Chapter Two
Cillian popped back up with a suddenness that made James jump.
He’d have splashed his drink clear out of the glass if there’d been more than a drop or two left at the bottom, and wouldn’t that be a waste?
As the music dropped from bone-rattling techno to swishy lo-fi, he eyeballed the glass to make sure of that, nodded, then punched Cillian soundly on the bicep. “What the fuck?”
“Hey, you bastard.” Cillian rubbed his arm, but eyes sparkled. “Why don’t you learn how to hit?”
James frowned at him. “So that hurt, or it didn’t?”
Cillian waved expansively. “Sourpuss it up all you want; you do feel better, I can tell. It’s a sixth sense kind of thing.” He refilled the empty glass, slung an arm carelessly across James’ shoulders, and leaned casually into his side. “You’re not dancing. Why are you not dancing?”
“Because I look like one of those inflatable tube men they put outside car dealerships when I try to follow a beat?”
“Bah, and also, I say humbug.” Cillian caught James’ hand between both of his, gazing at him in a way guaranteed to melt even undergarments made of asbestos. “Now! You and me, we’re behind. I took you out for drinks and dancing. Can’t do one without the other, am I right?”
“No. No way.” James tried to pull away. “You remember what happened last time. I’m not ending up on TikTok again.”
“All of ten people saw the clip -- the dick who posted it was hardly an influencer -- and half of the comments were ‘the guy tried, give him some credit’.” Cillian tugged back. “Come on. One dance. I for one promise not to laugh.”
James scoffed but also turned his wrist so that he could get a better look at their joined hands.
He stroked the back of Cillian’s forearm with his thumb without really meaning to but not seeing a good reason to stop.
Cillian had started it, after all. “You are such a liar. Last time you laughed until you almost needed oxygen.”
“Then I promise not to laugh quite that hard. Only until my knees give out and I hit the ground, and then I’ll stop.” Cillian beamed at him. “See? Problem solved. Time’s wasting. Let’s dance.”
He had impeccable timing. The music changed from frenetic trap beats to poppy 90’s, and suddenly they had Cher at top volume and a howling crowd ready to believe there was, in fact, life after love.
So why not dance? James had drink in his hand, a friend who could coax birds out of the trees, and a night unexpectedly free.
Besides, the place was crawling with hipsters.
He wouldn’t be the only one doing a Muppet-flail dance.
“You know what?” James drained the dregs of his drink from his glass. “You’re on.”
“Now that’s my boy!” Cillian whooped. He caught James by the wrist and hauled him by main force out into the middle of the throng, where he spun him around so they faced each other. “Right. I’ll try and teach you again. Just follow me. Do what I do.”
“I don’t have that many joints in my legs.”
“Oh, hush up.” Cillian rested his palms lightly on James’ hips.
“Step one: do not look at your feet. Don’t think about your feet, for fuck’s sake.
We’re focused on these lovely little pivot points.
Sway. That’s it, sway. Count the beat in your head.
One-two-three-four, one-two-three-four. Now your arms.” He let go of James’ hips to raise his arms for him.
“Arms can move a little as you move, but keep ‘em mostly straight.”
James bit his lip, concentrating. “Last time anyone called anything about me straight.”
Cillian hooted. “Damn right. Now, see? You’re doing it, but don’t you dare pay attention to it. No thinking. Only moving. There! Nice power stance, that, nice hip action. Almost like you know what you’re doing.”
“Or like I had a good teacher.”
“Was that a wink?” Cillian demanded, visibly delighted. “Why, James, I do declare you look and sound like you’re having a good time. Who’d have thought it?”
Not James, not before the night got going, but Cillian had a knack for proving him wrong.
And he was having a good time. One of the best since he couldn’t remember when.
His body was obeying commands, the music pumped through his veins, and he was close enough to Cillian they didn’t have to shout.
Cillian smelled of warm skin, alarmingly potent alcohol, and something almost like cinnamon.
He tossed his hair back, laughing, and for one moment James wasn’t just having a good time.
He was happy . And he never wanted the moment to end.
All things did, of course. James wasn’t the only one giving Cillian an appreciative eye. More than a handful of men paused in their dancing, a couple of them even stumbling over their own feet, to get a better view of him. Death glares hammered at James’ own back for hogging all the pretty.
He poked Cillian lightly. “Fan club’s out in force.”
Cillian scoffed. “Pervs, you mean, and ones who don’t know how to mind their business when I’m clearly occupied.”
James blinked. That was new. “You’re not planning on taking any of them home with you tonight?”
“Nah.”
What? Wait, seriously ?
Before James could process that genuinely new response, Cillian dropped one arm lightly across his collarbone and asked, “So what’s the deal with going home for Christmas?
You’ve always gone, sure, but you never seem to enjoy the trip that much and you come back with socks and boxes of chocolate covered cherries instead of anything with some thought in it. ”
James hesitated. Long enough that his gaze drifted downward.
“I guess that’s a damn good question,” he said at last. “It’s just what I do.
I love Christmas. All the traditions, all the decorations, all the people I know and love even if they do have limited imaginations.
” He shrugged, jostling Cillian’s arm slightly.
“Not going would be too strange to contemplate.”
“You have clearly not had enough to drink if you can use words like ‘contemplate’ in a sentence right now,” Cillian informed him. He held up his free hand. “Keep dancing. Let me think about this.”
Curious enough to do as he’d been told, James watched notions and questions dance across Cillian’s features. Didn’t take nearly as long as it had with him before Cillian gave a decided nod. “Let’s say the airline doesn’t come through and cough up your round trip ticket before the holiday’s over.”
Which seemed more than likely, all things considered, even if James didn’t enjoy contemplating the possibility. He gestured for Cillian to go on.
“That will make you sad,” Cillian said, “And that won’t do, not at all. So why not make Christmas happen by ourselves?”
“You mean like Debbie did Dallas? I thought you weren’t bringing any of the club boys home.”
Cillian tweaked James’ ear. “I’m not. Ourselves, I said. You and me. You and I. Which one’s right? I can never remember, but never mind. We’re grown-ass adults, James. We can handle one little holiday without breaking too much of a sweat.”
The plan started to filter through James’ cocktail haze. He tilted his head to the side. “Gifts, tree, dinner, the works? All of it?”
“How hard can it be? Worst come to worst, we’ll wear bathrobes and toss some hay on the ground and say we’re going for the authentic, rustic aesthetic.”
James had to laugh. “You are ridiculous.”
“Ah, but am I wrong? Come on.” Cillian caught James by the forearms and pulled them down, taking his hands again. “It’ll be fun. You need more fun in your life.”
I need you in my life , James thought unbidden, but he didn’t correct Cillian, not even in his own head. Because it’s true. All I want for Christmas is you .
“I can see you coming over to the jingle side,” Cillian said. He squeezed James’ hands. “Say yes. You know you want to.”
Yep. Want to do all kinds of things to you, Christmas or not . James blinked, a little owlishly. Whatever had been in those drinks, he needed the recipe. But first… “Okay.”
Cillian frowned, then both eyebrows shot up. “Was that a yes? That was a yes. No take backs.”
“I’ll call the airline and ask them to give me a New Year’s ticket in exchange for their fuckup.” James shrugged. “It’s worth a shot.”
“Now that’s my boy!” Cillian seized James, one palm at his cheek and one on his shoulder, and came in close, as if to knock their foreheads companionably together.
Maybe there was a little bit of Christmas magic in the air.
Maybe it was a shift in fluid dynamics, and physics were to blame.
Or maybe they were jostled just right by the other dancers.
But however it happened, if it was Cillian who stumbled forward or James, the stars aligned.
James caught himself mostly by colliding body to body with Cillian, and…
Their lips touched. Slid lightly, mouth across mouth. Clung briefly, once, and then again. Somehow James’ fingers had gotten twined in Cillian’s curls, then knotted there, and somehow they were still kissing.
Until they weren’t, and were instead staring, startled, into one another’s eyes from an inch or so away.
Cillian didn’t blink, and neither did James, though he knew he had to appear at least twice as dazed as Cillian did.
He could have sagged in relief when Cillian’s grin broke out again, not quite as bright as usual but more than warm enough, and delighted to boot.
“I’d thought about putting an Elf on a shelf, but I like your approach better, my friend.” Cillian squeezed him around the shoulders. “Shall we?”
One hell of a drink, one hell of a kiss, and maybe the former was a bad influence on the latter, but -- see, it’d happened.
They’d kissed, and James hadn’t gotten slapped, shoved, tackled, or rejected out of hand.
He knew that dazed look in a man’s eye. That was the look that said there might be candy in the stocking this year, not coal.
If he dared dig a little deeper, that was.