A freak snowstorm seemed like the perfect bonding experience. Anyone watching Oliver and Wyatt McKinsey from a distance would have thought the two men were having a great time throwing snowballs and building a snowman. The casual observer would never guess that, as a shooting star streaks across the sky, both men wish for a way out of their failing marriage.
Fortunately for them, a disaffected, chain-smoking elf hiding from her Christmas duties decides to give them what they really want. From the last of their good intentions and a little Christmas magic, she creates Cole -- a living, breathing embodiment of what Oliver and Wyatt once loved about each other.
Can Cole’s intense feelings for both Oliver and Wyatt help reawaken a love they think is gone? Is there a place for Cole in their marriage before time runs out and the spell is broken forever?
Oliver could hear the sounds of Wyatt rummaging for his keys and running out the door as he was scampering in the other direction in search of warm clothing. He was just buttoning up a pair of his jeans he found on the closet floor when Cole spoke from somewhere just behind him.
“What are those?”
Oliver leapt in surprise and spun around. “Sorry. I didn’t know you were there.” He felt Cole’s eyes travel up his body from his tight jeans to his solid torso, lightly covered in soft brown hair. His chest was still heaving at the shock of Cole’s proximity and he watched as Cole dragged his eyes up from his sturdy pecs before locking eyes with him -- Oliver’s sparkling blue eyes that always seemed to be on the verge of telling a hilarious joke and Cole’s impossibly black eyes that looked to be staring directly into Oliver’s core. The soul-to-soul communication surprised Oliver with its intensity and he surprised himself with how alive it made him feel.
“Those are tattoos, right? I’ve never seen any.” Cole’s hand fluttered toward Oliver’s right arm before running his chilly finger from shoulder to elbow down Oliver’s heavily tattooed arm -- its natural muscles twitched beneath Cole’s searching fingers, at once avoiding the cold and craving the touch.
Oliver didn’t trust himself to talk. He stood still and watched as Cole studied his arm. The lengthy dick in his pants was harder than it had been in a long time, but his mind was recoiling at his prick’s disloyal excitement.
“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my entire life.” Cole seemed to have a hard time tearing his eyes away from the delicate pattern of black and gray images with a brilliantly contrasting sweep of deep red accents winding its way through the chiaroscuro.
Oliver’s nipples were taut buttons of desire and he was afraid he’d pass out if he couldn’t get his ragged breathing under control. He looked over Cole’s shoulder to the framed picture of himself and Wyatt he kept on his side of the bed. The two men in the picture were embracing and laughing in a happy time before anything heavy had entered their lives. The bittersweet memory did the trick. His treasonous dick softened. He took a deep breath, held it, and released the air and tension in one big exhale. “You like them?”
“Oh, very much,” Cole said. He glanced up and seemed to sense the change within Oliver and took a step back. “Sorry. Was that too much? I’ve just never ...”
Oliver chuckled and turned to find a shirt -- long sleeved if possible -- before continuing the conversation. “I’m glad you like them. I forget they’re there most of the time, really. My tattoo artist Joe is freaking amazing. It’s therapy for me, really.”
“Maybe I need therapy, then. I can’t believe you get to look at that every day of your life.”
“Trust me, you don’t need that kind of therapy. Come on, let’s get out there and see what kind of mess we’ve got on our hands.”
