Title: CHRISTMAS WALTZ

Fandom: Donald Strachey Mysteries (movieverse)

Pairing: Donald and Timothy

Rating: NC-17 

Word Count: 15,598

References/Spoilers: Nothing major.

Disclosure: I wish they were mine. Alas, they are not, so I'm just taking them out for a spin with thanks to the men who created them and the actors who brought them to life.

Summary: Donald and Timothy get ready for their second Christmas together, and another new opportunity presents itself as Tim is confronted with an unpleasant part of his past. Sequel to "Fly Me to the Moon...Or Maybe Just Virginia" in the One Night Series.

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CHRISTMAS WALTZ

by

Candy Apple

It's that time of year

When the world falls in love

Every song you hear

Seems to say Merry Christmas...

I'd just finished my last shift at Good Sports. It was snowing like hell outside, the roads were shit, it was midnight, the heater in my car was broken, and I hadn't bothered to replace the batteries in the little heater Timmy got me that I used all the time to keep my ass from freezing when I had to do surveillance in the winter. Did I mention that I fucking hate winter? I already asked Timmy if he'd retire with me somewhere warm when we're old. He said yes.

I was kind of surprised that the rest of the employees at the store got me a cake. I mean, I know I helped out with the robbery, but I was only there a couple months. They were a nice group of kids, and even though I was the only "old guy" there, except for a guy named Burt who worked there once or twice a week, they treated me like one of the gang. Burt was pushing 70, and had worked there since the store opened twenty years earlier, so he was more like everyone's grandpa than their buddy.

I didn't think the night could get a whole lot more enjoyable until I slipped on the ice and fell on my ass in the parking lot. Ho ho fucking ho.

Even wet, tired, and with a bruised ass, my spirits always improve when I open the door and walk in and Timmy's there. Whether it was there in our first apartment, or anywhere we've lived since, just coming home to him smooths out most of the rough edges of my day. When I walked in, I was gathered up in a big hug, my frozen cheeks (the ones on my face, at least for now) kissed and nuzzled until they felt warmer. He felt so strong and yet so soft and cozy in his robe, and he smelled good.

"The roads are getting bad - almost everything's been closed for tomorrow. I was worried. You didn't answer your cell."

"Something else I forgot to charge the battery on," I said, holding up the dead phone. "Sorry, honey."

"Another ten minutes and I was calling the police." He stepped back and looked at me. "Did you go out and play in the snow without me?" he asked, peeling off my wet coat.

"I fell on the ice on the way in," I said.

"Are you okay?"

"Just my pride, and possibly my ass, are bruised a little." I held up a soggy bag. "And the leftover piece of cake I brought home is now upside down cake."

"Cake?" He raised his eyebrows.

"They got me a going away cake at the store." I smiled. "It was kind of nice. Hey, you shouldn't be waiting up for me. You have to get up early."

"I'm taking the morning off," he said. "I've been working a lot of hours, and it's all over but the shouting anyway - plus, the weather is going to be awful. I'm just finishing things up now, getting them ready for Grant to take over. If there are one or two loose ends, I'm sure his staff can swing it."

Timmy had been through so much in the last few months. Donnelly's death, me almost going blind, and that miserable visit to Virginia for Thanksgiving. He'd even asked me if I'd be satisfied with just putting up the artificial tree this year, since we were planning a trip to Long Island between Christmas and New Year's anyway, and we were both so busy we weren't really there enough to make it worth the effort... Yeah, whatever. I knew he was still feeling the lingering impact of the ugly encounter with his father. I was determined to take him to Long Island and make a new life with him, and make him so happy he wouldn't have room for anything but good feelings.

"Good. I'll drive you in when you're ready to go, if we can get through the snow. Still working tonight?" I asked, gesturing at his laptop. He turned up the heat and guided me to a chair so he could take off my wet shoes. Sometimes it's just a little thing he does to take care of me that I could do myself that makes me fall in love with him all over again.

"Your pants are wet," he said, noticing it when he took off my shoes. "These need to be replaced." He was right. My shoes were shot. One of them had pulled away from the sole a little and leaked. "What am I gonna do with you? You're like a messy little kid out wallowing around in the snow." He took my wet socks off, too, and stuck them in the shoes. "Come on. I'll draw you a hot bath. That'll warm you up."

"You're too good to me, sweetheart," I said, savoring the thought of soaking in hot water when I was tired and my back was kind of hurting from falling on the cement.

"Not possible." He kissed my forehead when he stood, and then went into the bathroom and started the water, and turned on the little space heater in there. He put my towel in the towel warmer. He'd gotten it for me for Christmas, but when I'd come home shivering like a wet dog a week earlier because I had to change my tire in freezing rain, he got it out and let me have it early (I mean the towel warmer, although he got it out and let me have it later, too, after I was warmed up). "I've been apartment hunting," he called to me from the bathroom. "Trying to get an itinerary set up for us to check out while we're there."

"Finding anything good?"

"Finding a lot of things that are expensive," he said as I joined him in the bathroom. "Get out of your wet clothes and get in the tub. I'll get you some cocoa."

"You could get in the tub with me."

"Your ass is already bruised. Two of us trying to get in this tub is only going to make that worse," he said, laughing. "Just soak and warm up. We'll have plenty of time together in bed."

"Tease," I joked, easing myself down into the warm water that felt like paradise. He even had a bath pillow for my head, so I could slide down and close my eyes. I must have dozed off, because he seemed to magically appear again with two cups of cocoa and sat next to the tub so he could visit with me while we sipped it. God, to have young assbones again and sit cross-legged on tile without fucking creaking when you get up. One of the reasons I love our big tub now - Timmy can sit comfortably on the side of it and chat with me if I'm in it and more enjoyably, he can be in it with me and we have plenty of room.

"We might be better off to settle for a one bedroom," he said. "The two bedroom units in the nice complexes are pricey. I don't want to get too far away from the shopping center, so you have a long commute. You'll probably put in some long hours, and a short drive home will be a lot nicer."

"I can drive a little ways if it gets us a nicer place."

"Nice isn't the issue. Even though you're going to be making good money, we don't want to sink all of it into rent, and we don't know what I'll be doing, or how long I'll be unemployed."

"My fearless prediction is something good, and not for long."

"The job market isn't that reliable." He took a drink of his cocoa.

"Maybe not, but you're that good." I wasn't really trying to flatter him. He's so smart and professional and capable that it never enters my mind that anyone who interviewed him wouldn't snap him up before he left the building, let alone pass him over for someone else. I know I'm in love with him, and I definitely am biased, but I still know a winner when I see one. Timmy's a winner. Top of the line.

"My own personal cheering section," he said, smiling. "I love you for thinking that, but even good people can be unemployed a while, so I want to be sure we find something we can handle on your salary. We can always move to something better once we've been there a while."

"True," I said, leaning back in the water, just watching him. I had him, and he loved me, and was faithful to me, and would be with me for the rest of our lives. Any apartment he picked out was okay with me. Hell, a one-room studio with a bath would be fine, because I don't need rooms when I'm with him. I just need shelter. If I was always in his space when we're home together, that would be fine with me.

"Penny for your thoughts," he said, smiling at me.

"Huh?"

"You were somewhere else for a minute there."

"No, I'm never anywhere else when I'm with you." We held hands while we just sat there a few minutes. "Doesn't matter what kind of apartment we get, as long as you're in it."

"I feel the same way," he said, giving me a big smile. "After all, we really don't need more than one bedroom anyway."

"As long as it's a nice bedroom, since we do spend a substantial amount of time there," I added, winking at him.

********

Watching Donald sleep is one of my favorite lazy morning pastimes. We'd shifted around during the night, and he was all curled around a pillow, sleeping like a baby. I carefully lifted the covers, and while looking at the contours of his beautiful naked body, the graceful curves of shoulder and hip, always takes my breath away, I wasn't happy to see some bruising on his hip, back and shoulder from his spill on the ice. He's a big boy, and he's been through worse, but I don't like bruises on that soft, fair skin of his. So I started kissing them, caressing him, fitting my body around his. I hoped there was a foot of snow outside. I wanted to be shut in with him all day.

"Morning," he mumbled, sounding happy but lazy, like he had no plans to move. That was fine. There were some nice parts of him available to me right where he was.

"Morning," I replied, smiling, pressing my cheek against his.

"Are we snowed in?"

"I hope so."

He chuckled at that.

"You're a little bruised up, honey," I said, kissing the one on his shoulder.

"Something tells me you're gonna kiss it and make it better," he replied, yawning.

"Does it hurt?"

"I'm a little stiff," he said, devilishly.

"You usually are about this time of the morning," I said, nuzzling his neck, kissing and nibbling him there, making him giggle when I hit a ticklish spot. We'd made love the night before, but it was just a quick hand job before we fell asleep. I was awake now, and I couldn't think of anything I wanted to do more than just take my time making us both feel good.

I got the lube out of the night stand and kept on kissing and nuzzling him while I slipped my finger inside him. He groaned, almost growled, low in his throat, leaning into me. The last couple weeks had been hectic, and our schedules were hit and miss, and by the time we did end up in bed together, sleep was about all we could handle. But not this morning.

With the hand that wasn't busy lower, I caressed his chest, flicking at his nipples, getting more and more turned on by the way they harden instantly under my fingers. And then there are the contours of that perfect chest and his taut, beautiful belly that leads to his cock and his balls, that feel so good and yet so vulnerable in my hands.

He was hard, so was I, and there wasn't any reason to deny ourselves any longer. I entered him slowly, gently, because I love him and I want him to only feel good, and because there's something about that moment when I'm entering him that I just don't want to rush. I love that feeling, that little journey to complete unity. And, even though he's never said it in so many words, I know most of Don's other experiences didn't involve being on the bottom. With me, he's never shown any barriers, with his heart, his soul, or his body. I treasure that trust, because he has good reason not to trust people with his heart and his...intimacy. I think that's part of why I'm so fiercely protective of him.

We were both rocking kind of languidly in a shared rhythm. No pressure to hurry, no reason to rush to completion. The way his head tilted back against my shoulder, the way he was moaning, his eyes closed, his mouth open a bit, I knew he was loving what I was doing to him, and there's nothing like the feeling of being inside him. It brings out something primal in me, some innate claiming instinct, I guess. I wrapped myself all around him, pumping his cock, fondling his nipples, sucking his neck and nuzzling his soft hair. I know how long to draw out his pleasure, and when to speed things up, get a little more firm and aggressive, until he's screaming for me, shaking with the waves of his orgasm, his muscles flexing around me, as if his body is compelling me to come with him.

And it's an overpowering and amazing sensation when it comes washing over me, and I'm gasping and shouting, coming deep inside him. Then we lie there, panting, sweaty, and still joined. The intensity of what I feel for him scares me sometimes, a lot of the time because I know he's in a dangerous business and I know losing him would utterly destroy my soul. It's never more intense than it is at that moment, just after, when our connection is physical, and yet the pleasure is waning and holding onto that physical connection is more an expression of the emotional tie that's always there. I kissed his neck and shoulder now, hoping I didn't hurt him when I sucked hard enough to make that big pink mark on his neck. I must have been a vampire in my last life. Judging by the way he started grinning when I kissed it, he liked it. I cuddled him close, still stroking and kissing his bruises like I thought I could heal them. I wish I could.

"I hope there's two feet of snow out there," he mumbled, and I laughed.

"Me, too, my love," I replied, inhaling in the warm curve of his neck. That seemed to make him tingle. That I was sniffing him. I hadn't realized I was doing that, but now that he shivered in my arms from the gesture, I became aware of it. So I sniffed the back of his neck, and moved by nose part way down his back.

"God, Timothy, give a guy a chance to regroup," he said, a smile in his voice.

"You don't have to regroup. I do." I squeezed his butt cheek. The one that wasn't bruised.

"Oh, is that so?" he challenged playfully.

"Are you telling me if I wanted to have your beautiful ass again, you'd turn me down?" I eased out of him, guided him onto his back, and then straddled him.

"Doesn't look like I'm in much of a position to turn you down for anything," he said with a big grin.

"Maybe I'd rather sit on your big, steel rod of throbbing manhood instead," I said, and he laughed, hard.

"You have to stop reading bad internet porn when I'm out late."

"If I read some porn, I could probably come up with a better description," I countered, and he snorted.

"Can't argue with that logic."

"I'd rather act it out than read it."

"You always have been a man of action, Timmy."

So we lay there and kissed and fondled and rubbed against each other until we got our second wind. He found the lube and put his fingers in me to warm me up, and I was all his. I lowered myself on his erection, and rode him, knowing I was probably putting on a wanton show of writhing on his cock, my own bobbing with my movements, while he grabbed my hands and laced our fingers together. He wasn't going to stroke me. I was going to come just from the incredible waves of pressure on my prostate, and the deep upward thrusts he was using to meet my own rocking motion.

It was too much and not enough at the same time, if that makes sense, when you don't think you can take the intensity of the rhythm, when you're making love but you're fucking, too, because it's getting hard and fast and you're too busy gasping obscenities from the workout you're getting to profess the deeper emotions that are always there. I thought I'd claimed him, but I'd stirred all his primal instincts, because now he was giving it to me good, and I was goading him, telling him to fuck me, to do it harder, faster, deeper. As I started to come, he freed one hand to pump my cock, and I shouted and let out some kind of growl I've never consciously heard out of myself before, because I was so sensitive and coming, and his hand was on me then, while he was still thrusting deep in me, and I was vaguely aware that I was probably audible to at least the closest neighbors while I was coming. I know he came, too, in there somewhere, but I was too far gone with my own sensations to figure out just when.

When he slipped out of me, I lay against his side, gasping for breath, my whole body flushed, my face flushed with more than a little shyness at the display I'd just put on - for him and probably the Richmonds next door. Oh, well, they were newlyweds, too, and she was a screamer. We generally knew when each other had the best nights. Or mornings.

He rubbed and squeezed my ass, and I shuddered against him, an empty response that would have started me going again if we hadn't just come twice. We shared some kisses that were more like making love with our mouths, our tongues playing with each other.

The bedding was all over everything, but he managed to find a corner of the sheet and pulled it over us, since it was a chilly morning. Our thighs were against each other, our spent cocks nestled together. We drifted into a remarkably sweet post-sex nap, his hand still on my ass, my nose still in the curve of his neck. It's a good thing it turned out we were snowed in, because we didn't wake up again until late morning, and then all we did was get up and eat, naked except for our robes, and then spent the rest of the day...uh...being intimate.

********

When Timmy and I finally got up and peered out the bedroom window, it was apparent everything was at a standstill, and we were snowed in.

There are days I really love winter. I only have issues with it when I have to go out and slide around in it and freeze my ass. Anything that confines me to the indoors with an affectionate, slightly horny Timothy is tops on my list. Timmy does love winter and being snowed in. It's like some kind of aphrodisiac for him.

We took a warm shower together, and took our time making ourselves a nice big breakfast. Bellies full and fluids replenished, we curled up on the couch together under an afghan and found some corny old movies on TV. It didn't take us long to start kissing and making out again, but it took a while to get our motors running. Part of me was too comfortable to move, even for sex, but once Timmy had my robe open and was kissing all over my chest, licking and sucking my tits the way he goes after one of those Godiva dark chocolate truffles when he thinks no one's watching...who was I to delay or deny that kind of pleasure? And then he was rubbing his cheek against my skin, sniffing me. It's weird what turns people on. I mean, his mouth all over me was great, but there was something about him sniffing me that drove me nuts. It still does. He goes for my neck and sniffs and my dick springs to attention and salutes.

The only thing better was when he took me in his mouth and sucked me, played with my balls, took his time doing every trick in the book with his mouth that he knows I love. After I came, he wrapped me all up again and cuddled me, so I was nice and warm. He left our robes open so we were sharing body heat with the afghan wrapped around us. I knew I should return the favor, and I wanted to, but I savored that closeness for a few minutes first.

"I love you," he whispered in my ear.

"I love you, too, beautiful," I replied, watching every detail of the smile that earned me. Then it seemed insane not to devour him, to make him feel as good as he'd just made me feel, to taste him and smell him and feel him.

Timothy's chest is a national treasure. One of the great wonders of the world. I could spend forever just kissing and licking him, feeling his chest hair under my cheek, listening to his heartbeat. Finding those tasty little pink nubs amidst that dark hair. There's more of that hair where it's soft and warm and just mine. I know it's insane, but I don't like thinking that anyone was ever there before me, because I feel like no one could love him enough to deserve to be there except me. I dismiss those thoughts knowing nobody could love him like I do, because I don't think it's possible to love anybody more than I love him. If it is, it's beyond me. And knowing that he loves me just as much, that he lets go and writhes and screams for me like he never has for anyone else...it's the greatest gift I could ever have.

No barriers, no secrets, no pretenses. We show it all to each other, and we've never had a reason to regret that.

I sucked his beautiful cock until he came for me, and then I crawled up and lay on top of him, covering us both up again.

God, I love snow days.

Except for the fact that my cell phone was ringing.

"You should get that," Timmy said.

"Fuck," I muttered, running to the bedroom.

"Maybe later, if you're good," he called after me, and I was still fighting a chuckle when I answered the phone.

"Strachey."

"Don, it's John Madison, how are you?"

Fucked senseless, sucked lifeless, and ready to curl up on the couch with my mostly naked partner. How are you?

"Snowed in at the moment, but not bad. You?"

"Same here. I don't think I've had a second cup of coffee at home since the last blizzard," he joked. "Have you and Tim found an apartment yet?"

"No. We're going out there between Christmas and New Year's and look at some places."

"How would you feel about doing a little house-sitting?"

"I'd have to ask Tim, but I'm sure he'd be okay with it, to help you out."

"It's not for me, and it's in Suffolk County. Right on the water, actually."

"Really? For how long?"

"Friends of my dad's there are planning to travel abroad for a year, and they were going to close the place up and just have exterior maintenance done, have someone they know check on it here and there, but now they're having second thoughts about leaving it vacant. It's been in Janice's family for three generations now, and she's pretty attached to it," he added.

"They'd want us to live in it for a year?"

"Yes, rent-free, in return for maintaining the inside, and being there most of the time except for a standard kind of vacation, if you wanted to take one. It's cheaper for them than hiring security or paying strangers to house-sit, and Janice was ecstatic when I told her you were my new head of security, that you were ex-military intelligence. Apparently those are strong enough credentials to keep track of the family china," he remarked, a smile in his voice.

"What kind of house is it? Seaside cottage kind of place?"

"It's a four thousand square foot Dutch Colonial with a dock and a boathouse. It looks a little like the Amityville house, but I assure you, without the lurid history."

"Sounds like an amazing opportunity."

"There's just one thing. Janice and Henry are a great couple, but they're older, and their attitude toward gay couples is a bit stereotypical."

"But they still want us to house-sit?"

"Oh, absolutely. I just don't want you to be offended when Janice gushes at you about what a wonderful job 'you people' do decorating and keeping up your homes."

That made me laugh out loud. "Believe me, that's not the worst stereotype I've faced. I think being accused of being good housekeepers is something we can let slide. Of course, no one would ever accuse me of that after they knew me a while."

"I hear you," he replied, laughing. "She also thinks having Congressman Callahan's son living in her house is a status symbol when it comes to house-sitters. Anyhow, the house is about a half hour drive from the new mall."

"When would they want us there?"

"As soon after New Year's as possible, since they're leaving January second. They'd like to meet you and show you the house before that."

"That's perfect. We'll just make the trip out there as planned, and we can look at a couple apartments in case anything falls through. I have to talk to Timmy, but I can't picture him not liking the idea." I paused. "This is probably pushing it, but is there a boat in that boathouse?"

"As long as you don't have any wild parties - Janice's terms - you can use their pontoon whenever you want, once the weather warms up."

"Damn. I've always wanted to host a leather party on a pontoon." He laughed again at that.

"If you load up their pontoon with bikers and drag queens, just shoot some video for me, that's all I ask."

"No problem, boss."

I couldn't wait to share this new development with Timmy. I hoped he was excited about it. I was. No rent for a year? That would let us land there, get settled, save some money toward a house of our own, and let Timmy relax into his job search, rather than grab something to start contributing to the expenses.

When I got back to the living room, Timmy was on our apartment phone, talking to someone.

"No, really, Fred, that's fine." He gave me a look, but he was smiling. I had a feeling Fred was stir crazy and wanted to come over. "You can help us trim the tree." Another pause. "No, just the artificial one this year, since we're going to Long Island right after Christmas."

I sat next to him and lifted his arm so I could scoot under it. I hoped Fred wasn't coming over right away.

"Sure, that sounds good. We can pool our resources for dinner that way," he added. "They didn't, huh? Maybe they're out of town."

Apparently, our other neighbors, Frank and Kevin, knew enough not to answer their phone. I had nothing against Fred - he's a nice man - but I was having fun just hanging out with Timmy. Still, I'd put in enough time alone over the holidays to feel sorry for an old man whose family didn't seem to be interested in spending time with him at Christmas, and whose girlfriend I'd set him up with, lived across town and even his Buick Roadmaster wouldn't get through the snow to go visit her.

"We'll see you then. No, I'm sure. It'll be fun. See you, Fred," he concluded. After he hung up, he looked at me a bit hesitantly. "He's lonely, stir crazy."

"It's okay," I said, chuckling. "No big deal. When's he coming over?"

"Not until late this afternoon, maybe around four. I invited him to help us decorate the tree and have dinner. Are you sure you don't mind?"

"I'm sure. Fred was on the job for me while my eyes were bad. Hey, that was John Madison on the phone. He had an interesting proposition."

"He better not proposition you," Timmy joked, kissing me, hugging me close to him. I looked at him a moment, then shook my head.

"Nah. He couldn't have enough money to compete with you," I replied.

"Oh, good answer!" he said, laughing, kissing my cheek.

"How'd you like to live for a year, rent free, in a Dutch Colonial house on the waterfront?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Friends of John's father's are planning to travel abroad for a year, and don't want to leave their house empty. If we're willing to live there, keep the inside of the house tidy, and not throw any wild parties, we can live there rent free while they're gone."

"You're not serious."

"Dead serious. I swear, that's what he's offering. I guess the lady who owns the house is excited to get a nice gay couple in there, since we're such good housekeepers and decorators." I smiled and he laughed at that

"She obviously has never met you," he replied.

"Hey!"

"But you make up for it in other ways," he added, still chuckling, holding me and pressing my head gently on his shoulder the way only he can.

"She also thought it was cool to have Congressman Callahan's son living there. Maybe kind of like 'Lincoln slept here' or something."

"Good grief," he said, rolling his eyes.

"They want to meet us and show us the house when we visit there after Christmas. What do you say?" I asked, looking up into his beautiful blue eyes, framed by his glasses. I love looking at him. Not just because he's so good to look at, but because I love him so much, and because he looks at me like he adores me, and my heart always does this fluttery thing when I realize that he does.

"Sometimes it seems unreal. The new job, and now this? Don, a beautiful home on the waterfront?"

"It'd only be for a year, while they're gone."

"Still...why would we turn that down? We can find an apartment before they get back, and think of the money we could put aside toward a down payment on our own place!"

"I'll call John back and tell him it's a go, then."

"There's just one thing. The house isn't in Amityville, is it?"

I laughed out loud at that, and tackled him on the couch.

********

Fred came by later and brought the Hickory Farms box his son sent him so we could use it for snacks while we trimmed the tree. He'd talked to Cora a couple times on the phone, and she was fine, just snowed in at her place. I was surprised he hadn't popped the question on their cruise, since Don had found out he had a ring he'd shown the travel agent. We weren't supposed to know about that, so no one mentioned it. Even Cora didn't know. Don had kept it to himself except for telling me.

While we were eating chili and sandwiches around the table, admiring our handiwork on the artificial tree, Fred pulled the box out of his pocket and opened it. Inside was a nice diamond. A very nice, substantial diamond.

"You think Cora will like this?" he asked Don.

"Finally!" he said, leaning back in his chair. "What took you so long?"

Fred looked at him, stunned, and then at me. I didn't say a word. Don seemed to realize then that he wasn't supposed to know anything about it.

"I mean, you guys are so good together, I figured you'd have popped the question before this," he added. If he'd just kept his mouth shut, Fred might not have picked up on the fact that he knew something. Don is an awful liar to his friends and loved ones. He can lie like a rug undercover, but he's probably the most honest, decent, ethical person I know when it comes to the people he cares about.

"How did you know?" Fred asked, pinning him with an accusatory stare. "Did Cora say something?"

"How could she say something when you haven't asked her anything?" Don asked.

"I don't know, but you're up to something."

"That's a beautiful ring, Fred," I said, hoping to deflect the attention off Don. "I'm sure she'll love it."

"Being she's never been married, I figured she oughtta get a really nice diamond."

"When are you going to ask her?" Don asked.

"Christmas Eve. We're going out to dinner and to church."

"Well, I hope it all goes well for you both. I'm sure she'll say yes," I said. Fred smiled, but he was still giving Don the fish eye. He wasn't sure how Don knew, but he had a sneaking suspicion he did.

"I sure hope so. I was gonna give her the ring when we went on our cruise, but it didn't feel right. My wife and I went on a cruise for our honeymoon...it seemed...weird."

"I'm glad you found someone," I said. I couldn't picture loving anyone else but Don. I must have been staring at him with a sappy look on my face, because when he glanced at me, his face lit up with one of those big smiles of his.

"Hard to believe it's been a whole year since you fixed us up," he said to Don. "That was a plot. Don't think I didn't figure that out. You just happened to ask some nice, older, single lady over to dinner at the same time you had me over?"

"I thought you'd hit it off. Obviously I was right," he added, chuckling.

"Gotta give you credit for that, I s'pose," Fred joked, smiling. "You never said how the visit back to the folks' went," he said to me. No, I never did say, because it was a colossal disaster.

"All right," I said. Don glanced at me, but didn't say anything.

"That's it? Sounds like it wasn't so hot," he said, finishing off his chili.

"My father still has issues about my politics and...and I thought he was comfortable with my being gay, but it turns out that when I was actually there with my partner, he wasn't happy about that, either."

"He should get over it. It's not like you're going to marry some nice girl to make him happy."

"I think Don might object."

"I'll do a lot for Timmy, but a sex change is pushing it."

"You're very progressive in your attitudes for a man your age, Fred. A lot of your contemporaries aren't very accepting of homosexuality."

"People are what they are. You can approve of it or not, but it's not gonna change anything."

"You don't think people choose to be gay? A lot of people seem to think it's a choice."

"I didn't wake up one day and decide to like girls. I always liked 'em, even when I was pulling their hair or putting toads in their desks."

"Toads in their desks?" I asked, trying to picture a juvenile Fred stashing toads in the desks of unsuspecting schoolgirls.

"You should'a seen 'em jump up and squeal when it hopped out!" he said, laughing. "Why would gay people be any different? I'm figuring you just like boys like the rest of us like girls, and that's how you're made. It's up to God to figure out whether there's anything wrong with it or not."

"You should talk to my father, I guess," I said, smiling.

"Let me at him for a few minutes. I'll give him a piece of my mind he won't forget. Mr. Big Shot Congressman."

Don was loving that, chuckling as he finished his food. I had to smile.

"I appreciate the thought, Fred."

********

I didn't have anything as extravagant as carriage rides in the park planned for Christmas that year, but we planned to go out for a nice dinner, and to Midnight Mass again, like we had our first Christmas together. Timmy liked that tradition, and anything that made him happy when he was so blue about his family situation was good with me.

The snowstorm got cleaned up in time for Eleanor Carrington's big Christmas party the Saturday night before Christmas. Even though I'm not a fan of big, formal parties, I was kind of looking forward to dancing with Timothy in the same ballroom where we got married. The romance didn't escape him, either, and we got all misty-eyed with each other when we each bought the other one a red rose boutonniere and surprised each other with it before we left for the party. Dressed up in tuxes, roses in our lapels, we looked about as much like we did for our wedding as possible.

Even if I didn't have a carriage up my sleeve for Christmas, I got us a limo ride to the party. I know Timmy doesn't obsess over pretense, and that he'd have been happy to roll up to the Carrington party in my rattling, wheezing little car, but I wasn't about to take him there that way. I wanted him to arrive in style, and I wanted to treat him like the elegant, classy, stunning man that he is. We held hands in the back of the limo and toasted each other with champagne. And then I kissed him like it was our first kiss. Gentle, slow, with just a little tongue.

"You could probably talk me into skipping the party altogether if you kiss me like that again," he said, smiling at me, pressing his forehead against mine. That's the amazing thing about my life with Timothy. I fall in love with him over and over again. With all the divorce cases I've worked, all the bitter spouses I've dealt with, all the people who've been married for years who either can't stand each other or are just indifferent...I know how lucky I am. When he holds me the way he does when we're dancing, when he gets up at two in the morning and makes me a sandwich when I'm hungry and exhausted, when he cleans me up when I'm hurt, or just when he looks at me and smiles at me, when I feel his lips on mine, I fall in love with him harder, all over again.

"I want to dance with you on the same dance floor where we had our first married dance," I said, touching his cheek, smiling at him. God, he's so fucking handsome. And he's that beautiful inside.

"I want that, too, but being alone with you is kind of hard to give up for a party."

"Even one of Eleanor Carrington's high profile shindigs?"

"There are some very important things that money can't buy," he replied, kissing me this time, his lips soft and tender against mine, touching me with the kind of love and gentleness I've only ever felt from his touch. I took his hand and kissed it, kissed his wedding ring.

"I love you, Timothy Callahan," I said, my voice coming out as a weak whisper. I held his hand against my cheek, knowing I could never tell him how much I loved him no matter how many times I said it. He gave me that little tilt of his head he sometimes does when something I say really moves him.

"And I love you, Donald Strachey," he said with a big smile.

The party was already getting in full swing when we arrived. There was a parade of luxury cars and limos pulling up to the mansion's entrance, tuxedo- and evening-gown-clad guests heading inside, accented with furs and jewels that caught the outside lights. We got out of our limo and walked in with the rest of the guests.

Timmy linked his arm through mine and smiled at me, looking as glad as I was to be heading for the ballroom where we got married. Sometimes when we're at these events, surrounded by wealthy, powerful people, I look around at the kind of guys Timmy would have to choose from if he hadn't picked me. I know he's glad he picked me, because he tells me so, and he shows me, all the time. I got over that thought that he could have done better - because for some reason, he thinks I'm the best there is. I still haven't gotten over that little rush of pride I feel walking into some fancy party with him. Eat your hearts out, boys and girls, go ahead and stare, because he's beautiful and I stare, too. But he's all mine.

Eleanor was greeting her guests like the queen receiving visitors at court. Always an elegant old girl, she had the most powerful people in Albany falling all over themselves to charm her. Between her political and charitable donations, she was one of the most powerful women in town. And one of the classiest and kindest.

"There are my newlyweds," she said, smiling when I kissed her hand. Timmy gave her a little peck on the cheek.

"As usual, everything looks beautiful, Eleanor," he said.

We were swept along with the incoming guests, heading into the ballroom. It looked amazing, with pine and red bows on the chandeliers, several elaborately decorated trees sparkling in various spots in the room, and a live band playing Christmas songs. The buffet was like something out of a movie - chocolate fountains, elegant centerpieces, tons of expensive gourmet foods. Uniformed servers circulated through the crowd with trays of champagne.

We joined many of the other guests in gathering up some of the goodies on plates and nibbling on it as we mingled. It seemed funny to bump into people we knew there - well, funny to me. I wasn't used to knowing people like that personally. But there we were, chatting with John Madison and his date, a twenty-something brunette with big brown eyes and a perfect figure. Still, I had the feeling he had little or no real interest in her other than as a suitable date for a fancy party. He never spared her a look that held even half the passion of the look he gave his dead wife's portrait that day in his office. He was a decent looking guy, and he was loaded. He probably had a never-ending supply of women swooning at his feet without even trying.

And the only one he wanted wasn't there. In a weird way, it helped me understand why Timmy could care less about the rich, successful, ritzy guys he passed up for me. None of that mattered compared to how you feel about "the one." John Madison could find another pretty, statuesque blonde, but it would never be the same. I could find another tall, dark-haired guy, but he could never be Timmy, and Timmy could find a guy with more money and more connections, but he wouldn't be me.

"I can hear the wheels turning in there," Timmy said, grinning as he took a drink of his champagne. John and his date had moved on to the dance floor, and I was eyeing that myself. I wished I could waltz like they did. It was like Timmy read my mind, but then he's good at that. Scary good. "Let's dance," he said, setting his drink on one of the many trays provided around the room for just that purpose. He took my drink and set it there, too. "Come on."

"I can't dance like that," I said, nodding toward the dance floor.

"Just let me lead this time. It's not really all that hard," he said, guiding me in that direction.

"They're moving around a lot out there," I said, nervous.

"It's just a waltz," he replied, sliding his arm around my waist, positioning us to dance. I felt like I was merging into freeway traffic at rush hour riding a bicycle. How in hell was I supposed to keep up with a bunch of people waltzing?

I should have known that Timmy would know what he was doing, and keep us on the edge of things, so we didn't get run over. I was unreasonably scared. It was just dancing, but I didn't want to embarrass him, to make us look stupid or clumsy when he's so classy and graceful.

"Just mirror what I do," he said, stepping forward with his left foot. I figured that meant I should step backward with my right. He was smiling at me, so I figured I did that right. Then he stepped forward and to his right with his right foot, so I mirrored the move with my left foot. We were still standing and I had apparently done what I was supposed to do. Then he brought his feet together, and so did I. I was clutching him so tightly that I think I wrinkled his jacket and cut off the circulation in his fingers.

He rubbed my back a little, but he kept us moving. Thank God he didn't bark "left-right-slide-whatever", or we'd have been in a heap on the floor. Then he said magic words to me. Later, he said it was a quote he'd heard somewhere, but at that moment, it spoke to my soul in a way no footwork instructions could have.

"Dancing," he whispered in my ear, "is the vertical expression of a horizontal emotion."

So I was just making love with Timothy, standing up, with music playing, with our clothes on.

I could do that. I could make love to him as long as I had a breath left, a heartbeat, a conscious thought. All I had to do was mirror and counter his moves, hold onto him, and trust him.

I'm not going to say it suddenly became one of those fairytale moments like you see in the movies where couple sail effortlessly across the floor at jet-propelled speed. I won't even say that I made it without ever nailing one of his feet, because I did that, too, more than once. But within the span of a couple of songs, I learned how to waltz, and Timmy was having fun. He didn't care that I did it perfectly. He just cared that I did it, that I was in his arms, that I trusted him, that I made love to him standing up with our clothes on and the music playing.

My mother tried to teach me ballroom dances before a couple of family weddings, and gave up. She'd start out telling me how to move my feet, and I was hopeless. I'd go left when she said right, I'd try to watch her feet and she'd snap at me to look up... My mother was a good woman and a good mother, until she found out what I really was, but she didn't have a lot of patience with my two left feet and my directional challenges. She was a good dancer, had natural rhythm and a sense for what she should be doing. And, in her day, she needed to know how to dance. I could go to high school dances and just writhe around to the beat or sway slowly to music, and get away with it. Honestly, with a little charm, and making sure they were slow numbers, I'd even fudged my way through dancing with the occasional elderly relative. I'd just never done a particular dance, and they were good enough "followers" to just kind of move around with me and not expect much.

If anyone had told me I'd learn the "feel" of waltzing in one evening, and like it, I'd have thought they were nuts. I mean, nobody was going to compliment me on my smooth dance moves or anything, but after the first dance or two, I actually moved fast enough that we could keep up with the music. After a few more drinks and a little more practice, I could honestly say it was kind of fun.

And we were in the middle of the ballroom where we'd first danced together after we exchanged vows. When I first let the reality wash over me that Timmy had actually promised forever to me, that the tall, stunning, beautiful, strong, sweet, gentle man holding me was going to be holding me when we were old and gray. That he'd picked me over everyone else he could have had.

I kissed him in the middle of one of those dances, and it made him lose his rhythm. We both laughed at that.

We visited with a few more people and then staked out a spot to sit for a while and have a bit more from the buffet. After a few minutes, we were joined by Senator Glassman and her date for the evening, Tom Platt. He was a nice guy, a freelance political columnist. It took him quite a few years to corral her into marriage, but he eventually did it. She'd been married briefly when she was very young, but she'd been on her own as she made her rise in politics.

"I've heard a lot of good things about how you've managed Sean Donnelly's political affairs since his death," she said to Tim. Yeah, and he could have been managing yours if you'd had a little faith in him. I couldn't help feeling bitter toward her in those days. Timmy had knocked himself out working for her, trying to do everything right, and she'd passed over him for some dipshit who didn't have a third of his class or his innate intelligence. Whatever he didn't know how to do, he could learn. Sean Donnelly was clever enough to see that, and mentored him in the spots he was uncertain or inexperienced. I don't care if he stole the crown jewels; he was a good guy for doing that, and he gave Timmy's career a boost that would mean his abilities were never in question again.

"Thank you. Sean taught me a lot. I wish I'd had more time to repay him for that," he said, smiling. See, that's why Timothy's in politics and I'm a PI. I have to say "Go fuck yourself" to convey that message. He says it, but when he does, it sounds so pretty and polite and gracious, that the person he just fileted, thanks him for it, and usually is home in bed that night before they realize he told them to fuck off. Even then, they probably question themselves, figure they're reading something into it that such a kind, sweet man wouldn't have said. Or would he? Of course, Senator Glassman knows him pretty well, and she's an astute lady.

We spent the rest of the time talking with them about some in-depth article Tom was doing on the Vice President, complete with a series of interviews with him and several other political luminaries. It kind of bored me, but Timothy enjoyed the conversation, so I smiled and asked questions at the right intervals. It helped keep that beautiful smile on his face, and my reward was him slipping his hand into mine while we sat there. Just holding hands with him makes me all warm inside. God, I'm a sap for him.

Senator Glassman mentioned our wedding, recalling how nice everything had looked in the same ballroom that night, and asked us how married life was treating us. I couldn't get my mouth open before Timmy answered her.

"It's been the happiest time of my life," he said, kissing the back of my hand. "I'm very, very blessed," he said, looking into my eyes. I couldn't say anything. There was a boulder in my throat. I know my eyes got misty, so I cleared my throat and kissed his cheek. Thank God my voice came back and I didn't blubber like a boob on his shoulder.

"I still can't believe he said 'yes,' but I'm really glad he did," I added, squeezing Timothy's hand, smiling at him.

"Can I tell her the big news?" Tim asked me.

"Go for it," I said, still grinning at him like a lovesick puppy.

"Don accepted a position with Madison Enterprises, and we're moving to Long Island right after the new year."

"Really? Don, that's wonderful," Senator Glassman said. "What will you be doing?"

"John's opening a new high-end shopping mall in Suffolk County. I'll be head of security and loss prevention there."

"Congratulations," Tom said. "I know John Madison. He's very particular about the people he hires."

"That makes sense," Timmy said, giving me an adoring, proud look. "He knows quality when he sees it."

"My PR guy," I said, squeezing his hand again.

"Tim is very good at that," Senator Glassman said. "I'm sure you wouldn't have gotten past John if you weren't really good at what you do."

"Thanks. I'm looking forward to it, and fortunately, Timothy's willing to relocate with me."

"He'll do fine there," she said. "Tim, I hope it goes without saying that if you need a reference, you can call on me anytime."

"I appreciate that. I'm sure I'll be taking you up on it."

Eleanor visited with us a while, and teased me about my "new dance moves." She insisted I waltz with her at least once. I don't think I did very well leading, but she was a graceful follower and we had a few laughs over it. I'm better at ballroom dancing now, but I'm no Fred Astaire. I dance best with Timmy, and that's all that matters to me anyway.

********

Our evening at Eleanor's party was wonderful. I loved teaching Donald the waltz, even if he looked and felt a bit petrified trying it. It was romantic being back in the same place where we exchanged vows, and we did run into a few people we knew there.

While Don was trying out his still shaky waltzing skills with Eleanor, I took a glass of champagne out on the sprawling patio for a moment of fresh air. It was getting stuffy in the ballroom, and the view of the grounds around Eleanor's house on a clear winter night was breathtaking.

"You always did feel the heat," a voice said from behind me. An all too familiar voice from someone who was standing way too close.

"You should leave before Don sees you," I said, not turning around. I had no idea why Steve was there, but I did know I wanted him gone.

"He's flat-footing it around the dance floor with the hostess. Really, Tim, I would've thought you'd hold out for a better dancer."

"Oh, that's right, you're a real expert when it comes to dancing. At least Don doesn't need a Viking helmet and winged boots to get it on," I replied. "If you have a date, go bother him."

"It didn't turn you on just a little, seeing me dancing naked?" he persisted, moving even closer, putting his hand on my shoulder. "Don't tell me you can't still feel the charge in the air between us. We could have been incredible if you'd just loosened up and enjoyed it."

"Gee, maybe your ham-handed technique fell short of what I needed to really enjoy it," I retorted, jerking away and turning to face him. "I mean it. Get out of my way. If you think Don was joking about distributing those DVD's, think again."

"Come on, Tim, admit it. You miss me," he said. His breath smelled like a distillery.

"You were an obnoxious drunk even when I was delusional enough to think I loved you." Steve always did crawl all over me and get all repulsively clingy when he was wasted. He liked to "get a good buzz going" at parties, to use his words. The crap I put up with when I thought I was in love. Youth and stupidity do seem to go hand in hand.

"And you always were a superior, self-righteous son of a bitch. So how self-righteous are you now? Your boss was a crook, your boyfriend's PI business shut down, and you're unemployed. How much of a big shot are you now?"

"Whether or not Sean Donnelly embezzled money has nothing to do with me, and Don closed down his business so he could accept a top management position with Madison Enterprises. You might want to get your facts straight before you shoot off your mouth. Of course, that would be a first."

I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised that he grabbed my arm and shoved me against the wall of the house, or that he was on me, pushing his mouth on mine before I could get away from him. He tasted like alcohol and something stale from my past that I never wanted to remember.

"Steve, what the fuck are you doing?" A man's voice came from behind him. A tall, good-looking man about ten years older than us stood there, holding a cocktail. I recognized him, and I knew he recognized me. The thought he'd assume I was a willing participant made me sick. He was a well-known attorney in town, Edgar Andrews. He was a Republican, a big supporter of Harrison Grant, which was kind of amusing since he was openly gay. I wondered if he knew that Grant didn't mind gay people as long as they didn't act gay or want any rights.

"Not taking no for an answer," I said, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

"I didn't know you two had a past," he said, staring at Steve, obviously angry.

"That's what it is. A past. You should take your date home. He's drunk," I said, storming past both of them, back into the house. I wasn't prepared to run into Don, almost physically, since he was heading out toward the balcony.

"Hey, there you are," he said, and then his whole expression changed from being happy to see me to worry. "Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

I don't know if my tie was crooked, my jacket wrinkled, or if I just looked shaken up and horrified.

"Is it okay if we just go home?" I asked.

"Do you feel sick?"

"No, I...I just want to go home."

"Motherfucker," Don muttered, looking behind me as Edgar and Steve came back in the house, still muttering between themselves.

"Don, don't." I knew it was useless, and some deeply repressed primal part of me wanted him to go after Steve.

"What did he do?"

"I'm all right."

"Timothy, that's not an answer. What. Did. He. Do?"

"He made a drunken pass at me," I said.

"Hey, Thor, God of Thunder!" he shouted, heading for Steve.

"Don, wait!" I protested, following him, snapping out of my momentary sense of satisfaction that Don was irate and about to rearrange Steve's boringly ideal features. Other guests were nearby, and a few were straggling out of the ballroom toward the large, open living room that led to the patio.

Don moved so swiftly that it wouldn't have mattered who was or wasn't there. I never saw anyone reach another person, shove him against the wall, and deliver a right cross quite so swiftly and effectively in my life. Then he put his arm across Steve's neck and got up in his face.

"I hope your boss has a sense of humor and a thing for Viking gods. You have no fucking idea how many copies of that DVD I can get in circulation, and how fast I can do it."

"Don, let him go," I said, pulling on his shoulder. The crowd was moving from the ballroom into the living room now.

"What is he talking about?" Edgar demanded.

"Your boyfriend has a lot of dancing experience, and a thing for Viking gear," Don ground out between gritted teeth as he put more pressure on Steve's throat. He leaned in close and growled something in Steve's ear the rest of us couldn't hear. We could all see, however, all the color drain out of Steve's face as Don stepped back and released him.

"You wouldn't dare try," Steve said, adjusting his tuxedo, stepping away from the wall.

"You lay one more hand on Timothy, ever again...watch me."

"How was I supposed to know Tim was going to be here?" he asked, and I could see he was nervous. Steve rarely got nervous...flustered, even.

"Oh, that part could be a mistake. Slobbering all over him was no fucking accident, but it was one hell of a big mistake."

"How do you know I'm the one who made the first move?" he asked, his spine stiffening out a bit, as if he was getting his second wind.

I knew I had to move fast, and I was glad that Edgar did as well. It's not that I didn't want to see Steve pummeled into submission, or deny Don the primal satisfaction of doing it, but I was afraid he'd end up in jail for beating someone senseless in front of a room full of witnesses. We pulled Don back before he could reach Steve, and a couple of guys in suits showed up, followed by Eleanor bustling along behind them. Apparently she had security at the party, and she'd gone to fetch them.

"Edgar, please escort your date home," she said, as Edgar let go of Don, and I changed my hold on him from restraint to linking my arm through his.

"Excuse me? He was the aggressor," Edgar replied, a stunned smirk on his face. "And don't think I haven't taken note of who witnessed that attack," he said to Don.

"Your date was the aggressor on the patio," I said. "He got what he deserved."

"If Don felt it necessary to engage in a physical altercation with...I'm sorry, I forgot your name, young man," she said to Steve. I couldn't completely stifle a smile. Steve was such a social climber and a name dropper. She couldn't have done anything worse to him if she'd had him strung up by his thumbs.

"Steve Brewer," he replied.

"Mr. Brewer," she continued, "I'm sure he had a good reason, and it's obvious there's more to this situation than the rest of us are privy to. In any event, Edgar, please take Mr. Brewer home so we can resume our festivities without any further drama."

"Yes, of course, Eleanor. I'm sorry for any role we had in this unpleasant scene," he said, glaring at Don.

"You heard Mrs. Carrington, sir," one of the security men said. He had all the lightness and charm of a pissed off Secret Service agent. "Let's go," he said, gesturing with his hand.

"This isn't over," Steve hissed at Don as they walked out.

"You better hope it is, Thor," Don shot back.

"Thor? What's all this 'Thor' business?" Edgar asked, raising his eyebrows at Steve as they were escorted out. Something told me he was going to have an interesting ride home, being cross-examined by his lawyer date.

"Eleanor, I'm so sorry," I said.

To say I was embarrassed would be the understatement of the century. I wanted to fade into the wallpaper. The guests were dispersing, moving back into the ballroom where the buffet and the music were, but we'd definitely been more of a floorshow than the band ever would be. I didn't blame Don, I blamed Steve...or, maybe I blamed myself because I didn't slug him myself out on the patio, or because I let him upset me so much that Don was ready to take him apart limb by limb.

"Oh, nonsense," she said, taking my hand. "Before all this drama, the most exciting thing about this party was the three minutes when the chocolate fountain stopped flowing. Now, I can completely forgive you if you tell me what was going on."

"Could you forgive us if we told you the story over lunch sometime, before we move?" Don asked, giving her his sweetest smile. "I think we should head home," he said, resting his hand in the middle of my back.

"Of course," she said, smiling back at him. It's hard to be around Don when he flashes one of those beautiful smiles of his and not smile back. "I'm just sorry that...undesirable ended up at my party. Don't think I won't have something to say to Edgar Andrews about that," she added.

Given the fire in Eleanor's beady little eyes, I almost felt sorry for Edgar.

********

I called the limo driver, and he pulled up to pick us up shortly thereafter. Even though we'd given him a much later pick up time, apparently he was between trips and had time to slide over and drive us home. He'd been shuttling people back and forth to parties all night, and we were just one couple on a jammed schedule. Eleanor had offered us her driver and, if ours hadn't been available, I'd have taken her up on it. Timmy was pretty shaken up, and he still hadn't told me what exactly happened with Steve.

We got in the back of the limo, and as the car started heading down the road toward home, I reached over and took his hand.

"You okay, honey?" I asked him. I don't know if it's because I touched him, or because I tried to use the gentlest tone I could, or if it was just a release of stress, but his chin quivered, and I could see him blinking, and his Adam's apple bob. Then I panicked, wondering what the hell "a drunken pass" involved. If that son of a bitch had touched him...I would kill him. I'd do it with my bare hands. I touched his cheek and leaned over to kiss him, but he pulled back from me. "Timothy, talk to me." I pushed the button to raise the glass partition between us and the driver.

"I don't want you to taste him on me," he admitted, looking down. "I'm so sorry, Don. It happened so fast...I guess I'm not so hot at hand-to-hand combat."

"Baby, what did he do?" I asked him, feeling my heart pounding in my ears, my stomach clenching, my body breaking out in a cold sweat. All sorts of awful things presented themselves, including envisioning what part of him was stuck in Timmy's mouth without his permission. Dear God, if that's what it was...I'll chop it off and feed it to the motherfucker before I slit his throat. After all, while I had him pinned, I promised that's what I'd do if he ever touched Timmy again.

"Let's just get home, okay?" he asked, still not looking at me.

"Okay." I pulled him into my arms and he hid his face against my neck. "It's okay, sweetheart." I felt his breathing hitch, but I knew he didn't want to say anything else about it right then.

As soon as we walked into the apartment, he went into the bathroom, poured mouthwash into a bathroom cup and rinsed out his mouth. Then he did it again. And again. I finally walked up behind him and took the bottle out of his hand.

"Whatever was in there is out of there now," I said, setting the mouthwash on the counter, where he leaned heavily.

"He pushed me against the wall and I was so surprised...he...I guess you'd call it kissing me, but it was more like he shoved his mouth on mine and forced his tongue in there and I could taste him in my mouth. Then Edgar showed up..."

"He didn't do anything else, did he?"

"No," he said, looking at me. "I guess I shouldn't make such a big deal out of just having his mouth on me."

"That's not what I meant, sweetheart," I said, touching the back of his head, stroking his soft brown hair. He looked so handsome, and we'd been having such a nice evening. I was hoping I could resist beating the shit out of Brewer for spoiling that. "I'm just glad it wasn't worse."

I could see his upper lip was swollen a little in one spot. I kissed that spot as lightly as I could. His mouth opened for me, and I slipped my tongue inside gently, taking him in my arms, kissing him tenderly, but thoroughly, making sure my tongue was deep in his mouth, reclaiming it. I knew it was unlikely there was even a trace of Steve's DNA left after that compulsive mouth washing, but I wanted him to feel me and taste me in there. When the deep kiss ended, I kissed his lips carefully, gently.

"I got too warm inside, so I went out on the patio for a breath of air, and he showed up, nattering on about our past, that I was still attracted to him. We traded some insults, and then he was just on me..."

"I should have been with you."

"You didn't know he was there. Neither did I until he showed up on the patio. It was a big party."

"Can I take my beautiful husband to bed now?" I asked him, bumping noses with him. He smiled a little at that, and nodded.

We dismantled our monkey suits, and when he was down to shirt and pants, I took on the delicious task of undressing him the rest of the way, kissing every bit of sweet skin as it was revealed. Somehow, I got rid of my own clothes along the way, and eased him back on the bed. I went down on him, savoring him, tasting him, making love to him. He'd gotten warm all right, and he was nice and warm and musky down there. God, he turns me on just lying there, moaning a little, breathing harder, getting ready to come.

I felt myself coming while he did. I was glad, because I just wanted to make him feel good and safe and warm and loved. I didn't want him to have to do anything. I moved up his body, kissing his belly, caressing his sides, kissing and licking his nipples, finally reaching his mouth again, losing myself in the feeling of his arms and legs wrapping around me until we were all tangled up. We got the covers over us, and I could feel myself ready to drift off. I didn't want to leave him, though, if he wasn't ready to sleep.

"Love you, beautiful," I whispered in his ear, before I sighed and settled in his arms, my nose in the warm, sweet-smelling curve of his neck.

"What did you say to him?" he asked me. His voice was a hushed whisper in the dark. I knew he'd be horrified by the truth. He'd be more horrified if he thought I had actually felt like I could really do such an awful thing. If anyone ever touched Timothy that way, hurt him like that, I knew my biggest challenge would be not killing the man who did it - not overcoming any inhibitions about exacting revenge.

"I threatened him to stay away from you, that's all."

"That's not all," he whispered back.

"I made it colorful and convincing." I ran my hand across the expanse of his wonderful chest, loving the sensation of his soft chest hair and silky skin under my palm. I was glad when he kissed my temple and let it go at that.

"I thought he was out of my life for good."

"How badly did he treat you when you were together?"

"It wasn't anything worse than what I've told you. He was just obnoxious and inconsiderate. Sometimes I can't believe I stayed with him at all. I wonder what I was thinking."

"Maybe you didn't realize how wonderful you are." I kissed him.

"I never realized how wonderful love could be until I met you." I could just barely see his big smile in the dark.

"Ditto," I replied, snuggling against him. "Everyday feels like Christmas with you," I whispered in his ear. It wasn't even pretty flattery. It was true. "Whenever you smile at me, it's like opening the best present I could wish for on Christmas morning."

He kissed me then, long, slow and deep.

"Wow," I said. "That was more like fireworks at midnight on New Year's Eve."

I treasured the sound of his laugh, and held him even closer.

********

Don and I were on our own for Christmas, and that didn't bother me one bit. We went out for a nice dinner, then to Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve. While we didn't sleep under the Christmas tree that year, we did stay up into the wee hours of the morning watching an old version of A Christmas Carol and munching on snacks and mildly spiked egg nog.

Steve's unwanted advances at Eleanor's Christmas party had riled me up a lot. Dredging up the past the way they had, and making me wonder if he was going to still persist in being a problem, even at the risk of having his past exposed. He was more of a control freak than even I imagined, and I think it drove him crazy that we held all the cards. Like he usually does, Don knew how to calm me down, take care of me, make it all less awful than it seemed at first. I figured he'd threatened Steve anew with death, dismemberment, or both. He didn't need to admit that to me for me to figure it out. It unnerved me that if Steve did make a comeback at some point, he'd probably follow through.

That, and talking with my mother, made it a stressful holiday. Things were still strained between my father and her, and that wasn't normal for them. They'd had their arguments, and both of them could have feisty tempers, but they also usually made up pretty quickly. Even as Don and I worked together on making our meal with our little turkey and our trimmings, it bothered me. I was happier than I'd ever been in my life, and a table full of O'Connors and Callahans couldn't have made me any happier than puttering around in the kitchen with the man I loved. It wasn't that, it was thinking I was destroying my parents' 30-plus-year marriage that nagged me. 

"Okay, where's my festive Christmas elf, huh?" Don teased, hugging me from behind, kissing the back of my neck, nuzzling my hair. We had the turkey in the oven and I was just compulsively tidying up the kitchen as if some phantom guests were there to be offended by dirty pans and dishes. "I got you stuff to open," he added, and I had to chuckle. We'd saved our gifts to open while we were waiting for the turkey to bake. We didn't go nuts on presents that year, because our financial future had been kind of dicey through most of Christmas shopping season, and we were flying out to Long Island in a couple days.

"I'm okay," I said, finishing what I was doing at the sink and then turning around in his arms and hugging him. I never want to miss any affection he wants to show me, or to ignore any moment when he puts his arms around me or gets in my space. Don's been hurt so much in his life, and yet he just loves me so openly and trustingly and he's so warm and so good to me. He doesn't deserve to ever have a hug or a kiss or a sweet word go unreturned. And holding him makes whatever other stuff I'm stewing over seem less difficult.

"You seem kind of blue since closing down the office the other day," he said, stepping back a little.

He was right. The last day in Sean's office was like a wake, only with Christmas cookies. And I don't mean a good old fashioned Irish wake with drunken relatives, dancing, loud laughter, and anecdotes about the departed. I mean a stuffy, miserable, sad, grim wake with long-faced mourners. And frosted reindeer and Santa heads on plates along with a few joyless wreaths hung on doors.

Don had shown up an hour or so before the end of it all to take my boxes down to the car. My knight in shining armor, who showed up and carried my boxes out of Senator Glassman's office my last day there, too. Who was there with me when I left for the last time, so he could make me feel better. It's a little awe-inspiring to be loved that much, that even the thought you might be kind of blue is enough to warrant action and concern.

I'd been okay until I went into Sean's office the last time and made sure that everything was in order for Grant to take over. He'd already had his new ergonomic desk chair delivered, and Sean's big old leather behemoth sat off to the side. Sean loved that chair, and I couldn't even count how many times we'd sat in that office, him leaning back in that chair, going over something...or sometimes just talking about life in general or some philosophical political discussion.

So when I touched the back of the chair and tears came, Don had slipped his hand into mine, and gently suggested we should take the chair with us to Long Island when we moved, if it wasn't stealing and Sean's widow didn't want it. She didn't - I'd already talked to her about it, because I didn't know if it belonged to him or the people of Albany. It was his personal property, and should be removed or disposed of like his other personal effects. Most of them I'd boxed up and delivered to her already. She'd given me a couple small things, like a desk pen set and a framed picture of Sean and me at a gay rights function. Both of those items are still on my desk at work, now. Sean's old leather chair is in my home office. It's oversized and not too stylish, but it sure is comfortable. More than once, I've dozed off in it and Don has found me there when he came home at some bizarre hour and I wasn't in bed.

Instead of standing there sniveling, it gave me something else to arrange, and I was oddly consoled to have it moved to our apartment and stashed in Don's weight room until we moved.

"It's not that," I finally replied, ruffling his soft hair, loving how silky it felt between my fingers.

"Tell me, honey," he prodded, not letting me out of his arms.

"It was talking to my mother this morning," I said. He'd gone out to the convenience store nearby for the newspaper and some extra munchies, since we'd annihilated the cheese puffs and pretzels the night before. While he was gone, I called my mother, since I figured it would be a lengthy chat and even though she'd want me to put Don on to wish him Merry Christmas, there was no point in torturing him through the whole thing. As I figured he would, he'd gotten back while we were still on the phone and had gotten on the line briefly for exchanging Christmas wishes.

"You said everybody was okay there."

"Yes, they are." I released him and headed into the living room. He followed me and we sat together on the couch. "Things are really strained yet with her and my dad. Ever since Thanksgiving."

"He was a fucking prick at Thanksgiving. He ought to go through a long cold winter for that."

"Don, they're my parents." I had to chuckle at what he was implying, but it was creepy at the same time. All of us like to think we're the result of immaculate conceptions. After all, our parents never really have sex, do they? And, if they ever did, God forbid, they don't do it when you're an adult. That's even creepier...somehow.

"Yeah, and they got that way because a stork dropped you off?" That's my Donald.

"Point made," I conceded, still smiling. "If we hadn't gone there, they wouldn't still be at odds. They've been married 35 years, and I'm destroying that."

"Oh, bullshit."

"Thanks for understanding," I snapped back. I guess I'm so spoiled by him consoling me and reassuring me and supporting me that I was inordinately pissed off by the sharp reply.

"Sweetheart, your parents are all grown up. You can't take responsibility for their relationship. If they're fighting, or strained, that's on them, not you."

He called me "sweetheart." That smoothed my feathers a little. I melt every time he calls me that. Even now.

"It's because of me."

"No, it's because your father is a bigoted jerk who needs to pull his head out of his ass before it's too late, and your mother is a grand lady but she has a steel backbone like someone else I know."

"I'm not that stubborn," I protested.

"You are when you're convinced you're right."

I gaped at him, blinked a couple times, opened my mouth to verbally shred him, then closed it again. He was looking at me with one of those mischievous smiles and all kinds of love in those big blue puppy dog eyes.

"It's one of the zillion things I love about you," he added, taking my hand. He was either telling the truth, or he was the greatest diplomat in the world and should be running the United Nations. I suspect it was a bit of both. "Look, honey, your dad treated you like shit and your mother loves you more than her own life. Anyone who messes with you is going to pay for it with her. That's why she's an awesome mother. Eventually, even your father's going to see that, and figure out that he needs to get over himself before he destroys everything good in his life."

"She loves you, too, you know. And it's not like my dad exactly gave you the royal treatment, either."

"I know that, and I love her, too. Not just because she's your mother and you love her, but because she's pretty much adopted me. That's all the more reason for her to be pissed off at your father, because she approves of our marriage."

"She knows me and accepts me for who I really am, so she can be happy that I found a good man who loves me, and not obsess over the fact you're not a woman and we're not having grandchildren."

"The point is, even if your parents got a divorce over this, which I doubt, or never completely reconciled, which I also doubt, it's not your fault. You're just living your life and you want to still be part of theirs. There's nothing wrong with that."

"You think they'll reconcile?"

"Your father is as crazy about your mother as I am about you. I saw him agree to and then drag that giant fucking tree inside, just because, at a point, I could tell he realized how much your mother would love it and how many points he was gonna score with her. If that's not love..." he concluded, shrugging. "He'll come around to her way of thinking. It just may take a few...years."

"Years?" I echoed, my eyes widening.

"Rome wasn't built in a day."

"No, but it burned down pretty fast," I replied, leaning back on the couch. "I guess you're right."

"They still fight about Kelly. Is that her fault?"

"No, not really...she did put them through a lot, but she was a teenager, rebelling. She just didn't fit into their image of her."

"And you're not fitting into your dad's image of you, which he hasn't managed to adjust to include a male spouse and a whole different set of political ideas."

"I know."

"You're a remarkable, beautiful man and he's an idiot for not just being proud of you."

"You make me so happy." I turned my head where I was resting it on the couch to look at him. He gave me one of those huge smiles.

"It's my job," he replied, kissing the back of my hand.

"Let's open our gifts," I suggested.

"I thought you'd never ask," he said, heading for the tree like a little kid who just got the green light. I know I have more fun out of the presents I give him than he ever could. In those moments, I can see a little Donald in footed pajamas, running to the tree and tearing into his goodies, paper flying everywhere. Unlike me, the polite, quiet child, who tore the paper off neatly and only when I was told what I should open first. Donald digs into life like he digs into presents. He loves that way and feels that intensely, and I'm so utterly blessed to have him.

Adulthood and marriage had given him some manners with presents, and he delivered my two packages to me before plopping down next to me with the three packages I'd wrapped up for him.

"Go for it," I prodded. "Just save this one for last," I said of the smallest of the boxes.

"You got me more than I got you," he said, frowning. God, he's so sweet and adorable sometimes.

"No, you got me everything," I said, twisting my wedding band back and forth a couple times. "These are just presents."

We ignored the gifts a few minutes then, kissing, making out a little.

"I wanted to get you more things, but you said we should save our money until after my job starts," he said.

"I think that's the right thing to do. Don, the third package is no big deal. Really." And it wasn't. I'd gotten him some new shoes after seeing how messed up his old ones really were. I knew he'd get some cheap pair to tide him over, but these were nice quality, with good support, that would look nice on him, too. They were his style, definitely, but my style in terms of brand name and price. It was expensive, but he needed good shoes for all the time he was on his feet, running around, standing long periods of time when he was out snooping on someone or following them.

He tore into the package. "These are a big deal, Timothy."

"You need good shoes. Getting you something you need isn't a big deal as a gift. It's something you should have anyway."

"Wow, those are nice ones," he said, taking the cover off the box and taking one of the shoes out. He stuck his hand into it. "That's nice...nicer than the old ones," he added.

"There's memory foam in the insoles." I put my arm around him and kissed his cheek. I knew how tired his back was sometimes, when he was out walking all day, and then crouched somewhere or stuck in his car forever. I knelt on the floor and put the shoes on for him, and he grinned at me happily while I did it. He stood up and walked around a little. "How do they feel?"

"Really, really good," he said, rocking back and forth a bit where he stood. I stood up and he hugged me. Hard. "Thanks, honey. They're great."

We sat down again.

"You can take them off again if you want," I said, and he laughed. "I know they're comfortable, but it's Christmas Day, and you should be able to run around in your socks if you feel like it." He took them off, and I opened my first gift. It was a pair of black iron candle holders, each one the metal sculpted figure of a man with the candle holder part on his head.

"They were supposed to be a man and woman set. We have a nice set of two women in the closet in case we make friends with a lesbian couple someday," he said. It was then I noticed that the men were both in suits, with bow ties, like tuxes. They were two grooms.

"Don, they're beautiful, I love them. How did you find these?"

"I was just killing time in the mall on a break from the store one night, and the man and woman set were in the window of that fancy housewares place across the hall from Sears, so I went in and tried to negotiate two men, but they were in sets as a bride and groom, so I just stashed the two brides in case we need them for a gift or something. They were kind of cool and different and classy. I thought they looked like something you'd pick out."

"They're wonderful, thank you." I kissed him then. "Well?" I said, glancing at his gifts.

"Don't mind if I do," he said, tearing into the other box. It was a sweat suit, nice and warm, for those chilly times when he went out for a run. Again, his old ones were getting a little the worse for wear, and I wanted him cozy and warm when he was out in the cold, which he doesn't like. "Is this a hint that I need to get back to my jogging?"

"Yes, you've gotten so soft and soggy lately," I teased back, poking his belly as if there was even a spare centimeter of fat on it.

"Thanks, honey. This is nice. I froze my ass the last time I went out jogging, and you weren't home to warm it up when I got back."

I opened my second gift, and found a dark blue robe inside. It was soft and plush and velvety.

"Kind of matches your eyes," he said, smiling at me. It was a nice one, from a good men's store in the mall.

"It's beautiful, honey. I love it."

"Can I open this one now?" he asked, holding up the small, square box in its gold foil with the silver sparkly ribbon tied around it.

"Yes, you can open it now." I snuggled up against him while he tore the paper, then opened the dark blue velvet hinged box. Inside was a solid gold tie tack, in the shape of a puzzle piece.

"That's really nice, honey," he said. "Don't tell me, let me guess - the puzzle piece is because I'm a detective?"

"It could be," I said, kissing his cheek.

"But it's not?"

"Look on the back of it." It wasn't very big, so I'd had to boil down my thoughts, and even then, Don had to really squint to read it.

My missing piece.

"It means that you were the missing piece of my heart and soul that made my life complete when I found you," I explained. I know when Don is really moved, because he doesn't say anything at all. He was silent now, and he swallowed. "Every time you look at it, I want you to remember that without you, my life would never be complete or right again. So be extra careful and always come home to me safe and sound."

He hugged me then, and I could feel his breathing get a little shaky.

"It's beautiful," he managed.

"You're beautiful, and our life together is beautiful, honey," I said, holding him close, then kissing him passionately. "Merry Christmas, my love," I whispered in his ear.

"Merry Christmas, sweetheart. I love you," he added, hanging on tight.

"I love you, too," I replied, smiling, surrounded by the security of our little apartment, the smell of turkey and trimmings cooking, and the arms of my one true love.

What a very merry Christmas, indeed.

********