A teaser snippet of Aaron and Kenny, after Killing Me Softly and before the mania of Don’t Shoot Me Santa!
The fire burned low, a bed of embers breathing soft heat into the room. Chaos was sprawled across the rug, snoring faintly, paws twitching in dreams. The television cast a muted glow from an old black-and-white film of which Kenny had convinced Aaron he would find romantic. He’d argued that if Aaron loved the music of that era, he might as well learn to appreciate Bogart and Grant too.
But he could tell, Aaron wasn’t really watching.
He was half-asleep against Kenny’s side, bare feet propped on the coffee table, toes waggling toward the flames. The weight of him had become familiar now. Expected, even. He belonged there. Beside him. The missing piece Kenny hadn’t known he was still searching for.
Once, there’d been another half. One lost long ago, ripped from him by tragedy. And somehow this complicated, beautiful disaster of a man had taken her place.
Kenny smiled, turned his head, and pressed a quiet kiss into Aaron’s hair. He settled his arm around him, trailing his fingers down the curve of Aaron’s spine, slipping beneath the loose waistband of his joggers and tracing circles across the small of his back, then lower. Just enough to remind, not demand. He tried to keep his eyes on the film, but his focus had drifted.
He was caught instead by this: the quiet miracle of Aaron breathing beside him. Of him softening. Yielding. Learning how to bend without breaking.
He wasn’t always like this. Most days, Aaron was still thunder. Restless, quick to bite, forever testing where the edges lay. And without access to proper therapy, Kenny had stepped into that space, trying not to blur the lines too far. He knew it was unethical. Lovers shouldn’t dissect each other’s minds. But how could he not? Aaron was a body full of ghosts and reflexes. All he’d ever needed was a quiet voice, a steady hand.
And, sometimes, control.
Nearly two years had passed since they’d fled to the Isle of Wight, running from everything determined to ruin them. In that time, Aaron had become everything Kenny couldn’t let go of. They’d built peace out of ashes. A fragile calm that felt earned. Kenny had loved him, cared for him, and built a world small enough to feel safe inside.
And somewhere in all that quiet, he’d fallen even deeper. So deeply that the thought of Aaron one day walking away was a possibility he couldn’t bear to hold.
Lately, that fear had grown into something else. An idea. A need to find a way to keep him here. Not through promises or guilt, but through something stronger.
Something Aaron wouldn’t want to leave.
Because he needed it. Even if he didn’t yet know how to ask for it.
Kenny drifted his gaze back to the screen, though his mind was far away from the neat moral arcs of old cinema. The hero was lecturing the heroine on restraint, as if willpower alone could tame chaos. Kenny smiled at the irony.
Restraint. He’d lived by it. Taught it. Built entire worlds from it.
But lately, it felt less like discipline and more like denial.
He glanced down at Aaron, the faint crease between his brows, the muscle jumping in his jaw even when half asleep. Even softened, Aaron fought invisible battles. Always braced for the next blow that would never come. Kenny had spent so long cushioning the world around him, he’d forgotten one truth: Aaron didn’t just need gentleness. He needed to yield to something that wouldn’t hurt him.
The fire cracked softly. Aaron stirred. “You’re doing that thing again.”
“What thing?”
“Overthinking.”
“Occupational hazard.”
“Your occupation’s retired.” Aaron nudged him with his knee. “And you’re meant to be watching a film with your boyfriend.”
“You’re half asleep.”
“I’m resting my eyes from all that deep dive you’re doing into my psyche. Stop analysing me when I’m relaxed. It makes me nervous.”
Kenny smiled at that. “That’s the best time to do it.”
“You’re manipulative.”
“And you’re not the easiest patient to ignore.”
“Good.” Aaron cracked one eye open. “You’d be bored otherwise.”
There it was. That familiar edge. Teasing, yes, but threaded with defiance. The invitation Aaron always issued when the air grew too close to something real. Their game. His shield.
Kenny tilted his head, studying him. “Feet off the table.”
Aaron flicked his eyes open, a spark behind them. He was too comfortable to rise fully to the bait, so he drawled, “Make me.”
The words came lazy, but the challenge in them sliced clean through the quiet. Kenny could have sighed. Could have laughed, tickled him, or shoved him until he relented. But something in him shifted. Not this time.
He set his wine glass down, turned, and met Aaron’s gaze with a look that was calm, steady and absolute. “Feet off the table.”
The room hummed with the low sound of the fire and Chaos’s soft snore. Aaron’s mouth curved in that half-smile he wore when he couldn’t decide whether to push harder or give in.
Then, slowly, he sighed. Drew his feet from the table. Planted them on the floor with exaggerated care, as if to say happy now?
Kenny stroked his knuckles along Aaron’s cheek, then cupped his chin with a finger and thumb to tilt him up to meet his gaze. “See? No bloodshed required.”
Aaron huffed a soft laugh, but there was no real fight left in it. “You like bossing me around.”
“No.” Kenny gave a gentle jerk of Aaron’s chin. “I like when you listen.”
Then he leaned in and kissed him. Languid, unhurried, rich with warmth. He tasted the faint trace of red wine on Aaron’s lips, the hum of quiet contentment that followed, and the way Aaron leaned into it without thinking.
When Kenny finally pulled back, he dropped his voice to a low hush. “Watch the film.”
Aaron looked away, back to the television though the corners of his mouth betrayed him with a faint, satisfied curve. Kenny leaned back, studying him. That beautiful contradiction of defiance and trust, the storm that had finally learned to rest.
And in that moment, Kenny knew he was right.
It was time.
Not to push.
But to lead.
Don’t Shoot Me Santa OUT 7 NOVEMBER 2025!
