Merry Christmas, Darlin'

Timeline Note: This is totally out of the timeline. Think years in the future, or a/u, or something. Just don't make this a part of the actual universe, 'cos it's not.

I looked up from my contemplation of the search engine and glanced at Michael. He was still sprawled against the pillows, reading the paper; he was deadly serious about reading it cover-to-cover, even though I'd pointed out several times that I doubted the London Times was meant to be read in a single morning.

"Didja know you can find erotic fiction online…using God and the Devil?"

He blinked and looked up at me. "Pardon me?"

"Y'know, wanking mags--" I winked at him and watched him roll his eyes, "--except its stories online, and these feature the Devil and God. The Devil's fucking God, in this one--"

"Caro, please." He had a pained expression on his face and I laughed.

"Too much information?"

"Just try to leave some of my childhood ideals in place, yes?" He folded the paper back and glanced out the window. My gaze tracked his; it was still snowing heavily, the skies lead-gray, blocking all sun. Ah, well. Snow was a Good Thing for Christmas, wasn't it?

"You're taking all the fun out of it, y'know." It didn't matter to me if it piled up the side of the house; we were cozy and snug in here -- even if we had to go out and face the masses, eventually.

"Precisely."

"Prat."

"Wanker."

"Prick-tease."

He was laughing now. "You really ought to refrain from trying to curse in a foreign language, Caro. British euphemisms have to be absorbed at birth."

I narrowed my eyes and smirked at him, then closed down the browser and set my laptop aside. He widened his eyes in mock horror when I advanced on him, then shook his head. "You'll ruin the paper."

"Screw the paper." I shoved several sections aside as I knelt up onto the bed, looming over him.

He smirked back. Michael could give as good as he got. It was what made tussling with him so much fun. "Doesn't sound like much fun, if you ask me. I wouldn't think paper could give much satisfaction."

"Fine. Screw you. Or better yet, screw me." I leaned in and kissed him, tasting tea and strawberry jam on his lips and tongue. We'd snuck down to the kitchen obscenely early to raid the pantry, then crept back to our rooms, laden with early morning goodies. Michael always insisted on doing this at least once on our trips out; I think it made him feel like a kid again. Personally, I'd have preferred to sleep late and have a snowball fight, but whatever. Anyway, it was Christmas Eve and yeah, sure, I was gonna squash his fun. Not.

"Mmm." His mouth was warm and inviting and the soft noise he made when I deepened the kiss made me feel light-headed. Even after all this time, he never failed to turn me on or rouse an intense array of emotions within me. "How much," he began roughly when I broke the kiss to breathe, "how much of that were you reading, anyway?" I knelt astride him and shivered when one large hand cupped me through my sweats, squeezing hardening flesh.

"Enough," I said, taking his mouth again. In truth I hadn't read that much; skimmed a few different sites, mostly out of curiosity. But passion was never far under the surface between us, and I was male, for god's sake. I wondered briefly how I'd survived my teenage years. If Michael and I'd been together, we'd probably have drained each other.

His fingers tightened around me and I groaned and shifted, breaking the kiss to bite gently at his neck. This time I heard his groan, felt it as vibrations through my lips, and bit again. He lurched under me when I sucked, and I found myself flat on my back, spread out over most of the unread morning version of the London Times. "Bite me, will you?" His eyes were the dark, dark grey that heralded lust and need and I grinned, arching up against him.

"You can bite me," I said softly, gasping when he reached under my t-shirt and twisted a nipple, instead. "Michael--"

"Oh, yes." He twisted again, then shoved my shirt upward, baring my chest. His mouth was warm and soothing, then I felt teeth and groaned, remembering at the last minute I couldn't be as vocal here as I was at home. I slapped one hand over my mouth and arched upward silently, heat spiraling through me the longer he sucked and licked and bit at my nipples. "Beautiful man…." His voice was whisper-soft and rough as grains of sand against skin and it washed over me like a balm, rubbing and soothing and arousing me. I reached around and awkwardly pulled my shirt up over my head then waited 'til Michael'd done the same.

Ah, God. Skin to skin was the best; we were both hot, pressed together we became fiery. Still too many clothes between us, though it was only two layers of sweats material. I wanted to be naked and smashed beneath him, taking, taken, wallowing in the joy of being with him. Owned and possessed, owning and possessing. Ours was a complex, multi-layered relationship that boiled down ultimately to one simple thing: we were all for the other.

Two bodies, one soul. Together we completed each other, created one whole.

Another kiss, this one deeper, searching, tasting the love we share. I'm still highly suspicious of the motives of the fates, not altogether certain they won't wrench him away from me once I relax, but regardless, I thank them daily for him. For the day I went to a party I didn't want to be at and found him.

I tore my mouth from him and nipped at his lips, then worked my way around to his neck and ear, teased my tongue over his lobe. "Want you." I had my legs tight around his hips and we were pressing, rubbing against each other, the friction building arousal to delicious levels. "Need you, darlin'…so bad."

"Yes…" He growled when I bit down harder, scoring him none-too-gently with my teeth, then pulled back away from me, hands jerking at his sweatpants. He gestured roughly toward mine. "Get. Those. Off." I smiled at the muted violence smoldering at me; sex between us was always making love, but rarely tender and gentle.

By the time I'd wiggled out of my sweats and tossed them and the rest of the Times to the floor, Michael's erection shone with a layer of slick, warm oil and his eyes gleamed with barely-suppressed hunger. I shifted over onto my belly and raised my ass up, legs spread wide for him. A quick, sharp slap to my ass made me quiver, drew my cock up tighter against my belly and I bit at the blankets beneath me, smothering my groan. "Fuck me, Michael."

He leaned his body over mine and clapped one hand over my mouth, teeth digging into my shoulder as he sheathed himself in one, long stroke. I growled against his palm and shook beneath him, pain and pleasure lancing through me like so many needle pokes. Sharp, hot, bright, they danced within me and through me and I shivered against the onslaught, pushing back to take him even deeper.

"So hot," he muttered, lips flush with my skin, the words painted onto me. "Hot, tight…" I felt the muscles of his arms bunch and shift, then he shifted upward and back, pulling me with him, seating me on his lap, his cock buried deep inside me. I shuddered and groaned and dropped my head back against his shoulder, shaking with the intensity of what I was feeling. Hoarse whispers in my ear drifted through my consciousness. "Ride me…let me have you…take it, Caro…so good…always good…love you…."

"Love you, too," I rasped back, not sure if he actually spoke or if I was hallucinating. Fever-dreams based on sex and satiation and feelings so deep that 'love' didn't even scratch the surface. His fingers stretched around my cock, gripped me just tight enough to make me squirm backward, impaled and unable to move, then Michael stroked me in time with the rhythm we had, and I lost myself in the waves of pleasure swelling within me, growing too large to hold inside, until they crashed over us both, my cock spasming in his hand, my body squeezing and contracting tight around his, more warmth rushing through me when he clutched me tighter and came inside me, his breath hot and rough, uneven pants in my ear.

And still it snowed outside, cool and quiet, muted gray compared to the fiery, red heat suffusing both of us.

We collapsed forward, his cock semi-hard and still inside me until we shifted around, curling into each other, his leg thrown over mine, one arm holding me tight to him, our fingers twined together.

There were so many things I wanted to say; thought about saying. So many things I still had trouble saying…or at least expressing adequately. Instead, I sighed and wriggled closer, my body soaking up his nearness greedily. The house was still quiet, outside was barely light, as if the snow were blocking the day from fully arriving. That was fine; I was happy like this, cocooned inside with Michael. I turned my head lazily and smiled when I realized he was watching me, grey eyes matching the sky, but so much warmer as he gazed at me. Words caught in my throat, froze on my lips, until he kissed me gently. Then the stoppage released and everything thawed and I could breeze again, speak again.

"Merry Christmas, Darlin'."

~finis~

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