On the twelfth day of Christmas my true friends gave to me:
The fight club and the voyeurs
Christmas Eve
Brad clenched his hands, and his knuckles cracked. Unaware, he faced off with Martin. “It was your bloody idea to have a Christmas party in our home. So you can get your tight backside into the shower and come downstairs. Then you can bloody well help me. You’ve avoided doing anything for days. In fact, you’ve been avoiding me. Well, it fucking stops today. I’m not having my first Christmas with you ruined.” Brad hated the whine in his voice and the fact that his hands wanted to tremble when Martin stepped off the treadmill.
The dark patches of sweat coating the grey vest showed how hard he’d been working out. His muscles gleamed under the soft lights he must have switched on to combat the darkness of the sky outside the window. A sky that resembled Brad’s mood: stormy, dark, and brooding. He hated feeling like this because it reminded him too much of his past, and he didn’t want that sitting between him and Martin.
He wanted to wring both Nick’s and Joe’s neck for talking him into this stupid situation. He ignored the little voice that told him he’d known fine well what he was getting into when he’d started the fight.
Brad lost his train of thought when Martin’s hot stare pinned him to the spot. Brad struggled to maintain eye contact. He clenched his fists. His bravery seemingly wanted to take a back seat under the hard, unwavering gaze of his fiancé. His gaze faltered. Instead, Brad followed the path of the sweat dripping down Martin’s face and neck. It soaked the neck of his top. Brad licked his dry lips. His tongue tingled, anticipating the taste of sweat on it.
Brad gulped. He gave an internal sigh of disgust, not sure if his face had betrayed him. He stepped back at the gleam in Martin’s azure eyes when he swiped the towel off the weight bench next to his leg. Brad understood exactly what the predatory glint meant. And it would seem, so did his cock when it sprung to attention as if saluting its captain.
This not having sex for days was playing havoc with his head. Days he’d been waiting for Martin to beg for forgiveness so he could pounce, but had the fucker? No. Instead, he’d waltzed around the house pretending there was nothing wrong.
He was acting all hoity-toity, sleeping in the spare room, playing cat and mouse with him and his emotions to the point Brad was starting to lose faith in Joe’s assurance that withholding would work. As far as he could see, all it had done was to give him blue balls. Oh, and how could he forget the urge to take hold of his throbbing cock and show Martin exactly what he wanted from those plush luscious lips of his.
Brad’s hands twitched at his sides at the thought. He knew if he showed any sign of weakness, Martin would be on him faster than white on rice.
So, where does that leave me?
Hours away from a party he didn’t want and a plan he’d yet to initiate so he could get to watch Stuart and Joe have sex. Brad gritted his teeth. Heat flared in his cheeks. His mind and body were totally on board with what they wanted. Now if he could just get Martin to play ball. He dampened his lips, praying he could hold on to the threads of his failing courage.
His eyes shot to Martin’s face when he heard his loud indrawn breath. Martin’s pupils consumed his irises, and his nostrils flared. The look of hot desire had Brad’s legs weaken.
A warm glow spread inside his chest when he realised what effect he was having on Martin. A sudden memory of the last time they’d faced off hit. Brad let his lids lower to mask the devilish thoughts that encouraged him to poke the beast.
Brad licked at his lower lip before sucking it between his teeth and flashing Martin a sultry smile as he batted his eyelashes lazily. His worry he would look stupid trying to entice Martin died when he felt the intense desire flare to life between them. Brad swore he could feel it spark over his bare skin. His tight, pale blue T-shirt rubbed against his stiffening nipples when Martin’s hungry gaze roamed his body.
The towel plopped to the floor, forgotten as Martin took the two steps separating them and lifted Brad up. Brad went without a murmur of protest. His hands were already tangling in Martin’s sweat-soaked hair, tugging him closer. He inhaled deeply the overwhelming musky odour of sweat, and Martin’s familiar scent drove him to slam his mouth against Martin’s. The hunger inside clawed to break free.
The mewl Martin released when Brad chewed on his lower lip had him growl in return. The kiss seemed endless. Their tongues carried out their own mating dance. The rhythm left him gasping for more. Emotions swirled around them, swathing his body in electrifying sensations. The feel of Martin’s need pressing against him left him breathless and needy. He ached for the feel of Martin’s naked skin against his. The thought had barely registered as his hands grappled with the wet vest top.
“Brad. Where the hell are you? I’m not sure where the heck we’re supposed to put the remaining food.” Nick’s shout doused his desire better than a bucket of iced water.
The spell broken, Brad took stock. Disgusted that he’d given in so easily, he wiggled down. He ignored the tent in the front of Martin’s shorts and his own dance pole that fought to get out of his jeans.
He scowled, stepping back when Martin went to pull him back towards him. “No. Shit. We have people downstairs helping. They could come up and see…”
Martin interrupted. “See what? Us making out? Me touching your body? Isn’t that what you want? Isn’t this what this whole fight is about?” The angry snarl pulled Brad up short.
He opened his mouth, then closed it when he couldn’t deny that was exactly what it was about. He remembered the boys’ pep talk about being strong and going after what he wanted.
Brad stood tall. He pushed his hands into his too tight jeans, hoping Martin wouldn’t see them shake. He pretended his face wasn’t flaming red while making sure to make eye contact with Martin as he spoke up. “Yes. You’re right. That’s exactly what I want.” The trembled words had his mouth dry, but he carried on. “I’m sorry I didn’t just come right out and ask you.”
Brad stopped speaking when Martin interrupted.
“You can ask me for anything. Surely you know that?”
The slight edge of desperation he could hear in Martin’s voice and sagging shoulders had him moving. Without thought, he climbed back up Martin’s body. Martin hugged him tightly against his hard body. His large warm hands cupped his arse. Brad sighed in relief. Thank fuck I’ve not messed up things between us.
He felt the warmth of Martin’s breath as he tucked his face into Brad’s neck, nuzzling. Brad’s brow shot up. He tugged at Martin’s head when a thought occurred to him. “How did you find out? I can’t see that my fight club members would have said anything.”
He realised too late what he’d said when Martin’s brow furrowed. “It was Stuart, you silly bugger. As if he could keep a secret like that. Anyway, what do you mean fight club? What the hell have you been up to?” Martin shook his head, laughing. “You know, I don’t think I want to know. At least then I won’t have to worry about what else you have planned for us.”
Brad froze at the words, suddenly remembering he hadn’t mentioned about Christmas dinner.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Why do you have a guilty look on your face, Brad? Come on. Spill. What have you done?” The peeved expression Martin wore as he spoke had Brad stifle a giggle. He knew now would not be a good time to let it out. He tried to look contrite.
“Err… I may have invited everyone for Christmas dinner.” He lowered his lashes, batting them, making sure his dimples flashed. He wasn’t stupid. He knew Martin was a sucker for them. He kept the smile off his face when Martin sighed in defeat and gave him a hard kiss instead.
“That’s right. Hide out up here, making out while the injured man does all the work.”
Nick’s sarcastic comment had Brad spring back, pushing on Martin’s arms.
“I’m sorry. I, err, got a little distracted.”
The snigger Nick let loose had him raising his hands in defeat.
“Okay, you win. I was a lot distracted, but then who could blame me? Look at this gorgeous mouth.” As Brad spoke, he dragged Martin’s bemused face to his, giving him a smacking kiss before he danced away from Martin’s roving hands.
“Come on, Nick. We’ll let Martin wash his sweaty body so he can come and help. What were you saying about the food?” He dragged a hobbling Nick to the stairs, throwing a flirty wink at Martin as they left the room.
Brad tried to think about food and the party as he made his way downstairs, but his jittery stomach was having none of it. The last few days had been sheer torture. The worry about whether Martin would agree now seemed to be superseded by the reality of getting what he wanted. He rubbed his hands down his thighs, gritting his teeth. He prayed he hadn’t bitten off more than he could chew.
He shrugged off his nerves and headed into the lounge with Nick on his heels. He gave the large, real pine Christmas tree tucked in the corner a fleeting glance before checking out the rest of the room.
Warmth exuded from every corner. Colours exploded, furniture blended harmoniously. The new furniture Martin had bought respected the old. The Welsh dresser tucked in the corner by the Christmas tree twinkled and sparkled. His bold modern tableware was draped in tinsel, and multicoloured fairy lights hung from the wood.
He surveyed the open space. They’d pushed the huge forest-green sofas with the large comfy cushions back against the wall under the bay window and the far wall. Joe and he had moved the large coffee table into the garage to open up the floor. The large bold red rug that sat in the middle of the floor was a new purchase. It hid scratches he’d found on the polished floorboards.
The old-fashioned wood burner offered a roaring fire he’d lit when he’d got up first thing. He wanted the house to be warm, and he grinned at how toasty it felt. He gave the twinkling lights draped over the driftwood mantelpiece a quick check to make sure none had gone out. Brad sighed in satisfaction when the rainbow of flashing colours all beamed, casting intermittent light over the dark smoke-stained wood.
His new fascination with fairy lights had his sigh turn to a groan at how he’d had to harangue Martin into putting them on the beach-themed pictures hanging on the walls. He thought the pale pink illuminations offered a dreamy quality to the pictures. And if he had his way they would be staying put once Christmas was over.
He’d always wanted to create a sanctuary, a space that offered you to sit and relax and enjoy the moment, regardless of what you were doing. When Nick spoke, it was almost as if he’d plucked Brad’s thoughts from his head. Brad grinned, nodding in agreement.
“This looks like a Christmas grotto, but not in a gaudy ‘you went too far’ way. It’s more like a warm invite to sit and relax and enjoy the festivities.”
“That was totally what I wanted.” Brad raised his hand. The high five he got back had his dimples spark to life. He rubbed his hands together. “And when I light the cinnamon candles I bought, it should just finish it off. Well, I hope so.”
Brad’s cheeks flared with colour when he caught the flash of pure pleasure in Nick’s eyes when he looked at the decorated pine tree. Brad shifted, not letting his thoughts wander to how Martin and he had celebrated buying their first tree together.
“We did good, Nick. I couldn’t have done this without you and the guys.” He leant forward, whispering, “Fight Club.” He winked at Nick when he chuckled.
“Come on. You mentioned something about food. I need to make sure everything is right before I have a shower and change.”
That thought had his partially deflated cock flare back to life. The picture of Joe’s bedroom sprung to the forefront of his mind and what would possibly happen in that bedroom later tonight. Nibbling his lips, Brad pushed at the front of his jeans.
“Stop that. So not fair. I know exactly what you’re thinking about. You know I can’t come with you lot tonight, so stop rubbing it in my face.” Nick laughed, pointing at Brad’s crotch. “Or should that be, stop rubbing yourself? Not all of us have a choice about being single when the man they want has…” Nick’s hesitation had Brad turn to look at him more closely. A sour expression clouded his cerulean eyes.
“Hey, what’s up? You know you can talk to me. Is this about Brody?” A shutter slammed down so fast between them Brad had the urge to check his hands hadn’t got caught.
“Let’s not talk about it. Sorry. I just don’t want to spoil today.” Nick’s earnest face had him let it go. Brad followed Nick’s rigid back into the kitchen, trying to think of something he could do to make Nick feel better.
He snapped his fingers when he spotted the bag he’d left inside the kitchen doorway. Walking quickly to the bag, he opened it and pulled out a small parcel he’d wrapped the day before. “I got something for you for helping me. I hope you like it.” Instant light sparked to life on Nick’s gorgeous face, causing Brad’s own smile to return.
“I love presents. Ooh, what is it?” Nick rattled the box next to his ear.
Brad giggled at his antics. “Careful, you don’t wanna break it.” The giggle turned to full-blown laughter when Nick cast a wary glance at the now still box. “Just open it. Come on, you know you want to.”
Brad’s cheeks creased when Nick tore into the paper, throwing it on the floor with the abandonment of a child. His face glowed under the kitchen spotlights as he lifted the ring Brad had had made in Celtic gold.
Brad held his breath, waiting for Nick to say something. He watched Nick twist the solid platinum ring around. His eyes narrowed as he attempted to read the inscription.
“You probably won’t be able to read it.” Brad chuckled at Nick’s “you’re fucking right I can’t” look. “It’s Manx and says ‘friendship with no end.’ I hope you like it? I did think about having fight club inscribed, but it felt a bit cheesy. I had one made for all three of you. I wanted you all to know how much your friendship means to me. Oh, and please don’t let on to the others. I haven’t given them theirs yet.” Brad rattled on nervously, unsure if Nick liked it or not when his pale blond hair covered his face as he examined the ring closely.
Encouraging Nick to try it on, Brad watched him instinctively put it on his thumb. When it fit perfectly, Brad did a happy wiggle. He’d spent ages trying to figure out a way to get all their ring sizes. In the end, he’d looked at his own hands and tried to gauge their size from his. He crossed his fingers that he was as successful with Joe’s and Greg’s.
Brad went bright pink when he was dragged into Nick’s small muscly arms. He fought to take a breath when Nick squeezed tightly.
“I love it. Thank you.”
Nick’s watery whisper had Brad swallow the ball that had him choking back his own tears. Pulling back, he swiped at his cheeks and felt the dampness. He gave Nick a pat on the arm. Too choked up to say anything, Brad instead picked up the wrapping paper and dropped it into the bin.
He gave the kitchen his full attention as he turned. His mind stuttered at how much was left to do. Brad scratched his head, trying to figure out what needed to be done first… he checked the time. The panic balled inside his chest when the clock said he had two hours before lift-off.
“Take that look of panic off your face right now. You hear me? Joe and Greg will be here any minute and will help us finish what needs doing. You think you got problems. We still haven’t seen whether Gemma managed to get Greg from orangutan status to just plain orange.” Nick’s cheerful reminder pulled Brad from his worries.
Nick was right. Greg definitely had more to worry about than him. That thought had tears gather in his eyes. He bent forward and clutched his sides, unable to stop the howl of laughter when he recalled how bad Greg had looked on Friday. He tried to suck in a breath only to fail miserably when he couldn’t stop the laughter. His body shook.
When he thought he had reined in his laughter, he looked over at Nick, who he found wasn’t in a much better state than him. It started him off again. He knew it was wrong to laugh at someone else’s misfortune, but it didn’t seem to make a difference.
Brad struggled to stop when the doorbell rang. Choking back a laugh, he wiped at his wet cheeks with his bare arm and took some deep breaths. He walked to the front door. Sniffing up, he tried to mask his hilarity when he opened the door to Greg and Joe. He knew he’d failed when Greg gave him an evil stink eye as he pushed past. The red puffer jacket hardly disguised how orange he still looked.
“You were talking about me, weren’t you? I know that look on your face. It was the same one you had on Friday. Ha, ha, laugh it up, you cretins.” He heard Greg huff and puff as he stomped to the kitchen after he’d thrown his coat onto the banister at the bottom of the stairs. The bright orange jumper he’d chosen with the tight-fitting black trousers did little to help the situation.
Brad’s eyes crinkled, and his lips twitched. He glanced at Joe, who stood biting his lip, his chocolate eyes full of merriment.
“Come on, we better go and make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.” Brad gripped Joe with one hand and put his other into his mouth as he battled with the laughter wanting to escape and give him away when he realised what he’d said.
“Stop it, or you’ll set me off. I’ve had to sit in the car for what felt like forever and try and keep a straight face. I’m telling you, I deserve a medal. I didn’t even let one snigger out.”
Brad raised his brows.
“Okay, maybe one, but I still deserve a medal for not crashing the car while my eyes crossed from the effort of not staring at him.” Joe leant closer, whispering, “I didn’t want to tell him he’s still glowing.”
Brad sniggered, biting his fist harder. He swallowed, trying his best to focus on anything other than what colour Greg’s skin was.