Fifteen

JULIEN

Martin's Place closes for the Christmas holidays, but Uncle Martin opens his home to anyone on staff who doesn't have a place to go or people to see.

Braydon goes back to New Jersey on his school's winter break. Chef Marco makes the trek to Maryland. Some of the bussers get a Christmas Eve poker game together every year, which they used to do in Uncle Martin's basement until one year they got too loud, a neighbor called the cops, and Uncle Martin decided it was probably best that his employees didn't gamble at his home, despite him being able to wipe the floor with them in a single round.

This left Greg.

Julien had gotten the text two nights earlier while he continued to refresh his email, waiting for his SKA results. He memorized which percentile he needed to be in to secure his spot, so the text was a welcome distraction from the mental turmoil of not knowing.

Would it be weird if I took Martin and Augustine up on their Christmas Eve offer?Greg asked.

Julien ate a SnoBall and thought this over. In any normal circumstance, it would be odd to have your friend-with-benefits crash your family Christmas, but Greg isn't Julien's friend-with-benefits to Aunt Augustine and Uncle Martin. He's their employee, their family friend, Julien's happy hour coconspirator.

Not at all, Julien replied. The more the merrier.

And it does, indeed, turn out to be quite merry.

A light snowfall begins right as Greg arrives. Flakes cling to his tan coat as he steps inside. He's brought with him the ingredients for Merry Little Christmas cosmopolitans—the extras are cranberry juice and clove. To die for. But the surprise of it is that Greg brought alcohol-free spirits.

"Yuck. What kind of Christmas guest are you?" Aunt Augustine says, eyebrows downcast. "Good thing we have some hard stuff of our own."

"A, be nice to the poor guy! He knows Julien doesn't drink." Uncle Martin shoots a comical glare at his excitable wife.

"Just because Julien doesn't drink doesn't mean we don't," Aunt Augustine says, flipping up her hands. "What are we, chopped liver?"

"That's what we're going to have for dinner if you don't quit it with the kid," Uncle Martin says. "Thank you for bringing these. We're happy to have them and you!" When Aunt Augustine has dipped into the garage in search of her own vodka, Uncle Martin adds, "Probably for the best. When that one gets wasted, she subjects us all to Christmas caroling. She honest-to-God thinks she can hit whistle notes like Mariah."

"We had a cat named Olly who would go into hiding every Christmas Eve and not emerge until December 26 when he knew it was safe," Julien says, remembering those first Christmases without his parents. Missing them while simultaneously being happy that there would be no volatile outbursts, no strangers showing up at the front door at weird hours. He could focus on gifts and cookies and heartwarming movies.

"He was a smart cat," Uncle Martin says, going to check on the turkey in the oven.

Julien gives Greg a quick tour—dining room, living room, and he's already seen the kitchen.

"Thank you," Julien says when they're safely away from his aunt and uncle. "For bringing the nonalcoholic stuff. That was really thoughtful." He feels a blaze inside his chest. He writes it off as yuletide cheer.

"Oh, it was nothing," Greg says. "It was for me, too, you know."

Julien spots a wrapped present still tucked up underneath Greg's wide, muscular arm. "Is that for them? I'll stick it under the tree."

Greg stumbles back. "It's not. It's for you." His cheeks flame crimson.

"Oh." That blaze in Julien's chest has crept up onto his own face. Once he calms himself, he tells Greg he can still put it under the tree.

"I wish you wouldn't," Greg pleads. "It's, uh, NSFW."

Julien swallows his "oh." He says, "We're not at work."

"Okay, then it's NSFF. Not safe for family."

Julien can't help it. He bites his lip. "I have a similar sort of gift for you in my bag."

When Julien had gotten Greg's text, he figured it would be silly not to get him a little something. They had been working together and sleeping together for almost three months now. Julien had given his therapist a gift—a Target gift card and a glittery bath bomb. The least he could do was run to the sex shop and pick out something for Greg, which would ultimately be something for him, too, when he thought about where Greg would be using it.

"Hmm. I'm looking forward to unwrapping it tonight," Greg says, slowly, decadently.

"I am..." Julien adopts Greg's tone "...also looking forward to unwrapping something tonight, but it's not this." He waggles the present in the air—all crinkly paper and shiny tag—before turning to stuff it in his bag.

GREG

After the mocktails and the turkey and Augustine caroling her head off to Ms. Carey's greatest hits, Martin parts the curtains. The streets are filled with snow. When they turn on the weather channel, the meteorologist is suggesting that residents of the Lehigh Valley stay home and enjoy their white Christmas at least until the roads can be cleared in the morning.

"Stay the night," Martin says jovially, offering up the first-floor guest bedroom, which used to be Julien's bedroom.

"I couldn't impose like that."

"It's Christmas. Imposing isn't a possibility," Martin says.

"Ex-ha-hackly," Augustine says, on the fun side of tipsy. She'll be fine after some water and some sleep. Martin begins taking her up to bed.

"Are you sure?" Greg asks, looking more at Julien than anyone else.

Julien nods. "I'll take the couch. It's not a problem."

"There. It's all settled." Martin reaches the stairs. "You two don't stay up too late or Santa won't come."

Greg waits until Martin and Augustine are safely on the second floor of the house with their door shut before he laughs, low and rumbly. "You," Greg says, "are the only man I'm concerned about coming tonight."

"I got you something that I think might help with that."

"Me, too."

Julien brings his bag over to the couch. Under the glow of the rainbow Christmas tree lights, they exchange NSFF gifts. Julien insists that Greg goes first.

From the weight and shape in his hands, Greg has a pretty good guess what this is. When he opens it, he finds a flesh-colored hollow dildo. The exact same size and model as...

"Wait, open yours."

Julien gasps when he sees that they accidentally bought each other the same thing.

Greg laughs quietly so as not to alert anyone upstairs. "But no harness..."

"Gah," Julien cries softly. "After we talked last, I had this thought that you were going to get yourself a harness for the dildos we've already been using, so I figured this would be a good alternative."

"And here I was thinking you might get me a harness?" Greg cringes. "I know that's presumptuous, but I went to Cupid's Arrow, and Paulie there said he'd seen ‘the wine guy' the day before looking at the harnesses. Given your preference for bottoming, I just assumed. We really Gift of the Magi'ed this, huh?"

Julien shakes his head, disbelieving. "Not exactly how the story goes, but sure, yeah, kinda."

They sober, falling off their fitful laughter. Greg feels that familiar tug drawing him in toward Julien. "I was really hoping I was going to get to try this out tonight." He wishes he didn't sound so horny and so disappointed. "But we probably shouldn't fool around in your uncle and aunt's slash our bosses' place."

"The guest room—my old room—is down here. An entire floor in between. They won't hear a thing."

"Still." Greg heaves a sigh. "No harness."

Julien's head bobbles, but then his eyebrows shoot up. "Hold on. I think I have an idea. Come with me."

In the guest bedroom, Julien fishes a pair of high-cut briefs from his bag. He holds them up to Greg and sticks two of his fingers through the fly. "They're going to be pretty tight on you given your waist size, but that's what we need to hold it in place, right?"

Greg's excitement mounts, getting fully on board with this half-formed plan. "Right."

"Bathroom's through there," Julien says, pointing to a door beside the closet.

In the shower, Greg washes quickly but thoroughly, eager to return to the bedroom where he finds Julien wearing nothing but the bow from the top of his wrapped gift. It sits between Julien's pale pink nipples in a show that is far goofier than Greg has come to expect, but he loves it. He loves it so damn much.

Right now, he realizes that his feelings for Julien didn't come with a gift receipt. Would he want to send them back anyway?

At the foot of the bed, Greg finds the briefs, the unboxed dildo, and the wrapper from a sex toy cleaning wipe. He takes the pair of bright red briefs—very fitting for the holiday—and wiggles his way into them. Julien was right, it's a squeeze, but they hug him enough that it's not uncomfortable.

"They're old," Julien says. "You can rip the fly a little."

Greg, growing erect at the sight of Julien's beautiful, lean, naked body, tugs the fly down and rips a bit of the stitching before hauling out his thick cock, but he's not in any rush. No, he wants to savor this.

At Julien's right foot, Greg begins a trail of kisses that roves up his leg, across his groin, over his stomach, and all the way to his chest. He uses his teeth to remove the bow from this gift that keeps on giving—giving him comfort, laughs, orgasms. He feasts on Julien's neck as if he were a vampire out for blood, not caring if he leaves behind hickeys even if they are supposedly too old and too mature for them, but stops at his sharp jawline.

Greg is about to head back down when Julien surprises him by grabbing his chin. "Kiss me."

Greg tilts his head like a dog, certain he's misunderstood. "Where?" he asks.

"Here." Julien uses his free hand to trace his plump lower lip, which shines slightly, alluring in the lamplight.

"Are you sure?" Once they cross this boundary, there's no going back. The hollow dildo is one thing. The buildup to potential sex without it is another. But kissing teeters toward the intimate, toward feelings and sweet sentiments and dates and maybe more.

Greg would go there. He wants to go there. But Julien doesn't, right?

Julien nods. "I'm sure."

And it's a goddamn Christmas miracle as far as Greg is concerned. He dives in, letting their lips touch for the first time. A tender, beautiful kiss passes between them, so passionate and dizzying Greg is afraid he might faint from all the blood pumping away from his brain and down toward his dick. His erection grows stronger as Julien presses up and into his mouth with fervent desire that sizzles and crackles around them.

"Fuck me." Julien moans this quietly, so Greg tongues his hole hungrily to prepare him.

"Fuck me." Julien repeats it, so Greg slicks a finger with the nearby water-based lube and gently pries Julien open.

"Fuck...me." It's not a request this time but a demand, and Greg is thrilled to comply. He slides his dick inside the hollow dildo, adjusting the base of it so the fabric hole of the briefs is snug around it. There's wiggle, but it probably won't pop off. The final step is to roll the condom on.

"Are you ready, Julien?" Greg asks, knowing full well that using Julien's name during sex sends a visible shudder through him.

"So, so, so ready."

Adjusting for the position, Greg lines his extended, silicone shaft up to Julien's entrance, and ever so slowly, he sinks inside with ease. Even with two layers separating him from Julien, the pleasure that starbursts off Julien's expression is enough to make Greg feel like they have merged into a singular being. One heartbeat. One rhythm. One incredible night ahead.

Carefully, he bends at the waist while plowing Julien, certain not to ruin the angle, and crashes their lips together once more. Julien tastes like nonalcoholic spirits and unfiltered paradise. Each kiss is more robust than the last.

Empowerment courses through Greg's veins. It's not the sense of dominance he missed about topping—he doesn't define the act as manly or masculine or any other such bullshit. Rather, he loves the blood-pumping, heart-racing, pleasure-inducing rock that takes him out of his head, into his body, and turns him into a sweaty heaving mess.

Damn, does he become a sweaty heaving mess. When Julien flips over so his face is buried in the towel they've laid out, Greg climbs on top and maneuvers his way back inside with a little more lube and a tad more patience. But once he's in, he's in.

Julien insists that Greg lie down, too.

"I'll crush you," Greg protests.

"You won't," Julien insists. "I'll like it. I want it. I promise. I promise."

It's right after that second promise that Greg relents, allows his bulkier, muscular body to sandwich Julien between his torso and the mattress.

"Yehh. Fughh." That's all Greg can make out because Julien's biting the edge of the towel, eyebrows converged in pleasure.

He's never felt more connected to Julien. This skin-to-skin sharing of weight sizzles like no other position has. It's thrilling. The roll of Greg's hips spurs grunt after grunt from Julien.

Gently, Greg wraps his strong arm around Julien's shoulders and embraces him as he sinks the dildo deeper and deeper.

"Do you like that?" Greg whispers into Julien's ear.

"Mherm."

Greg kisses that same ear. Then uses his tongue to wander over the shell of it. Julien convulses. It must tickle. But Greg can tell that he loves it because the mherms morph into open, bold ohs.

This isn't the "oh" of midconversation Julien where he's processing what the other person has said. Greg believes that this is the "oh" of a split-open Julien. A Julien so enraptured with sexual hunger—hunger for Greg, for this cock extension, for their closeness—that Greg wants to mold himself around him. He presses his weight down firmly as he kisses his ear again.

Julien turns his face in Greg's direction so they're eye to eye. Greg is struck by the desire overflowing from Julien's expression.

"You fuck me so good, Greg." Julien, who is usually pretty tight-lipped during sex aside from voicing his direct wants or limits, becomes a foulmouthed, lust-addled tyrant under Greg's weight—demanding deeper, harder, faster.

Greg follows orders until Julien croaks, "I can't take it anymore. I need to fucking come."

And as soon as he rolls over, he does spectacularly.

Greg watches in amazement as he unsheathes his own cock, pumps into his own fist, and adds his come to Julien's already impressive collection.

To Greg's surprise, Julien doesn't bolt up immediately. He doesn't register the mess splattered across his torso and run to the bathroom. Not that Greg has ever been offended by this. He knows Julien's mind by now.

"All good?" Greg asks, checking in.

"I..." Julien clears his throat "...feel like pudding."

"I fucked you that good, huh?" Greg asks, weirdly noticing pride tapping inside his chest.

Julien nods languidly. "But I really...really...really need to shower."

There it is. The urgency. Greg grabs the nearest towel and begins to wipe Julien up. "Let's start here," he says in a tone that he hopes conveys both gentleness and understanding. "And then...hup!" Without much effort at all, Greg hoists Julien off the bed, cradles him in his arms, and takes him into the bathroom where he deposits Julien in the shower, far enough away from the head so he isn't assaulted by the cold water that sputters out first.

Greg stands on the other side of the tub lip, admiring Julien's naked body. When his eyes land on Julien's face, he swears he sees gratitude, admiration, and...something he can't quite put his finger on. "You're a good guy, Greg Harlow," Julien says, one hand extended under the spray to check the temperature.

"Thank you." Greg surveys the shower situation as Julien begins to lather himself with the curtain still drawn back. The basin is lengthy. "Room for one more?" Greg asks, wanting to be clean again, too.

Julien surprises him again by nodding.

But the surprises don't end there because once Greg helps Julien change the sheets in the guest room, Julien admits something. "The couch out there is actually really uncomfortable."

"Got it. I can take it," Greg offers. "I can fall asleep just about anywhere."

Julien shakes his head. "Nobody should be subjected to that. Especially not on Christmas."

It dawns on Greg what Julien is hinting at. "Do you want to share this bed?" Greg asks. It's a full, so it'll be tight. Julien's body is slender enough that they'll fit, though.

"Are you sure you don't mind?" Julien responds. Greg knows it's a genuine question, but he also saw the way Julien perked up when he asked it. It was adorable. How could he possibly say no?

"Do you have a preference of side?"

It's not until they're both settled under the sheets—Julien on the right and Greg on the left—with the lights turned out that Julien speaks again. "Christmases have always been kind of hard for me."

"Without your parents, you mean?"

Julien is presumably nodding in the dark, judging by the rustling of his cotton pillowcase. "They'd send me a card every Christmas. Martin and Augustine would open it and read it to me. I'm sure they thought it was nice, but instead it always reminded me that they were out there existing without me. For most of the year, except at school when kids would sometimes tease me for not having ‘real parents,' I'd kind of forget that Augustine wasn't my mom and Martin wasn't my dad."

"That makes sense."

"But it's always at this time of the year that I wonder how different my life would've been had they gotten clean and raised me."

While Greg relates to growing up with absent parents, his parents were only emotionally absent. There's a big difference. "Tell me what you wonder about."

Julien stirs before saying, "I wonder if I'd be close with Martin and Augustine at all. I wonder if I'd have found my way to wine training and being a sommelier, which also just opens up a whole bottle of worry."

"Worry...about?"

"About if I'd have ended up like them," Julien confesses. "I worry that I'm genetically predisposed to addiction. That I'd have lost control of my life the same way they lost control of theirs. I've been so disciplined because I can't bear the thought of spending all these years away from them and somehow turning into them anyway. You know that old theory that no matter how hard we try, we always turn into our parents?"

"I don't believe that bullshit," Greg says, though it comes out too harshly. "Sorry, what I mean is, if that were true, I think I'd be stationed in a uniform somewhere living a regimented life. I'd be brushing my mental health under the rug for the sake of other people's feelings and expectations. Did you know anxiety is a disqualifying condition for the military? I was having these mental health issues nobody was taking seriously because they diverted from the path laid out for me. As if I asked for an anxiety disorder. This time of year was always hard for me, too, because..." Greg swipes a hand across his face only to realize his eyes are rimming with tears.

"You okay?" Julien asks.

Greg hadn't realized he stopped speaking. "Yeah, um, are there any tissues over there?" There was a time when his tears were jeered at and his emotions were chalked up to dramatics.

Julien passes Greg a box in the darkness, then he scoots closer and places a comforting hand on Greg's upper arm over the sheets and blankets.

"Thanks." Then Greg does what Julien does, allows himself to wonder for a second. Wonder what his home life might have been like had he not been sent to the academy. But he was, and for that matter he's not sure he could even claim the word home in home life if he tried to.

"I spent most of my year at the academy," Greg continues when Julien stays silent but lets on that he's still actively listening by stroking the outside of Greg's arm gingerly. "I always felt out of place there. Then for the holidays, I'd go back to my house, but I felt out of place there, too. I tried. I did. I really, really tried to make both work, but I couldn't, which meant my holidays were tense and awkward and full of silent meals unless we were with our extended family."

Julien scoots closer once more, enough so that Greg senses the heat of his body, feels the brush of his foot against his calf. "I'm sorry you went through that." The sincerity of Julien's apology for something he wasn't even a part of makes Greg's tears flow anew. He grabs another tissue from the box.

"That's all right. I'm thankful I was able to break away from it all and get the help I needed," Greg says between sniffles. He's not ashamed he's crying. It doesn't make him less of a man or cowardly. It makes him tapped in, connected to himself. He's being honest, vulnerable. Perhaps more vulnerable than he should be with a man he just fucked silly with a strap-on, but hey, Julien doesn't seem put off in the least. "Tonight was the first Christmas Eve in a while where I felt fully myself and...wanted for that."

Wanted in more ways than one, Greg decides, sinking into the mattress where he connected with Julien on such a deep, carnal level he could get hard just thinking about it again if he weren't so stuck in his feels.

"What about in New York?" Julien asks.

Greg's gut seizes at the question. He convinced himself that he fit in there, that things were different, but his hindsight has sharpened significantly since being at Martin's Place. His time in New York was clouded by clicks, view counts, followers, and people whose care was largely conditional. Was it really all that different than what he'd gone through previously?

"New York was..." Greg stops himself. Nobody here knows the real reason he fled the island of Manhattan, and he questions whether they'll ever need to. He's been paying down his debt, albeit slowly. But that's still a vast improvement over accruing more and more like he was.

Yet patient, understanding Julien, above all people, deserves to know the truth.

"It was a fever dream," Greg admits. "The only way I know any of it was real is because I'm still paying for it."

"Emotionally?" Julien asks, concern wisping between them.

"Literally." Greg sighs heavily. "There was a time where I was spending money faster than it was coming in, and I haven't financially recovered from that quite yet. The move here was largely because I couldn't afford my old life anymore."

Julien strokes his arm with such care, then lets out a yawn. Greg feels that in his bones, the weight of sleep creeping up on him now that he's confessed such a crucial part of his present.

"Well, thank you for sharing that with me," Julien says at the tail end of a second yawn. "And I'm more than glad I could help you have a good holiday for a change."

"Me, too," Greg says, letting the words hang in the air like clouds of magical dust. He nestles back down into the blankets, adjusts his head on the pillow, and focuses on his breathing which has slowed to a comfortable rise and fall. "I think I'd like to get some sleep."

No answer ever comes because Julien has drifted off while Greg smiled to himself and got situated. He reaches for his phone on the bedside table and notices it's past midnight.

"Merry Christmas, Julien Boire," Greg whispers so as not to wake him before turning off his alarm and slipping into dreamland.