Title: Christmas Present, Christmas Past
Author: Sparky
Part: Complete: 1/7
Pairing: James/Kirk
Rating: NC-17
Archive: Tallific
Disclaimer: This isn't a true story, silly person.
Notes: I'm taking some liberties with dates and places here, this isn't about being historically correct. It's about falling in luuuuuuve.
Summary: James remembers a Christmas past.

*****
"Christmas Present, Christmas Past"
*****

A couple of weeks ago, I was receiving an award as a God of Thunder. Tonight, I'm in a jewelry store, buying a Christmas present for my *boyfriend*.

Sometimes life just kinda grabs you by the balls and turns you around, huh?

Actually, it wasn't life that grabbed my balls. It was Kirk. And, fifteen some odd....and, I mean *odd*.....years later, he's still got a pretty firm grip on em.

Firm enough that I'm out on a cold, rainy night, in the middle of a fucking billion Christmas shoppers, just cause he mentioned a beaten silver Celtic bracelet he's sure he can't live without.

Don't laugh. It could happen to you, too. I mean, I wasn't exactly out trolling for it the night Kirk found me. I was just minding my own business, doing my damndest to become a God of Thunder.......

*****

The club was one of those little hole-in-the-wall places, where the music was loud enough to numb your brain, the lighting was dim enough to hide whatever you didn't want seen, and the alcohol was cheap and lethal. It was also known by those in the music industry as a gathering place for the die-hard, the serious, the head-banging elite fans and bands of metal.

Christ, we were young. Young and hungry and reckless as hell. It was our first San Fransisco gig, and our first ever as headliners. And while we may not have been the best band in the world, we were, by god, the most enthusiastic. Nobody, but, nobody, played harder or faster or longer than Metallica. That, along with a huge amount of bullshit
spread liberally around by Lars, was earning us quite a reputation.

I remember, it was close to Christmas when we played The Old Waldorf that weekend. Like I said, we were headlining, being supported by Exodus. I'd heard of them, they had a pretty good reputation themselves around town. But, that night, I didn't hear a note the fuckers played. I was too busy throwing up in a dirty little bathroom in what passed for backstage.

And, it wasn't from drinking, like it usually was. It was cause I was scared shitless. Even then, we weren't just playing to be playing, like some of the bands around were. No, not me and Lars. Metal was our life, we lived and breathed it, and we knew, deep inside, both of us did, that we wanted to be the best fucking band in the free world. It never even entered our minds that we might *not* get there. *Not* getting there just wasn't a fucking option.

For me, music was everything. It was the place I could go to escape. Escape from my old man, from school where I never had fit in, from the empty place my mom left when she died, from the ribbing I got from my brother and his buddies cause I didn't jump every girl who crossed my fucking path.

From just every fucking thing.

Then, Lars came along, and put it into my head that music could be my ticket out. Out of L.A., out of the family, out to somewhere the fuck else, anywhere else, it didn't matter where.

So, we played. We played hard, we played long, we played twenty two fucking hours a day, saving the other two hours for sleeping and drinking. We were determined to make it, no matter what the fuck it took.

Now, Lars had wheeled and dealed us a headlining gig. It was a big step, and a big chance, and I wanted it to work so bad I could fucking taste it. I was too nervous to even drink, cause I just kept throwing up. Finally, Lars yelled it was time to go on, and, for once, when I stepped up to the mike, I was stone cold sober.

I shouldn't have worried so much. Like always, the minute the music took over, the fear....the fear of failure, the fear of the crowd... it all disappeared, and I just fucking played. Man, we rocked that night. The crowd, and it was a pretty sizeable one, had apparently been geared up by Exodus, and they were sitting on ready.

They yelled and screamed, and jumped and danced around, feet pounding on the concrete floor, and their energy just hit us like a huge tidal wave or something, it was wild. And, the louder they got, the louder we got. The more they yelled, the harder and faster we played. It was metal at its best... raw, mean, and fucking powerful.

When it was over, I knew we were on our way. Well, that, and the fact that there were some suits huddled in the corner with Lars, who was talking a mile a minute and waving his hands around, with this huge, shit-eating grin on his face.

I had collapsed on a dilapidated couch in the corner, trying to catch my breath. I'd wiped my face off with a towel and then hung it around my neck. People were wandering in and out from the hallway, passing around bottles and joints, shooting the shit. I put on my best scowl, to keep anyone from approaching me, sociophobe that I was, even then, and fished a cigarette out of the pack on the couch beside me.

I was fumbling around for my matches, not finding the fucking things, when I heard the click of a lighter and a hand appeared in front of my face. I leaned forward a little to reach the flame, inhaled, and looked up to say thanks.

Looking back, it seems like I shoulda heard warning bells going off in my head. . Or, seen my life pass before my fucking eyes, or something. But, no, the gods or fates or whoever it is who rule over life-defining moments just clammed up and let me wander right into the mine field that was Kirk Hammett.

Guess they thought it'd be pretty fucking funny.

*****

Part 2

I looked up at him through the smoke of my cigarette and remember thinking that he probably wasn't old enough to be there. He was maybe 90 pounds, and half of that was hair. I also remember thinking that he was.....I dunno.... pretty. He reminded me of Lars that way.

I mumbled a thanks for the light, and looked around the room for the guys. Never comfortable with the after-show mingling thing, I was ready to go. The band had rented a place, and I figured we'd all go back there and get roaring drunk to celebrate our future success as the gods of metal.

What I really wanted to do was get by myself, in the quiet, just to kind of take it all in. What it felt like to reach people with the music, to feel them react to it, to ride that wave of energy that we'd felt tonight. I wanted to ditch the crowd, and get somewhere where I could relive the night, take that memory out and turn it over and over and hang on to it.

But, hell, Lars was going a mile a minute, the center of a crowd of players and hangers-on, being the man of the moment. He fucking loved that kind of thing, and I didn't want to take it away from him. Looked like I was stuck for a while longer.

I sighed and threw my cigarette down on the floor, grinding it out with a boot heel. That's when I noticed that pretty boy hadn't moved. He was standing right there, still, like he had all fucking night, and when I glared up at him, real fierce like, he just grinned.

When he did, my stomach did some funny kinda jumping thing, which I chalked up to too much beer and excitement.

"Hi. I'm Kirk Hammett, from Exodus."

Shit. *This* was Kirk Hammett?? The guy had a reputation as a hell of a player around town. Cliff had raved about him for weeks. And, here I thought he was after rubbing elbows with the big boys.

He started in saying about how great we'd played, talking about some killer riff we'd done, and on and on, but, for some reason, I wasn't really hearing the words. I heard his voice, more like. It was soft. Not mumbling like Cliff, or loud and yapping like Lars. Just. Soft. And he kept doing that grinning thing, and, for some reason, it made me nervous.

So, I figured to stand up, you know, to gain the height advantage, maybe intimidate him enough so he'd move on. Only, it didn't work. I stood, yeah, and scowled down at him from a good six inches over his head. But, he didn't intimidate. Not a fucking bit. No, he just rambled on, wrapping that voice around me and smiling that goddamned
smile. Fucker.

I grudgingly exchanged guitar compliments with him. I mean, it *was* my night here, but I was willing to give him his due as opening act. Something I said must have struck him as funny, because I remember he laughed and the sound of it gave me shivers. I passed it off then as the fact that I was cooling down after the show, body temperature
returning to normal. Thing is, my body couldn't decide whether to sweat or shiver, and it pissed me off. The room was feeling small and crowded and over warm and this boy was standing too close to me, and it all just pissed me off.

And, then, he stopped laughing, sudden like, and looked up at me through that cloud of hair, and I changed my mind about how young he was. He fixed those black, black eyes on me and it was like he could see inside me, way down, see every little thing I thought I had hidden so fucking well. Things I'd never said out loud, to anybody. Things I didn't even acknowledge to myself in the fucking light of day.

I still knew everything going on around me. I heard Lars chatting up a couple of groupies, their high-pitched laughter sounding fake and ugly. Saw Cliff out of the corner of my eye, puffing on a joint the size of a three dollar cigar. Felt the chill and dampness of the room, smelled the beer and smoke. Only, it was like it was dim and blurry. Shit, maybe I'd drunk more than I thought I had.

But, somewhere inside me, I knew it wasn't liquor that made me pick up my jacket and follow him out of the room. Out of the club. Out into the cold, December night, like he was the fucking Pied Piper.

*****

Part 3

He had his own place, above a pizza joint, a couple of blocks from the club. Only one big room and a little bathroom, furnished mostly with a mattress on the floor, a couple crates, and a scroungy green couch, but still.

I'd gone from a home that didn't feel like home, to staying with Lars and Torben, to sharing a place with the band, but never anything of my own, not ever.

The room was dark, but instead of turning on the fucking lightswitch like any other normal person, this guy went around lighting candles. He had them on the counter in the corner of the room that was supposed to be the kitchen, on top of whatever crates and shit that were scattered around, on the windowsill, even on the floor. Different shapes and colors and shit, just candles every fucking where. I watched the shadows from the flames dance around on the walls, and felt kinda like I'd wandered into the goddamned twilight zone or something.

He had a couple guitars....fucking *nice* guitars...propped against the wall, under some raggedy Jimi Hendrix posters. Next to them, on the floor, was a not-too-shabby stereo system and a couple dozen records scattered around. At least the kid knew where to put his money. Fuck furniture and electric bills, this guy had his mind on his music. I could fucking identify with that.

"Want a drink?"

I looked up to see that he'd taken off his jacket, and looked even smaller in faded jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. He was all hair and eyes, and there was that voice again, that made me nervous inside.

Without waiting for me to answer him, he grabbed a bottle of vodka off the counter, unscrewed the top, and took a healthy slug, wincing as it went down. Then, he toed off his tennis shoes, and crossed the room, soundless in his sock feet, and held the bottle out to me.

"Have some. I spent the last of my birthday money from my parents on it."

I reached for the bottle, almost dropping it when his fingers touched mine. What was it with him, why was he always so fucking *close* to me?

"How old are you, anyway?" Fuck. That came out wrong, I guess, but it didn't seem to bother him any.

"Just turned twenty, why?"

Shit. He had a year on me, man. This guy was just full of fucking surprises.

I turned the bottle up and chugged a huge swallow, and tried like hell not to cough, even though my goddamned throat caught fire. If he could take it, by god, so could I. I mean, I was used to drinking. Just not with somebody standing so close, you know, in my space and everything.

To disguise the fact that my fucking head was about to explode, I turned away and wandered over to look out the window, trying to catch my breath.

There was no one out. It was too late and too cold and too dangerous anyway, in this neighborhood, with its busted streetlights and dark alleys.

The guy from the shop downstairs had left Christmas lights on, and I remember how they flashed, red and green, off and on. Even though the room was chilly, I felt flushed, and put my hand on the cold glass of the windowpane, wondering what the fuck I was doing there. Trying to make myself think that I *didn't* know what the fuck I was doing there.

I raised my head, and I saw his reflection behind me. So close, behind me. Standing there, washed in Christmas lights and candlelight. Black eyes seeing right through me, down to my fucking soul. Standing still as stone. Waiting. So fucking sure of himself. Sure of me and what I wanted and all the things I'd kept hidden so good for so fucking long.

I think I was holding my breath when I set the bottle down on the window sill and turned around to face him. To face it.

*****

Part 4

He stood there, all tattered jeans, wild hair, and dark, daring eyes. Eyes that taunted me...almost as if he, too, could hear the fucking voices that screamed inside my head......

"Touching yourself!!......Have I taught you nothing??.....Let's see if this will help you remember....filthy, despicable boy!!...."
~~~~~~
"Oh, Jimmy, your father means well.....he's only trying to teach you The Right Way......he doesn't want to hurt you...you have to try and obey......"
~~~~~~
"Jim, what the hell is with you, anyway?? Christ, all the guys at school are starting to talk. When are you gonna get laid, for God's sake?? You're my brother! I've got a rep to maintain, you know!"
~~~~~~
"Sins of the flesh, James"........"holy union of man and woman"...... abomination in the sight of God"........"hellfire and damnation"..... "damnation"......"damnation"......
~~~~~~

I was paralyzed. I couldn't fucking move. All I could do was close my eyes and pray to a god I didn't believe in to please, please make them shut the hell up. I think I prayed to Satan too, in case he was listening, could he please take them all the fuck away. I was just so goddamned tired of hearing them, all the fucking time, all my fucking life.

That was when I felt him take my hand. His fingers were warm, and strong, and wrapped themselves around my wrist, leading me away from the window, to the mattress on the floor. The one I'd avoided looking at ever since we'd walked into the room.

And, then, he turned and looked up at me and, I didn't hear any fucking body else, couldn't think of anybody or anything except how his eyes were so dark that it looked like you could fucking fall into them and never find your way out and why the hell would you want to get out anyway, and he was leaning close and I couldn't breathe and then he kissed me, and holy fuck.

That loud noise in my head was the door slamming on the devil and god and all his angels and whoever the fuck else had dared to keep me from this. On my brother and every stupid girl he'd ever pushed in front of me. On my old man and all his beating and preaching and praying for my sorry-assed soul.

On every fucking thing except Kirk. Kirk and the way his mouth moved against mine. The way he tasted like liquor, the way his lips were warm and soft, and how his tongue felt, sliding slick and rough against mine. The way he just stood there and kissed me slow and deep and long, until I was kissing him back.

And, you know how it's like when you're so thirsty you're about to die for a drink, you're all parched or whatever, and then, you get hold of some good, clear, cold water and you just grab it and guzzle and suck it down as hard and fast as you can?

Yeah, you got the idea. I hadn't realized I was pushing till I heard him moan, till he tore his mouth away, kind of gasping for breath. Fuck. I thought I'd blew it, and started backing away, but Kirk just laughed and grabbed my hand.

"No. No, wait."

He cocked his head and looked at me like I just fascinated the hell out of him, his voice binding me to him as sure as the hand that held mine so tight.

"You're new at this, aren't you, James?"

I coulda crawled through the fucking floor right then and there. I was embarrassed, cause he was right. I was pissed, cause he could see through me that easy. But, before I could jerk away and walk out the door and screw everything up completely, he stepped up and put his lips against my ear.

"Stay." His mouth was damp against my neck. "I'll show you."

*****

Part 5

It's funny how you always remember your first time. And, hey, don't let anybody bullshit you, either.....men are just as bad about that shit as women. Especially if it's true what they say, that our dicks are the center of our world. Anyway. Sometimes, I can close my eyes, and still see Kirk the way he looked that night. And, though it technically wasn't my *first* time.......I mean, I'd screwed around with chicks here and there.....it was the first time it meant anything. The first time it counted. The time I remember.

~~

When he seemed pretty sure I wasn't about to bolt on him, he let go of me and stepped back a little. For a minute, as I watched him in the dim light of the candles, looking like some untamed gypsy child with his wild hair and reckless eyes, I thought maybe I'd just dreamed him the fuck up.

That's when he started taking off his clothes. Hell, I'd never even dreamed about anybody that looked that good. I mean, yeah, he wasn't exactly the Incredible fucking Hulk. Like the rest of us starving musicians back then, he lived on coffee, liquor, and cigarettes. Not exactly your bulk-up kind of diet.

But, goddamn, he was something to look at. His skin was a gold kind of color, way darker than mine, and made him look exotic. Hair halfway down his chest, in just this crazy, rumply mass of black curls. He wore a little silver crucifix, and it hung to the middle of his chest, and caught the light from the candles. When he moved, I could see the slide of muscles underneath his skin, strong and sure and so, so fucking male.

What got to me, though......more than just that he was the hottest fucking think I'd ever seen.....was that he was, just, so careless about it all. So cool and confident. He moved like a fucking dancer or something. Graceful. Self-assured. Beautiful. He was everything I wasn't. Everything I wanted so fucking bad to be. I was half pissed at him for that. The other half, though, wanted him so fucking much I couldn't breathe.

So I stood there in the middle of that cold, shabby-assed room, still as a stone, while he slithered up to me like the fucking snake with the apple.

Until he stood so close I could see the rise and fall of his chest and smell incense in his hair. He looked like every wet dream I'd ever had. Every sin I'd ever wanted to commit.

I was so busy watching his tongue flick out to slide along his bottom lip that I almost jumped when he took hold of the hem of my T-shirt.

*****

Part 6

Now, Kirk's whole seductive little strip show had pretty much hynotized me. It was like my feet were nailed to the fucking floor or something. I'm not sure I was even breathing for a long few minutes there.

But, when I felt his fingers slide up under my shirt, I definitely came alive. Some parts of me more than others. It was like, when he finally touched me like that, I just gave everything up to him. I let go of all the fucking baggage I'd carried around for so long. All the fear, all the guilt, I all of a sudden just didn't give a flying fuck about any of it, or what anybody else thought. Not my family, not the preacher, not Lucifer or God or any of those other voices that were supposed to know what was best for me.

My whole fucking world narrowed down to that night, that room. Down to Kirk. And, if he was my temptation, then, I thought, just lead me the fuck on.

The chill of the room made goosebumps creep over me when I tossed my tee shirt to the floor, but only for a minute, cause then his hands were there to chase them away. He slid those hands up across my back and pulled me against him and then I was shivering for a whole other reason. We were skin to skin, his chest rubbing against my nipples, his mouth wet and skimming over my collarbone, his fingers dragging down my back. Christ, nothing, nothing had ever felt that fucking good.

I buried my face in his hair and just hung on to him tight, wanting that minute to last as long as I could make it.

Trouble was, my dick had other ideas, cause it was trying to drill a hole through my jeans. And, I guess it was poking at Kirk, cause he moved his hands to my belt buckle and looked up at me. Fuck. His eyes had gone all hot, his skin was flushed. He looked......hungry. For me.

Holy shit.

"Take em off, James." He leaned in to run his tongue over my nipple and I was so afraid I'd come right then and there.

"I want to see you." His mouth trailed over to my other nipple, slow and wet, and I ground my teeth together and tried counting to ten.

"I want to touch you." His fingers popped open the button of my jeans, and I forgot what number came after three.

"I want to taste you."

Motherfuck.

I couldn't get out of those jeans fast enough. I even forgot to untie my shoes, and got all tangled up, which had Kirk laughing and trying to help me.

How this dude, with his come-fuck-me swagger and quick tongue could still giggle like that was beyond me. Or, maybe it was all a part of it. Because after that, after I'd laughed with him and we'd each of us tossed one of my
shoes across the room, we'd pushed my clothes away and collapsed back on the rumpled sheets covering his mattress-bed thing, and my clumsiness was forgotten.

I'll never, as long as I live, forget the look on Kirk's face then. How his laughter died away and he looked at me, all wide-eyed and shadowed by the candlelight. Real slow like, he reached out a hand, drawing it down my chest till it rested on my stomach.

His voice was soft, quiet, wrapping around me and tying me up.

"So, here you are, James." His fingers were drawing little circles on my belly, causing my cock to throb. "Watching you, on that stage tonite, I wanted you so fucking bad."

Well, shit. Who'd of thought that? I was so surprised, all I could manage was a snort and a, "Yeah, right."

He smiled, cocking his head to one side and brushing the hair away from his eyes. "You really don't see it, do you?"

"See what?"

"Fuck, James. What you do up there. God, it's so powerful, man. You had every person in that room in the palm of your hand."

"I was just singing, man." I was embarassed by this, I didn't know where it was coming from. He had to know that he didn't have to make up nice shit to say, we could just get on with it. I shifted a little, hoping his hand would move a bit lower, but the little fucker thumped me on the ribs, so I'd be still and listen.

"James, you were not just singing. I can just sing. What you do is way different. You stand up there, all angry and powerful and in their fucking faces, and you say what they all wish they could say. You say it out loud and dare them to stand up and follow you. It's fucking wild, man. You could have made them do anything."

I was speechless. The only person in the world who'd ever come this close to knowing what was inside me was Lars. For a second, I thought maybe God had decided to make up for some of the shit I'd put up with, and sent me a soulmate. But, then, I figured I shouldn't be thinking about God and his business while I was lying there with this boy's hand two inches from my cock.

Kirk laughed and leaned down to kiss me, quick like. "And here I've got the mighty James Hetfield in my bed. Hmmmm. Better not waste this."

That's when he decided to get down to business, I guess, cause, from that point on, my brain kind of went off line.

*****

Part 7

When I think back, I wish we could've gone slower, taken more time. But, hell, we were twenty years old and horny. Besides, by that time, Kirk had done everything in his power to make me hard as stone, and it had worked. It had worked real, real good.

Right out of the gate, he put this huge hickey on my neck, which felt so damn good. I guess he was making a statement or something, even then. He still does that, by the way, on a regular basis.

And, then, he went on a little trip, like he was mapping out my body with his mouth. Biting along my collarbone. Wet, open-mouthed kisses all over my chest. Sucking at my nipples till I bit my bottom lip, drawing blood which he licked away. Tracing my ribs with kisses. Swirling his tongue around in my belly button.

And then, when I was ready to die from not coming, he put his mouth on me and my mind and my body and every fucking thing just kind of shorted out. I think I probably came two feet off the bed, before he caught my hips with his hands and held me still. He pushed my legs apart so he could lay between them and, jesus, he just kind of dug in and made himself comfortable and all I could do was hang on and hope I didn't die before I came.

His fingers gripped my hips, strong for such a little guy. Guitarists fingers, like my own. Dark against my pale skin. I slid my hands into his hair and I remember how it curled on its own, wrapping itself around my fingers, clinging to them. It was like we were fucking fused into one person or something. His tongue was rough and wet and sliding over my cock, his mouth pulling on me, his chin nudging at my balls. He closed his eyes and moaned, sending little vibrations along my dick, and I couldn't hold on any longer. I remember I tried to push him away, but he wouldn't move, he just swallowed me down and I came like a fucking freight train, holding his hair in a death grip and screaming at the top of my lungs.

You'd think that would have been enough to just kill me, but I didn't have time to do anything more than shake my head and try to clear my brain before he was up on his knees, still between my legs, with his hand on his dick, jerking himself off.

Fuck, I've never seen anything so hot in all my life, and figure I never will. His hair was all over the fucking place, his chest was heaving, sweat running down into the hair around his cock, his hand moving fast and frantic. His
breath was shallow and he was groaning and I knew he was close, and I knew, too, that I wanted to be the one to bring him off, somehow it seemed to be the single most important thing in the world right then, that I make him come. I sat up and grabbed his wrist to stop him and his eyes flew open.

"No, James, you don't have to...."

"Shut up, Kirk" I brushed his hands away and heard him draw in a deep breath when I took him in my mouth. Fuck, if I'd taken the time to think about it first, I'd probably have been scared to death, cause I sure as hell hadn't had any practice at sucking cock. But, I guess what I lacked in skill I made up in enthusiasm, cause Kirk wasn't complaining. He put one hand on my shoulder to steady himself and held my hair back with the other, and watched me.

He tasted so fucking good, I wanted to consume him, all of him. His dick, so hard and thick and filling my mouth, the smooth skin of it sliding over my tongue, the scent of him, the salt taste as I licked at him. His fingers bit into my shoulders and pulled at my hair as I wrapped my arms around his thighs and sucked him, and, I remember hearing him breathing faster and faster, pushing into my mouth, his voice whispering my name over and over and over again, until, with a yell of warning, he came, and I was drinking him down and he was shaking and shaking and then we collapsed in a tangled up heap on the mattress.

~~~~~

Fuck My heart was pounding loud enough to wake the fucking dead. I was sweaty, I wanted a cigarette, and my body couldn't make up its mind whether to be exhausted or energized. Most of the candles had died out and the Christmas lights from outside still flashed on and off, washing us in red and blue and green. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do now. I mean, fuck, I was new at this. Should I just get up and leave? Thank him for a good time? What??

I refused to acknowledge that part of me that didn't want to leave him at all.

That's when he kind of burrowed up against me, threw one leg over mine, wrapped an arm around my waist, and fell asleep with a sigh.

Shit. I mean, I didn't want to wake him up, you know? I figured I'd just stay long enough so he'd be good asleep, then I could ease out and be gone, no awkward scenes or shit like that. Reaching down, I pulled the sheet up over us. The last thing I remember was how good he fit up under my arm.

~~~~~

Next fucking thing I knew, it was early morning, and, as I woke up, I groaned, remembering where I was and why. Fuck. I was also alone.

On the floor, within arms reach, my clothes were laid in a neat little pile, all folded up, with a note lying on top of them. I think my hands shook a little when I reached for it.

"James........I've gone to get breakfast. I figured you weren't much for morning-after scenes. But, if you'll wait for me, I'll bring you doughnuts and coffee. How's that for romance? And, that is what we're about, right? Romance?.... Kirk"

I laid the note down on my chest, smoothing it out with my fingers. I decided that my brother hadn't been right after all. There definitely was a Santa Claus.

******

Epilogue......

So, now you can see why I don't much mind scrambling around in this fucking cold rain, on Christmas Eve, with a million other dopes who are trying to find something for somebody special. Cause I know what he'll look like when he opens it. All giggly and surprised and like a little kid opening his presents. Still that wide-eyed, excitable guy from all those Christmases ago.

And, just like then, after all the presents are opened and all the Christmas day socializing shit is done, it'll be just me and him. And, we'll lay there in the dark, with the tree lights blinking off and on, and he'll do to me again what he did that first Christmas and what he's done every Christmas since then. And, I fucking hope, every Christmas from now on.

*****

Finis

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