Chapter 6 – Chapter 6
"I'm so sorry. So very sorry."
Bran wasn't awakened by a boot nudging him this time, but by the man scooping him up off the ground in the barn, moving his cramped and aching limbs out of the fetal position, kissing him on the cheeks and mouth, tears streaming down the man's face.
"I'm sorry. Forgive me . . . Bran, was it?. My name's Jeremiah."
Something had happened to the man in the night, something had worked on his heart in the snowy, snowy night and had turned him completely around. Bran didn't ask him what. He was just thankful—considered it a Christmas present and miracle—that it had happened.
Jeremiah carried Bran into the cabin and over to beside the fireplace, where he had a roaring fire going. He rubbed Bran's hands and feet and limbs as he pulled frozen clothes off the young man, stopping only long enough to get a good slug of brandy down Bran's throat before he was sitting in his chair by the fire, Bran in his lap, facing away from him, with one leg draped over a chair arm, and commencing to rub other areas of Bran's body—his lips, his thighs, his belly, his pecs and nipples, his cock, and, finally, the inside of his channel with a pumping cock as he gripped Bran's waist and raised and lowered the young man's channel on the cock.
He was repeatedly whispering, "Your name is Bran; your name is Bran."
Jeremiah fucked Bran in the chair and on the bearskin rug in front of the fireplace, with Bran on his belly and Jeremiah closely covering his back and, with Bran slightly raising his hips, Jeremiah stroking slow and deep inside him.
And, at last, Jeremiah took Bran to the bed, covered them both with the quilt and side split the young man while turning Bran's face to his by cupping his chin and holding his lips in a deep kiss. An arm was wrapped around Bran's back and a thumb was thrumming his nipple.
Bran gently turned the older man on his back, licked his way down through the hair on his chest, while Jeremiah moaned—and then grunted and groaned as Bran's mouth opened over his cock. After riding the cock to a mutual ejaculation, Bran collapsed onto Jeremiah's chest and the two men drifted off to sleep.
When Bran woke in the morning, the cabin was flooded with light. The shutters on the windows were open. He could only see glittering white beyond the panes of glass. The tree was back in the cabin, standing, not particularly straight, but standing in the corner. The holly branches were back in the cabin, if haphazardly scattered about. Jeremiah, bare-chested and in skivvies, was kneeling by the fire, frying a mess of eggs and bacon. He was humming. The smell that permeated the cabin was of fresh-roasted coffee.
He turned and saw, Bran, still naked, sit up in the bed. The quilt dropped to his waist.
"It's Christmas morning," Jeremiah said.
"Yes," Bran answered, wondering if anything, anything at all was going to be said about the previous day and night.
Evidently not. "There must be at least a foot and a half of snow out there." Jeremiah said it like it was the best possible news he could have to convey on a Christmas morning.
"Is there?" Bran asked.
"It's stopped now. But it will be days, a week or more probably, before Antelope Gap will be passable." Again, he made that sound like it was a present. And Bran took it that way. But a present for which one of them? Or maybe both.
Jeremiah stood up from the fireplace and turned, the frying pan in one hand and a spatula in the other. His skivvies were pulled down in front by the weight of his heavy cock and balls so that Bran could see a line of curly pubic hair along the line of the man's lower belly. The tenting promised that he was in erection. His body was magnificent. A heavily muscled mature man at his peak.
"Three eggs or four?" he asked.
"Three, but for now I want a cock. Just one, but it's got to be big. Inside me. Now." Bran was tossing away the quilt, turning toward the side of the bed, grabbing his ankles, and lifting and spreading his legs.
The eggs were stone cold by the time they ate them. Neither of them complained.