December 8

CRIME:

Once a Thief - Vic/Mac

Author: Angyl & Orithain
Title: Naughty and Nice
Date: Dec. 8
Fandom: Once a Thief/Crime
Pairing: Vic/Mac
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Vic decides he'd rather be naughty than nice.
Disclaimer: If they belonged to us, we'd be able to watch this instead of writing about it. We didn't create them, but we sure do have fun playing with them, and the only person making profit is the real owner, who gets the royalties when we go out and buy copies for research... and to drool over. ;)
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NAUGHTY AND NICE

Snow flew in all directions as Victor Mansfield shook his head vigorously as soon as he'd stepped inside the abandoned reservoir that served as the headquarters for the super-secret government agency known only as 'The Agency'. When his straight, dark hair no longer looked prematurely salt-and-peppered, he straightened up, an expression of disgust on his face as he glanced over his shoulder at his partners, Mac Ramsey and Li Ann Tsei. "I _really_ want to retire to the tropics," he grumbled, green eyes scrunching shut as he sneezed. "Now would be good."

"And deprive me of listening to your charming soliloquies?" the Director chided as she appeared beside them, making all three agents jump. She usually made her appearances in the conference room where she briefed them, but Vic and Mac firmly believed that she jumped out at them in the hallways at infrequent intervals just to drive them crazy.

Vic eyed the slim redhead warily but didn't reply, knowing that he had no hope of winning a battle of words with the Director.

"Yadda," Mac yawned. He was tired and not overly impressed with either Vic's 'soliloquy' or the Director's response. "Been trying to do that since I got suckered in, I mean _recruited_. Why are we here at," Mac looked at his watch, "five-fifteen?? You really are a sadist, aren't you?" the young man moaned.

"Of course I am," the Director purred, lightly scraping her nails over Mac's cheek. "I thought you knew that already."

Li Ann rolled her eyes. Vic and Mac would never learn to stop baiting their boss, so she had no sympathy for them.

"So why _are_ we here?" Vic cut in, trying to save Mac from his own folly, though he had no idea why.

"Christmas party," the Director announced cheerfully.

"At five-fifteen in the freakin' morning?" Mac groaned, shuffling out of the Director's grasp and conveniently placing himself behind Vic. "That's not seasonal cheer; it's torture!"

"Mac, _shut up_!" Li Ann finally hissed in his ear, smacking the back of her former lover's head to make her point. "You'll only make it worse."

"You want us to plan a Christmas party?" Vic ventured, trying not to imagine the results of mixing his country and western tastes with Li Ann's elegance and Mac's trendiness.

"Such a clever boy," the Director cooed, stroking a talon along Vic's cheek. "It's your turn to host this year, and after the debacle of a party we had last year thanks to Murphy and Camier, I expect _good results_. Oh, but it won't just be the three of you planning," the redhead continued with terrifyingly good cheer. "Jackie and Dobrinsky are already hard at work. You, my three little dumplings, are late."

"Dobie? Why didn't I let you shoot me, Vic?" Mac groaned, his head hitting the older man's back as it fell forward in mock despair.

"Dream on," Vic retorted. "You're not leaving me alone with Dobrinsky and two women, three if the Director keeps involving herself, to plan the party from hell. Misery loves company, Mac."

"Boys, boys, when will you learn that the more you hate it, the more I enjoy it?" the Director chided, leading them toward the meeting room with an arm through each of the men's. Shaking her head, Li Ann followed behind, gritting her teeth as she imagined what Jackie was going to be like.

"You're such an asshole," Mac muttered to Vic under his breath. Gritting his teeth as talons sank into the soft flesh of his underarm, Mac sucked it up and decided to go with the flow.

"So what's the theme for this year's little hootenanny?" he sighed. "'All I Want from Santa Is a Good Spanking?' How about 'Candy Cane Cages' or, even better, 'We Three Whipping Boys?'"

Behind the threesome, Li Ann rolled her eyes. "You know that if you keep making suggestions like that, she'll take you up on one of them," she pointed out acerbically.

The Director smiled delightedly. "Very good, my dear."

"So how about a nice, traditional Christmas party?" Vic suggested, glancing down at the petite redhead between him and his partner. "You know, eggnog, carols, red velvet trimmed with ermine, a huge tree trimmed with fairy lights and glass angels and bows, mistletoe?"

The Director blinked slowly as she considered it. "It has been a very long time since anyone tried that," she mused. "And if anyone's going to manage homey, it would be you, Victor."

The dark-haired man frowned, trying to decide if he'd just been insulted.

"Hey, Vic-tor, if you dress up as Santa, can I sit on your knee?" Mac chortled in amusement. Of course, that wasn't exactly what he'd want to sit on, but it was so damned close it wasn't funny, Mac thought to himself. Not that the Director would say no if he did actually suggest what he was thinking...

Mac shuddered at the sudden mental images and made a note to scour out his brain with steel wool at the earliest possible free moment he had.

Vic imagined Mac sitting on his lap, preferably with both of them naked, and he couldn't speak, instead swallowing hard and praying no one had noticed his pants getting tighter.

"I do believe Mr. Ramsey is offering to be your elf, Victor," the Director observed with amusement.

"Hey. HEY! I am so not doing short shorts and pointed shoes with bells on. Forget it; I'd rather do Dobrinsky's septic tank again!" Mac protested vehemently.

Li Ann snickered as she pictured Mac in that costume, and as the Director pushed open the door to the meeting room, they met Dobrinsky's wide grin.

"So, offering to help me out again, are you, Ace?" he asked.

Mac gaped at the black man then glared daggers at both Li Ann and the Director. "I don't do elf costumes. Early childhood trauma," he said firmly, not answering Dobrinsky's question while refusing the costume again as well.

"Why can't Li Ann and Jackie dress up like those Mrs. Claus types?"

Jackie shrugged. "I don't have a problem with that."

Li Ann sighed but nodded. "It's just for one night, and it is in keeping with the season."

"How did I get elected Santa?" Vic demanded, unconsciously sucking in his already flat belly.

"Because you're the oldest?" Mac replied sweetly, grateful that the Director was still between him and Vic.

"Now, now, children, each Mrs. needs a Mr. You'll both wear Santa suits. I'm sure that many of our agents and staff will want to sit on a knee and whisper what they want for Christmas in your ear. I know I will," the Director smirked.

Vic exchanged a look of horror with Mac. But he knew that there was no changing the Director's mind once she'd made it up, so he decided that all he could do was spread the misery. "What about Dobrinsky? Shouldn't he be a Santa too?"

"Oh no, he's just here to supervise you four and give you... motivation. I have a massage scheduled. Now be good little agents and play nice," the Director purred, pinching Mac's ass and patting Vic's before she left. "Ta ta, children."

Mac watched the door swing closed behind the redhead and rubbed his sore cheek unobtrusively. "She really needs to get declawed," he groused to no one in particular.

"Don't insult cats," Vic muttered as he sank into his seat. "So, looks like we have some shopping to do. Who gets what?"

"Well, we certainly don't trust either of you to get the tree," Jackie scoffed. "And we'll need Dobie to help us carry it, so that leaves you two guys to get the costumes and decorations." The blonde smiled sweetly.

Vic gaped. "You want me and Mac to get everything else?!"

"Hey, you're the one who's born to shop," Mac piped in. "You wanna explain to _her_ why we were left to get the decorations? I mean, hey, you want us to buy them, we will, but I've never decorated for Christmas, and Vic... His nickname is Moose, and he likes to wear plaid. Enough said."

Li Ann's eyes narrowed, and she looked like she wanted to chew them both a new one but... "He's right; if we leave them to buy the decorations, they'll go to Walmart and pick up the cheesiest stuff they can find just because we've left them alone. You take Dobrinsky and get the decorations; I'll get the tree, and I'll just find my own help. _They_ can get the costumes. And decorate when you bring your goodies back. Sound good to you, Jackie?"

The blonde nodded even as Vic grumbled, "Hey! There's nothing wrong with plaid!" He glared at Mac. "Fine, but we are _not_ getting some disco Santa costume. Normal costumes."

"We're counting on you to make sure that they are, Vic," Li Ann agreed, giving Mac a warning glare.

Mac returned the glare with ease. As if he would stoop to wearing something so... tacky. _He_ had style, at least. "PMSing much, Li Ann?" he smiled sweetly as he headed towards the exit.

"At least _I_ have style, and Dobrinsky does too, though I'm loath to admit it sometimes. The rest of you wouldn't know good taste if it bit you on the ass!"
And with that he was out the door and heading to his car.

"The Director would make you fill out forms for a year if you shoot him, Li Ann," Vic warned before hastily following Mac. Although he would never admit it to Mac, he'd come to realize that he'd had a lucky escape when the younger man's return had made Li Ann call off their wedding. She was damn near as scary as the Director at times!

He stopped next to Mac's car, frowning. "Are we going to be able to fit six costumes in this matchbox car of yours? Maybe we should take my truck."

Mac sighed. Vic was actually right for once. "How about you follow me to my condo, and then we drop my car off and go from there?" he suggested. "You can give me a ride home after we finish decorating."

Vic shrugged. "Okay. Though if I keep giving everyone a ride, I'm going to get a meter for my truck!" He shook his head as he turned toward his truck, parked a few spaces away. Once inside, he turned the radio on and cranked up the volume, smirking evilly as he thought about Mac's reaction to the country station when he got into the truck.

***

Mac glared balefully at Vic as his ears were assaulted by that hideous country twang. Oh, Victor was going to _pay_! In fact... the moment that Vic had pulled into the parking spot, Mac was out the door and heading into the costume shop, not even waiting for the older man to finish putting it into park.

When Vic finally managed to saunter in, Mac grinned a truly nasty smirk. "There he is, girls, our Santa suit model. Try not to break him before I pick out the costumes, okay? But remember, we need to inspect _every_ costume, so don't let him skip trying any on."

Green eyes widening, Vic gaped at his so-called partner in disbelief. He could see the sunny smiles on the two shop assistant's faces, which kept him from simply pulling out his gun and shooting Mac. Then he smiled slowly. "But since you'll be wearing one of the suits for the party, we need to make sure it fits you properly. So you'll have to try them all on too."

"Oh, you didn't say that you'd both be wearing the costumes, Mac," one blonde girl who couldn't have been more than nineteen gushed. "Your friend is right; you'll both have to try them on."

"Didn't I tell you? I've pre-booked mine," Mac chortled gleefully. "I'd planned on wearing it for... never mind."

Vic glared. "I think we're supposed to wear the same style. So maybe I should just try on whatever you picked for yourself, and we'll see if there's one that fits me."

"Sorry, ladies, but the killjoy here doesn't want to give you a show. How very Scrooge-like of him," Mac sighed. "But he always was a little... tight," the younger man explained. "My suit's reserved under Ramsey, Mac Ramsey."

"Oh, you're the one going out with Gabrielle tomorrow night," one of the girls squealed as she checked him out. "Damn, she always gets the good ones."

Vic rolled his eyes. "We'll need the suits for the two of us and two Mrs. Claus suits as well. I have the measurements for the ladies as well. Do you have what we need?" he asked a bit acidly as he watched the two girls practically drape themselves over Mac.

"Umm, yeah sure," one of the girls replied distractedly, and then smiled what she thought was a beguiling smile at Mac. "Are you sure we can't get you to try your Santa suit on one more time, just for us? I'd love to see you in it.

Mac grinned and then turned to Vic with a leer. "Well we've got the time; the girls won't be back at work for a few more hours. Sure, why not?"

Vic frowned repressively. "Neither of your last names would happen to be Rivers, would it?"

"No," they replied in unison. "Why?"

"Jealous much, Vic-tor?" Mac smirked. "Lead the way to the changing room, ladies. Oh, and you may want to be on hand; I may need some help... adjusting things."

"Do you really need someone else trying to kill you?" Vic retorted quietly enough that the girls couldn't hear him. "Try not to get engaged or shot in the next couple of hours."

"Excuse me? You've had about as much luck as I have when it comes to women. Hello, Ivy and Gloria?"

"Neither of whom tried to turn me into a mushroom cloud!"

Listening to the sound of squabbling behind them even if she couldn't make out the words, the blonde pulled a face. "Why are the cute ones always gay?" she grumbled under her breath to her coworker.

"Hey, she wasn't really trying to kill me; she loved me, damnit! You were just jealous!" Mac groused.

"Jealous? Ha! At least _my_ fiancee never tried to kill me!"

"No, she just dumped your sorry ass when I came back into the picture," Mac shot back.

"Because you drove her so crazy she turned off men entirely! Hell, she's probably sleeping with the Director now!"

"Vic, man, that's... kinda hot actually," Mac confessed, his mind already running through scenarios. "It would explain why I haven't woken up in the middle of the night being clawed lately."

Vic met Mac's eyes with an identical heated expression. "Yeah, I know. Li Ann's so tall, and the Director's so small, different coloring... they'd look amazing together. Way better than a cage fight."

"Yeah, like fire and ice... it's be a toss up as to who'd top. I mean Li Ann was pretty damned pushy in bed, and the Director is like... well, the woman part owns Caligula."

Vic shuddered at the reminder of just what the Director was like, but the question caught his imagination. "I dunno, I can't see the Director bottoming. She's too dom. Hell, I bet she has a collection of strap-ons."

"Oh man, don't say things like that when I can't do anything about... anything," Mac groaned as he felt himself throb at the thought. "Fuck, the Director fucking Li Ann with a strap-on. God _damn_!"

Vic nodded vigorously. "Hot!" He groaned as he tried to adjust himself discreetly, his jeans much too tight at the moment.

"Oh yeah," Mac agreed and used his hands to discreetly cover the bulge in his trousers. "Umm, I'm gonna... go to a change room. Be right back," the younger man mumbled, knowing that Vic would figure out what he was doing. Not that it would have stopped Mac, he was in desperate need.

"Want some help with that?" Vic offered an instant before his green eyes widened in horror as he realized he'd actually said that out loud. "Shit!"

"Why, Vic, I didn't know you batted for the same team as well as the opposing. Very versatile, aren't you?" Mac smirked. "Admittedly I _am_ gorgeous, so I can understand the offer, but why did you take so long to make it?"

And with that enigmatic comment Mac moved as quickly as he could, given his current state, to the back of the store where the dressing rooms were.

"'Gorgeous'? You are _so_ full of yourself!" Vic chased after Mac, intent on setting him straight.

The two girls, ignored by the men, rolled their eyes at each other and went to get Mac's costume and find a matching one likely to fit the dark-haired man who hadn't introduced himself.

"Jealous much, Vic-tor?" Mac teased as he made his way to the very last cubicle and, checking for surveillance, stepped inside. Mac quickly made short work of his pants and briefs and sighed as his hand wrapped around his distended cock, grateful for the pressure that made him feel oh-so-good.

Vic pushed the door open, still talking, and stopped dead at the sight that met his eyes. "Jeez! In a changing room? Don't you have any self-control?"

"What the hell did you think I came back here for? To listen to poetry?" Mac snorted. "If you're gonna come in, then come in and shut the door; otherwise, fuck off. I'm dyin' here!"

Vic hesitated in the doorway for a moment before stepping all the way inside and closing the door behind him. "This is a mistake," he murmured half under his breath, but he couldn't force himself to leave or even to look away from Mac's hand lazily stroking his cock. And it was even bigger than Vic had imagined.

"And you're such a good boy that you always do the right thing and avoid mistakes, don't you, Vic?" Mac purred, leaning against the back wall and stroking his cock firmly while he watched the older man with hooded, hungry eyes. "You're the Director's good son, always doing things by the book. Don't you ever get bored?"

Vic sank to his knees in front of Mac, lust-darkened green eyes rising to meet the other man's. "I suppose you have a better idea of what I should do?"

"Breaking a few rules never hurt anyone, within reason, of course," Mac groaned, his eyes half closing as he felt a spike in the need coursing through his veins. Vic looked so damn hot on his knees in front of Mac that it was a wonder the younger man didn't come on the spot.

Seeing the lust on Mac's face made Vic smile slowly, and he leaned forward to swipe his tongue over the smooth tip so close to him. He inhaled the scent of Mac's arousal and tasted it, and he knew he wanted more.

"Fuck," Mac groaned, his head hitting the rear wall of the dressing room while his hands came up to bury themselves in Vic's hair. "Anyone tell you that people don't like a cocktease, Mansfield? Stop fucking around and suck me."

"You seem to be confused about who's in charge here. Shut up, Mac." Vic licked him again, his shoulders between Mac's thighs keeping the younger man spread open for him. He inhaled deeply, a smile curving his lips, and he closed his lips over the head, suckling hungrily.

"Excuse me? Who died and put you in char-- Oh fuck!" Mac groaned, head banging against the wall and fingers tightening around Vic's head.

The dark green eyes, gleaming smugly, rose to watch Mac's face, and Vic wondered why he'd waited so long to do this. With his brown curls pressed against the wall, his amber silk shirt open to show the sharply defined muscles of his chest, and his dark brown slacks tangled around his ankles, Mac looked utterly debauched--and completely edible.

The musky taste of Mac filled his mouth, the scent of him was all that Vic could smell, the lightly furred thighs felt perfect beneath his fingertips, and Mac's sounds of pleasure reverberated in Vic's ears. Vic hummed his delight as he slowly slid his lips lower, taking more and more of Mac into his mouth.

"Bastard, such a goddamned bastard," Mac muttered, head thrashing as Vic's mouth did raunchy things to his cock. Mac's fingers tightened around the older man's skull, not sure if he wanted to pull Vic off or pull him closer. "Are you fucking trying to kill me or what?"

Vic thought about pulling off to answer, but he reminded himself that Mac had a gun and would probably shoot him if he did. Instead he slid lower until his nose was nudging the curls at the base of Mac's cock, and he swallowed hard, feeling his throat muscles work against the head. At the same time, he raised a hand to Mac's face, fingers tracing Mac's lips before slipping inside the panting mouth.

Mac managed a muffled curse around the fingers he hungrily licked and sucked on even as he continued to glare down at Vic. What the fuck was he doing, Mac wondered to himself, letting Vic walk all over him like this? Admittedly, it was the best damned blow job he'd had in... a very long time... But still, Mac wasn't the submissive type by any stretch of the imagination, and yet here he was, letting Vic steamroll all over him.

"I repeat, Mansfield, who died and made you top?" Mac finally growled when Vic's fingers popped out of his mouth, wet and glistening with Mac's saliva.

Vic smirked up at him as best he could with his lips stretched around Mac's cock. His wet fingers slid between Mac's cheeks to nudge at his hole, and he hummed his pleasure when he felt Mac twitch, the ring of muscle spasming at his touch.

"Hey. _HEY_, what the hell do you think you're doing? I'm not that kinda guy; I don't suck and fuck without even a first date, you know," Mac protested feebly.

Vic's mouth pulled off Mac's gleaming erection even as his fingers pushed inside. "Fine, I'll buy you dinner later," he offered, crooking his fingers.

"Like hell, or at least I'm picking the fu-fucking restaurant. I so don't eat at greasy spoons. Oh God! Jesus, I haven't done this since I moved here, so you'd damned well better be careful!"

"I can get you letters of recommendation if you like," Vic retorted, straightening up on his knees and leaning forward to kiss Mac to shut him up while continuing to work his fingers.

"Bastard," Mac growled. "You're making it really easy to tell you to get your fingers out of my ass and fuck off," he threatened.

"Actually, I'd rather fuck you, but unless you have anything...?" Vic trailed off hopefully, aching to get inside Mac but not wanting to hurt him.

Mac snorted. "Yeah, right, I always bring lube and rubbers with me when I go shopping for Santa suits," the younger man retorted derisively. "What kind of a perv do you think I am, Victor?"

"It was more wishful thinking," Vic sighed. "Looks like you're going to get that date before the fucking after all, damnit."

"Poor baby, you're so deprived," Mac grinned before looking from Vic's mouth to his cock. "And weren't you in the middle of something here?"

"Another pushy bottom," Vic sighed, but his eyes were laughing. He sank back down to sit on his heels again, lapping at Mac's cock like a kitten with a saucer of cream.

"And who was the last--oh yeah, right there--pushy bottom you had, Vic?" Mac moaned, head lolling back to thump quietly against the wall again, letting the sensations back wash over him. Damn, Mansfield was one helluva cocksucker, no doubt about that.

Vic raised his head. "A gentleman never kisses and tells." He swallowed Mac down again, intent on making him come harder than he ever had before.

"Who mistakenly called you a gentle--oh Jesus _fuck_!--a gentleman, Mansfield?" Mac groaned, fingers threading through Vic's hair once again and tightening almost painfully as his balls began to tighten, signaling his impending orgasm.

Vic snickered, knowing exactly how that was going to feel to Mac, and bobbed his head up and down, letting Mac's cock slide into his throat each time.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh Jesus fuck," Mac began to mutter, thumping his head to punctuate each statement. Releasing Vic's head, Mac slid one hand up his own chest and began to pinch and twist hard on a nipple, the other hand going up to shove a couple of knuckles into his mouth in an effort to stifle the urge to scream that was building in his lungs.

Sensing how close Mac was, Vic raised his free hand to cup Mac's balls, rolling them in the palm while his fingertips rubbed the sensitive gland inside him.

The fingers massaging his prostate was all it took to send Mac shooting into Vic's mouth, his shout coming out a stifled gurgle around his fingers as his hips snapped back and forth and his whole body shook with release.

"_Fuck_," he breathed succinctly when he could at last talk without bringing the whole store back to investigate just what was going on in the dressing room, his voice hoarse from holding back.

"That's gonna come later tonight," Vic promised huskily, pushing himself up to his knees so he could kiss Mac again.

The press of Vic's mouth to his effectively stopped Mac's immediate smart-ass comeback, and the younger man found that he didn't really mind. Instead he concentrated on returning the oral caress, tasting himself in Vic's mouth and strangely enjoying it. "Pretty damned sure of yourself," Mac smirked when his mouth was freed at last. "Care to share your reasons why?"

"Because you want me as much as I want you," Vic replied simply, tired of dancing around the subject. If they examined their motivations, he thought that they'd find it had been a long time since Li Ann has been the real bone of contention between them. Pure physical attraction lay at the root of their interactions, and it was time they admitted it and did something about it.

"Pretty damned sure of yourself, aren't you?" Mac replied, not quite willing to admit what he knew to be the truth. Admittedly the sexual tension between them had been building for a long time to the point where even the _Director_ had commented to him once not too long ago that he might as well just give in and admit to Vic that he wanted the man. Vic had thankfully not been present for that particular conversation. The Director had merely raised an eyebrow at his over the top denials and made a snide comment that "the boytoy doth protest too much."

But Mac had never been comfortable with his bisexuality. Oh, he knew he was, but when you grew up in the family that he had, that sort of thing became a liability, so you learned to keep quiet about it. However, Mansfield was not Tong, and he was so fucking noble that it made Mac a little queasy at times, so there really wasn't an issue that way. It was just... well, they'd been sniping at each other for so long it had become second nature to Mac, and change of that magnitude made him a little uneasy.

"Sometimes," Vic admitted easily. He knew it would be a while before Mac stopped fighting, but now that they'd given in once, it would get easier for both of them.

"Yeah, well," Mac mumbled, a slight blush staining his cheeks. "Sometimes you got reason to be."

"A compliment?" Vic grinned as he stood up, stretching. He was still hard, but he would wait until that night when he could have exactly what he wanted. Which was everything.

"Yeah, well, don't get used to it. It's not gonna happen all that often," Mac replied, buttoning his shirt again and tucking himself back into his jockeys before doing up his trousers. "I'm lousy at them. So, what sorta cover are we gonna use to get out of here?"

"None at all. It's not the Director out there, you know. They're not going to ask questions," Vic pointed out. "We'll just get the costumes, get them back to the Agency, decorate the place, and go have dinner. The only real question is whose place we end up at."

"You still wanna decorate?" Mac asked in disbelief. "Okay, but we're in and out, and we lock the door so the girls don't come in to 'give us a hand' with their advice. If they do, we'll never get out of there!"

"Of course I don't _want_ to decorate," Vic retorted, "but do you really want the Director and Li Ann, not to mention Jackie and Dobrinsky, after us?" He shuddered. "I want to have something left to fuck you with."

"Good point. They'd all try and take a chunk, wouldn't they?" Mac winced.

Vic nodded vigorously. "So we'll do our assigned tasks, and then we make a break for it."

"And pray that no one sneaks up on us. Which leads me to the next question. Do we want anyone to find out?"

"I wasn't planning to sneak around as if I was ashamed of what we're doing if that's what you mean," Vic replied. "And I don't share," he added fiercely. "So if you have a problem with that, say so now."

"Share? Hey, the only one you gotta worry about is the Director. She's the only one who sneaks into my bedroom at night. And if you want to take her on, let me know. I'll sell tickets."

Vic shuddered. "No thanks. I just meant no more marriage proposals to terrorists 'til we see where this goes."

"Yeah, well, no saving the 'wounded doves' from your past either. Or falling for mob bosses' daughters. You're not one to be pointing fingers, Mansfield. You're not exactly sainted yourself," Mac groused.

"Okay, okay, I wasn't trying to point fingers. I just wanted to let you know that I don't do the fuck buddies thing. It's not me. I'm not declaring undying love or anything, but if I'm with someone, I'm with him. Or her, as the case may be."

"You know it's going to drive me crazy trying to figure out who this mystery guy is that you keep teasing me about. I swear if it's one of the Cleaners or Nathan, you are never getting anywhere near my ass."

"That's sick!" Vic pulled a face and made gagging noises. "I'd rather fuck the Director! I did have a life before the Agency, you know."

"Oh man, you slept with a _cop_? How low can you sink, Mansfield!" Mac bemoaned dramatically. "Gah, I think I'm gonna be sick."

"You just got sucked off by an ex-cop," Vic pointed out.

"_Ex_ being the operative adjective. I _do_ have my standards, after all," Mac sniffed as he opened the dressing room door and headed to the front for the suits.

Vic rolled his eyes behind Mac's back but decided that it would be easier in the long run to let Mac have the last word this time.

***

Mac looked around the office a little nervously. Vic was stringing the last of the snowflakes from the overhead rafters, and then they would be done, the normally sterile and tomblike room now transformed into a veritable winter wonderland. Which meant the decorating part of the evening was over. Which meant that very soon he'd officially be on a _date_ with Victor Mansfield.

What the fuck was he doing? Was he out of his mind? Mac's mind raced in circles. There was no denying he was attracted to the older, handsome and--though Mac was loathe to admit it--authoritative man. He had been from the beginning, but for the longest time they'd had a common bone of contention, namely Li Ann. The bone was now buried, and Mac was left without a means of plausible deniability.

So he was hot for Vic. The man was something to look at, dark brown hair, gorgeous green eyes, a body like Atlas... Mac's eyes closed, and he shuddered in arousal. All that aside, he and Vic were polar opposites. Vic was law abiding, noble, honest, protective, 'large and in charge' and dependable. Mac was irresponsible, irreverent, sarcastic, in it for himself, a rule breaker, a risk taker, as undependable as they got and a five star brat to boot. What the hell was he thinking?

That was the problem; he wasn't thinking. Then again it had never been his strong suit; Li Ann had been the brains, Michael the muscle, and he'd been the eye candy with a terrifying array of illegal skills. But Vic, he deserved more, and he wanted it too. The other man was all about setting up house, getting comfy and cozy, putting down roots and growing old together. Mac was barely out of his adolescence despite his physical years. Were they making the biggest mistake of their lives?

Opening his eyes, Mac came eyes to butt with the glory that was Victor Mansfield's posterior as the other man came down the ladder, and his higher functions were told to shut the hell up by his libido, but it didn't get rid of the ball of nervous energy that had taken up residence in his gut.

"Are you going to take a bite out of my ass?" Vic asked with amusement as he peered over his shoulder at the younger man. He'd asked Mac twice to pass him some tape, and when he hadn't gotten a response, he'd looked down to find Mac practically drooling on him. Not that he minded.

"What?" Mac mumbled and then looked up at Vic's face and flushed slightly. "You're so funny, Mansfield, hah! You slay me," the younger man growled, fighting the urge to whip the tape as hard as he could at the very thing he'd been ogling. Would serve the asshole right if he couldn't sit on it.

Vic snickered as he went back up the ladder to fix a sagging bit of streamer, then stepped down and nodded with satisfaction. "All done. I'm sure Li Ann'll find something we missed, but screw it. I think it looks good."

He slid an arm around Mac's waist and drew him toward the door. "Dinner now. Decided where you want to go?"

"You expect me to _think_ after shaking that ass in my face for the past hour?" Mac asked in disbelief. "Just for that, I want sashimi, damnit!"

Vic shuddered and shook his head. "How 'bout something we _both_ can eat?" he suggested. "Steak? Seafood? Someplace North American?" he practically begged.

"Chinatown, Peking duck, and I'll even let you order something without a head still attached to it," Mac countered gleefully.

Vic groaned but it was a reasonable compromise. "Tomorrow we have steak," he warned direly.

"God, you're going to make me do the compromise thing, aren't you?" Mac groaned. "I foresee food wars ahead, somehow. Well, at least it's not bison or anything weird like that."

"There will be the first time you try to make me eat eels!"

"Hey, I'll have you know that unagi is a delicacy in Japan," Mac replied sotto voce. "And very good with a little wasabi and soy sauce."

Grinning maniacally at the sound of retching, Mac sauntered out of the room just as the girls and Dobrinsky were heading in. "Have fun decking the halls and fa-la-la-ing. Vic's taking me on a date," he informed them, waggling his eyebrows and leaving a collective look of disbelief in his wake.

Vic made sure not to glance back as he followed Mac out, not wanting to deal with the reactions to Mac's little revelation. He could hear Jackie exclaiming, "Did he say a _date_?!" and he snickered.

"You enjoyed that, didn't you?" he challenged, grinning at Mac. If the ex-thief's intent had been to drive him away, he was going to find out that it took a lot more than that when Vic wanted something. And he wanted Mac.

Besides, it had been funny.

"Yeah," Mac replied, looking like a cat that had just eaten the canary and then washed it down with cream. "Guess what topic of conversation is going to dominate the party tomorrow night," he all but purred as he slid into the passenger seat of the truck.

"And we're stopping at my place to change vehicles. No way I'm gonna be seen in Chinatown in a truck. I do have my standards, you know."

"Poor baby, having to slum with me." Vic rolled his eyes. "I think you'd survive, but since I don't want to traumatize you, fine, we can get your car. But we go back to my place. The Director has a habit of showing up at yours, and I really don't think we need a third tonight."

"Why, Victor, the hidden depths of depravity that I'm getting to see tonight. Who'd have thought you'd be such a kink monster? Public sex and now exhibitionism? But if you're wanting complete privacy, I think we'd better get a hotel room. You know she's got all of our apartments bugged, right?"

"First of all, I said I _didn't_ want a third, so that's the opposite of exhibitionism. Secondly, going to a hotel would just make it a challenge, so we're better off just going home. She's more likely to leave us alone when she knows where we are. Otherwise she'll come up with some emergency to drag us back in." Vic had to stop at a red light, and without warning, he suddenly leaned over and kissed Mac hard.

"I was referring to you sucking me off in the change room, actually." Mac had to laugh when the blare of a horn behind them forced Vic to let his lips go with a muttered curse. "Unless, of course, you think that the salesclerks _didn't_ eavesdrop and there weren't customers in the other change stalls. But I'll be good and let you keep your illusions. For now."

Vic shook his head, deciding it wasn't worth the effort to point out that he hadn't denied the charge of enjoying public sex. "We're having two completely different conversations. What a shock," he said dryly. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather order in?" he suggested after an appreciative glance at the long-limbed man sprawled in the seat next to him.

"That depends. Do I get to use you as a dinner plate?"

Surprised into a chuckle, Vic glanced sidelong at Mac. "I think I'm afraid now. I was thinking of using _you_ as a serving platter, which was why I suggested it. But I'm versatile. I'm perfectly willing to wear the food."

"What you are is easy and desperately wanting to get some, so you're willing to do almost anything to ensure that happens. Good thing I'm so irresistible," Mac smirked. "And we'll compromise. We'll get take away from my favorite Chinese place on Spadina. They don't deliver, but they're worth the extra time. The crispy pork is to die for."

"Fine, but you can find someplace to park. It's damn near impossible in Chinatown. Sounds good though. That kind of Chinese we can agree on."

"In other words I shouldn't order the fish with its eyes still in its head, even if it is cooked," Mac laughed, noticing Vic turn slightly green. "Poor baby, I make life so _hard_, don't I?"

"Hard has its place. I prefer that it not be dinner."

"Hunh?" Mac shook his head to clear it. "You were talking; I heard the words coming out; but that last part didn't make any sense at all."

Vic didn't bother explaining. If Mac couldn't figure that out on his own, it was a waste of time trying. "Just let me know when we're getting close so I can keep an eye out for a parking spot."

"Still giving me orders. When will you ever learn?" Mac sighed but nonetheless kept an eye out.

"If you're going to take every sentence as an order, this is going to be a very long night," Vic muttered.

"I thought that was the plan," Mac snickered, pointing out a spot being vacated.

Vic sped into the space before anyone else could take it. Once the truck was parked, he turned and curled a hand around the nape of Mac's neck to pull him into a kiss.

Moaning, Mac responded enthusiastically for long moments before pushing Vic away. "I thought we were here to get _food_, Mansfield, not create liquid protein."

"Any reason why we can't do both?" Vic slid out of the truck and walked around the sidewalk, narrowly missing being knocked over by a very determined elderly Asian woman who seemed to think he was invisible. With a shake of his head, he sidestepped and moved to Mac's side. "So which way? Which restaurant?"

"Oh, I don't know; how about not wanting to get arrested for public indecency and spend the night incarcerated? You know she'd leave us there just for the hell of it, right?" Mac replied sotto voce as he easily weaved his way through the crowd, finding all the empty spots to slide into with no difficulty at all as he headed for the small restaurant with what he considered the best food in Chinatown.

"What a baby. We're not going to get arrested for a kiss." Vic followed Mac through the crowds, pulling a face when he saw the ducks and pigs hanging in the front window of the small restaurant that Mac entered. "This better be good," he hissed, making sure no one else could hear him.

"What a baby," Mac rejoined with a slight smirk on his face. "And a wimpy one at that. You realize that you get bacon from the same place, right? Pig is pig no matter how," Mac snickered, "you slice it."

"Yes, I know my bacon, ham and pork come from a pig. I don't normally use the body as part of the decor though!" Vic growled.

A cute little waitress's face lit up as she recognized Mac and quickly came over to greet him with a smile and a quick bow. Mac smiled back and launched into a torrent of Chinese, and soon the two were chatting and laughing even as the waitress wrote on a piece of paper and handed it to another girl to take to the kitchen.

Mac walked over to the display cabinet and critically examined the meat in the window, pointing to the pieces he wanted. These two were whisked away to be cut and prepared. Moving to a small table next to the cash, Mac sat down and motioned for Vic to join him as a pot of green tea appeared with two cups. "There, order done, now we take a load off and enjoy the complimentary tea while it cooks," he grinned at the older man as he poured into the little cups with no handles for both of them.

"I hope you got rice or noodles or something to go with that," Vic said as he picked up one of the cups and sipped tentatively. "Not bad," he decided, taking another mouthful.

"You'll have to wait and see," Mac smirked as he downed his own cup and refilled it. "Oh suck it up," Mac laughed at the look on Vic's face, a combination of trepidation and fear.

***

"So?" Mac asked from where he was sprawled, naked and sticky from sauce, food and being licked, on Vic's living room floor with the owner of said floor naked and sticky next to him. "Best damned Chinese you ever had, right?"

"The food was good; the presentation was better." Vic grinned wickedly as he leaned over and licked a bit of sauce that he'd missed from Mac's chest. "But now I think it's time for dessert." He shifted to kneel straddling Mac, hands lightly braced on the lanky thief's chest, their erections lying side by side between them.

"I'm surprised you managed to restrain yourself as long as you did considering you've been... frustrated... for the better part of the day. So is this where your freakish control snaps and you ravage poor, innocent me?" Mac teased on a breathy moan, his hands coming up to clamp onto Vic's hips, whether to hold Vic still or goad him on Mac wasn't quite sure.

"Poor, innocent you?" Vic repeated in disbelief. "Maybe in a previous life!" He leaned forward to kiss Mac, deciding to silence him before anything even less believable came from his lips.

Biting down hard on Vic's lower lip in retaliation, Mac bucked upwards, rubbing their cocks together enticingly before squirming out from underneath the older man. "You're gonna have to do better than that if you want my ass, Mansfield. I think I need to take a shower and get all the stickiness off," Mac teased as he stood and sauntered towards the bathroom.

The idea of a shower appealed to Vic as well, especially with a wet, naked, slick Mac sharing it. He followed Mac, stopping long enough to grab a fresh towel from the linen closet as he passed, and crowded up behind his partner under the hot spray. "Good idea," he praised, hands holding Mac's hips.

"Horn dog," Mac chuckled mildly as he reached for the soap before turning around to face Vic. Lathering up his hands, he handed the cake to the other man and then began to wash Vic's rather fine-looking chest.

"You realize we're giving her one helluva show," he had to say as he began to flick his thumbs back and forth over rapidly firming nipples. "Kinda pisses me off. Not even this is private, you know? I'd like just once to be able to enjoy a 'first time' without being watched."

"I know," Vic nodded. "But if I let myself think about it, starts to drive me crazy. I refuse to let her take over any more of my life, and if that means ignoring her invasion of my privacy, so be it. I'm not going to stop living because I'm on fucking candid camera." He ran his soapy hands over Mac's hips and ass, kneading the firm globes as he urged Mac closer.

Mac decided to heed Vic's pseudo-advice for the moment. Besides, he could always break in and steal the tape if she'd made one. He hadn't been one of the best thieves in the Tang family for nothing, after all.

Smiling at the slightly shorter man, Mac purred seductively, "I hope you're intending to do more than just feel up the merchandise, Mansfield. And try not to bruise the buns; I'd like to be able to sit down at the party tomorrow night."

"If you can't sit down, it won't be because I _bruised_ your ass," Vic snickered.

"Asshole," Mac snorted. "If that's supposed to seduce me into letting you get a piece of ass, you really need to work on your technique."

"Mac, you're naked in my shower. I think we're long past the seduction stage and into the raw fucking stage." Vic yanked him closer and kissed Mac hard, their erections sliding together easily between their soap- and water-slicked bodies.

Not willing to give in quite so easily, Mac slid one hand away and reached between their grinding cocks to cup Vic's, squeezing it and stroking it playfully.

"Mmmm, skillful thief's hands," Vic murmured, arching his back to press into the nimble fingers while his own rubbed lightly at Mac's opening.

Mac couldn't resist. "And you're obviously from law enforcement; after all, you seem to know the quickest way to do a full cavity search."

"Oh, I'm just getting started. I know you criminal types. I need to be thorough." Vic pushed harder until a fingertip slid inside Mac. He nibbled a path along Mac's throat, nipping and laving the small hurts with light strokes of his tongue, while thrusting into Mac's hand.

"Is this where you say up against the wall and spread 'em?" Mac moaned, head falling forward to rest on Vic's shoulder even as his own hand squeezed a little tighter and began to twist as it slid back and forth along Vic's cock.

Vic groaned. "I really need to fuck you unconscious." Taking Mac's suggestion, he spun the younger man around to face the wall. "Brace yourself," he warned an instant before his cock was nudging against Mac's hole.

"Police brutality," Mac groaned. "God, I love it!" Resting his forehead against the cool tile of the shower wall, Mac clenched his fists and his back arched as he relaxed into Vic's thrust, taking the older man inside with a heated groan.

"I think you can expect a long sentence," Vic rasped, his own forehead pressed to Mac's shoulder as he slid deeper and deeper until he couldn't go any farther. "Fuck, you're tight," he panted, fingers gripping Mac's hips hard enough to bruise as he fought to remain still until Mac grew accustomed to him.

"Been a while," Mac panted, his fists slowly unclenching and spreading so that he could brace himself more effectively against the wall. "Since I hooked up with the Director and you two, actually.

"And I think I can handle a long sentence, provided it's hard labor. Think you can keep me in line?"

Vic snorted a laugh. "It'll be hard," he murmured against Mac's ear just before nibbling on the soft lobe. "But I think I can handle it." One hand slid forward over Mac's hip to curl around his cock and start to jerk him in counterpoint to Vic's thrusts.

Mac managed a chuckled groan as their conversation played over in his head. "You realize we sound like a really bad gay porn movie?" he snorted, breath coming in soft pants.

"Well, we have to give the Director her money's worth," Vic retorted. "Audio to go with the video." He increased the strength of his thrusts, his hand tightening around Mac's cock.

"Just so long as we don't end up on the local porn store," Mac grunted. Bracing his arms more firmly against the tile, he began to thrust his body backwards, meeting Vic slam for slam. "Oh God, yeah," he groaned before dissolving into broken Chinese as his prostate was stimulated with each thrust of their bodies.

Vic simply drove into Mac, gasping when Mac's orgasm made him clench down on Vic's cock. He kept moving, his hand still stroking Mac's sensitive cock, until he came as well, groaning his pleasure into Mac's ear. He slumped against his partner, chest heaving as he gasped for air.

After a moment, Vic snickered. "Damn, I made you speak in tongues!"

Mac snarled pathetically, knocking his head back to connect with Vic's forehead. "Asshole," he muttered. "You make me speak in tongues more than I care to admit, and I wouldn't exactly call what I say polite! But keep living in your deluded little world. You're kind of adorable when you do that."

Vic only chuckled. "Whatever you say, Mac. We both know you came hard enough to see stars. And I don't know about you, but I'm looking forward to repeating the experience. Often."

Mac quirked an eyebrow. "So does that mean we're going steady now? Kindly get yourself out of and off of my ass so I can clean up and get to bed. I'm exhausted."

Carefully withdrawing, Vic backed away and quickly cleaned himself up. "This mean you're going to stick around for breakfast?"

"Looks that way." Mac grinned, stepping under the spray to rinse off. Shutting off the tap, he stepped out and followed Vic into the bedroom, snickering when he saw the sheets on the bed.

"Those look kind of familiar," he chuckled. "I seem to recall lying on them once before. Of course, you weren't real impressed to have me in your bed then. My, how times change." And with that, Mac slid between the sheets and made himself comfortable.

About to slide into bed as well, Vic paused when the phone rang. He glared at it and leaned over to pull the plug out of the wall. "Forget it," he snarled, with a dirty look up at the ceiling fixture. "We're going to sleep now. We'll be at work in the morning, on time." He flicked the light off, vaguely wondering about night vision cameras but too tired and relaxed to really care.

He slid in behind Mac, spooning up against him with a contented sigh. "I always knew it was better to be naughty than nice," he murmured.

Mac laughed quietly. "Could have told you that a long time ago."

Pressing a kiss to the back of Mac's neck, Vic chuckled. "I had to wait for the right lump of coal that I was sure would turn into a diamond."

"My ass wasn't that tight, Victor," Mac snickered. "But the thought's nice."

At that point, Vic gave up. "Good night, Mac," he half groaned, simply drawing Mac closer as he settled down for the night.

"Good night, Vic," Mac chuckled. "And merry Christmas."

END

CRIME:

CSI - Greg/Grissom

Author: Caliadragon
Title: The Runaway Replacement
Date: December 8
Fandom: CSI: Los Vegas/Crime Drama
Pairing: Greg/Gil
Rating: G
Summary: Greg losses his replacement and thinks about what he had been given.
Disclaimer: Not Mine.
Feedback address: Caliadragon1@myself.com
Advertisement: Part of the SAC-2004 at: http://www.kardasi.com/Advent/2004/SAC-2004.htm
Note: No specific spoilers.
Beta: Edi the Wonderful

The Runaway Replacement

Greg sighed in frustration as he watched the newest lab tech stomp away. He just knew that this was Gil’s fault. Especially after the last few sentences that the man had been muttering. With another drawn out sigh Greg turned on his heel and made his way to Gil’s office.

When he walked in, he saw Catherine seated in front of Gil and there was a wicked smile gracing her beautiful face. Perhaps it hadn’t been Gil that ran the new tech off. “Harry just quit.” Greg said mournfully.

Catherine looked away to keep her laughter in check. “Catherine!” Greg said with an explosion of disbelief. She laughed out right and shook her head.

“It wasn’t my fault!” she said holding her hands up in surrender.

“Gris?” Greg asked disappointed.

“Not him either, it was Warrick.” Sara said from behind him as she looked over his shoulder at the three in the room. There was a smirk on her face.

“Oh man, War!” Greg yelled.

“What?” Warrick asked as he goosed the younger man, making him squeak.

“Why did you get rid of my replacement?” Greg asked as he rubbed his smarting behind. Catherine noted with amusement that Gil was very interested in the action. Everyone was aware of the fact that Gil and Greg were dating and every one was relieved by the fact that Sara had not been angry about this development. If anything, this seemed to calm her down about several things. The relationship she had with Catherine and Nick seemed to calm down and go back to the affectionate professionalism that had been missing for the last few months.

“He said something about Sara, it pissed me off. I told him to get hung, he didn’t like it.” Warrick said coolly.

Sara blinked in surprise and blushed at the warm look that Warrick sent her way. Greg grinned and looked down so that Sara wouldn’t see it. Someone had a crush. Greg sighed, “I’m never getting out of the lab.” He said mournfully.

“Sure you will, we just have to find someone who’s not an ass or easily intimidated.” Nick said with a grin for the younger man. That brought a chuckle from the others and another sigh from Greg.

The others made their way back out of the office, leaving Gil and Greg alone. Gil stood and walked over to Greg, carefully closing the door and leaning forward to kiss the younger man. “I’ll let you out of the lab tonight,” Gil told him with a smile.

“Yeah,” Greg asked breathlessly.

“Yes, we have a date later, I bought presents,” Gil told him before kissing him again. Greg laughed breathlessly and deepened the kiss.

When they pulled apart, Greg looked up at him. “So what are the presents for?” Greg asked.

“Solstice, I have a feeling we’ll be busy at Christmas and I want us to have a chance to celebrate the holiday on the holiday.” Gil told him seriously before kissing him again.

Greg was thrilled with the idea. The last few months had been a gift to him. Gil was an ideal lover and attentive as well. Their relationship had not changed at work. Gil still worked him as hard as he did the others and he was an exacting taskmaster, but that didn’t bother Greg. They were happy and that was all that mattered.

END

CRIME

CSI - Greg/Nick

Author - Moonloon
Title - Secret Santa
Rating - PG
Pairing - Greg/Nick
Summary - Beware those innocent looking packages...
Show - CSI
Date of publication - 8th Dec
Disclaimer - CSI is owned by someone who isn't me. I'm just paddling in their pool
Feedback address - maryavatar AT gmail.com
Advertisement: Part of the Slash Advent Calendar of 2004 at
http://www.kardasi.com/Advent/2004/SAC-2004.htm

SCIENCE FICTION

Enterprise - Tucker/Reed

Author: Crisis Kris
Title: Just in Time for Christmas
Date: December 7th
Fandom: Star Trek Enterprise/ TV Shows
Pairing: Malcolm Reed/Trip Tucker
Rating: Soft R
Summary: Malcolm gets a second chance to express his feelings… and a third chance, and a fourth chance…
Disclaimer: All I want for Christmas is the chance to write fan fiction without being sued. Therefore I am officially and publicly acknowledging that the characters and settings featured in this story do not belong to me, but are the intellectual property of Brannon and Braga.
Feedback address: kmatwood@shaw.ca
Advertisement: Part of the SAC-2004 at:
http://www.kardasi.com/Advent/2004/SAC-2004.htm
Beta: Beverly Crusher

***

Lieutenant Malcolm Reed woke early on Christmas morning. The time was 4:21am. He hadn’t intended to; being the Chief of Security on the Enterprise meant that he was responsible for scheduling, and he’d allowed himself the luxury of one day’s rest, for once in his life, letting his crew man the armoury for the day so he could take a break. He had something very special planned and he wanted to give it his full concentration.

Unfortunately, it was this very special something that had agitated him to the point where’d been unable to sleep, and he found himself sitting up in bed at 4 in the morning, staring listlessly out the porthole at the passing stars. He was anxious, and it made him dour. What if he’d been wrong, all along?

Giving up on sleep entirely, Malcolm hauled himself out of bed and into the shower. He stood meditatively for a few minutes under the pounding water, letting it permeate his stiff muscles. Then, unbidden, his mind began replaying the last few weeks, checking and double checking every sign, looking for the holes in his analysis. Calling Malcolm cautious would be generous; paranoid was more like it. He wanted to make his move, but he wasn’t going to do it if there was any indication he might be wrong.

Sighing, Malcolm let him mind wander, distracting him from his momentary peace. Very well then. First, there were the smiles. The way he’d look at Malcolm, kind of sideways, with a secret little smile on his face. The way his eyes would light up every time Malcolm tried a smile in return. The fact that he’d started showing up to do the armoury repairs personally, instead of sending someone else to do it. The fact that he always seemed to be in the mess hall, with an extra chair at his table, whenever Malcolm came to eat. And of course, the fact that he always called Malcolm over, “Hey, Mal, over here, there’s a seat with me.” Casual, but consistent. And he didn’t seem to do it for anyone else. Then there were the little touches, casual and non-sexual, but definitely more frequent than usual: he’d lay his hand on Malcolm’s shoulder when he leaned over to read an output screen. He’d touch Malcolm’s arm briefly when they parted ways.

A short beep reminded Malcolm that his hot water utilization was nearing the recommended daily limit. He shook himself out of his thoughts and turned the water off, glancing at the clock above the mirror. 4:38am. There was no way that Trip would even be awake yet; besides, they had planned to meet for dinner and exchange gifts, and despite the anxiety cloaking him like fog right now, Malcolm didn’t want to risk changing those plans. That would indicate that something was amiss, and he wasn’t willing to give Trip any indication of his feelings until the last possible moment.

He dried off, shaking his head. This was ridiculous He knew there was something between him and the chief engineer - could feel it crackling between them every time they stepped into the same room. More and more lately, they’d found themselves looking into each other’s eyes and stopping mid-sentence, lost, until one of them could pull himself together and laugh it off, backing off (away) to a safe distance, bringing the conversation back to the workings of the Enterprise. Malcolm had been vaguely aware that something was happening for the last three or four months, and had been observing closely for the last four weeks; he was certain his gift would be well received. But he couldn’t help it – part of him just wanted to put off bringing his feelings out in the open, because of the small insistent voice in his head that kept asking, but what if you’re wrong, but what if you’re wrong, but what if you’re wrong?

Malcolm sighed, stepping into some comfortable clothes. He ran his fingers through his still damp hair, taming it, and picked the small, elegantly wrapped box off of his desk. He was determined to go through with it, at dinner tonight. He would be brave, and he would get his answer.

***

The day passed in excruciating slowness. By lunch time, Malcolm was regretting having taken the day off. Work would have helped soothing his nerves. He’d already been to the gym, caught up on his correspondence, such as it was (one letter to his sister, and an automated reply form to a weapons research and development magazine made available through Star Fleet), read through a stack of reports, most of which had nothing informative in them, and worked out the armoury schedule for the next two months. He hadn’t been able to force down any breakfast, and didn’t do much better for lunch.

Trip, unlike Malcolm, had opted to schedule himself in for Christmas Day. This made Malcolm feel like a lazy old fool, despite the fact that he worked more hours than any other senior officer, including T’Pol, and he passed some time berating himself for not being a better, more generous and giving supervisor. It also meant, however, that he didn’t see Trip all day, for which he was ridiculously grateful. He spent the afternoon sitting in his cabin, imagining all the horrible ways in which the evening could end. He decided that by far the worst scenario was the one where he threw up his resequenced turkey all over Trip’s shoes, which was pretty much exactly how he felt right about then. So an hour before dinner, he took a trip up to Sick Bay to get an antacid from Dr. Phlox.

“Not feeling well, Lieutenant?” Phlox asked in his normal jovial tones.

“Just a little nausea,” he replied. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“Well, perhaps you might consider eating something a little less… rich, this evening, if you aren’t feeling well,” Phlox advised. He was amazed at the way in which humans stuffed themselves full of fatty foods on holidays, eating more than they wanted, and doing it all again at the next holiday despite the fact that they felt ill afterwards. Malcolm thanked him for his advise and got out of there before the other man could begin lecturing.

***

Finally, it was dinner time. Malcolm changed three times and restyled his hair before making his way to the mess hall. He walked dizzily, his vision tunneling as he moved forward, barely able to return the greetings of other crew members as they passed him by, until he finally. arrived. Trip was already seated, two steaming plates of turkey dinner sitting on the table before him. “Hey, Malcolm, over here,” he called out. “I grabbed you food.”

“Thank you, Commander,” Malcolm replied as he sat down. Then, inwardly, he cursed himself for sounding so formal. What a cad!

Trip didn’t seem to take offense to the tone, however. He mock scolded Malcolm, pointing his finger. “It’s Trip, Mal,” he replied. “Try the turkey.”

Malcolm complied, slicing off a small piece and tasting it. “It’s not bad,” he commented, a bit surprised.

“I know,” Trip grinned. “I’m really pleased with the way the protein resequencers have been working since we replaced that power relay.”

They prattled their way through the meal, talking about work and other unimportant things. At length, a crewman came and cleared away their plates, leaving them with only the glasses of red wine they’d ordered to celebrate Christmas. Trip reached down and pulled a box out from beneath his chair. “Merry Christmas, Malcolm,” he said warmly, touching Malcolm’s hand. They stared into each other eye’s for a moment. Then Trip smiled his secret smile. “Go ahead, open it,” he said.

“Right.” Malcolm tore his gaze away and turned toward the present. It was fairly large, and heavy. He carefully took the paper off and opened the box.

“It’s a heating unit,” Trip explained. “I wanted to make you something that you could use. I remembered you were complaining that your cabin just never seemed to get warm enough at night and I wanted to give you something to help you feel cozy.”

The gesture was so thoughtful. Malcolm looked up at the other man, touched. “You made this yourself?” He asked.

Trip chuckled. “Yep – well, truth be told, it’s not quite finished. See? There are still exposed wires on this side. See how they spark? It has a remote power generator, so it’s already got juice moving through it, and I need to finish that one panel. It’s a bit of a fire hazard now, I’m afraid, but I ran out of time today. I’ll finish it tomorrow.”

“It’s marvelous,” Malcolm replied. “Thank you.” He took a deep breath. Okay, this was the moment – the moment where he gave Trip Tucker a ridiculously sentimental gift and hoped his feelings were returned. He put his little box on the table.

Trip’s eyes lit up like a little kid’s. “That mine?” He asked. Malcolm nodded and Trip reached for it, drawing it across the table.

Malcolm could hear his heart pounding, blood rushing through his temples. He could barely breath. Suddenly, that little voice screamed up at him from some dark black place in his subconscious – he gave you a heater, for Christ’s sake! He wants to be your friend, not your lover! “Wait!” the word was out of Malcolm’s mouth before he could censor it. In a panic, he reached across the table to snatch the little gift back. His haste caused him to knock over his glass of wine, which traveled along in two winding rivers – one that ended in a pool against Trip’s elbow, leaned against the table; the other than rushed towards the still-sparking heater. Too late, Malcolm realized what would happen. He pulled back instinctively, mouth working like a fish. He seemed frozen, unable to pull out the words from behind his lips, ‘Trip, move, the heater…’

Trip realized the danger, too, a moment too late. He looked up at Malcolm with round, surprised eyes just as the liquid touched the heater and the electric current poured back down, across the table, into Trip’s elbow and through his body, which shuddered, stiffened, and then slumped to the ground.

***

Malcolm couldn’t really remember what happened after that. Someone had pulled him away from the table, where the little heater continued to pump out energy. Someone else had obviously rescued Commander Tucker, now unconscious, because he’d been shipped up to Sick Bay for treatment. And a third person must have dealt with the heater, and the mess of red wine. Malcolm couldn’t recall. He only remembered following the stretcher up the turbo lift into Sick Bay, sitting beside the curtained bed while Phlox checked the other man over. Presently, he looked up to see Phlox coming out and approaching him. Malcolm stood quickly.

“How is he, doctor?”

Phlox smiled. “He’s going to be fine,” he replied. “The shock interrupted his brain waves momentarily, rendering him unconscious, but no permanent damage was done. He also has some minor burns; I’ve treated him and given him a sedative. Rest will help his body heal. I would suggest that it might also help you.”

Malcolm took the hint and headed back to his quarters. Someone had thoughtfully left the heater, minus it’s power source, outside his door, along with the unopened little box that was Trip’s present. Malcolm sighed, stooping to pick them up. He didn’t bother with the lights; didn’t bother changing out of his clothes. He paced around the room for several minutes before collapsing in a chair, replaying the evening’s events in his mind. He’d nearly killed Trip! It was almost too much to bear thinking about, but Malcolm couldn’t stop. He sat for hours in the chair, staring out into the dark, berating himself for his idiocy, before finally falling into a fitful sleep.

***

Lieutenant Malcolm Reed woke early the next morning. His first thought was that he had to check on Trip. His second thought was that he was absolutely mortified – he’d nearly killed his superior officer. He’d nearly killed the man he loved. He called for the lights and the computer complied, oblivious to Malcolm’s soft groan as the fluorescents flickered on. The time was 4:21am. Dragging on some clean clothes, he glanced around his room. His little box was sitting, neat as you please, on his desk top, as it had the night before. The heater, however, was nowhere to be found. Where on earth would I have put it? He thought as he pulled on his boots, but he didn’t stop to look for it; he wanted to get to sickbay and check on Trip as soon as he could.

Phlox was feeding his birds when Malcolm entered the room. “Good morning, Lieutenant,” he called cheerfully. “What can I do for you?”

“I just wanted to check on Commander Tucker,” Malcolm replied.

Phlox looked confused. “Commander Tucker?” he echoed.

“Yes, of course.” Malcolm was feeling impatient. “Is he awake?”

Phlox’s look of confusion was slowly transforming into bewilderment. “I have no idea,” he replied. “You’d have to go to his quarters and find out.”

“He’s been released to his quarters?” Malcolm was surprised; Phlox usually erred on the side of caution, keeping patients for an extra day rather than risk releasing them early.

“What do you mean, released?” Phlox was looking at him with his doctor-face now, one step away from picking up his medical scanner to run a few tests.

Malcolm didn’t pick up on the tone of voice. “What do you mean, what do I mean?” he countered, exasperated. “Trip was electrocuted last night, for goodness’ sake. You were keeping him under sedation. I assumed that meant you were keeping him for the whole night.”

Now Phlox was staring at him like he’d grown two heads, and he did have the medical scanner in his hand. “Lieutenant, are you feeling at all under the weather?” he asked, punching buttons on the scanner. “Have you, er, eaten anything unusual, any trouble sleeping?”

“What on earth are you doing?” Malcolm asked, mystified.

Phlox shook his head, viewing the results of his scan, and then set the instrument down. “Lieutenant, I can find nothing wrong with you, but you appear to be delusional.” He held up a hand to cut off Malcolm’s protest. “I can assure you, Lieutenant, that Commander Tucker was not admitted to sickbay due to injuries from an electric shock. In fact, last night was much like that earth poem – ‘twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a -”

“The night before Christmas?” Malcolm repeated, feeling as though his mind had gone.

Phlox looked a little perturbed at having his recitation interrupted. “Well, yes,” he replied, “December 24th.”

“I see. Thank you, Doctor.” Malcolm fairly ran for the door.

“Wait! Lieutenant, are you sure you’re feeling all right?” Phlox took a step towards him, medical scanner back in hand.

“What? Yes, I’m fine, Doctor, thank you. Bad dream, that’s all,” he rushed out. Once he was safely ensconced in the turbo lift he turned to the computer padd and punched in a request for the date.

'December 25' showed on the screen. Malcolm felt a thrill rush through his blood. Christmas Day – again! As he walked towards his quarters, Malcolm knew he should really report this to the Captain. Obviously, something screwy was going on with time – Phlox had been affected, the computer thought it was yesterday, hell, maybe the whole crew did…

“Merry Christmas, Lieutenant,” a passing crew member called, confirming his theory.

“Merry Christmas,” he replied, smiling uncharacteristically. Yes, he *should* tell the Captain. But he had an opportunity here to fix the mistake he’d made last night. He could un-blow his big moment with Trip Tucker. It was too good to pass up.

***

He spent all day contemplating his strategy, finally deciding that fishing was the best way to go. He needed to extract some information from Trip about the nature of his present, before Malcolm handed over his little box. It wouldn’t be too hard; just a few casual questions would tell him whether Trip was interested in him as more than a friend or not. If it was the former, Malcolm had come up with a substitute gift - a subscription to a spacecraft engineering journal published in Europe. He was ready to go.

Trip was already seated in the dining hall, two steaming plates of turkey dinner sitting on the table before him. “Hey, Malcolm, over here,” he called out. “I grabbed you food.”

“Thank you, Trip,” Malcolm replied as he sat down.

Trip smiled warmly at the use of his first name. “Try the turkey,” he invited

Malcolm complied, slicing off a small piece and tasting it. “It’s not bad,” he commented, ignoring the feeling of déjà vu.

“I know,” Trip grinned. “I’m really pleased with the way the protein resequencers have been working since we replaced that power relay.”

They prattled their way through the meal, talking about work and other unimportant things. Malcolm did his best to keep his end up, hyper vigilant of the other man’s behavior. It was the same as always – little smiles, intense looks, soft touches. At length, a crewman came and cleared away their plates, leaving them with only the glasses of red wine they’d ordered to celebrate Christmas. Trip reached down and pulled a box out from beneath his chair. “Merry Christmas, Malcolm,” he said warmly, touching Malcolm’s hand. They stared into each other eye’s for a moment. Then Trip smiled his secret smile. “Go ahead, open it,” he said.

“Right.” Malcolm tore his gaze away and turned toward the present. Sure enough, there was the heater.

“It’s a heating unit,” Trip explained. “I wanted to make you something that you could use. I remembered you were complaining that your cabin just never seemed to get warm enough at night and I wanted to give you something to help you feel cozy.”

Okay, time to cast the line. “Thank you, Trip,” he replied, turning it over in his hands. He made a show of inspecting it, until he came to the one unfinished panel. “It, er, doesn’t seem to be quite complete,” he said, as diplomatically as he could.

Trip gave him a sheepish smile. “Yeah, sorry about that. I kinda ran out of time. I’ll finish it tomorrow, okay?”

“Of course. I can hardly expect to come before the Chief Engineer’s duties, now can I?” Malcolm tried to make it light, joking, but it came off a little bitter.

“It’s been a long week.” Trip’s voice was a little more quiet, losing some of it’s jovial edge.

Malcolm smiled, deciding to give it one more push. “Bit of a fire hazard, though, I suppose,” he remarked, thinking that if Trip had feelings for him, now would be the time to show them, to express his desire not to harm Malcolm in any way.

Instead, Trip set his fork down, his face stony. “I said I’d fix it,” he replied.

Malcolm looked up and met Trip’s gaze. There was no warmth in the blue eyes looking back at him. I guess I have my answer, he thought. “Sorry, Commander,” he replied. “I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful.”

“Forget it,” Trip replied. “No, forget this.” Suddenly he stood, pushing his chair back with surprising force, and stalked away. Malcolm watched him go, aghast. This was definitely worse than Trip getting electrocuted!

***

He spent a fruitless night trying to convince Trip to talk to him, but the other man had disappeared. If he was home, he wasn’t answering his door, and not even Malcolm’s security code could override the lock. When he’d asked the computer to locate the other man, thinking maybe Trip had gone off somewhere else, the information had come up as classified.

Finally, desolate, Malcolm plodded back to his room, where he found the heater had been left neatly by the door. The small box meant for Trip was still in his pocket. He picked the heater up and deposited both of them on his desk, then changed into his pajamas and fell into bed, exhausted.

***

Lieutenant Malcolm Reed woke early the next morning. He jolted awake and called for the lights, grasping at the alarm clock. The time was 4:21am. He looked across the room at his desk. The little box sat there, neat as you please. The heater was nowhere to be seen. He rushed over to his desk to check the date on the computer screen.

“December 25th.” Another chance! Malcolm couldn’t believe his luck. He had definitely screwed up last night, inadvertently insulting Trip with his attempts to fish for more information about how the other man was feeling. Now he had a chance to make things right again.

He rose and showered, feeling a great sense of urgency. He re-did all the work he’d done the day before (and the day before that) before noon, and spent the afternoon arguing with himself. It had now happened twice, and he knew that he should say something to somebody, because something was definitely going on. But it didn’t seem to –cause any harm, except maybe his sanity, and the rest of the crew seemed merrily oblivious, so… back and forth he went, until an hour before dinner.

Then he sat down to do the hard work of deciding what he’d do tonight. Eventually, he decided that safer was better, and ordered the journal subscription. He downloaded the receipt onto a padd and tied a bright ribbon around it, then headed off to dinner.

Trip was already seated in the dining hall, two steaming plates of turkey dinner sitting on the table before him. “Hey, Malcolm, over here,” he called out. “I grabbed you food.”

“Thank you, Trip,” Malcolm replied as he sat down.

Their meal went as it had the past two times, and finally they reached the present exchanging stage. At Trip’s urging, Malcolm carefully opened his box, putting on his best surprised face when he pulled the heater out.

“It’s a heating unit,” Trip explained. “I wanted to make you something that you could use. I remembered you were complaining that your cabin just never seemed to get warm enough at night and I wanted to give you something to help you feel cozy.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you,” Malcolm replied, injecting as much warmth into his voice as he could. “Thank you.”

Trip chuckled. “Well, truth be told, it’s not quite finished. See? There are still exposed wires on this side. See how they spark? It has a remote power generator, so it’s already got juice moving through it, and I need to finish that one panel. It’s a bit of a fire hazard now, I’m afraid, but I ran out of time today. I’ll finish it tomorrow.”

“It’s marvelous,” Malcolm replied. “I’m looking forward to using it.” There was an awkward pause, and then Malcolm withdrew his pad. “I’m afraid the wrapping leaves something to be desired,” he admitted, “but I do hope you enjoy it.”

Trip took the pad with a childlike curiosity. His blue eyes lit up as he read over the receipt. “That’s fantastic, Malcolm, thanks!” he said, leaning close. Malcolm smiled. There was another awkward silence. After a moment Trip leaned back and picked up his wineglass. “Well,” he said, taking one last sip and setting the glass back down. “I guess I’d better call it a night. I’m on early shift tomorrow.”

“That was generous of you,” Malcolm replied.

Trip shrugged. “I’ll see you for dinner tomorrow night?” he asked by way of reply.

Malcolm stood as the other man stood, nodding. “Oh, yes, definitely,” he replied, his voice a little too adamant, his smile a little too wide. Trip smiled back and they stared at each other for a while, before the blond man gave a little nod and walked away.

Malcolm walked back to his room, telling himself he’d done the right thing, but feeling strangely deflated. He walked back to his room, the heater under his arm, and carefully placed the heater on the desk, where the little box lay waiting. He stared at the box for a moment, feeling desperation want to claw up from his heart. He’d backed down; chickened out. Grimacing, he took the box and hid it inside a drawer, where he didn’t have to see it. It’ll be alright now, he assured himself. Sure, he didn’t do what he’d set out to do two mornings – or was it three? – ago, the first December 25th, when he’d planned on declaring his love for Trip Tucker. But he’d maintained the status quo. That would surely be enough.

He sighed, changing into his pajamas. He was getting tired of this game. Each day that repeated itself only made him feel more guilty for not telling anyone, and more frustrated and disgusted with his inability to initiate anything remotely similar to a healthy relationship with a man who was clearly interested. It was time to end it all. Malcolm climbed into bed, firmly believing that it was over, and that life would continue as normal as ever, starting tomorrow.

***

Lieutenant Malcolm Reed woke early the next morning. He jolted awake and called for the lights, grasping at the alarm clock. The time was 4:21am. He looked across the room at his desk. The little box sat there, neat as you please. The heater was nowhere to be seen. He rolled out of bed and walked to the desk to check the date. It was December 25th.

“That’s it!” he exclaimed, feeling suddenly fired up. “I can’t do this anymore!” Malcolm grabbed the little box with one hand and stormed out of his room. He strode down the hall, into the turbolift, down one floor and out into the hall, oblivious to the fact that he was in his pajamas. He stalked up to Trip’s door in his bare feet and rang the buzzer repeatedly, his finger jabbing at the button over and over again, until Trip’s sleepy head finally poked out.

“Malcolm? What on earth is going on?” Trip asked, his face rough with sleep, his hair tousled. He looked delectable, and Malcolm licked his lips. Enough pussy-footing around, already. He shoved the box at Trip.

“I can’t wait. Open it now.” Trip looked at him like he’d grown a second head, then shrugged and complied. He tore the paper off and lifted the lid off the box, then pulled off the cotton covering the gift.

“Malcolm…” Trip’s voice was barely a whisper as he lifted the silver ring out of the box. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s a promise ring,” Malcolm replied.

"What's a promise ring?"

Malcolm took a deep breath - it was now or never. If he was going to be honest with Trip about his feelings, now was the time. He caught Trip’s eye and held his gaze, feeling feverish. “Trip Tucker, I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you for a while now, and I think you feel the same about me. If you do, if I’m not wrong, then I want to give you this ring to symbolize my promise to love and cherish you with everything I have until the day that I die.” The words rushed out of the Englishman with a passion he’d not realized he was capable of possessing.

Trip stared at him, stunned and silent. A minute stretched in the quiet hallway.

Malcolm’s breath caught in his throat – he was wrong, goddamn it, it wasn’t real, there wasn’t anything there. He opened his mouth to apologize, shame burning his cheeks, but it was at that moment Trip took the opportunity to move. The blond engineer stepped forward, grabbed Malcolm by the arms and pulled him into his chest roughly, leaning in and capturing Malcolm’s open mouth in a searing kiss.

It was Malcolm’s turn to be stunned, but it was only for a second, and then he was kissing back, his heart pounding, his soul elated. His hands came up to tangle in Trip’s hair as Trip began walking them backwards into the room. Malcolm barely heard the door slide shut behind them. He was concentrating on Trip’s tongue, his teeth, his taste. He was running his hand down Trip’s spine, lifting the t-shirt, feeling Trip mirror his actions. Suddenly he was turned around and Trip was guiding him down, down onto the mattress, licking and sucking, hand trailing down, down, sliding his pajama pants off his hips…

***

In a distant part of the galaxy, in an entirely different time, hundreds of years into the future, Crewman Daniels looked down at a complex looking machine, one that allowed him to manipulate specific pockets of time and space. With a small smile, he watched the two small figures on the view screen fall against the bed, before shutting it off. It was done.

“Mr. Daniels? What are you doing here?” Daniels looked up at his superior officer.

“Just running a few tests, sir,” he replied. “We got that new focused chronology equipment.”

His boss nodded, satisfied. “Just in time for Christmas,” he observed, turning to leave.

“Yes, sir,” Daniels replied. “Just in time.”

***

END

SCIENCE FICTION

Star Trek TOS - Kirk/Spock/McCoy

Author: Acidqueen
Title: Nutcracker Sweets
Date: 08 Dec 2004
Fandom: Star Trek /TV
Pairing: Kirk/Spock/McCoy
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Sex on the morning after Christmas.
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine besides the nut ;)
Feedback address: a.q@gmx.de
Advertisement: Part of the SAC-2004 at: http://www.kardasi.com/Advent/2004/SAC-2004.htm
Note: Established relationship movie time K/S/Mc threesome fiction.
Beta: Lyrastar - thank you!

NUTCRACKER SWEETS

The morning after Christmas, Spock sat in his robe on the couch in their living room and eyed the festive decorations. Like most Humans , Jim and Leonard didn't celebrate the date for religious reasons, but enjoyed its emotional content, sharing with family and friends, and the festive knick-knacks that were strewn all over their usually tidy place.

The most prominent and colorful piece stood in the corner. Like every year, Leonard had brought the tackiest available Christmas tree from one of his hospital ship inspection tours on the outer rim. Wherever Humans went, their Christmas decorations went with them - however, due to the influence of the worlds nearby, it could result in insults to art like this: a violet tree with an oversized anti-grav orb on top, branches with unnaturally large needles and - at the end of each branch - 'angels' with short legs and long arms in blue-and-gray striped clothing, their faces oddly flat with oval eyes. Last evening, they could name four alien races that contributed to those features - now, in the morning, Spock remembered a fifth one. He would tell Leonard...later.

"Up so early?"

Spock turned around to face one sleepy mate. Jim was standing in the door, only an open shirt covering his body, leaving almost everything else on optimal display. Especially the erection that pointed toward him.

"I was enjoying the atmosphere."

"Hm." Kirk sank down on the couch next to him. "I've always found the day after somehow depressing: all the food eaten, the candles burnt out...the remainders stale and past due to be thrown out." He slung one arm around Spock's neck and leaned forward into a first kiss.

"Something has to be done about this," Spock said, and pressed a button.

"Oh, no!" Kirk gasped, but the tree had already started its automatic program. The orb began rotating, flashing lights all over the walls and, from the depths of the stem, the recording of a barely recognizable Christmas song filled the room.

"Sometimes I wonder how Bones is able to import them!" Kirk shouted to drown out the music. "I'm sure they fall under some weapons regulation!"

Spock captured his lips, making him forget the music for a moment. Then the Vulcan pressed the button again, and the program stopped.

"I'm eternally grateful, Captain." Kirk sighed and broke into another yawn. "Bones is still asleep. That's expected - he wasn't exactly walking straight by the end of last night."

"You weren't walking straight either," Spock said firmly.

"Ah, well." Kirk rubbed his chin and was about to say something when Spock added, "But I also felt the aftereffects."

Kirk raised a brow. "I vaguely remember that it was your idea to spike the eggnog with Romulan Ale."

"But it was Leonard who brought the Ale."

"That's no excuse. Were you trying to get us drunk?"

Spock managed to look insulted. "I only wanted to add to the atmosphere."

"Ah-ha. I also remember that you started singing."

The insulted look changed to defensive.

"I usually do not sing," Spock stated flatly, and patted Kirk's groin.

"But you did last night, I'm sure," Kirk insisted. "You started singing 'Jingle Balls'. With the filthy lyrics that Bones taught us last year. He's a bad influence on a pure, innocent Vulcan..."

Spock squeezed certain private parts harder. "The lyrics were invented by one of Mr. Scott's engineers 12.3 years ago. I have heard you singing them on more than one occasion in the past, so blaming Leonard is useless."

Kirk spread his legs to allow a better angle for Spock's hand. Fingers cupped his balls, and he couldn't help grinning and singing the words in question.

"Jingle Balls, Jingle Balls, suck them all the way..."

Kirk could feel Spock getting annoyed about the song, but he felt light-headed (probably from that damn eggnog) and the sexual teasing. It might be interesting to see what Spock would do about it.

Spock didn't let Kirk down, and tilted him back on the couch, pressing his back and arms against the seat. When he crouched over him, Spock's abdomen rubbed over Kirk's slightly abated erection.

"Paint them red and stripe them green and tie them to the tree-hee..."

"You're singing excessively," Spock said.

"Make me stop," Kirk replied with a challenging smile.

"Remain here," Spock ordered, and got up. He felt Jim's gaze on his back when he crossed the room to get something from the table of gifts.

He returned with a piece of liqueur-filled chocolate and put it between Jim's teeth.

"You will neither let it drop nor break it," Spock said sternly.

Kirk gave him a smug glance but obediently held the chocolate between his front teeth. The smugness decreased when Spock began caressing all over his chest, tugging the nipples, and stroking his groin. Strong fingers kneaded Kirk's thighs, then spread them. A hot mouth closed over his erection and began sucking it.

With a small pop, the chocolate broke to pieces and its contents of cherry liqueur half dropped into Kirk's mouth, half flew out of the edges of his mouth to run down his chin.

"Damn," Kirk cursed, and tried to catch the sticky fluid with his tongue. "It got warm, Spock. It's not my fault."

Spock bent forward and licked the liqueur away. It was at that moment that the third inhabitant of the apartment appeared in the door, clad in a loosely drawn dressing gown.

"Good morning, my wonderful ones," McCoy said with a yawn, and placed a kiss on the tip of Spock's ear. Then he went to Kirk and kissed him on his mouth. "Hmm, chocolate," he said, and they deepened the kiss.

"Hey, Spock, are you trying to feed Jim?" he said, when he came up for air.

"Actually, no. I was trying to prevent singing."

McCoy raised a brow. "With chocolate? I bet you could feed him half the box and he'd just eat them all."

Spock stroked the erection under his hand. "I fear your assessment is correct, doctor. I would be open to any valuable advice."

Kirk grinned expectantly. The grin diminished when he saw McCoy walking to the table and coming back with a round, brown item.

"That's not fair, Bones," he muttered. "You know I don't like those nuts."

Vulcan air nuts, as they were commonly called, were completely edible, sweet balls with a fragile shell, filled with dusty seeds and a soft stone. Spock and McCoy shared a love for them that was incomprehensible to Kirk, who thought that the nuts tasted much like an eyeball covered in sawdust.

"Spock?" McCoy asked, juggling the nut in his fingers. Much to Kirk's chagrin, the Vulcan nodded in agreement and held Kirk's wrists above his head on the armrest to prevent any defense. Spock's other hand pursued stroking the admiral's unwavering erection.

McCoy went to his knees next to Kirk. "Jim?" he asked.

Kirk knew they would stop right here if he said the magic word. But actually he found the situation pretty hot and didn't want to shatter the scene just because he didn't like the nuts. Sometimes, sacrifices had to be made in the name of good sex.

He opened his mouth.

McCoy put the nut between Kirk's teeth. "Careful, my love," he murmured when the shell creaked under the initial strain. He caressed Kirk's forehead and licked along the still sticky cheek.

Kirk moaned softly around the nut that spread his mouth further than was comfortable. His eyes closed involuntarily when Spock began sucking his dick again. McCoy took hold of Kirk's arms, keeping them above his head but in a lighter restraint. Someone's fingers played with his nipples, massaging and stretching them.

Soon he felt himself being re-arranged on the couch, his groin lifted and a cushion placed underneath it. One slick finger entered his body, and Kirk pushed against it greedily. The tension in his body and the concentration he needed to keep the nut undamaged only added to his arousal, giving it an almost painful edge. The leg that lay against the backrest was lifted, his cheeks spread and then something pressed into him - something so well-known and so welcome that he couldn't help groaning. The nut's shell joined in with an ominous squeal.

He forced himself to stay in control, while on his body two joined forces kept working against him. Spock pushed into him with a steady, powerful rhythm, his weight half resting on Kirk's leg, while McCoy was sucking his left nipple, caressing the other one with skilled fingers and giving his erection a massage once in a while. Kirk was melting under their attack, unable to get away from the erotic stimulation and equally unable to reach orgasm. They knew him too well - whenever he was close to coming, they broke their rhythm and soothed him until the immediate need was gone; then they started again. With the nut between his teeth, he was unable to beg. His groans were welcome, but didn't convince his tormenters to increase their pace. They held him in place, allowing him very little movement of his own.

With the last of his willpower, he opened his eyes to give them a pleading gaze. A pair of brown and a pair of blue eyes read his wish and met briefly, sharing a knowing smile. Kirk's lids dropped again, and he gave in fully to the ride they took him on now. His body was burning up in flames, his groin, his chest, his ass all tied together by electric currents that flew back and forth between the excited spots. The muscles in his arms trembled - all sinews stretched - his back arched up toward the ceiling, impaling his body on the intruding force - and then his orgasm broke. He was shaking, twisting, coiling against the grips of hands, moaning and sobbing against the gagging nut. Stars danced in front of his eyes, and his head hit the armrest as it tilted back and forth from the energy burst. Arms embraced him and skin rubbed on skin, easing the tremors away.

Finally Kirk could breathe steadily again, although the nut was still in his mouth. Spock had slipped out of him and put his leg down on the couch. On Kirk's stomach, the shirt was wet from semen.

"Time to release you," McCoy said, lowered his head and took the nut between his own teeth.

"Bones," Kirk murmured satiated, and stroked his lover's chest. Spock reached for McCoy and pulled him into a kiss. Their lips danced around the nut, nuzzling each other; then they cracked it together, sharing the yellow seed. Their tongues played with the stone for a moment before McCoy eased it into the depths of Spock's mouth where it found its natural end as Vulcan nourishment.

"I'm glad you guys don't eat my balls like that," Kirk stated with a fake shudder. "Nutcrackers." He cupped his genitals with both hands.

"As long as we're not nuts," McCoy said with a broad grin.

"We are not?" Spock and Kirk said in unison.

McCoy shook his head and stood up, stretching his back. "Breakfast?"

"Good idea. I won't kiss you until you flush away that sawdust," Kirk said.

"Tsk." McCoy closed the fastenings of his dressing gown. "Who says we need you for that?" Putting one hand around Spock's neck, he pulled the Vulcan into another duel of tongues. Kirk felt himself getting hard again at this erotic sight. Determined, he rolled from the couch and rose to stand.

"Enough," he said, and dragged McCoy into the kitchen, where they soon shared a coffee and a long kiss, while in the living room the tree played another Christmas song to the sounds of Spock preparing the breakfast table.

***
END

BOOKS

Harry Potter - Harry/Snape

Gifts of the Yuletide by Altaira (Part three of four)

BOOKS

Harry Potter - Harry/Snape

Author: Sev1970
Title: A Snape Happy Christmas…in One Hundred and Seventy Seven Days
Date: December 08, 2004
Fandom: Harry Potter/Books
Pairing: Snape/Harry
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Harry decides he is lonely, goes after his best friend, and Severus stops him, not realizing he is risking his life. When Harry has to help Severus recover, what will happen between the two, who cannot stand each other?
Disclaimer: None of this is mine; it all belongs to JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic, Inc., Warner Bros. and any other entities involved.
Feedback Address: hiyallkmb@yahoo.com
Advertisement: Part of the SAC-2004 at: http://www.kardasi.com/Advent/2004/SAC-2004.htm
Notes: Mild Language
Beta: Magdelena and Nymphy!!!

A SNAPE HAPPY CHRISTMAS
... IN ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY SEVEN DAYS

“Oh Merlin, I love her…he can’t marry her, he just can’t.” Harry tried prying himself from the tight grip of his now former Potions Professor, and glared daggers at the much stronger man, who would not let him go. “LET ME GO, Snape, NOW.”

Severus Snape roughly turned the much smaller Harry towards him and shook him slightly. “You will NOT go to them, and you most certainly will NOT tell Miss Granger that you are in love with her.”

“Damn it Snape, let me go.”

“Listen to me, Potter. You have known for a couple of years that Mister Weasley has loved Miss Granger, and not once did you ever show any interest in her other than friendship. Suddenly he asks her to marry him, she says yes, and you decide you love her? Hell no, Potter. I won’t let you do it.”

“How do you know what I did or did not do, Snape? You do not know anything; I do love her, and she loves me …she really loves me.”

Severus lessened his hold on a now shaking Harry and softened his glare. “Potter, I’ve known you to be quite the hot head, but this…this is not like you. Yes, she does love you, but you DO NOT love her. She loves your best friend and he loves her. Let them be, Potter, please.”

Harry finally shook off his Potions Master, but remained where he stood. “Why? Why do you care so much?”

“I just don’t want to see Miss Granger hurt. She thinks you hung the moon, and would run into your arms if you asked her to; please don’t. She deserves to marry someone who loves her.”

Harry pleaded with the man to believe him. “I do love her, I really do.”

Severus shook his head exasperatedly. “Yes, as a friend, Harry, but not as her lover. Don’t do this to her and Mister Weasley, please.”

Harry’s eyes were now brimming with unshed tears; he hadn’t even noticed his first name being used. “Why? Why are you doing this to me and why do you care, tell me Snape.”

Severus shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

“Bollocks, Snape. You practically tore off my arm when you caught me and then it wasn’t enough I guess, so you had to practically tackle me to the ground. You don’t care about me, so why? Why?”

“Look, I do care about Miss Granger and do not want her to be hurt. Surely you can understand that.”

Harry had an idea there was much being left unsaid, but what the man had said was true. “I would never hurt Hermione, and I think you know that. We would be very happy together, but you’re right, she and Ron do deserve to be together; I know it, but I am just so scared. Voldemort has been killed; I saved everyone as the prophecy said I would, and now I really do not know what to do next. I mean, next year there will be no Ron and Hermione, Hogwarts Express, Hogwarts, Hogsmeade weekends, Dumbledore, or you. I don’t know how to face my life without any of these things, Snape.”

If Snape heard the part about there being no him next year, he completely ignored it. “You’ll manage, Harry.” Severus then motioned Harry to have a seat across from him. There were a few stragglers remaining, but most of the students and staff had already departed the Great Hall. “Have you decided what you are going to do now?”

Harry looked dumbstruck at his former professor who he realized had just called him Harry, but was too distraught to call the man on it. “No.”

“Hmm…Well, I thought surely the headmaster would have asked you to return to teach DADA.”

“Yeah, I kind of thought the same, but he hasn’t.” Harry couldn’t help the bitterness emanating from him, nor could he believe that he was sitting in the Great Hall having a civil conversation with Snape; the entire situation was strange, and he was curious why his professor, who loathed him, would so passionately try to dissuade him from going to Hermione. He was determined to find out. He sighed and stood up. “Yeah well, I don’t think he wants me around anymore; he has gotten what he wanted from me, hasn’t he?”

Severus could not bring himself to answer because Harry was correct. Albus had needed The-Boy-Who-Lived to do away with Voldemort, and now that he had done so, the former Golden Child to Albus, was more than likely, no longer needed. “Harry, you deserve to go out and live life for you now. You have lived for everyone else for seven years now, almost seventeen if we want to be truthful. It is time Harry Potter got to be Harry Potter.”

Harry had turned to leave, but turned back and shook his head sadly. “The thing is, Snape, I don’t want to be Harry Potter anymore, that‘s the problem. I am tired of everyone looking at me with awe. You know, Hermione and Ron were the only ones who I was able to truly be myself around. No one else would allow me to be Harry; I was some hero they put on a pedestal. I am sick to death of that person. No matter where I go or what I do, I will never be able to escape. You never did place me on a pedestal; no, you just humiliated me and kept me in trouble. Yeah, I know it was all to make sure I was safe, but it sure wasn’t easy to endure day after day, you know.”

“Harry, we’ve been through all of this before and you know it. I can’t help how I felt about your father and his friends. I hated them and because of that, hated you too," Snape said exasperatedly. “Only my position as Albus’s spy and my constant struggles with my conscience caused me to change my opinion of you. It hasn’t been easy, and I still don’t exactly like you, but you do deserve to be happy.”

Harry rolled his eyes as he lifted his rucksack. “Oh, thanks, that really warms my heart, Snape, especially now when you have finally decided to call me Harry,” he said, sarcasm dripping from his every word. “The feeling is mutual. I don’t really like you either, but I guess even greasy gits deserve to be happy as well. Now, if you are quite finished with me, I’m leaving, and don’t worry, I’m not going to go chasing after Hermione. You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess knowing she and Ron are happy just makes me a bit sad is all.”

Severus pierced the younger man with his most deathly glare. “Oh Potter, now I am reminded why I loathe you; you are so damned selfish. Listen to yourself, boy. Don’t those two deserve to be happy? I think they do.”

Harry’s face began turning a deep red and he threw down his rucksack and neared the other man who was now standing. “You know exactly what I meant, Snape. Damn it, yes they deserve to be happy. I am sad because I am not happy, you git.”

Severus turned and began walking away but could not help a few parting words, said in an increasingly hoarse voice. “Ever the dramatist, just like your father. He knew how to get everyone’s sympathy, and oh he was so good at it too. But not me…oh no, he never had mine, nor will you, EVER, win any sympathy votes from me, you spoilt brat.”

Harry knew he should just let Snape walk away…just let him keep walking…just let him keep walking…hell no, no one is going to talk like that about my dad. Harry ran as fast as he could and twisted the man around, which was much easier than he thought it should have been, then slammed his hands as hard as he could into Snape’s chest, while the pale Potions Master looked wide-eyed at him. “Don’t you ever talk bad about my father like that again, Snape.”

Snape fell to the stone floor and did not move.

Harry was still seething with anger, but he hadn’t meant to hit his former professor that hard. Come on Snape, you’re not going to let Harry Potter keep you down, are you? Get up and tell me off.

After another minute had passed and still no movement, Harry began panicking. He knelt beside the man and did not hear or feel any breaths. Oh Merlin. Harry grabbed his wand and shouted Sonorous and Madam Pomfrey almost simultaneously. Within a minute, the matron was at his side gasping at the now blue Potions Master.

“Good Merlin, What happened, Harry?”

“He said something bad about my father and I pushed him, but it wasn’t that hard, I promise it wasn’t.”

“Go get the headmaster, NOW, and meet me in the Hospital Wing.”

Harry had never heard the matron sound so furious. He ran as fast as he could to the headmaster’s office and although out of breath, managed to get the password out and make it up the stairs where he found a somber looking Dumbledore waiting for him.

Not a word was spoken; it was as if the headmaster knew what had happened. When they reached the Hospital Wing, Harry was left outside to wonder how Snape was doing, but he remained that way for well over an hour. Finally, a very grave looking Dumbledore came slowly walking out.

“We need to talk, Harry.”

Harry knew it was bad news immediately and started shaking. “I didn’t kill him, did I?”

“No, he is not dead, but he is very sick. Why don’t you come up to my office; what I have to tell you might take some time.”

Harry nodded and followed his former headmaster past the Gargoyle, up the revolving staircase, and into the office where he sat down, scared to death at what he was about to be told. “Please, Professor Dumbledore, tell me what is wrong. What did I do to him?”

Albus looked Harry straight in the eyes and sadly shook his head. “You hit him, Harry; we know you did not mean to hurt him badly, however, Severus has recently been diagnosed with a rare condition called Spiritus Egeo, which means without breath. Severus is fine most of the time and no one would ever suspect anything to be wrong with him, but when he is in a high stress situation, or when too much force is placed upon his body, it causes him to lose his ability to breathe normally. It is very fortunate you called Madam Pomfrey when you did. I fear Severus would have died had you waited another minute.”

Harry was ashen by this time and shook his head slowly. “Oh Gods, I am so sorry. I never meant to hurt him.”

“Calm down, child, we do not need you getting sick as well. With time, I am thinking everything will be fine, Harry. I think within a week, Severus will be awake. His recovery will be slow and arduous, but I am guessing that by Christmas, which is six months away, he will be back to his normal self.”

That is all? I’ve really buggered things up now. Harry could not calm down; he had almost killed Snape, and his former professor was going to take a very long time to recover. Nevertheless, he was thankful that at least Snape was alive. “Will he really be okay? Or are you just telling me that.”

Albus came and sat by Harry on the couch. “Poppy says he’ll be fine, so he will. We have never seen him go through this before so everything is and will be new to us. Severus will be very weak but Poppy does think that with plenty of bed rest he will make a complete recovery.”

“I should probably leave; he won’t want to see me again. I can’t believe I almost killed him…Merlin.” Harry stood up and began to leave.

“Oh no you don’t, young man. You are not going anywhere. You did this to Severus and I think that means you will also be the one who is going to help him recover.”

Harry turned around wide-eyed, found a very stern looking Poppy Pomfrey looking down at him, and gulped. He had always felt very close to her; he had after all, spent many a night in the Hospital Wing, but now he felt nothing but fear. The woman was scowling at him; her voice calm yet authoritative. He backed up and looked back at the headmaster. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, honestly.”

Poppy sighed and placed her face in her hands as she sat down across from Harry. After a minute or so, she lifted her head and found him looking as if he were about to cry, looking pleadingly at her. “Harry, I have never felt closer to anyone in my life than I have with you. You are my heart, child, and I would do anything for you. But that man lying in the Hospital Wing, Harry, he is my child.”

Harry’s eyes widened and he looked back at the headmaster, who nodded, then returned to look at the now much calmer matron. Oh Merlin! Harry opened his mouth to say something but Madam Pomfrey shook her head.

“It’s a long story which I’m sure you’ll eventually hear, Harry, but not now. I only found out a year ago, and he still does not know. I have lost so much time with him, and when I saw him lying on the floor, you can’t imagine what went through my mind. I begged Merlin to spare his life. I need to tell Severus I love him…every boy deserves to hear that from their mother at least once in their life, and I know that is something Severus has never heard.”

~*~

Harry had talked with Poppy long into the night about Severus, about himself, about their animosity towards each other, and about loneliness in general. Poppy had always known how to make Harry laugh, and this time was no different. She hated to see him so desolate and made a promise to herself that she would see both Harry and Severus happy if it was the last thing she did. It was almost too much to hope the two could become friends, but Poppy had even greater ambitious plans; she wanted her son and Harry together. She knew it was a crazy idea, but she just felt that they belonged together. She knew that her son preferred men, but was less clear about Harry. He had gone out with Cho Chang in fifth year if she remembered correctly, and Poppy had always sensed that he had a thing for Hermione Granger as well. She would find out, and regardless, she could try to get the two together…anything was possible.

She kept her word about Harry being the one to help Severus recover, and made sure he was there by the Potions Master’s side almost constantly those first few days. She thought it funny that when she had originally said this to Harry, it had been out of spite and nothing more or less. Now, Harry helping her son was exactly what would get the two closer…or close. She knew the two were about as far apart as two people possibly could be.

~*~

Severus finally woke up a week later, and to his disdain, met emerald eyes. “Get out, Potter.”

“I can’t; Madam Pomfrey is making me stay.”

“Poppy?” the pale and much too thin man yelled with as much venom as he could muster.

Poppy came running and knew her son had awakened, but also that he was not too happy.
“Oh Severus, you’re awake.”

Severus rolled his eyes. “What an astute observation, Poppy. Of course, I am awake. Could you tell me why Potter is sitting here staring at me as if I am about to drop dead at any moment?”

“It seems the two of you had a volatile confrontation last week and Harry hit you, causing you to lose consciousness, and you have been that way since. I thought since he caused this to happen, he should help you recover.”

Severus nodded and looked as though he were pondering what had just been told to him. “Well, I am awake now as you can see and I do NOT want him anywhere near me, is that understood?”

Poppy was about to respond but could tell her son’s breathing was becoming labored. “Out, Harry, now.” After he left, she calmed Severus down, and after examining him, gave him a sleeping draught. “You have to remember Severus, you cannot get yourself worked up so easily or you will never recover.” She received no response, only an hmph.

It was an hour later when Harry heard the door opening, and watched as Madam Pomfrey joined him. “I’ll just go get my things and leave then. I won’t be bothering anyone anymore.”

“No, child, you cannot leave, or, perhaps I should say, I will not allow you to do so. You are not looking well and I know you are upset about what happened. You stay here a few weeks and get yourself together then we’ll talk about you leaving, alright?” Poppy lifted Harry’s chin and smiled her matronly smile. “It’s going to be okay, love.”

~*~

For the next few weeks, Harry stayed with Snape for an hour every morning, because an hour was all the man would tolerate; the two never spoke, only exchanged glares. Harry kept to himself the rest of the time, trying to keep busy, but often found himself spending his days and nights sitting under his invisibility cloak back in the Hospital Wing. He knew that Snape was aware he was there, but neither he nor the Potions Master ever let on. Snape had gotten stronger, but tired very easily, therefore, he slept most of the time, giving Harry ample time to think.

Harry had owled Ron and Hermione telling them he was staying at Hogwarts, but had given them no reason. Ron had replied and said he and Hermione had set their wedding date for December 24th, and asked Harry to be his best man, to which Harry of course said yes. He was happy for them. He may never be happy but he was glad his two best friends were. It made him a bit nauseous to think how close he had come to breaking them up. He had truly meant to go after Hermione, and if not for Snape, he would have.

Poppy and Harry had daily talks, and Poppy could sense a change in the young man as the weeks progressed. She was more and more convinced that he and her son would be perfect for one another, though she had yet to think of a way to get them together, but she would. She encouraged Harry to talk to Severus about potions, thinking perhaps that would get him talking, but Harry didn’t think he wanted to get into any debates with Snape about a subject the man taught. Harry had improved greatly in his Potion-making skills, but knew his skills paled in comparison to his former professors.

After a month, Harry and Severus slowly began trying to form a sort of friendship when Severus wished Harry a Happy Birthday. Harry had already received his cards and gifts from his friends and Hagrid, but when he heard his former hated professor wishing him a happy birthday, Harry knew this was a momentous occasion. It took much longer for the two to feel entirely comfortable around each other, but they eventually reached that point with them both making an effort. Harry started bringing the Potions Master his supper every night and would sit with him while he ate, telling him of his daily activities, which usually consisted of playing Quidditch either by himself, or with Madame Hooch, who had returned to prepare for the upcoming term. He knew Snape only tolerated him because there was nothing else for him to do. He apologized almost daily for causing Snape so much pain and grief, and every time, the man shook his head saying he had it coming, which always made Harry mad. Yes, Snape should not have been saying such things about his father, but Harry also knew he should have just let it go.

While Snape was confined to the Hospital Wing, Harry restocked the Potions Cupboard with all of the new potions for the upcoming school term, and completely cleaned the Potions classroom, which had been a wreck when he had first entered it; obviously, it had been left exactly the way the last class left it. With Dumbledore’s permission, Harry had even ordered new cauldrons, saying the ones Severus currently had were looking quite battered. The Headmaster thought they looked fine, but also understood Harry was trying hard to make up for what he had done, and wanted to help the young man in that endeavor.

Harry was finding himself drawn to Snape more and more, and looked forward to their nightly chats. He was getting to know the true person, not the greasy git who had taught him, and was finding himself fascinated with the man. He could tell that Snape was feeling more at ease around him now, and he was happy when his former professor would tell him stories about fo