Hearth and Home (4 page)

“I hope so,” Bayberry said. “Thistle should be here in about thirty minutes. Will you send him in when he arrives?”

“Sure,” Pinebough said before closing the door behind him as he left.

Bayberry smiled. Pinebough’s bark was worse than his bite, always had been, and they’d known each other for quite some time. Pinebough was just a private person. He didn’t talk much to people unless he was close to them, and there weren’t many people who fell into that category. He didn’t feel the need for long speeches or huge explanations, and Bayberry appreciated that. He also liked the way Pinebough didn’t sugarcoat things. If he wanted an almost brutally honest answer to something, Bayberry asked Pinebough, because that’s what he got, and it could be very refreshing at times. Either way, Bayberry valued Pinebough’s friendship and his work ethic. Gruff or not, Pinebough was a good elf.

Forcing his attention back to his paperwork, Bayberry tried to occupy his mind and prevent himself from dwelling on Thistle. It wasn’t easy, but he managed it for the thirty minutes prior to Thistle’s arrival. Bayberry was surprised to feel his heartbeat pick up when he heard the knock on his door. It was going to be a challenge working in the same vicinity as Thistle. Bayberry sighed. As much as he wanted to explore his attraction to Thistle, it wouldn’t be a good idea while they worked together—fun, deliciously delightful, more than likely incredible, but not a good idea.

“Come in,” he called after clearing his throat.

Pinebough walked in with Thistle a few steps behind him. He collided with Pinebough, apparently unaware Pinebough had stopped moving. Pinebough gave an
oof
of surprise and then threw a glance over his shoulder at Thistle, who blushed prettily right to the tips of his delicately pointed ears while rubbing the end of his nose, having bumped it against Pinebough’s back.

Bayberry felt it like a punch to his gut. He wanted Thistle. There was no doubt in his mind.

Pinebough stepped to one side. He motioned Thistle farther into the office with a wave of his hand. With a meaningful look in Bayberry’s direction, Pinebough left, closing the door behind him.

Thistle stood before Bayberry’s desk, nervously shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“Have a seat, Thistle,” Bayberry said with a smile.

“Oh, okay. Wow, Pinebough didn’t seem nearly as cranky today. Did he get a good breakfast or something?” Thistle asked as he took his seat.

“Could be,” Bayberry said with a chuckle. “Pinebough can be moody at times.”

“All the time,” Thistle muttered, making Bayberry laugh, and a blush stole over his skin once more. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Probably not, but it doesn’t make it any less true. Pinebough can be very moody,” Bayberry said with a smile. “So, month-end reports. I’ll be honest, I hate them. Paperwork is tedious, and with the backlog, I need to be on the floor.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Thistle said.

“Thistle, stop. It was an accident. You didn’t do it on purpose.” Bayberry sighed.

“Are you sure you want me in here? I’m one big walking accident,” Thistle said as he looked down at his hands in his lap.

Bayberry stood and walked around his desk until he was right in front of Thistle. Then he dropped to his haunches and took both of Thistle’s hands in his. They were soft and warm, making Bayberry want them running over his skin. He pushed those thoughts aside for another time and took a deep breath.

“You are
not
an accident,” he said quietly, lifting his head to look in Thistle’s eyes. “You are a sweet elf who tries to help others. It doesn’t always work out the way you plan, but your heart is in the right place, and that’s what counts.”

“You really believe that?” Thistle asked, looking baffled.

“Yes. Santa wouldn’t have recommended you to help me if he didn’t believe in you and didn’t think you’d try your hardest to help,” Bayberry said, giving Thistle an encouraging smile. Finally, Thistle smiled back, his face lighting up. Bayberry caught his breath at how truly enchanting Thistle was when he smiled.

“Okay. Then let’s get to those reports,” Thistle said with a game smile.

“Right.” Bayberry returned the smile.

For the next hour, Bayberry went over the reports that needed to be completed and showed Thistle how to find the information on the computer system. He loved the way Thistle paid close attention to everything he said and did. It told Bayberry how hard Thistle would work, and it made him proud. It also allowed him to be close to Thistle, and that was something Bayberry was finding he enjoyed even more. Once he was sure Thistle had a handle on everything, Bayberry left him to it.

Out on the floor, it took Bayberry a bit to get into his work. However, soon he was lost in the creative process.

T
HISTLE
STRAIGHTENED
up with a sigh of relief. He rose from Bayberry’s chair, placed his hands on his lower back, and arched back farther, stretching his back and listening to the little pops as his spine realigned itself. He never realized exactly how much the production department did until he began working on their reports.

Bayberry was the most detail-oriented supervisor he’d ever met. Every item that came out of his department was catalogued, down to who made it, what date it was made, and how long it took them. His reports also included who the item was going to, so it could be properly wrapped and tagged before being loaded into Santa’s bag. His productivity reviews always balanced out the constructive criticism with what things that particular elf excelled at. Bayberry was a great supervisor and, given what he’d seen of the previous year’s documents, also a very talented glass smith.

Thistle sighed. Was there anything Bayberry
didn’t
do well? Maybe he was terrible in bed. Thistle giggled, thinking that idea highly unlikely. The way Bayberry moved suggested he could be amazing in the sack too. Thistle just wished he had even a remote chance of finding out the answer for himself. The break from forcing his mind to focus on one thing and one thing only had Thistle’s thoughts racing in an inappropriate direction.

What would it be like, he wondered, if Bayberry bent Thistle over his desk and fucked him hard? Thistle sat back down in the chair before he fell over. He could just picture Bayberry taking Thistle’s fingers and curling them around the edge of the desk with the admonishment to not let go, or else. The slow draw of Thistle’s breeches over his ass would make him writhe against the desk, gripping tighter. The idea of being caught was… exhilarating. Thistle gave a quiet little moan, pushing the heel of his palm against the base of his hardening cock. He shouldn’t think such thoughts while in the office, but damned if he could stop the images playing through his mind.

Thistle caught his bottom lip between his teeth, trying to hold back his moans. He didn’t know if there was any soundproofing in Bayberry’s office. Thistle knew he was loud. There had been a few former lovers who had commented on it. Apparently expressing his pleasure in such a manner was a turnoff. Thistle didn’t understand it. Wouldn’t it be a good thing to know you were pleasing your partner? Thistle thought so.

He gripped his cock tighter and tried to think of nonsexy thoughts. It took him a few moments before he realized he was no longer gripping his cock, but rather stroking it. He stopped with some effort and took a deep breath.

“Nonsexy thoughts, nonsexy thoughts, nonsexy thoughts,” Thistle chanted to himself.

“Thistle?”

Bayberry’s voice caught Thistle off guard. His eyes snapped open and he yelped in surprise. “Oh my gods!”

“Sorry,” Bayberry said with a smirk. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Yes, you did,” Thistle said with a pout as he tried to surreptitiously pull the chair into the desk to hide the tent in his breeches. Tunics only hid so much, and he was wearing a short one.

Bayberry chuckled. “We’ve finished up for tonight.”

“Oh, okay,” Thistle said, silently cursing the breathless quality of his voice. “I just finished up the productivity reviews. Those are ready to go to Santa. I can come back tomorrow morning and work on the others if you’d like?”

“That would be great, Thistle. I can help for the first part of the morning, but I’ll have to go back on the floor around lunchtime.”

Thistle stared at him for a few moments. The idea of spending any time with Bayberry and trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy was… “stressful” was putting it mildly. Thistle straightened a little and looked everywhere but at Bayberry. “Um, sure, that would, that would be great. Between the two of us, we should be able to get more done in the morning than I would by myself.”

“Good.” Bayberry smiled, and Thistle’s cock jerked in response. He tried a hesitant smile of his own. “Shall I walk you home? It’s pretty dark out.”

“That would be nice,” Thistle said. He could feel the heat in his cheeks that indicated he was blushing.

“I have a few things to finish up in the workshop for today and then we can go,” Bayberry said. Then he walked out the door.

Thistle took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He did that a couple more times before he felt able to think, let alone stand. By the time Bayberry returned, Thistle was ready. He smiled as Bayberry offered his arm. When they exited the building, Thistle looked up to see the stars and smiled again. He loved the nighttime. It was so quiet and peaceful. Everything was hushed.

“It’s beautiful, don’t you think?” he said, turning to find Bayberry staring at him.

“Yes, you are,” Bayberry said quietly, leaving no doubt who he was referring to, and it wasn’t the stars.

Thistle blushed—again—and looked away.

Gentle fingers caught his chin and turned his face back to Bayberry’s. “Don’t do that,” Bayberry said. “Don’t hide from me.”

“I wasn’t hiding,” Thistle denied, albeit half-heartedly, as his brain wasn’t completely connected to the rest of him at that moment. The sizzle of pleasure at Bayberry’s touch had pretty much short-circuited his thought processes.

“You do,” Bayberry said. “Every time I pay you a compliment, you look away.”

“I’m nothing special,” Thistle mumbled. Try as he might, Thistle couldn’t look away from the intense gaze in Bayberry’s eyes. A fine trembling overtook his body as Bayberry continued to stare at him.

“Come on. Let’s get you home. I believe I have made you more than a little uncomfortable,” Bayberry said, another smile teasing his lips. He tucked Thistle’s hand in the crook of his elbow and began walking again.

It seemed to take no time at all for Thistle and Bayberry to reach the top of Thistle’s walkway. When Bayberry made no effort to remove Thistle’s hand from his arm, Thistle continued down until he was at his front door.

“Well, here it is. Home sweet home,” Thistle said.

“It’s… beautiful. I’ve always loved the cottages, with their yards and room,” Bayberry said. “My house is stuck between two others. I can look out my window and into my neighbor’s house.”

“I grew up here,” Thistle said quietly. He hesitated before turning to face Bayberry fully. “Would you like to come in?”

“I would, but I can’t,” Bayberry said. He caressed Thistle’s cheek, sending another wave of pleasure through him, making him gasp. Yup, there went the rest of his capacity for rational thought, and Bayberry had just touched his cheek. “You are so… responsive to my touch,” he murmured.

Thistle whimpered as he watched Bayberry move closer until they were mere centimeters apart. He caught his breath at the first touch of Bayberry’s lips on his before moaning and seeking more contact. Thistle pressed against Bayberry, gripping his tunic to keep from melting into a puddle of elf-goo.

Finally, when they both needed to breathe, Bayberry pulled back. Thistle attempted to follow, but strong hands on his shoulders kept him on his feet, instead of climbing Bayberry like a tree. Then he was enveloped in strong arms, and Thistle could hear the
thump-thump
of Bayberry’s heart. He sighed, somehow content with that.

“I am going to let you go inside without me, because if I go inside, I’m not going to settle for just this kiss,” Bayberry murmured against his ear, causing another shiver. “If I go inside with you, I’m going to take you to bed and not let you out of it in the foreseeable future.”

“Oh,” Thistle whispered against Bayberry’s chest. “Well, then, I… that’s not a deterrent, you know.”

Bayberry laughed softly. “Go inside, Thistle.”

B
AYBERRY
STOOD
next to the crucible, his brows furrowed in concentration. Slowly, he gathered the magic to him and held out his hands. A medium-sized glob of clear molten glass floated upward until it hovered in the air just a few feet away from Bayberry’s face. A gentle nudge with his magic sent the glass spinning slowly until it formed a cylinder. Sweat beaded on Bayberry’s forehead. The glass must maintain a thousand degrees or it would be flawed, worthless, an unworthy gift.

Next came the color. Bayberry smiled as the violet, black, and indigo powders danced through the air and merged with the clear glass, swirling around to form a veritable tornado of color with just enough sparkle to catch the eye. Once Bayberry had the shape he wanted, he blew a gentle puff of air at the glass. A perfect bubble formed, guided by his magic. All the while, he maintained the motion and the heat.

With another push Bayberry split the glob of now-colored glass in half. Slowly, two beautiful, perfectly matched, delicate wine glasses hung in the air before him, a nontraditional color on a classy gift for a newly handfasted couple.

Bayberry smiled. He loved making these types of gifts the best. They were a celebration of life and love. Someday he would make such a gift for his mate. A quick glance reassured Bayberry that Thistle was still bent over the reports in his office. He was forced to pull his attention away quickly when he saw the tip of Thistle’s tongue sticking out of those kissable lips.

Cooling had to be done slowly or the glass would crack and or break. He set the flutes on one of the specially prepared benches. With a grateful smile, he accepted the towel Pinebough held out to him. After rubbing his face, Bayberry swiped the cloth down his bare torso. While magic wasn’t nearly as dangerous as the mundane way of blowing glass, it was still hot work, and Bayberry always stripped down to just his breeches to do it.