Reindeer Games (4 page)

tears he’d shed had dried. But the panic had melted into a cold, gnawing fear.
I have

to fix this!

He could live with Rom—and everyone else—seeing him as a bumbling,

stumbling fool. It was bad enough, but he could suffer through the embarrassment.

Maybe, by some horrible quirk of fate, that had even gotten Rom to notice him. But

Wod… No, that was unacceptable. Rom had seen him in Wod’s embrace. It didn’t

matter that it was accidental. It had happened, and everyone had confirmed what

Lon had seen. What Lon had felt. Wod’s thick, beautiful cock half full and nudging

toward Lon. Just thinking of it made Lon’s blood sing with panic again. Rom had

seen him on the verge of dropping to his knees to worship Wod’s cock and the tight

balls at its lightly furred root.
Not
that he had been about to do that, of course, but

to
Rom
it would have looked like that. Because who could not appreciate what Wod

had to offer? Lon found his mouth watering, even now, and his fingers trailed over

the shape of the dildo that was still in his jacket, a firm reminder of what he’d seen.

And that would just
not
do!

Groaning softly, he leaned back against the wall and tipped his face toward

the high, murky window far above him. Crates, boxes, and sacks of toys were neatly

stashed on rack after metal rack along the length of the cavernous building,

obscuring his corner. The moonlight fought through the window’s dust to provide

him with enough light to see himself and his surroundings in mysterious half

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19

shadows. Gleaming plastic or glass eyes from dozens of stuffed animals peered over

the lips of the crates to witness his solitude. Lon had chosen the warehouse at

random for solace, relatively sure no one knew where he was. Warehouse workers

would find him in the morning, but he wouldn’t be here that long.

He had to fix this! And it had to be now.

Decided, he nodded to himself, then stood. Tonight. It had to be tonight. He

had to let Rom know his feelings before the idea of Lon and Wod could settle in

Rom’s head. Rom and Wod were friends. If Rom thought he was with Wod, even

casually, Rom would likely stay away. That wouldn’t
do!

He slipped from the darkness and into the bright night air. The warehouses

were each three stories tall, plenty to keep the snow in even the wide alley at a

minimum. He passed by abandoned handcarts in various sizes, then reached the

openness of a larger street. Jack In The Box Road was the street where all the

warehouses were. At this time of night, only utility lights were on. Activity would

pick up in the morning when men and women came to gather the toys for the

night’s excursion. He walked for two blocks, past crusts of snow piled against the

warehouse fronts, then turned right toward the lights of Santa Claus Lane, the

main thoroughfare through the village. Foot traffic was light, and Lon was thankful

that he didn’t see anyone he knew closely so he didn’t have to stop and talk. He

headed north, toward the densely wooded hill where the workshop stood and the

elite had their cottages. Lon, as a handler, had a nice cabin at the base of the hill,

but his modest abode couldn’t compare to the split-level cottages sheltered by

soaring evergreens that lined the lane on the way to the workshop at the crest.

He dug his hands deep into his jacket pockets and kept his eyes down,

thinking furiously as he walked. Since their realm remained in winter, elves didn’t

feel cold as the same biting discomfort as humans, so he wasn’t cold. But instinct

hunched him into himself as he wrote a mental script of what he’d say to Rom. All

the words he couldn’t express in his letter had to come out verbally, and speaking

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Jet Mykles

was no more his strong point than writing. At least by practicing, he gave himself as

much of an advantage as he could.

At the base of the hill, Santa Claus Lane started to climb, the only road that

provided a straight course to the workshop at the top. Toward the middle of the hill,

small roads provided breaks in the fragrant trees and bushes, each marked with

familiar signs. There wasn’t an adult elf—nor many children—who didn’t know all

nine reindeer sigils by heart. On each neat sign, the real name of each reindeer was

etched in silver. The roads flanked Santa Claus Lane in reverse order as they were

hitched to Santa’s sleigh, with the single exception that Rudolph, the newest

addition, was first instead of last. Which meant Dasher and Dancer were toward

the top of the hill, just a small distance from the open gate of the workshop grounds.

Lon reached the final road and stared briefly at the three arrows that stood for

Dasher. He swallowed, heart in his throat as he passed through a natural arch

created by the reaching branches of trees. To call the shaded footpath a road was a

misnomer, since it was barely wide enough to accommodate one of the smaller

reindeer carts, but in a village traveled largely by foot, it hardly mattered. Dasher

Road was lined with sleighberry bushes, the sweet-tart scent of the berries laced

over the clean, fresh tang of the snow that provided a light blanket to the bushes

and ground. What looked to him like lone footsteps marked the snow at the center

of the path, raising Lon’s hopes that Rom was alone. It wasn’t unheard of. Contrary

to popular belief, most reindeer were too tired after the night’s journey to entertain

company, even of the intimate variety. If luck could just be with him for the first

time that night, Rom would be home alone and not yet asleep.

“Please?” he murmured, gazing up at the stars. “Christmas luck, be with me.”

A turn in the road brought Rom’s cottage into view. Lon’s hopes brightened at

seeing the two windows flanking the sheltered doorway lit from within. At least

Rom was home and not at an impromptu party somewhere else. Swallowing a

mountain of doubt and uncertainty, Lon forced himself those last quiet steps to the

front porch. This was it. For better or for worse, tonight he would tell Rom.

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21

The sound of a cry stopped his hand from knocking. He froze, listening. A

snowdrift fell from branches behind him. The scurry of tiny feet that probably

belonged to a squirrel or raccoon gently rattled the bushes to the left. Then there

was the cry again. Not an animal but a man. Perhaps pain but maybe…?

As though tugged by an invisible cord, Lon stepped carefully to the edge of the

porch. The railing opened at the corner onto the dark side yard. The cleared area

was empty, a half basketball court set up against the wall of the house. A spill of

brightness lit the trees beyond the house in the back. Soft music reached Lon’s ears,

along with a rhythmic creaking. Again the invisible cord pulled at him. A dozen

reasons why he should not cross the basketball court went through his brain, but

the reasons didn’t reach his feet, which soon brought him to the corner of the house.

Cautiously he wrapped the fingers of one hand around the edge of the wall,

then slowly slid his head sideways until one eye could peek. Rom had a hot tub. Lon

couldn’t see it, since it was sunk into the raised deck, but it was the only

explanation for the steam that filled the air, for the mild roar of bubbles, for the

thick moisture that coated the perfect porcelain skin of the half of Rom that rose

above the deck. It was the only explanation for the half of Tym spread out on his

belly on the deck, crying out to the trees. The angle wasn’t good, but Lon didn’t need

to be a genius to recognize the position, to know that the rhythmic thrust of Rom’s

slim hips was pushing his cock deep into Tym’s willing body. Tym grasped at the

decking, desperate groans drowning in the loud burble of bubbles. Rom reared

straight and tall behind him, back arched, drenched hair a shimmering waterfall

from the head turned up toward the twinkling stars.

Lon knew he should leave, should stop watching. Few elves minded an

audience during sex, but it was common courtesy to be invited. But he couldn’t

move. Just as Tym gripped the decking, Lon gripped the side of the house. He

pressed his body against the siding and found himself dry humping it in time with

Rom’s thrusts. The dildo dug into his belly, and he gave serious thought to taking it

out to relieve himself as he watched. But he couldn’t tear his eyes away, and he

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Jet Mykles

couldn’t figure out how to get himself or it into position without losing a precious

second of what he was viewing. So he remained, frustrated and pathetic, seeking

paltry relief from a dusty wall as Tym received the glorious pounding that he

craved.

“Sweet Christmas, Rom!” Tym cried, his voice filled with all the ache Lon felt.

Rom laughed. Tossing his head, he bent forward, draping himself over Tym’s

back. Tym arched up, twisting his neck, seeking and finding Rom’s lips for a sloppy,

desperate kiss.

Leave
. Barely suppressing a whimper, Lon forced his eyes shut. Firmly he

pushed himself into the darkness of the side yard and rolled to press his back

against the wall. He could still hear them, the rumbling bubbles, the creak of the

planking. He even imagined he heard the slap of skin to skin.
Leave
. Yes, he must.

It was wrong to watch unbidden, and it didn’t get him anywhere. He spread a palm

over the dildo at his belly, promising himself that he’d use it for relief once he got

back to his cabin. At least he could have
something
sky blue tonight.

Trying to ignore the erection that tented his loose trousers, Lon strove to walk

softly as he headed back down Dasher Road. The darkness within the trees

enveloped him, but the cool night air couldn’t assuage the heat that flamed his skin.

He needed relief in the worst way, more than ever before, and it tore at him that

anything he managed would pale in comparison to what he really needed.

He’d almost reached Santa Claus Lane when something shoved through the

bushes to his right. Lost as he was in his own misery, his reaction was delayed. He

hadn’t managed to twist toward the sound when a large body was on him. No

predators hunted the elven realm, but fear was natural when a large shape

descended and strong arms circled a body. One big hand clamped over Lon’s mouth

before he could think to scream.

“What happened? Didn’t like the show?”

Lon’s eyes opened wide, focused on the bright arch that would bring him to the

open street. So near yet so far.

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23

A second hand slid down and underneath the skirt of Lon’s jacket to cup and

press his erection. “Feels like you did,” murmured that dark molasses voice.

Lon shuddered, his eyes closing of their own accord as shards of pleasure

ripped through him. Wod. He’d know that voice anywhere.

Hot breath caressed the back of his ear just before teeth gently nipped at the

point. “Come with me, little Lon.”

A halfhearted protest gurgled in Lon’s throat, but his feeble attempt to free

himself went unnoticed as he was whisked away. Quicker than Lon would have

imagined, Wod swept him into the open moonlight of Santa Claus Lane, then back

into the darkness of the road across from Dasher’s. Lon dangled like a sack tucked

under one of Wod’s arms, with Wod’s large hand still over his mouth to keep him

silent. He didn’t think he could have cried out. By the time it occurred to him, they’d

come in sight of Wod’s house. Dancer’s cottage was similar to Dasher’s in shape and

size. But beyond Dancer’s place, there were no trees, just the open space of the

escarpment that broke down the far side of the hill to the meadows and frozen river

far below. Only one window contained a dim light, matching the same that shone

through the open front door. Lon watched in mingled horror and strange

anticipation as the door came closer, until Wod carted him through it.

He grunted when he landed in the center of a plush couch. The piece of

furniture was clearly built for humans, thus double wide, with ample room for

smaller elves. With Lon’s shoulders against the back, his feet barely dangled over

the front edge. Around him, he only got the impression of dark-colored furniture in

a cozy, dimly lit room. The scent of mulled wine hung in the air, buoyed by the

merry crackle of flames.

The front door slammed shut, and a lamp flared to life, adding its light to that