I woke up in a coughing fit. Pete was swinging and singing, and the sun poured into the room. I sat up, hacked some more. I tried to suppress the fit, but it didn't work-- I woke Heath. 

"Hey," he said, "thought you were over that."

"Probably the aftermath," I said. "Nothing serious. My throat's just scratchy."

"Mmm, maybe I could itch it for you."

"Mmm, maybe."

To fuck or to be fucked-- that is not the question.

I grabbed a handful of my t-shirt along with a little bit of skin as my hands moved down his chest to his tense stomach muscles. My mouth followed my hand, and his whole body shuddered as I sloppy-wet kissed my way around his navel then inched down, down-- my fingers leaving white prints on his skin behind.

His cock pointed proudly up. Took all of my self-control not to swallow him up whole immediately. I lapped around the root of that perfect dick, loving his musky smell and salty taste. His cock bobbed in excitement with every flick of my tongue, but delayed gratification was never my thing-- I took him into my mouth to my tonsils. All those years of practicing with bananas sure paid off: Heath yowled, his fists curled then uncurled in the sheets. I had one hand to steady me his hipbone while the other hand teased those curls between his legs with my mouth hard at work. My heart pounded as I slurped him up and down. Soon he set the pace, thrusting and straining into my mouth. His thighs quivered with every thrust. Every whimper and moan from him threatened to send me shooting.

He'd eased one itch-- but I had another. I took my lips off his cock with a pop, looked in those brown eyes and begged, "Fuck me." 

He returned a breathless grin. God, I'm in love with a man I've known for less than two weeks, yet it feels like I've known that lopsided smile forever.

I flipped over. Anticipation only momentary-- because snap, pop-- he was lubed up with two of those impossibly long fingers pushed inside. My eyes rolled back. No coherent response-- just quick staccato breaths from my lips.

"Tilt your ass up more."

His cock replaced those fingers. 

Then he pushed inside, rotated his hips. "Good?" he asked.

Three hiccups with a butt-load of pressure, replaced with pain then oh-my-god-in-heaven pleasure. 

Unfortunately, my brain wasn't as eloquent. "It's," I said, "oh, yeah." 

Heath chuckled as his weight shifted to reach me so he could bruise my lips with kisses. I panted and swore as he rocked over that spot inside. His short, smooth, controlled pumps brought me over the edge fast. Without one hand on me, I came. Heath hands clamped down on the back of my arms as he abandoned all control-- a few wild strokes and he came too. "Fucking gorgeous," was all he said.

After, a well-timed knock came at the door. 

"Breakfast!" came Kate's chipper voice. "Thought you two might want to come out of hibernation and have blueberry pancakes."

"Blueberry pancakes?" I said, sitting up. "I'm starved."

"Always hungry--" Heath said. "Can I at least catch my breath?"

And that was how I came to sit at the kitchen table, interrogated by the two sisters.

-------------------------

I was ok with-- "Where did you go to college?" 

And-- "What's your mother's maiden name?"

"Do you go to church?" seemed a bit intrusive.

And I'd buy that questions like "Saving money for retirement?" and "Have any IRAs?" were just looking out for Heath's future--

--But when Kate asked me, "What's that on your finger?" I balked. Or more like coughed. I covered my mouth and turned my head. Heath looked over his coffee mug at me, giving me a mental pat on the back.

Chas eyed Heath's finger looped through the mug handle. Couldn't miss it-- his matching ring twinkled. 

"What's that on your finger?" she repeated.

"A ring," I answered.

"Well, duh!" said Kate. "Yes, it's a ring. But why are you wearing that ring?"

Why was I wearing it? A symbol of love? A deep-seated need for romance? Too much saltwater taffy? The Dark Lord bid me put it on? 

"Ah-h, it fit?" I stammered. Christ, I blushed too. Suddenly, blueberry pancakes, sausage and maple syrup didn't sound that appetizing.

"So what," Heath said, "he's wearing Johann Galle's ring."

"Why are you wearing the other one?"

"Stop it, Kate," he said. "Enough questions. It's our business."

Kate and I both dropped our eyes to a spot of maple syrup on the tablecloth, then looked up at each other. We understood. She knew how I felt-- I'd told her. She was fishing all right, but she wasn't casting in my pond. She had to guess from my response that Heath and I hadn't discussed the whys. She had to notice the way Heath looked at me and know how Heath felt-- she wanted to hook him-- to hear him say it. 

I did too.

Say it.

"It's our business," he repeated.

At least he didn't say the rings didn't mean anything.

The chairs creaked. The clock hummed. I tapped my fork on the table. I hated uncomfortable silences. I always wanted to sing or shout or bark like a dog when they happened-- but what I usually did instead was start babbling nonsense. Today, I got a reprieve from Char.

"Well, it sure is snowing. Look at it," she said. "You'll have to get out and shovel the walk again and dig us out with the snow plow, Heath. I bet it's snowed three more inches since I woke up. Usually you have it done before I even get out of bed. I hope you know, Jake." She pointed her fork at me. "You've been keeping Heath from his work-- snow piling up, outside decorating not done-- Christmas isn't far away, and we still don't have the tree up."

"Can't expect me to do everything myself around here," Heath complained.

"I know!" Char chirped up. "We could all go today, pick up a tree and you and Jake could set it up!"

"Sounds fun," I said. "Do you cut down your own tree or go to a lot?"

"We've done both," Karen said. "I like cutting them down--"

"I like cutting them down?" Heath interrupted. "I? You mean--" 

"--but Heath always bitches and moans about it."

Ah, he's Mr. Grumbles to his sisters too--

"I've never had a real tree," I said, wistfully. "We always had an artificial one."

"Nothing beats a real tree," Char said. "The fragrance of pine--"

"The dripping sap, the unending needles, the swearing, the blown fuses--" Heath said.

"You're such a Scrooge--" Char laughed.

"Sounds fun to me," I piped up. "Tramping through snowy woods, finding that perfect tree."

"One year we brought home this white pine with a bird's nest in it. Karen and Char insisted, 'Leave it in the tree, Heath.' Well, I left it in the tree." Heath frowned. "I got mites."

"Told you he was a Scrooge," Char added.

I coughed. Shit. Heath was giving me that look. 

"I don't know-- that doesn't sound good," he said. My face fell-- I knew what was coming. He was worse than my mom-- man, and I was all hyped to stop by the woods on a snowy morning like Robert Frost too. "I don't think it'd be such a good idea traipsing through the countryside with Char. Takes her forever to find the right tree."

Karen nodded. "Yeah, that cough doesn't sound so good. Maybe you'd better stay here."

I knew they were right, but I couldn't help but feel disappointed-- but at least that would give me time to read Johann's journals.

"Alright," I coughed. "I'll stay."

Heath got up and helped Char and Karen clear the table while I finished the rest of my pancakes. 

"So--" I said, taking the last bite. "If I can't go, I better be able to decorate it."

-----------------------

I sat at an old dusty desk next to the window eating a cheese sandwich. The new snow was shoveled aside and the driveway plowed. I watched and waited for Heath's truck to return. Pete swung back and forth, then jumped off with a chirp and began his early afternoon bath, dunking his little beak in his water dish then pruning his feathers. He was right at home. 

I leaned back and stretched. I needed a break from Johann's journals. Reading through them all would take a while: There were fifteen of them-- all in his handwriting-- which was almost as hard to read as my scratch. I'd just picked up and begun reading one of his last journals when I saw Heath's truck bump down the driveway, tree strapped down in the back, and sisters strapped in, in the front. 

I grabbed my coat and gloves, pulled on my boots, then raced down the stairs and out the door to meet him.

Heath was intently cutting the ropes that hugged the blue spruce with an old jackknife. He'd secured it well the old pickup bed. I stepped up behind him as Char and Karen chatted animatedly on the other side of the truck.

"You two can go in and get the stand," Heath said. "I'll cut off the bottom of the trunk, do some trimming, then bring it in."

I stood in back of him.

"Damn expensive tree," he mumbled.

"Need some help?" I asked. 

Heath jumped. "Shit!"

I waved to Char and Karen as they went into the house.

"You shouldn't be outside," Heath said, turning to me.

"It'll only be for a few minutes. I need some fresh air."

"Ok, then help me get this thing out of the truck, and we'll cut off the end of the trunk," he said. "A shame to cut off two inches at $10 per foot."

We dragged the tree onto the snow and stood it upright. Heath stamped the trunk into the ground, shaking loose needles free. I bumped into Heath trying to help.

"It's huge," I said. 

One of his clumsy gloved hands cupped my dick. 

"It sure is."

"Must be over seven foot," I laughed.

"You got that right," he said with a squeeze then let go. "Cost $73. You grab the trunk, and we'll carry it over to the shed so I can saw off the end."

It was an easy haul. Heath sawed right through the tree with ease, snap oozing out. 

"Careful not to get it on you. It doesn't come out easy." 

Char was waiting at the door with the stand. Heath slammed the tree into the spikes three times then we tightened up the clamps on the stand while Char helped us get the tree straight. 

After ten minutes of "to the right an inch" and "to the left a touch more," Heath complained, "Come on, Char. Jake can't stay out here all day."

"I guess it's good enough for now," she sighed, then held the door open while we pushed top-first all seven-plus feet of blue spruce through the doorway, each branch bunching then popping out like a spring as it passed the threshold. "I'll go help Karen bring down the lights and decorations. You two get it straight in the living room."

"Was that some kind of gay joke?" I asked after she left.

"Probably, knowing my sister."

We hauled it into the living room and placed it upright in the bay window. 

"Looks straight to me," I said.

"And big," Heath added.

"It's beautiful," I said, stepping back.

"It's a tree," he replied sarcastically. "In a house."

"Wow, you really are Scrooge."

"No-- yes-- shit. I hate this time of year," he said numbly. "It's when... well, it's when our parents left."

I was flummoxed. "Your parents left you at Christmas?" I stepped up next to him. 

Heath nodded, chewing on the inside of his cheek. His toe that poked out of the end of his sock wiggled, and his hands that were thrust deep into the jean pockets bunched into fists. He looked so dejected-- I wanted to hug him tight to me, kiss him and make the pain go away. 

All I could think of to say was what a shitty thing to do and a shitty time to do it-- but I kept that to myself. Instead I said, "Damn, that's hard." 

"Yeah, but this year will be different," he added.

We hadn't talked about Christmas. My original plan turned to dirty snow: to have my sitcom done before Christmas and head back to the big city. I wanted a fresh blanket of white to cover that thought in my head. I'd been good at pushing those thoughts out-- that I had to leave. All I knew was that I didn't want to leave-- and now, this seemed to me an invitation from Heath to stay for Christmas.

"Yeah, this year will be different," I agreed.

"You know, Char just wanted you along to pick out the tree so she could ogle your ass. Now she gets to do it while you bend over and untangle lights."

Hmm, he changed the subject. Two could play that game.

"God," I said, "that's why I wanted to help decorate!"

"What? So my sister could ogle your ass?"

"No, so I could ogle your ass."

"Well, here they come with the decorations. No more peace and quiet now."

I untangled light strands while Heath wound them around the tree. I plugged them in and a Christmas miracle! They worked! Lights twinkled in time with Jingles Bells, making Heath's mood shift. No swearing, just grinning; Mr. Grumbles left for the afternoon, leaving Heath, my Heath, the man who laughed like a giddy kid and sang Christmas carols just a bit out of tune. We joked with his sisters-- told stale knock, knock jokes and laughed like idiots. I  caught Chas checking out my ass once, she caught me checking out Heath's twice. We strung popcorn, hung some old family ornaments, and I heard a little piece of Ledger history as we hung them on the tree.  

It was a perfect afternoon. 

Around four o'clock, Kate hung the mistletoe and caught me me under it. She's shameless.

Then they left us alone to go make dinner. We stood in front of the tree with hot chocolate, a cozy fireplace in the corner and winking lights. 

"Best tree we ever had," he said. "I bet it will look even better at night."

"Everything's better in the dark," I said as I pulled him by the shirt and chest hair across the room and under the mistletoe. 

What was that line from The Princess Bride? That "since invention of the kiss, there have been five kisses that were rated the most passionate, the most pure. This one left them all behind"-- Well, our kiss was just like that--

only better.

As our lips parted, he opened his eyes then whispered, "I love you." 

"Let's sit down," I whispered. "I think it's time we had a talk."

TBC