Chapter 7
Hot Mall Santa is in my car.
Tom played it cool as best he could. He wasn’t some innocent virgin looking to have his first experience and gee whizzing into his pants.
He’d been around the block his fair share.
But never with a guy as good looking as Randall.
He had the face and the body, and also the personality, too.
Despite feeling awkward and inadequate, he’d had fun talking and dancing with him.
Tom had fantasized about guys like him. Fantasies weren’t supposed to come true.
They were tonight.
Unless he really did just want to watch a Christmas movie.
“Where do you live?” Tom asked.
“I’m on the other side of town, by the highway.”
“That’s not too far from the mall.”
Randall gazed out the window at beautiful Oakville with its suburban townhouse developments and ample retail chains.
“I’ll bet you can’t wait to go to the next state.”
“Illinois has its charms.”
At a red light, Tom glanced at Randall in the passenger seat. The sly smile on his face nearly ripped the clothes off Tom’s back.
We’re so not watching a movie.
* * *
“This is your favorite Christmas movie?” He pointed at Tom’s TV.
It was a large screen he’d gotten on the one Black Friday he ever had off.
The TV was the nicest thing in his one-bedroom apartment, with the rest made up of used furniture, discounted Décor Store merchandise, and things his mom had given him.
Tom’s uncle owned the apartment complex and let him live here for free.
Without that, he’d still be living at home.
The assistant manager promotion, and the pay bump it would provide, could not come fast enough.
“Yes. It’s a classic.”
“Die Hard is not a Christmas movie.” Randall shook his head at the screen.
“It is! It takes place on Christmas Eve.”
“That’s only a coincidence.”
Tom actually gave this serious thought on the car ride back to his apartment.
Many of his favorite Christmas movies like Home Alone and The Santa Clause starred little kids, and he didn’t want to get it on with a guy while children ran amok on screen.
He didn’t want to put on a comedy like Elf because he didn’t want Randall laughing and breaking the moment.
And if he put on The Family Stone, he’d instantly get sucked in and forget about the guy on his couch.
Deciding which movie to put on kept him calm in the car and restricted his cock from getting even harder.
“It’s a great movie,” Tom said, though he wasn’t the biggest fan of it. Yet it was perfect for playing in the background. And young Bruce Willis wasn’t bad to look at. Neither was old Bruce Willis, to be QH, as Kirsten would say.
Randall plopped down on the couch with his legs spread. Tom couldn’t tell if he was hard. Even though they kissed in the bar, it was still a possibility that he actually wanted to watch a movie.
“Do you want anything to drink?” Tom asked.
“I’ll take another beer.”
Tom pulled two bottles of the Half-Acre Daisy Cutter from his fridge. Now that he was home, he could drink again, and he needed to. He took a gulp before he left his kitchen.
“Thanks.” Randall took his beer.
Tom sat beside him and played the movie. Any fears and doubts he had about this night vanished the second John McClane got inside Argyle’s limo. That was when Hot Mall Santa put his arm around Tom. By the time McClane arrived at Nakatomi Plaza, their tongues were in each other’s mouths.
I am making out with Hot Mall Santa. I might get to see Hot Mall Santa naked.
Tom melted to his touch, though not to the cheap material of the Santa suit that rubbed against his cheek. He thought the Oakville Mall would’ve sprung for a better quality costume. They had a Neiman Marcus, after all.
Tom was ready for any and everything. When you had the opportunity to hook up with a guy like this, you made the most of it because you didn’t know when or if the gods would ever be this kind to you again.
He grabbed at Randall’s faux fur-trimmed lapels and pulled him closer, shoving his tongue into his pretty, Hot Mall Santa mouth.
His hands traveled across his chest and tumbled down his washboard ads.
Tom had thought that washboard abs were something that only existed in cologne ads.
Speaking of cologne, Randall smelled fantastic.
A dash of cologne, but mostly some natural sexy man scent that was pure pheromones.
Hot Mall Santa Sweat, the new fragrance by Calvin Klein.
He surprised Tom with tender kisses. He pressed against Tom’s lips then cheeks then neck. It was almost intimate.
“You’re really fucking sexy,” Randall said.
Me? Have you seen yourself? Tom would’ve said the same thing back to him, but sexy couldn’t be used to describe Hot Mall Santa, not when it’d just been used to describe a mere mortal like himself.
Tom racked his brain for an appropriate compliment. “You’re super-duper fucking sexy.”
Super-duper fucking sexy? Not his finest moment.
Tom distracted from his subpar wordplay by straddling Randall.
He felt something hard brushing against his most sensitive area.
God, he wanted it so bad. He wanted to savor every inch of this man’s body like it was Godiva chocolate.
Tom grinded against the hardness. This is how you give a fucking lap dance, Kirsten.
Randall let out a deep moan that vibrated in Tom’s mouth.
He grabbed Tom’s hair and held his mouth in place for very non-tender kisses.
Tom grazed his fingers over his scruffy cheekbones, then his ear lobes.
Yes, even the man’s ears managed to be super-duper fucking sexy.
“Yeah,” Randall whispered out in his deep voice. Tom grinded against him, letting his thick erection put pressure on his ass.
Tom pushed at his Santa jacket, and Randall whipped it off without taking his lips off Tom.
Tom felt the rope-like cords of his muscles and shoulders.
He could’ve bench-pressed all eight reindeer at once.
Tom couldn’t wait to get manhandled by those arms. He reached under his sleeveless undershirt, and he could hear the angels sing out.
That chest. Those abs. No fabric between them anymore.
Tom could feel all the heat his muscles had to offer.
In the background, Alan Rickman said something smarmy. Without detaching himself from the hottest of mall Santas, Tom reached for the remote on the couch arm and turned off the TV.
“I think movie time is over,” Tom said. “Spoiler alert: Bruce Willis saves the day.”
“Which way is your bedroom?”
“That way.” Tom pointed to the hall. It was a one-bedroom apartment, so it wasn’t like he had to give turn-by-turn directions.
Randall lifted both of them up and carried Tom to the bedroom.
He threw him down on the bed, which thankfully, Tom had made before leaving for work.
That didn’t always happen. He couldn’t excuse the rest of the mess in his room, but it wasn’t like Randall was looking. His dark eyes were fixed solely on Tom.
Tom leaned across the bed to reach into his nightstand. He took out condoms and an extra-large bottle of lube he got the one time he borrowed his mom’s Costco card. It was the more economically prudent option.
“I have my own condoms,” Randall said, standing over the bed.
“Oh, excuse me.”
“I have to use magnums.” He took out his wallet and removed one such prophylactic.
“Okay.” Tom stifled a laugh. He’d heard that line from guys before. It was never true. “Sure.”
Randall dropped his Santa pants in one fluid motion and his jumbo-sized cock shot up in the air, like a middle finger to Tom. Like a whole bunch of middle fingers. It was just as long as it was thick.
Holy shit. Tom wasn’t sure a magnum would do the trick.
“You literally have a North Pole in your pants.”
“Thanks?”
Tom didn’t want to blink. He didn’t want it to go away.
He knew it was going to hurt, but dammit, pain was gain.
He curled a finger to get Randall to come closer.
Tom crawled across his made bed and put that submarine of a cock into his mouth.
It stretched his jaw, but was totally worth it.
He loved the feeling of this warm, throbbing thickness filling up his mouth.
Randall let out strangled moans above him.
Tom took that dick as far as he could. He savored the salty taste and musky smell of his balls.
He held onto his strong thighs for balance.
He thought Randall was pushing his face down, but there was no pressure.
The guy ran his hands through Tom’s hair, massaging his scalp.
It felt really nice, like tender kisses with his fingers.
Tis was not the season for tenderness, though.
Tom went harder on his cock, gagging as he took more of him in his mouth. He could barely wrap a hand around it. He licked the underside of the shaft and tongued his balls.
“Want to try something?” Tom asked.
Randall quirked an eyebrow in rabid curiosity.
Tom lay on his back with his head just off the bed and neck tilted at an angle. Randall lowered his body. He slid part of his cock slowly into Tom’s mouth. He cried out in pleasure, a helpless sound that was music to Tom’s ears.
Randall fucked his cock in and out of Tom’s mouth. Tom was grateful he was up for experimentation. He didn’t know if this night would ever happen again, and he didn’t care if it broke him. He wanted to be owned by Hot Mall Santa.
“Fuck. Tom. Shit,” he said in short gasps as he fucked Tom’s face. He bent over Tom to get a deeper angle. Tom slapped his ass and let a finger hover over his hole, which elicited another helpless sound.
Tom coughed when he went a little too far. He wasn’t able to take all of Hot Mall Santa. Yet.
“Sorry,” Randall said.
“I’m fine.” Tom found it sweet that he apologized.
“This is so fucking hot. I could come right now.”
“Don’t,” Tom warned.
“I can’t wait to fuck your tight little ass.”