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'Twas the night before Christmas when all down the beach Not a creature was stirring, not even a leech. Berta was nestled, all snug in her bed While visions of lesbians danced in her head. Brooke and Jenny were sleeping, a long winter's nap Surrounded by bottles with nary a cap. Jenny was nervous and frightened, but took a big chance. She let Brooke in her heart, as well as her pants. While Alan, in his vest, and I, in my hattie, Had just baked our brains out with a big Christmas fatty. We started to doze, we hadn't a care. Happy Christmas to all. My balls have no hair.
Alan’s eyelids flutter open, heavy and slow, like ancient curtains. He manages a sleepy, crooked smile. "That was nice. You should write for magazines."
Walden chuckles softly, a low rumble against Alan’s temple. The couch cushion is a cloud, the soft throw blanket a comforting weight. He feels the warmth of Walden's chest, the steady rhythm of his breathing. The air is thick with the sweet, resinous scent of freshly-cut pine, mingled with the faint, lingering aroma of something more herbaceous. They are a tangle of limbs on the oversized sectional, two men who have just spent the last hour lost in a blissful, hazy quiet. Alan's head is pillowed on Walden’s shoulder, his hand resting loosely on Walden’s thigh. The silence stretches, not awkward, but full.
Walden’s hand shifts, his fingers gently tracing the hem of Alan's absurdly tight Christmas vest. He leans his head back, his gaze fixed on the twinkling lights of the enormous Christmas tree that dominates the living room. Each bulb is a brilliant, fuzzy star against the soft Malibu night. A gentle ocean breeze drifts through the open sliding glass door, carrying the distant, rhythmic sound of waves. He is in a multi-million-dollar mansion, with Alan's niece, her girlfriend, and the housekeeper sleeping upstairs, and his head is a jumble of abstract thoughts and festive poetry. But beneath it all is a simple, undeniable fact: he is comfortable. For the first time in a very long time, he is utterly, completely comfortable.
Alan shifts, a low hum escaping his lips. He looks up at Walden, and the corners of his eyes crinkle. His mouth moves, forming a single, unspoken word. Happy. Walden smiles back, his eyes mirroring the sentiment. It is a fragile, new thing between them, this happiness. It is not boisterous or theatrical like Walden’s past relationships, nor is it the resigned companionship that defined his marriage. It is a quiet, comfortable hum, a shared space of trust and gentle affection.
A floorboard creaks in the hall, and they freeze. The air is suddenly charged with a nervous energy, the easy intimacy shattered. Alan’s eyes widen in silent panic. The tell-tale shuffle of Berta’s slippers. She shuffles into the living room, a ghost in the dim light, and heads directly for the kitchen. She pauses at the entrance, a hand on her hip, and a single eyebrow arches toward the heavens. She takes in the scene: the two men, a tangled heap on the couch, the holiday decorations, the pervasive aroma. Her expression remains perfectly neutral.
"Looks like Santa's come a little early," she says, her voice a low, dry rasp. "Just so you know, I'm taking the rest of my Christmas bonus out of your security deposit."
She sets down some jewelry made from seashells that her daughter, Naomi, gives to gay men along the pier. Alan and Walden slowly nod in understanding, and she then provides a short, dismissive sniff, turns on her heel, and shuffles back down the hallway, the creak of the floorboards fading into the quiet of the night.
Alan deflates, a sigh of relief mixed with profound humiliation. He looks up at Walden, a question in his eyes. Walden just shakes his head, a small, genuine laugh escaping his lips. The moment of tension breaks, and they are left once again in their bubble of calm. Walden's arm tightens around Alan, pulling him closer. He rests his cheek on top of Alan's head, and for a moment, all is right with the world. Alan snuggles in, closing his eyes, a feeling of security washing over him that he hadn’t felt since his brother was alive. He feels Walden’s thumb gently caressing the back of his hand, and Alan’s fingers intertwine with his.