Chapter 26: 26. A Coniferous Murder

Keith

I spend most of the drive to the Christmas tree farm—that’s a thing now, I guess—staring out the car window at the Toronto streets without paying much attention to how cheerful everything looks dressed in the holiday spirit. The houses twinkle with festive decorations, and the snow glitters in the sun, turning the city into the real-life winter wonderland that so enchanted Katie and company, but who knows what lurks underneath?

The encounter with my mother keeps replaying in my mind on a loop, and I can’t help wondering if I handled it right. Guess only time will tell. At least Shiro doesn’t pressure me to talk and relive the whole thing. I’m doing that anyway, but it stays confined to the privacy of my thoughts. 

Shiro seems unflappable as usual, singing quietly along to the radio, which is spewing one Christmas song after another. Not really surprising this time of year. It’s not December’s fault that I never experienced true Christmas with presents, a loving family, and so many cookies they’d make me sick. And here comes the wallowing again with a dash of Grinch thrown in for a change. 

Shiro’s baritone fills the car, and the soft tones make my eyes float closed as I listen to his crooning about partridges in pear trees. God, he has such a beautiful singing voice. Rich and smooth like dark chocolate, it caresses my ears and slowly washes away my grief. I want to drown in the timbre, pour it down my throat, or convince Mike to incorporate a musical number into our show because not utilizing Shiro’s talent would be a travesty. 

The car pulls to a stop, jolting me awake. I haven’t even realized I drifted off, hypnotized by Shiro’s singing. Oddly, my tension leached away during the nap, but I hesitate to dig deeper and explore why Shiro’s presence affects me this way, scared of what I might discover.

“We’re here. Are you coming with me or do you want to wait in the car? I’ll leave the heating on if that’s the case.”

Shiro goes out to retrieve his clothes from the back seat, then buttons himself up and wraps a fluffy purple scarf around his neck. Seems like an overkill to me even though it’s below zero, but it suits him, regardless. Nobody should be allowed to look this sexy while wearing winter clothes, especially after he tops the whole ensemble with a grey wool hat. I follow his lead and shrug on my jacket, but my only concession to the temperature is shoving my hands deeper into my pockets.

“You bet your ass I’m coming. Wouldn’t want to miss what the fuss is about. Why isn’t a regular tree good enough? Or is it a macho thing? Do you need to prove your masculinity by cutting it down? Please tell me we’re also not hunting our dinner.” 

“I hope not. Turkeys are scary. As for the tree—Katie found this place online and thought the trees looked nice, that’s all. History taught me not to question her orders.”

“She comes off a bit intimidating.”

“A little, yeah. But you have to be strict if you hang out with Lance.” 

“So you all grew up together? Is that how the Christmas obsession started?” 

We follow a trampled path and make our way from the parking lot to a squat log cabin, which seems in bad taste. A lot like an ad for KFC inside a henhouse. A sign proclaiming we’ve reached ‘Goldengreen Farm’ in green and red letters hangs above the entrance. 

Shiro kicks the snow that’s in abundance around here, and delight softens his sharp features as he watches it glitter in the sunlight. Despite everything he’s gone through, he hasn’t lost the capacity to marvel at ordinary things. Me? Someone could plonk me in the middle of the Louvre, and I’d complain about the crowds.

“Our families used to live on the same street, and the McClains and Holts sort of adopted me. Katie has an older brother, so it’s always been me, Matt, and Lance against the world, with Katie tagging along sometimes.”

“Let me guess, it was all the time. She annoyed the hell out of you, but she was also the one who came up with every plan, and you followed without protests.”

“No, there were some protests,” Shiro laughs, “but otherwise, spot on. Anyway, I guess their parents felt sorry for the poor orphan who lived with his grandfather, but I only realized that much later. As an adult, it would feel like charity, and it would grate. As a kid? I was happy to have someone to play with. On Christmas, we’d visit each other, stay up way too late, eat chocolate, and play Dungeons and Dragons.”

“So you were geeks even back then,” I say to cover a familiar stab of longing. Despite being an orphan, Shiro celebrated the holidays the way I’d always dreamed about. 

“Even? It’s how we bonded. Back then, geeks weren’t cool, so we had to stick together.”

“Lance and Katie I can see as geeks. You, however,” I sweep my gaze over him from head to toe, lingering pointedly on the muscles bulging under his coat. 

“Thanks for the compliment? I think.”

My cheeks heat.

“You don’t look like a typical geek.”

“Not now, perhaps, but I was a gangly kid with huge ears, braces, and an unhealthy fascination with Lord of the Rings, Dragon Lance, and paladins.”

“Okay, I take it all back. You’re the geekiest of them all.” 

“We can’t be all as cool as you.” He claps over my shoulder briefly. “I’m going to check if anyone’s inside because I’m freezing.” 

“You’re such a Cali boy. This is nothing. Bathing suit weather.”

“I’d take you more seriously if your lips weren’t blue.” 

Shiro jokes, but it only draws my attention to his mouth. His beautifully carved mouth with the full lower lip I’d love to sink my teeth into. Where is a joking remark when you need it? I could use one to dissolve this tension brewing between us, but my brain remains blank, and Shiro’s staring at my lips with the intensity of a jaguar on a prowl. Then he shakes his head and wades through the snow to knock on the cabin door.

“Hello? Anybody in?”

We can hear a thud coming from inside in response to Shiro’s words, followed by more clatter and muffled curses. When the door finally creaks open, a freaking Santa appears in front of us.

“Is this for real? Pinch me.” 

Shiro takes his glove off, leans over, and pinches my cheek with his bare hand.

“Who pinches the face?”

“How do you pinch anyone through winter clothes?” 

“Wiseass,” I say, ashamed that even the brief skin-on-skin contact made my spine tingle.

The Santa doppelgänger watches us with amusement twinkling in dark eyes drowned by a bushy white beard. He’s wearing green pants, a red coat, and polished black boots, laying on the Santa resemblance a bit thick.

“Customers, how lovely.” 

It’s not exactly a surprise that his voice booms out when he talks.

“Shouldn’t the place be full of them this close to Christmas?” I ask.

“We’re too close. Most people buy their trees almost a month in advance. We get some stragglers now and then, but the main rush is over. Do I know you?” He peers at me curiously.

“Depends. Does your charming abode have a TV?”

“I know. You’re that actor, right?”

“There are a lot of actors. Which one do you mean?” 

“The snarky one from Weird Matters.” He laughs, and Shiro, the traitor, joins in but has the decency to shrug and dart his eyes away when I glare at him. 

“That’d be me, yes.” 

“We’d like to purchase a tree,” Shiro jumps in before the conversation devolves further.

“Of course. Do you have your own tools?”

“Er, no. Is that a requirement?”

“Some people prefer working with what they’re used to, but don’t worry; we have plenty of axes and saws you can choose from.”

“That’s reassuring, deep in the woods with no one around,” I say. Shiro lets out a chuckle, and a drop of warmth slides into my stomach despite the freezing weather.

“So, how does this work, exactly?” Shiro asks.

“Take a look around, pick the one you like, cut it down, and then come back here to tell me the number—they all have one. I’ll get it wrapped and loaded onto your car.”

Shiro and Santa disappear in the back for a moment to go through the axe selection, which is something I’d never expect to say. When Shiro returns, he looks oddly happy, clutching an instrument spelling coniferous murder. This whole idea of cutting your own tree sounds ridiculous, but once we’re wandering around the forest that could star in a Christmas commercial without a person in sight while the air glitters with snow crystals, I fall under the winter spell. 

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“So, how do we pick a tree? Is there a process? Did Katie give you a specific list of branch distribution and needle density?”

“No. I think she trusts me to handle this important task on my own.” Shiro’s voice is overflowing with laughter. “They all look good. It’s just nice to take a walk out here. We never get snow in California, so I guess we’re all excited about actual white Christmas.”

“Snow sounds like a fun idea until you have to spend every Sunday shoveling two feet of it from the driveway.”

“Hm yeah, when you put it like that, the sun and beaches aren’t that bad.” 

Shiro is like a shot of sunlight himself, warming me through with his presence. He’s not even doing anything special. We’re just trading anecdotes as we amble along the forest path, but it’s enough to make my heart clench with longing. Something must show on my face because Shiro’s brows knit together, and he lapses into silence.

“Okay, this one.” He slaps the trunk of the closest tree we’re passing. 

“Why?”

“Check the number. Twenty-nine. My birthday.” 

“Which month?” I ask, seized by a bout of curiosity. All that time spent on set in his company, and I’ve never learned such basic information as when Shiro’s birthday is. What color is his favorite. When he kissed someone for the first time.

“February.” 

“You were born on a Leap day?”

“Yep. I’m six and a half.” 

“Why do I get the feeling you make this joke a lot?”

“Because you know me,” he says with a smile that strangles my heart. 

“Um. Yeah. I don’t think so. Anyway, maybe don’t mention your selection process to Katie in case she doesn’t like the tree.” 

“Nah, she’ll love it. Do you want to help with the cutting?”

“I’m content to stay here and watch you sweat.”

“Enjoy the show, then.” 

Shiro shrugs off his coat, throws it over a nearby branch, grabs the axe, and starts felling the bushy fir he’s chosen. The edge bites into the wood easily, and soon, a little pile of splinters lies at Shiro’s feet while the tree tilts and cracks. Wow. Lumberjacks are not my thing, but I can’t deny the appeal as I watch Shiro’s muscles stretch and tighten under the tight thermal wear he has on. To my disappointment, the tree loses its fight too soon. After a couple more strikes, the trunk breaks, and the fir falls to the ground with a heavy thud. Shiro collects his clothes and puts them back on. 

“Well done. There’s your new profession if you don’t love acting.” 

“Lumberjack? Unfortunately, I’m physically incapable of growing a beard.” 

“That might be a good thing. It would be a shame to hide that face.” 

Clearly, my today’s goal is to make an idiot of myself, but Shiro doesn’t laugh. His eyes gleam with hunger, and the air between us sizzles like snowflakes consumed by flames.

A nervous laugh wriggles out of my throat. “We should get back,” I say, gaze trained on Shiro instead of the road, which is why I slip on a patch of hidden ice. Off-balance, I grab blindly at anything to stabilize myself, catching Shiro’s sleeve and bringing him down with me. We land in a tumble of limbs and disturbed snow. I’m on my back, with Shiro above me, his hard body pressing me further into the ground. 

“Anything broken?” he asks, and his warm breath hits my cheeks.

“Don’t think so, but my pride is a little bruised.”

“Better pride than a coccyx.” 

“Speaking from experience?” 

“That’s classified.” Shiro’s eyes crease with laughter, but he doesn’t shift to distance himself. We are so close. Ice crystals glisten on that ridiculous hat he’s wearing and sparkle on his eyelashes. His cheeks are red from the cold, but he’s smiling as though lying on the frozen ground with me rigid underneath him is better than all Christmases and Easters and possibly Thanksgivings rolled together. 

“Keith.” The cheerfulness slips away, replaced by pure molten heat for a second, but awkwardness screws up his face a moment after as he tries to reposition himself. With a jolt, I realize he’s hard, the outline of his cock apparent through the tight material of his pants, and my dick refuses to be put to shame and turns into a steel pipe with a record speed as well.

The snowflakes disturbed by our falls settle around us, and the surrounding air hisses in our ears, disrupted only by the sound of our ragged gasps.

I am exhausted to my bones. Tired of pretending I’m straight. Tired of being used by everyone for my looks, my skills, my money. Most importantly, tired of pretending I’m not attracted to Shiro. He’s the only person in my life who doesn’t expect anything from me. He’s here, patient, waiting for me to decide, ready to support me regardless of my choices. So when he pushes away to haul himself up, I grab the lapels of his coat and yank him down until our mouths crash together in a bruising kiss. 

Thanks to our experience on set, I know that Shiro tastes sweet, with an underlying tang unique to him I can never classify, but that’s as intoxicating as hard liquor. I’m familiar with the pressure of his lip, with the way he tilts his head to avoid bumping my nose, but this kiss plays out differently. Without a camera crew hovering around and commenting on our performance, we don’t have to stick to rehearsed angles, so we seize the chance to make this moment about us. 

My tongue peeks out to sweep over Shiro’s lips, and he responds by letting out a tortured sound that leaves my body aching with need. I can’t believe I’m finally kissing him with no eyes on us. It’s worth enduring the packed snow pushing against my back. With no one controlling us, we don’t have to restrain ourselves, so I do what I fantasized about only moments ago and gently graze Shiro’s bottom lip with my teeth. He inhales sharply, then lets out a lilting moan and opens for me so that I can take over and stroke into the intoxicating heat of his mouth. 

He’s much more vocal than during a shoot, and I store each soft gasp and moan dripping from him deep in my memory for the days when our shared time fades into a dream. The kiss grows hungrier with each second, and Shiro’s restraint frays along the edges until it rips open, and the possessive streak of his tongue surges deep into my mouth. Our mutual exploration turns from heated to scorching and then to frenzied, into everything I need to blot out this day. I wrap my hand around the base of Shiro’s neck to hold him close, reveling in the intimate touch, in the silken buzz of his hair against my skin. Far from trying to escape, he groans his pleasure into my mouth, and I want to swallow the sound and carry it in my throat. 

“You’re going to get hypothermia if we keep this up,” he says against my lips.

“Yeah, something’s definitely up.” 

A growl tears from him, and he’s sealing his lips over mine again, his tongue diving back in with unexpected ferocity. As we do our best to obliterate the distance between us, desire swirls around us like a thick fog. Part of me wants to stay frozen in this moment forever, but when Shiro’s hips rock over mine, my granite-hard cock voices a roaring approval, forcing me to change my mind. Private, we should move somewhere private, fast, and explore this R-rated chemistry in a warm room where our balls won’t freeze off.

“Want you,” Shiro rasps out, his mouth sliding lower to blaze a trail of kisses along my jaw. 

“So much,” he gets out through shuddering pants. When he dips further down, and his teeth skim over my sensitive throat, he pulls a broken cry out of me. I’ve never needed anything more than I need Shiro right this second. Need to feel his hot skin gliding against mine, his large body crushing me. I want him to fucking destroy me, to erase my doubts, my worries, all those gnats pricking at my mind, but I lack the ability to express the overwhelming shockwave of lust searing my veins, so the only thing I can do is continue to kiss him desperately as I rut into him.

“Everything alright, boys? I heard someone yell.” The voice from behind the trees shocks me into freezing, while Shiro reacts by springing up in one swift motion. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that in real life, only in cartoons.

“We’re fine,” he calls back. “Picked the tree. Twenty-nine over there. We were on our way to tell you, but we got, um, lost.” 

“For an actor, you’re a crappy liar,” I say, getting to my feet in a much slower fashion, struggling with the harsh return to reality. 

Shiro’s hat sits crooked on his forehead, his gaze darting around wildly. I run my hand through my hair in a vague stab at taming it, a lost cause from the beginning, and my cheeks burn from Shiro’s stubble. Yeah, nothing suspicious here. 

Discount Santa comes into view with a knowing smile twitching on his lips as he studies us standing next to each other, trying to project innocence. 

“Did you have fun picking your tree?” 

“Well, they’re trees. They just sort of loom, waiting to be cut down. Not much fun involved,” I snap.

Santa chuckles under his beard. “If you say so. You can go ahead. I’ll bring it to your car.”

We head for the exit, and when we’re sure we’re out of sight, Shiro snakes an arm around my waist and leans into me. His breath ghosts over the shell of my ear and sends a thrill rushing through my body.

“I don’t know. I think picking a Christmas tree can be a lot of fun.”

“I’d say it depends on the company.” 

Shiro stops for a moment, and his liquid gaze roams over me. 

“No argument there.”

A herd of elephant-sized butterflies erupts from my stomach into my entire body, leaving warmth everywhere they land, and I’m hit by sudden clarity. If I wasn’t in trouble before, I definitely am now.

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