December is For Cynics - A QAF Christmas Carol

By: Tagsit

Brian ushered Gus inside but stopped the boy before he could track the dirty slush from his boots all over the house. 

“Hang on there, Sport. Boots off and coat on the hook,” Brian ordered, pointing the child to the basket they kept next to the door for dirty shoes and the nearby coat rack. 

“Sorry, Dad,” Gus replied, sheepishly, but followed orders. 

“No problem, Sonny Boy,” Brian relented easily. “Now, why don’t you see if you can find Justin. From the stink in here, I surmise he’s been baking Christmas cookies again.”

“Yay!” Gus ran off, his new plushie Elf toy hugged tight to his little chest, eager to get yet another infusion of sugar cookies into his bloodstream. 

Brian followed his son at a much more somber pace. He had no idea where Gus got all his energy from. After three hours of wading through the hell that was the local mall three days before Christmas, he was exhausted. Not that he begrudged the time spent with Gus - he’d do fucking anything for that boy - but taking the kid on a last minute shopping trip so he could pick up gifts for his mothers had pushed every single one of Brian’s buttons. All the pleading and begging he’d had to listen to before the kid finally convinced his father to buy the ugly little elf doll hadn’t helped. Brian thought the doll was kinda creepy, to be honest, but Gus had insisted he HAD to have it and Brian wasn’t exactly a hard sell when it came to his kid. So, of course, they’d ended up with a new dust-collector elf doll to clutter up the house. Definitely not the kind of shopping he preferred.

Brian had never cared much for holidays in general and Christmas was the worst of the lot if you asked him. It felt so fake. The fake cheerfulness, the fake christmas trees, the fake pine smell they piped into the mall, and even the fake snow in all the displays. Although, he supposed, the fake snow in the malls was preferable to the real shit falling down out of the skies outdoors and making driving a nightmare. It wouldn’t have been so bad if they were staying in town, at the loft, but since Justin had insisted that they celebrate their first big Christmas back together out at Britin, he’d had to drive the twenty miles out to the country along the slippery as shit roads. The snowy drive had only added to the headache he’d developed while being ‘malled’, hence his less than cheerful mood.

It didn’t help matters that, the minute they’d arrived home, he could smell the cinnamon and sugar scent of cookies wafting through the hallway. Justin had been on a fucking baking spree for more than a week now. Brian was sure he’d probably gained five pounds just from smelling all the fat-laden goodies that kept appearing in his kitchen. Okay, maybe the fact that he’d snuck more than a few of the cookies when Justin wasn’t looking had something to do with the extra weight, too. Just another reason to hate the fucking holidays.

At least he was finally home. 

Brian made his way into the greatroom of the remodeled country house and walked straight over to the small wet bar along the far wall, trying to ignore the huge eight foot tall Christmas Tree that Justin had set up in one corner. He sighed with relief as he poured himself a glass of Beam. That was just what he needed after an arduous experience like holiday shopping with a five year old. He scowled when he noticed Gus’ stupid elf doll had somehow already found a spot leering down at him from the mantel over the fireplace. He hissed at the creepy toy, giving it a wide berth as he walked over to the big window that looked out on the snowy backyard. 

Then he smiled for the first time that afternoon. The snow might be a bitch to drive through, but laying in a thick blanket over the lawn and dusting the trees that surrounded the back of the property, it looked nice enough. Peaceful. This was much better.

Brian had barely started to relax, though, before the room was invaded by the singing voices of two overly-excited youngsters. 

‘Deck the Halls with Boughs of Holly

Falalalala, lalalalah

Tis the Season to be Jolly

Falalalala, lalalalah

Don we now our Gay Apparel

Falala, lalala, lalalah

Toll the ancient Yuletide Carrols

Falalalala, lalalalah’

Justin and Gus warbled out the carol at the top of their lungs and the slightly off-key tune grated on Brian’s last nerve. Fuck. The one thing he hated about the holidays more than anything else were the fucking carols. And he’d already had to suffer through three hours of canned muzak carols at the damned mall. Just kill him, please. That would be preferable to listening to even one more fucking carol.

He tried to squelch his rising anger. He really did not want to yell at Gus. But Brian just couldn’t take any more. Really. He’d been the good dad all day. He’d done the mall thing even. Was it too much to ask that he be free from more fake holiday cheer here in his own home?

“Hey, Sonny Boy. How about you take that plate of cookies Justin gave you up to your room. You can eat them while you watch that movie you made me download last night. The one with the big elf . . .” 

Brian had actually been thankful that Gus had fallen asleep the night before only ten minutes into the movie so he hadn’t actually had to watch that dross. He didn’t care how funny Will Ferrel could be; he didn’t want to watch some sappy, feel-good, holiday movie. But, since it was already downloaded onto Gus’ tablet computer, it would serve as a good distraction now, and would hopefully keep the kid out of their hair for an hour or so. Which should be long enough for Brian to get himself back under control. Possibly. Provided he wasn’t subjected to any more holiday cheer.

“Yay! Elf!” Gus screeched, picking up the plate of cookies and darting off at top speed for the stairs, sliding on socked feet over the highly-polished wood floors when he tried to turn at the foot of the stairs, and losing two cookies in the process. 

Justin laughed and went over to pick up the dropped baked goods as Gus continued to lumber up the stairs. The blond seemed amused by the boy’s enthusiasm which, for some reason, seemed to irritate Brian even more. He tried to redirect his attention back out towards the calming, snow-covered backyard, grasping for some semblance of control over his temper. However, when he heard Justin going over to the fireplace and turning the controls that would set the gas fire alight, while humming yet another carol under his breath, Brian’s ire erupted. 

“Oh the weather outside is frightful,

But the fire is so delightful,

And since we’ve no place to go,

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow . . .”

“Could we please NOT with the fucking Christmas carols, Sunshine. I just spent three damned hours at the mall with that shit being piped into my ears til I thought they would bleed. I can’t take anymore,” Brian complained.

“Ah, poor baby. All malled out?” Justin teased, coming up from behind him to grab the glass of Beam out of his hand and steal a sip of the smooth golden liquor. 

“Yes.”

Justin merely laughed at him. “Why do you hate the holidays so much?”

Brian didn’t feel like getting into it right then. He really just needed some downtime. Really. 

“Come on. Singing Christmas carols is fun,” Justin, that annoying little twat, insisted. “When I was little I used to love going caroling with my family. And I was always in the Christmas pageant at church. Oh, and when I was a little older, my grandmother would take us to the Christmas Revels. I mean, I don’t think the holidays even count without non-stop, round-the-clock carols.” 

Brian grumbled but refused to turn around and look at the annoyingly merry little blond.

“Maybe you just don’t like the traditional carols? Too trite? How about something more modern?” 

Before Brian could object further, Justin launched into some hyped up, alternative version of the ‘Let It Snow’ song, complete with emo crooning and the younger man shaking his hips seductively as he warbled away.

“Let it snow, let it snow

Let it snow, let it snow

Hey, it's another Christmas Holiday

It's a joyous thing let the angels sing

Cause we're together

We got a thing here, can't let it slip away

Though outside is rain and sleet

When our bodies meet...

I don't care 'bout the weather

Let it snow, let it snow

Outside it's cold but the fire's blazin'

So baby let it snow

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow . . .”

“Justin! Please. No more fucking carols! I don’t care what era they come from. I can’t take any more damn Christmas songs. Period,” Brian growled, taking back his glass of scotch and chugging the remains before heading back to the bar to get himself a refill. 

“Spoilsport!” Justin huffed right back at him, unwilling to let Brian wallow in his anti-holiday grouchiness. And, probably just to be contrary, he launched into yet another song, this one a punked up version of the Grinch Song.

“You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch.

You really are a heel.

You're as cuddly as a cactus.

You're as charming as an eel, Mr. Grinch. 

You're a bad banana with a greasy black peel.

You're a monster, Mr. Grinch.

Your heart's an empty hole

Your brain is full of spiders.

You’ve got garlic in your soul, Mr. Grinch.

I wouldn't touch you with a 39-and-a-half foot pole!”

“Ha ha,” Brian replied, only slightly amused when the kid grabbed at his crotch while singing about his ‘pole’. 

Which is when something really freaky happened. 

He’d meant to say something cutting. Tell Justin to fuck off with all his damn Christmas cheer. Maybe stomp off in a mini-snit and lock himself in the study where he could just avoid the holiday spirit trying to take over his house. But instead, completely against his will, when he opened his mouth to yell at his partner Brian found that the sounds coming out of his mouth were yet another song. And, even freakier, by the time he’d made it through about half of the first verse, the stereo system in the corner had turned itself on, playing the music that accompanied the Blink182 song he’d started to sing. 

“Outside the carolers start to sing

I can't describe the joy they bring

'Cause joy is something they don't bring me

My boyfriend is by my side

From the roof are hanging sickles of ice

Their whiny voices get irritating

It's Christmas time again

So I stand with a dead smile on my face

Wondering how much of my time they'll waste

Oh God, I hate these Satan's helpers

And then I guess I must've snapped

Because I grabbed a baseball bat

And made them all run for shelter

It's Christmas time again

It's time to be nice to the people you can't stand all year

I'm growing tired of all this Christmas cheer

You people scare me

Please stay away from my home

If you don't wanna get beat down

Just leave the presents and then leave me alone . . .”

Brian, horrified by what he’d just done, slammed his scotch glass down and slapped both hands over his mouth. That seemed to do the trick; not only did the involuntary singing stop, but the music turned off as well. For some strange reason, though, Justin didn’t seem to have even noticed the anomaly of his partner involuntarily breaking into song. 

“What the fuck, Brian. Can’t you just enjoy the holidays and not piss on everyone else’s fun?” Justin complained.

And then, in keeping with the freaky weirdness of the afternoon, Justin, too, broke into song, the stereo playing along with him from the very first note.

“The bells, the bows, the flashing lights

The mistletoes and the "Silent Nights"

It's all for show, and that's all right

That's not why I love this time of year.

It gets me, and never lets me

Act like I don't care

This time of year, is my favorite time of year

'Cause all of us are here together.

The stores are packed with stuff for us to buy

The shelves are stacked

A mile high

But back to what it is that I

Truly love about this time of year

It gets me, and never lets me

Act like I don't care

This time of year, is my favorite time of year

'Cause all of us are here together

There's crap, it's true, what can you do?

Just simply spending it with you

That keeps me looking forward to

Lookin' forward to this time of year . . .”

Not only was Justin singing his little blond heart out to The Mighty Mighty Bosstones’ song, but during the bridge he’d started to do a little dance, reaching out to grab Brian’s hand and spin him around against his will. Brian tried to get away, he really did, but without his permission his feet joined in on the dancing. Justin only stopped when he’d spun Brian’s body into a close embrace and left a sweet holiday kiss on the taller man’s cheek.

“What the fuck!” Brian started to protest, pushing Justin’s hands off him so he could stomp back to the bar where his glass of scotch had been left before his partner had spun him off into holiday dance-land. 

However, all he managed to get was one sip of the calming liquor before he felt another song coming on. He gritted his teeth together, trying to clamp his jaw shut, but the urge to sing was just too much for him. No matter how much he clenched his muscles, his mouth opened of its own accord and one of his favorite anti-Christmas punk rock ‘carols’ came belting out, accompanied via the haunted stereo by the driving rock beat that went so well with the words.

“Lock up the children,

Yuletide Brother is coming 

to steal their hopes away.

It takes all night,

It’s a bag of sweets,

And we can’t afford the day.

I’m getting pissed for Christmas.

Just like the rest of the year.

There’s no future

In this lonely world

So you might as well have a beer.”

The only way Brian was able to stop the rest of the angry song from spilling out of his lips was to stop up those lips with another gulp of the Beam. He didn’t know what was happening but somehow the fact that he was being forced into song made him even more pissed off. Christmas was bad enough without being forced to fucking sing about it. Why couldn’t he just be left alone with his misanthropic thoughts. Justin, his cooking, his cheery self, and all his holiday spirit could just fuck off. 

Justin, of course, wasn’t about to let Brian have the last word. When had he ever let Brian have the last say in any argument? Never. This indomitable kid wasn’t about to let Brian get away with his sulking. He immediately called him out by launching into some ridiculous song about how Brian’s heart was a like a fucking icicle.

“Frostbite!

You are an icicle (you are an icicle, warmth of the season can't melt)

You are an icicle (you are an icicle, coldest that I've ever felt)

And I know, how it feels, to be facing the frost on your own

This is the last time (this is the last time)

I let the winter have it's way with me

Frostbite, you are an icicle, as cold as an icicle

Frostbite, you are an icicle . . .”

“I’m not a fucking icicle,” Brian tried to dispute the characteristic but before he could get out even a whole sentence, he found himself singing yet again. 

‘Doorbell rings, I start bristling.

Children sing, I stop listening.

That same Christmas crap,

I think I might snap,

If I hear another Christmas song.

All the lights, they’re displaying.

Much too bright, I’m just saying. 

Both gaudy and crass, 

A pain in my ass, 

And all the neighbors leave them on too long.

Christmas hype, anticipated.

Anxious stores, all decorated.

They’re all red and green, 

Before Halloween, 

Don’t ya think it’s just a little wrong?

Everyone across the silly nation,

Indulges in this Yuletide charade.

Each one fooled by cheap manipulation,

Hustled by the gifts and lights displayed.

Countless hours and futile searches.

At best a guess of what to purchase.

The wrappings disguise, 

The gifts they’ll despise, 

You knew that when you bought it, it was wrong.”

At the end of the little hip hop criss-cross spin that ended the dance number which went along with his latest song choice, Brian plopped down on the couch, feeling bitter and despairing. Christmas always made him feel that way, although usually he managed to hide it much better. He supposed it was just another symptom of his childhood. There had been too many years when the holidays had just meant more obligations, more time spent with a family who he despised, and more disappointment. That’s what hearing holiday carols did to him; they brought back all those bad memories. 

Justin must have heard something deeper behind the words to the song he’d sung, though, because instead of getting even more angry, or sing-yelling back at him, the blond came over and sat on the sofa next to him. Slipping a consoling arm around Brian’s slumped back, his crown of gloriously blond hair dropping to rest on the big grinch’s shoulder, Justin gave him a comforting squeeze. 

“Hey, I’m onto you, you know. I think you like being the guy who hates the holidays because that’s how all the other cool guys act,” Justin whispered while the opening guitar riff to the next song began to play, unbidden, from the stereo speakers. 

“Black frames to stare out

Mod lang slang to wear out

Scoff at squares in sweaters

Ho, Ho, Ho, we're so much better

Used is the new black

Downloads are the new crack

Mocking carols that we hate

Damn, it's easy being great

So to hell with Holiday romantics

December is for cynics

December is for critics

Let's get high on art supplies and hibernate

December is for cynics

Damn, it's too easy being great

So to hell with Holiday romantics

December is for cynics

December is for critics

Let's go get some take out and hibernate

December is for cynics

Damn, it's too easy being great . . .”

Brian had to give him that one. He was cynical. But he came by the sentiment honestly. His experiences with the holiday weren’t all good ones. He didn’t know why he had to be all in with the jolly and the merry. Why couldn’t he just give everyone he knew cash and then hide out til the holidays were over?

Trying to explain himself better, Brian opened his mouth but yet another song came out in place of the words:

“When I was small I believed in Santa Claus

(Though I knew it was my dad)

And I would hang up my stocking at Christmas

Open my presents and I'd be glad.

But the last time I played Father Christmas

I stood outside a department store

A gang of kids came over and mugged me

And knocked my reindeer to the floor

They said, Father Christmas, give us some money

Don't mess around with those silly toys

We'll beat you up if you don't hand it over

We want your bread so don't make us annoyed

Give all the toys to the little rich boys

Don't give my brother a Steve Austin outfit

Don't give my sister a cuddly toy

We don't want a jigsaw or monopoly money

We only want the real mccoy

Father Christmas, give us some money

We'll beat you up if you make us annoyed

Father Christmas, give us some money

Don't mess around with those silly toys . . .”

“Oh, Brian.” Justin came up from behind him, and wrapped both arms around his middle, hugging him so tightly his arms felt like they were permanent attachments around his middle.

And then Justin started into another song, this time a slow-paced, melancholy rap number . . .

“What's the matter with you man

Every time it's Christmas you always moaning

Moping about . . .”

Brian, who hated rap songs, could have kicked himself when he started sing-answering Justin, making the rap number into a duet as they swayed together in front of the snowy window. 

“I ain't moping about, I don't like Christmas.”

Justin answered, “get up, man, it's Christmas. Cheer up.”

Brian felt the next words to the verse erupting from his mouth before he could stop them:

“I never liked Christmas much (Nope - Justin chimed in.)

I always tried to avoid it

That's why when everybody's hyping (Where am I - Justin prompted)

I'm upstairs, computer, with the joystick

Playing ball, tryna think of new songs

Think of new beats, when I vocalled two songs

Whole family are cool, I got love for 'em (Love - Justin agreeing)

Think of dem every time I do songs (Oh yes)

My auntie brings me a plate of food

And it brings back so many truths like

Why ain't my old man with us (Why - Justin repeated, cuz that was a good question.)

Somebody enlighten me here

I forgot about some of this stuff to be fair

My dad said "son how you been"

I say "good" but that's not how it be (Nope - Justin empathized)

Even though I'm pursuing my dreams

They both sang along on the chorus together, Justin pulling Brian up so they could sway along to the rap beat of their words:

“It's Christmas.

It's Christmas time.

Everybody eats food, everybody drinks wine.

It's Christmas.

It's Christmas time.

Auntie feels good, and my nan feels fine.

It's Christmas.

It's Christmas time.

Even though I wanna leave, I gotta spend time.

It's Christmas.

Once a year with the family, 'cause with them you're gonna spend your life

Justin took over when the next verse started:
“Snap out of this, do it for the kids.

And the best food plus Chinese ribs.

Chocolate gâteau . . .”

Brian replied, right along with the beat: “I don't eat raisin cake, it's all hassle.”

Justin wasn’t going to let him get away with that, though, singing back at him: 

“But look at this table set with chicken rings, lamb, beef, forks, food, knife, fork, wine,

Rose or white, other options (Other options - Brian requested)

Got the shot glasses and I topped 'em

At Christmas, be around family (Yeah - Brian reluctantly agreed)

Or else you're at home straight angry (Straight angry - Brian admitted)

Brian then took over the rap narrative:

“In a good mood, yeah I can be.

I said a glass of brandy can be handy (Yeah - Justin cheered)

I shouldn't treat life like I hate it (Nope - Justin agreed)

That's wrong, 'cause I fully gone rate it.”

And, to finish the last line of the chorus they once more joined together, duet mode, to sing:

“Don't stress, music will lift us (Yep)

Cheer up bro, it's Christmas.”

Justin spun them both around as the last note of the beatbox accompaniment died out. He was wearing a hopeful smile but Brian was still feeling a bit salty. It wasn’t that easy. You couldn’t just say, ‘cheer up’, and expect things to instantly change. That wasn’t him. He couldn’t just get past his past. This time of year was harder for him than most, he guessed. But how to explain something like to a perpetually cheerful ray of sunshine like his partner?

Of course, the answer came to him in song. When he heard the soulful piano notes begin to plink out from the stereo speakers, Brian knew the words to the Coldplay song would be perfect. They explained more than he could say on his own. So he turned back to look out the window where the night was creeping up from below the treeline to meet the snow-filled clouds lowering from the sky and gave up trying to fight the song.

“Christmas night

Another fight

Tears we cried a flood

Got all kinds of poison in,

Of poison in my blood.

I took my feet to Oxford street

Trying to right a wrong

‘Just walk away’ those windows say

But I can't believe it’s all gone

When you're still waiting for the snow to fall

Doesn't really feel like Christmas at all.

Up above candles on air flicker

Oh, they flicker, and they flow

And I'm up here holding onto

All those chandeliers of hope

And like some drunken Elvis singing

I go singing out of tune

Singing how I always loved you, darling

And I always will

Oh, when you're still waiting for the snow to fall

It doesn't really feel like Christmas at all

Still waiting for the snow to fall

It doesn't really feel like Christmas at all . . .”

“Bullshit, Brian,” Justin argued, his words so quiet, his mouth so close to Brian’s ear that he felt the vibrations of the words more than heard them. “As long as we’re here together, especially now that I’m back at Britin where we both belong, that’s all I need to make it feel like Christmas.”

And, as if the Christmas carol gods had heard his wish, there were jolly sleigh bells and an accompanying piano melody playing loudly throughout the room and, a second later, Justin was spinning him around and dancing Brian across the floor in an all-out Britney Spears impersonation, complete with kittenish simpering and blond-eyelash-batting flirtations. 

“Last night I took a walk in the snow

Couples holdin' hands, places to go

Seems like everyone but me is in love

Santa, can you hear me?

I signed my letter that I sealed with a kiss

I sent it off, and just said this

I know exactly what I want this year

Santa, can you hear me?

I want my baby, baby

I want someone to love me, someone to hold

Maybe, maybe

He'll be all my own in a big red bow

Santa, can you hear me?

I have been so good this year

And all I want is one thing

Tell me my true love is here

He's all I want, just for me

Underneath my Christmas tree

I'll be waiting here

Santa, that's my only wish this year . . .”

While he’d been singing, Justin had waltzed and spun Brian across the floor to the corner where their Christmas tree was standing, glittering with all the merry gold lights the blond had used for his decorating. It was so fucking silly and campy; Justin doing his Britney imitation, just to try and cheer him up. And the tree did look good. Brian really didn’t want to spend yet another holiday being a grumpy, boring, drain on those he cared about. 

He did have a lot to be thankful for this year, now that he thought about it. He was more than glad to finally have Justin back; he’d been wishing for just that for all the months since his blond had trekked off to New York. Brian was glad that Justin had come to his senses sooner rather than later and was now back, for good, in Pittsburgh. They’d spent the last month finishing up the renovations on Britin and were now living here pretty much all the time, which he didn’t hate. When they wanted a night of fun - maybe some dancing at the reopened Babylon - they still had the loft in the city. Best of all, they had Gus staying with them for the next two weeks before they had to ship him off, back to Toronto. If he could just shake off this mood he’d been in the past couple of hours, there was still time to enjoy the rest of the night with his partner and his son. That’s what he should be doing rather than brooding. 

Justin must have sensed that Brian’s tantrum was beginning to wane because he was now smiling at him with a shy smile. The lights from the tree were glinting off the golden floss of his hair as he raised up on his tiptoes so he could leave a soft, sugar-cookie flavored kiss on Brian’s lips. He wasn’t surprised when the next song that started to play began with a sweet upbeat piano riff. Then, with a sexy little wiggle of his hips that caused tendrils of renewed desire to curl in Brian’s stomach, Justin began to slither and wiggle all around Brian as if the taller man was some kind of human stipper pole, while crooning out the words to a classic Queen love song. 

“I can dim the lights and sing you songs full of sad things
We can do the tango just for two
I can serenade and gently play on your heart strings
Be your Valentino just for you

Ooh, love, ooh, loverboy
What're you doin' tonight, hey, boy?
Set my alarm, turn on my charm
That's because I'm a good old-fashioned loverboy

Ooh, let me feel your heartbeat (Grow faster, faster)
Ooh, ooh, can you feel my love heat?
Come on and sit on my hot-seat of love
And tell me how do you feel right after all

I'd like for you and I to go romancing
Say the word, your wish is my command

Ooh, love, ooh, loverboy
What're you doin' tonight, hey, boy?
Write my letter
Feel much better
And use my fancy patter on the telephone

When I'm not with you
Think of you always
I miss you
When I'm not with you
Think of me always
I love you, love you . . .”

Justin might have kept on singing, still caught up in whatever Christmas magic was suffusing the house and forcing them to break into song every other minute, but his lips became too busy, all of a sudden, to allow for singing. In fact, the way Brian had seized hold of him and practically devoured his mouth as soon as he’d belted out that last, ‘I Love You’, it was a wonder that either of them even had time to breathe. Not that they needed air. Right then it seemed like all they needed was each other and a chance to remind themselves of the love that continued to draw them together over and over again. 

It didn’t matter that the holidays weren’t Brian’s favorite time of year. It didn’t matter that his past contained some less than happy memories of this particular season. He had Justin back, and a family he’d chosen for the love and joy they brought him, and that’s the only gift he really needed. Together they could make new memories. And, maybe, even an old Scrooge like Brian could learn to love Christmas. 

The two men kissing, their faces glowing with love and lit up by the merry lights from the nearby tree, somehow didn’t seem to notice at all when the music started up again and, from his perch on the stairs where he’d been watching the whole time, Gus began to sing his own favorite Christmas carol. 

“I saw daddy kissing Santa Claus
Underneath the mistletoe last night
He didn't see me creep
Down the stairs to have a peek
He thought that I was tucked up in my bedroom fast asleep

And I saw daddy tickle Santa Claus
Underneath his beard so snowy-white
Oh, what a laugh it would have been
If Mama had only seen
Daddy kissing Santa Claus last night . . .”

Then, while his father and Justin were still too caught up in each other to notice him, Gus smiled up at the elf on the shelf who’d been overseeing his dads and winked. The elf winked back with a mischievous grin. And Gus, realizing that things were under control down here, happily went back upstairs to finish watching his movie, assured that the spirit of the holidays would keep everything merry and bright. 

Ho, ho, ho! 

Merry QAF!