The snow came down in fat, relentless flakes outside Aurora Café, blanketing Main Street like a conspirator in their little scheme. Everpine’s only coffee house was a riot of refuge on December 26th: holiday stragglers huddled at scarred wooden tables, cheeks flushed from the cold, steam rising from their mugs. The air hung thick with cinnamon and dark roast, undercut by the buttery shatter of fresh pastries behind the counter. Laughter ricocheted off the rafters, a barista’s shout cutting through “Harry? Your double pumpkin cinnamon latte’s ready!”, and somewhere in the back, an espresso machine hissed like it was in on their joke.
Alex Crawford-Hayes leaned back in the booth, his curly brown hair a perpetual mess under the café’s warm Edison bulbs. At 6’0”, he wasn’t short, but next to Robert Crawford-Hayes, his husband, he always felt like it. His lithe frame, newly etched with gym-earned definition along his arms and chest, shifted under a fitted burgundy sweater that hugged the subtle bulk he’d chased to shake off that “twink death” nagging at thirty. His doe-brown eyes, framed by holiday stubble that refused to bloom into anything beard-worthy (to Robert’s eternal teasing) scanned the room with a devilish glint. The place was a goldmine: twinks nursing chais, daddies in flannel barking laughs, a cluster of out-of-towners by the window trading stories of the tree-lighting fiasco last night. And the asses! Christ, Everpine was serving them up like gingerbread men: round, firm, begging for a bite.
Robert sat across from him, all 6’2” of firefighter-forged muscle crammed into the booth like it was built for elves. His blond hair was tousled from the wind, the soft brown beard, unlike his husband’s, an actual beard, grown just for the holidays, framing a jaw that could crack walnuts. He wore a forest-green Henley that strained against his broad, golden-furred chest, sleeves shoved up to show beefy veined forearms. One tree-trunk thigh brushed Alex’s under the table, a casual anchor in the chaos, while his warm brown eyes flicked from the crowd to Alex with that signature mix of amusement and heat.
They’d tied the knot at twenty-three, young and reckless and absolutely certain, in a no-fuss courthouse ceremony that ended with a backyard barbecue and a night full of sex under the stars. Life since had been a seamless rhythm: Robert’s shifts as a firefighter captain syncing with Alex’s long hours as a newly minted nurse, their shared dreams of a cozy home and maybe a dog someday unfolding like a well-worn map. No drama, no jealousy, no stress. Just easy banter, wild adventures in bed, and a love that burned steady as Robert’s famous post-shift pancakes.
This holiday, they’d traded city chaos for Everpine, Vermont, a postcard-perfect Christmas town tucked in the Green Mountains, where twinkling lights draped every lamppost and the air hummed with carols and acceptance. Everpine wasn’t just gay-friendly; it was a haven, the kind of place where rainbow wreaths hung as naturally as pine boughs, and no one batted an eye at two husbands stealing kisses by the bonfire. Alex and Robert were having the time of their lives: mornings lost in the bustling Christmas market, haggling over hand-carved ornaments and mulled wine while Alex’s dirty jokes made vendors blush; afternoons gliding hand-in-hand on the frozen lake, Robert’s powerful legs powering them into spins that left Alex breathless and giggling. The evenings were pure magic in their rented cabin, lazy, sexy sprawls in front of a roaring fireplace, mugs of spiked cocoa steaming on the hearth as they tumbled into bed, Robert’s thick cock claiming Alex with that powerful rhythm that never failed to unravel him. Five years in, and their sex life was hotter than ever: outdoor romps in the woods, dress-up games with Robert in Alex’s nurse scrubs, dirty talk that escalated from whispers to commands. They were unbreakable, bulletproof, and Robert was about to prove just how deep that ran.
Christmas Eve had been storybook sweet: the town square’s massive tree lighting up like a thousand fireflies, carolers serenading them as they wandered back arm-in-arm. Tucked into their cabin, Robert had presented the “official” gift: a slim white-gold anklet that now encircled Alex’s ankle, cool and teasing against his skin, a perfect match for the white-gold wedding bands they’d exchanged all those years ago. It was just an appetizer. Over breakfast on Christmas morning, Robert had leaned in, his warm brown eyes locking on Alex’s with that intensity that still made Alex’s pulse stuttem. “Babe,” he’d growled, thumb tracing Alex’s wedding band, “I’ve been thinking about it. That fantasy of your, the one where you watch me wreck some eager bottom. I say we do it. Right here in Everpine.”
Alex had nearly dropped his fork, heat flooding his cheeks and lower, that long-buried thrill igniting like dry tinder. Robert, who’d always vetoed thirds as “cheapening our vows”, handing him this on a silver platter? “You mean it, Rob?” Alex had breathed, already imagining it.
“Damn right,” Robert had rumbled, pulling him onto his lap for a preview grind. “Hunt’s on. Pick your poison and I deliver.”
Which brought them to Aurora Café. It was the perfect cover: loud enough to swallow whispers, crowded enough to scout without stares. Alex and Robert nursed vanilla lattes at a corner booth, sweet, foamy indulgence in matching mugs. Alex leaned in, his face flushed from the steam and the thrill. “This place is a buffet, Rob.”
Robert chuckled, deep and rumbling, as he scanned the room, one beefy arm draped casual over the booth back. “Patience, babe. Quality over quantity.” His warm brown eyes landed on a handsome blond guy by the window: mid-twenties, lean and preppy in a cable-knit, scrolling his phone with a coy smile. Robert nodded subtly, beard twitching with amusement. “Blondie over there. Clean-cut, eager vibe. Ass looks perky enough to bounce. What say you? I could have him moaning my name by dinner time.”
Alex followed the gaze, sipping his latte with a theatrical hum, then shook his head. “Veto, babe. Cute face, sure, but that ass is flatter than mine.” He grinned, that devilish spark lighting his eyes, leaning closer so his stubble grazed Robert’s sleeve. “Need something stronger. Something to make those legs of yours quake.”
Robert barked a laugh, low and fond, squeezing Alex’s knee under the table. “Harsh crowd tonight.. alright, then, your turn.”
Alex’s scan was shameless, doe-eyes narrowing like a hawk over his mug. The café was a smorgasbord: twinks giggling in clusters, silver foxes debating eggnog ratios. Then, bingo. “There. Corner table, solo with his black coffee. Big ol’ bear, looks like he wrestles pines for fun. Fuck, bet he’s a growler in bed.” Alex waggled his brows, voice dropping to a husky tease. “You top that and I’ll jack off for days.”
Robert twisted for a peek, his deep voice rumbling into a full belly laugh that turned a few heads, but the noise swallowed it whole. The guy was a tank: shaggy beard, weathered cheeks, shoulders like boulders under his shirt. “Jesus, Alex, he looks fucking mean. Nah, pass. I’m not suicidal. Want the night to end with me alive.” He leaned in, beard brushing Alex’s ear, breath hot with vanilla and promise. “Besides, I save the rough stuff for you, babe. Your flat ass takes it like a champ.”
Alex snorted, warmth blooming in his chest, as he twisted his wedding band, the white gold warm from his skin. “Flatterer. Fine, one more...” His eyes drifted, snagging on the far end of the counter. And there… fuck.
Seated at a high-top, fingers flying over a laptop, was a vision that hit like a shot of espresso straight to the veins. The man was huge: even seated, he dwarfed the stool, towering potential radiating from his frame, taller and more massively muscled than Robert himself. His skin was smooth, rich chocolate, glowing under the café lights like polished obsidian. Bald head gleaming, a single golden diamond earring catching the twinkle of holiday strands in his ear. A creamy jumper clung to boulder shoulders and a chest that promised ridges of power, while his white pants hugged thighs that were slabs of carved meat, His bulge was bordering on obscene, a heavy promise straining the fabric, like he packed nothing less than devastation. He tapped away, focused, utterly unaware of the spark he’d just ignited across the room.
Alex’s breath hitched, latte forgotten, as heat gathered in his belly. Him. Perfect.
He nudged Robert’s boot under the table. “Babe. There. Three o’clock. Fuck, look at those legs!
Robert followed the tilt of Alex’s chin, eyes narrowing.The man was a colossus even from across the room, impossible to miss. How they not saw him before? Robert’s gaze lingered, tracing the smooth of his skin, the focused curve of his full lips as his fingers danced over the laptop keys. A predatory heat smile bloomed in Robert’s face.
“Damn,” Robert rumbled, voice dropping to that deep timbre that always sent shivers racing down Alex’s spine, “that’s what I want for Christmas.”
Alex barked a laugh. They huddled closer over their mugs, knees knocking in a teasing bump, wedding bands clinking softly like a private toast. “Approach plan?” Alex murmured, “Team tag? I soften him up with a joke, you swoop in like the hero? Or solo run, you know, divide and conquer?”
Robert hummed, thoughtful. “Together’s tempting, your mouth’s a weapon, babe. But nah... this one’s mine to crack. I’m the one burying my cock in him, after all”. His eyes sparkled with mischief, that confident firefighter energy radiating like heat.
Alex’s pulse skipped, a delicious mix of slight anxiety. What if he says no? What if he says yes? He could already picture it: Robert’s powerful frame pinning that giant against the cabin wall, thick length stretching him wide while Alex stroked himself slow. “Watch and learn, babe,” Robert murmured, then with a wink, he slid from the booth.
Alex settled back, heart hammering a funny, flirty rhythm, half-anxious knot in his gut. His stirred inside his underwear as he watched Robert weave through the crowd. Men and women alike tracked him: a twink by the pastry case flushing pink, an older gay couple exchanging smirks, eyes undressing his husband in all his glory. It was like that everywhere: Robert Crawford-Hayes, walking wet dream, drawing stares like gravity. He reached the high-top smooth as a rescue slide, one big hand landing light but firm on the man’s shoulder, enough to pull focus without startling, fingers splaying over creamy fabric like a claim. The stranger startled, frown creasing his smooth chocolate brow as he dragged his gaze up from the laptop screen, dark eyes narrowing in distraction.
Then he took Robert in.
It was instant, electric, like flipping a switch in a blackout. The frown melted into wide-eyed appraisal, lips parting on a subtle inhale as his stare raked down: the tousled blond hair, the the warm brown eyes crinkling with easy charm, all the way to the denim hug on those powerful legs. The man’s posture shifted: shoulders rolling back, golden diamond catching the light as he tilted his head, thighs flexing under the table like he was already imagining the weight of Robert on top. A appreciative smile tugged his full lips.
Gotcha.
The man’s frown didn’t stand a chance against Robert. He gestured to the empty stool beside him with a fluid wave, lips moving in what Alex could only guess was a welcoming invite, maybe something about the snow trapping them. Robert slid onto the stool without missing a beat, claiming the space like he belonged there, thigh brushing the man’s white-panted one under the high-top in a casual collision that sent a visible jolt through both, their shoulders tensing, then relaxing into it. They settled in way too close for strangers, forearms nearly glued along the counter’s edge. Alex couldn’t catch the words over the café’s roar, but the rhythm screamed introductions: Robert’s head nodding, the stranger’s full lips parting in response, gestures animated like old pals swapping war stories.
Alex watched it all unblinking, latte cooling untouched, eyes locked like a laser on the pair. Anyone glancing his way might’ve pegged him for some wide-eyed weirdo creeping on the two men, but fuck if he cared. This was his show, his fantasy unwrapping in real time, and the sight of Robert, his Robert, wedding band glinting in his hand, leaning into the stranger’s space had Alex’s body humming like Rudolph’s bright red nose. His cock was already straining rock-hard. God, if just this, thighs brushing, heads tilting closer, had him this horny, what the hell would the main event do? He would have a heart attack watching Robert railing that massive man and he couldn’t think of a better, more blissful way to go.
Robert leaned in closer, mouth forming words that had to be laced with that wicked sense of humor, something filthy, flirty, if Alex knew his husband’s playbook, and the stranger threw his head back in a rich, velvet laugh that rolled across the café like a caress, deep and resonant, hitting Alex square in the chest even from twenty feet away. It vibrated through him, syncing with the throb in his pants. Then the shake: Robert extended a hand, the stranger engulfing it in his own massive palm. And it lingered, oh fuck, way too long for polite: thumbs stroking subtle backs, eyes locked in a promise heavier than the snow outside. Alex’s breath hitched, hand fisting his mug, the white-gold band biting into his skin. Names swapped, bets placed, he figured, grin tugging despite the pulse hammering south.
Finally, Robert broke the spell, thumbing back toward the booth with a grin and the stranger’s gaze followed, landing on Alex with a slow, appreciative sweep. His lips curved blindingly bright, teeth flashing white against chocolate skin, and he lifted a hand in a wave. Alex waved back, heart slamming fierce, his free hand dropping to adjust himself discreetly under the table. Yeah, he thought, grin wide as the thrill chased away the last anxious flutter. We’re all in.
The minutes stretched. Robert and the stranger, leaning in closer, mouths moving in easy rhythm, the man’s hand gestured broad over the laptop, probably spinning some tale about his work, while Robert’s beefy arm flexed with a laugh. Thighs stayed glued under the table, shoulders brushing like magnets, the air between them thick with that flirty undercurrent Alex knew too well from their own early days. Then the phones: both men fished them out screens lighting up as thumbs flew. Numbers tapped, contacts exchanged. Robert stood after, but he lingered there, one hand on the high-top, the other hovering like he might reel Cyrus in for a taste. Cyrus mirrored it, rising halfway. Neither seemed eager to break the spell, but reality nudged, and they shook again: quicker this time, firm and businesslike.
Robert sauntered back through the crowd, glow lighting his face, the same triumphant beam he wore after reaching a summit in one of his climbing trips, invincible, smile wide enough to split the snow clouds. Alex was practically vibrating in the booth, fingers drumming the table hard enough to rattle his cooling latte. His cock throbbed insistent. Tell me, tell me, tell me. Robert dropped onto the bench next to him this time. Was Alex losing it, or did a faint trace of male cologne, something spicy, unfamiliar, not Robert’s sandalwood and vetiver, cling to his husband’s skin? It hit Alex like a spark, jealous-hot and stupid-turning-on, making Alex itch with the urge to nuzzle his husband and claim him back.
Robert snatched his latte, taking a loooong, deliberate sip, eyes locked on Alex over the rim, eyes dancing with pure sadistic joy as he stalled, savoring the squirm like it was the sweetest foreplay. Alex’s hand twitched, half-cocked for a playful punch to his hibs. “Rob…”
“Soooo,” Robert drawled finally. He nodded lazy toward the high-top, where the man had settled back to his laptop, but not before his eyes flicked up, snagging on Robert across the room with naked hunger, mouth curving like he was already fucking Alex’s husband in his mind. “Name’s Cyrus. He’s a writer, that’s what all the tapping’s about.” Alex’s gaze snapped over, locking on the man again. Cyrus. Fuck, he was gorgeous. Thirty-five, Robert said next, voice dropping conspiratorial, “and a local, born-and-bred Everpine boy”, before snapping his mouth shut with a smirk that drove Alex insane.
Alex whined for real this time, desperate, fist thumping Robert’s thigh. “Rob, I swear to fucking God, if you don’t spill...”
“So impatient...,” Robert tsked, teasing. “Told him we’re in town for the holidays, looking to make some friends, you know, someone to show us around the hidden spots.” He leaned in, breath hot with latte and lust. “He said there’s not much to see here. I said, ‘Well, you can always start with showing us your bedroom.’”
The smirk was wolfish now, all teeth and triumph, Robert’s free hand dipping under the table to squeeze Alex’s knee, higher now, teasing the seam where heat begged for more. Alex’s laugh burst out, half-groan, half-giggle.
“You told him? I mean, about...” He trailed off, gesturing vaguely between them.
“Not really,” he drawled,.”But I mean, he’s a smart guy. Writer, remember? Picking up subtext it’s his day job. Must know what a gay couple on holiday wants out of a big ol’ slab like him.” A pause, his voice dropping to absolute filth. “Well, maybe not that you only wanna watch like a little perv, stroking that big cock in the corner while I drill him... but I’m sure he gets the gist. Bedroom tour’s a helluva opener.”
Alex’s breath punched out in a half-laugh, half-groan, heat flooding his cheeks and south in equal measure. “Fuck, Rob...” He swallowed hard, hand fisting Robert’s jumper. “It’s happening, right? Really happening. Not some blue-balls tease like that time with the kayaking ‘surprise’ that was just a cooler of beer?”
Robert’s grin softened, thumb hooking under Alex’s chin to tilt it up. “Guess so, babe,” he murmured, voice thick with that forever-sure rumble, sealing it with a quick kiss. “Merry fucking Christmas.”
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