A Touch of Mistletoe (13 page)

A vaguely familiar blonde woman walked into the room holding two glasses of wine. But it wasn't until a man walked in behind her that Scott remembered who they were. "The couple from the store..."

"Are they asleep?" the woman asked, voice hushed. She handed the man one of the glasses and smiled when he nodded. "I don't know how you manage to stay so patient with them, Derek. I was ready to start pulling my hair out."

"Derek..." Scott murmured, tasting the name on his tongue. Muted lighting brought out caramel highlights in Derek's brown hair and though Derek looked tired, there was a sense of serenity on his face that made Derek look entirely too angelic. Scott heard Dru's snicker, and frowned. "What? It's a nice name."

Derek set his glass on the coffee table, forcing Dru to scoot out of the way, and then dropped on to the couch. "Ugh. Long day. And can I just say for the thousandth time how sorry am I about what happened at the store?"

"Please don't," the woman said while Scott's mind spun to recall the name Derek had used. Carrie? Carol?

"Karen," Dru offered.

"Right," Scott nodded. "Thanks."

She continued, "If I have to hear you apologize one more time, I'll have no choice but to kill you."

"I know, I know." Derek reached for his wine. "I just can't believe I was so off on my read of that guy. I really am getting too old for this. Maybe I should just put an ad on Craig's List. Desperate middle-aged loser seeks long-term relationship with just about anyone that can put up with him. Serial killers need not apply."

Karen eyed Derek, brow pinched and finger pointing. "You are
not
getting too old. That guy was just an asshole."

Derek shook his head. "Nope. He was right. I shouldn't have prompted Mikey to do that. It's a stressful time of year and people don't need that kind of bullsh—"

"You were trying to be sweet and cute."

"And came across as ignorant and rude." Derek took another long drink. "Story of my life."

Scott sighed and put his head back. Leave it to him not to recognize a flirt taking place right in front of his eyes. "There were kids," he said when Dru peered at him with a knowing look. "And a woman! Out holiday shopping. The perfect little family! How the hell was I supposed to know?"

"Dunno." Dru shrugged. "Body language? I mean, was he smiling? Trying to strike up a conversation out of the blue?"

"Well, sure..."

"Was he making eye contact?" Dru sat back and patted his tummy, wherein the entire cookie now sat. "Was he talking about odd things like, oh, say, romantic gestures?"

"Maybe... I don't know... I guess he
could
have been." Scott glared at Dru, and then stalked toward the couch. He leaned over, speaking directly into Derek's unaware face. "Why not just say hey, dude, wanna go for a drink?"

Derek's shoulders dropped. He closed his eyes in a long, extended blink. "You know what? I actually think I'm going to go to bed. The kids are going to be up at the crack of dawn and it's already after midnight."

Karen stood when Derek did. She raised herself up on her toes, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and squeezed him in a tight hug. "I know you miss him. I know right now you feel like nobody's ever going to make you feel as special as he did. But you're going to find someone, Derek, I promise. This can only get easier the more you get out there." She tapped his chest. "Hearts heal too. They just take a little longer than the rest of us."

He nodded, slipped past her, and as Derek walked out of the room, Scott followed. If Dru gave him shit, so be it. Besides, it would take Dru a good couple of minutes to hop down and give chase.

Scott wasn't quite sure how the 'magic' worked that allowed him to be, but not be, but he was grateful for the extra seconds it took Derek to work his shirt over his head and toss it on the bed before Derek nudged the door closed. The last thing Scott wanted to do was end up slamming into a closed door thinking he could somehow walk through it.

Derek didn't reach for the light switch. Instead, he walked to the window and tugged the blinds up. Scott stopped still, awestruck by Derek's naked torso in the moonlight. It wasn't the muscles or the smooth skin that held his attention, nor was it the sparse patch of hair that colored Derek's sternum—it was the scar that ran down the right side of Derek's back, over his rib cage, and beyond the waistband of his pants. It looked like he had been slammed into the side of something unforgiving, and that something had bitten back. Though healed, the lines were pink, which meant the wounds were relatively recent.

"You lost someone," Scott said. It made sense: the wounds, the sad smiles, and stilted conversation. Suddenly the attitude he'd piled on Derek's shoulders, for no reason other than Scott's own temper, drowned him with guilt. He stepped forward, and without thinking, Scott drew his fingertip down the scar, following it all the way from shoulder to waist.

Derek lifted his right hand, rested his palm just above where Scott's finger had stopped, and when Scott began to move, Derek's hand followed Scott's touch.

For several seconds Scott watched their hands move in tandem. It was oddly intense, more so even when Derek breathed a long, low sigh. Scott rested his lips against Derek's ear and spoke in a voice so quiet, he barely heard it himself. "Are you remembering how he used to touch you?"

Derek sucked in a breath, his forehead creased in pain, and his left hand fisted against his belly. The ache that gesture ignited in Scott's chest was a pain that Scott hadn't felt in a very long time. He hadn't missed it; had, in fact, been certain he'd killed his ability to feel it. Anger had burned pain down a long time ago, and the monotonous drudgery that had followed had been comfortable. Scott slipped an arm around Derek's waist, moved closer, and cupped Derek's fist in his palm. It felt nice to touch somebody again, though. To hold someone.

Derek's breath caught, he lowered his chin, and he opened his eyes to stare at his belly. Underneath Scott's palm, Derek's clench began to loosen, and it continued until Derek's hand lay flat. Then it began to fall. Slow, so very slowly, as if he was afraid of what he was doing, Derek drew his hand down his stomach and over his pants.

Everything south of Scott's chest woke. He huffed a breath against Derek's neck, and let his hand fall along with Derek's. Tension smoothed out of Derek's face and shoulders.

"You need this," Scott murmured, reveling in the feel of his own heartbeat picking up in time to Derek's. "It's okay. Let yourself go."

Derek's other hand slid towards the button of his pants, his left hand trading touching for squeezing, and he parted his lips to get a better draw on air.

Even as conscience told Scott he shouldn't, he watched. Just to get an idea of what hid itself away behind the cloth. Nothing else... even though his hand still rested on top of Derek's... even though he matched every movement that hand made as it stimulated the cock underneath it.

Without warning, Scott's arms were empty. He was a full three feet away from where Derek stood. "What in the fu—"

"I can't let you do that," Dru said firmly. He stood on the dresser, eyeing Scott with an unreadable expression.

A flush began to rise up Scott's neck. "It wasn't... I wasn't... he just..."

"Can't let you do that," Dru repeated.

An unreasonable sense of self-righteousness rose in time to the color growing in Scott's face. "Why not? Look at him." Scott pointed, and at that same moment, Derek's hand dropped away with a frustrated sigh. It was a sound that wound Scott's annoyance even tighter. "He needs to be held, Dru. It's not like I was doing anything wrong—"

"He doesn't know you're here." Dru crossed his arms and held Scott's gaze, and though his voice was insistent, it had a note of kindness in it. "No matter the reason behind it, wrong is still wrong. You don't get to do that without him knowing."

Scott didn't know why, was sure he wouldn't be able to figure it out with months of therapy, but tears sprung into his eyes. "Just let me hold him, Dru. Nothing else, I promise. You don't understand. He's sad. And it was helping. I swear to God that it was helping..."

Derek sighed, both Scott and Dru turned back to watch him, and Derek flopped on to the bed, tucking both arms behind his head. Only the sounds of the night cut the stillness—the ping of a radiator, the click of a clock.

Derek turned on to his side, facing the wall, and tucked his legs up.

"It's time to go." Dru extended his hand and wiggled his fingers. "We still have another stop."

Scott ignored the hand. "Five minutes."

Dru didn't say a word.

"Two."

"Let's go, Scott."

Panic sparked in Scott's guts. "No. I'm not going. This is the present and I can stay right here if I damn well please. You don't control me."

Dru offered a small, kind smile. "One more stop. Just one."

Scott shook his head. "No. No, no, no, no. I know how this plays out. You get me all worked up over this guy and then next thing I know we're standing in front of his headstone while you tell me he hung himself because nobody loved him. Well you know what, Dru? Fuck that. I don't need to see it. I don't
want
to see it. You made your point, okay?"

"Argh!" Dru threw both hands into the hair and clutched his hair. Three brilliant leaves shook free and began to drift towards the dresser. "One damn movie and suddenly that's the only way the story can end!" He jumped, teeth bared, and snatched the front of Scott's shirt. The sharp ends of fingernails dug into Scott's skin as Dru begin to climb. "You gotta learn to trust folks better, Scott."

Scott didn't get a chance to swat Dru away. He didn't even get a chance to think. Everything around him became fluid, dissolving into swatches reminiscent of watercolor. So while the world bled, Scott dropped to the ground and let his heart bleed with it.

"Open your eyes," Dru whispered.

Thick padding cradled Scott's cheekbone as he lay, spread out and chest down. Heat radiated to the left of him, music, something old and instrumental, played through the air around him, and the scent of a well-spread dinner lingered invitingly.

"Oh, God... yes..."

Derek's voice was so clear and so close, Scott was sure he'd been left in the bedroom to be found. Except, oddly enough, his own voice answered, even though Scott knew he hadn't said a damn thing.

"You losing all ability to complete a sentence will never get old for me, you know that?"

Scott knew his own tone: deep, excited, and hungry. It was followed by the quiet click of lips meeting and releasing, and the drag of body against body. Scott's brows rose, he opened his eyes and stared at Dru in surprise.

"Not every lesson that life brings us is a bad one," Dru said with a smile. "Sometimes it's just a reminder that we have to keep trying. That it's going to get better."

Scott lifted himself to his elbows, sought out the sounds visually, and his eyes widened. "Oh... wow."

The den was almost everything Scott had ever wanted in one: thick carpet, earth tones and wood, shelving units stacked with novels and curios, magazines and trinkets, and a wide, brick fireplace. Only the collection of beer paraphernalia above and around the four-foot bar at the far corner of the room didn't quite make sense, considering he'd never even sampled the brand before. It fit well, though—the browns and coppers that were the trademark of the brand blended nicely with his preference for dark and natural. But for all the niceties of the room, Scott's attention was captivated by the two men on the couch.

The lighting was perfect for Derek's skin tone. The reflection of the flames toasted tan into caramel, and it darkened shadows and brightened peaks so that the movement of every muscle was highlighted. Side by side, limbs entwined like ivy, Derek moved against Scott's future-self, and Scott's future-self grinded back just as eagerly.

Scott's whole body pinged. "Dru..." He swallowed and licked his lips. He tried to turn his head but his eyes refused to unlock. "That's me. That's us. This is... this is good, isn't it?"

Dru sat, crossed his legs, and looked at Scott with solemn eyes. "It is good. Very good. The only bad thing about this is that it is the future. Do you know what that means, Scott?"

In front of them Derek shifted. He drew his hip up and over, muscles rippled and rolled, and Scott's eyes drifted to the right side of Derek's body. The scar on Derek's back and side had faded to a white, less noticeable line. Scott had an unreasonable urge to touch it again. Was it still sensitive? Would he be able to draw the same reaction?

Derek resettled over Future-Scott's chest and was offered a long groan of approval as he drove his hips forward and back, and forward and back, keeping a perfect rhythm with the easy slide that foretold either sweat or product between them. The pose was downright sinful, the straddle offering Scott a beautiful view of Derek's spread body.

"That I am indeed, doubly lucky?" Scott asked.

"It means that nothing is written in stone. Just as the bad can be prevented by positive reaction, so to can the good be stopped if we let it happen."

Derek sighed into a kiss, dug his fingertips into shoulder muscles, and pulled away to speak. "Love you. Love this." He lifted to his knees, reached between them and gripped both their cocks in his hands. Future-Scott sputtered something indefinable in reply, and the wet sounds of their bodies being stroked in time took over the rest of their conversation.

Scott scooted closer to Dru. "No. I don't want to stop it. This is what I want. What will stop it? What can I do? You have to tell me. I need to do this right."

Dru nodded. "Remember how to see the good. Who knows? Maybe if you'd taken the time to see the smile on Derek's face neither one of you would have had to be alone tonight. One never knows when one is being offered a gift, so keep your eyes and your heart open. Never forget that you are the little boy who could see gold in a stone."

"Can I... oh, God... let me inside..."

His own voice drew Scott's attention back to the couch. He gripped the carpet so hard his fingertips burned. Between his body and the floor, Scott's cock ached to be part of what he saw. But it was the rest of him that made his eyes tear up: his belly, his mind, and his heart.