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It was nearly midnight when the guests began to clear out of Kristoph’s house.
Klavier didn’t blame them for dawdling. Kristoph knew how to throw the perfect party, and his Christmas parties were no exception. Gorgeous platters of catered food were designed to dazzle, while homemade cookies provided a touch of nostalgia. Kristoph, socialite that he was, had kept the mood going with good-natured jokes, party games, a playlist of Christmas classics on shuffle, and a steady flow of mulled wine for the adults and hot cocoa for the kids. Vongole even had a festive red ribbon bow on her head, which delighted the children.
Truth be told, Klavier had forgotten the time himself, slipping into an ease of conversation with Kristoph’s law school friends with adorable interruptions from their five-year-old kid as she’d climbed onto Klavier’s lap and stuck bows and tinsel on his head. The late hour was only hitting him now.
“There goes the last of them,” Kristoph remarked, bringing his mug of mulled wine to his lips. The car engines and chatter grew more distant until they faded, leaving only the bouncing beat of the background music and the crackling of the fire to accompany their conversation.
“Relieved?” Klavier chuckled.
“Hmm. A bit. It’s always somewhat draining to put in all the effort required to host, even if I enjoy it.”
“Well, your effort paid off. It was a great time.” Klavier squeezed his shoulders playfully. “And now you can rest. I’ll help you clean up, so don’t worry about that.”
“Hmm,” Kristoph hummed noncommittally and set his mug of glühwein onto the ledge above the fireplace. “Dance with me first.”
“Really?” Klavier cocked an eyebrow suspiciously, but the gleam in Kristoph’s eye was more than just the liquor talking. He was in a festive mood, and he wanted someone to share it with him.
“Yes, really.” A sly smile danced across his brother’s lips. “No one can see us—why not?”
Klavier glanced out the window for a guest coming back for a coat, a stray paparazzo, a passerby, but the world was dark past the string lights and the snow-capped hedges. They were alone, together, for once—so when Kristoph offered his palm, Klavier accepted it.
As jazzy trumpets led into Frank Sinatra’s Let It Snow, Kristoph led them both to the “dance floor” of carpet amidst crumpled present wrappings, discarded plates of food and stray tinsel. Klavier chuckled as Kristoph kicked an empty box away to clear space.
The brothers kept time with their feet as Sinatra crooned. Kristoph twirled Klavier around and then drew him in close, a hand on the small of his back. Klavier was surprised—and his heart fluttered a bit—that he didn’t have to think when dancing with Kristoph. A far cry from Klavier’s experience with previous dance partners who yanked and shoved him about, Kristoph signaled where he wanted Klavier to move with the subtlest of hand movements.
Pressure against his palm meant he should pivot and turn; the tension going slack was a sign that Kristoph was going to twirl him out and then reel him back in. Klavier showed off in his own way, twirling with athletic poise, swaying his hips to the beat.
“You’re a pretty good dancer, you know,” Klavier ventured, as Kristoph drew him into a close dance, sweeping their bodies back together for the musical interlude.
“You’re not half bad yourself.” Kristoph interlaced his fingers with Klavier’s and guided him with the other on the small of Klavier’s back. Now was “stepping-on-feet” territory, but he should have known Kristoph was too poised for that. Their bodies moved together in space effortlessly, in more ways than one. And up this close, he couldn’t help but notice how clean his brother smelled, how very handsome he was.
How much Klavier yearned for him.
He was sure Kristoph’s desire danced between the surface, too, tempered by propriety and caution. There had been too many longing looks, too many touches that lingered one beat beyond brotherly, for it not to be there.
The song changed. White Christmas. Slower, more contemplative. Romantic, even.
It felt right when Klavier pressed his cheek against Kristoph’s and held him close. Even worse, it didn’t fill him with the guilt he was hoping it would. It just felt like a slow homecoming, a settling in to what was always meant to be.
Kristoph’s hand caressed his back as they swayed, and his breathing slowed to a contented, deep rhythm. As the song progressed, Klavier found his face moving quite naturally to lean his forehead against his brother’s. Their eyelids grew heavy. Neither said anything—the unspoken words accrued over a lifetime were too many to voice now. They just melted into each other’s warmth and hummed along to the melody.
When the song reached its end, empty space followed in its wake. The playlist, and the beautiful moment between them, was over.
“Mmmmm.” Klavier groaned, very aware of how close his brother’s lips were to his own. “I don’t want to let go…”
Kristoph’s breath was warm on Klavier’s mouth as he murmured: “Then you don’t have to.”
The Gavin brothers swayed in silence for a long while, fingertips stroking each other’s lips, cheeks, hair. Finally—finally—their mouths grew impatient, despite either of their intentions, and moved to drink of each other’s sweetness in the first of many long, slow kisses that night.