Jazzy Little Christmas Read online

  He eased himself up. “Roll over,” he told Paz, and the younger man complied. Gerry spent a few minutes massaging him, getting to know the contours of his back, buttocks, and thighs. Still a bolero, still a lyrical tune of discovery and trust. He reached over Paz’s head for the two pillows and then arranged them under Paz’s stomach so his rear end was in the air and easy to reach, but he was comfortable.

  Gerry unwrapped one of the condoms to slide over his cock, forcing himself to stay a little calm, at least. Gently. He squeezed a generous amount of lube onto his fingers and rimmed Paz’s puckered entrance to get him used to the sensation. Javier had been experienced long before Gerry had met him, so being the first for someone was entirely new to Gerry. He felt honored that Paz trusted him so much. His long-suffering ego inflated just a little, knowing that Paz had saved himself especially for him, and he aimed to make the experience worth his wait.

  The slow beat of the bolero sped up until it transformed into a mambo. The word mambo meant “conversation with the gods,” and seemed particularly apt, because that’s what Gerry felt like he was doing; sex like this came at a spiritual as well as physical level. Paz’s body was far more sensitive than Javier’s. Perhaps it was his lack of experience, but Gerry preferred to think of it as the response of a true artist, who left himself open to any inspiration and was able to express himself completely and totally without fear. He hadn’t been able to do that in years, but here, now, he found that he could, thanks to his rescuer.

  Paz craned his head around, looking at Gerry with such trust that Gerry felt his heart would burst. Javier had never looked at him like that. He’d only expected what Gerry had always been willing to give him. Paz waited, butt in the air, looking excited and a little afraid.

  More lube. Gerry teased him with one finger before sliding it inside. Paz squirmed a little when he moved his finger around, searching for the sensitive area behind his prostate.

  Paz let out a long, slow groan, and Gerry grinned. He pulled out, added more lube, and fingered him again and again, then dared to add a second digit.

  “Oh, man,” Paz said hoarsely. He shivered, his breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps. “I can't believe how good this feels. If I'd have known, I would’ve made Nate do this ages ago.”

  “No, you wouldn’t. You were saving yourself, remember?” Heat flared in Gerry’s groin. He wouldn’t last much longer, not with Paz so ready and willing.

  Gently, he reminded himself. No matter how badly he and Paz wanted it, this would be done without hurting him. “You ready?”

  Paz nodded. Gerry positioned himself between his legs and eased himself inside. Tight, and warm, which threatened Gerry’s restraint even more. The tune changed to something more dangerous, a dark Afro-Cuban rhythm full of lust and temptation.

  Paz’s hands raked the sheets, his face a mix of wonderment and bliss. “Do it, dammit. Do it, before I--”

  Gerry didn’t need a second invitation. All thought of restraint fled. He plunged into Paz again and again, far enough so that his balls smacked Paz’s rump. Grunts and moans came from the head of the bed. Paz’s body rocked back and forth with each impact.

  Drums sounded in his head, and he was in that deep, primal place that he’d told Paz about. There was nothing besides the music and the pleasures of the flesh, no sensation other than heat and need.

  One startled cry broke through. Paz’s body spasmed around his cock, a maddening squeeze that sent Gerry into his own ecstasy. He heard…tunes. Dozens of them. Rumbas, bossa novas, and danzons; funk, blues, and even some good old swing. All of them piano and saxophone, the two instruments as vital and intertwined as their bodies were now. He bent over and grabbed Paz around the waist, needing as much closeness as possible, knowing that Paz needed and wanted him too. His bruised ribs hurt, but it didn’t matter. A little pain was worth this.

  A final groan and Gerry eased himself out and collapsed on his side. Paz curled up beside him, drawing one of Gerry’s arms around his chest for closeness and comfort.

  “Did it work?” Paz asked.

  “It worked,” Gerry said. “Better than you can believe.”

  Paz lifted himself up on one elbow to look at the clock. 1:14 a.m. “What do you know. Merry Christmas, Gerry.”

  “Merry Christmas, Paz. I couldn’t have asked for a better present.”

  “Which is?”

  “My life and the handsome man that gave it to me.” Gerry sat upright and pulled Paz against him. “The man I love. The man I want to spend the rest of my life ‑‑ and my career ‑‑ with.” He toyed with Paz’s nipples, the multitude of songs still fresh in his mind. He’d write them down. Later.

  “What career? You haven’t played in years.” Paz sounded worried.

  “It’ll be easy. Trust me,” Gerry said. “But it can wait until morning. For now…” He dropped a hand to fondle Paz’s spent cock which started to harden again under his fingers. “For now, I’d like to enjoy my present a little more.”

  * * * * *

  With Paz’s help, and only a slight amount of discomfort, Gerry had gotten the gauze bandages off his chest. The damage wasn’t as bad as he’d thought. “My wounded warrior,” Paz told him with a laugh and steered him toward the shower.

  The hot water eased some of the ache in his bruised ribs. Scabs were already forming over his cuts, and besides, Paz said he looked sexy.

  Gerry remembered the old Nina Simone tune, the one he’d thought reminded him of Javier. How things could change overnight. He sang it to himself in the shower, and when he emerged, sang one of the later verses to Paz. “Oh, I love my lover, and where he goes. Yes, I love the ground on where he goes. And still I hope that the time will come, when he and I will be as one…” He smiled and ruffled Paz’s black hair. “Yes, black is the color of my true love’s hair.”

  Paz sang along with the last line, substituting “my” for “your.” Another kiss, and Paz went off to take his own shower. He was still in there when someone knocked on the door. Gerry now wore a towel around his waist instead of a blanket, but that didn’t make him any more inclined to answer the door as he was.

  The knocking became more persistent.

  “Paz?” a female voice said. “I brought our cinnamon rolls. Don’t tell me you’re still…occupied with your guest.”

  Resigned, Gerry unlocked the door and opened it to see a short, dark-haired young woman holding a dish of unbaked cinnamon rolls.

  “No. He’s not.”

  “Oh. Good.” She balanced the dish on one arm and shook his hand, ignoring his state of undress. “I’m Annie. Paz’s friend. I helped him get you here yesterday. We always have cinnamon rolls and hot chocolate on Christmas morning.”

  “I love cinnamon rolls.” He stood aside to let her come in, where she helped herself to the kitchen, putting the rolls in the oven and pulling out mugs and hot chocolate mix from the cupboard. “It’ll be a little while before we can eat. Play me a song while I get things ready, Mr. Piano Man.”

  He walked out to the living room. Now it was light outside, and Gerry could see the view beyond the sliding glass door. Sunshine and palm trees holding still now that yesterday’s storm had passed. He could see the roofs of a few more condos, and beyond that, the ocean. Gerry sat at the piano, filled with a contentment he hadn’t felt in years, even with Javier.

  He pounded out an intro to Joy to the World and then sang along. Annie joined him. Paz, still toweling his hair dry, emerged from the bathroom in a pair of board shorts. A moment later, he’d picked up his tenor and started to play along.

  They kept going through various carols until the buzz of the timer, along with the scent, informed them that breakfast was ready. Annie scooped out the gooey rolls while Paz and Gerry heated and mixed the hot chocolate. Paz unearthed a pair of TV trays, and the three of them sat on the couch to eat.

  The rolls didn’t last long. Forks clattered against empty plates. They leaned back, sated and happy. Annie grinned at Paz. “You rescued you
rself one hell of a man, you know.”

  “I rescued myself one hell of a man, and a partner who likes to compose in bed.” Paz stroked the gooseneck of his tenor. “Speaking of which ‑‑ tell me this easy way of getting your career back.”

  “Let me borrow your phone.” Paz tossed him his cell, and Gerry flipped it open and dialed. Two rings, and on came the familiar voice of his manager. “Chaz? It’s Gerry. Yeah, yeah, Merry Christmas to you too. Hey, you won’t believe this, but I’m ready for a gig.” He looked over at Paz’s grinning face, and winked. “Hell. Get me that tour you promised me three years ago. I’ve got this new partner who’s a heck of a sax player. Yeah. I’ve already got some tunes in mind, and, let me tell you, I think we’ll be making some beautiful music together.”

  Nica Berry

  Nica Berry is a writer of queer science fiction, fantasy, and erotica. She's a graduate of the Clarion Writer's Workshop for Science Fiction and Fantasy, the Taos Toolbox workshop for SF/F novelists, and will graduate with an M.A. in Writing Popular Fiction from Seton Hill University in January. She lives in San Diego with her two cats, where she enjoys going to the zoo and taking pictures of the animals, especially lizards.

  Check out Nica on the Web at www.orossy.com/nicaberry.