Stars and Angels

Christopher laughed. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Glinda rolled her eyes. "I can see you're wearing makeup. Congratulations -- very subtle though. It's pretty."

Christopher felt a little embarrassed. "It's just -- for the costume, you know." He was afraid she'd think he was gay and lose interest. "Actually I do wear makeup sometimes."

"Well that's good. I think all men should. It's sexy." Glinda wished she'd kept her mouth shut. She chewed on her tongue and took a sip of champagne, to keep busy. Why was she flirting with him?

"I used to be a singer in this punk club near Broadway." He gnawed on his lip, unwilling to tell her how long ago that had actually been. "We all kind of dressed up a little. Do you listen to rock?"

"Yes," Glinda said. "Classic rock. Not much new stuff."

"I don't blame you." Christopher cleared his throat and slapped his hands on his thighs. He seemed nervous.

Glinda couldn't help it. "What's wrong?" she blurted.

"Huh?"

"Why are you so sad? Aren't you supposed to be cheerful or something? I'm not saying you should be, but I think it's rather expected of Mr. Claus."

Christopher would have been annoyed by anyone else suggesting he was pretending to be fine when he really wasn't, but Glinda seemed so sincere and it seemed to really matter to her. "Girls," he said with a sigh and shake of the head, and Glinda smiled at his feigned exasperation. "Do you really want to know?"

"Do you really want to talk about it?" Glinda asked.

Christopher ran a hand through his hair. "Maybe later."

Glinda thought he was more and more gorgeous every time he spoke, and she knew that if she didn't do something soon, one of the other girls at the party might butt in. "Do you want some fresh air as much as I do?"

"Yeah."

"Let's go outside."

* * * * *

Suddenly conversation came so easy. It never felt so easy to talk to someone, but Glinda and Christopher talked for over an hour as the crowd inside anxiously awaited the promised Santa and his sack of presents. Jean, on her part, kept asking if anyone knew where the fuck Glinda was. At last, the two came back inside shivering and covered with snow and laughing and Glinda helped him hand out presents.

Jean grabbed Glinda's arm when she saw her. "Glinda!" she cried. "Where have you been? I've been looking everywhere...I was afraid you'd left."

Glinda smiled at her.

Jean caught sight of Christopher holding her hand and a devious grin crossed her face. "Oh, point taken..." She disappeared in the crowd after giving Glinda a playful pinch.

When Jingle Bell Rock came on, Christopher took his beard and hat off again and asked Glinda to dance. She accepted. They danced forcefully, like it was really a mosh pit, driving their bodies against each other. Some people laughed. Glinda slammed her body against his in wild abandon until finally he caught hold of her to calm her down a little. The truth was she liked it; she wanted to thrust herself against him, feel the heat of his body. She could feel it now under the coat: he had strong pecks and a flat stomach. She wanted to touch him. She didn't know what was coming over her, why his dark hair was suddenly turning her on and why her sadness was vanishing, but it was actually the third glass of champagne coming over her and she felt good.

Christopher, for his part, stopped Glinda from moshing beside him because he thought she was too damn beautiful when she did it; her carefully brushed blonde hair now messed up and hanging in her face. He brushed it out of her eyes, trying not to get an erection and embarrass himself or her. She was breathing hard after the dance, her breasts heaving and sweat trickling down between them. He put his arms around her waist and pulled her close.

"What are you doing?" Glinda asked flirtatiously.

"It's a slow song. Do you want to mosh to Silent Night?" he asked in her ear. Glinda burst out laughing and he smelled the champagne on her breath. He wanted to kiss her, to see what she tasted like -- champagne, champagne and flowers, champagne and sugar, champagne and...

"I've had a great time," she whispered suddenly. He had to lean down and she had to stretch onto her tiptoes to reach his ear with her lips. "I hope you have too...I'm sorry I let myself drink a little too much. I won't get drunk, I promise."

"Don't worry," Christopher said, smiling. "I've had lots of fun." Glinda grabbed his face and pulled him in for a kiss. Christopher was surprised, but he let her do it and pretty soon he was kissing her back.

Glinda almost apologized, but after seeing him panting raggedly, his eyes shut and his hair dangling like icicles in front of them, the words died in her mouth. She wasn't sorry. He'd enjoyed it.

"Do you want to tell me, now? About why you were so sad earlier?" Glinda asked, trembling a little. She wasn't even sure why she wanted to know. Maybe because she knew how it felt to not understand this 'most wonderful time of the year,' even though everyone around was smiling and giving gifts and putting up trees and oblivious.

Christopher pushed his body roughly against her, so they were dancing as close as possible, and Glinda felt the weight of him all over. She gasped, and he leaned over so he was speaking almost into her mouth. "Alright," he whispered.

* * * * *

Ten Years Earlier

The club was packed. Christopher couldn't breathe but he kept singing anyway, his mouth pressed up against the microphone as he wailed about love and sex and drugs and all the things a rock star is supposed to sing about. If any one of the girls leaning against the front of the stage or leaping and jouncing in their tight T-shirts had asked him, he would have admitted that he hated the way his black hair with bleached tips hung in his eyes while he sang. He had no desire to get involved with drugs ever again . He didn't want to be a celebrity; he just wanted to make music.

His bass guitarist, Josh, strummed the strings of his instruments as sweetly as he would stroke the head of a child. Christopher swallowed hard, feeling a forbidden stirring of passion in his heart when he looked at him. The two of them were best friends. They started a musical group together in junior high and left their hometown in Florida to play the clubs in NYC. Bewitched by the city and the women -- all the sexy, horny women -- who wanted them, they stayed and made it fairly big. Now that they were playing the popular clubs, Christopher wanted out.

"Hey Josh?" Christopher asked after the show.

They were backstage, drinking warm beer. They had cleared all of the girls out of the room and opened a window, but it still felt oppressive. The harsh white bulbs over the mirrors bothered Josh so much that they turned the couch around to face the other direction.

"Hey," Josh said.

"Do you ever get disillusioned?"

"What do you mean?"

"By all this, man. Don't you fucking hate it?"

Josh took a swig of the beer. Christopher watched him quietly, wishing that he hadn't helped him style his hair into a tall, pink-tinted Mohawk -- it had been so much easier to touch when it was hanging straight down; it was so much prettier in its natural brown color.

"I mean, it's Christmas Eve," Christopher continued. "Another Christmas Eve and what the hell are we doing? We should be eating roast ham or opening presents -- and drinking some damn champagne, right? Eggnog."

"Apple cider," Josh said with a laugh.

"Right. Not this shitty watered-down beer. We're wasted."

"Sure I hate it," Josh replied, his voice a drunken grumble. "But I gotta keep doing it."

"Why?" Christopher demanded.

Josh smiled, but he didn't look Christopher in the eye. "Because of the music. And the protection."

Christopher understood. They were young, male lovers. No matter how beautiful and wild and rambunctious the city was, it didn't block out the ugly realities for bi-curious people like them. So long as they were hot rock stars who played good music and acted famous, no one would care.

"But I can't do this," Christopher finally said. "I hate this place. I hate all the places we've played in the past week."

"They're better than anything we ever hoped for."

"Exactly. I didn't hope for this. Any of it." Christopher gestured between the two of them, and Josh clenched his jaw. His knuckles grew white on the neck of the beer bottle.

"Christ, Chris...why are you doing this?"

Christopher shook his head and stood up. "I quit" He began to walk away, then turned. His voice was unsteady. "It isn't because of us."

"The hell it isn't." Josh burst out into nervous laughter but Christopher cut him short.

He knelt beside him and kissed him passionately. Josh responded immediately, reaching out in an uncharacteristically shy manner to rub Christopher's groin through his torn jeans.

Christopher grabbed the back of Josh's head and held him close against his face, yanking him back when he tried to pull away. "Don't talk," he muttered in Josh's ear. He fumbled between their bodies and pulled open his friend's shirt. He skimmed his fingers delicately down his rib cage, then up to his chest, flicking his nipples softly.

Josh growled and flung Christopher to the floor, sliding down on top of him and undoing his jeans. When Christopher felt Josh's mouth close around his warm, twitching cock, he groaned and fell back onto his elbows, reveling in the moment.

Christopher had always felt, whether it was with a man or a woman, that sex combined with love had a mysterious magical element. Something amazing and life-altering. In fact, Josh had saved his life once. The first time they made love was when Christopher confessed he was considering suicide. The pressure of "celebrity," as it were, had driven him crazy. He had O.D.ed twice by the age of twenty, and nearly five years of tripping from one concert through another, crashing at strangers' apartments had turned the world into hell. Christopher said that he was sorry.

Josh had looked stricken, for a second, with tears welling up in his eyes. Christopher looked up to Josh as "the man" (Josh was a year older) and this alarmed him. Real men don't cry. But suddenly Josh had gotten angry and thrown him hard against the wall and screamed at him -- "You can't die! Do you hear me? If you die, I will fucking kill you, understand?" And then Josh kissed him.

Even now, over a year later, Christopher felt that magic as he plunged inside Josh. Josh's voice saying his name over and over sounded sure as shit more beautiful than the hardcore versions of Christmas carols they played onstage. Josh's sweaty hands gripping Christopher's felt so safe. And yet this love-magic Christopher believed in so strongly didn't save their band. It didn't save Josh, either, when he got hit by a drunk driver two weeks later.

* * * * *

They were still dancing, and Glinda was crying. Her red velvet dress twirled around them both, the rim of it circling against her ankles. Christopher seemed relieved to have told somebody about his pain, relieved that she understood and that she heard all but wasn't leaving. Glinda actually was secretly nervous that because of the painful memories he wouldn't want to follow through with all their flirting, but a sudden thickness she felt pressing into her belly reassured her. She wanted it, and she wasn't afraid.

* * * * *

It was after midnight. The party was still going on. Christopher tossed someone his Santa hat and shrugged off the coat too and mumbled that he had to leave. That someone didn't mind taking over Santa duty; as far as he was concerned, it was a perfect chance to take some naughty girl onto his lap and bribe her with gifts.

Meanwhile, Glinda and Christopher left. They half-tripped, half-floated down the streets. Either they were the only two people on earth or they just imagined it -- everything was empty. They were laughing, or maybe only smiling with lips that seemed to dance because of too much excitement and sparkling wine. On Christopher's side of the street were the street lamps, decorated with tinsel and garlands and innumerable red and green lights that seemed reflected tenfold in Glinda's bright eyes. The shop windows ran alongside Glinda and she stared inside each of them, entranced by the trains like Daddy's running round the tracks blowing real steam and the teddy bears clashing cymbals and the Santas and little elf dolls that danced on white cotton snow spread beneath them. All those sweet electronic toys that tinkered merrily away seemed to be telling Glinda, "Mm, yes, go for it sweetheart...live a little, for one Christmas in your life. This could be your real Prince, yeah?"

Stumbling inside of Glinda's apartment, out of the night air, they began to kiss -- they just fell against one another, trying to get warm again and melt the snow in each others' hair.

Glinda wrapped her arms around his neck and moaned, a little overwhelmed. Christopher stroked her back through the red velvet dress, growing hard when he felt her small, perfect breasts pressing against his chest. He nudged her legs apart with his knee so she could grind against his thigh. They kissed for several minutes, their embrace becoming so close that the heat between her legs was maddening to both of them and Christopher began imagining that he could feel her wetness soaking through onto his leg.

Almost frantically, he began tugging the sweater over his head, breaking the kiss long enough to toss it aside.

Glinda stopped his shaking hands, clasping them calmly in her own. In a calm voice she didn't recognize, and couldn't believe in her present state of happiness, she said, "Not here."

She led him to her bedroom, like a little Christmas fairy taking him into an enchanted grotto in the forest.

"You keep your Christmas tree here?" he asked in surprise, seeing the tall pine lovingly decorated at the foot of the queen-sized bed.

"It helps keep the nights less lonely. More festive," she explained, sitting on the edge of the bed facing him. She would never admit why it was really there, or that her fantasy from the previous day was coming true.

She reached down and pulled her dress up, revealing perfect legs in sheer black stockings. Christopher's mouth fell open. "Help me?" she asked in a nervous, little-girl voice. Christopher swallowed hard and tried not to burst. He got on his knees and pulled off her black stiletto shoes. Her toes flexed when he stroked the arches of her feet. She was begging to be kissed. He placed his mouth against her toes, gently sucking them through the nylon stockings. He reached up to her thighs and helped her unclip the garter belt so he could pull the stocking off, relishing the feel of her smooth legs.

Glinda ran the toes of one foot down his bare chest while he rained kisses over another. He sucked and licked her feet, paying ample attention to the small crevices between her toes and the patches just between her heels and her calves, which were extremely sensitive. She chuckled, thrilled, pressing her feet into his chest.

Christopher stood and kicked off his shoes and undid his pants, and Glinda moaned at the sight of his long, thick cock. She lifted her arms and he pulled the dress over her head, deliberately brushing her bare breasts as he did so. He tugged on her nipples, the kissed them and sucked them. But it wasn't enough. Glinda put one hand on his ass and pulled him closer, finding his cock with the other. She pushed it deep into her mouth and Christopher gasped, grabbing her shoulders for support. She sat there for awhile on the edge of the bed, sucking his cock and licking the shaft and grunting and Christopher couldn't help pushing himself against her, feeling waves of pleasure coursing through him until his own toes curled into the carpet.

After kissing his dick and fondling his butt and inner thighs, she concentrated on his balls, weighing them on her tongue. They were heavy and swollen, like the lips of her pussy.

Christopher wanted to repay her and began kneeling, but she stopped him. "I can't wait," she hissed. "I can't, Chris, I need you."

Christopher nodded, reaching one strong arm beneath her thighs and lifting her like a child, preparing to lie her back on the bed. She grabbed him and whispered something to him, and Christopher chuckled breathlessly. He grabbed her roughly by the shoulders and threw her back against the pillows. She raised her hands helplessly and he flung himself on top of her, as though he were leaping offstage into an audience. He kissed and sucked her all over and Glinda tried in vain to put his dick inside her, but he kept moving just out of reach. He pinned her hands up over her head, licking her breasts and the tender insides of her wrists.

She squealed loudly, and he stopped in surprise. Laughing, Christopher kissed her deeply on the mouth to silence her. "Okay, little girl," he said softly, and he positioned himself over her. Before he could ease himself in, Glinda thrust her hips up hard, taking him almost halfway in. Christopher moaned helplessly, feeling Glinda thrash with desire. She was soaking wet, her wetness sucking his cock in tight and rubbing against his thighs. When he plunged in deep, they both cried out and he felt her wetness on his ass and lower back, covering his balls. She was impossibly warm and slippery inside, and she clenched her muscles around him. She gasped for air, and he began pushing in and out of her tight sex.

They rolled over in the bed, shining under the lights on the Christmas tree like a field of tinsel flowers. Glinda loved the way they reflected on Christopher's face when he moaned beneath her. They laughed sometimes, joyfully, like playing children. He grabbed her breasts and she clutched handfuls of the blue satin sheets and drove herself hard against him. "Glinda," Christopher moaned when she twisted her body so her clit was grinding his cock. "I think that I love you."

Glinda came so hard that she fell forward, crying out and shaking all over. He rolled them over again, driving into her as she screamed his name. She orgasmed again and again, her pussy tightening and expanding in spasms. Christopher moved his cock hard and fast, dragging the head along the soft inner walls of her vagina to prolong the pleasure for her. Just when he thought he couldn't hold on much longer, Glinda grabbed him by the hair and gently, almost playfully, bit his neck. He lost it.

Christopher gasped and slammed his hips against her, spurting his cum deep inside her, Glinda trying to pin him in deep by holding him there with her legs. Finally, he started to breathe again.

"Touch me, baby," he growled.

The words acted as a trigger for Glinda and she came again, raking her fingers across his back, her body contracting and her sopping pussy taking his cock deeper as he softened, feeling safe and released inside. They couldn't get close enough to one another and as they laid side by side they clutched at each other's bodies fervently to stay together. Glinda buried her face in Prince Christopher's neck as they fell asleep and smiled to herself, barely believing she was good enough.

* * * * *

Christopher slept, dreaming not only of Glinda but of all pleasure. He could see himself back in the clubs, and he was singing again. He sang like he meant it this time, playing the instrument in his hand hard and riding on the rock n' roll, not realizing or caring that he wasn't young anymore, that no one remembered him from before, that he was taking a risk now.

And there were still risks. The music may have been magical but there were still drugs, wicked, lusting people who stared at him like they wanted to eat him alive (it was flattering at first but scary and meaningless when he was alone at night), and he missed Josh. But in the dream that he thought would come true he saw Glinda standing in the audience and cheering, wanting him. He was in love with that girl, so different from the girl he'd met at the party. That girl had been sad. Dream-Glinda's eyes were as bright and joyful as they'd been when he'd made love to her the night before.