Christmas Beau (Christmas Falls: Season 2)

Chapter 11

Chapter

Eleven

“ I had a job interview today,” Scott told Hank the following day as they cleaned up after dinner while Teddy played with all four dogs in the backyard.

Hank dumped a dish in soapy water, and the sight of his wet forearms made Scott think of what other parts of him might look like when they were wet too.

He gulped, determined to keep things PG with Teddy around.

“Oh yeah?” Hank said. “What for?”

“Reception at an auto shop in Peoria.” Scott’s dad had covered for him at his booth at the fair so he could drive into the city.

“How’d it go?” Hank handed him the dish to dry. “Do you think you got it?”

“Nope. In fact, they told me point-blank that they thought I was overqualified.”

Hank’s brow furrowed. “Why’d they bring you in then?”

“Beats me. I mean, from their perspective, I get it: they’re probably wondering why someone with a law degree and a decade’s worth of experience in the field is going from a law firm to an auto shop. I’d be wary too if I were them, wondering if this guy would get bored within three months and if I’d have to go through the whole hiring process all over again. I don’t know. Maybe they just wanted to suss me out.”

“I’m sorry. How badly did you want the job?”

Scott placed the dried dish with the others on the island for Hank to put away later. “Not at all.”

“Okay, then... why apply in the first place?” Hank asked, drying his hands on a towel.

Sighing, Scott draped his towel over the oven handle to dry, then leaned back against the island. “I had dinner with my parents a couple of days ago, and my dad made a good point. He said that whatever my next job is, it doesn’t have to be something that takes me through the rest of my life. It can simply be something that’s good for right now.”

That was why he’d applied for the auto shop position yesterday morning. He’d gotten a call back within half an hour and an interview scheduled for today. They were as desperate to hire someone as he was to be hired, but the fit hadn’t been right.

“Okay.” Hank leaned against the counter across from him. “That’s a fair point. Most people go through several career changes in their lives. But at the same time, you want something you’ll actually enjoy, right? Because if you’re miserable in your professional life, that’ll bleed over into your personal one.”

“Ideally, sure. But I’ve been out of work for six months now. I’ve got savings, and that’ll last a few more months, assuming no huge expenses come my way, but I’d rather not get to the point where I’m wondering how I’m going to put food on the table.”

“The job at the community center combined with sales of your quilts aren’t enough?”

“Right now they are,” Scott said, aware that most people didn’t air their financial laundry like this. But he trusted Hank. “I’ve got commissions because of the holiday, and sales at the fair have been pretty good. But come January, I’ll get the odd commission only now and again, not enough to make a living on.”

“Let’s talk this through, then.” Hank crossed his arms over his chest, his biceps straining against the sleeves of his T-shirt. “What drew you to law?”

The question surprised Scott enough for him to tear his gaze away from Hank’s arms. “Uh... honestly? A mock trial we did in history class in sophomore year of high school.”

Hank grinned at that, seemingly delighted with Scott’s response for some reason. “Really?”

“Yeah. It was fun. Figured I could do it for a living.”

“And what drew you to divorce law, specifically?”

“It’s family law, technically. I just ended up handling divorces at the firm.”

A cacophony of barks came from outside, and Scott turned to look out the kitchen door. It was dark out, but Hank had plenty of outdoor lighting set up. In the middle of the yard, Teddy was trying to roll a ball of snow—presumably to make a snowman—and the dogs kept trying to eat it, barking when Teddy shooed them away.

Teddy had lost all of his anger at Hank when Scott had informed them they were going to Hank’s for dinner. He’d also given Scott a funny look Scott hadn’t been able to interpret, but he’d come along willingly, though Scott suspected it was only for the chance to play with Hank’s dogs.

“Okay,” Hank said, drawing Scott’s gaze back to him and his ginormous arms. “What drew you to family law, then?”

Cocking his head, Scott thought about it for a moment. He’d never had to articulate why he’d chosen family law over other types of law. “There were certain types of law I knew I didn’t want to practice, so that ruled them out right away.”

Criminal law. Tax law. International law.

No, thank you.

He turned to stare outside again, where Teddy was wrestling with Yager in the snow. “When I adopted Teddy, I had no idea what the fuck I was doing. I had a lawyer who held my hand the whole way and walked me through the process step-by-step, making sure both Teddy and I would be protected. I guess I wanted to be the same light in the dark for someone else.”

Instead, he’d ended up with the divorce cases. Of course, he’d still been helping people then too, just not in the way he’d envisioned.

Hank made a humming sound and straightened. “Coffee?”

“Only if it’s decaf.”

Scott watched him as he dealt with the coffee machine, cataloging Hank’s profile from the breadth of his shoulders to his toned arms to his wide thighs encased in washed-out denim jeans. He was tall and solidly built, and Scott remembered, with crystal clarity, what it had felt like to be in Hank’s arms.

He couldn’t help but wish Teddy was someplace else so they could get to the kissing part of the evening Hank had promised him.

Hank was removing two mugs from the cupboard when he said, oh-so casually, “Is it possible for you to practice other aspects of family law?”

Startled by the question, Scott blinked at him. Blinked again. “Uh, yes?” he said inanely. He scratched his head, silently cursing himself. “I’ve been so focused on no longer handling divorces that it never occurred to me that I could keep practicing, but with a focus on areas I enjoy.”

Hello, thy name was dumbass.

Except, now that he was thinking about it, it wasn’t about the divorces. He’d been avoiding practicing again, not only because he was disillusioned by being a divorce lawyer, but because of the terrible work-life balance.

That wasn’t to say that he couldn’t make changes. If he were to work at a firm again—or hell, launch his own practice—he could set better boundaries.

“You look like you’re thinking deep thoughts,” Hank said, amusement in his voice. He handed Scott a mug of coffee. “Milk? Sugar?”

“Black is fine, thanks. And yeah, I guess I am. Between you and my dad, you’ve given me a lot to think about.”

“You’re welcome?”

Chuckling, Scott followed him to the kitchen table, where they sat side by side, angled so they could watch Teddy and the dogs run around the yard. Scott raised a foot onto his chair and draped one arm over his knee.

Hank’s house was cute. It was a small bungalow with blue-painted exterior bricks and an attached one-car garage. The inside was all gleaming hardwood floors, chrome appliances, and walls painted a homey shade of green. There was a mix of photos and artwork on the walls, and on the floor of the living room sat three huge dog beds.

Hank didn’t have any Christmas décor up, though, neither inside nor outside, and Scott couldn’t help but wonder if he hadn’t had time to put them up yet or if he wasn’t feeling the Christmas spirit.

A couple of weeks ago, Scott hadn’t been feeling the Christmas spirit either. Now, he was feeling unmistakably festive.

“I’ll admit,” Hank murmured, “that I wondered if Teddy was adopted or if there’d been a wife or girlfriend in your past.”

“Um, hello?” Scott raised a hand. “ Super gay, thank you very much.”

“You wouldn’t be the first gay man to be married to a woman.”

“True. But no. He’s adopted. I had a friend in college whose younger sister got pregnant. She was only fifteen—still a kid herself—and she had no desire to have a baby. In fact, she was dead set on never having kids. Still is, actually.”

“So you decided to adopt him?”

“Yeah. Not on a whim. I thought about it a lot and discussed it with my parents. I’m sure there aren’t many twenty-three-year-olds out there who decide to help out their friend’s sister by adopting their baby, certainly not ones in their first year of law school. But just like Kendra knew she never wanted to be a mom, I always knew I wanted to be a dad. It felt right, and even though the timing could’ve been better, I’ve never regretted it.”

“Is his mom in his life?”

“No,” Scott said, a pang hitting him in the chest. “She was adamant about not being involved.” He would’ve loved for Kendra to have a role in Teddy’s life, but Kendra had known what she wanted and didn’t want—even at fifteen.

“Does Teddy know he’s adopted?” Hank asked.

Scott nodded. “I told him when he was little. You can talk to him about it. Like me, there aren’t a lot of topics he shies away from. And how about you? Any kids?” Scott was fairly certain there weren’t any—surely, a mention of them would’ve been on the Wikipedia page Anna had looked up the other day—but you never knew.

“No.”

To Scott’s utter surprise and delight, Hank cupped his ankle, brought his foot closer, and tucked it under his thigh. Then he left his hand there, casually resting against Scott’s leg as though the gesture—and Hank’s thigh on his foot—hadn’t sent every thought flying out of Scott’s head.

“Like you, I also wanted to be a dad,” Hank went on, and Scott forced his brain to function. “I think that was why I got married so fast—both times. In both cases, we were barely out of the honeymoon stage when we got married, which, in hindsight, was a contributing factor to the divorces.”

That explained why Hank wanted to take things slow with Scott. Not that Scott was opposed—he didn’t want to rush things either.

He braced his forearms on his upraised knee, bringing him a few inches closer to Hank. “You didn’t try to have kids with your wives?”

Hank opened his mouth, but instead of saying anything, he sucked in a long breath that expanded his chest.

Scott immediately backtracked. “Sorry. That’s a personal question. You don’t have to answer it.”

“No, it’s okay.” Hank gave him a flat-lipped smile. “We did try, but... The problem was me. Both marriages felt wrong right from the start, and the longer we were married, the more I began to realize these women weren’t the people I wanted to have children with. It made me, uh...” He scratched his cheek, embarrassed for perhaps the first time in Scott’s recollection. “It made me... unable to perform. In bed.”

Oh. Oh . Shit. Fuck, Scott had no idea what to say. He sipped his cooling coffee. “That must’ve sucked.”

“Yeah, they were none too happy with me. Called me every name in the book during the divorce. I’m sure they’ve compared notes.”

Scott winced. “No, I meant it must’ve sucked for you. All of it.”

Hank didn’t agree or disagree. Just turned his coffee mug around and around on his thigh. “It gave me a new perspective. Helped me figure out what I want and don’t want. I’m never getting married within a year of meeting someone ever again, that’s for damn sure. Oh, and don’t worry,” he practically purred. “Those bedroom issues won’t be a problem with you.”

Scott choked on his coffee.

The kitchen door burst open, and Teddy stuck his head inside. “Dad, can I go to Yuri’s?”

Still trying to catch his breath, Scott managed a “Huh?”

“Can I go to Yuri’s? Liam’s going over to play Mario Party.”

“You don’t want dessert?” Hank asked him.

“Dessert?” Scott croaked.

“Dessert?” Teddy echoed. He pursed his lips, clearly thinking about it. “What is it?”

Hank jerked a thumb toward the counter. “Box of assorted cookies from Ginger’s Breads.”

Teddy eyed it greedily. “Can I take a couple for my walk to Yuri’s?”

“Assuming it’s okay with your dad.”

Scott checked the time—it was only seven—and cleared the remaining grit out of his throat. “Do you want a lift?”

“I can walk.” Teddy stepped inside, onto the mat by the door, careful to keep the wet dogs outside.

“Text me when you get there,” Scott ordered. “I’ll pick you up at nine.”

Teddy shot him a hopeful smile. “Nine thirty?”

“Nine. It’s a school night.”

“Fine.” Teddy pouted, but he removed his boots, grabbed a couple of cookies from the box, and put his boots back on at the front door. “Thanks for dinner, Hank. Be nice to my dad.” The door slammed closed behind him a moment later.

Hank squeezed his ankle. “It’s sweet the way he looks out for you.”

“Yeah,” Scott said, his heart in his throat.

Now that the dogs had lost their playmate, they sat pathetically by the back door, waiting to be let in. Together, Scott and Hank dried them off with towels Hank kept in a basket next to the door, and they trotted into the living room for a nap, bypassing their dog beds for the rug. Fallon, because she was Fallon, claimed one of the beds as her own.

“Want a cookie?” Hank asked once he’d brought the wet towels to the laundry room.

“Yes. But I also want all those kisses you promised me.”

Smile turning sly, Hank walked right into his space, bringing his hands up to cup Scott’s hips. “Which one do you want first?” he asked against Scott’s lips.

“I’ll give you one guess,” Scott whispered back before claiming Hank’s mouth with his own.

This feeling that Hank’s kisses gave him couldn’t be explained. Electric was the best adjective Scott could think of to describe it. Paired with being pressed together from chests to thighs and Hank’s hands on his ass, it had Scott’s dick thickening in an instant.

“Christ,” Scott groaned when Hank dipped his head to nip at his neck. “Where have you been all my life?”

“Making bad choices and playing bad hockey?”

There was a lot to unpack in that statement, but while Hank snuck his fingers down Scott’s pants wasn’t the time to ask about it.

“Come back up here,” Scott murmured, yanking Hank up by the hair.

Hank’s smiling mouth met his, and there was something about that smile that tugged at Scott’s heartstrings. There was something... soft about it, almost awestruck, sending nervous flutters through Scott’s belly.

“Come to bed with me,” Hank said, nipping at Scott’s collarbone.

Scott’s laugh rumbled in his chest. “That’s not taking things slow.”

“We don’t have to take every part of this slow, do we?”

God. The way Hank’s voice had been reduced to gravel was intoxicating.

The way his sneaky fingers stretched Scott’s ass cheeks apart to gently play with his taint?

Mind-fucking-blowing.

“Please,” Scott rasped. He clutched at Hank’s shoulders, so, so ready for more. “We have—” He snuck a glance at the time on the microwave. “—an hour and forty-five minutes before I need to leave.”

“We can do a lot in an hour and forty-five minutes.”

“Promises, promises.”

Grinning, Hank pressed a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Want to see my room?”

“Only if there’s a bed in it.”

There was more than that, as it turned out. A dresser, an oversized armchair, an overflowing laundry basket, and moody landscape photography on the walls.

“Whoa,” Scott breathed. “These are awesome.”

His eyes kept going to an image of a skinny river snaking through a thin valley between two mountains, the sky a foggy overcast gray.

Hank came up behind him. “One of my sisters-in-law is a photographer.” He wasted no time in getting Scott’s jeans undone. “But do you really want to talk about photography right now?” He lowered Scott’s jeans and briefs to his thighs in one smooth motion.

Scott’s cock sprang free, the cool air deliciously sensuous against his skin, and he moaned when Hank wrapped one hand around him. “Oh shit, oh fuck.”

Had he been thinking, earlier, that Hank’s kisses were electric?

This was electric.

The pressure of Hank’s hand as he used Scott’s pre-come to slick him. The way he watched Scott pump his hips into his hand from over Scott’s shoulder. The very filthy “Fuck, that’s hot,” he whispered in Scott’s ear. The hard ridge of him pressing into Scott from behind.

Batting Hank’s hand away, Scott spun to face him, his erection bobbing in front of him. “Tell me you have supplies.” He cupped Hank’s dick through his jeans. “Because I really want you to fuck me with this.”

Growling, Hank launched himself at his nightstand, from which he extracted lube and a condom. While he waited, Scott shucked his jeans and underwear. When Hank turned back to face him, Scott unzipped Hank’s pants, shoved them and his underwear down far enough to free Hank’s dick, and nudged him in the chest hard enough for him to tumble back onto the giant armchair.

Hank landed with an “Oof,” his dick slapping him in the stomach.

Scott straddled him and kissed him again. Fuck, he couldn’t get enough of this man’s kisses.

He barely heard the snick of the lube cap over their combined heavy breathing, but he definitely noticed one of Hank’s lubed fingers breaching his hole.

Then a second.

Then a third.

He wrenched his mouth away from Hank’s to inhale sharply when Hank pegged his gland. “Sh-shit. Swear to god, if you make me come before I’ve had a chance to sit on your dick...”

Hank nipped his chin. “Wouldn’t want that. Here.” He handed Scott the condom.

Scott delighted—fucking delighted —in taking his sweet-ass time rolling it down Hank’s length and watching the man squirm and sweat and swear up a blue streak.

“Jesus, you’re sexy,” Scott told him, pushing up Hank’s T-shirt to tweak his nipples.

Groaning, Hank palmed Scott’s ass, urging him to rise onto his knees. Scott gripped the base of Hank’s shaft, angling it just right, and eased himself onto him with a keening sound that would’ve been embarrassing in any other circumstance.

Hank was breathing as though he’d just finished sprinting along Christmas Falls’ parade route, his chest heaving. His face was flushed and sweat gathered at his temples. “You feel so fucking good.”

“Ungh” was Scott’s incoherent response to that. He felt so damn full and he would’ve sworn his own dick hardened further, straining for release.

Still gripping Scott’s ass, Hank urged him onto his knees again, and the glide of Hank’s cock against him was almost more than he could take.

“Shit,” Scott whimpered. “Shit, shit, shit.” He grasped the back of the armchair with both hands, his knuckles white as fire winged up his spine and back down into his balls. “Don’t go easy on me. Please, Hank.”

Hank’s smile was very filthy.

The pace he set was excruciating and amazing and torturous. The slap of skin against skin was sexy as hell. The grip he kept on Scott’s ass became almost bruising, but fuck if Scott cared. He wanted those bruises, wanted to see the imprint of Hank’s fingers when he looked in the mirror.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” he whispered, the pressure pooling until he couldn’t breathe.

“Ugh, f-fuck. Fuck, Scott.” Hank’s pace slowed, probably so he could catch his breath, and Scott moaned a protest. “Tell me you’re close.”

Scott grasped his dick. “So close. So close. Please.”

“I need . . .”

Hank didn’t finish his sentence. He lifted Scott completely off him—Scott’s whine was utterly pathetic—rose from the chair with Scott in his arms, and dropped him onto the bed. Then he yanked one of Scott’s legs up so his knee was by his face and slid back in with a grunt.

Scott screamed, and he wasn’t even ashamed of it.

With better leverage, the snap of Hank’s hips was harder, deeper. Short, quick thrusts that had Scott seeing stars until the top of his head nearly blew off.

“Yes, yes, yes. C-coming. Coming. Fuck, Hank. Fuuuuuck.”

He came without any stimulation to his dick, semen coating his stomach and the T-shirt he hadn’t bothered to remove. His leg twitched in Hank’s grip, his muscles spasming with the force of his climax.

Hank lowered his leg to the bed and bent over him. “That was so hot.”

He was still hard, and the feel of him inside Scott while Scott was coming down from his high made his own dick twitch.

Hank raised an eyebrow. “Can I make you come again?”

Scott gulped. He’d once come several times in the span of a few hours, but that had been way back in his early twenties.

Twice in a few minutes in his mid-thirties? That was another thing entirely.

“Doubt it,” he said on a gasp as Hank pumped slowly.

Hank made a sound in the back of his throat that Scott interpreted as we’ll see , and reached for the lube, coating one hand.

“Shit,” Scott said, desire pooling again. Hank gripped him and tugged, and although it took a few minutes, his cock hardened again. “Jesus. Fuck you, Hank.”

Hank chuckled.

This was all Hank’s fault. He was so hot, and damn—the man knew how to drill him. Scott wanted more, more, more. All of it. Everything. Anything to make him feel this amazing.

“Fuck.” Straightening briefly, Hank removed his shirt in one violent motion and tossed it aside. “Christ, I swear to god, Scott, you’re going to do me in.”

Scott ran his hands up his toned and flushed abdomen. “Gonna come?”

“I want to. I need to,” Hank rasped, but his thrusts were still painfully slow.

“What did I say about going easy on me? Come on, Hank. Fuck me.”

“You’re not too sensitive?” Hank asked, running the pad of one thumb between Scott’s balls and down to his hole.

Scott twitched at the motion, pleasure zinging through him and stealing his thoughts. “God, no. Fuck me, Hank. Make me come again.”

Hank didn’t hesitate this time, setting a punishing pace that shifted Scott up the bed an inch with each thrust. Their matching grunts hung in the air, along with the squeak of the mattress, and when Hank came it was with a long-drawn groan that Scott felt in his chest.

The sight of him in the throes of climax, his entire body rigid, his pelvis merged with Scott’s as though he were trying to get deeper into him, set Scott off for his second orgasm of the evening, pleasure winging into him so fast it left him dizzy.

Sobbing for air, he met Hank’s gaze and grinned.

“Fuck,” Hank said with a laugh. He pulled out, leaving Scott empty and a little bereft, and collapsed next to him on the bed, his jeans and underwear still bunched around his legs. “ Now is it time for cookies?”

Scott laughed and kissed his stubbled cheek. “Definitely.”