It's comforting to see that there's light coming from the windows of the cabin as I crawl up the last of the drive. I know you're fine when I'm not there and I know you can look after yourself but the lights let me know that I don't have to wonder where you are when I get in, you haven't taken a walk or gone out in the boat or something. The jeep seems grateful to be home too as I ease it into the open barn and kill the engine.
You appear beside me as I'm unloading the backseat of boxes and bags, and roll your eyes as I take advantage and load you up. I watch you as you carry your share back into the cabin, trying to see around it to watch where your feet are going.
The last thing to come in, I have to get off the roof of the jeep. You must have seen it when I arrived, but you still raise an eyebrow as I prop a Christmas tree in the corner of our little home. And yes, I know we live in a forest and I could have gone out and cut down a tree, but they had them at the store and it was Christmas Eve and I felt bad for the ones that hadn't been sold. So I shrug and smile and begin to unload the groceries.
From the corner of my eye I can see you looking at all the 'other' parcels, the ones I don't usually bring back from a weekly trip into town. That hasn't changed about you; you still love presents. I wonder if you knew it was Christmas already. You must have noticed the weather change. We've already had snow this year although it's all melted again now. I wonder if you can keep count of the days or if you just take each one as it comes.
We're almost done when you find something tucked down at the bottom of one of the grocery boxes. Another impulse buy. Your feet are always cold, so when I saw these woollen socks, hand-knitted by some enterprising local I had to get you some. They have kind of reindeer on them but they looked so warm. You look up at me, amused and I point at you to let you know they are yours. You hold them in your hands like they are something demonic and you begin to laugh.
I love that sound.
It's not like you used to laugh, not quite, but it's close.
You shake your head and quieten, then have another quick glance at them and begin again, your shoulders shaking. I know they're a bit kitsch, but they're not that funny! I grab them and start to wrestle you towards the couch. You need to put these on so you can truly appreciate their worth and how great a boyfriend I am for picking them out for you. You put up a token protest but let me manhandle the things on over the top of your other frankly inadequate socks. I sit back on my haunches and watch as you inspect them. You trace the kind of reindeer shape with a finger and smile at me. That's a thank you, I know.
I get up to put the last of our order away but you're right there, taking my hand and turning me away from the kitchen and toward the fire. Your smile is lingering as you step back, pulling me in to you and kissing me sweetly. There's a glint in your eye that makes me quirk an eyebrow of my own. You drop my hand, put a couple of logs on the stove, then very deliberately holding my gaze you begin to unbutton your shirt. I know there's at least one more layer beneath but your intent is very clear. You tip your head, as if you even have to ask.
I'm out of my sweater, shirt and undershirt already returning from the bedroom with lube before you even reach the last of your shirt buttons and I'm rewarded with a warm chuckle that goes straight to my dick.
I make short work of your Henley and pop the button on your jeans, pulling you down onto the sheepskin rugs in front of the fire. I take the waistband of your boxers and jeans together and drag them slowly down your legs, appreciating every inch of the skin it uncovers. You shimmy when it gets stuck, your half hard cock bobbing enticingly. It's almost full dark outside and the glow from the fire spills across your winter-pale skin, making it bronze and gold. Finally you're naked, even your ridiculous socks have been discarded. You stretch slowly and carefully, almost preening, your eyes half-closed and dark, waiting.
You're fucking beautiful and with such riches before me, I hesitate with where to begin.
I kiss your stomach and along the bottom of your ribs, I scrape my teeth across your taut nipples to make you shiver, knowing exactly how sensitive they are. I run my lips over the stubble that extends to your neck and Adam's apple and stroke my fingers along the soft skin beneath your biceps. You hum, low in your throat and I have to taste you.
The resolve to take my time is for nothing with the first prickle of your flavour across my tongue. I rush to flatten myself between your thighs, sucking the head of your cock to find every trace of you then taking you deeper still, inhaling your scent here where it is most real. Your hands cradle my head, letting me have it all.
Fuck! The noises you make, Daniel. Do you even know? You moan and sigh and gasp and I cannot imagine ever having a better use of my time than making you do that.
I relinquish your cock, enjoying the way my spit makes it glisten. I nose lower, licking your balls with the broad, rough strokes you like. You keep your hair trimmed short and the feel of it is sharp across my tongue and lips. I lift your sack with my palm and lick lower where your scent is strongest. You are almost vibrating with need, your fingers twined in the sheepskin. I slick up my fingers and run the pads over your hole which twitches and quivers. One finger goes in easy, so I use two and quickly three. I know you're not hurting. You moan for me, your broken voice so beautiful. Four fingers now, and I lick between them at the rim of your hole as it stretches and grasps at me.
My knees will make me pay later, but I kneel between your spread thighs after dealing with my own remaining clothes. I use a good amount of lube to coat myself from root to tip. Putting my shaky hand on your belly, you spread further still, grabbing your cheeks and pulling yourself open for me. I almost come at the sight of you. Your hole is darkest pink, shining and swollen. And mine.
I slide in so sweetly. The heat of you, Daniel, the grasp of your muscles. I want to tell you. I want you to know. But I can only tell you in the way I touch your skin, in the way I moan, in the roll of my hips. The same way you tell me.
You hook your knees over my shoulders and I spread greedy fingers over the stretch and clench of your thighs as we work together. Your pale hands on the hardened darkness of your cock are firm and assured. You're close and so am I. I sweep a finger where we are joined to find the heat of us and your eyes close. You shout as you come, a deep sound from somewhere inside you. It's joy and release and connection and it sends me flying to follow you.
By the time we are curled together on the rugs the fire has burned low and outside the window, fat flakes of snow are beginning to fall in a slow, lazy dance. You reach over and throw another log on while I drag blankets from the back of the couch to cover us. My back is already complaining but it's too good to miss, this moment. You stir against me and smile. With a foot, I hook one of the boxes from the pile we left earlier and scoot it up where we can reach it. Your smile grows wider.
I think of the wrapping paper and tape, sitting in a bag by the door ready to make these simple things look festive; books, music, clothes, normal things I would have bought you before. But these books have pictures not words and the music has no lyrics. And I've bought things for me too; a new fishing rod, a jacket I liked the look of, a book on birds. I'll let you unpack them all and we'll sort out later who gets what.
It doesn't matter.
I already have every thing I need.