Page 20 of His Christmas Love Song

It’s closed mouthed and little off center, but it still sends chills down Ryan’s spine. Jesse is kissing him. They’re mouth to mouth, and this isn’t anything they’ve ever done before. Not together.

He’s got about a million thoughts all battling for first place in his mind but before he can choose between pushing Jesse away and asking what the fuck is going on or deepening the kiss and finding out what Jesse actually tastes like under the flavor of beer, he’s gone.

Jesse yanks himself back and stands up, leaving Ryan swaying alone on the couch.

“Okay, yeah. Sorry. Um. I’m going to go to bed,” Jesse babbles.

Wait, Ryan wants to say, but Jesse practically sprints to his room and shuts the door with a loud bang.

So much for his first kiss with the man he loves.

TEN

Jesse throws himself face up on the bed, sticks a hand down his pants and closes it around his hard cock. Even drunk, just the merest taste of Ryan has gotten him all the way there in about five seconds. He strokes himself roughly, getting frustrated after a minute. This would feel so much better if it was Ryan’s hand. Or Ryan’s mouth. Or even if Ryan just let Jesse rut against him, his warm, soft body smelling of clean laundry and his favorite body wash. Yeah, maybe Ryan would have let Jesse kiss him and rub off on him and—Jesse comes to that, spilling into his hand, his head swimming, heart hammering in his chest.

He is such an idiot. Not only does he want Ryan, physically, but he’d actually kissed him. He’d kissed his best friend. And it was a bad kiss.

Jesse’s an amazing kisser, in his humble opinion. And now Ryan probably thinks he’s dismally below average. Fuck.

Jesse has no one to blame but himself for this tragic turn of events. He’s the one who thought alcohol would make the rabbity feeling in his chest go away after spending the entire day trying not stare at Ryan’s nimble fingers on the frets of his guitar, trying not to grin at him like a lovesick fool at all of his suggestions about the album.

The thing is, Jesse has never been attracted to someone he cares about as much as he cares about Ryan. Of course he’s had warm feelings for his girlfriends and boyfriends in the past. He always likes the people he hooks up with. But he’s never had a physical relationship with someone he knows as well as Ryan. The combination of how much he already cares about his friend with this newfound awareness of him as a potential hook-up is uncharted territory and it’s fucking with Jesse’s head.

Three hours earlier, the answer had presented itself to him with such perfect clarity—alcohol. He’d realized that the root of all his problems was that he didn’t know if he actually wanted to kiss Ryan or if he only thought he wanted to kiss him. Maybe kissing Ryan would be like kissing a sibling. Maybe it would be so prosaic and underwhelming that Jesse could chalk up his recent feelings to tour-induced exhaustion and he could move on with his life with Ryan as his best friend who was objectively attractive but he didn’t want to have anything to do with sexually, thank you very much.

His plan had made so much sense when he and Ryan were sprawled on the coach, full of tacos and beer and watching one of their favorite movies. He’d simply kiss Ryan to find out if what he thought he felt for him was real or not. Simple.

Jesse is such a dumbass.

His mistake was to forget about Ryan’s mouth. His lips, specifically. They’re kind of made for kissing, so he’s not sure why he thought that actually kissing them would be a turnoff. He’d screwed up his courage to try to find out one way or the other if this was all in his head, had touched his lips to Ryan’s perfect ones, and had suffered the instantaneous head rush of having all his blood flee for parts south. The shock of how good a simple, chaste, off-center kiss felt understandably freaked him out.

Which is how he ended up in his bed, alone, frantically jerking off and consumed with regret the second his orgasm receded.

Great job, Arlyn, he chides himself. Way to make the situation fifty times worse.

Now he knows two things without a doubt. The first is that he definitely has sexual feelings for Ryan. But that’s moot, because after that shocking display in there, the second thing he is 100 percent sure of is that Ryan is never going to want to let his mouth anywhere near him again.

Jesse groans, kicks off his pants and sticky boxers and throws his comforter over his head. He hopes his future self will be able to handle the aftermath of his past self’s fuckup, because all his present self wants to do is sleep.

That night, he dreams about the land mine explosion.

It filters into his subconscious occasionally, but it’s probably been six months since the last time he can remember dreaming about it.

It’s usually a variation on a theme. He’s in the SUV. He’s watching as the vehicle in front of them suddenly leaps into the air, becoming engulfed in flames. Sometimes he’s stuck in his seat, unable to get out, unable to help the people in the flaming wreck. Sometimes the vehicle explodes before he can get to it.

Tonight is one of the worst versions of the dream. He’s able to get to the other SUV, can see Ryan beyond the glass, unmoving, bleeding from his head wound. Jesse yells and screams and tries to get the door open and he can’t. He tries everything to get to Ryan and he’s powerless. He knows time is running out, that if he can’t open the door, Ryan’s going to die. That he’ll lose him forever. He yanks at the door handle with all his might, and then Ryan’s eyes fly open, his blue irises boring into him for one second before the second explosion happens.

Jesse jerks awake, the sensations of the dream so real he pats at his arms, until he realizes he’s not on fire.

But he is alone. He squints at the clock. It’s late morning. As the nightmare recedes, the memory of last night’s pathetic display filters back in. He flops back on the bed, rubbing his eyes. He still can’t believe he was so stupid as to kiss Ryan. No preamble. No dialogue. No, “Hey Ryan, so I’ve been thinking, and I’d like to kiss you. Would you be up for it? No? That’s cool.”

More than kissing him badly, he’d kissed Ryan without asking, a detail he’d conveniently avoided thinking about last night.

He owes his friend about six different apologies before he can even start to think about telling Ryan about this newfound attraction he’s feeling.

That is, if Jesse should even say anything at all. It’s not Ryan’s fault Jesse’s suddenly lost his grip. It’s Jesse’s problem. He can deal with it on his own.

He’s uneasy, though. Maybe it’s the aftereffects of the bad dream, but he’s anxious as he takes a quick, scalding hot shower and dresses for the day in jeans and a warm flannel. Whatever he’s feeling, his number one priority is always making sure Ryan’s okay. And he only has himself to blame if Ryan’s spiraling.