“Okay, we’re here,” Justin announced, swooping in to claim the curbside parking space just as another car pulled out. 

Brian grumbled under his breath but didn’t bother voicing his grumpiness aloud. They’d already had this discussion several times over the past month. Brian still wasn’t sure why he had to attend the fucking office holiday party. Wasn’t it enough that he had paid for the damn thing? He worked with these people upwards of fifty hours a week already, he didn’t want to spend his off hours with them too. But Cynthia had insisted, saying that the employees would revolt if not given a party, so he had relented. A little. But he’d put Justin in charge of the planning and told him he didn’t want to hear another word about the damn event until it was a fait accompli.

Which is how he ended up where he was. Justin, with help from their friend Emmett and a little input from Cynthia, had planned the whole party from start to finish. Brian had told Ted to just pay the bills and not bother him with it so the boss hadn’t even seen the expenditures. Which was why he was mildly surprised when Justin had pulled up in front of one of Brian’s favorite bars, the Monongahela Whiskey Library. He supposed that even a boring office party couldn’t be all that bad if it was being hosted at the premiere whiskey bar in Pittsburgh.

“Not bad, twat,” Brian commented dryly as he opened the passenger door of the old Jeep and got out. 

Brian’s mood wasn’t improved by the dirty slush he had to walk through on the only partially shoveled sidewalk to get from the car to the front door of the building. He was glad that he’d conceded and let Justin drive. The Corvette wasn’t really built for driving in snow; better to let the kid drive them in the hand-me-down Jeep that Brian had given him after the young artist had finally returned for good from his stint in NYC. 

“Could you please smile and at least pretend you’re having a good time?” Justin commented as he joined his frowning partner on the sidewalk.

“How long do we have to stay?” Brian asked.

“Stop,” Justin admonished. “You’re the fucking host and you’ll stay as long as your guests do. Now quit being such a grinch and buck up already.” Justin’s words were tempered by the fact that he pulled the taller man around and reached up on his tiptoes to leave a conciliatory kiss on the crushed-cranberry lips before adding, “besides, you might just have fun tonight, you know. And, if you’re a good boy, I promise to give you a special holiday treat tonight when we get home . . .”

That was enough to mollify Brian, at least for the time being, and he deigned to offer up a tepid smile before the pair entered through the main doors of the bar. 

The Monongahela Whiskey Library was located in an old brick warehouse in the Strip District. The decorators had left the unfinished brick walls and exposed wooden ceiling beams in place. The walls were lined with plain wooden shelves and old glass-fronted cases displaying almost every kind of whiskey made and few that hadn’t been made in decades. The atmosphere was cozy and warm and comfortable. The aroma of well-aged whiskey pervaded everything. It was a place where Brian immediately felt at home. 

The hostess who met them at the door immediately showed them back to the ‘Bourbon Room’ as soon as Justin announced they were with the Kinnetik party. The separate event room was decorated much the same as the main room with a few additional festive table centerpieces and other holiday adornments displayed. There was a fireplace at one end blazing away merrily. There was a large buffet table against one wall loaded with so many carb-heavy dishes that Brian feared he’d gain five pounds just by being in the vicinity of all that food. But this was offset, at least in part, by the fact that, against the other wall was a bar manned by an attractive twenty-something piece of manly eye candy. 

“Now, THIS I approve of,” Brian stated, immediately heading towards where the handsome bartender was setting up another round of drinks on the bar top for a few of Brian’s employees. 

“Hey, Boss,” Ted greeted the newcomer, raising the glass he was holding in a welcoming toast. “Merry Christmas!” The CFO turned to Justin with a smile and added, “thanks for including a non-alcoholic version for your Eggnog Tasting, Justin. Great call.”

“Of course. Gotta keep the non-drinkers and designated drivers happy too,” Justin responded. 

“Eggnog tasting?” Brian asked, looking sideways at all the frothy drinks that the handsome bartender was passing out. “That’s what you came up with?”

“Yes. That’s what I came up with,” Justin replied. “And you don’t get to say a word against it. You put ME in charge without any limitations and this is what I decided on. It’s festive and holiday-ish and you will NOT complain. Got it?”

“Fuck me,” Brian grumbled, but only quietly, so that nobody besides Justin and Ted could hear. 

“Justin!” an enthusiastic voice interrupted before Brian could test out just how much complaining he could get away with before Justin would shut him down. “It looks like your party is a success, Baby!” Emmett gushed and then proceeded to envelope the young blond in a handsy hug. 

Brian shook his head and immediately began to peel the groping hands off his blond. “Why do you always have to feel up my boyfriend the minute you see him, Honeycutt? Doesn’t Drew keep you satisfied in the bedroom?”

“Don’t call me ‘Honeycutt’, Brian,” Emmett corrected him in a much less jolly voice. “And, yes, my Drewsie is more than adequate in the bedroom. And in the hot tub. And in the living room . . .” Even Brian had to laugh as the perky party planner ticked off on his fingers all the places where his big buff ballplayer husband was adequate. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t still get excited when I see my Baby.”

Brian pulled Justin further away from the perceived threat of Em’s hugging and wrapped his own arms around the slighter-framed youth. 

“It looks like the eggnog tasting is going well,” Justin observed as a new contingent of employees moved en masse towards the bar to pick up another round of glasses. Tilting his head to the side so he could look up at his partner, he continued, “we have twelve different eggnogs for people to try and, at the end of the night, everyone gets to take home a gift basket filled with everything needed to make whichever one they decide is their favorite.”

“Much better idea than the traditional Secret Santa thing, if you ask me,” Ted intoned to nods all around. 

Even Brian had to concede that Justin had come up with a pretty decent idea. Not that he’d ever doubted his extremely creative and socially adept partner. Justin always knew what Brian liked. Now, if he’d put Emmett in charge, without supervision, they’d probably be playing some stupid, Christmas-themed, party games and singing bad holiday karaoke or something equally as lame. No, Brian could at least stomach a party centered around drinking at a classy, elegant bar.

“So, which one do you suggest we try first?” Justin asked, stepping forward and pulling Brian, who was still wrapped around him, along. “I liked the sound of the Jamaican eggnog made with Myers dark rum and coconut milk, but I’m guessing you’d prefer one of the more traditional recipes.”

“Fuck that. I’m not drinking eggnog. Do you know how many calories are in ONE glass of that shit? I’d have to diet for the next month” Brian whined.

“What did I say about the complaining . . .” Justin warned, giving the taller man a side eye as he reached out for the frothy glass the hunky bartender had just slid his way across the bar. “Be good or I’ll make you join in on the Ugly Holiday Sweater contest.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Justin took one brief sip of his eggnog, smacked his lips approvingly, then set his glass back on the bar and began to unzip the jacket he was still wearing. Spinning around so he was facing Brian, he pulled the jacket off to reveal a truly hideous gay-themed Christmas sweater that read ‘Don We Now our GAY Apparel’ on a black background, amidst a swarm of red and silver reindeer, santa faces, snowflakes, and interlinked male symbols ⚣. 

“Debbie got it for me,” Justin grinned wickedly back at a disgusted Brian. “And I told her to get one for you too.”

“You did what?” Brian demanded.

“Yep. As a contingency. And your’s is wayyyyy worse than this one, so you better not make me use it,” Justin warned, the mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes making Brian certain that the twat would definitely carry through on his threat if Brian didn’t toe the line. “Now, if you promise to be good, I’ll even go out to the main bar and get you something to drink that won’t cause you to go into carb overload. But I better not hear anymore complaining the rest of the night. Got it?”

“Yes, Dear,” Brian responded in a mocking, sing-song voice, adding a fake-innocent smile that wasn’t at all reassuring.

Justin merely shook his head in disapproval, took up his eggnog again, and headed out the door of the party room to get his man a ‘real’ drink. 

Brian took the opportunity to mingle a little, playing his role as boss and host by greeting several more of his friends and employees, shaking hands, and trying to be pleasant. Several people thanked him, profusely, for the great party as well as their generous holiday bonuses, which went a long way towards improving his mood. When Justin returned with a glass of Jim Beam Black Label, Brian actually started to relax. After a couple more rounds of the smooth Beam Black, Brian was feeling downright jolly. He finally gave in and even tried one of the damn eggnogs - one made with 12-year-old aged Irish bourbon - which was more delicious than he cared to admit, and which he savored to the last drop. So, it wasn’t really a surprise that, when Debbie and Jennifer announced they were about to start the judging for the Ugly Sweater Contest, he barely mocked the entrants at all. 

The party was really getting going when Justin came back into the room once again with another glass of Beam for Brian. Only, this time, he also brought along some new friends. Attractive new friends, at that. 

“Hey, Brian. Look what I found out in the main bar.” Justin smiled at him with a little conspiratorial wink added in. “This is Lance.” Justin indicated the slight, dirty-blond wearing bookish glasses and sporting an overly-gelled hipster do. “And this is his partner, Mick.” The other man’s darker hair, scruffy beard and deep green eyes complimented his fairer partner. “They looked bored so I invited them to come back and join us for an eggnog.” Justin grinned, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Kinney,” the blond one said, offering his hand. “Nice to see you again.”

“Oh, you two know each other?” Justin asked.

“Only in passing,” Brian reassured him; even all these years later they still played by the rule that said they never fucked anyone twice, and he wanted to make it clear that these two were still, potentially, on the menu. “Lance is one of the primary benefactors of Proud Haven. He calls me at least three or four times a year to try and rope me into attending one of their fundraisers.”

“I’m going to wear you down eventually, you know, Kinney,” Lance chuckled amiably.

Brian wasn’t exactly thrilled to see these particular guys, despite how attractive they both were. These two were part of Pittsburgh’s A-Gays set - they both came from money and liked to use it to get their way - and had been trying to strong arm him into participating in one of their several ‘good causes’ for a while now. Brian, on principle, objected to those kinds of tactics. When he did donate to a charity, he didn’t spout off about it to the gayborhood. But folks like Lance used their charitable donations to hype their gay cred and that just rankled. Which is why he’d stalwartly resisted Lance’s overtures.  

However, his general objections to their fundraising tactics didn’t at all negate the fact that this couple was smoking hot. And, in his merrily inebriated state, Brian wasn’t at all adverse to having another gay power couple joining the celebrations. In fact, he was all in favor of combining the office party with ‘date night’; killing two birds with one stone, if you will. The way Justin had moved so he could wrap one arm casually around Mick’s shoulders was a pretty clear indicator that the kid was in the mood for a little playtime himself. So, what the hell, right? It was a party, so they might as well . . . Party! 

“Well, until then,” Justin suggested, leading his pick of the pair towards the bar, “why don’t you join us in an eggnog or two? There are still a couple I haven’t tried yet . . .”

Several rounds of eggnog later, most of the other partygoers had gone home and there were only a few stragglers left. Ted finally came over to the corner where the foursome of Brian, Justin, Lance, and Mick were seated to let the boss know he’d settled up with the bar and, even though they technically had the room for another hour more, he and Blake were heading home. Cynthia, who had indulged in a few too many eggnogs herself, was getting a ride with the non-drinkers so she was leaving as well. 

Brian hefted himself to his feet, with only a tiny wobble giving away just how drunk he was, in order to give both his friends effusive hugs goodbye. “Merry Eggnog!” he wished them and added in a jolly wave.

“You gonna be okay getting home?” Ted asked with a skeptical tilt of his head.

“S’no problem, Theodore. Thass why they invented cabs,” Brian assured him.

“Whatever you say, Boss,” Ted chuckled at his employer’s antics. “What about the rest of them, though?”

Brian looked around the room and noted that the remaining Kinnetik revelers were all pretty clearly intoxicated and not at all capable of going anywhere under their own steam. One guy - Brian thought it might be Phil from the Art Department - was actually curled up on a couch in the corner and snoring away like a steam engine. Brain shrugged and waved away Ted’s concerns.

“Jusss need more cabs, I s’pose,” Brian concluded. “It’s not a party til someone passes out, right?”

Cynthia giggled and chimed in, “You’ve mellowed in your old age, Boss. You used to say it wasn’t a party until someone was dancing naked on the tables.”

“That too,” Brian smiled loopily and shook his hips a little.

“Then it’s definitely time to wrap this up,” Ted decided and put his hand to the small of Cynthia’s back in order to start her moving towards the door. “I’ll talk to the manager on the way out and have him order cabs for everyone on Kinnetik’s tab. Night, Brian.”

“Good man, Tea-o-dore,” Brian praised before turning around and surveying the room one more time. “Now, where was I? Oh, yeah, Merry Eggnog Date Night!”

Tucked into the corner next to the bar, he found his Sunshine sitting on a couch along with the attractive gay power couple the boy had enticed to join them earlier. Both Lance and Mick seemed to be enjoying themselves. Of course, what’s not to enjoy when you had a sumptuous blond climbing all over you? Brian licked his lips as he watched Justin nibbling across Mick’s naked chest at the same time he was shoving one hand down the front of Lance’s pants. Now THIS was Brian’s kind of party. Ignoring the fact that there were still a few employees waiting around for their rides home, he started walking back towards the incipient orgy in the corner, detouring only long enough to grab the hunky bartender and tow the willing man along to join the fun starting over on the couches. 

With the bartender positioned so that his crotch was level with Lance’s wide-opened mouth, Brian tugged down the man’s black tux pants, pulled some lube and a condom out of his own pocket, and then rid himself of his own slacks. Meanwhile, he noted approvingly, Justin had maneuvered Mick around so the brunet was on his knees, his face in Lance’s lap giving his partner what appeared to be a rather good blowjob, while Justin was fingering Mick’s backside with obviously lascivious intentions. 

After that, the rest of the night was all a bit of a blur. There were lots of cocks and mouths and hands all doing very pleasurable things. There was more eggnog mixed in there along the way. Before long Brian’s world had devolved into a whirling cacophony of sensation, all adorned with little twinkling Christmas lights that seemed the perfect accompaniment for the many, many orgasms had by all. Merry, merry, indeed.

The next thing Brian remembered with any real clarity was waking up the following morning in the loft, his head pounding and his mouth so dry it felt like someone had sandblasted it with chalk dust. He wished he could just roll over and go back to sleep until the jackhammering in his brain was finished, but unfortunately, he had to piss like a firehose. So, with a rather unmanly groan, Brian leveraged himself out of bed and shuffled towards the bathroom, his eyes only opened the bare minimum necessary to make sure he didn’t walk into the wall. 

After pissing for what felt like hours, Brian decided he’d better swallow some pain pills so as to at least begin the recovery process. Sidling over to stand in front of the sink, he opened the medicine cabinet and fished around till he found the industrial-sized bottle of Advil he kept in there. He finally had to open his eyes all the way, though, in order to fill a glass with water. Only, while he was waiting for that, he made the mistake of looking at himself in the mirror for the first time. 

“WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?”

The man looking back at him out of the mirror with the messy bedhead, the bloodshot eyes, and the pasty complexion was a familiar sight for someone who routinely overindulged in the ‘Three Ds’ - Drink, Drugs, and Dick - like Brian did. He was used to seeing that image staring back at him out of his mirror after a night like he’d just had. What he wasn’t used to seeing in his mirror was a guy wearing the most fuck-ugly, embarrasing sweater he’d ever seen in his entire life. 

This sweater he appeared to be wearing - and the ONLY thing he was wearing, by the way - was one of those cheaply made polyester yarn knits that was scratchy and thin. On top of that, it was an eye-watering bright red that made Brian’s skin look sallow and washed out. But, even worse than the color, was the fucking awful decoration on the front showing an upside down snowman with it’s orange carrot nose sticking out in a plush protuberance right above Brian’s groin. The snowman was also wearing an upside-down hat that included a bushy imitation evergreen sprig and two plush blue Christmas balls hanging down in front of the wearer’s crotch. 

“Sunshine! What the fuck did you do?” Brian growled, stomping back into the bedroom to confront his soon-to-be-dead blond, and ignoring the way all that stomping was causing his head to pound even harder.

The blond in question turtled his head up from under the covers and cracked open his eyes just long enough to see what it was Brian was yelling about. 

“You were naughty so you had to wear the sweater,” he explained, as if that statement made any sense at all. “I warned you to stop complaining about the eggnog but you didn’t listen so you had to be punished.” Then he pulled the pillow back over his head again.

“Fuck. You. Justin!” Brian bellowed, tearing the ugly sweater off over his head and throwing it at his bed companion. “You better hope to hell nobody saw me in this fucking thing or, I swear to all that is fuckable, your ass is going to be paying the price.”

The only response he got from the body hidden under the pillows was a snort of disrespect and then a quiet snoring. 

Brian was too hungover to stay mad for long, though. He crawled back into bed and joined the snorer, eventually even rolling over to snuggle up behind the pliant warm body. By the time they both woke up again, four or five hours later, he’d almost forgotten about the ugly sweater trick. 

He’d forgotten, that is, until he arrived at work the following Monday morning to find the office suspiciously empty and a copy of the company newsletter waiting for him on his desk. 

“Kinnetik Holiday Party A Smashing Success”

Read the headline on the top of the front page. Unfortunately, it was the sub-heading that was the problem . . .

“Boss Wins The Ugly Sweater Contest”

And directly beneath that was a picture of Brian Kinney, obviously drunk off his ass, dancing on a table in the Bourbon Room at the Monongahela Whiskey Library, wearing the horrendous upside-down snowman sweater with a string of twinkling Christmas lights draped around his neck like a boa. 

Justin, who’d ridden into work with Brian that morning, came in just then and looked over his partner’s shoulder to see what it was that had Brian so transfixed. 

“Huh. Too bad Phil cropped all the good parts out,” he commented, pointing to the bottom of the pic where, if you looked closely, you could tell that Brian wasn’t wearing anything BUT the ugly sweater. “You looked hot dancing up there on that table with only the sweater on and shaking your carrot and ornaments around.” Then he very pointedly kissed Brian’s cheek and whispered, “Merry Eggnog Date Night, Stud.”

Brian was still staring at the incriminating picture several moments after Justin had left and trying to ignore the giggling and whispering that was coming from Cynthia’s office down the hall.

Merry, Merry, QAF to all!