“Just wake us up before you start tearing into anything,” Remy told Braden. “Promise?”
Opening one eye, Braden grinned up at his father. “Promise.”
Remy laughed. “Ah! It isn’t Christmas yet.”
“I only opened one,” Braden pointed out. “Night, Dad.”
“Night, kiddo.”
He shut the door to Braden’s room behind him, and rejoined Lane out in the main room. First, though, he checked the front door to make sure it was locked, then flicked off the light switch. The lamps by the couch turned off, but the room was still intimately lit by the fire in the hearth and the Christmas tree.
His lover was still at the end of the couch, but when Remy approached, Lane reached out and took his hand. “Come here, you,” he whispered, pulling Remy down to him.
Remy knelt on the edge of the couch as he kissed Lane. “Merry Christmas, baby,” he murmured into Lane. “I’ve been waiting for this all damn day.”