A Touch of Mistletoe (4 page)

"It's fine, let me get you a cloth." Missy sighed. "Did you two have a good discussion at least?"

*~*~*

We weren't alone together for the rest of the night. Missy patched up Kyung's finger (it turned out to be just a small cut that bled a lot) and we finished making dinner and ate. By the time the night was over, I had begun to see why Kyung's relationship with his father was frustrating. His father wasn't a talkative person, and when he did speak to Kyung, his words were short and harsh. I could tell that Kyung was used to it, and that it was just the way his father spoke, but I understood how it could be draining. But Kyung seemed to enjoy the evening regardless, laughing and joking with Alex, and thanking them repeatedly for inviting him.

When the cuckoo clock chimed ten I was standing by the wall with a glass of cider, feeling full and contended and listening to the mingled chatter of the room, when I felt a hand on my arm.

"I'm taking my father home soon," murmured Kyung. "Come with me into the spare room for a minute?"

"Would this be the spare bedroom with the mistletoe?" I asked, setting my glass down on an end table as he led me into the room and shut the door behind us.

"Do I need mistletoe?" He put his hands on my sides and pressed our bodies together. My heartbeat sped up as I remembered the last time we had been this close. I felt his breath tickle my lips and then the warm smoothness of his mouth against mine, and I pressed into him, taking his face in my hand and kissing him deeply.

We kissed roughly and passionately for a few minutes, until I thought I might come in my pants. I forced myself to break away, still cupping the side of his face. "May I?" I asked, trailing my fingers up his cheek, and he nodded.

I slid my thumb over his small, smooth mouth, and he opened it a little. I wanted to slide my thumb in, make him suck it the way he'd sucked my cock that day in the kitchen, but I resisted. Instead I trailed my fingers over his square jawline, and up over the smooth angles of his cheeks. "You're beautiful," I said, tilting his face down to kiss his forehead.

"I should go," he said, sighing as if it were the last thing he wanted. "My father might wonder where we've disappeared to."

"You'll bring me my groceries next Tuesday, right?" I asked hopefully.

"Of course," said Kyung. "But, I mean, I was hoping I could come over before that."

My heart soared. "Sure, of course, when?"

"Tonight? After I put my father to bed I can come over."

"God, really?" I'd been dreading going home alone tonight. Could he tell? "That would be great."

"All right," he leaned forward for another peck, and then slid his hand down, over the front of my pants and squeezed. I gasped, indignant, blood rushing to my cock, but he was already gone.

*~*~*

Kyung didn't arrive until late. I sat at the kitchen table until nearly one in the morning, wondering if he was coming at all, but not wanting to go to bed. I was reading one of my braille books, one I'd read a million times before, my fingers skimming over the words, barely processing them. Mostly I was thinking of Kyung, of his lips, and his hands and his body…

The doorbell rang and I nearly jumped out of my skin before rushing up to get the door.

"Hi," said Kyung, and there was a note of weariness in his voice.

"Everything all right?" I asked as he stepped in and brushed the snow off of his boots.

He didn't answer, just grabbed me and pulled me into a fierce kiss.

When we broke apart, he said, "My father asked where I was going, so I told him to see you."

"Is he angry?"

Silence for a moment. He was probably nodding again. "Yes. Sorry, I don't mean to bother you."

"You don't bother me." I stood for a moment, unsure of what to do. "Come in for some coffee?" I asked finally, and he agreed.

I poured him coffee from the pot I'd made earlier and we went to the living room. I wished belatedly that I'd put up the Christmas decorations this year.

"Will you put on your Christmas record again?" asked Kyung, and I hurried to do so, relieved that there was at least something I could do. I sat on the couch, and Kyung immediately curled up next to me. His closeness and warmth made my heart ache in a way that was very dissimilar to the lust he sometimes evoked.

I wanted to ask him what his father had said, and what was going to happen now, but I didn't know if he would be comfortable telling me, so I just held him and we sipped our coffee in silence, listening to the orchestra play a rendition of
Oh, Holy Night
. I almost thought he'd fallen asleep until he stirred and leaned up to kiss my cheek. "I'm sorry," he said again. "I guess I am just… relieved. We had a big fight. I got everything out that I wanted to say."

"Well, it's not healthy to keep things bottled up," I said, almost laughing at how I spoke as if I had some sort of authority on the subject.

"No," he sighed and settled back into me. "I told him that I am gay, and that I am going to date men while I am here. I told him I will take care of him, but my life will not be all about him, because I need time for myself as well."

"I don't—" my voice caught a little. "I don't want you to have to come here to get away from him, and end up taking care of me as well."

"It's not the same with you," he said firmly. "You are kind, and you ask for help, and you always say thank you. I don't mind doing things for people. I just like to be appreciated."

"I understand." I put my arm around him and squeezed, holding him close. "I do appreciate you."

"I know." He paused, then reached up to kiss me again, turning his body for easier access until he was nearly lying atop me. I ran my hands down his back, pulling him closer, and moaned as his hips ground into mine. He whispered my name, his voice heated, and we kissed, long and hot, until we were both gasping for breath.

"All right," I admitted with a laugh when we finally broke apart. "I am definitely bisexual."

"I told you so," he said, laughing as well. "Do you think you'll tell your family? It's just, I am tired of hiding."

"I will," I said, tracing my fingers down the small of his back. "When they get back. I think they'll be happy for me." At least, I hoped they would, but it didn't really matter that much anyway. I had Kyung, and good friends, and that was enough.

Kyung rested his head on my chest and I wrapped my arms around him.

"How do you think things will be with your father?" I asked.

"I think they will be okay," he sighed. "He knows that I love him."

"He'd better," I said, feeling a surge of protectiveness. "I'll be here for you, okay? If you ever need anything."

"I know," he said, reaching up to kiss me once again. "And I will be here for you. Merry Christmas, Warren."

"Merry Christmas."

The Christmas Spirit

Talya Andor

The dense smoke of incense hung on the air within the close confines of the shop. It was barely disturbed by a current of air sucked in when the front door opened. Ash Harmon—Ashley to only his momma—looked up from the counter where he'd been jotting inventory notes for his next order to the Louisiana purveyor who kept him supplied with trinkets to sell. The visitor was a woman of middle years, smartly dressed in a burgundy blazer over an oyster shell, minimal gold jewelry, and dark gray slacks. Her black hair was twisted back in a low chignon. Like ninety-nine percent of the people who stopped by Ash's Shinjuku storefront, she was Japanese—he rarely got international tourists.

"You're my three o'clock," Ash said, exaggerating the drawl of his Southern accent only a touch. In Japanese, it came across as peculiarly American, he'd been told. There was no point disguising it.

The woman nodded, brown eyes shuttered and face impassive.

"Asami-san." Ash straightened from his sprawl over the counter and walked around it, stopping a measured few strides from Asami and giving her a bow at the same time she hesitantly began to extend the tips of her fingers, ducking her head. "Please. Only if you prefer a handshake."

Asami withdrew her hand and replied with a bow. "Thank you. I appreciate your courtesy."

"I'm from the South, Asami-san
—
at least, the Southern United States—and if nothing else, we're known for our courtesy." Ash deftly insinuated his tall, skinny frame into the narrow gap between Asami and the door. He flipped the door sign to 'closed' and turned back to her, ignoring the way her eyes swiftly averted when he caught her staring. In a sea of Asian people ranging from short to average height, Ash was used to standing out as the sole black man, quite literally. At over six feet, he tended to be a clear head and shoulders over everyone else on the sidewalk.

Ash gestured to the door at the rear of the shop. "My office."

Asami glanced beyond Ash at the closed sign and remained rooted to the spot.

"As you can see, Asami-san
,
I'm the only one here," Ash said, spreading his hands palm up. "There's no one to run the shop when I'm away from the counter, hence the sign."

"Of course," Asami murmured. "Excuse me." She turned for the back door.

Ash rubbed at the bridge of his nose. There were days he wished he hadn't come to Tokyo, notably every time he had to overcome the initial prejudices of a new client, but the payoff in terms of steady paranormal work had been every bit as brisk as his Uncle Barry had promised. Ash had run up against too many psychics and not enough work in his hometown. Through Uncle Barry's connections and the timely need of a wealthy Tokyo businessman who had sponsored his move, Ash had gone to Japan to further his paranormal work. The chance to learn the ins and outs of supernatural traditions in other cultures was an enormous plus.

He followed Asami into the cramped office and folded himself into the chair behind the desk, so flimsy it might as well have been a card table. He had to slide in carefully to keep his knees from knocking it into Asami as she settled into her chair.

"Now." Ash steepled his fingers. "How can I help you, Asami-san?"

Asami narrowed her eyes. "You don't know?" The mild question was a barb, considering Ash's work.

Ash huffed. "I'm not that kind of psychic," he replied. He put his head to the side. "You made an appointment for a paranormal consultation, so you know my real business isn't the hoodoo trinkets I sell through the storefront." It pained him not to use the word
vaudun
, but the word wasn't pronounced that way in Japanese.

Asami inclined her head, watchful eyes fixed in the vicinity of Ash's chin rather than meeting his gaze. "I don't know very much about what you do," she admitted. "Only that you are a paranormal specialist?"

"That's a good way to put it," Ash said. He wanted to ask who had referred her to him, since that side of his business was networked solely through word of mouth, but if there was one thing he'd learned during his past few years in Tokyo it was that an outright question was impolite, and would be ignored. Her tone and expression were deeply skeptical, so he wondered who had pointed a non-believer his way.

"Like a detective," Asami said.

Ash bobbed his head. "That's accurate." He was sure he hardly fit the popular conception of a detective. He wore immaculate three-piece suits simply as a matter of course doing business in Japan, but he didn't like trench coats, his stint of cigarette-smoking had been limited to an incident where his momma had smacked the tobacco stick right out of his mouth, and he despised fedora-wearing men with a passion.  Not to mention, he was black where most people would think they were booking white when making an appointment with a detective.

"Detective services often extend to protection," Asami ventured.

"Sure, I suppose." Ash unlaced his fingers to rub his chin. "Though I suppose it depends on the kind of protection you have in mind."

"One of the athletes I manage," Asami said. She paused and frowned at the blotter on Ash's desk. "I was hoping you could provide supernatural protection for him, over the next week or so. I am not sure how long. Possibly until Nationals."

Ash sat back, chest rising as his posture straightened. "What, like a bodyguard?"

Asami nodded.

Ash sighed and fit his hands together, chafing the heels of his palms. "Well, I'm not sure. Can you tell me a little bit more? This doesn't sound like an investigation."

"Oh, if you could find the source and put a stop to it, we would be very pleased," Asami said quickly. After that burst of words, she lapsed into her chair and frowned again. "The protection is for Hanabishi Yuki."

"Hanabishi Yuki?" Ash repeated, to be sure he'd heard right. Even he knew that name.

Asami's lips turned up in a proud smile. "Yes, Hanabishi-senshuu. He is very superstitious, you see, and there have been some incidents lately that are making him uneasy. For his peace of mind, I told him I'd hire protection."

Ash was torn. On the one hand, taking a job for a famous athlete could lead to higher-profile cases for him, and the bigger they got, the more money he could earn, since he worked on a sliding scale. On the other hand… "Now, hold on, Asami-san. Just because he's superstitious doesn't mean you need to call in a paranormal detective to serve as bodyguard, you know?" He leaned forward, trying to frame a response that would communicate the fact the job was too frivolous for him to accept while allowing both of them to save face. He wasn't opposed to the money, but taking cases for the money rather than actual supernatural cause could harm his reputation. "If it's a matter of luck or nerves, there's a few charms that I could provide—" he began.

Asami's shoulders hunched. "Urameshi-san said you could help," she whispered.

Ash closed his eyes briefly, inhaled and looked at Asami, and his brow furrowed. "Why didn't you mention Keisuke-san first?" It was direct to the point of being rude, but Keisuke's involvement made the whole matter legitimate. Keisuke was the only individual where Ash's friends and paranormal circles overlapped.

"Most people are happy to work in some capacity to help Hanabishi-senshuu," Asami said, and though her tone wasn't pointed, Ash straightened like his momma had rebuked him.