The Ghosts of Tumblr the live version Past
by SE Jakes

Prophet and Tom were lying together on the couch in Della’s living room, their legs tangled together, their faces close. It was impossible to tell if they were asleep or not from the angle Roger and Dave watched them from. But that didn’t stop them from watching.

“They still have their clothes on,” Roger whispered disappointedly. “Maybe we could still try to get them drunk?”

“You’ already tried that, “ Dave told him. “Tom didn’t take the bait.”

“Prophet did. I told you we should’ve brought in a wind machine,” Roger said. “If we dump water on them, think it would have the same effect?”

“They’d have to take off their clothes, at least,” Dave mused. “And if they couldn’t find their bags…”

Roger gave him a kiss on the cheek. “That’s the Christmas spirit.”

* * * * *

“Do they know we can hear them?” Prophet murmured against Tom’s ear.

“Don’t think so. I think they left, though. For now.” Tom stretched out against Prophet. They’d ended up on the couch together after a long Christmas Eve dinner, tangled together and unable to move after the big meal Della made. It was nearly midnight, and Della and Remy had already said their goodnights and gone upstairs.

Remy was spending more and more time at Della’s house, which was something both Tom and Prophet encouraged. Roger and Dave had also said goodnight too, but apparently, they’d lied about going to bed. “I should’ve known they were still hanging around.”

“Roger was trying to get me drunk,” Prophet stage-whispered.

“Trying?”

Prophet shrugged. “It’s fuzzy, but I think he said, because there’s no hurricane?”

Tom raised his brow. “You remember why he said that, right?”

Prophet narrowed his eyes for a second, then smiled. “Oh yeah.”

Because the night they’d reunited months earlier was in the middle of one such storm. Just thinking about it was enough to instigate sex, and it really didn’t matter where they were.

Then again, Tom had to admit it didn’t take much anyway. “No need to excite them more—they’ve seen too much as it is.”

“I’d risk it. The grass is nice,” Prophet said wistfully. “Take off your clothes. We can pretend this tree is outside.”

“I’m not fucking you under the Christmas tree.”

“Who said anything about you fucking me?” Prophet gave him a smile that really made him want to take his clothes off.

It was definitely time for a distraction. “I got you a present.”

“What is it?”

“Hang on—I put it under the coffee table.” Tom turned cautiously. Apparently, Roger and Dave were still off some kind of hide Prophet and Tom’s clothes mission. He grabbed the two gifts and saw a third, with his name on it in Prophet’s handwriting and brought them to Prophet. “These two are for you.”

“Open yours first,” Prophet told him.

Tom propped on his elbow and did, ripping off the paper to find a square box. When he opened it, he found a pair of silver captive bead nipple rings. And five RATTLE straight barbells in black, which Prophet pointed to.

“Those vibrate. They’ll drive you crazy.”

Jesus. If he hadn’t been hard already….“And the rings?”

“I like the word captive and Tommy in the same sentence.” Prophet pressed his thigh between Tom’s legs.

“Romantic bastard.”

“Keep your voice down—you promised you wouldn’t tell anyone,” Prophet said, more loudly than Tom had. “I swear, I think Roger slipped me a mickey.”

“No one says ‘slipped me a mickey’ anymore.”

“Obviously I do,” Prophet said indignantly, then added, “Let’s try them on you.”

“I’m not giving a free piercing show to those two. Open your gift.”

“You’re like the Christmas operative of no fun,” he huffed. “Fine. So what’d you get me?”

“Open this one first,” Tom instructed.

Prophet did as he was told—for once in his life, Tom thought, and watched Prophet pull out the small sketch book. He flipped through it, looking at the drawings Tom had done painstakingly over the past months.

“These aren’t from when you were in Eritrea,” Prophet said finally, and Tom swore the man’s cheeks flushed. But it could’ve been the alcohol.

“No, they’re new,” Tom agreed.

“They look like…plans.”

“Because they are.”

Prophet stared at him, the gray eyes searching his. “Plans for me.”

Tom could only nod. Night after night, he’d sketched out various parts of Prophet’s body, deciding where he’d put the man’s first tattoo. There were some pictures of piercings in there too, and even if it never came to fruition, the freakin’ book alone was enough to fuel more than enough fantasies to last a lifetime.

From the way Prophet’s eyes glazed with lust, he was in apparent agreement. He leaned in and kissed Tom, a quick, hard kiss that ended with Tom’s bottom lip between Prophet’s teeth for a moment before Prophet let him free.

“Open the other box,” Tom said, his voice hoarse.

Prophet did so, and nodded seriously. “I can always use more duct tape.”

“So can I,” Tom told him, then froze. “Shit.”

“What?”

“They’re back.”

Prophet grabbed him hard and rolled them both off the couch together in an attempt to avoid the gallons of water flung their way. They landed half under the tree with a solid thud, soaked to the skin. “Might as well make the most of it.”

Tom held up the duct tape. “And this Christmas operative of no fun’s going to enjoy the hell out of this.”