The Positions of Love Box Set

Book 1: The Positions of Love-9

Even Vic had to admit the party wasn’t that bad. The kids weren’t the only ones who enjoyed Vic’s grumpy impression of Santa Claus—after a few drinks, some of his coworkers dared each other to sit on his knee, and Vic found it hard to keep the frown on his face when he had a lapful of strong, young men. They were in high spirits, the whole lot of them, and no matter how he tried to hang onto his foul mood, Vic found their mirth contagious.

He seemed to be the life of the party—everyone wanted to talk to him, sit beside him, plop down into his lap. It wasn’t just the Santa suit, Vic thought. It was something more, something almost animalistic. It made the men gather around him, made the kids cling to his arms and legs, made the women swoon as he passed. When Morrison’s wife tugged down his beard and puckered up, Vic anticipated her kiss and turned at the last minute, earning himself a smear of lipstick like war paint on his cheek. Matt followed him to the bathroom to get cleaned up. As he wiped at his face, Vic muttered, “What the hell’s up with everyone tonight?”

“You’re sexy,” Matt purred. He’d downed his fair share of beer, and couldn’t keep his hands off Vic, either. Wrapping his arms around Vic’s waist, Matt leaned against him heavily and sighed. “My man. You smell incredible.”

Actually, he smelled pretty ripe—the suit was hot and he couldn’t seem to stop sweating. When he pulled at the front of his coat to fan himself, the odor that wafted up around his face nauseated him. But for some reason, it only made Matt melt against him. A lusty sigh escaped his lips, and Vic could feel his lover’s erection press into his ass. Almost unconsciously, he rubbed against Vic, like a dog in heat. It was as if Matt were drunk on him, or something…

Pheromones.

Like a missing puzzle piece, the word fell neatly into Vic’s mind. Pheromones, of course. That would explain all the attention he was getting—somehow, he must be giving off some sort of scent that made people want to swarm around him. Another heightened ability, like the telepathy and the super strength. Frowning at his reflection in the mirror, trying to ignore the press of his lover’s body along his, Vic let out a low growl. He should keep a journal so he’d remember which position gave him what ability. Note to self: s*x on all fours in bed, wearing a damn Santa suit, makes me irresistible to the entire human race.

By far, the crappiest power he’d drawn to date. The party couldn’t end soon enough for Vic.

It seemed like hours later when Morrison finally wished everyone a Merry Christmas and a safe drive home. Vic no longer wore his Santa hat—it sat perched on Matt’s black curls, the beard and wig askew above his lover’s drunken grin. Matt’s head lolled on Vic’s shoulder, his breath alcoholic enough to give Vic a buzz. He practically had to carry Matt out to the car; while Vic unlocked the passenger door, his lover leaned against his back, hands fumbling into Vic’s bright red Santa pants as if looking for a special treat. “Got something in here for me?” he mused, fingers easing beneath the pillow tied at Vic’s waist to curl into his warm crotch.

Opening the car door, Vic announced, “You are drunk.”

“You,” Matt slurred, mimicking Vic’s tone, “are right.”

Vic managed to give Matt a quick kiss on the cheek before his lover dropped into the passenger seat. His hands tugged at Vic’s pants, trying to pull him down, too. Then there was a loud rip that seemed to tear apart the quiet night around them, and a sudden breeze wafted around Vic’s thighs. Matt doubled over with giggles. “I can see your Christmas balls!” he shrieked into the night.

“Matty,” Vic warned.

Matt’s hands rubbed over the front of Vic’s tight briefs. “Can I unwrap them? Make Santa come for me twice?”

Shoving his lover’s hands away, Vic pulled his torn pants closed. “Get in,” Vic sighed. He nudged Matt’s legs with one foot, trying to turn him around in the seat so he could shut the door. “Come on, Matty. It’s getting late. I want to go home.”

Matt leaned against Vic’s waist, his chin digging into the pillowy padding that enhanced his Santa image. Looking up at Vic with large, wavering eyes, he pouted like a little boy and asked, “Can I open my present when we get there?”

I haven’t bought it yet.

The words almost slipped free from Vic’s mouth. Thank God Matt was half lit—his presence inside Vic’s thoughts was fuzzy, indistinct, and Vic managed to erase the thought from his mind before Matt could hear it. There were ten days left until Christmas. Earlier that morning, Vic had added still before that number; now, with Matt staring up at him like that poor boy in the movie who just wanted a Red Ryder BB gun, Vic found himself thinking there were only ten days, less than two full weeks—barely any time at all, and he hadn’t a clue what he’d buy his lover for Christmas.

I’ll get something Monday, he promised himself. Cupping his crotch with a suggestive grin, he teased Matt, “Christmas is still a ways off, but I think I have a little something I can give you now. If you’ve been good…”

Matt’s smile widened. “Good?” he laughed. “Santa baby, I’m the best.”