Sticks, Tricks, and Dicks – Part 11 - Finale

Everyone in this story is 18+.

It was Christmas Eve, and I was headed back home, me and my boyfriend.

The porch light glowed gold through the falling snow, fat flakes drifting lazy and silent. The air tasted like chimney smoke and frozen pine when Jake and I climbed out of the Uber. Inside, the house wrapped around us the way it always had: cinnamon and orange peel simmering on the stove, the low crackle of the fireplace, Bing Crosby crooning softly from the living-room speakers, the faint clink of Mom stirring mulled wine.

Jake hovered in the foyer clutching a bottle of Blanton’s like a life raft. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, breath still fogging a little. Mom took one look at our joined hands and her whole face lit up.

“Grayson’s boyfriend,” she announced to the kitchen like she’d been practicing the sentence for months.

Dad appeared in the doorway, dish-towel over one shoulder, and sized Jake up for half a second before breaking into a huge grin. “Come here,” he said, and pulled Jake into a back-slapping hug that left Jake stunned and laughing.

Dinner was chaos in the best way: prime rib crusted with rosemary and garlic, Yorkshire puddings puffed high and golden, roasted potatoes crisp on the outside, creamy in the middle, and way too much red wine. Under the table I kept my hand on Jake’s thigh, thumb tracing the seam of his jeans every time the conversation drifted toward anything serious.

Eventually the plates were cleared, the fire was crackling low, and the tree lights were doing that slow color-fade thing Mom loves. Dad poured everyone a fresh glass of wine and leaned back in his armchair.

“So,” he said casually, “how did you two figure it out? The boyfriend thing.”

I glanced at Jake; he gave me the tiniest nod, like go ahead.

“I think I’ve honestly always known,” I said, fingers tightening around Jake’s. “But I wasn’t sure I wanted to make a big deal out of it. Being bi, maybe I’d just meet a girl and it wouldn’t feel relevant, you know? But this summer in London, talking to Uncle Chris… I don’t know. He made me realize it’s always better to just be honest. We both kinda came out to each other, actually. He was the first person I ever told. And he took it so well, I knew you two would too.”

Mom’s eyes were shining. She reached across the table and squeezed my free hand.

“You know we always love you, honey,” she said softly. “Girlfriend or boyfriend, it doesn’t matter to us. And Jake seems like such a sweetheart.” She turned to Jake with a warm smile. “Welcome to the family, sweetheart.”

Dad raised his glass. “To honesty. And to Jake, who somehow puts up with my son.”

Jake laughed, cheeks pink again. “Takes one to know one, sir.”

Mom wiped a tear and laughed. “I’m just glad you could confide in Chris. Even if he is divorcing my sister, he’ll always have a place in this family.”

Later, after first presents and pie and one too many cups of mulled wine, we finally escaped upstairs.

◆◆◆

My old room hadn’t changed: Blackhawks posters, fairy lights strung along the ceiling like constellations, the faint scent of teenage cologne still haunting the carpet. The twin bed was pushed under the window, snow tapping softly against the glass.

Jake shut the door and leaned back against it, eyes dark.

“Been thinking about getting you alone in this room since you told me the graduation-party story,” he said, voice low.

I crossed the space in two steps, hands already sliding under his sweater, palms skating over warm skin and hard muscle. “Parents downstairs,” I warned against his mouth.

“Then you better keep me quiet,” he whispered, and kissed me like he’d been starving for it.

Sweaters hit the floor. Jeans followed. The fairy lights painted gold across Jake’s chest, across the cut lines of his abs, across the thick curve of his cock when I shoved his boxer-briefs down.

I pushed him onto the bed—my childhood bed—and crawled over him, slicking my fingers fast. His ass easily opened for me, greedy and ready. I pressed in slow, watching his head fall back, throat working on a silent moan.

When I finally slid inside him it was perfect: tight heat, the soft creak of old bedsprings, snow muffling the world outside. Jake’s legs hooked over my hips, heels digging into my ass, urging me deeper.

“Fuck,” he breathed, eyes fluttering. “You’re so fucking big. My hole is permanently wrecked these days.”

I laughed into his neck, the sound shaky with how good he felt. “Good.”

I set a slow, grinding rhythm at first, savoring every drag, every clench. The fairy lights blurred as I moved faster, the headboard giving the occasional betraying thump against the wall. Jake bit down on his own forearm to stay quiet, the other hand clawing at my back.

The way he tightened around me dragged me over right after, hips stuttering as I emptied my balls deep inside him, forehead pressed to his, both of us shaking.

We stayed like that a minute, breathing hard, snow ticking against the window.

Then Jake rolled us—easy, strong—and suddenly I was on my back, fairy lights spinning overhead. He slicked himself with the mess I’d left inside him, eyes wicked.

“My turn to wreck you in your childhood bed,” he whispered, and pushed in slow.

The stretch burned perfect. He folded me nearly in half, knees to my chest, and started moving—long, deep strokes that punched the air from my lungs every time he bottomed out. The bed protested louder now; we didn’t care.

Jake leaned down, mouth against my ear. “Remember when Chris had you up against this exact wall while your parents toasted downstairs?”

The memory hit like a spark to gasoline. As he came, hard, my hole clenching around Jake until he followed with a broken groan, adding his load to my hole, where it belonged.

After, we lay tangled under the glow of the fairy lights, snow still falling soft and silent outside. Jake’s head on my chest, my fingers tracing the line of his spine.

“Miss him a little,” Jake whispered, voice sleepy.

“Me too,” I admitted. “But right now I just want this. You and me under my parents’ roof, ruining my childhood bed.”

I laughed softly. “New Year’s at Chris’s reunion, though. Nate’s gonna be there. I hope they reconnect.”

“That man could charm a sponge. Something is definitely happening.” Jake chuckled.

I grinned into his hair. “Chris is defo gonna have a very happy New Year.”

Jake lifted his head, eyes soft in the colored lights.

“Merry Christmas, Gray.”

“Merry Christmas, Midwest.”

We kissed, slow and sweet, tasting cinnamon and each other and the promise of everything still to come.

Downstairs, the fire crackled on.

Up here, the snow kept falling, and we stayed wrapped around each other like the world could wait until morning.

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That was it, for now, for Grayson and Jake. But in a little over a week, Uncle Chris’s story continues on New Year’s Eve, so stay tuned! I also want to thank the person this whole story is dedicated to. You know who you are :)

I’ll also be taking some time off next week, but I’ll of course pop in to say Merry Christmas. Also, Jingle Balls became a little longer than first intended, so there will be a couple of chapters this week too.