Snow Storm

Chapter 16

Claude

Christmas morning was the one morning Claude allowed himself the chance to sleep in. There were no morning tasks for him. No guest complaints or requests. No chores. No buffet to oversee or calls to make.

His usual routine was to lie in bed by himself until his bladder complained. Then he’d get up, have a piss, a shower, some coffee, and eventually make his way to the hotel to say good morning to his little family. In the afternoons, he’d have a Skype with Dorsey and, if he was feeling up for it, say a quick hello to his family before grabbing a plate of food from the kitchen and wallowing in his cabin until the holiday was officially over.

This year was different. He still planned to have a lie-in, except he wouldn’t be alone. And that was the first thought on his mind when he rolled over to find…an empty bed? His heart leapt into his throat, and he sat up faster than his body was ready for. His legs tangled together, and he nearly fell flat on his face as he tried to unwind himself from the sheets.

He managed to land on his hands and knees and crawled his way to the corner of the room where he left his chair. It was an easier transition from the floor since his legs had a little more strength than the night before, and soon, he was ignoring every bodily function to race through the house in the search for his lover.

Harley was never up before him. He slept poorly, awake late into the wee hours past midnight, and he was always fully unconscious when Claude got up with the sun.

So why was today different? He didn’t think Christmas was a thing for Harley, so had he panicked after last night? He knew sharing the video had been the most vulnerable thing he’d ever done, but he didn’t think it was going to send Harley running.

He came to a halt in the kitchen doorway with Harley there, his arms reaching toward the counter, a guilty look on his face. Claude lifted a brow, and Harley cleared his throat.

“Good morning.”

Claude wheeled fully into the kitchen and realized that Harley was setting something on the counter. It looked like a room service tray. Oh, his sweet, perfect man. “I was going to cook for you.”

“You’ve done enough,” Harley answered. He dropped the tray and came around the counter, and when Claude held out his hands, Harley took them. With the firm grip, Claude stood and took two struggling steps toward his lover. “And we both know I’d make a mess of it if I tried. Aminah said this was the staff gift to the both of us.”

Claude’s heart felt very full. “I see.”

“I, uh…I know you don’t have a tree, but I also stole some garland and a couple of baubles from the lobby,” Harley told him, stepping in close. His grip on Claude’s waist was both comforting and kept him steady. “I put your gift there.”

“Gift? When did you…how did you…?” He’d gotten something for Harley, of course. When he and Charlie had gone for the supply run, he’d picked up a couple of things for him. But they were nothing special. He just wanted Harley to feel loved this morning. But how had Harley managed anything?

Harley tipped his chin up the way Claude often did to him and met his gaze. “I didn’t buy you anything, so you might not like it. Uh…it’s just a…it’s a thing. It’s important to me, but it might be silly, and maybe this was a bad idea. We can just?—”

Claude kissed him quiet, and as soon as Harley melted into it, he pulled back. “Whatever it is, I will love it.”

“You say that now?—”

“And I’ll say it when I see it.” He kissed him again. “I have something for you as well.”

Harley looked shocked for a second, then deflated. “When you went into town.”

“It’s not anything important to me. I just didn’t want you to wake up with nothing.”

Harley scoffed. “My brother hid a couple gifts in my suitcase. I won’t be without.”

“Then we can add mine to your little pile.” Claude traced a touch over Harley’s lips. “You deserve to be spoiled. To feel special.”

“I am. And I do.”

They kissed again, and then Claude’s legs started to tremble, so Harley helped him back up, and he sat down. “Let me go take care of myself,” Claude said. “I won’t be long.”

“I’ll get coffee going. We know I can do that without burning something.”

Claude laughed and stared at him for a moment longer before heading off.

By the time he was done with his morning routine, Claude was feeling better. He’d put on his orthotics under his Christmas pajamas that Lyric had given him, then made his way into the living room to find a little picnic set up. Harley was in his own set of new pajamas—Claude had no idea how Lyric managed to find an extra set—or whose gift she’d swiped them from—but the fact that they were matching made him smile.

“We’re both Santas,” Harley said, his cheeks pink. “Does she do this every year?”

“Every other year,” Claude said. He walked over to the sofa and collapsed in the nest of blankets Harley had arranged. On the table in front of them was a small spread of fruit, pastries, a stack of pancakes far taller than Claude would ever eat, a little pot of whipped cream, and two mugs of something steaming with thick foam on top. “Cappuccino?”

Harley raised a brow, then laughed. “Dirty hot chocolate.” He reached for a mug and passed it over.

Claude had no idea what that meant until he took a sip. There was the faintest bite of alcohol, followed by the richness of coffee mixed into the chocolate. He was glad he hadn’t taken muscle relaxers that morning. “Who came up with this?”

“My brother and I used to make them when we were younger. Rebellious teenagers trying to deal with shitty family,” he clarified.

Claude hummed as he took a few more sips. Normally he didn’t indulge, but it was Christmas, and the drinks weren’t strong. He settled back against his lover and smiled when Harley curled into him. “Are you two close?”

“Me and Wes?” Harley let out a soft hum. “We’re closer now than we used to be. He kind of took my mom’s side a lot, and she doesn’t like me much.”

“Your mother?”

Harley let out a soft huff. “Yeah. Trust me, that whole idealized, you fall in love with your kid the moment they’re born doesn’t apply to every parent. She had a very…” He trailed off in thought. “Unforgiving idea of what she wanted her life to be like. My father and I didn’t live up to that. She tried her best to shape me into the perfect son, but it didn’t work. I was always socially awkward and weird, and no amount of punishing me and isolating me from my hobbies was going to change that.”

Claude felt another rush of anger for his lover and the things he’d been through. “That must have been hard.”

“It sucked. I think I still struggle with the concept of unconditional love because I didn’t experience much of it. My dad was better—not the best, but he was there for me in ways she never was. Losing him was hard. He was my only real ally.”

“I’m sorry.” Claude leaned forward to set his mug down, then shifted over and pulled Harley against him. They kissed long and slow for a few moments, heated but not really going anywhere. “I wish I could go back with you and protect you from the pain.”

Harley shrugged. “If I had the chance to live an easier life, I might take it. I like to think I wouldn’t be a fundamentally different person if I had more support when I was a kid. But I also don’t regret who I am. It’s just lonely sometimes.”

“I know what you mean,” Claude said.

Harley smiled. “I figured you did.”

Silence fell, and they basked a while, but just as Claude’s legs began to ache from the sideways position he was in, Harley lifted off him.

“Can we do presents?”

He sounded so delighted Claude couldn’t help but burst into laughter. “Yes, chéri. May I go first?”

Harley nodded, jumping to his feet, and he walked over to the end table, where he’d set up a little nest of green garland decorated with the smaller baubles Lyric had put up all over the lobby. Nestled in there were three gifts—two for Harley, one for him.

“I thought you said your brother put gifts in your luggage,” he pointed out.

Harley scoffed. “Yeah, gift cards for a couple local shops back home that I like. They’re sweet, but they weren’t garland-worthy.”

Claude grinned helplessly as he held out his hands to receive the neatly wrapped gift. He’d seen Harley put it there the night before, and when the younger man wasn’t looking, he picked it up and examined the perfectly pressed corners.

His gifts weren’t wrapped as nicely, but one of them was a similar shape. Had they given each other the same thing?

“Okay, go,” Harley ordered.

Claude took his time peeling away the tape until Harley squirmed and yelled at him to rip it, so he did. He clawed his fingers and destroyed his lover’s hard work. The paper fell in a neat pile at his feet, and he found himself staring down at a book.

It was older, a little worn around the edges. The cover was sort of abstract in a way he rarely saw at bookshops. Hands clinging on to each other that looked to be drawn in pencil. Then he noticed the title: This and Every Moment After , by Harley James.

“This is yours,” he said very quietly, not looking up.

“Yeah.” Harley cleared his throat. “My first book ever written. It’s the only copy I have in print. It’s only sold like a hundred and fifty copies since it was published, so you’re not holding a bestseller or anything. No publisher wanted it, but it was…I don’t know. It was the book my heart wanted me to write. I thought it would never see the light of day, so I sat on it for a long time, but then I decided to publish it myself. I kept it in my name because it was mine. It wasn’t anything for R.J. Ruiz, if that makes sense. No one knows it’s me who wrote this. I’ve never shown anyone this before.”

That must have been his pen name, but Claude had never asked about it. “Why not use your real name for everything else?”

Harley licked his lips and hugged himself around the middle. Claude half regretted asking, but he also wanted to know all the good and bad about this man. “Part of it was spite, I think. Ruiz is the last name my mom took when she was adopted. She never believed in me. She did her absolute best to beat the idea of becoming an author out of me, and it hurt. She spent years telling me I wasn’t any good, that I didn’t have enough talent or charisma, that it was a waste of everyone’s time. So when my book got picked up by a big publisher, they asked me what I wanted to go by, and I thought of her. It was kind of a fuck-you, look at me, Ma. You know?”

Claude chuckled. “I think I get it.”

“It’s also for my abuela though. She adopted my mom from rough circumstances. My mom, uh…they’re not blood related. She was the neighbor’s kid, and yeah. It wasn’t a good situation. She took my mom in and gave her a home and her name. But I think what my mom went through kind of…fucked her up? She never recovered, no matter how hard she was loved. But my abuela loved me. She believed in me. She died way before I was an adult, but she told me never to give up. So I didn’t. So the name kind of goes both ways.”

“And this book?—”

“I kept Harley James for my dad,” he said softly. “My mom picked my first name, but my dad said it made me unique and special, even when kids made fun of me for it. I wanted this book to reflect that part of me. The part who was loved.”

“Thank you for sharing that,” Claude told him softly. His life seemed so simple compared to what Harley had experienced.

He traced the swooping font of the title, then the block text of Harley’s name. It was strange to see it there on a book cover—tangible, physical proof that Harley had a big, important life outside of all this.

He felt insignificant in ways he couldn’t explain. Too small for a man like Harley, who deserved so much. And yet, Harley wanted him. He’d chosen him.

And he’d given him this book. His only copy.

He was more than touched. His eyes got a little hot, and he blinked a few times before he looked up.

“I love it.” His voice was raw and ragged. He knew what this meant—the trust Harley had in him. He didn’t know what to say. Everything he’d done and given now seemed to pale in comparison.

“You haven’t even read it,” Harley said with a small, uncomfortable laugh.

Claude set the book down in his lap and pulled Harley in for a kiss. “I don’t have to love the writing—though I suspect I will. I love what this means to you and why you gave it to me.”

“I just wanted you to see this part of who I am. I’m not ashamed of what I write now. I love what I write now. I also love that it pays my bills,” he added with a small laugh. Claude kissed him for that too. “But this was a piece of me that very few people get to see, and…I don’t know. It just felt right.”

“I feel ashamed for what I got you now,” Claude said.

Harley groaned, easing back away from him. “You’re not allowed to judge yourself for whatever this is,” Harley said, patting the wrapped things in his lap. “We didn’t know we were going to meet.”

“No,” Claude offered quietly. “I suppose we didn’t.”

A beat of silence passed, and then Harley tore at the wrappings with a lot more enthusiasm and a lot less care than Claude had gone at his. It made him smile. The paper hit the floor, and Harley stared down at the bound journal in his lap.

There was slight embossing on the cover, and the pages were thick vellum. He opened the cover and traced the word Journal in calligraphic script.

“For your thoughts,” Claude said softly. “Book thoughts or…other things. I noticed you don’t always seem to feel comfortable expressing yourself aloud the way you might want to. So…if it’s easier…you can tell your journal all the things you want.”

“With you?” Harley asked, looking up at him.

Claude swallowed heavily as he had a sudden mental picture of pages and pages written in Harley’s neat handwriting, full of all the things he secretly desired. A road map of how to bring him the most mind-blowing pleasure.

He licked his lips. “With me. If you like.”

“I would. I want to be able to tell you what’s inside my head when you’re touching me. I want to be able to tell you how I want it—what makes me feel good. I just get so…so stuck.”

Claude took the journal off his lap and set it to the side, drawing Harley back into his arms. “You show me with your body,” he murmured. “With your soft sounds.” He traced a line down Harley’s throat, making him shiver, a whispered moan escaping his lips. “With the way you move. The way your breath hitches in your chest and the way you lean into me like you’re desperate for my touch. I’m learning to read you, and I’ll be fluent soon enough.”

Harley sucked in a breath, then surged in and kissed him. It was hot, demanding, and needy. He had Harley pressed against the arm of the sofa, straddling his hips, rocking his half-hard erection against Claude’s hip.

Digging his fingers into Harley’s sides, Claude urged him on. He wanted him to take charge, to give in to the carnal need coursing through his body. But after a moment, Harley went still and pulled back.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”

“For what, my darling?” Claude asked with a frown.

“I made a gift exchange dirty,” Harley groaned.

Claude threw his head back and laughed. “Does it look like I have complaints?” He stroked a touch down Harley’s cheek. “You were shamed before, weren’t you? For the things you like? The things you want?”

Harley flushed and looked away. “I’ve never been, like, a kinky guy, but people always assumed I wanted it all tender and soft and slow. Easy. Careful. Like I was fragile.”

“You’re the furthest thing from fragile.”

Harley licked his lips and ducked his head. “Maybe. I guess. I just…I don’t know…I think I wanted to be pushed a little. I wanted to experiment, but people—especially my ex—made me feel like I was weird for wanting to try things. For…for liking it when I was bossed around.”

Claude tipped Harley’s chin up. “I like the way you respond to orders. To praise.”

Harley shuddered as Claude grinned. “I like the way you tell me what to do. It’s not a request, but you make it sound like me doing what you say is a gift.”

“Because it is. You’re a treasure, and your ex is a fool.”

“Yeah, well.” Harley blew out a puff of air. “I’m the bigger fool staying so long, even though I knew deep down what he was up to.”

“The cheating.”

“Fucking our couples therapist,” Harley said.

Claude nearly choked on his own tongue. “I…your therapist?” Dorsey had told him it was someone close to who he was, but that was beyond the pale.

“Yeah,” Harley said with a dark laugh. He nestled against Claude’s chest. “I think it made me feel like I was the fucked-up one, you know? Like, if this man who was educated and trained to help couples get closer fell in love with my fiancé while we were trying to strengthen our relationship, it must be me who was the problem.”

“Or he’s an unethical couchon who has no business practicing mental healthcare,” Claude growled.

Harley looked up with a grin. “You’re biased.”

“Yes. But I’m also a realist, and I wouldn’t give up my very long, very comfortable life of emotional and physical celibacy for someone who wasn’t you. Those two deserve each other, and I’m sorry for the pain you went through, but I’m not sorry you’re here.”

He was worried for a moment that was cruel. After all, Harley had been through a lot. Too much, in fact.

But his lover just smiled and took in a breath as he turned his face up and kissed Claude deep and slow.

“I need to unwrap my other present,” Harley murmured as Claude slipped hands down the back of his pajamas.

Claude groaned as he urged Harley to rock against him. “Don’t bother. They’re just fancy pens, and I will buy you a warehouse of them so long as you don’t stop doing this.”

Harley nipped at his chin. “Don’t worry. I won’t. And I don’t need the pens. You getting off on this is incentive enough.”