's nothing to cook."
He laughed. "You have bread, so we can have toast, and with the coffee that's breakfast enough for me."
He had a talent for making the best of things. "Butter too."
"See? We're all set. I'll call you when it's ready."
He was out of the room before I could say anything more, and I let myself relax. It was really nice having him here the morning after Christmas. Really nice.
*****
(Brian)
I couldn't stop smiling on my way back to the subway. I'd spent the evening with Michael, the night, and the morning. He'd liked my gift, he'd made love with me, he'd been happy and open and caring.
Maybe we had more of a future than I'd dared to let myself hope.
*****
Posted 7/25/06
