Kinsley: Unimportant Things

We were up early on Christmas Eve to get in a full day of skiing.  We spent the morning skiing together, then split up after a quick lunch break.  Damien was a better skier than I was, so he went off to do some harder runs.  We met back up and did a few more easy runs together before we called it a day.

I dragged myself back into the house and collapsed on the couch with my snow pants and coat still on.  "You're going to get the couch all wet," Damien said, laughing.

"It won't matter, because I'm pretty fucking sure I'm going to die."  It had been more than 9 months since I'd last been skiing, and I was feeling it.  Tomorrow was going to be a problem.  I weakly kicked my foot towards Damien and said, "Help, please?"

He chuckled and waited for me to unsnap and unzip the pants, then he tugged them down my legs, revealing my leggings beneath them.  He took my hand and pulled me upright and I shrugged out of my coat, which he took and hung up next to my snow pants.  "Thanks," I mumbled, flopping back down on the couch.  Damien sat next to me, then reached down and wrapped his arms around my legs and pulled them up into his lap.  He started gently massaging my calves, working his way from my ankles to knees.  Once he finished both calves, he scooted closer to me and began massaging my aching thighs.  He worked on my poor, tired thighs until his stomach growled.

"I'm starving," he admitted, patting my knee and shifting my legs back off his lap.  "Come make dinner with me?"

"Do I have to?" I asked.  I was comfortable and not sure if my legs would carry me to the kitchen.

Damien chuckled.  "Only if you want to eat."

Groaning in protest, I sat up and took the hand that Damien offered me.  He pulled me to my feet and I followed him into the kitchen.  Once I was up and moving I was fine and I happily helped Damien make dinner.  Neither of us were amazing chefs, but we both functioned just fine in the kitchen and it was fun to cook together.  That's one of those things I would have made fun of someone for a year and a half ago, but now I love it.

After we ate, Damien suggested I take advantage of the big, jetted tub in the bathroom.  "That seems like a great idea," I agreed.  "Want to join me?"

"I'm not a big bath guy," he replied, shaking his head.  He grinned. "Plus, I don't think the bath would be very relaxing for you.  I think I'd be too distracted."

I shrugged and poured myself a glass of wine, then headed upstairs to start the bath.  I found the switch for the fireplace on the wall between the bathroom and bedroom and flipped that on as well.  I sunk into the hot water happily and spent about 20 minutes laying in the tub doing absolutely nothing.  It was wonderful.  That's all I really needed, and anyway I can't really sit still for longer than that.

When I walked into the bathroom, wrapped in a fluffy gray towel, I was surprised to find Damien laying in bed under the blankets.  "Tired already, loser?" I asked, walking towards the bed.

He pushed himself up on one elbow and gave me a sexy smirk.  "Waiting for you, actually," he replied, letting his eyes wander over my towel and down my legs.

"Oh, I guess I don't need this then," I said, letting the towel drop to the floor and stepping away from it, right up to the bed.  He reached out and grabbed me around the waist, pulling me down into bed with him.  I shimmied under the blankets and straddled him, leaning down to kiss him.

"How do your legs feel?" he asked, taking a break from my mouth to trail light kisses across my jaw and onto my neck.  His hands ran up the backs of my legs, stopping to grip right below my ass.

"Mmm, fine," I replied, tilting my head to the side to give him easier access to my neck.

"Are you sure?" he asked, squeezing and kneading, then sliding his fingers to the inside of my thighs and massaging there.  "I could massage them some more."

I groaned and dropped my head onto his shoulder as his fingers moved further and further up my inner thighs.  "You're a damn tease," I moaned, nipping lightly at his collarbone in frustration.  He answered my complaint by finally moving his fingers fully between my legs, stroking me several times before sinking two fingers into me.  Fighting the urge to just hang out and enjoy myself, I reached behind my legs and wrapped one hand around him.  He paused for a second then continued while I stroked him.

I didn't waste much time before I guided him into me.  He groaned as I moved against him.  The sex was fun and playful, and we spent almost as much time laughing as moaning.  Finally, we both collapsed onto the pillows, breathless and no longer laughing.  "But seriously," I said, once I had caught my breath.  "I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to walk tomorrow."

"I have that effect on women," Damien said, smirking.

"That is not what I meant!" I shrieked, laughing again.  "Not at all."

"Ouch," he replied, pretending to be hurt.  "That was unkind."

"Unkind?" I repeated, laughing hard.  "Unkind.  You seriously just said unkind.  Are you old?"

"Compared to you," he pointed out.

I snorted.  "Don't even act like you're some dirty old man.  You're not that much older than me.  I actually don't even feel like you're older at all."

"Again with the unkindness," he said.  "I think you maybe just called me immature."

"Or I called myself incredibly mature," I retorted.

"You?  Incredibly mature?  Hmmm..."

"Now who's being unkind, asshole?" I asked, but I couldn't even keep a straight face.  Between spending the holiday in this beautiful winter paradise, all the sunshine and endorphins from skiing all day, and the amazing sex we'd just had, I practically felt high.  I pushed myself up onto one elbow and looked down at him.  "Damien?" I started, suddenly feeling a little timid.

"Yeah?" he asked, looking a little concerned.

"This is already the best Christmas I've ever had," I told him.  "And it's not even actually Christmas yet.  I just really appreciate you spending it with me here, away from our families.  It really means a lot to me.  I love you."

"I love you too," he replied, reaching for me.  I scooted over to him and laid down next to him, dropping my head onto his chest and settling against him.  He wrapped his arm around me and stroked my shoulder and upper arm absently.  "I'm having a pretty great Christmas too.  I'm glad you're enjoying yourself."

After the long day of skiing, it didn't take long for either of us to fall asleep.  I slept soundly, not even waking up to use the bathroom.  I slept until 8, which was pretty late for me.  When I woke up, Damien was still fast asleep next to me.  I got up and quietly pulled on a pair of shorts and a sweatshirt, then headed downstairs (slowly, because holy fuck did my legs hurt).

I turned on the fireplace, plugged in the lights on the tree, and took a minute to admire the snow that was falling.  I'm 27 years old and snow on Christmas morning still feels magical to me.  I finally dragged myself away from the windows and into the kitchen to make some breakfast.  I dug through the groceries that Damien had gotten and pulled out stuff to make pancakes.  I made pancakes and eggs and sliced up some oranges.  I was getting everything on plates to take up to Damien in bed when he wandered sleepily into the kitchen.

"I thought I smelled breakfast," he said, kissing me on the cheek.  "Merry Christmas."

I pouted.  "I was going to bring breakfast to you in bed," I complained.  "Now you're up and I can't."

"I'd rather eat in front of the fire and the Christmas tree with you," he said, smiling at the face I was making.

I couldn't resist that, and I finally grinned.  "Merry Christmas.  It's even snowing!"

"It is," he agreed, taking one of the plates and leading me out to the living room.  "But Santa didn't come."  There was definitely a lack of presents under our pretty tree.

"I got you something but it's not something I wrapped," I replied, shrugging.  "Also, I was pretty naughty this year so Santa not coming is probably a good thing.  I don't want to haul coal back to Denver."

"Well, I also got you something that I didn't wrap," he said back, chuckling.  "So I guess we were on the same page."

We ate our breakfast, then each produced an envelope.  "I have to admit I'm not a very good creative gift giver," Damien said apologetically as we exchanged envelopes.

"Neither am I," I replied, shrugging.  "In fact, I totally ripped off someone else's idea for your gift, but I think you'll like it anyway."

I let Damien open his first.  As I had said, I had blatantly ripped off Lauren's recent gift to Alex, and gotten Damien Denver Broncos tickets for their January 3rd game.  I preferred gifting experiences to stuff whenever possible anyway, and this was perfect.  "This is awesome," Damien said, kissing me.  "Thank you.  But there are two tickets, does that mean you're going with me?"

"Are you kidding?" I asked, making a face.  "Look, I love you, but that's pushing it.  Take James or someone that will actually enjoy it."

He laughed.  "I could use a good manly day at the football stadium," he agreed.  I wrinkled my nose and he laughed harder.  "Open yours," he said.  I did, pulling out a gift certificate to my salon.  "Now, I'm normally kind of anti-gift certificate, but this seems a little different."

It was different.  Mostly because I had mentioned several weeks back that I'd love to treat myself to a spa day to get a manicure and pedicure, massage, and facial, but I could never justify spending that much money on myself for something like that.  Budgeting and smart spending were drilled into my head and that would be a large chunk of my discretionary spending money that didn't quite seem worth it.  This gift certificate was definitely large enough to cover all those things.  I looked up at him and grinned.  "Thank you," I said.  "I can't believe that you remembered that I said I wanted to go.  How did you know where, though?"

"You have your hair person's card in your wallet," he replied, shrugging.  "Sorry that I snooped through your wallet."

I burst out laughing.  "I'll let it slide this time," I said.

"I should probably tell you that that gift certificate has some strings attached," he informed me.  I raised an eyebrow.  "I don't want you to give in to the temptation to be practical with it.  I want you to go ahead and have your spa day and blow it all on the stuff you said wouldn't pay for yourself."

I blushed, because I had already been considering how many haircuts I could get with the certificate if I decided to go that route instead.  He laughed, knowing he caught me in the act of trying to be practical.  "I think I can handle those strings," I agreed.  "Though I could get my hair cut for a year with this.  I'll try being frivolous for once."

"I have to be honest," Damien said, pulling me against him.  "I've always been really surprised that you're not an impulse spender."

"Rude!" I said, trying to pull away to swat his arm.  He just tightened his arms around me and laughed.  "But I guess you have a point.  It's the one thing I'm not impulsive with.  We all need something to balance things out, right?"

"Something like that," Damien agreed.  I settled back against him, closing my eyes and listening to the soft whoosh of the fireplace fan kicking out the warm air into the room.  Damien's gift may not have been creative, but it was probably the most thoughtful gift I've ever been given--if only because it meant he was listening, even when I talked about unimportant things.