Happy Merry Christmas (Would it Be Okay to Love You? Book 3) Read online

  HAPPY MERRY

  CHRISTMAS

  AMY TASUKADA

  Happy Merry Christmas: © 2016 Amy Tasukada

  ISBN: 978-0-9978653-8-7

  Cover design by: Natasha Snow

  Illustration by: Alexandra Pilzner

  All rights reserved.

  No parts of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  This is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and co-incidental.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Acknowledgements

  Author's Notes

  Happy Merry Christmas Card

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Author Notes

  About the Author

  Sneak Peek: October

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  THANK YOU TO THE awesome people that read the book at various drafts, AM Leibowitz, Nell Iris, Addison Albright and others. Finally, you. Thanks for giving my book a chance!

  AUTHOR’S NOTES

  HAPPY MERRY CHRISTMAS isn’t the first book dealing with Aoi and Sato, the couple in my Would it Be Okay to Love You? series. In fact this book is kind of book 2.5-ish. Every month I send out a few short story featuring a day-in-the-life of Aoi and Sato. Happy Merry Christmas is like an extra long short fitting perfect between the short stories of December and January. If you picked up Year One I would recommend reading Happy Merry Christmas between those months, but don’t worry this book also works well as a standalone.

  Don’t forget to sign up for my newsletter where I send you a free short story every month! www.amytasukada.com

  CHAPTER 1

  A GASP ESCAPED Aoi’s lips followed by a smooth, hitched moan. He forced the moan to catch in the back of his throat. It tickled his voice box but curled the sound into an arousing purr.

  “Please be gentle,” he whispered. “It’s my first time.”

  Aoi’s headphones buzzed, signaling the director had cut recording. Aoi waited to hear the complaints, even though the moans had come out as he’d envisioned the character would have done.

  “Say that last line a little more scared,” the director’s voice came through Aoi’s headset before returning to static.

  “Scared?”

  “Yeah, like some guy is really trying to shove his dick up your ass.”

  Aoi pulled free his blond hair trapped in the dangling headset wire. It was a moment’s distraction from the director’s comment he wished he hadn’t heard. His reputation as a voice actor depended on how well he got along with directors, so Aoi couldn’t criticize him.

  His skin pricked as he rolled up the sleeves of his flannel shirt. He wanted to inform the director that the first time he’d had a “guy trying to shove his dick up his ass” he’d been far from scared. And more so, if there’d been even a glint of uncertainty in his voice his partner would have done the correct thing and stopped.

  “You can do that for me Aoi, yeah?”

  Aoi glared at the black wave pattern the foam created in the recording booth. It was one thing to voice act as a homosexual, it was whole other thing to be out as one in Japan. So Aoi couldn’t go into a lecture on the finer points of anal sex and consent.

  “Aoi?”

  “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Ready when you are.”

  “Okay. Three…two…action.”

  Aoi delivered the line. Instead of a lascivious whisper of budding passion, his character’s breath caught in his throat and a sharp pang of panicked fear had him stumbling over his confessed virginity.

  “Perfect,” the director said.

  Aoi nodded and then remembered the director couldn’t see him. He grinned, and he held up his middle finger to where he imagined the director was sitting on the other side of the wall.

  “I’m happy you thought it turned out okay.”

  “Let’s try to bang out the rest of the sex scene then call it a day.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  There was a time when acting the screenplay fantasies of female manga comic book artists had left a bitter taste in his mouth. To them his lifestyle was accepted by everyone, and he’d fall in love with the man who locked him up for a week and had his way with him each night. Straight men could turn gay with a wink and peck on the cheek. Everything was rainbows and happily-ever-afters.

  There were no roles where parents kicked their son out at sixteen when they found a gay magazine among his homework. Where they threw a handful of his clothes outside and wouldn’t answer the door. No roles where their son went from homelessness to making it in Tokyo, and his parents still hung up when he called to make amends.

  After seven years of unrealistic plots, Aoi could finally enjoy them as a guilty pleasure. Stockholm syndrome was not sexy, but it could be funny given the plots he read.

  His current script was no exception to the humor of a thinly veiled plot leading to a sex scene. Aoi had long ago perfected the difference between an excited gasp in pleasure and one containing a hint of apprehension. So it didn’t take long for him to finish his lines in a style the director deemed good. It was Friday anyway and Aoi had somewhere to be.

  “Awesome job,” the director said though Aoi’s headphones.

  “Thank you. Have a good weekend. See you Monday.”

  Aoi took off his headphones and put them on the hanging microphone before freeing himself from the tiny space. His stomach flopped. Somehow the tightness of the recording booth never hit him until after he was out.

  The booth opened to a larger room with a window framing an icicled tree. He pulled on his white coat and tugged the faux fur collar close to his neck. Why hadn’t he done laundry? Ripped jeans and a thin flannel shirt would not withstand freezing temperatures even with his jacket. At least where he was going there was someone to help heat him up if he grew cold.

  He fished his cell phone out of his weekend bag then threw the blue nylon duffle over his shoulder. It butted past his hips to above his knee. Not because the bag was large, but because Aoi was so short. He never told anyone his exact height but under five foot was all anyone ever got. Most people he knew were over five foot so they couldn’t really understand the world shorter than that.

  His face pricked with pain when he opened the recording studio door. He closed his eyes, imagining his contacts freezing to his eyeballs if he didn’t give them time to adjust. It was too cold for winter. The weather people needed to think up a new term for whatever season it was. Mega-cold-like-the-heart-of-a-man-that-would-keep-going-if-his-partner-sounded-scared-winter maybe?

  Confident his eyes wouldn’t freeze, he headed for the train station more convinced than ever that Tokyo needed heated underground walkways. There was plenty of time to meet Sato at the agreed bar to start off their weekend date. But considering how long traversing Tokyo by slow train took, Aoi needed to not get distracted by the warmed office buildings and department stores along this route.

  Five minutes into his death-defying journey against hypothermia to see his lover, his phone vibrated with a text. A little pang of excitement welled in his chest. It could be Sato telling him he was leaving work on time for once and would be at the bar early.

  Aoi glanced at his phone…and sighed. It was just his agent. She wanted him to call when he was free. He called her and immediately regretted not waiting until he got to the train station so he could keep both hands warm.

  “Aoi, I’m so glad you called,” she chirped. “You were recording today, weren’t you?”

  “Yeah. It went well. It’s starting to get really chilly, isn’t it?”

  “Supposed to snow later tonight.”

  “How many months until summer?”

  “No one wants the humid summer. Enjoy the winter while you can,” she said.

  Aoi rolled his eyes; like she could understand the cold while she was in a heated building.

  “Anyway,” she continued. “A new script landed on my desk. It’s for Number One Class President. You did it a while ago, remember?”

  Aoi debated about changing hands to let the other one have the warmth of his armpit, but then both hands would be only moderately warm. It was best to sacrifice only one to frostbite. He needed the other for later tonight with Sato.

  “Are you listening?”

  Aoi laughed. “I am. It’s just really cold. That’s the one where my character was infatuated with the guy he helped get elected class president.”

  “Exactly. They wrote a screenplay for a live performance Christmas special, including the couple from that series and a more popular one the manga writer created. It’s for an in-store event in two weeks from today in Hokkaido. I know it’s short notice, but your co-star already said yes…”

  He wondered if she lied about his co-star already saying yes. Every time there was an event with a certain co-star, he’d always say yes before Aoi even knew about it. Maybe all the agents secretly told all their clients their co-star said yes so
they’d feel extra guilty.

  “Atsushi’s acting in it, too,” she said.

  “Who’s Atsushi? He wasn’t the guy I acted with before.”

  “You haven’t heard of Atsushi? He’s getting on all the drama CDs these days.”

  None of the ones Aoi listened to, but Aoi was more into reading the mangas the drama CDs he acted in were based on. He had Sato to play with if he wanted to hear another guy moan.

  “Okay. Atsushi’s popular. Got it. How hot is the script?” Aoi didn’t know why he asked. He was going to say yes regardless of how much moaning he had to do in front of a packed store.

  “The other couple has the really heavy stuff. Your character gets a public hand job.”

  Public? What kinds of things did the writer have him acting? The climax of most in-store event scripts was a kiss.

  “Okay.” Aoi smiled as he stepped into the warm train station and bought his ticket. “I’m in.”

  “Awesome. I’ll tell them and e-mail the contract over. Fax it back to them, okay?”

  “I’ll send it over tomorrow.”

  He wouldn’t even have to go to a convenience store since Sato had a fax machine. He said his goodbye as he got on the crowded train. Sandwiched between people’s chests, Aoi closed his eyes and tried not to think of his currently non-existent personal space.

  Everyone had to be a least a head taller than he was, and their looming shoulders over his head did little to ease him. It helped get his mind off the fact he was crushed between a bunch of suited salary business men in a tin can.

  Luckily, Aoi could keep his eyes closed and didn’t need to look up at the train map to know his stop on Sato’s side of Tokyo. Aoi lived closer to the major recording studios while Sato lived on the opposite side of the city, one train stop away from his accounting job.

  They’d talked about moving in together a month ago on their ten-month anniversary, but between their two apartments laid the most expensive real-estate in the city. Even by combining their salaries, they’d be lucky enough to live in the vestibule where people took off their shoes.

  So on the weekends when Aoi didn’t have some store event, they took turns spending time at each other’s apartment. When it was Sato’s turn to host it meant Aoi’s diet would consist of either ready-made ramen or pizza. Aoi hoped for pizza. Sato couldn’t dump boiling water into a cup. He’d find some way to screw it up.

  The train slowed, and the voice over the intercom announced Aoi’s stop. The whole trip took under an hour, but Aoi couldn’t wait for the day when his career gained enough momentum that he and Sato could afford to move in together. No more weekend bags or having to stand in the rush hour train.

  Fleeing the packed train, Aoi took out his phone and thumbed to his e-mail. The contract was sent. He looked at the details while weaving through the bodies at rush hour. It was all standard. Then he scrolled to the date…

  December 24.

  Christmas Eve.

  “Shit.”

  Like all the other couples in Japan, Aoi planned to spend Christmas Eve with the man he loved. He had even pre-ordered their KFC deluxe chicken dinner in early November so their first Christmas Eve together would be the perfect traditional Kentucky Christmas.

  “Shit.”

  He’d given a verbal yes, and if he backed out of even a verbal agreement, it would haunt him for ages. Voice acting was a small circle to be exiled from. It wasn’t like Aoi had any other skills besides moaning.

  Aoi rubbed his eyes. If the live event was going to be as popular as his agent said, then it would give him the exposure he needed. He’d get noticed and more jobs would come his way and perhaps by the time Christmas Eve rolled around again, he and Sato would have an apartment together.

  “Fuck.” Aoi hung his head.

  At least they were meeting at a bar, first, so he could get Sato plastered before he told him.

  CHAPTER 2

  SATO TWIRLED HIS PEN through his fingers and examined the numbers on the spreadsheet. How long had he analyzed the column, unable to find the error? A flick of his wrist and he held the pen, using the capped end to rub his temple. He couldn’t leave until the mistake was found, even if he had the most adorable boyfriend in Japan. Of course, Sato would rather be with him than at work staring at spreadsheets, but if he was the first one to leave the office and even more if he left with an error uncorrected, it would look bad.

  The pen slipped, knocking Sato’s semi-rimless glasses askew. He pushed them back up his nose then threw the pen on his desk. It rolled, stopping on the plastic foot of Sato’s Death Wing elite class Gundam mech suit model. In the office, though, the figurine didn’t stand out. He worked for Full Moon studio, which produced the anime series the robot was used in, and everyone in accounting had at least one series mascot on their desk. People didn’t work for an anime studio unless they were part geek.

  He ran his fingers through his hair and minimized the spreadsheet. He would figure it out once he gave his eyes a break from all those digits. He pulled up the internet page he’d opened before.

  Ideas for Aoi’s gift eluded him. Giving a Christmas present to your lover wasn’t something traditionally done, but Sato’s parents had always made a big deal about making sure he left the window open for Santa. They made him do it through college even though Santa sent his gift via Nippon post. It had made him smile beyond his teenage years, so he wanted to keep up the little tradition and give something to Aoi from Santa.

  Sato clicked through the athletic store’s web shop. Aoi liked running. He could get Aoi new pair of running shoes. He clicked on shoes and at least a thousand choices populated the screen.

  Shit.

  Sato rolled his chair back. Jiro, the coworker in the cubicle next to his, clicked away at a shooting style flash game. He wasn’t doing anything important so Sato felt free to bug him.

  “Jiro, you like to run,” Sato said.

  Jiro clicked off the flash game and flipped back to a spreadsheet. He wore the same black suit and white Oxford shirt as Sato, but Sato at least ironed his.

  “Yeah. Are you thinking about starting?”

  Sato pressed his lips together. “Maybe?”

  He couldn’t say he was thinking about buying shoes for his boyfriend.

  “That’s awesome, man.” Jiro playfully punched Sato in the arm. “There’s a few of us that go after work. Maybe you want to—”

  “Can you tell me what makes a good running shoe?”

  Sato had zero desire to take up running and if he let Jiro talk on too much, he’d be signed up for a marathon by the end of it.

  “You’re new, so you want one with a thick sole so you get good support and don’t feel the pavement as much.”

  “So ah… When I get better at it, I can go with a thin sole.”

  “Yeah. One of the people in the running group wears cool shoes that are—”

  “Thanks Jiro.” Sato rolled his chair back to his desk.

  The website allowed him to narrow his search for shoes with thinner soles. Aoi said he had enjoyed running for years, and Sato had even watched him compete in two marathons. The screen refreshed with Sato’s new search limits, and the list dropped from a thousand to a few hundred.

  Sato rolled his chair away from his desk. “Hey, Jiro.”

  “Hey, Sato.” Jiro laughed.

  “So is one brand better than another? Like which ones are good quality?”

  “Any of the name brands are pretty good. Don’t get anything too cheap or it will fall apart on you. One time I was watching…”

  Sato slid back into his cubicle as Jiro continued his story. He eliminated the cheaper pairs and was left with close to a hundred to pick from.

  Who was he kidding? He didn’t even know Aoi’s shoe size, and it wasn’t like the man didn’t already have running shoes.

  Aoi never even hinted about anything he wanted. Well, Aoi would tell Sato he needed him, but it wasn’t like he could giftwrap himself and hand himself over their Kentucky chicken.

  Sato exited out of the athletic web shop and switched back to the spreadsheet.

  Maybe he could get Aoi a cookbook. No. Sato slid down his chair, because Aoi never used a cookbook when he prepared their meals. He could combine a few ingredients and whip up a creation that exploded all of Sato’s taste buds. Giving Aoi a cookbook would be like subtly telling him his cooking needed help.