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"And then – no, no, wait – first, Clint says to the guy, he says–""–and this guy was, like, huge–""–he says, 'Hey. Hey, man,' he says. He says 'You got a problem?' And then the guy – and fuckin' Clint–"I shoot Steve a pleading glance as he gets up from the couch, stranding me with our two rather drunken friends. Steve responds with a helpless shrug. "I, uh – I'm just gonna go make sure the back door's locked up for the night."That makes me grin; it isn't subtle, but that means it has a better chance of working. Ever since Scott and Sam showed up on our doorstep a couple of hours before, shit-faced drunk and very much in the mood to hang out, we've very gently been trying to get rid of them, but they brought whiskey and have stories and seem to have grown anchors, and we're just too goddamn nice to kick them out.Friends showing up out of the blue, even loud, rowdy, inebriated ones, is never a problem; usually, our door is open to anybody who wants to drop by. This time, though, Steve and I were fooling around on the couch – and by fooling around, I mean making out in a manner unbecoming of most ninety-somethings, with lots of tongue and teeth and with our hands down each other's pants – and there's nothing more frustrating than being cockblocked by a pair of our best friends, who have no idea the predicament they've left us in.For my part, I've been trying to suppress or at least hide my hard-on all night, sitting with my leg cocked just so and trying to think about the least sexy things I can imagine, but sitting next to Steve – so big, so gorgeous, so hot I can feel the warmth baking off his skin even when we aren't touching – and knowing he's got his own woodie tucked into the waistband of his underwear to conceal it renders my ability to keep my mind off him completely useless."Man, I fuckin' hate that Bieber Christmas shit," Scott laments, slumping against the back of his cushy chair, where Steve and I had incredible sex a couple weeks ago. We were delighted to find it's the perfect shape and size for me to straddle Steve's lap, facing outward on my knees, and ride him into oblivion–Stop that! I chastise myself, my fingers digging into my thighs. Thinking about fucking Steve is the opposite of what you're supposed to be doing right now.Oh, but it's so hard not to think about it. It's so hard… just like Steve… hard all over, except for those plump, perfect lips, and his giant marshmallow of a heart, and the look he gets in his eyes when we're just lying in bed all wrapped up in the blankets and in each other, and the soft, sweet peaks of his nipples when I first start toying with them…Boisterous laughter snaps me back to reality, and I grimace, shifting in my seat and pulling my knees up to my chest as camouflage."Nah, man," Sam says, louder than usual thanks to good old Johnnie Walker, which they're drinking from the bottle at this point. "The fuckin' worst Christmas song is that fuckin' shit by, uh… whazzername … Mariah Carey. Yeah, that song sucks balls."I can think of a nice set of balls I'd like to suck right about now. And speak of the devil, a second later, Steve reappears, and I can't help nodding in appreciation; he's changed into soft, plaid flannel sleep pants and an old t-shirt. He even shuffles in with a pair of slippers on his feet."Nice touch," I whisper when he sits next to me, wrapping his arm around me and kissing the side of my head.With his face still buried in my hair, he murmurs into my ear, "Any sign of surrender?""No. They've just started a whole new conversation about which Christmas song sucks the most balls.""I can think of some balls I wouldn't mind sucking," Steve breathes, huffing out silent laughter, and I shake my head, smirking. We're on the same wavelength, all right. And what does that mean right now? It means Steve's in the same boat as I am, and that boat is most definitely made of wood. I don't want to think about what it's floating in."Then get them the hell outta here and you can suck anything you want." I nip his earlobe and glance toward our friends, but Sam and Scott haven't seen a thing; they're too busy shouting over each other about which song blows more than the last. "If we don't get them out the door in a minute or two, I'm gonna get your pants down to your knees and suck your cock right in front of them."Emboldened by our friends' apparent lack of awareness, I slide my hand down his belly, holding his gaze as I rub his dick through his pants, licking my lips when it begins to swell against my palm."Oh, God, you gotta stop." Steve grips my wrist and, to my disappointment, drags it away from his crotch."Then you gotta come up with a better idea, because I only have two, and I just told you one of 'em. The other involves straight-up telling them to get out so we can fuck.""Such a romantic," Steve says dryly."Tell that to your dick.""Okay, I got the worst one. For real," Scott announces. "That one thass always a dooo… ha. Always has two singers. Y'know what one I mean? The date rapey one.""Oh!" Sam waves his hand as if expecting the teacher to call on him. "Yeah, that one, ah—""Baby, It's Cold Outside," Steve and I say in unison, then look at each other, amused."Yes!" Scott bellows, pointing at us. "That. Fuckin'. Song.""So obvious the guy roofied her," Sam says with a sage nod. "'What's in this drink?' I'll tell you what's in your drink, stupid. Roofies.""No matter where I am, if I hear that damn song, I am out the door," Scott says, grimacing.Sam concurs, "I'm with you, man. I hate that shit. Worse'n that fuckin' Mariah Carey song."Steve and I look at each other again, realization dawning on our faces at the same moment. He raises his eyebrows, I nod, and we face front again, equally fiendish grins on our faces."I really can't stay," Steve sings, just as out of tune as every other attempt at singing I've ever heard him make.I chime in, "but baby, it's cold outside…""Fuck you!" Scott shrieks in the highest voice I've ever heard issue from a man, and Sam claps his hands over his ears, his expression that of comical betrayal."I've got to go away—""—but baby it's cold outside—""This evening has been—""—been hoping that you'd drop in—""—so very nice…""—I'll hold your hands; they're just like ice...""You guys, c'mon, seriously," Sam begs. "I literally can't stand th—"Steve interrupts with his tone-deaf, never-more-beloved singing voice: "My mother will start to worry—"I pick up where he left off. "Beautiful, what's your hurry?""My father will be pacing the floor—""Listen to the fireplace roar—""Ugh, you're just tryin' to get rid of us," Scott moans.Sam nods, glaring good-naturedly at us as he staggers to his feet. It doesn't deter our duet in the least. "All right! All right! We get the picture! We're leavin'! But esspect… expect coal in your stockings."Still singing, Steve and I stand to see them off, our arms around each other's waists."The neighbors might think—""Baby, it's bad out there—""Say, what's in this drink?""No cabs to be had out there—"At that, Steve tucks fifty into the front pocket of Scott's shirt. "I called you guys a cab," he confesses with a sheepish grin. "It just pulled up."We say our goodbyes, and as the two lovable drunkards stumble out – forgetting, to the taxi driver's benefit, their booze on the coffee table – Sam turns and points at Steve, raising an eyebrow."Next time you guys want us to leave so you can fuck, just say so!"We've almost finished laughing by the time their cab pulls away and we close ourselves inside the house, where I wrap my arms around Steve just inside the door, decorating his neck with hot, wet kisses. "I can't wait to get you into bed," I growl, and Steve chuckles, sounding pretty well on pitch when he sings:"I ought to say no, no, no sir—"Grinning, I sing my retort: "Mind if I move in closer?""At least I'm gonna say that I tried—""—what's the sense in hurtin' my pride?""I really can't stay—""—oh, baby, don't hold out—"We join together on the last line: "—but baby, it's cold outside…""Not bad," Steve says, leaning into the living room to switch off the light while I turn off the one in the kitchen. "We should take this show on the road, huh, Buck?"I take his hand and lead him toward the stairs. "Not bad," I agree as he follows me up to our room, "but I can think of better uses for our mouths than singing right now.""Oh, sweetheart," Steve purrs, pressing me against the doorframe and kissing the corner of my mouth, "you better believe I'm about to make you sing."**