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It was December 22nd, and you could tell. The walls of the post office were decked with fake pine garland and shiny red baubles. A lounge singer’s voice crooned through the overhead speakers about sleigh bells and chestnuts. The windows were lined with lights that flashed intermittently, illuminating the frost that crept at the corners of the glass.
Keith stood in the lineup for the post office desk, willing himself not to listen too hard to the music, lest it get stuck in his head like it did last time. It’s tricky, when every grocery store and restaurant sounded like they played the same Christmas mixtape on repeat. If he didn’t hate Mariah Carey before, he did now.
It didn’t help that Keith had been on his own for the past week. Tara, who owned the ranch he lived at, had left a week ago to see her sister on the other side of the country. The friends that Keith had made at his job at the local renaissance faire had all left for home too, save for Pidge and Matt, who lived locally.
Lance had left almost a week ago, too. His family lived all the way in Cuba and there wasn’t a single Christmas that they didn’t spend together. It was his absence that was affecting Keith the most, despite how much he claimed to like being alone. Keith was surprised when he realized just how much time they were spending together. Even after the faire closed for the season, they found excuses to make the drive from campus to the ranch, which was 30 minutes without traffic. They saw movies together, went to the only sushi restaurant in town, and went on trail rides. They had gone on a camping trip together and had plans to go skiing that winter. Keith had spent most of his weekends staying over at Lance’s apartment, which he shared with Hunk. Being together had become so normal, so natural, that Keith hadn’t reflected on it until Lance was suddenly gone.
The cashier at the post office desk looked harried and tired. Keith offered her a small smile which she didn’t return. She took a breath and asked what she could help him with.
“Was there any packages for box 302?” he asked, not for the first time that week.
“302… 302…” she said as she went to the back, presumably to check for packages. By the time she returned a few minutes later, there were several people waiting behind Keith. “Sorry, hon. Only the letters in the box. Are you waiting for something?”
“Yeah,” he said, trying not to let the disappointment show on his face.
“Well we’ll put a slip in the box when it turns up, but if the sender didn’t get it out in time it may not come until after Christmas. We’re closed on the 25th, of course.”
“OK. Thanks.” Keith left the counter feeling as empty as his hands. He had come to the post office expecting to be disappointed, but somehow it didn’t alleviate the feeling. He had 2 more days to check back, but he couldn’t help the doubt in his mind.
The sun had already set, taking with it the little warmth that the winter would allow. Keith wasn’t sure he would ever get used to winters in the prairies, where the wind and the cold was worse than anywhere else he had lived. Despite his layers of clothing he could feel the bite of the wind that never seemed to stop. He shivered all the way to where the truck was parked.
His poor truck. He had bought it in California where the winters were warm and there was no ice on the roads. Since moving to Canada he had to invest in a block heater, undercoating and good winter tires. He even had tire chains for those times when the ranch driveway had so much ice that no amount of salt could penetrate it. The result was a body that was starting to rust, despite his best efforts, and an engine that complained loudly in the cold. He sat in the driver’s seat for several minutes, blowing on his hands to keep them warm while he waited for the engine to finally warm the truck enough to drive.
He took it slow on the way back to the ranch. The roads were not quite snow covered yet, but black ice covered many spots on the highway. Keith had memorized the spots where they were the worst, and he switched to all-wheel drive when necessary. The most frightening moments, however, were when the big transport trucks barrelled by, with no fear of ice or snow.
The ranch was dark but for the single porch light Keith had left on. No dogs came to meet Keith’s truck-- both were with Tara in Ontario. The horses had been sent to a boarding ranch, too. The only signs of life was a thin coil of smoke rising from the chimney, telling Keith that the woodstove hadn’t yet gone out.
The house was silent but for a the muffled pops and cracks from the stove. Keith checked to make sure it was full of wood before starting on dinner: a repeat of last night’s spaghetti. The beeps from the microwave seemed too loud in the empty house. When Keith settled down in the living room he put on the TV: not to watch, but to provide a bit of background noise.
I’m too used to Lance’s babbling, Keith thought wryly as he set into his bowl of spaghetti. Then he laughed and shook his head-- He always managed to find a way to think about Lance. It made him reach for his coat, where his phone was tucked into a pocket. The wifi was kicking in, and his phone suddenly flashed with every email and message he had missed while in town.
There were a few from Lance. There were always a few from Lance. He send messages about as often as he talked. Keith felt a warmth blossom in his stomach that had nothing to do with the reheated food or the nearby stove.
Lance: NO haha i sort of hate my sister but thats what siblings are like i guess,,,??
Lance: sorry you probably dont want to hear about my annoying family haha
Lance: ah seeee i made you mad
Lance: KEITH did you run out of data again?
Keith knew he was smiling, but with no one around to see him being goofy, he allowed himself the simple pleasure of reading Lance’s desperate texts.
Me: Calm down, son.
Me: I was in town on some errands. When did you say the package would arrive…?
Lance: OH not until Christmas Eve probably
Lance: sorry itll be so late~~ I promise you’ll like it though ;)))
Keith sighed out loud. Somehow Lance typed in the exact same earnest way that he spoke in real life. It wasn’t hard to imagine his goofy grin and his expressive eyebrows. It was an image that took Keith to pieces.
Me: It better be good. Did you open my present yet?
Lance: OBVIOUS NOT GOD do you not understand how christmas works??
Me: I thought you just open presents when you get them?
Lance: NO YOU OPEN PRESENTS ON CHRISTMAS except for the one you get to open on christmas eve but im saving yours because obviously itll be the best one right??
Me: Ugh don’t get your hopes up or you’ll be disappointed.
Lance: It’s from you, buddy. Anything from you is the best. <3
Keith could not understand how such simple messages were reducing him to a mass of blushing mush. He put aside his half finished dinner and drew up his knees on the cozy armchair. He balanced the phone on his knees, rereading the messages with a grin.
Me: Ugh. You’re such a sap.
Lance: You love it~
Me: I do. A lot.
Lance: uuuuuuuuuuuh Keith buddy you cant just say that
Lance: ggggggggguuuuuuuuuhhhhhhh
Lance: I miss you :(
Keith let his forehead fall on his knees, a groan issuing from his throat. His life had become a goddamn romance song (he assumed-- he rarely listened to them). He could feel the warmth filling him up from his toes to the top of his head. It was a feeling somewhere between happiness and yearning.
He missed Lance. He missed him more than he could say. It wasn’t just the lack of noise and company-- if he wanted that he could finally answer Matt’s invitations to go drinking at the local dive bar. He wanted Lance. He wanted to see his stupid smirk and listen to his bad jokes. He wanted to hold him and be held. He wanted to snuggle in front of the TV and let Lance ‘educate’ him on all the shows he had missed as a backwoods country child. And then he wanted to make out with him on the couch before dragging him to the bedroom to give Lance his own education.
Me: I miss you too.
------------
The weather had turned the next day when Keith rumbled into town again. The snow that had covered the ground was beginning to melt, and the dark clouds above suggested a mix of snow and rain that was sure to ruin Christmas decorations all over town. Nonetheless the grocery store was full to bursting as Keith tried to gather the meager ingredients he needed to get him through the weekend. It involved an embarrassingly large amount of pasta.
The post office was busy too, with a lineup that took 20 minutes. By the time Keith managed to finally be disappointed by the clerk (“No packages for 302, sorry.”), it was past noon and he thought it best to stay at a cafe for lunch.
Keith had never been a cafe person. They involved a lot more human interaction than he was usually comfortable with, but it was over a week since he had seen a friendly face, beyond the pitying clerk at the post office. He wanted someone to smile at him and ask him how his day is. Even if it was only a question that led to ‘what can I get for you today?’
The cafe was warm and inviting, full of couples and families drinking coffees and hot chocolates together. The din of voices rose over soft guitar music (another Christmas cover, of course).
After ordering from a friendly girl at the counter, Keith sat alone a little table. He wrapped two hands around the mug of coffee, trying to let the cheerful ambiance seep into him. He listened to a child one table over prattle on about having met Santa at the store. At another table, a couple were quietly disagreeing over what seemed like a doomed family dinner. Further still three old men were laughing merrily together, their canes looped over the backs of their chairs.
It wasn’t working. Instead of his heart filling with cheer and warmth, it only filled with envy. He felt isolated at his little table, alone while the world continued to whirl around him in a confusing flurry of holiday spirit. It was as though he was watching a television program. It was nothing he was a part of.
By the time Keith had finished his bagel and coffee, the sleet was starting to fall. It was thick and wet, making the sidewalks slushy and slick. The traffic in town was beginning to slow down and it took Keith an uncountable amount of time to pull out of his parking space.
His mood wasn’t improved by the weather, which was grey and wet and cold. The lights along the main street were blurred and washed out by the sheets of wet snow and pedestrians darted from shops to cars.
The roads were terrible. As the afternoon waned, the temperature cooled down and the wetness on the roads became icy and treacherous. Keith slowed down, concentrating as he approached the highway. He wasn’t the only one-- the traffic slowed to a crawl and he passed a few cars who had pulled over to avoid the dangerous conditions.
The truck could handle it, he knew, but others were not so equipped. After 20 minutes of slowly following a little old Golf, he was forced to stop as it spiralled out of control, turning almost 360 before coming to a stop. Keith opened his window to see if the driver needed help, but the car righted itself before he was able to call out to it. He was relieved to watch the Golf exit safely, headed for a house off the highway.
The mix of snow and rain was starting to come down hard. Even with the wipers on full, Keith was forced to lean forward and squint through the windshield. He could vaguely see red lights ahead of him, a car crawling as slowly as he did. A minute later and the lights disappeared and Keith wondered if he was alone on the highway.
He was close to the ranch when he was forced to stop again. He had almost missed the car on the side of the highway, the back wheels raised above the ground and the nose pushed into the ditch. Keith stopped the truck, wondering if the car was abandoned like the others he had seen along the highway. But a light on inside of the car made him finally step out into the storm.
There were definitely two people in the car. Keith put his hood up against the wet snow and jogged over to knock on the window.
A woman opened the door, her mouth open in surprise and then in delight. “Oh, thank god!” she said with a large exhale. “I haven’t seen anyone drive by for almost an hour!”
“Do you need a tow?” Keith asked, looking behind the woman to the child sitting in the passenger seat, sucking on a soda straw.
“My phone died!” the woman said frantically. “And I forgot my charger! And we’re supposed to be at dinner in 20 minutes.” She looked about ready to cry.
Keith fished the phone out of his pocket. It may not have data, but he could still make calls. He gave the phone to the woman who dialed a number and spoke with a family member. She handed the phone back with obvious relief.
“Thanks-- you’re a lifesaver! My brother is going to call a tow truck and come get us.”
“How far is he?” Keith asked, not ready to leave.
“Past Gibbeon’s Corner, off the highway.”
Keith frowned. “That’s almost 45 minutes away. And the roads are terrible.”
The woman opened her mouth and shut it again. Her eyes remained wide. Beside her, the child was starting to fidget.
“Can I drive you?” Keith said, practically blurting out the words. This would officially be the first time that he had offered to help a stranger on the side of the road. “It’s not that much further than my place.”
The woman was still grasping for words. The small boy, however, decided at that moment to declare that he was HUNGRY. “That would be… that would be perfect,” she looked ready to cry again. She made another quick phone call on Keith cell before it was settled.
Keith held the door open while the woman collected the child into her arms and ran through the wet snow over to the truck. Keith followed after and finally closed himself into the front seat, shaking wet bangs out of his eyes. He turned on the heat to full and turned to see the child squished into the space that served as a back seat in his small truck.
“I’m Charlotte,” the woman said, offering a wet hand that Keith took. “That’s Peter.”
“Keith,” he offered. “I live at Nesbitt Ranch.” He put the truck into gear and started his slow way up the highway.
“Oh, my neice went there for camp last spring!” Charlotte said. Keith wasn’t surprised-- in a county this small, there was always a connection. Many people knew Tara’s place with only a few degrees of separation. “Are you still open in the winter?”
“Yeah, but we’re closed for the holidays. Tara used to keep the place open for sleigh rides, but she’s gone to see her sister this year.”
“A shame-- we might have liked to do that this year,” the woman said conversationally. “Do you live there, though?”
“Yeah,” Keith replied, still mindful of the road as he drove slowly.
“On your own?”
“Yeah.”
“On Christmas?”
There was a pregnant pause in which no one spoke. The boy in the backseat began humming a tune which sounded vaguely like ‘Jingle Bells’. “Yeah,” Keith admitted finally. He wanted to go on, to explain that he didn’t mind being alone, and how Christmas had never been important to his father, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it. The silence went on for a time while both adults listened to the child humming and watched the slurry on the road.
They arrived at the brother’s house safety and as they pulled into the icy driveway half a dozen people spilled out of the house to greet them. Cries of delight and worry issued from grandparents and siblings. A man collected Peter into his arms and Charlotte gave him a kiss on the cheek.
Keith waited in the truck, unsure of what to do. After a moment, he reached for the keys, ready to turn the ignition. At that moment Charlotte turned back and came to the window. Keith opened it, letting in the cold air.
“Keith, won’t you come in?” she asked while shielding her head from the wet snow. “There’s always room at our table for another and--” She paused, unable to say the words. Keith knew what she wanted to say, but shook his head.
“I should get back before dark,” he said, even if it was only half the truth. “Before all this mess freezes.”
She nodded her head, but she could not ignore the worried look on her face. So instead he turned away and started to truck.
“Thank you, Keith,” she said then. “So much. I don’t know where we’d be without you. Merry Christmas!”
He offered a smile as she stepped away from the truck. “Merry Christmas.”
--------------------
Keith went to sleep without talking to Lance that night. The last message he received was a long rambling explanation of the dinner he was being forced to attend, and how he wasn’t going to be able to use his phone. Judging from the fact that he hadn’t sent another message, the dinner had gone late. It didn’t help that they were also in different time zones, offset by 2 hours. Keith sat awake on the couch until midnight, idly browsing the internet on his phone and ignoring the Christmas special on TV.
Eventually he lay on the couch, scrolling through Lance’s latest facebook photo spam for the 3rd time. Half of the pictures were selfies as Lance attempted to squish family members into the frame with him. He looked goofy and happy in every shot, including a large group shot of him with 12 other people.
Keith’s heart felt heavy. He couldn’t say he knew what it felt like to have a big family like that-- to be constantly surrounded by people who love you-- but he did know what he felt like not to. It felt like silence. It felt like cold leftovers. It felt like driving home alone in the dark and sleeping in the living room, because the TV was the closest thing to company.
Keith dreamt of the snow and being trapped in a storm. When he woke he was shivering, too, and wondered in his sleepy stupor if he left the window open. But the windows were closed, and the fire in the wood stove was out. Usually the oil would have kicked in by now. Keith rolled out of the nest of blankets and cushions he had managed to sleep in and went to check the thermostat.
The weak light from the rising sun was coming through the sheer curtains of the living room. Keith went to the lamp to switch it on, but it didn’t work. None of the lamps did. He then looked at his phone, which should have been charging, but the battery bar was half empty.
Keith swore loudly as he went to the window and looked without. The storm had passed, but in its wake it had left a layer of ice on the front lawn. In the semi darkness he could also make out a sparkling layer on his truck, the trees and the roof of the shed. The power line to the house sagged heavily under a thick casing of ice. Keith swore again.
He found the number to the power company on a bill but the line was predictably busy. Keith stayed on hold while he started to feed the wood stove, cradling the phone between his shoulder and his ear. By the time we got through, and found out the power was out for half the province and wouldn’t be back for at least another day, he had a fair fire built.
He sat, resigned, watching the flames. His eyes felt dry and his stomach was starting to roll around in hunger. Christmas Eve, he thought dryly.
--------------
Going to the post office was out of the question. Even his truck was not equipped to deal with a skating rink and the office was probably closed anyway. So instead Keith spent the morning checking for damage. The pipes, miraculously, were not frozen, but he set the upstairs taps to slowly drain, just to be safe. The front door, which faced the wind the the storm, was frozen shut and he had to come around from the back door to get it loose.
Then he focused on his truck, knocking the ice off of the wheel wells and scraping the windshield. As the morning wore on, the temperature started to rise and he had to peel off his coat from the effort of working at the hard ice.
Thank god for gas ranges. Keith used a match to light the stove in order to boil bottled water and he had tea with his sandwich for lunch. It wasn’t much, but the warm liquid filled the hole that was starting to open up in his belly.
This wasn’t the first cold Christmas Keith had endured. California was supposed to be warm, but that was the thing about Christmas miracles: they knew how to shit on Keith’s life. He had left his apartments in a rare display of bravery, unable to put up with Tom’s drunken anger. That night he had considered running further, but it was so cold and he stayed up all night on a park bench, watching the moon rise over the city skyline.
Keith didn’t want to think about Tom at this moment. Instead he glanced sideways at his phone where it sat slowly running out of power. The internet was down, so he wasn’t going to receive any new messages today.
Keith wasn’t prepared for the sudden flood of grief that overwhelmed him. His anchor through the past week had been Lance’s constant messages. Knowing Lance was there, thousands of miles away, missing him, had been enough for Keith. Seeing his little emoticons had filled him with those little nuggets of joy that were fueling him until he would see his real face again.
But Keith was never comfortable feeling sorry for himself. It was weakness, he told himself. It was selfish. Who cares if he was alone on Christmas, stuck in the cold with no power and no presents? He had his health, his freedom and someone to love him, even if that person was thousands of miles away. He had nothing to complain about. So he slapped his cheeks, lept to his feet, and got back to work.
The well still worked, even if the pump had no power. There was a hand pump, and if he could remove the ice and get it moving, he would be able to refill the bottles of water he was quickly working through. The well was halfway to the riding arena under a heap of snow. The first half of the time was spent shovelling down to the pump mechanism. The sun occasionally peeked out of the clouds, warming Keith’s back and melting the ice it touched. He wasn’t sure if this made his work easier or harder.
All in, it was nearly 3 hours before he finally felt the gratification the rush of water each time he pumped the handle. The water was ice cold and Keith yelped as some of it spilled over the funnel and onto his hands. Sweating and quickly starting to feel the chill of the prairie wind, Keith filled the bottles and quickly headed back to the house.
The yard was a skating rink. The sun flashed off the surface, sparkling. Keith’s boots had less grip that he hoped, so he went slow. But the jugs of water made him unbalanced and the ice was slick with new melt. Near the house he hit a bad patch and lost his footing.
Keith came down hard on his elbow. One of the bottles clattered from his hand and went skidding across the ice. Pain blossomed from the point of impact and he felt the vibration all the way to his shoulder. He managed to sit up, pain telling him that his elbow was more an bruised.
“Of course,” he said miserably. Another goddamn Christmas miracle. He got himself back to his feet and groped for the bottles. Even carrying the 2L jug was enough to make the elbow scream in protest but damnit if Keith wasn’t going to complete his mission.
By the time he got to the bathroom, there was blood running down his arm. He staunched the wound with a wad of kleenex, the mirror giving him a vague idea of how big the damaged area was. It hurt more than it should for this kind of injury, and Keith hoped that it wasn’t worse than it looked.
He bandaged himself with shaking hands, unable to properly clean the area without fresh currents of blood dripping down his arm. In the end there was blood all over the sink and on both hands. His eyes were watering from the pain and the self pity that he was fought hard to suppress was threatening to surface once more.
I’m alive, he reminded himself. I’m free. Someone loves me.
“Someone loves me,” he said out loud to his reflection in the mirror. The mirror said nothing back and the deep silence of the dark house was deafening.
It was getting colder as the sun started to set. With no lights on the shadows grew longer, until Keith couldn’t see his reflection in the mirror.
“I’m alive,” he said again. “I’m free. Someone loves me.” The last word didn’t come out right: it stuck in his throat. He wanted Lance so badly. He wanted to be babied over his stupid elbow and held against the cold. He wanted to wake up next to someone who would wish him a ‘Merry Christmas’.
Keith’s eyes felt hot. A lump was forming in his throat that he couldn’t quite swallow. He tried to stifle the sob that snuck past his tongue with a hand over his mouth. Tears started to drop over his fingers and down his nose. He sunk down to the bathroom floor, sitting on the ratty mat with his knees up about his chest. Sobs wracked his body as he huddled in the growing darkness.
Keith was desperately lonely. The only thing he could think of was how much he wanted someone to be there, and how much he wanted that person to be his boyfriend. To hell with being tough and not feeling sorry for himself: this was officially the most miserable he had been in years.
He might have stayed there crying into the night had a noise not startled him out of his mood. After a day of complete isolation and silence, the sound was jarring and put him instantly on guard. It sounded like something heavy in the front hallway downstairs and the crash of something falling on the floor-- probably a picture frame from the table near the front door.
Of fucking course someone was breaking into the house. Because this day hadn’t already been terrible enough. Keith swore up and down that this was the last straw-- he officially hated Christmas.
He got to his feet and wiped the tears off of his cheeks. Then he stepped carefully out of the bathroom door and listened. A voice definitely swore in a hushed whisper. Keith’s heart began to beat hard and fast. He considered the baseball bat in Tara’s room, and wondered if he could creep over there without setting off the floorboards.
He tried, anyway, because the intruder was starting towards the stairs. Keith’s first three steps were careful and deliberate-- he knew which boards creaked the most. But the fourth hit a bad one and the whine sounded through hallway and down the stairs. Keith froze and held his breath.
“Keith? Are you here?”
The rush of realization and relief swept through him like a tsunami, threatening to knock him over. He whipped back towards the stairs and rounded the corner to stare down into the dark landing.
The last of the afternoon light was coming in through the open front door. A tall figure was standing, half bundled in a thick jacket and one arm pulling an unreasonably large suitcase. His face was shadowed, but Keith could recognize that body language anywhere.
“Lance?!” He stumbled, planning to come down the stairs gracefully, but missing the last step and falling forward. The other dashed forward, catching Keith but also getting knocked off balance. They fell in a pile on the big suitcase, Keith on top.
“Lance, what--”
Keith couldn’t speak for the mouth that was covering his own. Lance was holding his hands on either side of Keith’s face, kissing him deeply and insistently. He tasted like airplane peanuts, with a hint of cheap beer. Keith kissed him back, because his confusion was completely eclipsed by his own desire.
“God, I missed you,” Lance was wheezing when they separated. He kept his hands on Keith’s head, and he pushed him away just far enough that they could see each other in the growing darkness.
“I don’t understand,” Keith said, his voice cracking. “Why aren’t you in Cuba?”
Even in the shadow, Keith could see Lance smirk. “Merry Christmas,” he said in a low voice that makes Keith’s stomach turn over. Then he ran a thumb over Keith’s cheek, just under his eye. “Were you crying?”
Keith forced himself to crawl off of Lance, and regretted it when the cool air replaced the warmth of his body. “No,” he grunted.
“And why are the lights off?”
“Power’s out,” Keith said shortly. After a moment’s hesitation, he considered getting back on top of Lance. “Are you really here?”
Lance laughed a laugh that confirmed his existence instantly. Keith felt his heart melt. “Pretty good present, right?”
“You’re-- you’re so full of yourself!” Keith forced himself to say. It was a good present, but he wasn’t about to admit that to Lance. Not yet.
“You’re telling me that you haven’t been sitting alone in the dark missing me?” Lance asked with a smirk in his tone.
“Shut up.”
Lance laughed again and stood up with a grunt. Then he closed the door as Keith tentatively rose. “Candles, then?”
They found a stash of candles in the basement with the help of the light on Lance’s phone. Lance set them up in the living room and kitchen while Keith stoked the wood stove. While they worked Lance talked, starting with a full explanation. He had planned to come home today all along, but he wanted it to be a surprise. There was no big dinner for him to attend-- he had left that night on the overnight flight. But weather had delayed him and he had spent the night in an airport in Toronto.
“And honestly, all I could think about while lying on that airport floor was how I was going to miss Christmas with you,” he admitted as he lit the last candle. Then he settled himself on the couch and pulled a throw blanket over his shoulders. He opened one side of the blanket, inviting Keith to join him. Keith obliged.
“What about your family?”
Lance scoffed. “There are 12 of us Keith. 12. And that isn’t counting the neighbours who were coming for Christmas dinner. They were probably happy to get rid of me, because it freed up one of the only real beds.”
Keith looked at him with scrutiny. “You chose to sit in a cold farm house with me instead of spending time with your family?”
“Well I didn’t know it’d be cold,” Lance said with an eyeroll. “But yeah. With you. Definitely.”
Keith could feel the blush right to the roots of his hair. He turned away and hooked his arm under Lance’s and nestled even closer to him. Lance laced fingers with his and they sat watching the fire for a moment.
“And you?” Lance asked finally. “Please tell me I wasn’t the only one pining like an idiot.”
Keith thought about how he had sat an hour ago, sobbing on the floor of the bathroom. He couldn’t believe how happy Lance’s unexpected arrival had made him. It filled him up like a warm drink. He wanted to cry and laugh at the same time. But instead he turned to nuzzle the side of Lance’s jaw, just under his ear.
“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’,” Lance said in a husky voice. He turned and their mouths met again, this time slow and deliberate. Each time their lips parted they ran slow, warm tongues over each other’s, savouring the taste as if they had never had it before. It felt like years since the last time Keith had made out with Lance on this couch and the sensations felt fresh and new. He couldn’t help his hand wandering over Lance’s stomach, slowly pushing the shirt up over his warm skin. He drew a line over the top of his briefs where they peaked over the top of his jeans. When he tried to slip his hand down those jeans Lance pulled back and chuckled.
“Hey, now,” he said with a smirk. “If you get to open your present tonight, then so do I.”
“I-- You…” Keith said, withdrawing his hand. “You brought it?”
“Hell yeah! You can’t open presents until Christmas, remember?” Lance jumped up and strode over to his big suitcase. He unzipped it and threw open the top. Keith’s present was still wrapped in blue and white snowflake paper.
“Uh-- You don’t have to open it now,” Keith said with a small groan. “If you do, you’ll just want to wear it.”
“Yes!” Lance said triumphantly. “I knew it would be a sweater. It better be the ugliest--” He bounded back to the couch and started to open the present noisily. Keith wanted to frown but watching Lance open a present like a small child had him filling up with joy.
Lance held the sweatshirt up, admiring it. It was red with patterns of snowflakes and holly leaves all the way round. There was also a pattern of skull and crossbones and the major picture in the front, in cross stitch patterning, was a pirate ship. “Keith, I fucking love this,” Lance said in the most serious tone he had used all evening. He immediately (and predictably) started to pull it over his head. It rumbled his hair and Keith nearly got punch in the face in his attempt to put it on.
Keith laughed, and couldn’t stop, even as Lance stood up to proudly display his new christmas sweater. “N-no!” Keith said through his mirth. “Now I’ll never get you undressed!”
“I’m never taking this off,” Lance said as he pulled the sweater out in front of him to look at the design. He then looked impishly back at Keith. “Even in bed.”
“Oh jesus,” Keith said with exaggerated disdain. “That is the worst image you could have put in my head.”
“Turns you on though, right?” Lance said as he crawled back onto the couch, wiggling eyebrows all the while. “Fucking in a christmas sweater. Who knows-- maybe it’ll be your new kink.” He crawled ontop of Keith, ignoring the laughing protests. Lance attempted to kiss Keith on the neck, which did nothing but make Keith squirm and squawk with ticklishness. They laughed and wrestled, knocking blankets on the ground and making them both hot and tired within minutes.
Lance rested a head on Keith’s chest, trying to regain his breath while Keith attempted to recover from a fit of laughter. They breathed heavily in sync for a moment while the fire popped in the stove. Then Lance rose on his elbows and looked down at Keith with an expression that could mean nothing more than love.
“I was pining,” Keith admitted in a low voice, as if he was afraid someone else would hear. He worked a hand up to run up the side of Lance’s face. “I was lonely.”
Lance responded with a long kiss. “I’m sorry I ever left you,” he said in a voice barely more than a whisper.
Keith, so filled with feeling and desire, couldn’t find the words to express himself. His body and heart were on fire. He never wanted to let go of Lance again. He swallowed and inhaled, trying to steady himself as the waves of emotion rolled over him. “Merry Christmas,” he breathed.
“Merry Christmas, Keith.”