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Martin was lying in his hotel bed, relishing the comfort of the mattress and the warmth of the Hawaiian sun. Christmas probably shouldn’t feel like this, but so far it was turning out better than some of his more recent ones. This bed was like heaven. He was feeling daring enough to suspect that Carolyn had intentionally booked slightly nicer rooms for them as a Christmas treat, though if he ever voiced that particular suspicion to her he knew he’d be subject to her most withering of looks.
Stretching across the bed, Martin grabbed a book from his bedside table. It was one of the ones left in the back of GERTI, which was the only way Martin was able to afford reading material. Consequently, he had a rather eclectic taste in literature. Most of the books that were left behind were either crime or history novels, which he tended to like. Privately, Martin snuck all the books he found home, regardless of their topic. The number of Mills and Boon books he now owned was frankly embarrassing. He was sure Douglas knew about this particular habit, too. Whenever he saw a copy of Fifty Shades Of Grey at the airport duty free, he would offer to buy it for Martin. Mortifying did not begin to cover it.
He read for about half an hour, not really focusing on the plot, instead concentrating on basking in the sun’s rays. Eventually, he decided to start getting ready. Martin dragged himself up and groggily walked into the ensuite. Martin felt his coarse stubble, prickling his palm, and began to shave.
Martin did not hear the knock at his door; he was too busy trying not to cut himself. His natural clumsiness could cause major blood loss if he wasn’t fully concentrating. He was dragging his cheap razor across his neck when he noticed the door behind him suddenly open.
Martin jumped, before noticing the intruder was in fact Douglas. “Only me!”
“Douglas!” he cried, half his face still covered by shaving foam.
“Terribly sorry. The door was open.”
“Right…”
“I hope you didn’t hurt yourself…”
“No, I’m fine,” he replied, but no sooner had he said it than he felt something trickling down the side of his face.
“You’ve cut yourself,” Douglas said, a hint of concern in his voice. “I’ll fetch the first aid kit.”
“It’s really not a problem,” he said apologetically, pressing a hand to the small wound on his neck, but Douglas left the bathroom in the pursuit of plasters anyway. Martin stood awkwardly in a T-Shirt and his boxer shorts, all of a sudden very aware of his unkempt hair and clumsy stance.
Douglas returned with the first aid box. “Here. Dear lord, Martin, we can’t leave you alone for a minute, can we?”
Martin frowned. “I don’t see why it’s my fault,” he grumbled. “You snuck up on me!”
“Do I startle you?” Douglas murmured quietly, searching for plasters. Something in the first officer’s tone made him shiver, despite the heat.
“No,” he protested, sounding more petulant than he would have liked. “Well- Yes, I suppose you do. Did.”
“It seems that the Captain cannot make up his mind.” Douglas took a step closer to Martin, forcing him to back up against the sink. “Indecision. One of the six deadly Is, if you recall that delightful SEP course we went on a few months ago.”
“Er, yes. Quite vividly, actually.”
“You see, Martin, I think I might be suffering from a few of them.” Douglas leaned across him to grab a towel, all the while staring intently at Martin. “Impatience, that’s certainly one.”
“Oh?” Martin could feel himself beginning to flush an embarrassing shade of red. Out of embarrassment, or something else entirely? Something he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt towards a man before? Whatever reaction Douglas was evoking in him, it surely could not have been intentional, could it?
“Yes, I find myself very impatient,” Douglas said slowly, drawing out the words. He brought the towel up to Martin’s face, beginning to wipe the shaving foam away. “Very impatient indeed.”
“Hence the, um, implusive visit?” He managed in a voice that was too high pitched and squeaky to be flirty. Not that he was trying to be, of course. That was absurd.
“Oh yes,” Douglas chuckled darkly, picking up a plaster. “And as you know, Martin, ‘I know best’.”
“Is that right?” He appeared to have moved ever closer to Martin now.
“You tell me, sir.”
Oh sweet lord, Martin thought, relishing the sound of the final word. “Douglas…”
“Do you not like that, sir? Or would you prefer Captain?”
“I… I don’t mind.” He was getting embarrassingly hot under the collar now.
“You just have to tell me, you know.” Douglas applied the plaster to the side of Martin’s neck. He let his hand linger there, thumb against his jaw. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”
Before Martin could answer, a high pitched, shrieking voice pierced the air. “Get dressed you merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay, for it is Christmas Christmas Christmas Christmas Christmas day!”
Douglas sprang back from him, just before Arthur burst into the room, still wearing his pyjamas. “Morning Douglas! Morning Skip! Merry second Christmas!”
“Ah, good morning Arthur,” Douglas answered, and Martin swore he could hear a ragged edge to his normally lustrous voice. “Enjoying the festivities already, are we?”
“It’s wonderful in Hawaii, isn’t it?” he enthused. “Apparently here bread grows on trees! It’s called breadfruit! Weird, yeah?”
Martin took a deep breath. “Yeah, Arthur, really weird.”
After a long pause, Douglas spoke. “I’ll see you two later,” he started walking towards the door. “I think I need to unwind a little.” He resolutely avoided Martin’s gaze.
Arthur scratched his head when he heard the front door shut, looking almost as confused as Martin felt. “Douglas is acting all funny, isn’t he? Do you think he just misses his daughter at Christmas?”
“Yeah…” Martin thought to himself. What had just happened?
“Or his wife?”
Oh. Right. Now that made sense. “His wife…” What had her name been? Lucinda? Rebecca? No, Helena, that had been it. They were recently divorced, Douglas was grieving their marriage. Naturally he wanted… comfort. It didn’t surprise Martin that Douglas had been with men- he spoke with such experience of all things, um, sexual. No doubt he had experienced as many encounters with men as he had with women. Whereas Martin on the other hand couldn’t even think of matters pertaining to sex without going an embarrassing shade of crimson. And as for men, well, these were the first feelings of that nature he’d had for one in his entire life. So what did this mean, then? Or did it mean anything at all? Had Douglas in fact wanted him or was some feverish, quixotic dream that he’d conjured up to invigorate his somewhat dull sex life? And if so, why Douglas? Why a man?
“Skip? Are you quite alright?”
“Yes, Arthur, I’m fine,” he stammered. “I just need to finish getting ready now. I’ll meet you all downstairs in about half an hour, if that’s alright?” Arthur nodded. “Merry Christmas, Arthur.”
“Merry Christmas, Skip!” Arthur practically bounded out of the room, humming ‘Jingle Bells’ to himself as he went. He was left alone.
Martin stared at his feet, finding it hard to breathe all of a sudden. Oh God, he thought. Oh God oh God oh God. His grip on the sink loosened and he fell to his knees, chest tight and head dizzy. No no no no no. Panic attacks had plagued him as a teenager, but he hadn’t had one in quite some time. He had not envisioned spending Christmas shaking and crying against the tiled bathroom floor. Spinning, spinning, spinning out of control, and there was nothing he could do. Nothing he could say would stop this.
Please. Please. Please.
Mercifully, after a few minutes of blind panic, Martin felt the tightness in his chest begin to alleviate. Gradually, he regained strength in his limbs, and pulled himself to his feet. His eyes were red and raw from crying, his face only half shaved.
“Christ,” his voice shuddered. “Oh God.”
It took him a while to get dressed, still stumbling around his room and fastening his shirt buttons with shaking hands. Worse still was psyching himself up to go downstairs and face Douglas, who would no doubt be unaffected. Did he realise how this had shaken Martin?
True to his fears, Douglas was his usual self when Martin approached the crew of MJN air in the hotel lobby.
“Ah, Martin!” said Carolyn. “Good of you to join us.”
“Morning,” he muttered.
“C’mon Skip, let’s go find some Christmas dinner, eh?” Arthur nudged him with his elbow.
He noticed the look Carolyn was giving him, which seemed to be full of concern. He’d never seen her display much affection towards him before. Then again, he wasn’t much sure how anyone felt about him anymore.
Douglas coughed. “I need to eat and drink and be merry, as God intended. Coming, Martin?”
He could not look at Douglas, but nodded. They started towards the door, Arthur leading and Douglas slightly behind. Martin walked slowly, not wanting another awkward encounter.
“Everything alright?” Carolyn said quietly to him.
“Yes,” he lied. “Everything’s fine.”
***
That had been a year ago. Martin and Douglas never discussed what had happened in Molokai, it was too awkward, too painful and most of all too late to talk about it. So, the year passed, slowly. They spent their time in crappy airport after crappy airport, with awful customers and terrible, terrible food.
And yet, Martin was, in his mind, happy. Or something close to happy, anyway. The problem with Martin Crieff was that he’d learnt to adjust to a great deal of everyday sadness. He was capable of ignoring how awful his van job, his tiny attic flat and his personal life were. Martin bore sadness, it rarely overwhelmed him. Only those around him saw it- in his slumped shoulders, his hung head and his tired eyes. His sadness was not raw but instead like white noise, or traffic outside a window. At first it had kept him up at night, but then he adjusted to it. After a while, he wasn’t sure who he’d be without it.
Another thing that Martin didn’t notice was that he was falling in love with his First Officer. Most of the time, Douglas and he were capable of acting as colleagues. They bickered, yes, but they’d done that before the… incident. Though largely professional, Martin sometimes found himself watching Douglas. He catalogued Douglas’s different smiles- the one he had when he was trying very hard not to find Arthur’s antics endearing, that smirk he had when he was up to something devious, and very rarely the smile Martin swore he saved for him alone. It was hard to think like that, though. He saved such thoughts for late at night, when he allowed himself to remember that morning back in Molokai.
So no, Martin didn’t realise he was in love with Douglas. And he didn’t notice that Douglas was in love with him, either.
***
“Snow on the runway, bloody nightmare,” Carolyn grumbled, casting off her thick coat as she entered the cabin.
“In Reykjavik? On Christmas Eve?” said Douglas in mock disbelief. “Madness. Such freak weather conditions could not have been predicted.”
“I’m not in the mood for your attempts at wit, Douglas,” she replied sternly. “It’s minus three outside and I’ve no qualms in sending you back out to fetch Arthur. He’s gotten lost in the gift shop again, I’ll bet you.”
“Or he’s stuck to the plane again.” Martin glanced out of the window. “I don’t think I can handle a drunk Arthur again.”
“You should see him at weddings.” Carolyn’s expression was grim. “I’ve never seen dancing that violent before. At least there are no passengers to deal with.”
“They rather liven up the proceedings, though.” Douglas was smirking. “I was looking forward to a festive game of Passenger Derby.”
Martin attempted to look at Douglas disapprovingly, but it was hard when the first officer was softly smiling back at him. His chest began to ache.
“Sherry addled passengers, that’s exactly what’s missing.” Carolyn strained her ears. “I think I hear Arthur.”
Her son entered, laden with Toblerones. “Reykjavik is brilliant! They’ve got every kind of Toblerone! Look!” He gestured to the chocolates in his arms, dropping a few in the process. “They must make them here or something!”
Douglas was trying not to laugh. “Actually, Arthur, I think they’re Swiss.”
“Really? Wow! I hope we go there soon!” He dropped the chocolates onto the floor and began to rifle through the pile. “I bought you all one!” He handed Martin a purple package. “You like Fruit and Nut, right?”
“Er, yes,” Martin replied, oddly touched by the gesture. “Thank you Arthur.”
“No problem! And there’s white chocolate for Mum, and dark chocolate for you Douglas!”
The rest of the crew exchanged bemused but affectionate glances. “That’s very sweet, Arthur, thank you.” Carolyn gave him a hug.
Arthur beamed. “This is going to the best Christmas ever, I can feel it. Even better than last year.”
Martin hung his head at the memory of last Christmas. He felt Douglas’s eyes on him.
***
The rest of the flight passed without consequence, arriving in Fitton around midnight. It was now officially Christmas. Douglas left quickly, wishing them each a brief ‘Merry Christmas’ before he ventured out into the snow. Somehow, his absence only made Martin feel worse.
“I’ll be off now, Carolyn,” Martin told her. “Have a nice Christmas, both of you.”
“Skip, wait!” Arthur grabbed a lumpy, badly wrapped package from on top of one of the seats he was vacuuming beneath. “I got you a present!”
Confused, Martin took the package. “But you already got me a Toblerone.”
“I know! But this is your proper present!”
Without making a conscious decision to do so, Martin hugged the package to his chest. “I didn’t get you anything…”
“That’s alright, I don’t mind!” He looked so effortlessly, blindingly cheery that Martin began to choke up. “I just like to wrap them, to be honest.”
He laughed, but there were tears in his eyes. “Thank you so much, Arthur.”
Arthur’s smile began to falter. Clearly, even he had noticed Martin’s voice, thick with emotion. “Are you alright, Skip?”
“Martin,” Carolyn said curtly before he could attempt to answer. “A word.” He followed her into the cabin, away from Arthur’s curious gaze. The parcel was still clutched to his chest.
“Carolyn, I should be getting back, I-”
The steely look she was giving him silenced Martin. “Sit.”
Instinctively, he did so. You didn’t mess with Carolyn when she was like this. “Martin. Are you quite well?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” he gabbled. “Why?”
“You don’t have to lie to me, you know,” she murmured. “I am your employer. If you are… impaired in any way, you need to tell me.”
“I,” his voice cracked, so he cleared his throat, “I am fine.”
She paused, clearly unsure of what to say. “Douglas is worried too, you realise that?”
Martin tensed. “I doubt that.”
“Why would that be?” He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t make himself answer. Carolyn sighed. “Right, so you’re not going to tell me. That’s your prerogative, I suppose. Tell me this, then. Are you spending Christmas with your family?”
“… My parents are both dead, and Simon and Caitlin have their own families. Last time I spent Christmas with them, it was a disaster. So no. No I am not.”
Carolyn looked at him for a few moments, looking uncertain. “And you’re sure you’re alright?”
“Yes.”
Again, another long pause passed before she spoke. “Fine. You’re free to go.”
Martin rose to his feet, still clasping Arthur’s present to his chest. “Merry Christmas, Carolyn.”
“Merry Christmas, Martin.” She said softly back to him.
It took Martin around half an hour to get home. The van was close to collapse, it always suffered particularly badly in the winter. Miraculously, he managed to make it all the way home without it stalling or stuttering. Still, he knew it was becoming harder and harder for it to keep on going.
He sat down on his bed in the darkness, shrugging off his clothes and changing into his pyjamas. The room was freezing. Eventually, Martin began to tear at the wrapping paper of Arthur’s Christmas present. He felt warm, comforting softness beneath his fingers. It was woollen. Bringing it up in front of him, he saw possibly the ugliest, most revolting jumper he could imagine. It was garish neon green, interspersed with multi-coloured baubles, with a stripy red and white collar.
Martin laughed but it hurt, not sure whether he was happy or sad. He slipped the overlarge gift over his thin T-Shirt, crawled into bed, and began to weep.
***
Martin woke to the sound of someone hammering loudly on the door. Alarmed, he bolted upright. The house was empty; all the students had gone home for the holidays. “Who is that?”
“Your employer!”
“Carolyn?” Startled, Martin stumbled out of bed and ran downstairs to open the door.
Carolyn and Arthur were waiting expectantly in the doorway. Carolyn was wearing reindeer antlers, with great reluctance judging by the expression on her face. Arthur’s Santa hat was jauntily askew on his head, and he was wearing an identical jumper to the one Martin had slept in. “Skip!” Arthur cried. “You opened your present!”
He looked down at the hideous, lumpy knitwear he was wearing. “Yeah… What are you both doing here?”
“Heating’s broken at ours,” Carolyn said matter of factly. “We’re bringing Christmas here.”
“That’s insane!” he cried, but Carolyn had already barged past him.
“Hope you don’t mind. Arthur, go fetch the turkey from the car.”
Arthur obliged, whilst Martin gaped. “Carolyn, this is madness.”
“I agree. I don’t particularly fancy spending Christmas in a freezing cold house, though, so you’ll have to put up with it.”
“Here’s not much better!”
Carolyn rolled her eyes. “Look, I tried suggesting that we wait for the boiler to be fixed, but Arthur insisted that you’d be fine with it.”
Martin bit his lip. “I am fine with it, but it’s impractical. I haven’t got decorations, I haven’t got food, I’ve got nothing!”
His voice had risen. The sound of his words rang in the silence. Carolyn busied herself by looking in her bag. “We’ve got it all sorted. You have a venue, we have everything else! What’s the problem?”
“I, um,” he hesitated, before he admitted, “I don’t want to invade your Christmas.”
“If anyone’s invading, it’s us.” She smiled at him warmly. “Now come on, into the kitchen. We’re not staying in your attic, it’s far too dusty. Oh, actually,” she glanced down at him, “put some trousers on Martin, please. I don’t want to see anything unpleasant.”
He blushed fiercely and Carolyn laughed, walking to the kitchen. Martin ran upstairs and changed into new clothes (keeping the jumper, of course). When he reached the hallway again, Arthur was walking towards the kitchen, struggling with two large coolers.
“Arthur, let me help,” he took one from the steward, who grinned.
“Thanks Skip! Wow, is this where you live?” He peered around the kitchen, disorganised and chaotic, filled with the possessions of the students who lived below him.
“Sort of. I live in the attic most of the time, I only come down here when they’re all out.”
“An attic is even better!”
Carolyn opened the oven door. “Arthur! Less talking more turkey!”
“I’m not sure the oven will hold up, Carolyn. It’s quite old, the students tend to get takeaways.”
She waved away his suggestion. “Oh, it’ll be fine! If my wreck of a plane can survive this long, then this oven will be absolutely fine. Now, Arthur, to work.”
“Yes Mum!” Arthur pulled out a cookbook eagerly.
“Arthur is cooking?” Martin stared in incredulity. “You are allowing your son, the inventor of surprising rice, to cook Christmas dinner?”
“Yes, why not?” Carolyn poured water into the kettle. “You sure as hell can’t but I’ll be damned if I’m cooking on Christmas day.”
“I…” This entire situation was too surreal to be true. He remembered the after taste of many of Arthur’s ‘finest’ concoctions.
“Don’t argue, Martin. Go sit down. It’s Christmas.”
***
Christmas dinner turned out surprisingly well, in the end. It turns out that if you confine Arthur to a recipe, his cooking is not only edible but quite delicious. There were a few flourishes that he’d added for ‘variety’ that were, well, interesting (including a particularly memorable attempt to fill roast potatoes with cranberry sauce), but overall Martin could say it was one of the finest meals he’d eaten in quite some time.
“Oh God,” he groaned, clutching his stomach. “I think you broke me, Arthur.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever eaten so much in my life.” Carolyn looked at her empty plate with something close to awe. “It nearly killed me.”
“I don’t know what you’re both talking about.” Arthur said happily between mouthfuls of food. “I’ve got loads of room left.” He continued shovelling food into his mouth.
At that moment, the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” Martin managed, steadily getting to his feet. “It might be one of the students.”
It was not one of the students. It was Douglas.
“Martin.” Douglas stood in the doorway, looking bitterly cold and very concerned.
“Douglas? What are you doing here?”
“Carolyn told me you were ill.” This had to be one of the first times Martin could remember seeing Douglas looking confused. “I came to help.” Douglas glanced down at Martin’s chest. “What the hell are you wearing?”
“Douglas is here!” he heard Arthur cry, and a few moments later Arthur had arrived beside Martin in the hall. “Hi!”
Douglas looked over Arthur’s matching jumper. “Ah, that explains it.”
“Great, aren’t they?” Arthur punched Martin playfully in the arm. “We match!”
Douglas looked back at Martin, who by this point was blushing furiously and feeling sick with worry. “So you’re not ill, then?”
“No. I don’t know why Carolyn told you I was.”
Arthur seemed immune to the delicate nature of the conversation. “Our heating broke so now we’re eating Christmas dinner at Martin’s! Isn’t that brilliant?! Now you’re here, it’s like a proper MJN Christmas! Come in!”
Before he had much of a chance to protest, Douglas had been pulled by the arm into the kitchen. Martin remained frozen in his spot, inundated with dread. He’d been having such a nice time, too… Now Douglas was here, at Christmas, all sorts of feelings seemed to be renewing themselves. Awkwardness, certainly- this time last year Douglas may or may not have been making a pass at Martin, and Martin may or may not have been weak at the knees for Douglas. None of his previous romantic partners had stuck around long enough for the situation to become so fragile. But at the same time, Martin was overcome by affection for his colleague. Douglas had come to him on Christmas day with the intention of looking after him. What did that mean? Was it a sign of friendship? Or something more?
Martin was jolted out of his reverie by the sound of laughter in the other room. Angrily, he stalked into the kitchen.
“Carolyn,” Martin growled. “Can I have a word?”
“Yes, yes, of course.” She got up from her seat. “Douglas, do make yourself at home. I trust you’ll be staying?”
He looked at Martin tentatively. “If that’s alright?”
Martin hesitated, unsure, before nodding. “Of course.” Douglas gave Martin the briefest of smiles, worsening the unease that had settled in his stomach.
“Marvellous. There are plenty of leftovers if you want them, Douglas, although you’ll have to fight Arthur for them.” Carolyn walked back towards the hallway with Martin, who steered her into a backroom and shut the door so as not to be disturbed.
“Carolyn,” Martin hissed through gritted teeth, “why did you tell Douglas to come? I’m obviously not ill.”
“Are you quite sure?” Her lips quirked into a smile. “This could all be part of a feverish delirium.”
“Carolyn!”
Sighing, she shrugged. “I thought it was a shame to leave him out, seeing as we were all together.”
“He was probably with his family, Carolyn!”
“And yet, he still came.” She gave him a knowing look. “Mustn’t have been enjoying himself over there. I wonder why?”
Martin felt his face grow hot. “What do you mean?”
“We both know exactly what I mean,” she said in a low voice. “I don’t want to know what happened last year, but I know something did. Sort it out.”
He bristled. “Carolyn, with all due respect, I am a grown man and I-”
“Listen,” she interrupted. “This situation isn’t going to go away, whether you like it or not. I am, unfortunately, stuck here with you, so let me be plain. Arthur is looking forward to having a nice Christmas, and you will both give it to him. Do you understand?”
“Carolyn,” he sighed, exasperation overwhelming him. “Douglas and I-”
“I am going to count to one.”
Martin pressed two fingers against his temple. “Fine. Fine!”
“Good.”
“Come on you two!” they heard Arthur call. “We’ve got time for a film before the Queen’s speech!”
***
The film Arthur ultimately chose was called, oddly, Arthur Christmas. It struck Martin how weirdly similar the Arthur in the film and the Arthur he knew were- both loved Christmas, both were cheerily innocent and both caused a great deal of mayhem whilst trying to do good. What was most surprising was that the jumpers Martin thought Arthur had bought were in fact handmade by him to resemble the one the titular character wore.
“I learned to knit!” he said happily to Martin. “This is my favourite Christmas film ever.”
He was sat in the living room with Arthur whilst Carolyn and Douglas were making drinks. Thus far, the situation had not become any less awkward. They sat deliberately far away from one another, careful not to engage each other in conversation.
“It’s a lovely film, Arthur,” he replied, forcing a smile. He didn’t wish to ruin Arthur’s day.
“Martin?” Arthur asked. “Are you alright?”
If the question didn’t catch him off-guard, then the use of his first name rather than his customary ‘Skip’ certainly did. “I’m fine,” he said, surprised. “Why do you ask?”
“You look a bit sad, is all. Have you tried tossing an apple from hand to hand?”
Martin chuckled. “No, I haven’t. I’ll give it a go later on.”
Arthur smiled at him. “A lot of people get sad around Christmas, apparently.” He paused. “Mum does.”
Again, Martin was startled. “What? Why?”
For a moment, Arthur looked distressed. “She left Dad at Christmas.”
“… Oh. Oh Arthur, I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
“It’s alright!” His cheeriness sounded a little forced. “I still love Christmas. I just,” he shook his head, “I’m glad you’re all here. It stops her being so down.”
Martin raised his eyebrows, becoming a little suspicious. “Arthur,” he said slowly, “this morning, when your heating broke, were you the one who first realised?”
“No,” he said, attention back on the film now, “Mum told me. She told me we had to go to yours instead. I thought it was brilliant!”
“So it was her idea, then?”
“Oh yeah!”
Martin looked down at his feet, feeling warm and a little bit teary. She was pretending? For my sake?
“We come bearing hot chocolate,” Carolyn announced as she and Douglas walked back into the room. “Here.”
She held out a cup for Martin, which he took. “Thank you, Carolyn.” He tried to give her a look expressing his gratitude for what she had done, but she didn’t seem to notice. Perhaps it was better that way. Carolyn was proud, she’d hate it if she knew that he’d found her out. Smiling to himself, he continued to watch the film.
***
“Film.”
“Two words.”
“First word.”
“Two syllables.”
Arthur pointed wildly at himself.
“Arthur Christmas,” Douglas said flatly.
“How did you know?!”
“Arthur,” Martin sighed. “You can’t pick a film we just watched.”
“Why not?”
“Because we’ll guess it!”
“But that’s the point!”
***
It had been Carolyn’s suggestion to watch White Christmas, which she considered the greatest Christmas film of all time. Martin didn’t much care- he sat in hazy, bloated pleasure, having eaten too much food and having drunk too much sherry. He wasn’t sure at what point Arthur and Douglas had swapped places, all he knew was that he now found himself next to the latter. The sofas were small, and so he found himself closer to Douglas than was perhaps advisable in his tipsy state. Their legs were close together, and Martin swore he could feel heat emanating from Douglas’s person. He caught Douglas looking at him once or twice, and they exchanged long, deep glances. There was something in his eyes that seemed to burn; at least they did to Martin.
Martin saw the credits of White Christmas begin to roll, but didn’t really register it. He was busy staring at Douglas’s neck- alcohol made him reckless, which is why he tended to avoid it wherever possible. Now he felt his inhibitions leaving him, it was becoming harder and harder to stop himself touching Douglas.
Carolyn seemed to recognise this. “Right,” she said abruptly. “I think I need to go for a walk to wake me up a bit.” She looked at her son, who was half asleep beside her. “Come on, Arthur, you as well.”
“But Mum,” Arthur whined sleepily. “I’m tired.”
“Exactly. Get up.” Groaning, Arthur did so. Carolyn grabbed her coat from the hallway. “Now. I think we’ll be around an hour and a half.” She grinned at them. “You two can, er, occupy yourselves until then, can’t you?”
“I think I can manage that.” Douglas’s voice seemed even deeper than before.
“Right then. See you in a while.” There was a glint in Carolyn’s eyes that had he not been so preoccupied with Douglas he would have been embarrassed by.
As soon as Martin heard the front door shut, he turned to his colleague. “Douglas.” His voice was somewhere between a drawl and a gasp. He placed his hand on Douglas’s chest. “We need to pick up where we left off.”
Douglas grabbed Martin’s hand and pushed it down. “No, we need to talk.”
Shocked, Martin frowned. “Why?”
“Because you are drunk, Martin,” Douglas sighed. “And I will not take advantage of you.”
Martin grew indignant. “I’m not a bloody child, Douglas,” he spat. “I know what I’m doing.”
“We’ve all done things we’ve regretted whilst we’re pissed,” Douglas murmured. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“I do!” He stood up and wobbled a little on his feet. “For Christ’s sake, Douglas, it’s all I’ve been thinking about all day!”
Douglas bit his lip, hesitant. “Me too,” he admitted finally.
“Then what’s the problem?”
“The problem,” his voice cracked, suddenly full of emotion, “is that I have treated you very poorly.”
Martin didn’t know what to say to that. He sat back down beside Douglas. “How?”
He sighed again. “Last year, I- Well, it was my first Christmas since the divorce had been finalised, and I… I was feeling lonely.”
Something began to burn at the back of Martin’s throat. “That’s what I thought.”
“I came to your room and I…” he glanced at Martin, a lamenting look in his eyes, “I acted upon feelings that had been apparent to me for quite some time.”
For quite some time. Martin began to smile. “So I wasn’t some rebound shag then?”
“No!” Douglas looked insulted by the very suggestion. “Christ, no. But I took advantage of you.”
“No you didn’t.”
“But I did,” he insisted. “I tried to seduce you. And that was wrong of me. You don’t even like men, or at least you didn’t at that stage…” He put a hand on Martin’s leg. “Does that bother you?” he asked quietly.
He thought about it for a few moments. “It did,” he conceded, “but it doesn’t now. I’ve had a lot of time to think about it. I always saw myself as straight because, well, that’s just what’s expected of you. I’d never even thought about men in that way before that point. It seems I was,” he searched for the right word, “mistaken. I did want you, Douglas, desperately so.”
Douglas still looked worried. “I didn’t talk to you about it. I should have done.”
“I didn’t talk to you either,” he pointed out. “It was just too awkward. I thought…” he stopped, but the curious expression on Douglas’s face told him to carry on, “that I was just going to be another in a long line of flings. I wasn’t sure what you wanted. What you want now.”
Douglas took Martin’s hand in his. “I’ve spent the last year thinking that you wanted nothing more to do with me. I don’t just want sex. I feel something deeply, instinctively for you.” Was he saying…? “I think I love you, Captain Crieff.”
Martin laughed, tears in his eyes. “Oh you sod. You romantic bloody sod.” He grabbed a fistful of Douglas’s shirt and pulled him forward, bringing their lips together. Now he knew what he’d been missing out on for the past year. Unsurprisingly, Douglas was a pro in this area.
After a short time (shorter than Martin would have liked) they broke apart, gasping. Martin pressed his forehead to Douglas’s, panting a little. “I think I love you too.”
Douglas chuckled. “Bloody lucky Carolyn’s heating broke, eh?”
“You know as well as I do that she made the whole thing up.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” The smoothness was returning to Douglas’s voice. “As far as I’m concerned, Carolyn found you in desperate need, miraculously nursing you back to health shortly before I arrived.”
“She cares a lot, doesn’t she? She doesn’t show it, but she cares.”
“Doesn’t show it to you, maybe.” Douglas squeezed Martin’s hand. “She gave me the ‘If-you-hurt-him-I’ll-kill-you talk in the kitchen.”
“What? Really?”
“Yes. I was terrified.”
Martin tittered. “Wow…”
Douglas smiled. “Have you had a nice Christmas, Martin?”
“Yes. Yes I have.”