Home for Christmas

Home For Christmas

Connell
turned up the collar of his jacket against the cold mist rising from the Savannah riverfront and then buried his hands back in the pockets of his jeans. He hadn’t expected the weather to be quite this cold, even in December—it was the South, after all—but it had grown steadily cooler and more overcast as the afternoon wore on. Now, close to sunset, it was chilly enough that standing on the sidewalk was starting to feel uncomfortable. He wouldn’t be surprised if it dropped below freezing tonight, though he hoped to be indoors—in the warmth of his lover’s arms—long before then.

The steam rising from the river was condensing into a light mist in the air around him, and Connell was thankful for the rainbow-striped scarf his sister Kate had insisted he open as an early Christmas present. His plane had landed around midday, and he’d taken a taxi straight from the airport to the tiny pocket park on the Riverwalk. It was empty then except for a handful of holiday tourists, so he’d spent some time exploring the shops lining the river, festooned for the holidays with sparkling white lights and ropes of evergreen bound with red ribbons. He couldn’t resist stopping in the year-round Christmas store, finding the perfect ornament and stowing it carefully in his backpack. He hoped it would help him explain why he’d flown all the way from London on Christmas Eve to be with the man he loved. By the time he’d made it back to the far end of the Riverwalk, he could hear the soulful notes of a saxophone reaching out to entice him.

As much as he wanted to see the surprise on Spence’s face when he greeted him, Connell couldn’t resist watching his lover first, from the shelter of a doorway across the cobblestoned street. The sax’s vibrato added a sultry tone to even the most traditional carols, echoing the seduction that had called to Connell through Spence’s music the first time they met, when Connell had come to Savannah on a weekend trip to meet friends. The horn’s liquid notes had drawn Connell to Spence like a fly to honey, and Spence had proven even more irresistible than his music. Connell had never met anyone as open and honest and genuinely caring as Spence, and from the first time their lips met in a tentative kiss that quickly turned passionate, his heart was lost. They’d explored Savannah and gotten to know each other and made love again and again during the weekend of Connell’s visit, and he knew he’d already fallen a little in love with the musician after those few short days. Kissing Spence goodbye at the airport had been one of the saddest moments he could remember.

Over the months that followed, they’d kept in touch through online chats and long late-night phone calls, talking about everything and nothing—work, music, books, art, politics, backgrounds, friends—and rather than wearing itself out as in his experience long-distance friendships often did, with each contact Connell’s attraction grew stronger. When a business conference brought Connell back to the States several months later, he’d added a few extra days to the trip to visit Spence again. They’d barely made it out of Spence’s apartment the entire weekend, and the second time they’d parted had been even harder than the first. If all went as Connell planned, he’d never have to face that heartache again.

The saxophonist’s mood seemed to darken with the weather, more joyful carols giving way to melancholy renditions of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” and “Blue Christmas.” A fine drizzle began to fall, dampening Connell’s dark curly hair even beneath the shelter of the doorway and making him shiver, but the musician didn’t seem to notice, his notes sliding sensuously from one bluesy tune to another. He nodded thanks without lifting his head when a couple holding hands tossed some folded bills into the instrument case, its hand-lettered sign indicating that all contributions would be donated to the Chatham county foster care program.

When “I’ll Be Home For Christmas” transitioned into a soulful version of “Merry Christmas, Darling,” Connell couldn’t hold back any longer. Crossing the street, he pulled a twenty from his wallet and dropped it into the velvet-lined case, stepping closer to where Spence fingered the horn with his head down and eyes closed, as if he were playing for himself alone. “Do you take requests?” Connell asked in a voice as sultry as the mournful tones from his lover’s horn.

Spence’s eyes snapped open as the voice he’d been dreaming of murmured in his ear. “Connell!” he cried out, only the neck-strap of the saxophone keeping the cherished instrument from crashing to the ground as his arms reached out to pull his lover close. “What are you doing here?”

 Connell swept off Spence’s velour Santa hat and buried his hands in the long, tawny hair, pulling his face down for a slow, passionate kiss. Spence’s lips were cool, but his mouth was warm, opening to welcome Connell’s tongue dancing against his. Not until the press of the horn wedged between them became painful did he lift his head.

“Mmnnnn….” Spence purred, swinging the sax to one side so he could mold Connell’s body even closer to his, threading a hand into his lover’s dark hair. “You’re the best Christmas present I could possibly get. How long can you stay?” he asked, punctuating his words with soft kisses against Connell’s neck.

“Can we go to your place?” Connell requested, sidestepping the question for the moment. “I’m starting to get really chilled, and your hands are freezing,” he added, warming Spence’s palms between his, grateful to see his musician was at least wearing shoes this time. In warmer weather Spence was usually barefoot when he played. “Let’s get warm and dry, and then we can talk.”

Connell’s evasive answer made Spence uneasy, but he tried to ignore his apprehension. He hadn’t expected to spend the holiday with Connell; he’d be grateful for however much time they’d have together. Releasing his lover reluctantly, he knelt beside his instrument case, emptying the money into a Ziploc bag before sliding the strap over his head and settling the sax into place. “Pretty good take for Christmas Eve.”

“You’re much more appealing than some fake Santa ringing a bell next to a kettle,” Connell observed, taking Spence’s free hand as they walked along the riverfront to the musician’s car. “Though you need to work on your selection. Those were some pretty gloomy tunes near the end, love.”

“I’m suddenly feeling much more cheerful,” Spence countered, pausing for another slow kiss before stowing the saxophone in the trunk and driving the short distance to his apartment.

Setting the sax case on the floor inside the door, Spence flicked on the switch that lit the small tree he’d set up in front of the window overlooking the river. Connell couldn’t help but notice that the space below the tree was empty of packages, and he was struck again by the sadness he’d sensed while listening to his lover play. “Spence, you weren’t out there today because you didn’t have anywhere else to go, were you?”

Spence pulled Connell into a hug. “I could have headed up to New York to spend the holidays with my family, and I had lots of invitations from people at the restaurant to spend Christmas with them.” When Connell had first met Spence, dressed in ragged jeans and playing for tips, he had briefly wondered whether the musician was homeless. He’d learned that far from living off his sidewalk earnings, Spence owned the restaurant he’d ordered the food from for their first meal in a secluded riverside grotto. Remembering the outcome of that sensual feast could still make Connell flush with arousal. Spence spent at least some time every day at the restaurant, but most of the staff had been with him for years, leaving him free to play along the Riverwalk several times a week and donate whatever he took in to a variety of local charities. Connell had asked once whether he’d ever wanted to make his living as a musician, but Spence shook his head. “I play at the restaurant once in a while when friends want to jam, but it isn’t about money. It’s about sharing the music.”

“Why didn’t you take one of them up on their invitation?” Connell asked, though he suspected he knew the answer.

Spence shrugged awkwardly. “Being around other people wasn’t very appealing when I couldn’t be with the one I really wanted, you know?”

Connell framed Spence’s face with his hands, kissing him gently. “I do know. I was miserable even though I was with my mum and sis. It took Kate to make me realize that where I really wanted to be was here, with you.”

“I’m glad you came,” Spence said, his hands finding their natural resting place on Connell’s hips.

“When your card arrived, it made me miss you so much,” Connell admitted. “I couldn’t even open it. I just stood there holding it, wishing I could be with you, until Kate asked me what there was in the Christmas post to make me look like I’d just lost my best friend.” He nuzzled his head against Spence’s shoulder, turning to press a kiss against the light stubble of his lover’s chin. “When I told her, she dragged me to the computer and helped me to book myself onto the next flight to the States.”

“You didn’t open the card?” Spence repeated, the corners of his mouth curving into a smile.

“I was afraid I’d lose it if I did. I saved it to open when we were together.”

Spence grinned. “Why don’t we get comfortable, and then you can open it,” he suggested. Gently unwinding the colorful scarf from around Connell’s neck, he pressed a kiss into the base of his throat before unzipping the leather jacket. “Nice scarf.”

“Christmas present from Kate.” Connell was busily working Spence from his own jacket while trying to keep him in his arms at the same time. “Though I told her I didn’t need to advertise anymore. I’ve already found the only man I want.” Giving up on getting Spence out of his coat with only one hand, he pulled his lover’s head forward into a deep kiss, sating himself momentarily on the taste of his musician’s talented mouth before reluctantly stepping back long enough for them to both shrug out of their jackets.

“Why don’t you go sit by the tree?” Spence suggested, taking the coats to hang in the entryway closet. “I’ll open some wine and be right with you.”

Connell pulled a pair of overstuffed pillows and a soft, fluffy afghan that looked hand knitted from the couch and arranged them on the floor in front of the tree. The tiny lights blurred with the more distant lights from the river as he gazed out the window, his senses already tingling with awareness of the man he heard moving around in the kitchen, humming softly. Then a hand touched his shoulder, and Spence was kneeling beside him, holding out a glass of wine. The lights’ reflection sparkled in the crystal as Spence touched their glasses, making them clink softly. “To spending Christmas together.”

“Together,” Connell echoed, sipping the rich red Merlot. Setting the glass aside, he leaned forward to taste Spence’s lips, the wine even more potent when sipped from his lover’s mouth. Spence moaned and deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping out to tangle with Connell’s until they were both breathless.

Clutching Spence’s shoulder to pull him closer, Connell dipped his head for another kiss, one hand moving to the buttons of Spence’s shirt. Sliding the first circlet free of its placket, his fingers slipped under the fabric, coasting over the light hair that dusted his lover’s chest. When the questing fingers found a peaked nipple, Spence gasped and broke the kiss, sitting back on his heels.

“Why don’t you open your card,” he panted huskily, “before….”

“Before what?” Connell purred, slipping another button open and pressing a kiss to the vee of chest he’d revealed.

“Before I strip us both naked and make love to you on the floor in front of the tree,” Spence growled, tipping Connell’s chin up to nip at his lips.

“You’re not expecting me to say no to that, are you?”

“Don’t you want to open your present first?” Spence’s voice broke as Connell’s lips closed around the pebbled nub over his heart. The hand under Connell’s chin slid around to burrow into his hair, holding him closer, Spence’s back instinctively arching to offer more of himself to his lover.

Releasing the swollen nipple, Connell tugged with his teeth at the curled hair coating Spence’s chest until he made his way across the broad expanse. His tongue swirled around the second nub already standing at attention for him, rising and falling with Spence’s rasping breath. “Conn,” Spence groaned, fingers tightening in Connell’s hair.

“I am opening my present,” Connell murmured, giving Spence what they both wanted and closing his lips around the straining bud. He pulled Spence’s shirttails free from his jeans, popping the remaining buttons and spreading the two sides open, exposing all of Spence’s chest to his admiring gaze. He kissed his way upward in a slow, meandering trail toward Spence’s mouth, hands skating over the muscled planes, relearning all his lover’s most sensitive spots.

Spence’s hips bucked when Connell’s palm brushed the susceptible flesh of his abdomen, groaning when it moved on without dipping beneath the waist of his jeans. “Don’t tell me you’re the kind who never tears open the wrapping paper,” he ground out, his own fingers sliding underneath Connell’s sweater in search of warm skin.

“A gift this wonderful is worth taking the time to appreciate properly,” Connell countered. Reclaiming Spence’s mouth, he poured his love and longing into the kiss, leaving Spence in no doubt of the sincerity of his appreciation. Sliding the shirt off Spence’s shoulders, he eased his lover back against the pillows, their lips still joined. Spence shifted his hips, bending his knees and spreading his thighs so Connell could kneel between them.