Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Edries

S omewhere around four this evening the wind starts to howl like we’re no longer in a magical Christmas wonderland but in a Halloween haunted forest. It rattles the windows and makes the fire dance and flicker. Bursts of cold sweep through the hot cabin as the snow whips around the outside in strong torrents of wind.

We remain tucked together. Eating. Curled up on the couch watching Christmas movies. Enjoying our eggnog in front of the fire and tree. At the end of the last movie, when Gabe’s eyes are lazily trying to stay open, I pull him to his feet.

He laughs as he stumbles, and I gather him in my arms. The music on the rolling credits is soft, sweet, and filled with Christmas spirit. I pull him close and dance a slow circuit around the room until we end up rocking in front of the fire and tree.

Gabe sighs, his face tucked into my neck. I hold him close, committing this moment to memory so I can think back on it for the rest of my life. This single perfect moment that might never have come if Bernice had continued to be the fake, controlling force in my life. I might have never experienced another magical Christmas. The joy of watching someone’s face light up when they open a present that takes their breath away. The simple pleasure of sharing something magical and meaningful with someone else who appreciates it the same way you do.

Bernice showing her true colors was a blessing. One I can barely remember why I was so upset over right now. If it weren’t for the way she dictated my life and sucked the color and joy out of it, I might not have ever made it to this moment where everything is so bright and flawless. I might never get to taste what she deemed peasant food again—which, if you ask me, is far superior to the food I’ve been eating for the past fifteen years.

Gabe’s yawn makes me smile. I rest my head against his for a minute before asking, “Ready for bed, baby?”

He hums. “Yeah.”

I kiss his cheek. “I’ll get the fireplaces settled. Go get ready for bed.”

When he doesn’t remark about me tending to the fires as a perk he purchased when he paid for the room, I know he truly is tired. I kiss him again and then watch him walk down the hall. My heart beats erratically as I go through the methodical motions of making sure the fires are prepped. With the way the wind whips down the chimney, I’m likely going to have to get up at some point in the night and make sure they’re okay.

Gabe climbs into bed as I’m finishing with the fireplace in the bedroom. He yawns big and I smile as I take my turn in the bathroom. I find my way to the bed in the dancing shadows of the fire. I’m not sure we’ve turned the light on in the bedroom yet. Actually… there might have been a lamp on that first night. It’s hard to recall. It was so long ago and yet, it feels like it was just yesterday.

Pulling Gabe into my chest, I press soft kisses over his face. “I don’t want today to end,” he says, sighing. “It’s been the best Christmas in so long.”

“I was just thinking that,” I say.

“Then let’s not end yet,” he says, shifting so he can press his face to mine. “Tell me something. ”

“Sure. What do you want to know?”

Gabe yawns again and shakes his head. “Anything.”

I’m pretty sure that he’s going to fall asleep any moment, but I consider my life and tell him something random from childhood. I feel his smile as I talk. His fingers move along my bare skin softly.

This is how we spend hours. We talk about nothing and everything. We talk about our birthdays—I’m nearly a decade older, but not quite. We talk about how we used to celebrate them growing up and what we’ve done since adulthood.

We talk about our favorites—colors, people, states, hobbies, food, vacations, friends. We follow up with our biggest dislikes, too. Gabe despises yellow, which he finds very inconvenient since his soccer team’s colors are yellow and green.

We talk about our childhoods. Our first loves. Our favorite memories. We talk about sex. Our experiences, experiments, most embarrassing moments, our likes, the things we’d like to try. We talk about our fantasies.

We spend a long time talking about my sexuality, since this thing with a guy is entirely new. I’m left with the conclusion that maybe I’m bisexual, but I fall closest to the side that has me being attracted to women. He talked about some kind of scale and while I was listening, it was one of those moments where I just mentally sat back and thought, ‘wow, I’m with a man right now and nothing has ever felt this good.’

So I might have missed a lot about the gay scale talk because of my internal moment of surprise. But not freaking out, or even a little concerned because of it. I’ve always been indifferent on the topic of sexuality. The thought that people cared so much about what another person does when it doesn’t affect you has always just been flabbergasting to me. Do they really have so little going on in their lives that they can focus that much hate and energy to bully two women holding hands? Are their lives so empty that they can dedicate their fucking breath to trying to control what two men do behind closed doors ?

Don’t even get me started on other sensitive topics. People have far too much time on their hands. I think they just need more fulfilling lives. In my opinion, the reason they have such a loud view on whatever topic they’re so extreme about is to cover up their own insecurities. Gay men offend you? Probably because you’ve been attracted to a man, and it’s freaked you out. Otherwise, why the fuck do you care?!

Yes, this was the avenue my thoughts went on while Gabe was talking about the gay-straight scale. It even had a name. Started with a K, I think.

We talk about the places we want to see. The things we want to experience. Our dreams and greatest fears. We talk about Gabe’s career and my, uh… career, I suppose. I’m a born rich boy who’s grown his fortune with some smart investing. While I have a lot to say on the matter, most people just roll their eyes. Another rich guy telling everyone how rich he is.

Gabe doesn’t do that. He listens, asking questions frequently. I’m not sure anyone has ever truly listened to me talk about what I’ve accomplished, what I’d like to accomplish still, what I’ve learned and wouldn’t do again. But Gabe listens to it all.

Our conversation turns to more intimate matters. Would I ever get married again? Does Gabe want to get married? What’s the ideal relationship we envision? What’s important in those relationships?

My heart beats out of control when he talks because everything becomes so vivid. I’m not sure a single word out of his mouth isn’t something I’ve truly craved at least once in my life. It’s so… so… visceral that I can hardly speak when he asks me the same question.

Then we talk about kids. Would it bother him going into a relationship with someone who already has kids? What kind of role would he want to be in their lives? What kind of involvement would he want to have?

Does Gabe want kids? Would I be willing to have more if my partner wants kids but doesn’t have any and it’d mean essentially starting over ?

Honestly, I might have thought that it wouldn’t appeal to me but then I keep thinking… I’d get to be a part of that child’s life in a way I wasn’t allowed to the first three times… and it becomes more and more appealing.

I’m not sure when it happens, but our conversation turns into love making. We move from talking about what family means and looks like to us to deep, slow, passionate kisses and me pushing inside his tight, hot body.

There’s something surreal about this moment. Not just the way he feels around me, but the way everything comes into hyper-focus. His hands never stop moving over my body. Never stop touching me, as if he can’t get enough.

Not that I can truly compare Gabe to Bernice, but there was always a sense of ‘hurry up’ with my wife. She wasn’t into it. Didn’t like to touch me at all.

With Gabe, nothing could be further from the truth. The way he touches me makes me feel good. Wanted. Like I’m attractive to someone.

I’ve never been in the best shape. I go to the gym intermittently, at best. Most of the time, it was with the resolve to look better so my wife would find me attractive. But the motivation just wasn’t there. I’ve always been a little… husky. Not fat, exactly, but thicker.

That might be why I never cared that Bernice hid it under expensive clothes that somehow gave me shape and definition in a complimentary way. I didn’t look frumpy in the clothes she bought.

Gabe’s hands moving over my bare body are a high I can’t explain. He touches everywhere and never stops. He kisses me with such fervor. His moans and grunts aren’t fake. I can see the pleasure across his face as I slowly pump inside him.

“Thank you for being a squatter in the room I paid for,” I murmur in his ear, nipping his earlobe.

He groans in response.

My fingers glide down his hips and I pull his leg up, hooking his knee over my elbow and curling him in on himself. His moans get louder. His body shakes and quakes with each deep thrust.

“There,” Gabe gasps, his eyes shooting wide but seeing nothing. “Edries…”

Fuck, the way he says my name! He’s not imagining someone else. Not at all. It’s me here with him. He knows it’s me. He wants it to be me.

I hook his other leg and Gabe is a vision to watch as I bring him pleasure. He chants my name in such a pleading, sexy way that no matter how fatigued I am, how tired my muscles are, I don’t stop. I drive home, enthralled by the way his face contorts with every thrust. With every moan.

He grips my shoulders, my biceps, my chest—encouraging. Driving me forward.

Gabe comes with a long, low groan, his body tensing and shuddering beneath me. I try very fucking hard to keep my pace. Never breaking it, so I milk him through his orgasm.

When his body goes limp, I let his legs go and they fall to either side. I wrap one arm under his shoulder and grip his hair, trapping his arm above his head. The other, I link our hands together. I press the pads of my fingers over his palm, along his fingers. Holding his hand and pressing my forehead to his temple.

Gabe doesn’t hurry me. After a minute, he wraps his legs around my waist. Securing me there. Encouraging me. He might be spent, maybe he’s sore and ready to stop, but he holds me tightly, letting me use his body until I find my pleasure.

It’s not that I don’t want to come. I just don’t want this moment to end. It feels monumental. Bigger than both of us. I want to draw it out as much as I can.

But eventually I can’t hold it back anymore and fill the condom in his tight ass. Gasping for breath, I keep myself wrapped around him, my semi tucked in his ass. Maybe this is uncomfortable for him; maybe he doesn’t like it .

Just as the thought crosses my mind, Gabe sighs. It’s a content, happy sigh. A sound I want to hear over and over.

“I’m so glad you barged up in the room I paid for and didn’t leave,” he murmurs, proving he heard me a while ago.

I chuckle and we fall asleep sweaty, cum-covered, and with my dick still trapped in his body. There’s a very good chance that this might be the only way I ever want to fall asleep going forward.