Tag: mushy holiday stuff

by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

sidonius5:

Brett stared at the picture of Jesus winking of him on the mug. “You love coffee but Jesus loves you more!” it said. The paint was chipping off so Jesus had a mullet. He reckoned the mug was about 30 years old. He sipped the awful coffee and wondered why his grandparents used the grounds three times before throwing them out.

Loud engine noise cut through the chatter in the living room and kitchen. Everyone stopped talking to look outside. A beat up Camaro had pulled up; the red color stood out starkly against the dead trees and old snow in the grass. Brett could hear music through the glass of the living room window. His grandmother cursed. “Oh drat, who invited him?”
“It wasn’t me.”
“No idea.”

Brett couldn’t see who got out of the car. There was a tree in the way. People were looking to the door. No one knocked – it was thrown open in a haze of cigarette smoke. A murmur of discontent went through the family members. Brett’s jaw was wide open.
“Dammit Wyatt, what are you doing here?” Brett’s grandmother huffed. “Don’t smoke in here! Christ, what did you do to your face?”

Wyatt exhaled and took off his sunglasses. He was wearing torn black jeans with thermals underneath and a leather jacket with a sheepskin liner. “Oh I guess you haven’t seen my new face tattoo. Sick huh? Where is he…” Wyatt glanced around the room until he was looking directly at Brett. He pointed at him. “You. Get your coat on. And your long johns. And wool socks. You’re coming with me.”

“Brett?” Brett’s mother asked. “What do you want with Brett.”
“None of your business.” Wyatt drew on the cigarette.

Brett looked around bewildered. It was at this point, he noticed his Uncle Anthony smiling at him and giving him a thumbs up. Smiling was an understatement, you could have put a banana in Anthony’s mouth. Suddenly, Brett knew who had called Uncle Wyatt. It surprised him – Anthony came off as a goody too shoes to him. He was a total mamas boy, her angel, dressed in white, always perfect. When Brett didn’t move, Anthony gave him a little gesture that clearly meant “go.”

The cold air coming through the door snapped him out it. Brett put the mug down, slipped past his family members, and ran upstairs to get dressed. When he came back down the stairs, jamming his beanie on his head, there was a row going on, like a snake had been let loose in the hen house. Uncle Wyatt came out of the kitchen clutching some Christmas cookies with one shoved in his mouth.

He stuffed them in his pocket and grabbed Brett’s coat sleeve as he stomped out of the the house. Brett stumbled, but got his feet under him and followed Uncle Wyatt outside.

“You better bring him back before sunset!” Brett’s mother called out.
“Heather, the sun sets at like 4:30. Calm the fuck down, you’ll get him back after dinner.”
“You better or I’m calling the police.”
“He’s not 8, they ain’t gonna do shit.”
“Midnight. Wyatt, midnight.”
“It’s Christmas, have a heart!”
“Midnight!”

The door slammed shut.
Brett wondered if he was in danger. He didn’t really know Uncle Wyatt. As a kid, he was scared of him.

“Get in the car,” Wyatt said. “Fuckin freezing out here.” He stuffed another cookie in his mouth. “God these are so good.”
Brett silently got in the car. It smelled vaguely like cedar and cigarettes. Wyatt turned on the Camaro’s engine; it roared to life. Punk music blared out of the speakers. Brett winced. Wyatt turned it down. “Sorry. Don’t hear too well out of my left ear.”
“Um. Where are we going?” Brett asked timidly as the car moved down his grandmother’s driveway. He tried not to stare at the tattoo on Wyatt’s forehead.
Wyatt grinned. “To the woods, at the lake. To do drugs.”
“What?” Brett shrieked.
“I got acid, shrooms, and edibles if you just want that. But I’d rather move around than be sitting still. Too cold to be still.”
“I’ve never done any of that,” Brett admitted.
Wyatt shot a look of pity his way.
“Well, now’s the time. Just you and I on this faggot sleigh ride.”
Wyatt chuckled when Brett gasped. “God, Heather coddled you. Little late at 17, but I think we can still make you cool before you go off to college.”
Brett just stared at him.
Wyatt sighed. “Ok, listen kid. Tony texted me.”
A-ha! Brett thought.
“Said you were having a hard time. I know what he meant. The Caruso family doesn’t give a shit about the gays – if they close their eyes, the homos doesn’t exist. If they acknowledge they got one in their family, they feel a little too close to all the nasty things they said about ‘the homosexuals’ and they get uncomfortable. Can’t have that. But there’s no denying it- sorry to tell you, there’s gay blood in this family, and guess what?”
“What?” Brett said.
“You’re the one that got it in your generation. Congrats.”
“Yeah,” Brett muttered. “I do.” He sighed.
“Well, don’t worry about those prudes. Dick is awesome, sleeping with men is awesome. You’re gonna grow up and have a real fine time learning about that stuff. And I’m not gonna let them ruin your Christmas by making you feel bad about liking dick.”

Brett furrowed his forehead. His brain was spinning. “You’re gay too?” It was almost a whisper.
Wyatt snorted and shoved another cookie in his mouth. “Yesh.” He chewed, and then washed it down with the can of Dr. Pepper that was sitting in the cup holder. “Yeah, I am, I mean. I got a beautiful little twink back at my place, love him to death. I’m not even allowed to bring Davey up, or I get gaslit and told I’m the one who is ruining the conversation”. Wyatt jabbed at his leather jacket he was wearing. “The fucking audacity,” he muttered as an afterthought.
Brett digested this. “Oh. Is that why I never see you at family stuff?”
“Part of it. And it’s not like I want to be there anyway. I got my band, so I’m always on tour. Or traveling. Or I’m in jail.”
Brett swallowed. “In jail?”
Wyatt grinned. “Not so much anymore. Would be a problem for the band.”
“Jeez,” Brett muttered.

“We got a bit of a drive, about an hour. So tell me about this boyfriend Tony said you have?”
Brett felt his ears get warm. “Well, sort of. Eric and I haven’t gone out on a date or anything, yet, but we like each other.”
“Have you fooled around at all?”
“We kissed.”
“That’s all?”
Brett groaned and pulled the beanie down over his face. “He won’t let me do anything else!”

Wyatt laughed. He gently coaxed more of the story out of Brett, which ended up being easier than he thought. Once Brett realized oh, it was actually ok to talk about this stuff and not downplay it to be socially acceptable, the flood gates opened. He’d been so desperate for advice and never had an adult who got it.

They stopped for snacks and drinks at a convenience store, and Wyatt gave him a piece of shroom chocolate.

“Only letting you microdose. Your brain is still developing, you know.”

Brett had no idea what he meant. But he learned while sitting on a rock at the lakeshore, staring at the green fir trees and thinking they had the most fascinating repeating patterns. He couldn’t believe something so straight and angular could exist in nature, when the beach was full of uneven ovals. Also, wow, it had never occurred to Brett just how old rocks were. It blew his mind.
Uncle Wyatt started skipping rocks and throwing stuff at the pieces of ice clinging to the shore, which was somehow, hilarious, especially since Uncle Wyatt kept saying the wrong words for things.

The shrooms lasted through the most beautiful sunset Brett had ever seen his life, an absolute masterpiece of orange and pink and red that made the residual snow glow. Brett thought about his boyfriend, and felt so much love for him; he wished Eric was here so they could hold hands.

By the time they got back to the car, Brett was more aware than ever how cold and tired he was, and just how dark everything was becoming. His stomach growled.

They drove to a diner for some Christmas ham, got damn decent coffee, and ate four slices of pie between them. Brett talked Wyatt’s ear off the whole way to the movie theater, asking every question about sex he ever wanted to ask. There was so many and somehow Uncle Wyatt knew all the answers. Answers that weren’t even in his text books. And what a fucking novelty to be allowed to say “penis” like an adult!

The movie theater was playing Die Hard as a Christmas special. Brett hadn’t seen it, but thought it was fucking awesome and vowed to watch it every Christmas. They didn’t make popcorn flicks like that anymore.

When Uncle Wyatt pulled up to Brett’s grandparent’s house, Brett had to be roused out of sleep. It was five to midnight. Heather was waiting for them, arms folded, as the car came to a stop. When they came up to the door, Brett hugged her, and muttered a “hi mom” with a sleepy smile.

“I present, your son,” Uncle Wyatt said with a flourishing hands.
“He smells like cigarettes,” Heather said flatly.
“You smell like grandma, so I guess we’re even.”

Brett wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or not when he heard his mom sighed and then admit that it was probably good Uncle Wyatt had taken him for the day, as Brett had been bored, and she did feel bad. But the confession came with a lot of scolding over Wyatt’s behavior.

“Why can’t you just be normal when you come over here?” Heather asked. “It’s like you like stirring shit up. You didn’t have to smoke, and walk through the kitchen in wet shoes, and let the cat out, and seriously? A face tattoo? What is it supposed to be anyway? Mom complained about it the entire-”

“Hey Mom, leave Uncle Wyatt alone ok?” It took Brett a moment to realize the words came out of his mouth. “He’s a pretty cool guy.” He yawned so hard his jaw cracked. “I’m going to bed. Thanks Uncle Wyatt for tonight. Merry Christmas.”
“See ya kid. Merry Christmas.”
Heather was stunned into silence.
After he left, Uncle Wyatt lit another cigarette. “Heather, I’m going to say this once, and once only. You let him be. Don’t discourage him being who he is ok? Or you’re only going to see more of me.”
“But Mom will-”
Uncle Wyatt held up his hand. “Forgot Mom. Better yet, don’t become Mom, Heather. You’re a modern woman. If you don’t embrace your son now, you won’t see him at Christmas once he leaves the house.”
“How dare-”
“How dare me, I know. He’s a good kid, and you’ve done a fine job in raising him so far, I admit that. Just be careful, please. Don’t draw a line in the sand. Let him be gay.”
Heather pursed her lips and folded her arms.
“By the way, I’m glad you finally cut your hair, it looks really good now.”

Heather couldn’t tell if Wyatt was being authentic, as she hated that haircut. She scrunched up her face. She knelt down, gathered snow in her hands, and pelted Wyatt with it.
“Oh don’t you-” Wyatt shrieked as it went down his collar.

Brett peeked out his window to his mother and uncle having a snowball fight in the yard. He shook his head in bewilderment and went to bed before he fell over. He had a weird dream that he went to school and Eric looked like Bruce Willis, and Bruce Willis wanted to make out in the locker room. Awesome.

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Captions are fictional.

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by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

You gasp and cover your mouth with your hand.
Sun beams. “I was sad that you were sad that we did not have a Christmas tree, because you cannot buy real ones here of course. So I ordered lights, and I made one anyway.”
You stare at the bright glow, mesmerized. Warm feelings of childhood holidays surge. “Oh Sun, it’s so festive. It’s beautiful. Thank you I love -” You suddenly have noticed what he’s wearing. “You bought a Santa hat too?”
He grins. “Yes. I am an elf, here to help give you Christmas cheer.”
“They have elves in Singapore?”
“Yes, from the South Asian Division. Very elite placement. Not cold here.”
You giggle. “Look at you. You’re so adorable. And also sexy. Red is such your color…” You walk up to him so you can ran your hands up his body. The man’s stomach is a wall of muscle.  “Are you my Christmas present?”
“I can be if you want.”
You dip your head to kiss him. “Can I open it early?”
Sun begins to unbutton your shirt. “Only if I can open something too.”

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Captions are fictional

by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

falconphenixbeach:

Cade pushed his hand against Tyler’s and entwined their fingers together.
“How long do you think it’s going to take for them to notice we got engaged?”
“Hmm. My dad won’t notice at all. We could replace the sofa and he wouldn’t notice until he sat on it. My mom will probably notice when I hand her something, and will demand to know how long I’ve been wearing it. Then she’ll get angry I didn’t tell her sooner, and then she’ll start crying out of joy.”
Cade chuffed air through his nose. “That was oddly specific.”
“Well that’s what happened when my sister got engaged,” Tyler explained. “So I expect it’ll be similar. Maybe she’ll spot it sooner though; Mom’s been asking if we’ve been thinking about it, considering how long we’ve been together.”
“What did you tell her?” Cade asked.
“Well,” Tyler snickered. “When my sister asked me this, kind of snidely actually, I told her the rings we have at home don’t fit on our fingers.”
Cade guffawed. “Good lord, please tell me you didn’t tell your mother that.”
“No, she would be horrified. And I would like to keep being invited to Thanksgiving. I just told her that it’ll be time when it’s time.”

“It’d been time for a while though,” Cade said almost to himself.
“oh? Why didn’t you propose before?”
“Because it was really hard to measure your fingers, because I’m always asleep before you.”
Tyler stopped in the middle of the airport terminal. “That was the reason?”
“Yes! And you always had your hands curled up by your face or under the pillow. You made it really hard!” Cade emphasized this with a pointed finger poking Tyler’s chest.
“I apologize for the inconvenience,” Tyler said dryly.
Cade kissed him on the cheek. “You’re forgiven. I felt like a spy on a mission though. Was kinda fun. And the fact it took a while meant I could propose to you on that overnight hike, which was perfect.”
“Yeah, it was perfect. Couldn’t imagine it any other way. Hey uh what baggage claim are we at again?”

Cade glanced around the baggage terminal. “I have totally forgotten.”
Tyler looked at the digital sign. “According to this, it’s #3?”
”Uhh yeah that’s our flight alright. You know, by this time next year, our boarding passes and luggage tags will have the same last name on them.”
Tyler couldn’t help but grin. “I think we need to get some very expensive and very ugly matching luggage for the honeymoon.”
Cade smirked. “Matching? My love, we’re only going to need one suitcase for our honeymoon.”
“Why?” Tyler furrowed his dark brows.
“Cause we’re going to spend most of the time without wearing clothes.”
Tyler groaned. “Don’t say things like that when we’re going to be stuck in my parent’s house for a week in a room right across from theirs.”
Cade pulled his bag off the carousel. “Oh I thought about that. That’s why I brought the silk scarves, darling, so I could gag you with them.”
Tyler heard the lady behind him gasp at the same time he did, and it set him off in a fit of embarrassed giggles. He almost missed his bag and had to go chase after it.

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Damien kisses his boyfriend on the cheek. “Tanner, I choose you.”
“Aw. That was so cheesy. Wait, is that why you insisted on these outfits, for that pun?”
“Yes. Also because you’re adorable. I caught you, but you caught my eye.”
“No more Pokemon puns,” Tanner states.
“I have a list.”
Damien giggled at his boyfriend’s exasperated eye roll.

“I’m going to shock you,” Tanner threatens.
“oo baby, I didn’t know you were into that. Pika pika on the street, Team Rocket in the sheets?”
Tanner rubs his hands on the wool sweater, and touches his finger to Damien’s cheek. To his astonishment, it actually shocks him.
“Ah! You shocked me.” Damien gasps. “Oh my god, how did you do that?”
Tanner pushes up his sleeves and grins. “Don’t mess with Pikachu, baby.”

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Captions are fictional.

by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

hideouspumpkin:

Celineyrs on IG

Irving returned from court to his office exhausted and bedraggled. The simple case had gone out of hand; he’d eaten fast food standing up on the court house steps. Irving hadn’t even had a moment to enjoy Valentines Day with his husband this morning. Just a kiss, an intimate hug. Eric had texted Irving asking if he could bring him tea for a tea break at the office, which Irving had jumped at – but of course, the case had dragged on, and Irving missed the window when Eric was available for lunch hour. Typing every “I’m sorry” hurt.

Irving sighed as the elevator doors opened. He was supposed to make dinner for them at home tonight, and he wondered how on Earth he was going to find he energy to cook the lamb in the fridge. Irving dragged himself past the office lobby, and said a ‘hello’ to the secretary as he walked passed.
“Oh, Mr. Macintosh!”
Irving stopped and his briefcase banged against his leg. “Yes, Darla?”
She smiled and giggled. “You had a visitor.”
“I did?”
“You did. In your office.”
“Was it Eric?”
She just smiled. “You’ll see.”

Irving chewed his lower lip. “What was he up to?” He strolled to his office with a pep to his step. Irving opened the door and froze in place, air in his lungs. There was a trio of balloons tied to the back of his chair; a white one, a pink one, and a red heart one. Eric had repotted his cactus into a bold red and white ceramic pot, a vast upgrade from the small plastic brown one held together with tape after being pushed off the desk by slipping files. Then he saw the treats. The top of his three foot book case had been cleared of art books and an award from law school, and covered by a white place mat from their dining room.

Eric had left a tray – his grandmother’s tray – dotted with cream puffs decorated with lovely red hearts. Next to it was a pot of tea wrapped in a yarn warmer. Eric leaned his briefcase against the desk and wandered over to inspect the display further. There was a card in front of the tea pot. Eric opened it. “Happy Valentines Day. Love you, and don’t feel bad about being busy. It just an opportunity to surprise you. With all my love – Eric. PS: Remember that tea we had in Paris? Found it! Also, share the puffs, I held mine back <3.”

Irving took the card to his desk. He sat down in the chair, making the balloons sway. Irving pulled the heart one down to hold it; then covered his eyes with his hands and wept. The fatigue and stress melted away. After a few hiccups, Irving released the balloon and blew his nose. He rushed to the bathroom to wash his hands and cool his face. He called Eric from the bathroom, professed his love, and pushed away tears again. Once he hung up, he had to refresh again. Work forgotten, Irving rushed back to his office for his afternoon tea break. He poured himself a cup of tea, plucked up a cream puff, and turned his chair to the window to watch the birds soar over the river. His thoughts drifted to the dinner he would be preparing in a few hours. Did they have candles? He was sure they did somewhere.

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Captions are fictional.

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“Uh, Brownie they’re doing it again. Why does your dad keep kissing my dad on the mouth? Does have a treat in there?”
“I dunno,” Brownie said. “When I take him on walks to meet other humans, he hugs some of them but never kisses them on the mouth or shares treats.”
Buddy titled his head. “I don’t get it.” 
“Me neither. You think it has to do with why you spend the night more and more?” Brownie asked.
“Maybe. Lately there’s been a lot of boxes at my house and dad’s been making a mess.” Buddy looked towards the corner. “They brought my bed over here this time too. I think I’m going to be spending the night more.”
Brownie harrumphed. “As long as you know it’s my territory.”
“I’m bigger!” Buddy persisted. 
“Doesn’t matter.”
Buddy sighed. He tilted his head to the other side. “Your dad is still kissing my dad. What is in his mouth?”
Brownie glanced around. “I dunno. But I think this the perfect time to try and shred that Christmas present under the tree that smells a lot like treats. They’re perfectly distracted. You go left, I go right. Then we meet in the backyard. Copy?”
“Copy!”

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Captions are fictional.

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Adam opened the door and gasped. “TJ, what are you doing here? You said you went to visit a relative for Christmas.”
“I fibbed a little, my grandma actually lives near us. I just um, wanted to surprise you and bring you Christmas spirit, even though it’s uh, in a week.” TJ pointed to the roof of his car.
Adam glanced at the direction and gasped. “You brought me a tree? 
“Yep. You sounded so bummed out and homesick that you couldn’t come home. I know you’ve had it hard being off at trade school, and I missed you. Sooo I’m bringing Christmas to you, even though you’re now 150 miles away.”
Adam sniffled. “Goddammit TJ. You have no idea happy this makes me. I really wanted to come home, but with my car, and work making me do holiday hours, I couldn’t; and I really wanted to do a tree and stuff, but the cost of it and the decorations, and everything with my car…” His chest fluttered and his eyes spilled over.
TJ wiped Adam’s tears away with the sleeve of his hoodie pulled around his fist. “Aw, Adam. There, there, it’s ok. I’ve missed you so much too. Being apart is hard. I wish we could go to school closer to each other.” TJ gave him a gentle kiss. 
“I missed you more,” Adam whispered, sounding pitiful and tired.
“Not possible. But we’re going to spend the day together setting this up. I collected a bunch of extra Christmas decorations and lights from everyone, and picked up some stuff from the dollar store. And I got you presents, and I brought you the presents from your parents.”
“Oh dear, I got you a little something, but that’s all…”
“That’s fine, Adam. Your face when I opened the door was good enough of a gift.”
Adam chuckled. “Did I look surprised?”
“You did. It was epic. Now let’s get this tree off my car. I have no idea how they got it on there and it’s like six feet tall.”
Adam shoved his feet into his shoes and followed TJ outside. There was four inches of snow on the ground but he didn’t feel the cold at all. There was a red hot furnace inside of him fueled by loved.

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Captions are fictional.

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diversityofmen:

Santa was surprised to receive an unexpected letter at the North Pole: “Dear Santa – I’m all grown up, but I never got to experience Christmas as a child. I have been a naughty young man this year, which means I was a good boy right? So wouldn’t you come visit me? You must miss adult company a lot. I live on a ranch and your reindeer can graze. And it’s cold, so it will feel like home.”

Santa couldn’t resist such a nice letter, and after his route was over, he made a special stop in Montana. Timothy was very much a nice boy with naughty ideas. It was a new way to relax after the busiest day of the year. Even though Santa fell asleep shortly after, he woke up late in the night with an empty stomach. Santa couldn’t help slipping out of bed in the middle of the night to grab a cookie. But the lights came on! Timothy caught him. “Oh Santa, are you leaving already?”

“No, Timmy, I’m just grabbing a snack, you gave me an appetite and I can’t resist cookies and milk. Did you bake these? They’re very good.”
“Yes Santa. Mama’s recipe. Oh dear, it seems my cat has been playing with the Christmas tree again! Ornaments everywhere!” Timmy bent over to return the ornaments to their branches and noticed some small boxes. “What are these?”
Santa smiled. “I left him some toys under the tree too.”
“Oh Santa, you really are the best! And look, you’re standing under the Mistletoe. I will thank you for your kindness with a kiss.” And he rewarded Santa with a kiss.
“Oh ho, it has been a Merry Christmas after all hasn’t it Timmy?”
“It really has! I’ll make you a sandwich, and let’s take it, the milk, and the cookies back to bed Santa. You must be very tired and my bed is very warm.”
Santa yawned. “How do you know what I want every time?”
“Ha! Maybe I’m a magical elf.”
Santa had a big belly laugh. “Oh ho! If all elves were like you Timmy, I wouldn’t be able to get ready for Christmas in time!”

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Captions are fictional. Yeah I wrote Santa porn, come at me.

by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

alexfeet70:

I closed the door to the sun porch. “Marc. What the hell? This – this is supposed to be you meeting my parents. Like, you know, the next serious step in our relationship.”
Marc folded himself on the sofa and propped his head up with his hand. “He was disrespecting you.”
“But that doesn’t give you the authority to punch my father!”
“Well I had to do something!” Marc nearly shouted. “No one was going to do anything. You think by just saying ‘dad’ between your teeth has any repercussion?”
I was pacing at this point. “My dad is an old boomer who is getting older, Marc. He’s not going to magically change his boomer thinking, and he’s not going to magically see the light of day. I told you my dad has some conservative ideas.”
“But those weren’t conservative ideas!” Marc retorts. “That was negging. He was putting you down. Passively aggressively. You look hurt. It upset me.”

I paused my pacing at the tone in his voice. “I looked hurt?”
“Yeah, you looked wounded. You pulled back a little.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah,” Marc gestured. “See that’s the thing. If some hot guy dissed you at a bar like that? I’d punch him. Hands down.”
“There are other ways to react than violence, Marc.”
Marc sighed. He looked at his red knuckles. “I’ve made Thanksgiving a little awkward haven’t I?”
“A little.” I crossed my arms. “Listen, I don’t mind you standing up for me. But this cannot be a trend. Cause if we are going to stay together, we’re gonna run into my parents sometimes. They’re not cool and liberal like your parents.”
“You think my parents are cool?” Marc asked with one eyebrow up.
“Um yeah, your dad’s got that Corvette and all those birds. He’s super cool.”
Marc chuckled. “He’ll be happy to hear that.”

“I bet. But Marc, seriously. You need to think about how you want to move forward with this. Starting with apologizing to my father for hitting him.”
Marc’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not apologizing for that.”
“So we’re just never gonna bring this up over Thanksgiving dinner? It’ll just sit on the table, next to the turkey, taking up room?”

Marc sighed again. I walk over to where his bare feet are propped up on the arm of the small sofa and began to rub one of them. When I dug my thumbs into his sole he groaned. “Goddammit,” Marc said. He leaned back. I watched until his shoulders relaxed. I let Marc think. I had moved on to the other foot when he broke his silence.

“I will apologizing for hitting him,” Marc says.
I lifted my head. “You will?”
“Yeah. Cause this isn’t the hill I want to die on. I don’t want this to be the crack that crumbles this relationship.”
I smiled as relief flooded through me. “I’m pleased to hear you say that.”

After a bit more talking, we left the sun room and walked back into the kitchen. My father was sitting at the kitchen table with his ice to his cheek. My mother was stirring gravy. When we came in, they both looked up at us. I felt like a little boy whose friend had thrown a ball in the house and broken a lamp.

“Dad, Marc has something he want to say to you.”
“It better be-” My dad started.
“Bob. Hush. Let him speak.”
I gave a glance of gratitude to my mom.

Marc exhaled. “Sir. I apologize for punching you in the face.”
“Damn straight-”
“But.”
My attention snapped to Marc. Oh no, this wasn’t in the script. I think my mother could see the panic on my face.
Marc didn’t waver at all. “I am dating your son. And you did a fine job of raising him. Jeff’s successful, thoughtful, creative, funny, and sweet. I care about him a lot. And he cares about you both, and I understand that as we’re dating, that means sometimes it involves Bob and Helen. But I will not stand by and listen to you disrespect him, unfairly, because he doesn’t confirm to whatever standards you think should define his life. You don’t get to choose who he dates and what either of us does for a living. We do.”
My jaw dropped. I must have looked like a fish.
“The audacity of you telling me what I can and can’t do in my own house! What I can say or not say to my son is not your decision to make.” Bob stood up from the table, face red.

I was torn between wanting to fling myself into Marc’s arms like a fairy tale princess and jumping between them for damage control.

“It’s not, but I wouldn’t be a good boyfriend if I stood by while someone hurt his feelings.” Marc replied.
“It’s constructive criticism. I didn’t hurt his feelings.”
“You did, Bob.” Helen said. “You did. You say hurtful things sometimes. You mean well, but you could be nicer. Who cares what Marc or Jeff does for a living? Jeff pays his rent. He bought me that nice Hermes scarf for Christmas last year. He’s fine.”
Bob gawked at her.
Helen harrumphed. “This is all so silly. It’s Thanksgiving. My son is here, we have company, I’m starving, and the turkey has been sitting enough, Bob. Carve the damn thing so we can eat ok? Please? I don’t feel like mothering three sons tonight. That’s why I only had one.” She slammed the lid back on the gravy, making everyone jump.

Marc met my gaze and mouthed. “I love her.”
I smothered a giggle.
Bob sighed. “Fine. I’m hungry too. But we’re going to talk about this later.” Bob pointed a finger at Marc. He walked into the kitchen toward the turkey, muttering.

I pulled Marc into the hallway outside of the kitchen.
“Sorry, it just kind of came out-” Marc stammered.
I cupped his face in my hands and kissed him hard.
“Mmnn!” Marc squeaked in surprise, but quickly got with the program.
I slid my fingers around the back of his neck to deepen it. We both reluctantly broke for breath.
“That. Was amazing. No one has ever stood up for me like that before.”
Marc blushed. “Well, I, it kind of just came out….”
“When we go to bed tonight, I’m checking the size of your balls because I do not remember them being that huge.”
Marc blushed. His stomach grumbled.

I adjusted his shirt and we walked back into the kitchen together. Marc swooped in with helping plate the table, and he complimented my mother on how great everything smelled. When we finally ate, he complimented how juicy the meat was. Even Bob looked pleased about that. I spent most of the meal watching Marc instead of anything else. I think I missed putting the fork in my mouth once, because I was just so utterly smitten with him. How did I get so lucky? A little butterfly started fluttering around my mind. If he could handle Battleax Bob, then …well, maybe there was a chance Marc and I could get married one day.

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Captions are fictional. It turns out if you want to find a photo of a guy in a shirt, just search for “men in shirts” on Tumblr.

by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

everydaysagreatday:

Brett sighs. “It really is pretty.”
“We did a really great job. It looks like something from a department store,” Khalid says.
“I’m glad we used only one color for the lights. Would have been too overwhelming with the ornaments,” Brett comments.
“I agree.”
They watch the lights twinkle.
“Our first Christmas together in our own place,” Brett murmurs.
“Is it selfish of me that I’m kind of glad I shouldn’t travel for Christmas, and so I get to spend it with you?”
“No, cause if it is, that means I’m selfish too.”
Khalid chuckles and kisses Brett on his cheek. “You’re adorable. We can be selfish together.”
“Fine by me. You know, when I was a kid, I told myself I wouldn’t wait to open presents. That I’d open them when I got them. But I see the merit in waiting now.”
“The presents are part of the decoration,” Khalid says.
“Huh. That’s definitely true. But now like, as adults, the fun of Christmas is watching people open stuff you got for them. Like I’m going mental trying not to tell you what I got you.”
Khalid points to a package. “Well that one is definitely a vinyl, based on the wrapping.”
“Yesss but I can’t tell you which one!” Brett whines.
“You better not. I want it to be a surprise.”
Brett pats him on the arm. “You will be.”

Khalid looks at Brett. “I can see the lights in your eyes.”
“You can?”
“Yeah…” Khalid cups Brett’s jaw. “We shouldn’t forget that the most beautiful things are right in front of us.”
Brett blushes and leans into the kiss from his boyfriend. “Khalid-” He sighs softly and accepts another. “Mn, I can taste the peppermint marshmallows from the hot chocolate…”
“Can you?”
“Yeah. Mn don’t stop.”
Khalid cups the back of Brett’s head and deepens the intensity of the kiss. Brett puts his hand on Khalid’s chest. Khalid pulls back, a confused look on his face. Brett smiles as he extracts himself from Khalid’s embrace. He stands up and takes a step back so he can sit on the soft. He leans back across it long-way, and crooks a finger in Khalid’s direction.
A look of understanding appears on Khalid’s face, and it darkens into lust and desire. He stands up and climbs over Brett’s supine post to straddle his legs. He returns to kissing Brett as the classical music plays in the background. Even if there isn’t much under the tree this year, it doesn’t matter at all. What Khalid wants most is under him, not the tree.

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Captions are fictional.