Page 35 of Don't Shoot Me Santa

Aaron let out a quiet huff. “Bossy.”

Kenny smiled and folded him in tighter. Chest to back, arms locked around his waist, one leg hooked over Aaron’s hip until he’d covered every inch of him.

“Careful,” he whispered into his ear, breath warm against damp hair, “or I’ll edge your dreams too.”

Aaron snorted, but he found Kenny’s hand under the duvet and laced their fingers, guiding them to his chest, right over where his heart thundered, unguarded and real.

“As if you’re not already in my dreams.”

The silence settled after that. Not heavy, but whole. Aaron relaxed in increments, the subtle exhale of a body no longerbracing for impact. Stillness, not because the tension was gone, but because it was being held. Witnessed. Then Aaron lifted their joined hands to his lips and pressed a kiss to Kenny’s knuckles. Gentle. Thoughtful. A gesture that said everything without trying to.

Then, “Kenny?”

Kenny rubbed his lips along Aaron’s back in response, the coarse bristle of his beard dragging over delicate, pale skin. “Hmm?”

There was a pause. A recalibration.

“I…” Aaron’s voice wavered, as if he wanted to retreat before he’d even begun. “I fall in love with you more every day, and I have no fucking idea what to do with that.”

Kenny stilled as his heart jolted. Pulled taut. Swelled. It was pride, yes. Of course. A sliver of smugness, naturally. But mostly? It was aching, aching joy.

Had anyone ever said that to him before?

No. Not like that. Not with that sincerity. Thatweight. And certainly not a man like the one he held in his arms.Aaron. Who clawed at softness as if it might bite.Aaron. Who loved as though it cost him something every time. And Aaron, who bled trust in increments and still found his way back here. To this.Him.

Kenny swallowed the impulse to answer too quickly. To kiss it away. He let the words settle instead. Let them sit in the space between them.

Then, quiet and certain, he said, “Then tomorrow, I’ll give you one more reason to. And show you exactly how to hold it.”

Outside, the snow whispered against the windowpanes. Inside, the storm living beneath Aaron’s skin went quiet. And in that hush, Kenny held him. Bodies entwined. Fingers knotted. Breath shared.

The truth of them burning low and steady between the sheets: messy, complicated, and utterly inseparable.

Chapter seven

You’re A Mean One, Mr Grinch

Aaron had one foot out of the car when Kenny tugged him back. Not hard. But enough to bang his knee into the bloody glove box.

Aaron blinked. “You planning on holding me hostage?”

“I like seeing you before you disappear into mutt-world.”

“Mutt-world’s more emotionally regulated than most of those college students you claim to teach.”

Monday mornings were always madness. That morning, same. Post-bath emotional fallout, a literal crime scene playing on loop in his head, and now the joy of sleet, dog hair, and under-funded charity drama awaited. Kenny had back-to-back lessons. Aaron had to do a collection here, at some old people’s home who’d done a Christmas fundraiser for the charity, before heading into his shift at the dog shelter. And since they only had one car, he rode shotgun like a well-trained rescue and had to walk from this place to the shelter with a bag of coins in his pocket with only Chaos as his guard dog. Useless though he was. Unless the mugger who wanted a load of shingle didn’t like being licked, that was.

He still felt all weird, though. An ache in his limbs fromtoo many big feelings. Kenny would call itsoft, of course. Like that was some kind of medical condition. He called it:Still recovering from being emotionally undressed and edged to hell.

But sure. Soft.

Whatever.

Chaos barked once from the backseat, tail smacking the crate wall while outside, the December morning was breath-fog cold, biting his ears and fingertips. The sky hadn’t bothered to show up properly, sulking in a smear of grey over the hills.

“I’ll pick you up at four.” Kenny skimmed his thumb along Aaron’s jaw. Maddening. And also, addictive. “We’ll go Christmas tree hunting. Axe, boots, the whole ritual.”

Aaron rolled his eyes. “You realise they sell plastic ones in, like, every petrol station?”