Page 90 of Deck the Fire Halls

“All hopes for our gift now lay solely on Clay’s shoulders,” Gunter added. Then he gave a very big fake smile to Hamish. “Gee, thanks, Hamish.”

Hamish’s smile was more of a grimace, and I chuckled again. “It’ll be fun,” I said. “Though if there’s no budget and we have to use something we have, I’mjust trying to think what I could possibly make out of alcohol swabs and tongue depressors.”

Gunter snorted and held up some cups from the box. “I have paper cups.” Then he offered me an apologetic shrug. “Maybe Soren can... make something.”

“Hm,” I agreed. I was going to make the comment that hewasvery good with his hands, but I stopped myself. “Maybe.”

“Orrrrr,” Hamish said, as if we were missing the point completely. “You could make something together. Like a fun little project together. It’s a couple thing.”

“It’s a torture thing,” Gunter grumbled.

“Oh shush, it’s supposed to be fun and Christmassy,” Hamish said. “And the gift exchange will be a week before Christmas at Jayden and Cass’s place.”

“Are they not busy enough right now?” Gunter asked.

“I know, I know,” Hamish said, exasperated. “But that night’s free and he said he feels bad for missing our last few dinners. I told him we’ll make it potluck. Hope that’s okay?” He asked, looking at me.

“Sure. Of course.”

“It’s just so he doesn’t have to cook for ten people on his day off. We’ll discuss menu options in the group chat.”

I was in the group chat?

Hamish apparently can read minds. Or faces. “I added you already.”

“Oh.”

“You’ve been absorbed into the masses,” Gunter joked. “It’s easier if you don’t resist.”

I laughed. “Awesome.”

He shrugged. “It’s mostly harmless, save the occasional inappropriate comments or unsolicited fashion advice. And the Australians and the Brit will sometimes argue amongst themselves about something the rest of us don’t understand, like Vegemite or brands of teabags or something. The cooking tips are usually good though, and if you need anything done around the house, one of us will usually be able to help.”

I laughed at that. I knew he was only joking but he had no idea just how amazing it sounded. A group of friends—of queer friends—each doing their own thing in this little town but making time for each other, supporting each other, helping each other, and the casual dinners and coffee catch-ups were such a beautiful thing.

And rare.

In my world, in my old life in Seattle, I could only ever dream of finding this.

I went to open the envelope Hamish had given me. “So do we open these?—”

“No!” Hamish said. “Not here. It’s supposed to be a secret.” He collected his dog. “Okay, I have to go find the sexy deputy to give him his envelope.” Then he breezed back out the door with no more than a wave of his hand.

Gunter and I looked at each other and laughed. “We do love him,” he said, taking the box of cups and sliding it onto the small kitchen counter.

I was almost certain the Kris Kringle idea wasn’t a tradition with these guys, and for some reason, I got the feeling it was for me. And that somehow Soren was behind it.

The wide-eyed looks Hamish kept giving Gunter, telling him to go along with it, was pretty obvious. But it was sweet and a fun Christmas idea, so I was happy to go along with it too.

“Speaking of Christmas gifts,” I said, following Gunter toward the kitchen. “I need some gift ideas for Soren.”

I keptmy word to Soren.

My front door was unlocked, and knowing he’d be home around midnight, I spent a good while getting myself cleaned out. I put the condoms on the bedside for easy access, then crawled into my bed with a bottle of lube.

Douching was never my favorite thing to do, but the hot, steamy shower helped relax my body and get my mind into that languid state in preparation of what I knew was coming.

I lay on my stomach, one leg bent, and began working the lube over my ass and then inside me. One finger, then two, making myself slippery and open, slow and sensual. I was no stranger to ass play during masturbation. I loved it, so I took my time, enjoying the act itself rather than a means to an end. Getting myself all worked up, turned on, and waiting.

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