Chapter Twenty-One I Was Made For Loving You
chapter twenty-one
I Was Made For Loving You
Christmas Day vanished in that way theirs always did.
Quiet, late, and utterly undone by lust.
They didn’t crawl out of bed until sometime after three. Mostly because Kenny honoured Aaron’s Christmas wish of producing twelve orgasms for the twelve days of Christmas. And, Jesus, Aaron was wrecked. Wrecked and sore and soft and floating somewhere shy of ruined.
It had started with sleepy kisses and ended with Kenny coaxing, “…Come on, baby. You’ve got one more in you, I know you do.” And he did. Somehow. Kenny always knew what his body needed before his brain could keep up.
So yeah. Christmas didn’t really begin until Chaos gave up waiting and barked bloody murder at the bottom of the stairs, probably tired of hearing Aaron’s gasping moans echo through the floorboards like a haunted advent calendar.
Then Kenny stuffed something other than Aaron for a change.
Namely the turkey, and shoved that in the oven while they wrapped up to take Chaos and Lucky to the beach.
There, it was all frosted sand and salt-bitten air, and that silvered cold that didn’t quite sting, but bit sweet at the edges.
Kenny wore gloves and carried one flask of grotesque coffee and another of minted hot chocolate.
While Aaron limped along the sand path, bundled in Kenny’s oversized coat, scarf trailing like a half-hearted flag of surrender, every step making his thighs twitch with memory, and calves threaten to buckle entirely.
He winced as he stepped over a snow-covered log.
Kenny chuckled. “Only yourself to blame. You begged for that seventh one.” He stepped in closer, bumping his shoulder gently as Chaos and Lucky trotted ahead, blissfully unaware of the filth trailing behind now they’d each found their other half.
Aaron scoffed, his breath puffing white. “Begged? That was a muffled plea for help.”
“Funny. Sounded a lot like, ‘please, please, don’t stop.’”
“I was delirious. High as a fucking kite.”
“Because I got you there.”
“Smug bastard.”
They walked a few more steps in silence, save for the crunch of sand and Chaos’s jingle tag clinking up ahead.
Then Aaron said, “Next year, I’m getting you twelve orgasms.”
Kenny raised an eyebrow. “That a promise?”
Aaron smirked. “No. That’s a threat.”
“So once again, your grand Christmas gift involves you not spending a penny or stepping foot in a shop.”
“You don’t know me.”
Kenny laughed, sliding a hand into Aaron’s back pocket, tugging him close, and pressed a kiss to his temple. “I know you better than you know yourself.”
And, yeah, he did.
Whatever.
When they got back to the cottage, Aaron curled up on the hearth rug in front of the tree with Chaos snoring at his feet and Lucky nibbling the treats Aaron kept feeding her when Chaos wasn’t looking.
Kenny tackled the rest of the Christmas dinner, and the fire crackled behind him, pine and burnt orange drifting from the garland Kenny had strung along the mantle and outdoing the roasties and turkey gravy.
Outside, fairy lights blinked in the hedges.
Inside, the world was gold and soft and safe.
They gave each other their real presents while the turkey rested.
Nothing extravagant.
Kenny unwrapped a first-edition children’s book Aaron had tracked down from some obscure Edinburgh dealer that Kenny had once seen in a charity shop and had said Jessica had used to read it, complete with a ribbon-tied note scrawled in Aaron’s messy handwriting: For my other half.
Kenny went quiet reading it. A quiet that wasn’t awkward, but full.
See, Kenny did sometimes get him wrong.
In return, Kenny gave Aaron a hand-stitched leather dog-training pouch with a custom silver tag that read: Chaos & Order.
He’d also slipped a tiny hand-drawn sketch of Aaron walking Chaos on the beach into the box, charcoal-smudged and utterly beautiful.
Aaron stared at it so long he forgot to speak.
There were other things too. Small, quiet offerings. A cinnamon candle. A new hoodie. A bag of those godawful sour gummies Aaron secretly adored. Tokens. Proof they saw each other in the way that mattered. Knew each other in the soft, wordless spaces.
No baby book, thank fuck.
And no engagement ring. Kenny had said he wanted Aaron to choose the one he’d never be allowed to take off. Fair enough. It had to match the tattoo. Had to be something he wouldn’t lose down a drain or snap in half within the month.
Then it was just them. Firelight and tinsel.
Sore thighs and salt air. Love folded into every breath, every kiss, every refill of wine Kenny topped up without thinking.
Dinner was a chaotic triumph. Lazy. Perfect.
Aaron’s honey-glazed carrots, as always, stole the show.
The turkey was slightly overdone, and Kenny blamed the stuffing distraction, but once he drowned it in his smug, handmade gravy, it passed muster.
They wore the crinkled paper crowns from the crackers, now sitting lopsided in their hair.
Walked away with a pair of eyebrow tweezers and a novelty keyring. Real highbrow loot.
They drank more wine.
Then more.
Until Aaron was relaxed enough to talk about the wedding. “I don’t want a big thing. And no churches.”
“That’s fine. No churches. Small gathering.”
“Actually, no gathering. Just us. Like this.”
“We need witnesses.”
“How many?”
“Two. How about Ja—”
“No! I’m not having your ex watching me sob while I marry you. And if Fraser’s involved, there’ll be cake, and I won’t fit into the obscenely tight trousers I plan to wear.”
Kenny chuckled and topped up Aaron’s glass. “Okay. Who then?”
Aaron considered. “Mel. She deserves something for… well, you know.”
“Okay.” Kenny took a sip, lips turning that deliciously flushed shade of red. “Who else?”
“Your aunt? So she can feedback to your mum, and Jessica, that you’re happy now.”
Kenny met his eyes. A slow smile curved his mouth. “Sounds perfect.”
Later, Kenny slipped off to tidy the kitchen, and Aaron wandered to the old walnut piano that had belonged to Kenny’s mum.
He played whatever came. Christmas songs, bits of Debussy, some Elton.
Kenny kissed his neck in passing before collapsing on the sofa, wine glass in hand.
The more he drank, the further he melted into the cushions, shirt half-unbuttoned, eyes fluttering closed.
A lazy smile curving his lips. He looked like a man who had everything he’d ever wanted.
But Aaron had one more thing he might want.
So he stood from the piano, shutting the fallboard, the wine flush blooming across his chest, and dragged a dining chair into the centre of the living room with a theatrical clatter, grinning at Kenny’s dozing form.
He draped it in tinsel. Then off came his jumper, and he tossed it aside, leaving him in a pair of tight, baby-blue jeans, artfully ripped along the thighs.
He grinned, grabbing another handful of tinsel from the tree and winding it around his neck, his waist, one arm.
The static clung to his skin. Glitter kissed his ribs, and he crossed the room to lean in close, brushing his mouth along Kenny’s neck.
Kenny stirred. Half sigh, half smile. “Mmm?”
“Get up, old man.” Aaron took Kenny’s paper crown from his head and put it on his own, then tugged Kenny from the sofa, still half-dazed, and guided him to the tinsel-draped chair facing the archway.
Kenny blinked blearily, slow to catch up, until Aaron kissed him, tender and brief and promising. Then he turned and walked away.
Over to the jukebox.
He drifted his fingers over the buttons, found the record, slid it into place. A click. A low whir. Then—Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum.
The unmistakable beat kicked in, jazzy and full of playful sin. Eartha Kitt’s voice followed, rich as velvet.
Aaron spun, grinning as he ripped the wrinkled paper crown from his head and tossed it towards Kenny. It landed in his lap. And Aaron mouthed the words across the room, “Santa Baby”, swaying his hips in time with the music as he sauntered towards the pole.
Kenny was wide awake now.
Aaron dragged one finger up the pole as he walked around it. The fairy lights flickered gold on the ceiling and the tree sparkled behind Kenny’s silhouette. Everything smelled like cinnamon and pine and woodsmoke, and under it all, Kenny’s cologne. Subtle, familiar and utterly intoxicating.
Aaron tossed a wink over his shoulder.
Kenny was still. Legs parted. Elbows on thighs. Eyes burning.
Aaron spun, a gentle half-turn to start, then dipped low, arching his back, dragging the tinsel across his bare stomach like a feather.
His breath caught as the cold metal of the pole kissed his spine.
The rhythm of the music guided him and he hooked one leg around the pole, lifted it with control, and curled into the movement.
A dance made for Kenny. He gripped the pole tight between his thighs, muscles trembling from the earlier festivities, but it only added to the ache. The want. The show of it.
Cause he had been an awful good boy.
He slid down the pole in a roll, trailing one hand after the other, letting gravity and grace do their thing. Let Kenny see the way his jeans stretched over his arse. Let him watch.
Because Kenny always watched.
And he always saw.
Aaron then dipped, rolled, pushing up again, using the pole to spin once more, then stalked a few steps towards the edge of the imaginary stage, close enough for Kenny to see the mischief in his smile.
Close enough to trail the tinsel down his own chest, over one nipple, then along to his piercing, before wrapping it snugly around his neck and giving it a teasing tug.
Kenny swallowed.
Aaron mouthed the next line with a wink.
Then he spun again, faster this time, letting the movement blur the room before planting both feet and sliding into a low, wide-legged dip. He spread his arms, wrapped in shimmering red tinsel, and threw his head back.
He could hear Kenny breathing. Could feel the air crackle.
So he straightened, moving like honey to prowl across the space towards him. Hips loose, arms flexed, glitter catching on every inch of bare skin. Kenny watched with that look. Half pride. Half possession. Full-blown worship.
Aaron stopped in front of him.
Bent low.
Close enough for Kenny’s warm breath to ghost up to meet his own. He dragged the tinsel across Kenny’s lap, eyes locked onto his. A challenge. An invitation. Kenny then caught the end of the garland without looking away, closing his fingers around the shimmering strand like a fuse.
“Turn around.”
There was no edge in the command. No raised voice. Only a quiet certainty. One that Aaron’s body responded to before his mind had even caught up. Because this was their dynamic. What they’d built, thread by thread. Trust. Permission. Control without cruelty.
Aaron turned.
Kenny stood behind him, close enough Aaron could feel the heat radiating off his chest. Then his hands were on his wrists. Firm. Grounding. Kenny brought them behind his back and locked them there, wrapping the tinsel around them. Not tight but binding enough to make Aaron’s breath skip.
Then Kenny spun him gently, and Aaron faced him again.
Everything stopped for a moment.
The music. The firelight. The air in his lungs.
All of it narrowed to the space between them.
Kenny’s eyes roamed over him, devouring without haste. Aaron’s knees trembled.
“Kneel,” Kenny demanded.
And yeah, there was still that defiant spark in Aaron’s chest. The instinct to fight even when he didn’t want to. But it wasn’t stronger than this. What they had. How Kenny looked at him as if he was beautiful and needed both breaking and protecting.
So he dropped.
Down onto his knees, arms bound and tilted his head back.
Kenny exhaled like a man relieved, stroking one hand through Aaron’s hair, ruffling it back from his face, then cupped his chin with the other. “Good boy.”
Two words.
That’s all it took to melt Aaron’s chest. Deep. Trembling and starved and so fucking safe.
Then came the clink of Kenny’s belt. The whisper of leather sliding free. And Aaron opened his mouth without being told. Eager. Obedient. Utterly given over.
Gluttonous.
Glorious.
Home.
Yeah. Christmas was pretty good.