The Christmas Keeper (Laurel Holidays #6)

9. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

C hristmas Day dawned bright and cold.

I moved closer to the toasty man lying in my bed.

See, I was a good boy and always did what my mother told me. I’d made and unmade my bed and was now lying all over it. Kenan mumbled something into his pillow as I wiggled tight to his side, my hand slipping down over his bare back to fondle a small but tasty rump.

“What was that?” I asked, licking a line down over his shoulder to the middle of his back as my fingers delved into the crack of his ass. “You want my dick?”

He chortled into the pillow before craning his head to the side to look at me. Early morning sun shone across the bed. I’d never seen a more beautiful sight.

“I said Merry Christmas. Not sure how you got give me your dick from a friendly holiday greeting.”

My index finger roamed lower. Kenan softly moaned and spread his legs to give me access to his pucker. Pressing into him with no lube wasn’t happening. I never wanted to hurt him, but playing with the edges of his hole was totally taking place.

“Dicking. Picking. Pickles. Holiday. Christmas. It’s all there if you look closely enough,” I replied as I toyed with his hole until we were both hard. The condoms and lube were now on the nightstand, right on top, within easy reach. We were ripping through both at an amazing rate.

“The way your mind works terrifies me,” Kenan said as we wrestled around, me sliding over his back to get the goodies.

“Be afraid. Be very afraid,” I teased as I sat back to roll on a condom, then smeared it with thick ropes of lube. “You look so good spread out under me.”

“Mm, you’ll feel so good inside me if you ever get there.” He gave his ass cheeks a flex. My cock was eager. And since he was such a demanding bottom, I slid into him with one smooth, hot thrust. Just how I had learned that he liked it. “Oh Brann, that is just perfect.”

Yeah. It was. Sheer perfection. As we moved and sweated, I admitted to myself that this was how I wanted to wake up every morning for the rest of my life. Obviously, I couldn’t say that out loud, and I should be slapping myself for even thinking about future Kenan and Brann. One day at a time, but that just wasn’t how my heart worked. When I fell, I fell hard. I fell totally. And I was deeply in the feels for Kenan. So deep that visions of days spent playing with the geese come summer danced in my head instead of sugarplums. Kenan was an enthusiastic bottom, rising up to meet each heated push into his slick, hot body. He lurched under me, a soft cry that I loved hearing as he came over the sheets. I followed quickly, his shudders and shivers tugging me over the edge. I fell over his back, winded, dick jerking, and kissed his ear.

“Ugh,” he panted, his channel milking me as I chewed on his lobe. “Ah that…shit…I have a mess…”

“We’ll clean it up in a second,” I whispered and licked the shell of his ear, tugging gently on the hoops in his lobe before easing out of his body. He made a sound of loss that stroked my ego before he rolled to his side. I glanced down at him, sweaty and covered in semen, and decided that it was never too early for breakfast. I smiled and pinned him to the bed, one hand on his chest, and lapped up the pearly smear of cum from his belly. He twitched and snorted, but his eyes were hot when I moved from his navel to his mouth. His arms fell around my shoulders as my tongue swept over his. “There,” I teased between kisses. “I’ve already started tidying things up.”

“Ass.” He chuckled, stole another peck, and then gave me a gentle push that I rolled into, falling back to the bed, right over the wet spot. “Shower then goose chores or goose chores, then a shower?”

“Let’s run out and do the geese then dash back and shower.”

So that was what we did. We pulled on some dirty clothes from the floor. We were two dudes who were coated in drying spunk. Wrinkled clothes from the floor did not bother us. Kenan made some coffee for us while I dumped all the greens and funky tomatoes and cukes from the alehouse kitchen into a big bucket. Then I topped the leftover sandwich toppers with some watermelon and some peaches that I’d bought for their holiday smorgasbord.

Kenan came over to sprinkle a few blueberries from the fridge over the mound of fresh veggies and fruit, and then we geared up and went outside. I took a moment to inhale the bitter cold air. Fluffy snow coated the trees and lawn, the kind that was super pretty to look at but terrible for making snowmen. Kenan was headed to the goose pen. His new life goal, according to him, was to win over my geese. I wished him well. Bless his heart. My geese were not easily won over. Wilma was chill, but Fred would sooner pinch your ass than say hello. This he knew well, but he was determined and seeing how he had won over the people in Whiteham, it was possible he would. Given enough time. Time. That was the unknown element. And something that I was not dwelling on. Nope. Nope. Nopeity-nope.

Life was all about today. And today the sun was out, the birds that wintered over were singing, and all was right in the world. I glanced up the road, unable to see much of Mr. Blum’s cottage but seeking it out just the same. I made a mental note to go check the place for him and toss out some corn for the crows he fed. I was pretty sure the birds he fed weren’t always the same ones as crows were partial migrators, but he seemed to think they were, and hey, whatever made him happy. He was due back tomorrow night. Maybe Kenan and I would head over the following day before work to see how he had made out with his sister. I was hoping his son would show up as well since they seemed to be estranged.

Speaking of sisters. Mine was texting. At ten after seven. I opened the text to see a GIF of six animated geese popping out eggs while the “Twelve Days of Christmas” tune played in the background.

“My sister is a goober,” I called to Kenan, who was already in the goose enclosure with the bucket of goosey holiday cheer. “She’s awake and sending dumb goose GIFs already.”

“She’s probably freshly loved just like me,” he loudly said and then bent to open the coop door.

“Eww, no, we do not picture baby sisters freshly loved,” I replied.

Kenan laughed as Fred followed Wilma out, gave the dude with the curls a low hiss, and then spread his wings out in a threatening manner. “No, do not hiss. Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the geese in the yard!”

Fred was not having it. Kenan chucked the greens into a low, rubber dish and sprinted out of the enclosure as if his ass were on fire. Fred honked several times proudly.

“Man, he hates me.” Kenan sighed as I jogged down the snowy path to join him.

“Nah, he’s just grumpy. Like me.” I smiled at Kenan.

“He’s way grumpier than you.”

“Well, if you want, I can bite your ass so that Fred and I are on equal grump ratings.”

“That doesn’t have quite the same fear impact.” He patted my backside. “I’m not going back in there, so it’s up to you to clean the pooh from the coop and give them fresh lounging hay.”

“Hmm, I suspect fowl play.”

“Oh my God. That was terrible. Give me the phone so I can tell your sister you’re making dumb puns at the crack of dawn.”

“Trust. She knows. She grew up with my dumb ass.”

Kenan typed away madly while I forked up frozen goose turds and then filled pans with water for drinking and dunking lettuce leaves. Once that was done, I met Kenan at the back door, kissed him on the mouth, and took back my phone. My sister had taken the ten minutes I was occupied being a good goose shepherd to tell Kenan every embarrassing moment from my life, aged zero to six. Thankfully, other than a brief stint where I liked being naked more than dressed and had streaked through a local shopping mall, I’d not done too much. Now when she got to the teen years and beyond, that would change dramatically.

We slipped back inside, showered leisurely, and made ourselves a light breakfast of toast and more coffee. Then we began prepping dinner. It was, much like the gifts for my family, totally slapdash. Since I’d not known they were coming, I’d had to rush to find enough food for six instead of the two I had planned on feeding. Needless to say, on the day before Christmas, the local grocery store was picked clean. I found one canned ham, some corky sweet potatoes, and a bag of red potatoes with eyes poking out of the netting window. Oh, and some day-old cherry tarts on the reduced-for-quick-sale rack by the bakery department.

Mom liked to eat early on holidays, around one, so we peeled and cubed, placed some pineapple rings from a can in my cupboard on top of the canned ham, and then set the table.

It was the least festive-looking table ever. Mismatched dishes, plastic cereal bowls for the sides, and glasses from the bar. I owned no holly leaf tablecloths or crisp linen napkins like my mother. We folded paper towels and placed my dismal flatware from K-Mart atop them.

“The table could use something.” I sighed as I stared at a large hole where a floral arrangement should sit if this was Mom’s table.

“Hold on.” Kenan darted over to the menorah/tree table, picked up the candelabrum, and set it reverently in the center of the table. “How’s that?”

“Looks good. So, can we light the candles?”

“Hmm, well, some say sure, some say no. My grandfather always refused to allow it to be lit afterward, saying doing so would take away from the holiday lightings. Now I feel that it would be fine for a small family gathering. It might spur some interfaith discussions.”

“Are you positive? I don’t want to go against your grandfather’s wishes.”

Kenan nodded. “I’m sure. It’s mine to do with as I see fit now.”

“Okay then, we’ll light them. Thank you. For the centerpiece and for being so understanding about my mother. Sometimes she can be so kind and other times…”

He hugged me into his side as we drank in our work. “She’s fine. If she can accept an addict dating her son, I’m sure she can handle me being a Jew.”

“You’re such a good man.” I snuggled in close, inhaling his clean clothes and warm skin.

“Meh,” he replied with some dry humor. “I think I should tell them about Lance.”

I lifted my head from his shoulder. “Are you sure you want to bring that up?”

“Yeah, it should be discussed. I don’t want them to find out like you did. I handled that very badly.”

I let my head drop back to his shoulder. “We both handled that poorly. But yeah, you should probably mention it so when they find out, and they will if we keep doing this thing, they won’t feel as if we were trying to hide something from them. My mother was hurt that I didn’t even mention you. Not that I need to tell her every minute detail of my life…”

He slipped his arm around my waist. “For all of her foibles, at least she’s steadfast.”

That she was. I held him close as we shared a quiet moment, both of us lost in thought about family and how important and maddening they could be.

***

As normal, my mother was fifteen minutes early.

“You know this is how people walk into odd situations,” I chastised her while opening the front door.

“And this is why you shouldn’t engage in odd things,” she parried as she stepped inside, giving my cheek a pat, and then shrugged out of her coat.

“Your definition of odd may not be my definition of odd,” I replied while my father, sister, and Antoine piled in out of the cold, snowy boots melting on the old rug just inside my front door. Dad handed me a large bag of wrapped gifts, which I passed to Kenan to place under the rinky-dink fake tree. He hurried to deliver the presents and then jogged back.

“I’m sure it’s not,” Nora teased and gave Kenan a wink as he came over to shake hands and help gather coats. He was so good at being courteous. After all the shit that life, and people, had dumped on him, he somehow moved through his days with a kind of serenity that I envied. “I’ve never seen Mom with boxers on her head before.”

“Well, there was that one time before you kids were conceived that we went to a party thrown by your uncle Milton and—” Dad began.

“And that was too long ago to bore the millennials with. Something smells good.” Mom gave Dad a dark look and made her way into the kitchen, stopping at the small table with the mismatched dishes and the glowing candles. “That is a lovely menorah, Kenan. Do you travel with it, or did you buy it here in town?”

“It was my grandfather’s. One of the few familial things that I have,” he said and then went on to discuss his beloved grandfather while skipping, pretty obviously, over mentioning his parents. Nora and I exchanged looks.

“Well, the holiday sounds like a lovely one. I’ll confess I don’t know much about Hanukkah, but I’m willing to learn. There’s something about oil, yes?” Dad asked.

“Why don’t you sit and chat while I pour some wine?” I enquired with a wave toward the living room sofa. My cabin was small, so there really wasn’t much space to get away from each other, but Nora came with me, on the explanation that she was better at pouring wine than I was. Being a professional barkeep, I should have taken offense, but I just went with it.

Kenan was chatting away as Nora and I removed the chilled wine from the fridge.

“Does Kenan not have a good relationship with his family?” Nora asked in a small whisper as I rummaged in my utensil junk drawer for the corkscrew.

“Not really. I’m not at liberty to discuss it, but he’s pretty much alone in the world now.”

“He has you.”

I glanced at my little sister. She smiled right before her bottom lip started quivering. “Oh Nora, baby girl.”

“Stupid hormones,” she gasped as I gathered her close. “I’m just…all over the place…but I am so happy…you two have each other.”

Estee Lauder Modern Muse filled my sinuses as she sniffled into my shoulder. My dark inner voice of no self-confidence wanted to question just how long we would have each other, but I stuffed a sock into his mouth. Mentally. I was not going to dwell on dire what could happen. Along that path lay misery. Life was to be lived today.

“I’m happy we have each other too.” I kissed the top of her head, held her away from me, and made a stupid joke about her whining. She snorted like a hog. Everyone turned to look, which made both of us giggle like fiends.

“They’ve always been like that. Both of them find great humor in rude sounds that escape the human body,” Mom tutted.

“Well, honey, a good fart is a thing of beauty,” Dad tossed out. Kenan and Antoine laughed out loud as did Nora and I. Mom rolled her eyes. We had wine, and then dinner, and then some dessert. None of it was fancy, or expensive, but our bellies were full, and as my father likes to say that’s the important thing.

After the food, we took our glasses of wine, or decaf tea in Nora’s case, and settled on the rundown sofa and recliner. We voted on who would hand out the gifts. Nora won, or lost, depending on how you looked at it.

“I don’t have a Santa hat,” I confessed. That was a family tradition that whoever got the vote to hand out presents had to wear a Santa hat. “I do have a green top hat that was part of a beer promotion for St. Patty’s Day last year.”

“That would be divine.” Nora beamed. Once the hat was fetched and atop her head, she handed out the meager gifts.

“Oh, look a new circular saw!” Dad crowed as did Antonine, Nora, and Mom. Well, Mom didn’t actually crow. She kind of patted the tool as if it were a cat on her lap. She was terribly allergic to cats and power tools.

“Al had like nothing left other than saws or tape measures,” I explained as I shot a look at my sister.

“Oh hey, I got a saw too!” Kenan chimed into the saw joy.

“Yes, we found out that Al had little to pick from,” Mom tossed out. “I am sorry, Kenan. When we get home, we’ll send you something a bit more personal.”

“No worries, ma’am. I’d love to try my hand at cutting wood,” he responded, saw box on his thighs, his dark eyes alive with pleasure.

“Nonsense. We can’t simply give you a saw while Brann gets all these lovely gifts,” Mom said in that way that we all knew meant the decision was finalized.

“Might as well not bicker about it. She’ll send them whether you want a sweater and cologne set or not,” I told him as I placed my new sweater and cologne set on the floor by my feet.

“Okay, well, then thank you. You can mail them to the pub, I guess,” Kenan said. “I don’t have a mailing address or anything.”

“Send them here,” I rushed to say. My eyes touched on Kenan. “Until you figure out where you’re going to be in the new year.”

“I plan to be here, with you, maybe in a little apartment somewhere in town.” He reached out to take my hand.

Good thing because something had to tether me to the earth.