Christmas Story: Miracle on Tremont Street Pt 1

[wren_kt7oz]

More "cheating". This was written in 2004 for the Moonshadow Tribe Christmas Challenge to write a fic based on a Christmas Movie.

It's long, so it will be posted in two parts.





Note: At the time, this was the only truly AU bj fic I've ever written. All of the others assumed at least that they met the same as in canon, however what happens next might vary.

But in this one ...

Miracle on Tremont Street

Justin sighed; looked like he was going to have to work late. Again. He really needed to come up with a new take on this idea, or he was likely to lose his job.

It had all seemed so simple at the beginning. He’d been hired to work on Kauffman’s Christmas Theme for the year. Last year’s Christmas sales figures hadn’t been as good as expected, so this year they really needed to hit the target. The store had interviewed various people for the job of marketing Kauffman’s as the place to shop for Christmas and had been impressed by the fair young man whose enthusiasm had captivated even the most cynical of the board members.

Justin’s idea had been simplicity itself - put the fun back into Christmas. He’d argued that not only was Christmas over commercialized, it just wasn’t fun anymore. Even for kids. Through over-exposure on TV and DVD and in the cinema, they just didn’t believe any longer; they’d lost their belief not just in the real reason for Christmas, but even in Santa himself. Get the kids to believe again, Justin had argued; set up a Santa’s Snowland in Kauffman’s and persuade the kids of Pittsburgh that it was real, and they would drag their parents to the store. The store believed in Justin’s idea because he did; though while they were thinking of the cash registers, he was thinking of the looks on the faces of the kids, the expression of joy and wonder that seemed all too often lacking at Christmas in recent times.

He’d presented his sketched ideas for the Snowland, and although it meant giving up a fair bit of floor space in one half of the basement, and wasn’t going to come cheap, the board had decided that his idea had merit. Snowland had gone into construction, Justin had watched his ideas come to life, and for a while it seemed that it was going to be successful. Until other stores cottoned on and started their own promotions focusing on their Santas. Now the situation was fast developing into a “Who’s got the real Santa?” war.

So far, though, he’d managed to fend off competitors. Nickolai, the Santa he’d found, was wonderful with the kids, and actually came with his own long white beard which gave him a lot more credibility with the kids than most. He was from Europe somewhere, and was multi-lingual, speaking not only French and Spanish, but also Italian and Dutch and at least one Eastern European language. Justin was also fairly sure he’d heard him talking in Chinese, or maybe Korean at one point as well.

Justin and his team had worked out a system where they surreptitiously obtained the name of each child from the parent and provided it to Santa via a very small earpiece - hardly visible under the hair and the hat; so it seemed to the kids that Santa really did know the name of every boy and girl. Nickolai had been scornful of that at first, but they’d persuaded him to go along with it, and it certainly did lend credence to his reputation. They also conveyed info caught by Nickolai’s tiny radio mike about what special present a child wanted to the parent, and advised them where they could purchase it. On Nickolai’s suggestion, backed by Justin, and eventually confirmed by the board, the staff would even advise parents of other stores that might stock the items they didn’t carry. All of which was a hit with kids and parents alike.

Sometimes though during his frequent visits to Santa’s house, Justin, was a little puzzled at how Santa often seemed to know other things about the child, like how many brothers and sisters they had, but he put that down to educated guesses and gave it no more thought.

Goodness knows he had enough else to think about.

This job was very important to him. Since graduating, he’d found it hard to get work; everyone was looking for someone with experience, but no-one seemed willing to give him the chance to get any. But if he could organize this and make it a success, then maybe it would be just what his CV needed. It wasn’t only his personal success, though, that drove him, it was a genuine belief that he was contributing to a more joyous Christmas for a whole host of kids. And if he could make this successful this year, then maybe it would set the pattern for Christmases to come.

Except that today he’d learned that a major chain of stores were about to unveil their Winter Wonderland, with Santa traveling by sled from store to store, a prospect that was bound to garner a lot of media coverage - free publicity that he just couldn’t match. He had no idea how to combat that, but store management had made it clear that it was his job to make a miracle happen, and get every child in Pittsburgh to believe that Kauffman’s Santa was the one true Santa. He felt ill and exhausted at the thought.

Sighing, and rubbing his hands over his face, trying to brush away a growing headache, he realized that a lot of his exhaustion might just be that he hadn’t eaten all day. He decided to go and get something to eat, and then come back to work, hopefully refreshed and full of ideas.

He walked to the elevator, and, on impulse, decided to go down to the basement and see how the Snowland was going. Part of reason for the success of his idea was that he was ready to take on other people’s input; especially the staff who were there all day and knew exactly what was working with the kids and what was not.

His mind going over once again any possible ideas for how to ensure the success of his plan, he was hardly aware of the elevator moving, but as the doors opened at ground level and people began moving in and out, he had to smile when heard an eager young voice saying, “But, Dadda, it’s the real Santa!”

“Gus,” a man’s voice responded, and something in the voice stroked across Justin’s senses like the most delicate feather, “We’ve talked about this. Santa isn’t real. None of the Santas are real. You know that.”

The voice might have been made to attract him, but the words made him angry as hell. As the crowds cleared, Justin found himself looking at a very unhappy small boy, and he wanted to pick the child up and cart him down to Santa himself just to spite his asshole father. He felt so sorry for the child who had to listen to such destructive drivel.

But the little boy had his own weapons.

“Alwight, Dadda,” he said with a valiant, but clearly heartbroken little catch in his voice.

Justin had glanced at the man to see what sort of prick talked that way to his toddler about Santa, and then found himself mesmerized by the beauty of the man - not just his face, but the lean sweep of his body, impeccably clad in some Italian designer suit, his elegant hands and the flash of green and gold in the eyes he turned to his son. Even the somewhat harsh expression couldn’t hide the fact that this was a truly beautiful man. Then the man’s face changed and Justin was stunned to see the way in which the features softened, and to observe the aching tenderness in his gentle caress of his son’s hair.

“Well, I guess we can check out this Snowland, if that’s what you want,” the father said.

The little boy’s face lit up and he hugged his father’s leg. Smiling down at him, a little sadly, Justin thought, the man snatched the toddler up into his arms and strode into the elevator just as the doors were about to close.

There were many people in the elevator but the only ones Justin was aware of were the tall man and his son.

The little boy threw his arms around his father’s neck, and Justin heard the soft whisper, “I love you, Dadda.”

He watched as a dark flush spread over the side of the man’s face (all he could see from where he stood just behind them) and heard the man’s voice stumble as he whispered back, “Dadda loves you, too, Gus.”

The small arms hugged tighter for a moment, and then the elevator doors were opening, and all the occupants spilled out into magic.

Santa’s Snowland was a world of color against a background of clear white. Small streets lined with real trees led to tiny houses for the elves, caves for the snow men and polar bears, and stables for the reindeer (real ones, used two and three at a time, turn about for a couple of hours, and then spelled in a specially built stable constructed in a nearby parking lot - something that had taken more planning permits than Justin ever wanted to see again in his lifetime). In the middle, at the back, lay Santa’s workshop, and behind that, his house. The kids didn’t need to know that the elves and bears coming to and fro from the door to the house were actually coming or going from their breaks via the small service elevator that was hidden by the Santa’s House façade.

The main lighting was slightly dim, so that the reflections from the strings of colored lights, strung overhead and between all the trees, sparkled from the fake snow that lay over everything in deep drifts. This was cold to the touch, thanks to specially installed under-floor cooling units, and felt very much like real snow, except that it wasn’t damp and wouldn’t melt. It even squunched satisfyingly underfoot.

A small train ran on an intricately laid track all around Snowland, and through the windows of houses and scattered through the workshop, children could see enticing glimpses of colorful toys of all kinds.

Mrs. Santa and her helpers had a cookie stall; large ice crystal snowmen dispensed snowballs (large marshmallows covered in chocolate and rolled in coconut); and an even larger ice crystal fountain served three different kinds of pop.

But the heart of Santa’s Snowland was the big chair in the Workshop, where Santa sat listening solemnly as children of all ages, and many nationalities, told him their hopes and dreams for Christmas. Something in Nickolai seemed to encourage all children to trust him, and there were no awkward moments of little voices murmuring reluctantly “I don’t wanna” when it was time to sit close to him and talk to Santa face to face about the things on that long Christmas list, and, less enthusiastically perhaps, have a little chat with him about “naughty” and “nice”. Nickolai himself had made the suggestion that turning one broad arm of the chair into a suitable seat would be much better than expecting every child to sit happily on a stranger’s knee. It worked very well with the shyer children, and the older ones, although most of the little ones clambered onto his lap as if by right, seat or no seat.

Justin spent some time checking that everything was running as it should and that all the little faces around him were happy ones. He was overwhelmed yet again by the glow he saw shining from child after child. This was what Christmas should be, a time of love and joy and wonder. He walked back towards Santa’s workshop, hoping to snatch a quick word with Nickolai and saw that the tall man from the elevator had been inveigled into standing in line with his son to see Santa. They were close to the head of the queue, so Justin lingered a little longer, telling himself it was part of his job to make sure that not even the most cynical left Snowland untouched by its magic.

When Gus’ turn came, Justin saw with a smile, that he was one of those who bypassed the offer of an attendant elf to help him into the seat, and climbed right up onto Santa’s lap. Nickolai smiled down at him, and then something strange happened. Later, Justin would tell himself that he imagined it, but just as Gus settled onto his lap, Nickolai, who normally ignored the parents completely, looked up at the boy’s father and held his eyes for a long long time. A look of great sadness, and what Justin could only interpret later as compassion, crossed Nickolai’s face, and for a moment his hand reached out toward the father of the child who sat in his lap. Then Gus’ little voice chirped at him and he turned his head to listen with all his attention, as he always did, to the child on his knee.

Whatever request Gus had made to Santa seemed to require some discussion, because Santa was asking several questions and nodding gravely at the responses. Gus’ face was alight with animation, and Justin, glancing at the father once more (while a small part of his mind said sternly, ‘he’s straight, you idiot, or at least in the closet, there’s nothing for you there’) saw that the man was watching his son with a look of almost ferocious tenderness. Justin knew suddenly, without knowing quite how, that this man’s childhood had not been a happy one, and he was determined that his son’s would be, whatever the cost to himself, or anyone else.

Justin was lost in thought, studying the planes of the man’s face and the way his clothes draped his slender body and longing for sketch pad and pencil. He didn’t realize he was staring till he met the man’s eyes. One eyebrow immediately lifted and across the crowded “workshop”, Justin felt the force of the invitation in that gaze. He stepped back, startled, and the man’s lips twisted into a knowing grin.

Then his attention was claimed by his son, and Justin heard a loud proclamation of “I’m hungwy, Dadda”. He turned away, ashamed of having been caught in such blatant admiration of another man’s body in front of the man’s own child.

The words also reminded him that he hadn’t yet eaten. Seeing Nickolai’s attention once more fixed on his latest visitor’s conversation, Justin decided to speak with him later, and instead slipped out the nearest exit, up the stairs and into the street. It was late in the day for lunch, but there was a small café nearby which served great soup all day, so he headed there, trying to push thoughts of the tall man and his son from his mind and concentrate on his problem.

Sitting at the table, with his soup, a sandwich, a slice of chocolate cheesecake and some fruit he was overwhelmed for a moment with fear that he’d fail, that his dreams were just that … dreams, airy nothings that he didn’t have the talent or the persistence or the courage to achieve. The sense of worthlessness nearly overcame him, but this was a familiar battle, and one which he was used to fighting. Besides, he didn’t really matter, what was important here was what he was trying to do for the kids - giving them back their belief - in Christmas, in Santa, in goodness and generosity of spirit. He wasn’t going to fail them, not if he could help it.

He gripped the handle of the spoon firmly and was raising it to his mouth when he heard a familiar voice say, “But we can sit here, Dadda. There’s a chair for us.”

“There are chairs for us, Gus,” the man’s voice corrected, apparently automatically. “We need two chairs, one each. See, count us, one, two.”

Justin looked up to see Gus giggling as his father pointed first at Gus and then at himself.

“There’s chairs for us here,” Gus insisted, smiling beguilingly at Justin. “See, Dadda,” he said proudly, showing off a little in front of this nice man with the yellow hair, “ one … two.”

“But, Gus,” his father sighed, “the man at this table might not like …”

“Oh, please,” Justin interrupted, “sit down. I’ve nearly finished anyway.”

Then he flushed as the man’s eyes flickered over his hardly touched meal and the eyebrow lifted in that disconcerting way once again.

But Gus was already pulling at a chair, and with a slight sigh the man pulled the chair out for him so that he could sit down.

He turned to Justin with a shrug. “Sorry about this, but if I don’t feed him, he’ll start tearing the place apart.”

Justin smiled at them both. “Well, I get the same way when I’m hungry, so I know how he feels.”

Gus beamed back at him, and said unexpectedly, “You’re the Chwissmas Man.”

Justin blinked at him. He didn’t like to ask Gus what he meant, and was kind of hoping that Gus’ father would, but then he saw the guy was looking around for a waitress and hadn’t heard.

“It’s serve yourself,” he told the man a little apologetically.

The guy gave an exaggerated sigh, and dragged himself to his feet. “Come on, Sonnyboy, and let’s see what you can get to eat.”

“I wan’ what he’s having,” Gus said firmly, pointing at the array of plates on the table, much to Justin’s embarrassment.

Once more that eyebrow rose. “Gus, you’ll never eat all that.”

“But I’m Hungwy!” Gus insisted. Justin, hiding a grin, was sure you could actually hear the capital H of the “hungry” bit.

His father sighed. “Okay. We’ll share,” he said.

“Okay,” Gus said happily, settling more firmly into his seat.

The man stood there, clearly unwilling to leave his son with a stranger.

“Gus …”

“I can watch him if you like,” Justin offered.

This time there was no lazy amusement or enticement in the eyes that raked over him. Justin felt stripped bare, right down to his most buried secrets, as those amazingly beautiful hazel eyes drilled into him. Finally the guy nodded. “Thanks,” he said.

“I’m Gus,” the boy piped up, and offered his small hand.

“Hi, Gus. I’m Justin,” Justin returned, shaking it.

“Dadda!” the infant said insistently as his father was about to leave them.

The man’s tongue once more wandered into his cheek. “Brian,” he said dryly.

Before Justin could respond, he’d walked off towards the counter. Justin was left with his young companion. They smiled, each immensely attracted to the other.

Justin saw a small version of his father with slightly darker eyes and a much more open expression.

Gus saw a slight, blond young man with beautiful blue eyes and a lovely warm smile. Just the sort of smile that … he paused in his thoughts and smiled even wider, turning on all his charm.

“You’re the Chwissmas Man,” he repeated.

Justin stared at him. “What .. what do you mean, Gus?”

“At Santa’s. You’re the Chwissmas Man.”

That seemed to Gus to explain everything. Justin was left to conclude that Gus had seen him at Snowland talking to the staff and had thought he was somehow in charge. He felt quite flattered at being called the Christmas Man, it was a great way to be described.

Brian came back to the table then carrying Gus’ food and a cup of coffee, and sat down. He brushed against Justin as he did and Justin felt his heart lurch and his breathing speed up.

This was not good. He needed to get his food finished and get out of there. But Gus didn’t make that easy.

He chattered away happily to Justin, telling him about his adventures with Santa and what he’d thought of the reindeer and asking Justin which reindeer he liked best and which house in Snowland he’d like to live in. Finally, Brian managed to get a word in edgeways.

“So, are you a Santa groupie or do you have a reason for hanging around there?”

Justin frowned at him. “I work in the store,” he said shortly.

Brian’s eyebrow climbed once again at the tone in his voice.

“What do you do? Clean up after the reindeer?”

“I’m an artist. I’m in promotions,” Justin replied. “And I need to get back to work.”

He stood and began to pull on his coat, his arm tangling in the sleeve.

“No-o-o-o!” Gus wailed.

Justin sighed and squatted down next to him. “It was very nice to meet you, Gus,” he said gently.

Brian put a soothing hand over his son’s, and the boy looked at him pathetically. “Justin has to go to work, Gus,” he said.

“Like Dadda?”

“Yes, Sonnyboy, like Dadda.”

Gus sighed, but he was used to being told his father couldn’t play with him because he had to work.

“O-kay. Bye, Dustin.”

“Bye, Gus.”

For some reason Justin felt quite choked up over leaving him, and to make it worse he couldn’t seem to untangle the sleeve of his coat. To his surprise, Brian stood and helped him with it. Once it was on, Brian tugged it close around him, and tucked in his scarf, while Justin tried to subdue his sudden shakes. The hazel eyes looked deep into his, with mischief and a definite invitation in their depths.

“Bye, Justin,” the man said demurely.

Justin left feeling shaken and angry, unable to believe that the guy, Brian, had been flirting with him right in front of his son. What if Gus noticed something? What if he told his mother? Where did Brian get off doing that!?

Why on earth did the first guy he’d been interested in all year have to be an asshole closet case with a kid?

***

Justin went back to work and tried to concentrate. But his mind kept drifting to Brian and his son and whenever it did, his emotions would flutter between an unaccountable anger and sadness. He tried to push all those thoughts and feelings away and come up with some brilliant creative way to ensure that his Santa won the escalating battle, but nothing would come, and his headache, which had vanished during the time he spent with Brian and Gus, came back worse than ever.

Eventually, a little after nine, he gave up and left. But when he got home he was still restless, and, he had to admit, horny. So he decided to get dressed and go to a club. It wasn’t something he did often, anonymous sex didn’t have a great deal of appeal for him; but he didn’t have any qualms about getting his needs met when necessary.

After catching a bus down to Liberty, he decided to check out a bar first, and then move on to one of the clubs. He chose the bar called Woody’s. He’d been there before, and it had a fairly comfortable atmosphere, unlike some of the other places on the strip. He’d get hit on here, he always did, but nothing heavy - not like some places where saying ‘no’ could cause big problems.

He’d lined up a beer and allowed the first mouthful to slide down his throat, when he heard an all too familiar voice: “Well, well, well. If it isn’t Santa’s little helper.”

He looked up into Brian’s eyes, as the man draped himself over the next stool.

“Justin,” he responded quietly. “My name is Justin.”

Brian’s tongue peeked out and slid across his lips as he looked Justin up and down. “Right.”

His eyes conveyed blatant invitation, and Justin felt himself becoming angry again.

“What the fuck do you think you’re playing at?” he hissed.

“Ex-cuse me?” Both Brian’s eyebrows were raised to the ceiling this time.

“Where’s Gus?” Justin demanded viciously, determined to make this asshole recognize what a total shit he was being.

He was disconcerted, however, when Brian’s mouth twisted into his lopsided grin and he settled himself down onto the barstool comfortably.

“If it’s any of your business, Sunshine, Gus is at home with his mommies.”

As Justin struggled to take in both the nickname and the implication of the plural, Brian, still grinning, went on, “I jerked off in a cup, because my friend Lindsay’s dyke husband, although she’s got more balls than most, still doesn’t have that one essential. So they took my jizz and squirted it up her and Voila! I’m a dad.”

Justin felt himself blushing furiously. He didn’t quite know what to say, so he took another deep swig of his beer. Which would have been okay, except that his throat was so closed up, he choked on it.

When he’d finished spluttering, he found Brian still there, laughing at him.

“Sorry,” he said stiffly. “You’re right, it’s none of my business.”

He moved to go, but Brian put out a hand to stop him. The man’s touch burned Justin’s arm and he stared into those hazel eyes.

“What’s your hurry, Sunshine? Got a little friend to go home to?”

Justin’s chin came up. “No,” he said bluntly.

“Well, then,” Brian purred. “Sit down and finish your drink.” Then his voice changed a little, became something other than pure seduction. “You look like you needed one,” he said quietly.

For some reason, the sincerity in the voice struck home to Justin, and he nodded. “You could say that.”

***

Brian huffed a half laugh, as Justin sat down again. He was amazed at himself, and a little pissed. He had no idea why he’d stopped the blond from leaving. Sure he was hot, but there were plenty of hot guys on offer. Although, Brian had to admit, he’d been tempted by the blond ever since he’d noticed him in that damned store. Not at all Brian’s usual type, but that bubble butt was definitely worth consideration, and watching him with the kids, Brian had found himself fascinated by the bright blue eyes and the smile that had seemed to light up the whole of Snowland all on its own. But even so, it wasn’t like him to waste time talking to any of his tricks.

Maybe it was the memory of how comfortable Justin had been with Gus that afternoon. Gus was a bright kid, but he didn’t always take to strangers. With this Justin, though, he’d been all over him. And they’d looked so … damn!

Brian snapped his mind away from any thought of how right it had seemed to come back to the table and find his son and this stranger sitting together waiting for him.

That’s what having kids did for you, it turned you into a fucking lesbian. Which is why he was sitting here inviting this guy to spill his guts about why he looked so damned sad, instead of dragging him into the bathroom and getting him on his knees in front of Brian’s dick. Well, later, Brian promised himself. Definitely later.

“So?” he found himself asking.

Justin sighed. “You don’t want to hear this,” he said. “Just go and pick up some guy and get on with it. You’re not here for conversation.”

Perversely, Brian found that Justin’s dismissal made him more determined to get him to talk. He picked up Justin’s beer as well as his own and stood, jerking his head in invitation and making his way to a table.

Justin followed him, trying to work out what was going on. He knew guys like Brian. He’d been fending them off ever since his first lover had made it clear to him that there was love and there was fucking, and for guys like this, the first wasn’t an option they were interested in. He decided he’d finish his beer and then clear out, leaving Brian a clear field that didn’t include him.

But when they sat down, Brian disarmed him by saying softly, “Come on, Sunshine, spill. Can’t have Gus’ favorite elf looking like his dick just dropped off.”

The words were teasing, but the man’s voice was unexpectedly gentle, and the hazel eyes regarded him with warmth, not the cold seduction of the predator Justin sensed him to be.

Sighing, he shrugged. “It’s just work stuff,” he said.

“What, Santa getting too frisky with the elves?” Brian couldn’t resist.

Justin tossed back the rest of his beer. “Fuck you!” he said quietly. “I told you you didn’t want to hear it.”

He went to stand, but again the hand shot out to stop him.

“Sit down,” Brian said. “I’ll get you another drink. Maybe something a bit stronger than a beer. Then I’ll listen.”

Justin shrugged. He had no idea why he was staying. Or why Brian wanted him to. All he knew was that there was something about the tall hazel-eyed man that drew Justin towards him. Just the sound of Brian’s voice seemed to fill an emptiness deep inside him.

‘And’, Justin thought, watching Brian weaving his way back to him with their drinks, ‘he’s hot. I could definitely fuck him.’

His heart raced at the thought. He wondered if Brian wanted him, but remembering the look he’d seen in Brian’s eyes earlier he knew that they could fuck if he wanted to. And he did, he decided. He wanted to forget this talking shit, and just get out of there to somewhere where Brian could fuck his brains out and make him forget everything for a little while at least.

For his part, Brian, while confident that he would later be luring this beautiful morsel into his bed, or at least to the bathroom or alleyway, found himself wanting to see if he could rekindle the sparkle that had been in those baby blues when he’d been chattering to Gus about that fucking Snowland.

He put the glass of Chivas in front of Justin and sat down, careful to brush his knee against Justin’s as he did. No harm in keeping things bubbling.

He stifled a grin at the instant response in the way Justin’s breath caught. Okay, he was definitely in here. Now let’s get this talking shit out of the way and get down to business.

“So, Sunshine, what’s the deal at work?”

Justin leant back a little in his chair and looked at him. He considered. Here he was sitting with the hottest guy he’d seen in a long, long while. But the guy was a total predator and was likely to be out of the door as soon as they’d fucked. What was the point in any damned conversation with him? It was just going to slow things up. Making a decision, he abruptly tossed back his drink and stood.

“Let’s go,” he said.

Brian, not often caught by surprise, blinked at him. Justin stared down at him.

“Look, I came here to find a hot guy to fuck. If you’re not interested, I’ll find someone else.” He angled his hips to make his groin more prominent and looked down at Brian through lowered lids. “But I had the impression you were interested.”

Brian’s eyes gleamed. A man after his own heart. One who went for what he wanted with no bullshit. He stood.

“Let’s go then. Your place or mine?”

“Mine.” Justin said nothing more. At least this way, when they’d finished, he wouldn’t have to find his way home.

“Where are you parked?”

Justin shook his head. “Don’t have a car.”

Brian nodded and they walked out together, brushing against each other in the doorway, which stoked the arousal in both of them. As they walked down the street, Brian had to fight back the urge to drape his arm around the blond and pull him close. He fought against it all the way to his car, but when they got there, he decided he was due a taste. Taking Justin’s shoulder, he spun him round and backed him up against the wall nearby. He saw Justin’s head come up, and liked the way the blond refused to be intimidated. For a moment he looked down into the blue eyes, and then, sliding his tongue once over his own lips, he lowered his head and touched his mouth to Justin’s.

At the spark which jolted through him when their lips met, he jerked back a little, only to have Justin’s hand clamp round the back of his head and drag him back within reach again. He found his own mouth opening unresistingly as Justin’s insistent tongue demanded entrance, completely overwhelmed by the taste and feel of the blond.

By the time the kiss ended, it was certain that neither of them felt much like talking.

In silence, they got into the car, and the only words exchanged during the drive were Justin’s quiet directions.

By the time they’d climbed the stairway to Justin’s apartment, Brian was regretting that he hadn’t just done what he’d normally do, and take it for granted that they’d play on his turf. The building wasn’t exactly in the best part of town, and wasn’t exactly clean. But he was pleasantly surprised by the apartment itself. Not that he had much time to take notice, because as soon as Justin had locked the door behind them, he was pushing Brian up against it, and once more attacking his mouth.

This time, though, Justin’s hands were also busy, fumbling at the buttons on the taller man’s jeans. He was surprising himself by how eager he was to get his first touch of Brian’s cock, but when he finally slid his hand inside and wrapped his fingers round it, he decided with a throaty laugh that it had been worth the wait. It thickened in his fist as he stroked it skillfully, and he gave a little moan of pleasure at the thought of what was to come.

The moan did it for Brian. He’d been a little taken aback by Justin’s eagerness, having pegged him as more of the passive sort who needed coaxing. The laugh, and the feel of the man’s hand on his cock had escalated his arousal and the moan galvanized him to take control. His own hands forced their way down the back of Justin’s pants and he cupped them round the satisfyingly full buttocks, both squeezing and parting them and at the same time lifting the smaller man slightly off his feet.

Again Justin moaned and it drove Brian half crazy.

He tore his hands out of Justin’s pants and, undid them, pulling them down roughly. Then, fumbling one handed in his pockets for lube and a condom, he used the other to spin Justin round and push him against the door. To his pleased surprise, Justin responded, arching his back, pushing his buttocks eagerly towards Brian and impaling himself on Brian’s searching fingers. The deep grunt he gave when they brushed his prostate urged Brian on even faster, and he pulled them out roughly and replaced them quickly with his cock.

Justin gave a gutteral groan and then a half scream of pleasure as Brian began ramming into him. Brian felt the blond thrusting back against him and reached round to clasp Justin’s cock, determined as a matter of pride, to get Justin off before he came himself. He was surprised by the thickness and weight of what he found in his hand and bit hard at the back of Justin’s neck to show his appreciation.

Once more Justin moaned and Brian felt that lovely thick cock jerk in his hand just as his own orgasm spilled him over the edge.

***

Justin leant his forehead against the door, conscious of his own breathing and the heavy weight of Brian, panting against his back. He fought to get himself together. He’d been right about one thing at least, the man was a fantastic fuck. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d shot so hard. It was just a pity that it had to be with someone who was a total asshole and also the man of his dreams. Fucking figured!

Taking a deep breath, Justin raised his arms and pushed himself, and Brian, upright.

He expected the man to pull out, pull away, get dressed and leave. He wasn’t prepared for those perfect lips nuzzling at his neck, and those long arms wrapping themselves more firmly round him.

He had to get control of this. One quick fuck was one thing, but the longer Brian stayed around the harder it was going to be to see him leave. And Justin knew he’d be leaving, gone by morning at the latest. He turned in Brian’s arms to find the man looking down at him with a slightly bemused grin. As he stood summoning up the strength to move out of the arms that he just wanted to hold him, Brian gave a soft laugh and, cupping Justin’s face in one hand, began mouthing gently at his lips.

This was nothing like the kisses they’d shared earlier. This was soft and sensuous and altogether enticing. Justin could no more pull away than he could have flown to the moon. He surrendered himself to the pleasure, resigning himself to the pain he knew would follow.

Brian felt the younger man become pliant in his arms and his body responded instantly. He deepened the kiss and began stroking in feather light touched over Justin’s belly, down towards his cock, his own hardening again at the pleasure that touching Justin, kissing Justin, was bringing.

Eventually, when they were both once more panting with need, he pulled back a little. “Where’s the fucking bedroom?” he growled.

Justin knew this was where he should draw back, but he couldn’t, he wouldn’t. He was going to have this one night of fantastic sex with the most beautiful man he’d ever seen and damned if he was going to regret it in the morning.

With a sudden smile, that almost dazzled Brian, he stepped away, kicked off his pants, and, with one saucy look over his shoulder, led Brian down the small hallway to a warm inviting room furnished in deep greens and blues and crimsons, against which dark colors Justin glowed like the jewel Brian felt him to be.

Justin pulled off his shirt and lay back on the bed. He propped himself up on his elbows and raised one knee; then as Brian watched, allowed it to fall sideways invitingly. Brian took a deep breath at the sheer sexuality of the man, and took off his own shirt slowly, his eyes never leaving Justin’s body.

Justin licked his lips in appreciation as Brian, naked now, stalked towards him.

This time the sex was deep and slow. They took their time, exploring each others’ bodies thoroughly with hands and mouths and tongues before joining once more, rocking together in a rhythm that speeded up and slowed again, driven by some internal tide that they both understood without thought. The end, though, was frantic and urgent and even more earth-shattering than the first time.

Justin lay, afterwards, fighting the urge to pillow his head on Brian’s surprisingly broad chest, and knowing that no other man was ever going to satisfy him the way this one could.

Strangely, he felt at peace with that knowledge.

It had happened. He’d met the man he wanted, the one he would always want, and he’d given himself to the moment. If the man didn’t want him back after this one night together, there wasn’t anything he could do about that. All he could do was be himself, and be true to how he felt. He turned towards Brian, ready to offer the use of his shower, and found to his shock that Brian had already fallen asleep.

With a slight laugh, Justin turned onto his side away from Brian and made himself comfortable. Within minutes he also was asleep.

***

He woke early and lay for a few precious minutes watching Brian sleep. Even tousled and sleep washed, Brian was beautiful. Justin wished that he could get to his sketch book without waking him, but doubted he could do it. No matter. Brian’s face, his body, his touch, were engraved on his memory. He wasn’t likely to forget. With a little sigh, he leant over and shook the man’s shoulder.

“Brian! Brian!” he called softly.

Brian woke with a start, realizing immediately that he wasn’t in his own bed, and instantly on the defensive.

“What the fuck? Who the fuck are you?”

Justin regarded him steadily, refusing to let the man’s bullshit get to him.

“It’s nearly six. I wasn’t sure what time you needed to be at work.”

Brian sat up and shrugged. “When I get there. But I should get going.”

“Sure,” Justin responded getting out of bed. “The bathroom’s through there if you want to take a shower first.”

He got up and went in himself to take a piss. He washed his hands and splashed water on his face, then came out, wrapped now in a wine colored robe, and went down to the kitchen. If he was going to deal with this day, he needed coffee. He tried to force his mind away from Brian and onto the problems that faced him at work.

Once more sheer perversity made Brian decide that if the blond was so ready to be rid of him, he might as well at least stay around for coffee. A shower sounded like a good idea, though. But not on his own.

He wandered out in the direction Justin had taken, naked and semi-erect, and found him in the kitchen, turning on the coffee maker.

“You got a clean towel?” Brian asked, scratching his hip, and drawing Justin’s attention to the swell of his cock.

Justin pursed his lips and stared at him for a moment, working out what was going on and what to do about it. Then he shrugged. “Sure,” he responded, and brushed past Brian to walk back to the bathroom. He dragged a thick towel out of the linen closet and handed it to Brian, who made sure their fingers brushed as he took it.

“Want to share?” he invited.

“I’ve got my own towel,” Justin said calmly.

Brian just grinned, and Justin gave in to Brian’s desires and his own and moved to turn on the shower. By the time he’d got the temperature right and taken off his robe, Brian had taken a quick piss and was ready to join him.

They spent some time soaping each other’s bodies and making out in quick little nips and licks and sucks at each other’s lips. Then, suddenly, slightly to Justin’s surprise, Brian dropped to his knees and, in one smooth swallow, deep-throated him.

Justin found himself almost instantly rock hard and the blow job that followed left him stunned and drained. He’d never felt anything like the feel of Brian’s mouth on his cock. He’d been with men who had seemed to know what they were doing, but he’d experienced nothing like this.

His hands tangled in the wet silk of Brian’s hair and he gave himself over to sheer pleasure.

When Brian at last stood, and, dragging Justin into his arms, thrust his tongue deep into Justin’s mouth and let him taste himself on Brian’s tongue, Justin felt that his legs might never hold him up again. He let them collapse under him and allowed himself to slide down Brian’s body to the floor. Then he licked his lips, contemplated the long, thick, beautiful column of Brian’s cock and set about returning the favor, trying out some of the things Brian had just taught him.

He heard Brian chuckle, and then heard him moan softly, and smiled as he gave himself over to the immensity of Brian’s taste and smell and the bumpy-silk feel of his cock on Justin’s tongue.

After Brian had come, Justin stood, and, washing himself quickly once more, stepped out of the shower and shrugged himself into his robe. Brian followed wordlessly, wrapping the towel around his waist.

“You should get dressed,” Justin commented. “It’s cold in here. The heating’s never right.”

Brian grinned. “It’s fine, Sunshine. I’ve got you to keep me warm.”

He tried to tug Justin into his arms, but the other man avoided him and walked out to the kitchen. Brian followed, a little pissed.

He was about to say something when Justin smiled at him. “Coffee?”

“Yeah, sure,” Brian responded, a little wrong-footed. “Ah, I think you’re right. I’ll just pull on some clothes.”

“Okay. It’ll be waiting.”

Brian went back to the bedroom and dressed quickly. He should just fucking leave. Well, he was going to leave anyway. House rules. Never did anyone twice. But …

He glanced around to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything and became aware for the first time of the artwork on the walls.

Fuck! This kid had talent. What the hell was he doing working for Kauffman’s? Brian wondered if he’d considered a career in advertising. He’d certainly be welcome in Brian’s team any day, if he could produce to order.

Maybe he couldn’t though. Maybe he was one of those arty types who put their soul into their fucking work and wouldn’t soil it with actually using it to make money selling something. Well, if he had that attitude, fuck him!

Brian caught himself on that thought. What the fuck was going on in his head? The last thing he needed was some discarded trick working for him. Especially now, when he was trying to get his agency off the ground; a slow and painful process. He sighed and went into the kitchen, intending to shrug off the coffee and just leave.

He found Justin sitting head in hands at the table, staring down at the open page of a newspaper.

From the expression on his face, Brian guessed he wasn’t liking what he saw.

Intrigued, despite himself, he took a peek over Justin’s shoulder and saw a full page ad for something called “Winter Wonderland”. Suppressing a shudder, and the hope that his son wouldn’t see it, he took another look at Justin. Damned if the kid didn’t look as if he was about to cry.

Brian picked up the cup of coffee from the counter and sat down. “That’s the work stuff, I gather,” he said, taking a sip of coffee then nodding at the paper. Justin nodded, pulling a face and standing up.

“Sorry,” he said, “but I’ve got to motor. The shit is really going to hit the air rotation device over this.”

“Bit of competition, huh?”

“You could say that.”

Brian scratched his head and read the ad as Justin rinsed his mug. While not actually saying it in so many words, the copy implied in every syllable that the Winter Wonderland Santa was the only real, true Santa and all others were fakes.

For some reason, that rubbed Brian the wrong way.

He remembered how animated, how happy Gus had been talking to the Snowland Santa, and was pissed off to think that if Gus could read, this ad would be trying to make him feel that he’d been conned and cheated.

“Fucking assholes!” he muttered.

“Tell me about it,” Justin sighed. “And somehow I’ve got to come up with a way to counter that with practically no budget and no fucking idea how to do it even if I had.”

“You’ve got to come up with a way?” Brian asked.

Justin surrendered to the need for coffee and the need to talk to someone, anyone, about this. Maybe by just verbalizing the problem, he might suddenly see a solution. Either way, if he couldn’t come up with any brilliant ideas, then just getting to work early wasn’t going to save the situation. He poured himself another cup of coffee and sat back down.

“It’s my project,” he explained. “Kauffman’s were looking for something to give them the edge in Christmas sales, and they liked my ideas so they hired me. And it’s all been going great. But these last few days before Christmas are when the really big bucks come in and …” he waved a hand helplessly at the paper.

Brian took another long swig of coffee, and leant back, deep in thought.

“So you’ve got no advertising budget?”

Justin shook his head. Brian finished his coffee and stood up to get another.

“And no brilliant strategy?”

Sadly, Justin shook his head again, and was horrified to feel his eyes filling with tears. Far from helping him, talking about the problem, seeing the immensity of it and realizing how unlikely it was that there was a way to fix things, made him feel simply overwhelmed.

Brian sat down, still thinking. Then he nodded slowly.

“I think you’ve been coming at it from the wrong angle,” he said.

“What?”

“Look, I work in advertising. I run my own agency.”

Justin’s eyes widened.

“The first thing you have to do is to create a demand. Then you convince people that you’re the one who can satisfy it.”

“Well, we tried to do that. We tried to create a place where …”

“Yeah, you got a start, but you didn’t go all the way.” He pointed at the paper. “And these pricks have gone totally off on a tangent. Lucky for you.”

Justin stared at him. Brian shook his head as if what he were saying should be obvious.

“Look … the demand … it’s not for Snowland or Wonderland or even for fucking Santa … the demand is for the belief, the faith, the capacity to feel the belief that you felt as a kid, and to have your kid feel it. That’s what the demand is for.”

Justin nodded. That fitted with what he’d instinctively been trying to do with Snowland.

“So what you have to do is to put the emphasis on the belief,” Brian insisted. “Not this shit. This is just self-destructive cos the kids wind up not believing in Santa at all. And that’s for shit. Little kids have a right to believe in something; they’re going to wise up eventually, but for a little while …”

His voice trailed off and he looked sad for a moment. Justin stared at him, picturing the man who just the day before had told his son that none of the Santas were real. Where had that guy gone? Who was this one? He felt totally confused by Brian, and completely captivated by him at the same time. He wanted to stroke his hair and kiss away that look of sadness, and keep right on kissing him till it gave up and fled forever.

Brian’s hand hitting the table brought him back to the present.

“Hello?” Brian sniped. “Are you with us? Just trying to save your ass here?”

Justin flushed. “Sorry,” he gulped, and took a deep centering breath. “So, what you’re telling me is that we need to create a belief in Santa in general, not in our Santa in particular.”

“You need to create a demand for a belief in Santa in general,” Brian re-stated.

Justin scratched his head. “So how do I do that?”

“You make people know they’re missing something. You hint at what it is. Then you let them in on what it is. Then you leave it to them to figure out where to go to get it. Ninety nine times out of a hundred they’ll go to the place that let them see what it was they were missing in the first place.”

Justin nodded slowly. It was getting close to seven.

“The windows,” he said.

Brian frowned in concentration. “You can get the windows?”

Justin nodded. “But I don’t have time to get any …,” his voice broke off.

“Sheets,” he said. “White sheets. That’s all for today. Just white sheets with ‘Do you believe?’ on them. In red. Scarlet.”

Brian grinned at him appreciatively, delighting in the quick mind that leapt on his idea and immediately started to work out ways to use it.

“And tomorrow?” he asked.

Justin grinned and half-threw his coffee cup into the sink.

“I’ll worry about that when I’ve got the sheets up,” he said. “I’ve only got an hour.”

Brian nodded. “You need a lift?”

Justin breathed a thankful sigh. “That’d be great,” he answered, heading for the bedroom. It took him only a couple of minutes to pull on some clothes and then they were on their way.

As Brian drove through the empty streets, Justin turned to him. “Brian, I can’t tell you how much …” he stopped and took a breath. “If I had any advertising budget at all, I’d be knocking on your doorstep with the whole of it. You know that, right?”

Brian’s mouth twisted into the now-familiar sardonic grin. “Tell you what, Sunshine. I’ll make you a bargain.”

Justin eyed him skeptically. Brian’s grin twisted even more.

“You and I work on this little project together, and if it pays off, and we don’t wind up killing each other, then when Christmas is over, you consider bailing on Kauffman’s and coming to work for me.”

Justin gasped. That was so not what he’d been expecting.

“Wh .. what do you mean?”

“Work, you know. That thing you do twelve hours a day and get paid for eight.”

“Doing what?” To his horror, Justin heard his voice squeak.

“Putting out for all my clients,” Brian snarked. “Fuck what do you think? I saw that damned stuff on the walls you know. You’ve obviously got talent and some sort of brain, which is more than anyone I’ve managed to find so far to do my fucking artwork. Are you interested or not?”

Justin stared out the window, unable even to look at Brian. “Fuck, yes,” he breathed.

And ‘fuck no!’ some part of his brain was saying. ‘Dream job. Dream guy. Not a good combination, Taylor,’ it was trying to lecture him. Justin refused to listen. He’d deal with his feelings for Brian as and when he had to. It’s not as if he had any illusions that Brian was even interested in another fuck now that he’d had him. This was a purely professional offer and one that was simply too good to turn down.

“Alright, then,” Brian said, pulling into the parking lot. “Let’s get busy!”

The next hour was chaos. Justin had to have the screens pulled down on all the windows, which took some time - partly because everyone questioned his authority to do it. Once that was done, he had to commandeer all the king-sized white sheets he could find and get a team of the window dressers tacking them together so that they would cover each and every window completely.

Then he sat and sketched out how he wanted the wording to look, taking some time to get just the right style of lettering. Then he had to work out how big the lettering needed to be for each of the different sized windows.

Brian was around while all this was going on, talking animatedly on the phone. He seemed to make at least a dozen calls.

In the middle of it all, Justin’s boss arrived, and he had to be sold on the idea. It took a while to warm him up to it, but the combination of Justin’s enthusiasm and Brian’s selling skills got him onside and he promised to take it up to the board and sell it to them.

Suddenly Justin became aware that there were a whole batch of people he’d never seen working on the sheets. He was on his way over to question them, when Brian called him off. “They’re sign writers,” he said simply, as if that explained everything. “They’ll do it a hell of a lot faster than you will.”

He drew Justin aside. “Now look, I’ve lined up a friend from the local TV station to come down and take a look at the windows. If she thinks it’s intriguing enough, they’ll give it some time on the lunch time news, and maybe repeat it tonight.”

Justin’s eyes went wide. “Brian that’s …”

Brian shook his head. “It’s just a start, Sunshine. We need to get this happening. I’m getting a few people to call the local radio stations and say they’ve been by Kauffman’s and ask ‘what do the signs in the window mean?’. We’ll see if we can get something going on the talkback shows.”

Justin nodded. “What about the internet? Maybe we could get some questions on the ‘what’s on in Pitts?’ sites.”

Brian beamed at him. “Not just …” he said grinning. “I’ll get someone onto it.”

“I’ve got some internet geek friends from college,” Justin said. “They’ll know how to stir up some discussion.”

Brian nodded approval. “You got any sisters?”

Justin nodded, a little sadly. “One,” he said.

“Well, get her talking to her friends. If you want gossip spread, you go for the girls and you go for the queens. Speaking of which …” He tugged out his phone again and made yet another call.

Justin got called away then to supervise the hanging of the first completed signs, and only heard, “Emmett, do you think I’d be fucking calling you if it wasn’t important …:” before he scampered off.

They didn’t make the eight o’clock deadline, but by eight-thirty, just as all the office workers were making their way past the store, all the signs were in place and at Justin’s signal, the screening blinds were all drawn up all at once and the signs were revealed.

“DO YOU BELIEVE?” the people of Pittsburgh were asked from every one of Kauffman’s windows.

Justin, feeling like he’d run a marathon, came back to his office to find Brian in conference with an attractive blond woman. He waited for a moment, and when Brian didn’t introduce him, said firmly, “I’m Justin,” and held out his hand.

“Cynthia,” she smiled, shaking it.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Brian. “Talk in your coffee break. We’ve got six weeks of work to do in the next three days. If we get it right, that will leave two clear days for the sales figures to go through the roof.”

“We get a coffee break?” Cynthia asked in a tone of astonishment.

Brian grinned at her. “Just coffee,” he said. “No food. Not till we’ve finished.”

“See what sort of a slave driver he is,” she said to Justin. “You’ve been warned.”

“Okay,” Brian said. “Warning given. Now if you can get on with that stuff, Justin and I will work on what needs to be done here.”

She nodded, and, picking up her purse, smiled at Justin. “Nice to meet you, Justin,” she said. “I hope I’ll be seeing a lot more of you.”

“Well just at the moment I’d like to see a lot less of you,” Brian snarked. She tossed her hair and walked past him, pulling an expressive face as she passed Justin in the doorway.

“I saw that!” Brian commented to her retreating back.

When she’d gone he grinned at Justin. “My assistant,” he said. “The best there is, but if you tell her that …”

“… she wouldn’t believe you’d said it,” Justin finished for him, laughing.

Brian chuckled. “Probably not,” he agreed.

He stood up. “Now that the windows are unveiled and before things take off, we need to get something to eat.”

“I thought you said ‘no food’”, Justin grinned.

Brian stuck his tongue in his cheek and looked at him for a moment. “Sunshine, sat at the table with you, remember? Saw what you demolished. I’m guessing that a couple of cups of coffee aren’t going to do it for you. Besides, we can plan while you eat. Let’s go.”

Justin flushed, but followed him happily out the door, wondering as he went how they’d gone from strangers who’d fucked to … well, to this, whatever this was, so quickly.

***

He had no opportunity to even think about it for the rest of the day.

Aside from planning out what to put in the windows tomorrow, drawing it up, and organizing a team to make it happen, Justin found himself briefing the Kauffman’s board and the PR people on the idea and what to say to the press. Because, as the day went on, interest seemed to spiral.

The first few calls to the radio stations might have been carefully seeded by Brian’s friends or contacts, but they certainly weren’t responsible for the deluge of calls that came in. The calls were heavy in the morning, but after the exposure on the midday TV news bulletin, they simply swamped switchboards at both TV and radio stations. Seemed like everyone wanted to have their say on the absence of belief in today’s society and how negatively it impacted, especially at Christmas time.

Store management’s comments on this first day were simple, and basically along the lines of “watch this space”. Meanwhile Brian and the PR people were working on what would be said tomorrow and were wording those announcements very carefully. The theme of the announcements would be that, while acknowledging Christmas as primarily a Christian festival, they would point out that the messages of hope and loving kindness that were at the heart of the Christian rejoicing, appealed to everyone. Then they’d go on to say that those things had been embodied in the secular figure of Santa Claus, who was thus a figure that all children could view with delight and take into their hearts, and that it was part of their birthright as American children to do that, and that the gross commercialization of Christmas which threatened these little ones’ ability to believe had to be challenged. Etc.

The cynic in Brian loved it that the instruments of commercialization were being used to decry it, while still benefiting from it. But hey! if it got the job done, and bought Gus even one more year of the happiness and joy Brian had seen in his face while he talked to Santa, then Brian had no qualms at all about doing whatever it took. He acknowledged to himself that this was a complete turnabout from his original stance that it was better for Gus to know the truth from the beginning than to be disillusioned later, but he simply hadn’t been able to resist the longing, and then the wonder, in Gus’ eyes. Whatever disillusionment occurred later, at least Gus would have this Christmas. And when that darker time came, well, Brian would be there for Gus in the way that Brian had longed for his father to be there for him. Jack never had. Whenever sadness and disappointment had come along, good old Jack could always be relied upon to make the pain even worse. Well, it wasn’t going to be that way for Gus. Not if he had anything to fucking do with it. He threw himself wholeheartedly into the campaign on his son’s behalf.

Part Two