Christmas Raven #2
His reaction when I uncovered his eyes was everything I hoped for and more.
He laughed and wept, kissing every inch of my face before dragging me onto the carousel and demanding that I prove that it works.
Of course, it was my luck that the wiring seems to be finicky.
I had it installed by one electrician and checked by another, but it has a mind of its own regardless.
I was about to give up on showing him its full glory when I looked up to see my love gazing at me with eyes so full of adoration that I could hardly breathe for a moment.
I was so struck by the impossible truth that this man, this perfect, beautiful, kind man could possibly love me the way that I love him.
And oh, how I love him. Straight through to my very soul.
And in that moment, the carousel hummed to life, its delightful song playing as the platform began to spin slowly. George had laughed and held out his hand for me to grab, hauling me up to join him.
He insisted that our love was powering the machine, and perhaps he’s right. Love is a mysterious and powerful thing, who am I to dictate its limits?
We rode it three or four times before he was too dizzy to go on any longer. And then, we spent the rest of the afternoon in the meadow, making love and spotting clouds, talking about all things big and small.
We didn’t make it to the beach to build those sandmen like he wanted, but I promised him we would try tomorrow. We have an infinite number of tomorrows, George and I.
I catch my breath and dash a stray tear from my cheek, overcome by the emotions pouring from his words. I wonder if anyone will ever love me with so much abandon. A boy can certainly dream.
The sound of off-key singing reaches my ears, heavy, crashing feet stomping through the forest, drawing closer. I fold the notebook up again and slip it back into my pocket. My fingers are stiff with cold as I unwrap my hand from around the metal pole and slide off of the horse.
Seconds later, the merry band of idiots whose voices are echoing off the mountain, come crashing through the trees into the clearing.
A new warm feeling fills me up inside, replacing the burning hot, weirdly shivery one that Harold’s words always put there.
This warmth is calmer, sweeter. It’s still love, but this love isn’t frantic or desperate or laced with lust, it’s the comforting hug of homecoming.
Ten is at the head of the pack, wearing a pair of jeans with holes in them and what appears to be two hoodies, all of his tattoos covered for a change.
He’s sporting that smile that earns him an obscene amount of tip money at the bar and makes dozens of tourists every year consider throwing their lives away to move to the island in the vain hope that Ten will fall madly in love with them.
Right behind him is Bambi, his eyes as big and doey as his name suggests.
I catch his eyes flickering to Ten’s ass for a fraction of a second, which explains why my heart is suddenly fluttering with lust that isn’t my own.
I twist my lips into a grin and eye Ten again for a second, completely oblivious to the sweet, fawning man who would give his soul for just one moment of his attention. Have patience, little deer.
Easy and Lux are next. Easy is wearing a coat that’s so large it makes him look like a child, a coat that I’m sure fits perfectly over the gargantuan frame of his nearly seven-foot tall best friend, who, coincidentally is in just a t-shirt.
You don’t need to be a psychic to imagine exactly what happened during the hike up; Easy shivering subtly, and Lux insisting that he’s getting hot anyway as he forces his coat on his best friend.
Maybe Easy didn’t even need to shiver, I’m sure Lux would have noticed his chill even if there weren’t any obvious outward signs.
The two of them are connected more deeply than they even seem to realize.
It vibrates between them like a rubber band when they stray too far from each other.
Trick comes running up behind and jumps onto Easy’s back, nearly taking him down to the ground as they both laugh.
Behind them, Boston rolls his eyes and mutters something I can’t hear from this far away.
But, if I had to guess, it was something about Trick’s fictitious sexual exploits.
My chest vibrates with Trick’s nerves as he fights his seemingly endless battle with his own stupidity.
Just tell him, I urge silently, even though I know it’s not going to happen until they’re both ready for it.
Hennessey, Goose, and Lyric are the ones singing, their voices filling the meadow with a loud chorus of Mariah Carey’s All I Want For Christmas.
Hennessey slows his steps, glancing back.
I don’t have to see grumpy Chef Storm coming through the trees to know that’s who Hen is looking at.
It’s obvious by the way my heart skips a beat as I let myself feel Hen’s energy for a few seconds.
What Hennessey doesn’t see is the lingering look that the chef gives him in return when he turns his attention back to his friends.
I brace myself for the final couple bringing up the rear.
Even when I’m expecting Angel and Devil, I’m never quite ready for them.
As soon as they step into the clearing, I lose every ounce of breath in my lungs and my whole body starts to tremble with that same hot, shivery feeling I had before they all showed up.
The first time Angel’s fingertips brushed against my arm, the motion was so casual even as his eyes danced with heat…
I thought the hot, shivery feelings were mine for a change.
It was silly of me. Of course the intensity that coursed through me was an echo of what the two men feel for each other.
It can be dangerous being so… empathic, for lack of a better term. Sometimes it’s impossible to tell which feelings belong to you and which are reflections. I won’t make that mistake again, not with Angel and Devil anyway.
Devil’s consuming gaze lands on me with a physical weight, and I shiver again involuntarily, my heart creeping up into my throat and my cock hardening. Fuck, I wish I could tell the both of them to just not look at me. It’s too confusing.
My eyes track to something Angel has clutched in his hand.
Along with the present he’s carrying, wrapped in an elegant gold paper with a red bow, he has a fluffy, black parka with a faux fur hood that sparkles a little in the light.
His lips twitch in a smile and he holds the coat out towards me when he gets close.
I want to argue, to tell him that I don’t need it. What I really want is to ask him why he would bring a coat all the way up here for me. But I can never seem to coax words to form on my tongue when either of them look at me, and right now they both are. So, I just take the coat and nod in thanks.
“How psychic can you be if you didn’t even know to bring a coat?” Hennessey taunts, arching a challenging eyebrow at me.
I take a few steps closer to my skeptical friend and grin. “I knew I wouldn’t be cold…” I shrug the coat on and then lean in to place a playful kiss on the tip of his nose. “And I’m not cold, boo.”
There’s a titter of teasing and then a flurry of everyone placing their presents in a large pile just in front of the carousel.
“Did you get here early to put the lights up?” Ten asks, looking at the carousel.
“No, I figured one of you guys came up and did it.”
Everyone glances around, looking for the culprit, but no one fesses up. I can’t feel anything other than amused confusion, and no one is looking guilty enough to give themselves away.
“The psychic must know,” Goose teases, and I smirk.
“Island magic,” I answer, wiggling my fingers mystically. He rolls his eyes, but everyone pretty much accepts that answer and stops worrying about how the lights got there.
“Presents,” Easy declares, like a little kid who’s been impatiently waiting for the grown-ups to stop talking so he can get around to opening his toys.
I’m not sure when the Secret Santa tradition on the island started, except that it was going on before I even moved here.
Residents come and go, but traditions have an interesting way of lasting around here regardless of who’s around.
Of course, this group of loveable assholes always have to find a way to bust my balls, so there’s a new aspect to this particular tradition over the past few years…
Everyone converges on the pile to dig out the present with their own name on it, and then we all gather around, some people hopping up to sit on the carousel horses or platform, others plopping themselves right down on the cold ground.
Easy thrusts a present into my hand first. It’s the gold one with the red bow that Angel brought, and it has a little card attached with Easy’s name written neatly inside.
My hands tremble as I hold the gift daintily, afraid it will have the same effect on me as touching the man himself always does.
“Come on, tell me what it is,” Easy coaxes.
I roll my eyes. “You guys know that there’s a very simple way to find out what’s inside a wrapped present, right?”
“But this is more fun,” Boston points out.
I bite back another smile. Most of them think I’m full of shit, in some ways I am.
It’s not like I can touch someone’s hand and see their life play out like a movie right in front of me.
I can’t read someone’s palm and tell them who they’ll marry or when they will die.
I doubt psychics like that exist in real life.
But being hyper in tune with other people’s energy and extremely observant is basically the same thing in the end, isn’t it?