Twinkle, Twinkle (Naughty or Nice) (3 page)

As Tom stared at the picture, Vince scrutinized his face for clues.

Tom smiled softly. “He’s not what I expected.”

“You should have seen him all dressed up. Bloody stunning, he was.” Vince looked up at the fairy on top of the tree. Justin had found her in the market and bounded home talking nine-to-the-dozen about his new stage costume. He’d modeled himself around the decoration, right down to the sequined wings and pigtails. “See Twinkerbell up there? Think that kit on a tall, skinny guy with a filthy mouth, and you’d be about right.”

“You have a thing for men in drag, then.” Tom’s voice had a wistful tone, and Vince wanted to kiss the frown off his lips.

“Not really. It was the way he used to make Mum laugh that got to me. Trust me, anyone who can make someone laugh while he’s sticking yet another needle in their veins is a winner.”

Tom grimaced. “I should go.”

Vince almost agreed. It would be the sensible thing to do, and he was buggered if he knew what he was up to right now. This was a really dumb idea, bringing Tom back here and telling him all about Justin. The bloke should run a mile, away from Vince and his fucked-up life. It was only a small mercy he hadn’t told him about the apparitions.

But he’d had it with being sensible.

“Stay for a drink, please. We didn’t get a chance to talk properly yet.”

“No?”

“No, you were being too much of an arrogant twerp and walked out on me.”

Tom’s lips twitched. “I was a twerp? I thought you said I was an arsehole.”

“Nah, more of a twerp, I reckon. If it’s any help, I was being a callous wanker.”

Yeah, that was definitely a smile now. Tom’s lips were luscious when he smiled.

“Okay, then. But you were more of a tosser than a wanker.”

Vince grinned, making the hand gesture. “Same difference.” He flipped the heater on as he headed off to fetch the brandy and gave Twinkerbell a wink as he passed the tree.

T
HE
lights held Tom spellbound. Whether it was down to their magical transformation of an ordinary suburban garden, the story behind them, or the fact that a man like Vince had gone to the trouble of putting them up, he couldn’t decide.

He knew he should leave. Vince had too much emotional baggage; he was still getting over the death of his husband, for Christ’s sake. But he couldn’t seem to tear himself away. He wanted to know all about Vince. Fuck it; he even wanted to know all about Justin. He wanted to listen to that rumbling voice for hours. He yearned to feel the vibrations as he leaned against Vince’s chest.

The press of the brandy glass against his hand gave him a start. His skin tingled at the point of contact with Vince’s. Without thinking, he grasped at Vince’s wrist, felt bones and tendons moving under the warm skin. Electricity flowed up his arm, and he let go.

Vince smiled, taking a sip of brandy from his own glass. “Tell me about your life.”

“Medical school in Manchester. Specialized in trauma medicine. I’ve been working in A&E ever since.” This wasn’t what he wanted to be doing. He wanted to be licking the dark hollow of Vince’s throat.

“That’s your career, not your life.”

“My career is my life. Guys always tell me I’m married to the job.” Tom wondered if Vince would stand for being second best to Tom’s career. Or would Vince be someone he’d turn down the prospect of promotion for? Someone he’d make sacrifices for, just to keep him happy.

He needed to know.

Tom set his glass down on the sill. He turned, ignored the question in Vince’s eyes, and took his glass, too, setting it next to his own. There was a sofa in the sunroom—a huge leather thing that was as big as a bed. But first….

Vince’s arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him close. Tom tilted his head back for the kiss that was sure to follow and waited.

He opened his eyes, puzzled. Vince was gazing at him with a tenderness he’d never expected to see. Tom gulped, averting his eyes. It was too much, so he focused on Vince’s jaw. There was still makeup trapped in the creases of his neck. He wondered what it would taste like.

The next thing he knew he was licking Vince’s neck, his mouth filling with a faintly greasy, powdery flavor, but underneath it, the salt of Vince’s skin. He felt Vince gasp, his heart pounding against Tom’s chest. It made him bold—bolder—as he kissed his way up the line of Vince’s jaw, the stubble just starting to make itself known as a scratchy roughness under his lips. As he reached an ear, Tom paused a moment. He’d been about to suck on the lobe, but a small scar on Vince’s cheek brought back memories of blood and smashed spectacles.

“Is this okay?” he asked, because there were so many reasons why it shouldn’t be.

“This is perfect.” Vince sounded certain, as if he were a man used to knowing exactly what he wanted. Vince ground his hips against Tom’s, emphasizing just how perfect it was by the hard length digging into Tom.

It was what Tom needed. Relief flooded through him, followed by the sharp sizzle of desire. He gave himself over to it, seeking Vince’s lips and parting them with a ravenous kiss. Vince’s mouth tasted of brandy and spice, and Tom sucked hungrily on his tongue. He heard a contented groan and realized it was his own. God, he needed this so badly.

Vince kissed him back with fervor, running his hands down to knead Tom’s buttocks. The sensation jolted right through Tom, his cock now so stiff it ached. He thrust against Vince and whimpered. He needed flesh, and he set about Vince’s shirt buttons as their kiss grew messy and demanding.

It was Vince who broke it, gasping for air. He pushed Tom back before stripping off his shirt while Tom watched, entranced. The soft lights from the garden cast few shadows, and Vince’s heavily muscled torso shone like bronze. A choking sound escaped him as Vince went for the fly of his jeans.

Vince looked up. “You, too.” His voice was husky, the sound of it sending a thrill down Tom’s spine. “Clothes off.”

He could feel the hormones flooding him as he stripped, erasing his self-consciousness and firing him up so that he could barely feel the chill of the room. His skin, hot and prickly, pulled him toward Vince’s like they were opposite magnetic poles.

When he stood naked, Vince was watching him.

“God, you look amazing.”

Tom was about to protest that he didn’t—that he was far too skinny compared to Vince’s glorious bulk—but there was no arguing with the expression on Vince’s face. He was like a child in a candy store, his wide-eyed gaze waking every inch of Tom’s skin so that it sizzled. But when their eyes met, there was nothing childlike about the heat in Vince’s. The desire crackled between them, heating up the air. Would they be thrown apart by the force of it the next time they touched?

The spark of connection welded them together as they fell onto the sofa. Tom landed on top, writhing against Vince as if he could melt into him by building up enough heat. Vince’s tongue thrust deep into his mouth, and he retaliated, grinding his hips hard against Vince as he did so. As their cocks rubbed against each other, Vince groaned, his body juddering, so Tom did it again and again, drawing out those delicious noises and feeling the desire build into a crackling ball of energy inside him. His skin dripped with sweat, lubricating the thrust of his hips. Vince’s fingers gripped his arse firmly, increasing the tempo of their rutting.

Tom propped himself up on his arms, gazing down on Vince. Arousal had painted his cheeks and darkened his eyes. His lips were swollen and pink from their kisses. It was nothing like the makeup of earlier, and it was absolutely glorious.

The laughter broke inside Tom, brazen and free. He wanted to hoot and shout and run around for the sheer joy of it. He stared into Vince’s eyes, wanting him to see what this was doing to him. How this was unraveling him, stripping him bare.

Vince’s eyes mirrored his wild joy. “Fucking beautiful. Ah! Tom!”

Vince shuddered underneath him, back arching as his cock pulsed against Tom’s belly. The space between them filled with come, and Tom drove against Vince with abandon. He slid against that hard abdomen, feeling the muscles clenching with the spasms of Vince’s climax.

With a shattering force the energy exploded inside Tom, and he bucked and howled as he spurted over and over again, his body convulsing. It carried on until he collapsed, his elbows buckling as he buried his face in the crook of Vince’s neck, rising and falling on his heaving chest.

The next thing he was aware of, beyond the rhythms of their hearts and breaths, was a warm blanket being pulled down over his back.

He raised himself on shaky arms to look down at his lover. Vince appeared dazed, a daft smile twitching at his lips.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that.”

Tom stared. That comment about Vince’s teenage crush had just been stage banter, hadn’t it?

Vince smiled nostalgically, stroking Tom’s jaw with his fingertips. “You never noticed me, did you? How my eyes used to follow you around like you were the sun. You were the first guy I ever fell for.”

“I . . . I didn’t know. I’m sorr
—
”

Vince hushed him with a finger to his lips. “No apologies. We were different people back then. Just starting to find out who we were.”

Tom nodded. “I think I’m only just starting to now.”

When their lips met, it was gentle and slow, absolution pouring over Tom like a balm.

“Will you stay? Please?”

“I’ll stay.”

And Tom was willing to stay for longer than the night, or even the next day’s festivities. Whatever this thing was, he meant to throw himself into it and make it work. He kissed Vince again. “Just promise me you won’t sing ‘Last Christmas’ again. I can’t stand George Michael.”

“Right you are, then.” Vince grinned up at him, and then his eyes flicked away to the tree.

Tom followed his gaze to Twinkerbell. Jesus Christ, he must be exhausted, or drunk, or something. He could have sworn that fairy just winked at him.

V
INCE
woke early, the warmth of Tom’s body disorienting him for a moment. But when the fact of Justin’s absence filtered through his mind, it was without the usual sting. He gazed out into the dark room, remembering that moment yesterday with his head up in the hospital ceiling. He’d seen Justin in front of him, clear as day, waving goodbye. His eyeshadow had shimmered in the beam of Vince’s lamp. And when he’d reached out to stop Justin going, the arc flash had caught him, sending him crashing down and into Tom’s arms.

He couldn’t feel Justin’s spirit presence lingering any longer. What was it Justin had kept saying in those last months? That he was going to hang around and haunt his sorry arse until he found him someone new?

“Thanks, Justin,” he whispered.

Tom stirred, mumbling in his sleep.

“Shhh.” Vince kissed him gently and nestled down against Tom, holding him close.

He had to hand it to Justin—he gave the best Christmas presents ever.

Have you been Naughty or Nice?

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About the Author

J
OSEPHINE
M
YLES
lives in the West Country of England with her husband and four-year-old daughter. Currently self-employed, she gave up a career teaching English literature to look after her daughter. She enjoys various textile crafts and gardening when she isn’t busy writing or spending time with her family.

Over the years Jo has shunned the predictable path, having sampled a wide range of jobs, from the factory production line to mosaic artist. She has also lived in many unconventional situations, from shared houses and tied accommodation, to living with extended family; even spending a couple of happy years on a narrowboat!

Visit Jo’s blog at http://josephine-myles.livejournal.com/.

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