Chapter 11 #2
"Only if you call and ask your sister, first," said Kyle, his voice warbling as though he was trying to stop it from shaking.
He raised his head to look at Clayton, and his russet hair fell across his eyes, shading the blue, as if Kyle was trying to shield how he felt, deep inside. "That's the deal."
"That's the deal," said Clayton, nodding his agreement. "But here's the other deal, and I want to make it plain, so you can back out if you want before I call her."
"What other deal?" asked Kyle. He scrunched up his mouth. "Is this about the reward? I really don't want it, you know, so there's no point insisting on it."
"No," said Clayton, quite slowly and carefully, his heart starting to race.
"It's about you and me. It's about you and me when it's not Christmas any more.
It's about you finding someone you can apprentice with to learn leather and beadwork.
It's about me maybe not driving a truck for a delivery company anymore, but maybe I can drive an F-150 and haul a sweet, silver Airstream around from fair to fair while you—"
Clayton groaned and buried his head in his hands, his fingers gripping his hair. He'd started out slow but then the words had escaped him so fast it was like they'd slipped on a long stretch of ice, at one end him and his stupid mouth and at the other, a dark unknown.
He had just screwed everything up, and now Kyle would back out of the trip to Sarah's house, and there Clayton would be.
He'd be reconciled with Sarah and he'd be able to be with Shawn again, too, but other than that, he'd have only the memories of this Christmas behind him and a bleak white wasteland of a future ahead of him.
"Did you just say what I thought you said?" asked Kyle. "Did you really just say that?"
Kyle didn't sound angry, so Clayton risked it, let go of his own head, and looked up.
Kyle's expression was that of a man who could see a great deal of the way down a road he wasn't sure he was allowed to go on.
His mouth was open, and his eyes were wide, eyebrows raised just a fraction, as if he was on the verge of asking for what he wanted, asking his future self: Is this the way I should go?
"I meant to take it much slower than that," said Clayton, hurrying to get the words out. "It was like while I meant to tap the gas pedal I gunned it instead—but I meant every word. And if it makes you uncomfortable at all, I'm sure I can make it to the interstate and find a motel."
"You'll do no such thing," said Kyle, shaking his head.
Clayton could tell he meant it, so at least he wouldn't have to start a dark, cold drive to find a motel that might already be booked solid.
But more importantly, if Kyle wasn't angry and didn't want him to go, did that also mean he wanted Clayton to stay?
To come back? To be with him? Clayton needed to be sure.
"Okay about the motel and me staying here," said Clayton carefully as he pointed at the table. "But what about everything else? I went too fast, I know, but what about—"
He stopped, unable to go on. He'd spoken his piece anyhow, so there wasn't much point in going over it again. He needed to wait, to be patient, to hear what Kyle had to say.
Kyle amazed him by sitting at the table where he'd been sitting before. Not across from Clayton, but kitty-corner to him, their elbows brushing against each other on the tabletop.
"I didn't know," said Kyle slowly, as if letting his brain catch up to what his mouth was saying. "I mean, you've been so nice, so easy to be with, and I could see, well. I could see how nice it was to have the empty places in this house filled with someone besides myself. On the other hand—"
Kyle leaned his chin into his cupped hand, his fingers dappling against his flushed cheek.
"On the other hand, you could be the serial killer your sister is worried that I'll turn out to be, and people will say we were foolish. They'll say that we were stupid and blind and that we shouldn't have—"
Kyle stopped and looked up at Clayton with his eyes so blue, Clayton could see the sky in them, a sky full of dreams and hopes and hearts that wanted something they remembered wanting when they were younger and didn't know the world was full of danger and closed doors and broken promises.
"That we shouldn't," said Kyle. He swallowed hard, took his hand away from his face, and sat back, as if fully prepared for the moment when Clayton would agree with him and also say that they shouldn't.
"Nobody gets to tell you that you shouldn't but you," said Clayton, his throat thickening with anger at anyone who'd ever stood in Kyle's way of doing what he wanted.
He wanted to stand up and shout at those invisible, unknown people who'd turned into barriers to Kyle's dream of making things and traveling the country to sell them and see a little bit of the world.
But he stayed seated where he was because he didn't want to startle Kyle into thinking that maybe his Christmas guest ought to take his heated opinion and go on down the road to the interstate motel. So he stayed seated, breath held.
"You say what Brent and Richard are always saying," said Kyle. "They want to bankroll my little business, with proper papers through a bank so I won't refuse on account of I'd take it as charity."
"You should let them," said Clayton, firmly, almost fiercely. "You should sign those papers and take to the road."
"Would you come with me?" asked Kyle, his gaze quite level as he looked at Clayton, and for a moment, the world was in his eyes, blue as the sky, as open as a horizon on the high plains.
Clayton's heart soared with hope. Then, with a little shrug, Kyle laughed.
"Seems kind of sudden, you and me, talking about taking to the road together."
"Maybe a little," said Clayton. His heart was beating hard against his breastbone. "We could put on the brakes a bit and take it slow for a while. I could stop by once in a while on my route, when it takes me this way—"
"More than once in a while," said Kyle, smiling, that sweet flush coming to his face. "Definitely more than once in a while."
Clayton had his answer. He had his answer, and it was the best Christmas present he could ever remember getting. They had a chance to be together.
His breath caught in his throat as he thought about all the Christmases to come, the future Clayton and Kyle decorating a real Christmas tree together, remembering together to make the Rice Krispies treats to leave out for Santa.
The bottles of wine they would share, and the scarves they would wrap around each other's necks with gentle hands, leaving traces of warmth behind.
"Is this where we kiss for the first time?" asked Kyle, breaking in on Clayton's rambling thoughts.
"Maybe?" Clayton's eyebrows rose. "And after that, we take it nice and slow, because it's been a while since I—well, it's been a while."
"For me too," said Kyle. He looked up at Clayton through his lashes in the most flirty way that made Clayton's heart skip a beat. "Maybe we could cuddle on the couch after, but I'm not one of those guys you meet in bars who's ready for it, who's already bending over and ready for it—"
"Me either," said Clayton, when he figured out where Kyle was going with his thoughts. "I mean, I used to be, but I'm up for cuddling." His face felt warm, even as he said it.
"That's settled then," said Kyle, standing up from the table, scraping the chair back across the kitchen floor with a screech. "You pick out a movie for us, and I'll make some eggnog with rum."
"Sounds good," said Clayton, a little tremble to his mouth. He stood up too, and wondered, his heart beating hard, if he should wait for that kiss or step forward and ask for it. He wanted both, he wanted either. He wanted what Kyle wanted.
Kyle crooked his finger at Clayton and Clayton, in a daze, stumbled forward. His sock-footed toes met Kyle's sock-footed toes as he placed a hand on Kyle's slender waist, lightly, so that Kyle could move where he wanted. He tipped his head down and kissed Kyle's sweet mouth.
That mouth tasted a little like salt and a little like butter, but it was good, like a dreamy Christmas gift he'd not been expecting.
He felt the flicker of Kyle's tongue across his lower lip, and then it was gone.
He straightened up and lifted his head and smiled, rubbing his thumb across his mouth.
"Our first Christmas kiss," said Clayton, soft, a shiver running through him, a deep river beneath that of something else that felt more like desire than he could have imagined.
"Not our last, I think," said Kyle. "Now, go pick that movie and let me get used to you slowly."
Heart still beating hard, Clayton focused on the task of getting a movie going on the flat-screen TV.
Then he needlessly plumped the pillows on the couch and rose on his tiptoes as he watched Kyle come into the living room.
He had two glasses of rum-laced eggnog, one in each hand, and his mouth was curved in a smile that held secrets and promises, as if wonderful ideas were racing behind those blue eyes that looked at Clayton.
He hoped there were, wonderful ideas and dreams that they could chase together.
His jaw worked as they sat down, and Kyle handed him his glass.
He'd not expected this for Christmas, not at all, and while he wasn't afraid of it, he was on the verge of thinking that he didn't quite deserve it.
That is, until Kyle leaned against Clayton, forcing his way into the crook of Clayton's shoulder, and the only thing Clayton could do was to lift his arm and lower it around Kyle.
Which he did, gently and carefully, until his arm was settled and he could feel the warmth of Kyle's body like a hearth fire.
"Easy now," said Kyle as he leaned his weight into Clayton.
His hand reached out to gently pat Clayton's thigh, an intimate, slow gesture that was comforting and exciting at the same time.
"We're just going to watch a movie and drink our eggnog and talk the way couples do when the main part of Christmas day is over and we're winding down before we start planning for next year. "
"The way couples do," said Clayton, swallowing, nervous and pleased all at once.
"Yes," said Kyle. He held out his glass so that Clayton could clink his glass against Kyle's. "The way couples do."
This made the warmth and joy inside of Clayton, which had begun as a tiny dot only two days ago, blossom full force, and he had to catch his breath. But Kyle's body was warm and close beside him, and Kyle was focused on that movie, and everything else was still and quiet and peaceful.
Clayton made himself breathe slowly until he settled down, though that warmth and joy was still inside him in a way that it had not been since before his parents died.
This was good, this was very good, and he didn't have to run at it and grab it or chase it, like he'd always felt he had to with everything else in his life.
He could sit very quietly, and it would simply be there with him, the way it was now.
The calmness he felt while the movie blathered on was good, and he drank his eggnog, and rounded his mouth around the taste of rum, and just was. With Kyle leaning against him, breathing steadily, warm and sweet and wonderful.
That is, until Kyle drained the last of his eggnog and leaned forward to put the empty glass on the coffee table.
Was serious conversation about to start?
Clayton didn't know that he was up for that, though he knew it had to happen, eventually.
He just wanted this moment, and a million others like it, to simply go on and on until the end of time.
Kyle shifted against him and scooted until he could wrap his arm around Clayton's waist. Then he snuggled firmly against Clayton with his head full upon Clayton's shoulder.
"Where does the F-150 come in?" asked Kyle, surprising him. "I know I mentioned a truck and an Airstream, but where did the F-150 come from?"
"You need a truck like that," said Clayton, grateful to be given a subject he knew, and promised himself that he'd do the same for Kyle, over and over, whenever Kyle needed it. "You need one that's big, maybe even something bigger than that, to haul a thirty-foot Airstream—"
"Thirty feet?" asked Kyle, his voice rising.
He looked up at Clayton and the lights in his eyes was so very blue and handsome that Clayton wanted to lean down then and there and start on their second kiss. But he restrained himself.
"Why do I need thirty feet of Airstream?" asked Kyle, his voice serious, like this was a familiar and comfortable old argument between them. "I was looking at one of the littler ones—"
"You need thirty feet so you can have your supplies inside the trailer, so you can work on them," said Clayton, happily responding in kind. "You need to have what you need inside, without having to go back and forth to your truck bed to get anything. Like in bad weather."
"And there needs to be a place for you and me, I guess," said Kyle, the tease in his voice, and the flirt in his eyes making Clayton's spine shiver. "At night. To keep each other warm."
"Yes, there's that," said Clayton, his voice cracking a bit. He smiled, half to himself, and leaned down to get that second Christmas kiss, and this one tasted sweet with rum. "There's that."
Together they settled back on the couch and watched the movie, which Clayton couldn't focus on, all of his attention being on Kyle.
When he shifted, when he stroked Clayton's thigh, when he snuggled closer, his hand around Clayton's back, his fingers twined in a wrinkle of Clayton's t-shirt.
There were richer men than he, more powerful men, but none more contented than he was at being right where he was.
Watching a movie on Christmas day, the way couples do.