Lone Star

The first kiss was tentative. The second kiss not so much.

They had kissed as boys, but back then the simple pleasure of mouths pressed together and shared breath had been fraught with their own insecurities about who and what they were. Kissing had somehow seemed more gay than the other things they did, and neither of them had been totally comfortable with it.

So it was a surprise to realize how familiar the taste of Web’s mouth was. Twelve years ought to make a difference, seeing that it was unlikely Web still lived on chili dogs, Dr Pepper and Goodart’s Peanut Patties. But Web still tasted sweet as Mitch parted his lips with a gentle tongue. He closed his eyes, savoring Web’s instant, generous response. Yes, they’d both learned a few things over the years. Web’s tongue touched his own. It really didn’t get a lot more personal than tongues twining in the dark, moist heat of two men’s mouths.

Mitch broke the kiss with reluctance and one final, teasing lick. The hardness under his caressing hand began to throb more urgently, and he was conscious only of wanting to make this good for Web. The best ever. Maybe he had been a moody, difficult kid, but he had loved Web with all his heart, and if he hadn’t taken the time to show it then…

He opened his eyes and froze. Past Web’s head he could see something big and dark looming outside the glass of the window on the driver’s side. He had a hurried glimpse of huge gleaming eyes, giant smoking nostrils, shining horns—

“Jeee-zus!” He fell back against his door.

Web turned to face the threat, throwing a protective arm across Mitch, blocking him from the danger—whatever danger it was. “What? What is it?”

“That thing…”

“What thing?” Web threw hasty looks back at Mitch, while still scanning the night for the impending attack.

“That…thing…” Mitch peered over Web’s shoulder. There was nothing filling the driver’s side window, nothing standing next to the car. Nothing in the yard besides their own truck. “Where did it go?”

“Where did what go?” Now Web’s full attention was on Mitch.

Mitch opened the truck door and slid out, evading Web’s restraining hand. Web jumped out after him as Mitch took a quick, disbelieving turn around the yard. He crossed to the truck and knelt to examine the ground outside the driver’s door.

No hoof prints. Not that he could see.

“I could have sworn—”

“What is it you think you saw?”

“I thought…I was sure…it doesn’t matter.” He looked up. “You won’t believe me.”

“Why won’t I believe you?” Web’s face was illuminated by the moonlight. His brows were drawn together in a frown. Meeting Mitch’s gaze, realization slowly dawned. His mouth quivered. “No. Don’t tell me.”

“It was just the shadows,” Mitch said shortly, rising. “Just the way the shadows fall from the porch.”

Web nodded gravely. “Sure.”

“I didn’t say it,” Mitch warned him. “So you better not say it.”

“I won’t say it,” Web assured him. “But maybe I better check with the nearest farm and make sure no one’s missin’ a reindeer.”