Page 58 of Thin Ice

"I know," I said.

"He doesn't need to be. But you can't tell people that. They have to figure it out." She finished buttoning her coat and folded the dish towel she was still holding, and set it on the bookshelf next to the photo. "You seem like a nice young man, Alex. I'm glad you're here."

She said it simply. Without making it a moment. Then she walked to the front door to wait for Liam's Grandpa.

The house emptied. Car doors in the driveway. Russ's voice was audible through the walls, still talking to someone as he crossed the yard. Sheryl gave Linda the last instructions about the leftover casserole from the front porch. Then quiet.

Linda came in to wipe down the counter one last time. Liam was in the living room collecting wrapping paper off the floor, stuffing it into a trash bag. I stood between them in the hand-knitted scarf with the crooked Christmas tree blinking behind me and the house settling into its own silence.

I belong here.

Not I'm grateful to be here. Not this is better than what I had. I belonged. The scarf around my neck and the beer in my hand and the sound of Linda's dishwater and Liam's footsteps on the carpet. I belonged to this.

I unwrapped the scarf carefully and folded it, and set it on the arm of the couch next to Liam's Christmas-tree socks.

Liam caught my eye across the room. A ball of wrapping paper in each hand. He gave me that look. I gave it back. The one that said everything I couldn't say yet out loud.

Tomorrow was Christmas and I didn't have a gift for Liam or his mom. Nothing to give. No money, no time. It made me feel bad, but they'd understand.

It seemed like they always did.

Chapter 15: Liam

Iwoke up to his hand.

Not shaking me. Not nudging. His hand, slow, under the waistband of my boxers, fingers wrapping around my dick before my brain was even online. I thrusted my hips into his hand before I even opened my eyes. It felt so good.

"Merry Christmas," Alex said, low, against my ear.

I was already hard. He'd been stroking me in my sleep, long and slow, and my body had been responding without me. Thick in his palm. I hadn't even looked at him yet.

I opened my eyes.

The house was quiet. Alex was on his side facing me, propped on one elbow, hair wrecked from sleep — he looked so sexy. His shirt was off, and his chest and biceps were well-defined. My cock throbbed while he continued to stroke me.

"How long have you been — "

"Long enough." He twisted his wrist on the upstroke, and I grabbed the sheet. "I couldn't sleep. You were right there."

"So you just started jerking me off?"

"Are you complaining?"

"No. Keep going."

His mouth found my neck. Tongue, then teeth. His hand kept moving, and I lay there in the half-dark, letting him take me apart.

Then he pulled the covers back and slid down between my legs. Pulled my boxers off and settled on his stomach with his face above my dick, propped on his elbows, and looked up at me. His lips were already parted.

"Can I?"

"Yes."

He took me in. Warm and wet, his tongue wrapping around my, he went slow at first. Testing. Tasting. His lips stretched around me and his eyes stayed on mine. He pulled back to the tip, swirled his tongue around the head, then sank back down. Slow, deliberate, like he was memorizing me. Alex between my legs with my dick in his mouth at six in the morning on Christmas. I was never going to recover from this.

I put my hand in his hair. He moaned around me and I felt it in my stomach.

"Deeper," I said.