Silent Night

Silent Night

The
swirling snow shifted through the lights outside the huge plate glass window. A few people idled about listlessly in the large room, but it was the sort of night most people were snug at home in their beds. A man huddled in a chair by the window, eyeing the falling snow morosely. A harsh voice cut across the silence.

“Attention Northwest passengers. Worsening weather conditions have delayed the following flights: 435 to Atlanta, 678 to Boise, 125 to Los Angeles, and 448 to Raleigh-Durham. Passengers on these flights are asked to report to the check-in gates for further information.”

“Shit,” Jonah mumbled, sliding down lower into his seat, the collar of his leather jacket effectively obscuring his vision of the falling snow. He felt dangerously close to tears.

It had been more than a week since he had been home. Usually the team caught a break as they got closer to Christmas, but this year he had volunteered for extra duty reading to homeless kids in Chicago and visiting a pediatric ward in Boston. The final stop was to have been here in Detroit, performing at a fund-raiser for a fledgling wrestling school. He hadn’t counted on being stranded.

In his youth he’d had many delusions of grandeur. He was going to be a football player, or a rock star, or maybe even a professional skateboarder. Instead he was the top star with IEW, a third-rate independent wrestling promotion that hardly caused a blip on the radar of the sports entertainment world. Jonah Bratton was the daredevil, the man who had no care for his body or well-being. He was the star because night after night people ooh’d and ahh’d over his death-defying leaps from the top rope to the hard floor below. He took chair shots to the head like they were nothing. He flipped and turned his body with the ease of a gymnast. But he was only “on” when he was in front of the crowd. Nights like this, he sank lower than low after the release of adrenaline.

As this impromptu charity tour of his wrapped up, several of the other boys on the roster had joined him at the fund-raiser. At times he could be a regular Houdini, and he’d slipped them all and gone on to the airport on his own. Sure, they’d all be heading for home tonight, it was Christmas Eve after all, but if he could avoid their grasping hands, he would. None of them were flying back to North Carolina anyway, and he didn’t want to end up under the mistletoe with any of them. Or so he thought.

The irritating sound of a cell phone behind him caused him to sit upright and prepare to move, but the sound of the voice froze him in his seat.

“Yeah. Well, looks like I’m stranded. What? Detroit.” There was a silence and then a short laugh, “Tell me about it. I don’t know. Soon, I hope.” After another brief silence, he heard a whispered “I miss you.” After a pause the phone snapped shut and the voice whispered softly, “Wish you missed me too.”

Cautiously, Jonah turned in his seat, taking in the profile of the man behind him. He looked pensive, a muscle tensing in his jaw, seemingly unaware of Jonah’s scrutiny. At last he pocketed the phone and started to stand up.

“Hey, Max,” Jonah said softly.

Max turned, a scowl marring his handsome features. He looked at Jonah, not recognizing him.

“Look,” he said in irritation. “I don’t have time to give you an autograph right now.”

Jonah sat up, his face emerging from the jacket, and he smiled. “I don’t want your autograph, Max.”

As he realized who it was, the scowl left Max’s face and he grinned. “Jonah. Jesus, son, you look like hell.”

Jonah shrugged. “You ain’t looking that good yourself,” he said.

Max chuckled and ran a hand over the stubble on his chin. “I was hoping to be halfway home by now.”

Jonah twisted around in his seat, pulling his legs up under him. “You mean to tell me that Seth likes that five o’clock shadow?”

Max shook his head ruefully. “Hell no, that’s why I always carry a razor in my bag.” He sighed and said, “Of course, lately there’s not much about me he
does
like,” so low under his breath that Jonah barely heard him.

Before he could respond, a woman dressed in a uniform from the airline approached them. She carried a clipboard and stopped next to Jonah, bending her head close to his.

“Mr. Bratton? Your flight is going to be delayed for several more hours, and most likely it won’t depart until tomorrow morning. If you’d like, we can give you access to the private lounge.”

“Tomorrow?” Jonah said, his voice rising in dismay

“What about the flight to Atlanta?” Max asked hopefully.

“All the flights are delayed.” She turned to look out the window. “With the blizzard, there’s a chance the Atlanta flight won’t depart until tomorrow as well, doesn’t show any signs of letting up unfortunately. You’ll be more comfortable in the private lounge, though.”

Jonah heaved a heavy sigh and stood. He turned to look down at Max, “Care to join me?”

Max took a deep breath and then said, “Lead the way.”

As they followed the woman down the nearly deserted airport corridor, each was silent, lost in their own thoughts. They were about the same height, but that’s where the similarities ended. Jonah looked like he could be a rock star: long hair, painted nails, a tattoo wrapping around his neck. His jeans were torn at the knees and frayed at the cuffs. His eyes were the most intense green. Max, on the other hand, had closely cropped hair and was dressed in slacks and a heavy blazer. Aside from the unshaven cheeks, he looked like he could be a businessman. His eyes were a soft brown.

The lounge was spacious, with a couch, chair, and a wet bar in one corner. The woman promised them that the door would remain locked and that she’d call them if there were any changes in the flights.

After she left, Jonah reclined back in a large chair, a shot of Jack Daniels balanced on his chest, socked feet propped on the low table in front of him. Max made himself comfortable on the couch and nursed a vodka tonic. They stared out the window at the swirling snow until at last Max broke the silence.

“Damn, that tastes good. Been weeks since I had a drink.” The ice rattled against the side of the glass as he lowered it to the table next to him.

Jonah gazed at him through narrowed eyes and then knocked back the shot of Jack. He reached for the bottle and poured another. “That one of the things Seth doesn’t like about you?” He settled back in the chair again.

Max grinned ruefully. “I was hoping you didn’t hear me say that.”

“I got good ears,” Jonah said, twirling the shot glass around in his fingers.

“That, me coming all the way to Detroit for this show, basically, you name it, he’s got a gripe with it.” Max leaned back and put his feet up on the table, crossing his ankles.

Jonah stared at the ceiling for a few minutes before saying, “Must be nice to have someone though, a steady relationship.” He sighed and sipped at the shot.

The ice clinked in the glass again as Max retrieved his glass and swallowed the rest of the drink. “You mean to tell me a young stud like you doesn’t ‘have’ anybody?” He chuckled as he set the empty glass on the table.

Jonah rolled his head to the side, one eyebrow rising. “Me? The whore of the locker room? Have someone?” He snorted and looked back up at the ceiling. “Hardly.”

Max frowned. “Whore of the locker room? What are you talking about?”

“Me, Max, I’m the whore. Want a quick blowjob? Go see Bratton. Quick tumble, I’m the man. Everybody knows it.” Jonah downed the rest of the shot and sat up to reach for the bottle again.

Quick as lightning, Max’s hand shot out and caught Jonah’s wrist. Gently, he pried the bottle from his hand and set it aside. “I’m not on the circuit anymore, remember? It was someone’s idea of a joke to send me to this show, or maybe someone putting me in my place. When I showed up, they all of a sudden didn’t need my comedy shtick. That’s why I cooled my heels in the back while you wowed ’em all with your death-defying stunts. I’m a washed-up has-been, Jonah Bratton, two steps away from being booted out on my ass.” He continued to hold Jonah’s wrist loosely in his hand. “But I’ve never thought of you as a whore, not by any means.”

Jonah’s eyes welled with tears, and he looked away as he pulled his hand back. “Then you must be the Lone Ranger, man.”

Max sighed in frustration, and he sat back on the couch, running a hand through his short hair. “Look, son, I was your age once. I know it’s rough.” A muscle tensed in his jaw. “Wish I was there when they tried that shit, because believe me, I’d like to set a few of them assholes straight about a few things.”

Jonah remained silent, but Max could see his shoulders shook just a little. The soft spot in his heart, the one he had to keep hidden from Seth lest he be tormented about it, grew and he could feel Jonah’s anguish. At last, Jonah raised a hand to his face, and Max watched as he struggled to regain his composure.

“They don’t want to be set straight, though,” Jonah mumbled at last. “They’ve been doing it forever.” He turned red-rimmed eyes on Max. “Wouldn’t much appreciate having their fun squelched.” He shrugged. “I can handle it though.” His cheeks quivered a little as he smiled. “I’m damn good at it, so they don’t give me a bad time. Hell, sometimes they even pay me.”

Max’s eyes closed, and he gritted his teeth. “It ain’t right, Jonah; no one should be treated that way.”

“Forget about it. I shouldn’t have said anything.” Jonah sighed and sat up straight in the chair. “I just, well,” he paused, biting on his lip for a moment, “I guess I just envy what you have with Seth.”

“It ain’t what it looks like,” Max said. Immediately after, soft color stained his cheeks and his eyes fluttered open. “I mean, fuck. I guess I shouldn’t have said anything, either. Seth’s been bitter ever since IEW let him go with best wishes on his future endeavors.”

Jonah grinned over at him ruefully. “Well, we make a lovely pair then, huh? Christmas Eve, we’re in the armpit of the world, and we’re making asses of ourselves with each other.”

Before he could stop them, the words were out of Max’s mouth. “Couldn’t think of anyone I’d rather do it with, though.”

Jonah gasped, color draining from his face.

“Shit, Jonah, I didn’t mean that like it sounded,” Max said, dropping his feet to the floor.

“How did you mean it, then?” Jonah asked quietly.

“I mean….” Max ran his hand over his hair again, looking agitated. “I like you. I always have.” He stopped, swallowed hard, and then gripped his hands together in his lap.

Very slowly, Jonah slipped out of his chair and crawled the short distance across the floor toward the couch. He knelt by Max’s feet and gazed up into his eyes.

“I like you, too, Max. Truth be told, if I envy what you have with Seth, it’s because I envy Seth.” He reached up and put his hand on Max’s knee. “You know Seth and I don’t really see eye to eye. We came on the circuit around the same time, and even though he’s a foot taller and seventy-five pounds heavier, we did the same flipping twists off the ropes. He thinks I stole the move from him, but truth is he stole it from me.” He was silent for a moment, “After a while, when I realized that you and Seth were together, that was just one more thing to make me hate him all the more.”

Very slowly, Max unclasped his hands. He reached out and cupped the side of Jonah’s face gently, his eyes speaking volumes. “Listen, son,” he said very softly, his vodka-scented breath whispering past Jonah’s cheek, “I don’t want this to look like I’m taking advantage of you.”

Jonah’s smile lit up his entire face. He rose up on his knees, his hands snaking up Max’s legs to rest on his hips. “Maybe,” he said with a wink, “I’m the one taking advantage. Ever think about it that way?”

“Shit,” Max whispered, “If that’s what you’re doing, then do it.” He sat back on the couch. “Take advantage.”

In the blink of an eye, the dynamic had shifted from two friends making the best of a bad situation to a sharing of intimacy. With nimble fingers, Jonah unbuckled Max’s belt; the sound of the zipper was loud in the quiet room, and they both shivered with anticipation. Max lifted his hips as Jonah eased his pants down. He cupped Max’s stiffening cock through the cotton fabric of his briefs, a corner of pink tongue swiping across his lips.

“Jesus,” Max moaned as the briefs slid down his hips.

“Shhh, Max,” Jonah whispered as he settled between Max’s splayed legs. He reached up and ran his hand over Max’s cock, watching it lengthen even more. “She did say the door was locked.”

Max’s breath caught in his throat as he watched Jonah’s black-tipped nails trace over the tip, then down the pulse along the underside, farther to cup and fondle his balls. One hand gripped the arm of the couch; the other reached out to tangle in Jonah’s hair.

Jonah looked up, his eyes catching and holding Max’s as he slowly rose up on his knees. He slid his hand lower, gently easing Max’s erection upright, and then he closed his mouth over the tip.

“Fuck.” The word nearly exploded from Max’s mouth, and his head rolled back on the couch.

Exerting pressure with his lips, Jonah slowly worked his way down Max’s cock until his nose nudged against Max’s belly. His tongue swirled around as he rose back up again and lightly nipped with his teeth. “Good?” he asked as he blew across the wet tip.