December 22

CRIME:

Sentinel - Jim/Blair

Author: Ximeria
Title: Mistletoe & Candlelight
Fandom: The Sentinel/Crime
Pairing: Jim/Blair
Rating: Mild R
Summary: You know, it can't hurt to do something nice for a friend every once in a while.
Date: December 22nd, 2004
Disclaimer: Jim and Blair unfortunately belong to Paramount, Pet Fly Productions, and UPN -- and not me -- although if it had been the case, I'd promise to take *real* good care of them *eg*
Feedback address: ximeria@popullus.net
Advertisement: Part of the SAC-2004 at: http://www.kardasi.com/Advent/2004/SAC-2004.htm
Beta: A variety of people from AG and Lj - and Snowdrop as always, kicked my grammar challenged behind *g*

---

Jim pulled the collar of his coat up as he entered the airport. The cold smell and the lingering snowflakes on his shoulders grounded him for long enough to dial down his senses. It was the 23rd of December and the airport was bustling with life, noises and smells that Jim had thankfully learned to ignore.

All thanks to the man he was picking up today.

Sure, he could work without his partner's presence, since his senses were pretty much under control these days, but it just was not the same. Jim had been scheduled for duty from morning to four a clock in the afternoon that day, but Simon had sent him home with a muttered comment about Christmas, Sentinels and their bloody Guides.

Jim had not wanted to argue, because this would mean he could get to the airport and pick Sandburg up.

Two weeks... Two damned weeks without the company that he realized was what partly kept him sane and enabled him to socialize with others. Not that he had had that much trouble, but he was well aware of that the accusations of his moody behavior were not without merit.

Jim shrugged out of his coat and folded it over his arm, as he watched the flight info dance across the screens. Blair's plane had a minor delay, but with the current weather it was to be expected.

Keeping an eye on the arrival times, Jim browsed some of the stores that littered the airport. He still was not entirely happy about the gift he had gotten Blair, but he knew perfectly well that it was because he could not give Blair what he really wanted to.

'Right, Ellison, I can just imagine the kid's reaction if you put *that* under the tree.' Jim sighed. After so many years he really should know Sandburg well enough to guess what his reaction would be if Jim actually told him straight out how he felt about the man.

'Heh, straight...' Jim snorted and ignored the looks it earned him. It seemed Sandburg's sense of humor had rubbed off on him. And Jim refused to even smile at the thought of what else he would like to rub...

'It's too late,' Jim mused as he watched the boards telling him that the plane was about to land. 'We're so damned set in our ways that I'm afraid to jostle it now.' Still, his little surprise for Blair would at least give him the opportunity to test the waters.

Jim smiled a bit as he waited. He knew Sandburg always joked about how repressed he was, but Jim figured that a declaration of undying love and the admission that he *really* wanted Blair in the bed upstairs... It would definitely blow his roommate's claims to hell.

It would, most probably, also blow their friendship in the same direction. No... he would take it as painstakingly slow as possible.

Without consciously trying, Jim's senses finally zeroed in on a familiar heartbeat, and the familiar scent of his roommate. It felt like someone had lifted a veil from Jim's senses one and all. Everything was sharper, though it gave him none of the headachy feeling he had carried around for the past few days.

Jim had to smile as he watched his partner weave in and out of the people, always a smile ready on his face. He noted how the ponytail bounced and he was kind of glad that Blair had decided to let it grow out again when he had started working for the CPD full time.

'God, we're lucky,' Jim admitted to himself as he moved toward Sandburg. It had looked dark and bleak for a while when Blair, after careful considerations, had admitted that the academy was not really what he had wanted. It had been a little strange when Simon had drawn them aside and offered Blair another suggestion.

And this was partly why Blair was returning from a two week seminar. It had been a year since Blair had finished the theoretical part of his education as a forensic anthropologist.

Jim still wondered what deity was with them, because it had taken very little to convince the new police commissioner to let them hire Blair. Maybe it was just that Hamilton was a lot more open minded and intelligent than his predecessor.

A few feet from Blair, Jim had to grin as he watched the compact body stiffen and then he was met with a pair of piercing blue eyes. Said eyes crinkled as Blair's face shone with a smile that Jim realized he had never seen Blair give anyone else.

"Jim!"

"Hey, Chief, need a hand?" Jim gestured at the backpack Blair was struggling with. The backpack, however, did not seem to want to share a shoulder with the carry-on Blair had thrown over his shoulder.

"What are you doing here?" Blair asked as he let Jim take the backpack. The smile turned to a frown. "Is everything okay?" he asked.

"Everything's fine, Sandburg," Jim said with a mock glare. 'Now that you're here, things really *are* fine.'

Blair's face lit up again and he secured the strap of his carry-on while he chuckled. "Ah, Simon got tired of you moping around."

"I do not 'mope around'," Jim said, trying to sound indignant, not succeeding very well. "Hey, Sandburg?" Jim slung the backpack over his shoulder, wondering if he was getting old, or Blair had packed rocks.

"Yeah?" Blair seemed to almost bounce into step with him and Jim was, not for the first time, glad that that trait was still a part of Sandburg's repertoire. No matter how much he had bitched about his roommate's insatiable energy over the years.

"You got a warm jacket packed where we can get to it easily?" Jim asked.

"Not really," Blair admitted. "I've got this one," he said, holding up the coat he normally wore when it was cold.

"Chief, it's beyond cold outside and it's snowing pretty heavily." Jim shook his head.

"Aw, man. I hope the heater works in the truck," Blair said with a grin.

"Oh, it does," Jim rumbled, wondering if Blair would call him a mother hen when he saw what Jim had brought along and left in the, hopefully still, warm truck.

As they wound their way out of the packed airport, Jim listened to Blair's steady stream of information about this and that he had heard at the seminar, but even if he had wanted, Jim was not sure he would have been able to tell afterwards what Blair had been talking about.

It was more the sound of the voice than what Blair was saying, and on Jim's more paranoid days, he was quite sure that Blair knew he did this. He did not listen to the words, but let the voice wash over him, let it reinforce his barriers.

Fuck, even the headache was history.

As they stepped outside, Jim forced himself to not curl his arm around Sandburg to keep him warm. Blair set his carry-on down for a moment and put on his coat, shivering as a gust of cool air curled around him.

'It's bad enough that he's gonna kill you when we get back to the loft... or laugh at you,' Jim chided himself and wondered, not for the first time, which option would be the worse. Actually, he would prefer the killing. Why prolong the pain? Then again, Blair might just take it the way it was meant. A nice surprise for a good friend.

Yup, he had gone decidedly mushy in his older days. If he had created the same setup for Carolin, she would have been on the phone with the shrink in no time.

Right, good thing Blair was nothing like Carolin. Jim shivered at the thought.

"You okay?" Blair asked, as observant as ever.

Jim decided to share a bit of the madness. "I was thinking how you're nothing like Carolin," he flung out as they walked through the huge parking lot, lines and lines of cars.

It said a lot of their friendship and years together that Blair did not even raise an eyebrow at that.

"No... there are definitely some pretty heavy differences," Blair snorted.

Jim grinned. "That too and we've lived together for a lot longer than I was married to her."

"I'm a pretty flexible guy," Blair said, voice low and mock-serious.

"Now, see, Chief. I wouldn't know anything about that," Jim deadpanned.

Blair merely snorted and Jim caught sight of the flushed cheeks out the corner of his eye. Then again, it was probably just the cold doing that.

"I hope you didn't park at the other end of the lot," Sandburg said, his teeth chattering.

"Right up ahead," Jim assured him.

Jim unlocked the truck and put Blair's backpack inside and as he pulled back out, he held out Blair's thick winter coat.

"Oh man, have I told you lately how much I love you?" Blair enthused as he quickly exchanged his thinner coat for the one Jim held out for him.

"No, lately you've been rather absent," Jim said with a laugh as he fired up the engine and the heater kicked in.

The ride home was... comfortable, familiar and Jim wondered for the umpteenth time if he might have made a mistake with his preparations.

The streets were white and the Christmas lights lent it all a strange, dreamy look. Jim turned his head a little when Blair's voice trailed off.

"What's up, Sandburg?" he asked softly, recognizing the pensive look.

"It's good to be back home," Blair admitted, a small smile on his face as he turned twinkling eyes to Jim. "I've missed the city and... I've missed you."

Jim felt warmth flood his body and he swallowed hard. This was the kind of stuff he had never been very good at, expressing his feelings, at least in words.

As they walked into Prospect 852, Jim had to smile as Blair patted the rough walls. "Missed the place, huh?"

"Oh yeah," Blair agreed as he made a beeline for the elevator. Which, surprisingly, was working. Well, it *was* the season of miracles.

As they stood in the elevator, Jim felt nervousness cloud him again and he wondered again what Blair would say to the apartment and the surprises Jim had prepared.

Taking a deep breath, Jim unlocked the door and walked in, turning a little to watch Sandburg's face.

And it was all worth it.

Blair's eyes widened as he took in the transformed loft. It was not that Jim had gone crazy with the holiday decorations, but the place was a lot greener than normally and the lights on the huge tree in the corner illuminated it all just perfectly.

"Oh wow... Jim... I didn't think you'd..."

"You thought grumpy old me wouldn't do this and you'd have to do it all tomorrow, huh?" Jim said with a grin.

"My *God* Jim. How did you get the tree up here?" he asked with a laugh.

"Simon helped," Jim admitted then laughed out loud. "I learned a few new words I didn't already know."

"I bet," Blair said, dropping his carry-on and walking over to the tree. "This is so cool, Jim."

"Glad you like it," Jim said, feeling oddly strange as the warmth from before returned full force. "Kick back, get a beer, I gotta go to the bathroom for a moment."

Blair nodded. "Just don't take too long -- I need to take a leak."

Jim grinned and nodded, fleeing to the bathroom. He quickly turned on the water to fill the bathtub and lighted the candles. When he was sure everything was right he turned out the overhead light and slipped back into the apartment.

"Jim?" Blair was fingering some of the greenery Jim had put up, raising an eyebrow as he waited for Jim to join him. "Did you put all this up by yourself?" he asked.

Jim nodded. "No, Joel helped. Why?"

"Oh, nothing..."

Jim swallowed hard and gestured toward the bathroom. "Why don't you go and um... take a soak in the tub."

Blair frowned but nevertheless brushed past Jim. 'Oh boy,' Jim thought as he turned toward the kitchen. He really needed a beer.

A moment later, Jim heard the door to the bathroom open again and Blair joined him in the kitchen.

"Um... Jim?"

"Yeah?" Jim dug into the fridge and pulled out two beers and a plate of sandwiches. "Hungry?" he asked as he put it all on the kitchen table.

"You don't have to do all this for me," Blair said softly, catching hold of Jim's arm, stopping his forward motion.

"I know, I just figured you'd be tired after the long flight," Jim defended himself, trying not to sound too gruff.

Blair's smile softened. "Yeah... it's just a a little unexpected."

Jim frowned.

"Not that you never do stuff for me," Blair remedied. "I mean, we're both guys and..."

"And?" Jim asked with a raised eyebrow. Oh damn, that would probably mean this was as far as he could push things safely.

"And nothing, Jim... thanks," Blair said, letting go of his arm with a light pat.

Jim nodded toward the bathroom. "Go soak, I'll bring this out and you can tell me all about your trip."

Blair opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but changed his mind. With a smile and shake of his head, he went to the bathroom and Jim allowed himself a few moments to breathe.

He was so far out of his depth that he had no idea what was up and what was down any longer. And Sandburg was at the same time making it both harder and easier.

'Get a grip, Ellison, this is you being nice to a friend in the spirit of Christmas.'

'Right.'

Waiting a few more minutes he took the plates and two beers and went to knock on the bathroom door. "Chief, you decent?"

A light chuckle answered him. "As decent as I can get at the moment," Blair replied softly.

Jim pushed the door open and walked into the candlelit bathroom. With an exaggerated bow, he put the plate with the sandwiches down on a small fold-out table he had placed in the room earlier.

"You're being odd today," Blair said lightly as he reached over the edge of the tub, grabbing the beer. "But I can't complain, because *this* is just perfect getting home to," he admitted with a shy smile.

Jim grinned back and sat down on the edge of the tub, offering Blair a sandwich. In between bites, Blair carried on about the seminar and Jim only partly listened. His eyes kept sweeping the body underneath the foam and he hoped that the flickering light, and the deep shadows it created, was enough to cover for his... attention.

Blair's hair was wet and slicked down from the water, the hair tie gone and Jim wondered if Blair would consider it odd if he asked to wash the hair.

Probably.

He covertly watched the hairy chest rise and fall where the water lapped gently against the skin. Well, at times it sloshed because Blair kept gesticulating to support whatever it was he was talking about.

"Jim... Earth to Jim."

Jim shook his head and realized that he had been contemplating his naked roommate a little too intensely.

"Damn, you're weird today," Blair said with a sigh, but his eyes twinkled with a light that drew Jim like a moth to a flame.

"Good weird or bad weird?" Jim asked as cocked his head.

"I'm thinking... good," Blair grinned. "I mean, I come home to *this*." He gestured at the setting.

Jim nodded with a small smile of his own. "Yeah, I was wondering if maybe you were going to start looking for the pod."

Blair laughed. "Should I?" he asked softly.

Jim shrugged. "If you think this is really so much out of character for me."

"Oddly enough... it's not," Blair admitted with a puzzled look. "Although *this*..." he said and held up some of the greenery he'd obviously liberated from the living room.

"You use green stuff to decorate the loft with every year," Jim defended himself, not looking too closely at the twig.

"Jim... you share your apartment with another man, neither of us have dated in ages... and I come home to a loft decorated with mistletoe..."

Jim felt blood leave his face. "Joel..." he squeaked.

"What's Joel and mistletoe got to do with each other?" Blair asked. "Unless there's something you two haven't told me."

Jim's eyes widened. "You little shit," he grinned, feeling a little more at ease. He was supposed to have an eyesight better than anyone else and he had failed to see the laughter in Blair's eyes.

Blair slipped the last bit of his sandwich between his lips and licked his fingers. Jim tried not to stare too much, but his attention was caught by a crumb sticking to Blair's lower lip and before he could stop himself, he leaned in and dislocated it with his thumb.

For a moment, Jim held his hand where it was, warm against the side of Blair's jaw and cheek. For a heartbeat Blair's eyes flickered shut only to open again, pupils larger than Jim had ever seen.

It was as if Blair could feel Jim's momentary lapse of faith, because even before Jim could flex his fingers and remove his hand, Blair's hand shot up to capture his. Heavy lidded eyes stayed on Jim, as Blair turned his head a little and placed a light kiss in the palm of Jim's hand.

Soft breath whispered over Jim's sensitive skin and it felt as if it penetrated his pores, slid into his blood stream and sent shivers through his body. It was as if every little hair on his body stood on ends.

A light tug and Jim leaned over the tub, a hand on either side of Blair as the man let go of his hand in favor of slipping both hands behind Jim's neck, slowly pulling him forward.

They were close enough for Jim to feel Blair's quickened breathing washing over him like a gentle breeze. For a moment everything seemed suspended in time. Jim's eyes did not stray from Blair's and Blair seemed to be as caught up in it as he was.

That was the point where Jim knew it could only go wrong.

For a split second his hands were resting on the edges of the bathtub and the next he found himself ducking under water as his hand slipped and he ended up sloshing water up and over the edge of the bathtub.

Gasping he managed to get to his knees, looking bewildered into Blair's surprised face.

Then Blair began laughing and for a heartbeat, Jim wanted to get angry, but how could he? The laughter was so contagious and it *was* funny. He should have known better than to lean over the tub this way.

The tub was barely big enough to hold them both, and a little shifting between bouts of laughter, chuckles and Jim would have sworn, giggles, they managed to end up with their arms around each other. Jim drew a deep breath, balancing in the middle of the tub with Blair's legs wrapped around his middle.

"As seductions go, I give this an A+ for effort," Blair chuckled, nuzzling against Jim's neck.

"It wasn't supposed to be a seduction," Jim muttered from where he had his face buried in Blair's wet hair.

"No?" Blair asked, pulling back enough to look Jim in the eye.

"No," Jim admitted with a sigh. How the heck had he managed to get himself to this point? Not that he was complaining, he liked this... well, apart from the fact that wet jeans weren't exactly comfortable.

"Jim... if you're seriously okay with this, man... Take off your clothes?" Maybe Blair *could* read his mind.

Jim let go and pulled a little further back, watching with wonder as Blair leaned back, lazily watching him, as Jim pulled the t-shirt up over his head.

Wet fingers slid reverently over Jim's chest and he shivered as they strayed to the sides, rough pads sliding over his nipples and if he did not dial his sense of touch down *now*, he would not make it out of his jeans.

Blair held his gaze and slid his fingers down Jim's abs to the buttons of the jeans, popping them one by one. Biting his lower lip, Blair nudged him until Jim managed to get to his feet, the water cascading down his lower body.

"Whoa... like Poseidon from the depths of the ocean," Blair breathed, barely audible, even to Jim's ears.

They both struggled to peel Jim out of the wet jeans and ended up laughing so hard because of the absurdity of it all. Jim wondered how it was standing naked in front of Blair in the bathtub was not half as odd, funny... weird as trying to get out of those damned jeans.

"Oh yeah," Blair crowed when they managed to get the jeans down and off. "Fuck, Jim... I can't believe you've been hiding this from me."

Jim felt his face heat. "Chief, this isn't..."

"Mmmm, I know," Blair said, patting his hip and guiding him back down into the water, sloshing it all over the place. Jim allowed himself to be pulled all the way down and sighed happily when Blair's mouth closed warm over his.

Jim wondered if perhaps Blair had more than two hands, because it seemed he was being touched in so many places at the same time.

With a chuckle, Blair broke the kiss and bit gently into Jim's lower lip. "Are you dialing down your sense of touch?" he asked with a bit of menace in his voice.

Jim sighed and dialed it up to normal and nearly blacked out from it.

"Shit, Jim. Don't spin the dials up so fast," Blair laughed. "I'm not big enough to carry you out of the tub," he warned.

"You're big where it counts," Jim muttered against his lips and slid his hand down between Blair's legs, feeling the warm water caress his body as he moved.

"Oh, damn... Jim, don't stop -- that's sooooo good," Blair moaned and moved against Jim's body. Once again the legs wrapped themselves around Jim's waist and Jim let go to slide his arms around Blair's body, effectively trapping their cocks against each other.

Blair groaned and thrust against him. Jim took it as a nice, gold engraved invitation and slipped his hands down to cup Blair's ass.

That move was rewarded with sloppy kisses and sounds that Jim had not thought possible from a human being. He could, at least silently, admit that some of those sounds were coming from him.

"Sandburg, you kiss like a damned porn movie," Jim grinned breathlessly as he met another open-mouthed, wet kiss with Blair's slick tongue invading his mouth.

Blair simply chuckled and teased Jim's tongue into his own mouth, then sucked on it with the same rhythm with which he was grinding against Jim.

Jim hesitated for a moment, then realized if he ever was to let go of his control, it would be with Blair. His normal iron control really was not necessary right here, right now, because Blair would catch him if he fell.

The moment he did let go, everything seemed to coalesce and his senses exploded with pleasure.

The flickering candlelight playing off wet skin and hair, dancing merrily to a non-existent tune.

The scent of soap and something that Jim would always be able to identify as being Blair. Underlined with the faintest hint of airline coffee and something sweet and chocolate-like.

The taste supported the coffee and chocolate and wound itself around the scent.

Needy noises were born in Blair's throat, and Jim homed in on them, right from the split second they came into existence until they left Blair's lips to end their life inside Jim's greedy mouth.

Touch? Touch was so far off the scale that it should have scared Jim. The only thing that kept him sane, was the fact that all his senses were working in unity, grounding him, anchoring his sense of touch.

Their slides against each other were the sweetest kind of torture that Jim could imagine. Every sense seemed so finely tuned to Blair, that it took very little from the moment Jim felt and acknowledged deep down that Blair was teetering on the edge until they clung to each other, climaxing so hard that Jim wondered if he might not survive the experience.

Blair's ragged breathing was like the wind in Jim's ears and he shifted them until he could cradle the nearly boneless body in his arms.

"Damn, James," Blair mumbled, smiling against Jim's neck. "That was so cheesy."

"What was?" Jim asked, wondering how many brain cells he had lost with that orgasm. It seemed that small jolts of pleasure were still zipping through his system, making him pleasantly buzzed.

"We actually came at the same time," Blair laughed.

Jim grinned. "Wanna see if it was a fluke or if we can do a repeat performance?" he asked mischievously. Jim closed his eyes and sighed contentedly. This was it, what he had wanted for so long. There was no trace of his old fears, at least at the moment.

Damn, looked like he had a new drug of choice.

Blair groaned. "I don't know about you, but it's gonna be a little while before I can repeat this."

"Oh..." Jim answered with a yawn.

"Oh man, Ellison..." Blair tried to sound exasperated as Jim rocked lightly against him. "Don't tell me you can keep going all night?"

"I don't know..." Jim grinned as he pushed Blair to his feet. "Care to come upstairs and run a few ...tests?"

Blair's eyes widened and the strong fingers dug into Jim's hips. "Now... I think I can come up with a few tests for that," he admitted with a wicked grin.

As they stepped out of the bathtub, Jim pulled the other man close and covered Blair's lips with his own. The kiss was slow and full of everything Jim knew he could not put into words.

"Merry Christmas, Blair," he whispered when they parted.

"Oh yeah," Blair sighed as his hands slipped from Jim's hips to clamp possessively over Jim's ass. "A *very* merry Christmas indeed."

THE END

SCIENCE FICTION

Star Trek - The Next Generation - Picard/Q

Author: Nick
Title: Affliction
Date: December 22
Fandom: Star Trek: TNG / Science Fiction
Pairing: Picard/Q
Rating: R (for reference to m/m sex)
Summary: An A/U Picard battles his own internalized homophobia as he contemplates a potentially life-altering moment of intimacy with an old friend.
Disclaimer: I'm not actually sure TPTB own anything in this story, but I acknowledge that the characters were based on Picard and Q, whom Paramount does own, and that I am making no money at all off of this piece.
Feedback address: plan9channel7@witty.com
Advertisement: Part of the SAC-2004 at:
http://www.kardasi.com/Advent/2004/SAC-2004.htm
Note: This story deals with themes that, for obvious and understandable reasons, don't crop up very often in P/Q fics. That's what Alternative Universes are for.

AFFLICTION

It had been the season, the man would tell himself afterwards, though he wouldn't believe it. But he wasn't meant to, not really. It was only practice for when he would have to lie about it later. That he had been lonely would not be called into question, and that it was an especially bitter December had been well documented. More homeless had died in the streets during that winter than in the last three combined, and all for want of warmth, of shelter. How long had Jean-Luc been without warmth? Without shelter? Should he have lain down to die among the indigent when there were strong arms opening to enfold him?

He knew what his family would say, and his neighbors, but for once he wasn't asking them. For once the only opinion that mattered to Jean-Luc was his own, and he was going to listen carefully enough to hear it, however meekly it might present itself at first. It was strange to think of any part of himself as meek. He was gentle, certainly, and calm, but years of responsibility and discipline had hardened him, and he had had no one to temper his rigidity. No, that wasn't quite true. He had allowed no one to temper his rigidity.

Jean-Luc had known of Q's affection for as long as he had known of what he had come to think of as Q's affliction, which was many years by that December. He had learned of both on a soggy, liquor sloshed evening when their friendship was young, when they, in fact, were young, and still full of optimism for the fulfillment and satisfaction promised to obedient children and dutiful young adults. At first, Jean-Luc had played the part of bewildered but stubbornly broadminded friend, finding it easy to mimic the tolerant disgust he had seen occasionally in the schoolyard and more often at home. However, it eventually became apparent to Jean-Luc (and possibly to Q, though his friend was possessed of far too much grace to mention it outright) that Q's affliction was shared between them.

So many nights had been wasted on that charade, the man couldn't help thinking, although he found it a dirty thought and tried to put it away. It all seemed dirty to him, stained, while at the same time feeling like the most immaculate thing he could readily call to memory. What could be dirty about it? They hadn't fallen into bed one night only to find themselves falling further the next morning, onto the altar, with a helpless, soft-skulled new life nipping at their heels. They weren't neglecting the attention or affection they had promised someone else to frolic together in illicit rendezvous. Jean-Luc had been married to his work, and Q was always and forever married to himself, and their one illicit rendezvous had been fraught with grief and twenty years in the making.

More dirty thoughts haunted the man as he lay alone, knees knocking with cold, under an army blanket in his unforgiving twin bed. He had told himself for years that his insistence on using army surplus clothes, utensils, and linens was rooted in a sense of nostalgia or even pride, and he maintained publicly that he was simply used to a Spartan lifestyle that could not be accommodated by more civilian articles. Now, though, in the dark, he had to wonder whether he hadn't simply been punishing himself with deprivation -- deprivation of comfort, deprivation of convenience, deprivation of individuality. And what he had allowed Q to do to him, what he had wanted Q to do to him that night, last night, mere hours before the birth of the new year… had that been punishment, too? Or had it been an eleventh hour reprieve? He had difficulty imagining a healthy man lying passively on his side as his friend huddled behind him, forced close by the narrowness of a bed built for one and drawn closer by… what, exactly? Love? He was sure that his father loved his uncle who was not really his uncle, but certainly such a thing had never happened, could never happen, should never happen between them. Desire? Was it possible? It had felt like desire, pressing against him, pressing inside of him, while he did nothing to stop it. No, he was being too generous with himself. He had not been passive; he had whispered pleas in the dark, or, more specifically, he had whispered, "Please… Please… Please." He had raised his knee and opened himself to Q. He had wished for the nerve to turn around and lie on his back, to watch it all with dilated pupils in the near-black.

Would a healthy man do that? And yet, he had had every opportunity to be healthy. His parents were kind and understanding, and their high expectations had only spurred him to achieve his high potential. School had not been as easy for him as it had seemed for some others, but perhaps that was because he hadn't let it be easy. He had refused to let his classmates by with the insensitivity and irresponsibility so characteristic of young people in his experience, and he had found that if he spoke to one of them calmly, on an individual basis, he could often get his point across. It had been in school that his natural leadership qualities had begun to show themselves. Perhaps if he had not felt so responsible for others, if he had not put himself into the unenviable position of role model for so many, he would have allowed himself more freedom to pursue his… questionable interests. As it was, with the exception of emergencies, he had made a career out of taking only those actions he could thoroughly justify, of which loving another man had never been one. If a young subordinate came to him for his advice on the subject, the best he had ever been able to offer was an understanding, "I really don't know." But his career was over now, and had been for several years. Maybe it was time to unshoulder the old requirement of outward justification. He had to admit that if any part of him had truly objected, the event that now made him feel alternately sullied and euphoric would never have occurred.

When Q had come to him with nowhere to go and no other friend on whom to impose himself, Jean-Luc might have offered his bed and gone to curl up in the armchair across the room. Instead, he had told himself that the exceptional cold made sharing the bed with anyone preferable to sleeping alone, and his friend had not objected. Why should he? Jean-Luc thought bitterly. Q had been waiting, always waiting, for his friend to find the courage to let go of the pretense of difference between them. As much as he resisted accepting himself, Jean-Luc had long ago accepted Q for who and what he was, and he found that it was strangely easy to see things from his point of view where the two of them were concerned. When they had been young, he had watched Q dally here and there, always with only mild enthusiasm. Even when his friend bubbled and gushed about a particularly promising new companion, it was always with the mutual understanding that whatever he may enjoy about the company of another was overshadowed by his enjoyment of the opportunity to share it with Jean-Luc. As he thought about it, the old soldier increasingly regarded Q's respect for his self-imposed boundaries as unfortunate. How might he have responded to a more overt advance? How might his life have been different? Would he be happy now, warm and content, or would he have merely exchanged old regrets for new ones? But no way of looking at the situation could make any of it Q's fault. Q had given him exactly what he had wanted but had never had the heart to ask for -- acceptance. Jean-Luc could only hope that the deep acceptance he was now sure he had always felt for Q had been communicated as clearly.

What if it hadn't? It would be regretful but not the end. It wasn't over, *they* weren't over. He still had time to say something, to do something. Any time now, the latch on his door would shift and Q would ease himself into the dimly lit one-room apartment with his arms full of things, Q's things. It could be an old friend taking brief refuge while he set the affairs of his life in order, or it could be something more. For the first time, Jean-Luc truly understood how much of the decision lay on his own shoulders. He knew now that there was nothing glib or transitory about Q's affection for him; that much had been plain from the moment he came, in desperate silence, into his friend's loving hand, full of him and surrounded entirely by his warm acceptance. Jean-Luc wasn't sure whether he could say it out loud, wasn't sure whether he could pronounce his own affection the way most lovers might expect, but maybe Q would understand. Q had done nothing but understand, in all their years together. It seemed obscene to expect still more from him, but if it were the only way it would have to do. Jean-Luc hoped that in time he would be able to pay his friend what recompense was fitting for a lifetime of understanding and sacrifice.

The door clicked, squeaked, and then Q's form was outlined in the sickly light from the hall for a moment before it closed again.

"Jean-Luc? Are you awake?" There was a swish and a thump as Q laid his burdens in the far corner.

"I'm here." Jean-Luc watched as Q's gaze wandered blinkingly until his eyes became accustomed to the near darkness. He wondered if his suddenly shallow breathing was as audible as it seemed to him, but if Q noticed he gave no sign.

"Are you cold, Jean-Luc?" Understand, Jean-Luc thought. Please, if there is a God, Q, understand just once more. Q neared the bed on heavy, quiet feet.

"Yes." Jean-Luc closed his eyes and didn't breathe again until he felt the mattress shift with the weight of Q sliding into bed beside him. A strong arm slid across his chest and drew him in as though it were a familiar, natural thing to do, and somehow it was.

"Better?" Frozen with fear but melting by the moment, Jean-Luc pressed his face into his friend's neck.

"Yes, Q. Yes."

END

SCIENCE FICTION

Andromeda - Trance/Beka

Artist: Moonloon
Title: Who Needs Mistletoe?
Rating: PG
Pairing: Trance/Beka
Show: Andromeda
Disclaimer: The show isn't mine, but the artwork is :)
Feedback address: maryavatar@gmail.com
Advertisement: Part of the Slash
Advent Calendar of 2003 at
http://www.kardasi.com/Advent/2004/SAC-2004.htm

FANTASY

Author: Caliadragon
Title: Spike’s Pressie
Date: December 22
Fandom: Buffy/Fantasy
Pairing: Xander/Spike
Rating: NC 17
Summary: Spike decides to collect his present.
Warnings: Slash, Kidnapping, Vampire Seduction Techniques
Disclaimer: Not Mine, damnit!
Feedback address: Caliadragon1@myself.com
Advertisement: Part of the SAC-2004 at:
http://www.kardasi.com/Advent/2004/SAC-2004.htm
Note: Set around season 3, but with no true spoilers, it is completely AU.
Beta: Edi the Wonderful

Spike's Pressie

Xander walked slowly down the street towards what he laughingly called home. He knew it was foolish to be by himself after dark in Sunnyhell, but what the hell. It was Christmas and the only thing he had to look forward to was a black eye and maybe some broken bones as a gift. His friends were all with their families celebrating. Even Deadboy was with someone for this holiday. He was spending the day with Buffy and Joyce.

Giles and Wesley had taken Faith with them over seas while they visited their families; neither man wanted the younger slayer to have to be alone among those that did not want her. Namely Buffy and Willow, Xander actually liked the brash Slayer and her gentle watcher. Willow and Oz were spending the holidays with each other and their families. Cordy was also with her parents. They had left Sunnydale and taken her with them, so he couldn’t even wish her a happy holiday and try to make up for the pain that the lust spell had caused.

No one knew what he was suffering through on the holiday. Not that he would have been welcome around them even of they had known what his situation was. Since the whole kissing Willow thing, they hadn't wanted much to do with him. Xander really hated Christmas, what was so fucking jolly about it? Feeling more dejected than ever he didn't notice the vampire that came up behind him until he it was to late and he was being pulled tightly against a hard cool body. "Looks like even vamipires get to claim presents at Christmas," A cool voice said in his ear as he lost conciousness.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________

When Xander opened his eyes the next time; he was lying on his back and staring at the ceiling. For a moment he was confused, then memory returned and he jerked to a sitting position or at least he tried. He was terrified when he realized he was restrained. "Careful luv, you'll hurt yourself." Xander's whipped his head to the side and found himself staring into cool blue eyes.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________


"Spike?" he asked stunned.

"Hello luv," Spike said tenderly as he walked over and perched on the bed by the boy.

"Why?" Xander asked confused. Surprisingly enough Spike understood him.

"My poof of a Sire's with Slutty the Vampire Rider so I don't have anyone to get a pressie from. I saw you and thought, well, Peaches already gave you to me. So I decided ta take you." Spike informed him as he stroked a hand down the boys face.

Xander was confused as to why the vampire was behaving the way he was. "Are you going to eat me?"

Spike chuckled, "Yes and fuck you and claim you and anything else I can think of."

"Uh, why? I'm not exactly something worth claiming." Xander said confused.

Spike growled softly and shook his head. "You're so called friends are real shits luv. You are one of the few things worth anything in this shit hole of a town. Personally I think you're going to make a great consort." Spike then lowered himself onto the bed and onto Xander.

Xander shuddered and turned his face away. Spike merely kissed his cheek. When Spike had first returned to town, he had taken to stalking the Slayers little friends. He remembered the redhead and the brunet that he had kidnapped with a fond feeling of lust and want. At first, he was going to take the redhead, but decided against her after watching the way that she and the others treated his pretty boy.

When he had originally come up with his plan to claim the boy he had intended to only shag and toss the boy away. Maybe even kill him and leave his mutilated corpse for the slayer and the poof to find. However, the longer he watched the boy, the more he wanted him. He was also more intrigued by the boy’s determination and loyalty to those that did not deserve it. The mortal was an enigma to Spike, but he was also now precious to the vampire. Spike knew that there was no way that the boy would willingly stay with him if he killed his friends and any other innocents. Spike also knew the boy would not leave the town if what he heard was true and the town was in danger. He knew that he would have to make peace with the slayer and her group if he wanted to remain with his consort.

For now though he was not going to worry about any of that, it was time to claim his present. Leaning down Spike captured Xander's mouth in a hot, deep kiss. The mortal boy did not stand a chance against Spike. The vampire had had centuries to perfect his seduction. Why take something by force when it can be coaxed sweetly? Unlike Angelus, Spike enjoyed seduction. Rape had never been one of his quirks. That was all Angelus' insanity.

Xander quaked under Spike's teasing of his body, soon he was whimpering and begging for more. What he wanted, what he needed he was unsure of. All he knew was that he was burning inside and needed something to drive away the emptiness inside of himself.

Spike smirked in pleasure at the cries his boy was emitting. He knew well the power that he could wield. He intended to give the boy what he was so sweetly begging for, but first he needed to make sure that the herbs were ready for him to use.

Straightening away from the panting boy, Spike quickly undressed and grabbed the items he would need to make the boy his for eternity. Xander looked up at Spike with an awed sense of panic and was about to balk, when Spike lay back down on him and began to kiss him again. Xander was once again caught up in the sensual spell that Spike was weaving. The vampire slowly and carefully coaxed Xander’s body into readiness, before sliding his length into the boy’s heated passage.

Xander cried out in pleasure and allowed himself to be frantically kissed by the vampire. Xander was driven by alien feelings and needs, desperate for the burning ache to be quenched. He begged the vampire to go faster, harder, anything to just pushing over the edge. Spike complied, pleased with the eager and needy boy; Xander was everything Spike could have hoped he would be, especially as the boy was a virgin. This was an added thrill for Spike, knowing he would be the only one to ever claim his boy.

At the crest of their passion, Spike dragged the pot of herbs over to them. Opening the jar he continued to pound into Xander’s willing body. He carefully smeared the herbs on to Xander’s throat and just about his heart. Then repeated the gesture on himself. Once he was done, he began to fist the boy’s cock roughly. Xander screamed out in climax, as he fame, Spike’s demon guise came to the fore and he lunged forward bitt8ing deeply into Xander’s throat, Xander screamed again, in pleasure as the vampire bit. Then he cried out softly as Spike pulled away and bit him gently above the heart, still moving inside of him. Spike pulled the boy up to his neck and forced him to bite, howling out his release as Xander did so. He then guided Xander to repeat the bite above his heart.

Once the boy had swallowed the few draws of blood, Spike collapsed on top of the youth, gasping for unneeded breath. Seconds later the spell on the herbs took effect and each man witnessed the life of the other. Every moment that they had suffered or laughed through bled into the conciousness of the other. Spike saw Xander’s life and the pain that out weighed the joy far to many times. Xander saw Dru and the love that Spike still bore her.

He saw a version of Angelus that he could not have thought existed. He saw love, and death and fury and more death. The bond ripped away their lives and forced them to be strangers no longer. In the minutes that the spell held them in place the were one another, there would be no distance, no half hazard affection. This bond demanded love and if it only existed on one side, he forced that as well.

As the spell, ended Spike lifted himself up long enough to look down at Xander. The boy surprised him by smiling and singing, “Merry Christmas to me, Marry Christmas to me,” Along to the tune of the birthday song.

Spike laughed and thought it was appropriate. Merry Christmas indeed.

The End

FANTASY

Buffy the Vampire Slayer - Spike/Xander

The Comfort of Touch

AngstPuppy

ORIGINAL

Adam/Ryan

Author: Retrofit88
Title: Under the Ginkgo Tree
Date: Wherever you see a need
Fandom: Original
Pairing: Adam/Ryan
Rating: PG-13 for this section
Summary: You never know who you’ll meet when your backpack smells like rotten cheese!
Feedback address: retrofit@retrofit.slashcity.net
Website: http://retrofit.slashcity.net
Advertisement: Part of the SAC-2004 at: http://www.kardasi.com/Advent/2004/SAC-2004.htm
Author’s note: This story refers to the Ginkgo tree (ginkgo biloba), a broad-leafed deciduous tree of that was found all over the world in prehistory. Most of the species died out, but Chinese gardeners cultivated it, and it was eventually “rediscovered” by the rest of the world. It’s very ornamental, with lovely fan-shaped leaves that are a soft shade of green in spring and summer, and bright gold in the fall. After the leaves drop, the “female” version of the tree also drops lovely yellowish-grey seeds that smell rather strongly of rotten dairy products and dirty gym lockers. Most ginkgo trees in gardens are male trees with no seeds, so fans of the tree might not be familiar with this aspect of their reproductive cycle!

Under the Ginkgo Tree

Remember that day last week when it was just barely starting to snow? I know, it’s pretty early for snow, so it was that nasty freezing-in-the-air, wet-on-the-ground, just-enough-ice-on-the-sidewalks-to-make-walking-an-adventure kind of weather. Remember that day? Yeah.

There was this big exam in my Comm class, and I was almost late. I was walking kinda fast, and right by the art museum this guy barrels past me and bumps into me. I didn’t think there was any ice nearby, but my foot landed on something really slippery, and my feet went out from under me. I did a classic pratfall – legs and arms flailing, bookbag flying, all of it. I landed right on my tailbone with the wind knocked out of me.

I decided to lie there for a moment, trying to breathe again. I could feel the freezing cold water on the pavement soaking through my jeans; something smelled funny, too. I was looking up at this bare, prickly-looking tree when suddenly a guy’s concerned face broke into my view – he was kinda cute. He bent closer, saying,

“Oh my god, are you okay? I’m really sorry!”

“No no, I’m fine. Just practicing that slip-on-a-banana-peel thing for mime class.”

He laughed and offered me a hand.

“Sounds like you didn’t get knocked on the head too hard. Ready to get up now?”

He helped me up from the ground, and leaned me against the wall of the art museum while he went to grab my backpack. As he brought it back, he brushed at some kind of grayish gunk on the strap, and his nose wrinkled.

“D’you always have rotten cheese on your bag, or what?”

I was finding more of the gooey stuff on my shoe, and my jacket. I tried to scrape it off against the bricks. The goo went, but the smell stayed.

“Hang on, man, there’s more in your hair.”

I bent my head as he flicked ineffectually at my hair. It’s pretty curly, and once stuff gets into it, I usually have to brush it really good for the stuff to come out. I couldn’t help but notice the guy’s powerful arms and shoulders. When he laughed, his dark eyes wrinkled shut and his mouth widened into this big inviting grin. I was probably reading things into it, but hey – it’s hard to resist when a guy’s six inches away from you with his hands in your hair.

I raised my own hand up to my hair and gave a good rub – most of the stuff was gone now, but I still smelled like rotten feta cheese. There were little purpley-greyish-yellowish globes on the ground nearby; more closed to the tree I’d fallen under. The sidewalks were covered with half-smashed splotches, along with a big smear right where my foot had come down on one of them. The whole ones looked like tasty little plums, but the smushed ones seemed to be the source of the stink.

“Sorry man, I don’t think it’s coming out.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so either,” I agreed.

“Maybe if you showered or something?”

“I can’t – I’ve got a test and I’m already late!”

“Oh, jeezus, me too. Are you in O’Connor’s Comm class?”

“Yeah.”

“C’mon man, let’s go!”

We arrived at the auditorium a little out of breath, but seeing the state of my clothes the TA took pity on us and let us in. The guy whispered, “Good luck,” and took a seat in the back row on the right side. I went down the same aisle as him, but ended up a couple rows forward, right on the aisle. No chance at one of the elusive ‘lefty’ desks for this test.

Things went okay for a while, but as things progressed, the heating system in the auditorium kicked in, assisted by the body heat of some two hundred exam-stressed individuals. My clothes started to dry off, which was good, but as I warmed up, the nasty fruit goo on my clothes and hair got smellier. A guy in front of me moved over a couple chairs, then the girl next to me did, too. People started shifting in their seats, and looking over toward where I was sitting with these pissed-off looks on their faces. What could I do? I had to take the test – they don’t let you sit out on account of stinkiness!

By the time the test was over, all the people seated close to me had moved further away. The girl who had been seated next to me finished and walked out. She could clearly be heard telling her boyfriend that I was “the guy who reeked!” There was a muffled snicker from the back of the room, and when I looked over my shoulder the guy who had run into me was holding back a smile. As we made eye contact, his smile broke out, and he started laughing for real. Other people turned to look at him, now. I started grinning too, then laughed as well. Really, it was pretty funny. We laughed louder, and other people started going “Shhh!” and “Shut the fuck up!”

I was mostly done anyway, and what with the stench and the laughing, I was about to get my ass kicked, so I decided to cut my losses, and got up to turn in my exam. I left the building, and as I pushed open the door and breathed in some fresh, cold air, someone tapped me on the shoulder. Half-expecting to see some pissed-off frat guy, I turned around slowly. It was the guy, still grinning at me.

“I live just the other side of the student union – you wanna borrow my shower?”

Hell yes! Preferably with him in it, but I didn’t say that out loud.

“I don’t know – maybe this stuff will stick in your shower and it’ll stink for the next three months.”

“Can’t be any worse than the way the bathroom smells after my roommate is done using it in the morning…”

“Since I live up on North Campus and I’d get killed if I tried to take the bus up there smelling like this, I’ll take you up on your offer. I’m Ryan, by the way.”

“I’m Adam. Pleased to meet you,” he said, and we shook hands.

To be continued in SAC 2004 on ???? …

BOOKS

Lord of the Rings - Aragorn/Legolas

Author: Sileya
Title: Messages
Rating: PG
Pairing: Aragorn/Legolas
Summary: Legolas delivers messages to Aragorn, who is on winter duty.
Show: LOTR
Date of publication: Dec. 22, 2004
Disclaimer: LOTR is a creation of J.R.R. Tolkien. This is a fictional story meant for entertainment.
Feedback address: sileya@yahoo.com
Advertisement: Part of the Slash Advent Calendar of 2004 at http://www.kardasi.com/Advent/2004/SAC-2004.htm 
Beta: Milady Hawke

Messages

Aragorn glanced up from the small fire when the horses shuffled in the hay, warning him of movement outside the snug stable. He set aside his pipe and picked up his sword, standing silently and putting the fire at his back.

As he stepped away from the fire, he could feel the cold penetrating the wooden structure, he could hear the wind howling outside in the trees. And when he approached the latched door, he could hear the faintest of movements. He readied his sword.

Then, someone rapped on the door.

Aragorn blinked in surprise, sheathing his sword and lifting the block, letting the door open. Just off the step, a dark cloak billowed in the wind, pure whiteness swirling about it. The figure took a step forward and the firelight from within glanced upon a familiar face.

“Legolas.” Aragorn pushed aside his shock and held the door open against the wind.

The elf nodded as Aragorn recognized him and stepped across the threshold, leading his horse. Once past, the Ranger closed and barred the door.

His friend led the horse to a stall, letting it loose to graze. The elf turned and brushed back the snow-covered hood. “Aragorn, I come bearing messages.”

A smiled quirked the corner of Aragorn’s mouth. He gestured to the fire. “Come, take your ease. We are a long ride from anywhere.”

A smile finally broke upon Legolas’ face, and Aragorn’s heart was warmed by more than the fire. It had been over a year since he’d seen his Mirkwood friend.

The elf dropped a set of heavy saddlebags near the fire, pulling off his cloak and tossing it onto the hay. Free of his burdens, he turned and the friends clasped arms in greeting, clapping each other’s shoulders. Aragorn studied his friend’s face for a moment with wistful eyes, and then he urged Legolas to sit. The elf took a cup of warmed cider in good humor.

Aragorn sat across the fire from him and shook his head slightly. “Tell me. What messages? And why are you the one delivering them?”

Legolas tipped his head. “Word from home, Aragorn. Letters from your family and friends. I visited Lothlorien and Rivendell at my father’s behest, and when I received word of your assignment, I chose to visit here as well.”

Aragorn’s smile grew, and he chuckled. “Only you would travel the northern passes in winter for a mere visit, mellon nin.”

Legolas didn’t reply, although his eyes twinkled in the firelight. He sipped the cider, studying Aragorn’s dark features as the human relit his pipe and settled back into the hay.

“Elladan and Elrohir, in particular, are most displeased that you insisted on serving winter watch this season,” Legolas mentioned after a bit. “You will miss the Yule festivities.”

Aragorn chuckled. “They wish they had thought of it first.”

The elf’s eyes sparkled with humor. “I would not presume to know better.”

“Who told you of my watch?”

“Lord Elrond.” At Aragorn’s questioning look, Legolas shrugged. “I asked after you, upon my arrival. Some of the messages from Lothlorien are for you. Once he disclosed your assignment, I made immediate plans.”

Aragorn snorted. “You don’t like to dance, either.”

Legolas’ lips twitched, and then they both laughed heartily, eyes meeting and locking, cool blue matching stony gray. By some silent communication, they accepted the joy of each other’s company.

Legolas nodded. “The twins entreated me to stay in the comfort of Imladris, allowing them to make this arduous journey in my place.”

“Elrohir and Elladan are both of marriageable age. I would wager they volunteered for any duty available that would keep them from the parties.”

The elf nodded. “Lord Elrond was adamant they attend. I had to turn away as their faces fell, lest they see my mirth.”

Aragorn chuckled as the elf snagged the saddlebags, pulling them across the hay to where he sat. Opening the leather pouch, he withdrew several scroll cases, throwing them one by one at Aragorn.

“From Elladan, from Elrohir. From Lord Elrond.” Aragorn struggled to juggle the scrolls, laughing as Legolas kept tossing them. “From Lord Celeborn, from Haldir…”

“Legolas! Enough!”

Two more carefully wrapped scrolls appeared from the pouch, and Legolas held one in each hand. Aragorn raised an eyebrow, watching closely.

“From Lady Arwen.”

Aragorn caught one scroll and sighed, looking at the wrapped package with a bit of sadness. He made note of the colored ribbon about it and set it aside.

Legolas kept the last scroll, dropping it next to him in the hay. “Will you not read your messages? I came all this way. You at least should entertain me.”

Aragorn pulled a message from the pile and unwrapped it. Legolas pulled bread, cheese and dried meat from his pack, moving over to sit only a few feet from Aragorn. He set the food between them, indicating to Aragorn that he should eat.

Aragorn took a piece of cheese as he eyed the last scroll half hidden in the hay. He glanced to his friend, noting how the elf was ignoring it, then turned his attention back to the scroll in hand. He glanced up from his reading to see Legolas watching him from a casual sprawl in the hay. The elf arched an eyebrow as he took a small bite of bread, and Aragorn’s eyes were drawn to his lips.

The Ranger dragged his attention back to the scroll. He gestured with it. “Know you the contents of the messages?” he asked, his voice rough.

Legolas shook his head, not flinching from Aragorn’s piercing eyes.

“Haldir of Lothlorien has requested permission to court Arwen.” Aragorn narrowed his eyes when the elf ducked his head. “Legolas?”

The elf didn’t answer. Legolas seemed fascinated by the ties on his vambraces.

“Did you know?”

Legolas finally looked up, his bright eyes tinged with sadness. “Aye.”

Aragorn shook his head, silently asking Legolas to explain what the Ranger could not put into words.

The elf sighed, looking up at Aragorn. “I told her …she should tell you herself.” His lips tightened when he looked at the scroll in the Ranger’s hand. He clearly didn’t approve of the scroll. Whether it was the words written on it or the fact of the scroll itself, Aragorn didn’t know.

“So you brought the message yourself.”

“I thought…you would want a friend.”

They sat in silence for some minutes before the elf looked down at the wrapped parchment next to his knee, and his slight movement gained Aragorn’s attention.

“Legolas? What of that last message?”

The elf looked up to the dark ranger, his senses aflame. His hand moved to rest carefully on the parchment. “It’s…not really a message,” he murmured.

Aragorn looked at the scroll, covered by Legolas’ long fingers, then back up at the elf’s handsome face. “What is it, then?” he asked quietly.

“Ah,” Legolas paused, and Aragorn smiled, utterly charmed as Legolas grasped for words. “It’s a declaration, of sorts.” He lifted liquid eyes to meet the Ranger’s.

Aragorn laid his hand over the elf’s, stilling it as the muscles jumped in hair-trigger response. “A declaration?” he prompted, leaning closer, his chin almost at Legolas’ shoulder. The soft warmth of Aragorn’s breath brushed over Legolas’ skin, and the elf shivered visibly.

The tips of Aragorn’s mouth curved as he slowly pulled the scroll free from the elf’s fingers. Legolas watched the scroll intently, as if he were afraid to let go of it.

“Who is it from?”

The elf swallowed, and then murmured, “Me.”

Aragorn’s gut clenched and his breaths quickened. He set the scroll aside and without pausing, framed Legolas’ face with his hands, smiling at the surprise in the clear blue eyes.

“Deliver the message yourself, Legolas,” Aragorn rasped, his lips so very close to the elf’s.

Aragorn’s order bolstered Legolas’ conviction, and the elf pressed his lips solidly to the ranger’s. Within moments, if the small fire near them had grown to consume the stable, they wouldn’t have noticed.

Finally they pulled apart, lips red and bruised, wet and shining, their eyes glittering.

“I have a message for you, as well, Legolas,” Aragorn said, his voice harsh with heat and want.

“What is it?” the elf murmured.

Aragorn pushed Legolas back into the hay, covering the elf’s body with his own, and proceeded to deliver a very long, thoughtful and passionate message.

END

BOOKS

Harry Potter - Harry/Draco

Author: Angyl & Rina
Title Secret Santa
Date: Due Dec. 18 for Dec 22 posting
Fandom: Books, Harry Potter
Pairing: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy
Rating: NC-17
Summary: A muggle holiday game for all the houses brings an unexpected surprise.
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and the characters therein belong to J. K. Rowling and not us as you all well know!
Feedback address: angyl@rogers.com and Rina83@msn.com
Advertisement: Part of the SAC-2004 at:
http://www.kardasi.com/Advent/2004/SAC-2004.htm
Note:
Beta: Janet Kofoed

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Secret Santa
By Angyl and Rina
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


"Have you heard? It's absolutely wonderful!" Hermione laughed as she burst through the portrait hole to Gryffindor Tower. "The headmaster and all of the house heads have approved it, well, with the exception of Professor Snape, of course, but Slytherin will have to do it anyway, selfish, elitist, muggle hating gits, have approved it!"

"Hold on, 'mione, you mind telling us what you're talking about?" Ron sighed, looking up at his girlfriend after his bishop smashed through Harry's knight. "We're not mind readers, you know, and we haven't a clue what you're going on about."

"Secret Santa, Ronald. All the houses are exchanging names and have to surprise the person whom they've picked with thoughtful gestures once a week until the hols," Hermione explained patiently.

Harry, hearing the dreaded phrase _secret Santa_ groaned as if being hit with Crucio. Bloody hell, just what he needed. "And just whose idea was this, 'mione?" he asked weakly.

"Well mine, of course. I thought it would be a great hands on project, and it also counts as part of everyone’s Muggle Studies mark."

"Of _course_ it does," Ron groaned. "And what, exactly, is a Santa and why is it secret?"

"Ronald, don't you _ever_ read your textbooks?" Hermione asked in disgusted exasperation. "Really. I suggest you go and find the chapter in our book on muggle holiday customs, since we'll be getting our names with tea tonight and you'll need to be prepared." And with that the put out Head Girl huffed up the stairs to her rooms.

"Great. No snogging for me tonight, I can tell," Ron sighed morosely, watching her leave.

"C'mon, Ron, we've got quidditch practice in fifteen minutes. I'll fill you in on Secret Santas on the way," Harry promised consolingly. "And it can't really be all that bad. I mean, chances are we'll just be exchanging in House."

***

"No. I don't believe it. This can't be right!" Harry moaned, fighting the urge to bang his head on the table. "Isn't it bad enough I've got a dark wizard trying to off me, a potions professor bent on failing me _and_ we're behind on house points?" he groaned.

Ron plucked Harry's parchment out of his hands and looked at the name written there, his eyes getting as wide as saucers as he did so. "Oh, that's positively rotten, mate! You do seem to be having a really bad streak lately, don't you?"

Harry winced and then glared at Hermione half-heartedly. "This is _your_ fault, you realize?" he groused.

"Oh, Harry, don't go on so. It can't possibly be that.... Oh Merlin! Harry, I'm so sorry!" Hermione gasped, reading the script on the parchment which Harry shoved right in front of her face. "I had no idea you'd get.... Him!"

"Bollocks," Harry groaned, giving into the urge and burying his face in his hands. Of course he would get Malfoy, how could he not get the git? Snape probably arranged it just to further torment him, or maybe Dumbledore was trying to make him get along with the slimy Slytherin. Either way, Harry was doomed.

***

"Professor, just why is the Headmaster forcing us to participate in this - this stupidity?" Draco Malfoy was in a foul mood and ready to take it out on anyone - anyone but his house head, of course.

"The Headmaster believes that partaking in this _quaint_ Muggle custom will help you all become better wizards and witches," Snape drawled, his expression and tone one of total disbelief. "Unfortunately, the other house heads agree, so there is no getting out of it unless you wish Slytherin to be out of the House Cup race altogether, and I for one do not wish that." He cast a baleful look around the dungeon's common room, quelling the students' protests.

"This is a pile of rot," Draco muttered, sinking back onto the sofa between Crabbe and Goyle.

"That may be, Mr. Malfoy, but it is rubbish that Slytherin shall participate in. Now form a line and take a piece of parchment from this bowl, which will tell you who you shall have to gift with presents until the holiday break."

The Slytherins shuffled forward, drawing names and looking at them, some giving groans of distaste, though others actually looked happy over their partners.

Draco reached the bowl, and without looking into it, snatched a slip of parchment. Only when he'd reached 'his' sofa did he look at the name. "Give me your paper, Goyle," he demanded, when the other teen returned.

"Ah, ah, Mr. Malfoy; no changes once the picks have been made," Snape commented, leaving Draco wondering just how the professor had heard him when he was on the other side of the room.

"Who d'ya have, Draco?" Crabbe asked, craning his beefy neck to get a look at the writing. "Cor, Goyle, he's got Granger!"

"You have Frizz-head?" Pansy laughed. "Give her some hair cream, will you? Or perhaps something to stuff in her bra!"

Draco glared at the others, vowing revenge on whoever had come up with this stupid project - and he was almost certain he knew who that was.

***

"I can't believe I'm spending my first Hogsmeade weekend shopping for something for that pain in the arse," Harry groaned, looking around Honeydukes longingly while trying to determine what would be a worthy gift for Prince Ponce.

"Well he's a death eater wanna be and a Malfoy too, why don't you get him some blood pops? I'm sure he's used to doing a lot of bloodsucking. Maybe he even sucks off you know who," Roy replied.

"Ewww, Ron, do you have any idea what Vo..._he_ even looks like? I wouldn't want that to happen to anyone, not even Malfoy!" Harry shuddered. "Absolutely disgusting!"

"What is?" Hermione piped up, coming up behind them.

"Bloody hell, 'mione, don't do that!" Ron yelped. "I'm too young to die from heart failure."

***

"This is the biggest pile of shite I've ever seen," Draco fumed, looking around the holiday decorations. "How in Merlin's name am I supposed to pick out a gift for a Muggle?"

He wandered the aisles of the apothecary, then spotted a small bottle and grinned. "Perfect," he murmured to himself, picking up the bottle of freckle-preventing potion.

Harry was still debating on whether to use a scourgify spell on his brain for bad mental images as he, Hermione and Ron walked down the sidewalk towards Madame Rosemunda's to join Neville, Dean and Seamus for a butterbeer, when a body barreled into him from out of a shop, causing them both to tumble to the ground.

"Hey, watch where you're goin’.... Figures it would be _you_ Malfoy," Harry spat, trying to get out from underneath the prat. "For some one of supposedly," Harry choked on his next words," _good_ breeding, you've got the manners of a troll!"

Harry felt something... hard... nudge his thigh and smirked evilly. "Why Malfoy, is that bulge in your robes for me?" he said loud enough for not only his friends and the Slytherin goons to hear, but a few other groups of students walking about, including Justin Fitch-Fletchley, one of the most notorious gossips in school.

"Oy, Malfoy, I'm flattered and I know I'm pretty enough, but you don't exactly have the right equipment for me," he continued with a truly Slytherin smirk, even though the truth was that Harry was actually kind of curious about the equipment that Malfoy _did_ have, and the git had actually grown into quite a looker too, not that Harry would ever admit it – even to himself. Too bad his personality was such a bloody turn off.

Draco sneered as he got to his feet, brushing the snow from his robes. "As if I'd want any part of me near you, you git. Watch where you're going next time."

"Watch where I'm going? You're the arse that came barreling out of the shop without looking," Harry snarled in answer, pushing himself to his feet. "Besides, is it my fault you're hot for me?"

Draco broke into laughter. "Projecting your feelings on to me, are you, Potter? Well, I can understand it considering I'm gorgeous and you're... you, but I'd rather bed..." he looked around the group and sneered, "Granger there than touch you."

"Bloody cocksucking deatheater bastard, don't you dare dirty Hermione with your filth!" Ron snarled, lunging for Malfoy only to be stopped by Harry's hand.

"Remember what you said in Honeydukes. I take back my repulsion. You're probably right, Ron. I bet he does service Voldemort on a regular basis. Like father like son and all that. C'mon. He's not worth the muck we'd be dragged through," Harry replied coldly.

Draco snarled wordlessly at that and threw himself at Harry, pummeling his face and body with wild swings as he cursed under his breath.

"Petrificus Totalis," Hermione said very clearly, stunning the two combatants with a full body binding spell, her voice shaking with anger. "Ron, you grab Harry. Parkinson, get Malfoy's goons to take him and get him out of here before you let him out of the spell. The last thing any of us need is to get detention for brawling in the streets of Hogsmeade. _Boys_," she continued with a disgusted snarl. "Never thinking with the brain above your belts!"

***

"Kill that bloody bastard," Draco snarled the moment Pansy removed the spell from him. "I swear, I'll kill him."

"Easy, Draco," Goyle said, frowning as the blond tried to get up. "You'll get him soon, you know you will."

"Yeah," Crabbe chimed in. "Get him and his Muggle-loving friends too."

"You will _not_ be using this event of Dumbledore's to do it, however," Snape said from the shadows of the common room where he'd been eavesdropping on the conversation. "While I'm all for making Potter and his ilk pay, I will not allow you to incur the wrath of the headmaster upon the rest of Slytherin. Do I make myself clear?"

"But damnit, Professor, he said..."

"I do not care what he said, Mister Malfoy, nor do I want to know. This conversation is ended, is that clear?"

Giving a vicious nod, Draco snatched his cloak from the arm of his chair and tossed it on, snarling at Crabbe and Goyle when they went to follow him. "Stay here, I don't need you two prats following me right now, I need to think."

He stomped out of the dungeon's common room, his footsteps echoing loudly in the empty halls, and headed for the astronomy tower, wanting to feel the clean bite of the wind on his face, hoping it would scour his mind clean of memories Potter's comment had brought back with much too much clarity.

***

Harry flung on his invisibility cloak before Ron or Hermione could stop him and was out the portrait hole before they could blink. He couldn't believe the nerve of Malfoy daring to suggest that he was a... a... shirt lifter! He liked _girls_ hell, he'd dated Cho and Emma Shriker from Ravenclaw and hell, he’d even got to third base with Draco's own girlfriend, Parkinson, and right under Draco's nose!

Bastard, who did he think he was? Harry continued to rage silently as he stormed through the halls, invisible to the eye, as he headed towards the astronomy tower, wanting to get away from everyone and everything and hopefully cool off.

***

Blessedly numb to the cold, his pale skin and white blonde hair blending with the flakes coating his shoulders and back, Draco leaned on the wall circling the tower, gazing out over the still, silent grounds. Perhaps he'd simply stay out here all night, perhaps he'd stay here through the holidays as well, and it was infinitely preferable to what awaited him at home.

Still cursing under his breath, Harry walked up the stairs to the astronomy tower and slammed the door open without so much as checking to see if the room was occupied.

Of course the sound of an almost girlish shriek had him pulling up short and clapping a hand over his mouth to keep the swear words from tumbling forth. Thank all the gods for his invisibility cloak and.... oh hellfires and brimstones! Malfoy? Was nothing sacred from that prat anymore, even his after hours ramblings about the school in solitary splendor?

Bollocks. Just... bollocks! Harry fought the insane urge to stamp his feet and throw a right tantrum. After all, it would let Malfoy know there was someone here other than the wind and possibly a poltergeist or two.

"Who the hell?" Draco looked around wildly, his wand held at the ready, a defensive spell on the tip of his tongue. When he saw the balcony was empty except for himself, he frowned, wondering just who or what had opened the door. "Peeves, is that you, you sodding idiot?" he snarled.

Harry smirked underneath his invisibility cloak. This had some definite advantages. But then again he wasn't an evil bastard like most of the Slytherin population, despite his having a connection to Riddle. Which meant he either needed to own up to being there or fade into the woodwork and leave Draco to his misery.

And yet.... he just couldn't find it in him to leave someone in pain, even if it was his worst enemy.

"Put the wand away, Malfoy, you know you'd lose every time," Harry replied with a slight smirk, shrugging his invisibility cloak off of his head. "Or do you still think you can take me?"

"What the... Potter? You have an invisibility cloak? Well, shite, that explains a lot, doesn't it?" Draco slid his wand back into his sleeve and lounged against the wall, looking nonchalant. "Enjoy spying, do you? Helps you wank?"

"Actually, I use it to avoid slimy Slytherins like you most times, but you looked like you were gonna jump, and I wanna kick your scrawny pure blood butt across the Quidditch pitch tomorrow, so it wouldn't do to have you become a smear on the ground."

Draco sneered. "More likely you're afraid to face me. Think you might get your arse kicked, Potter?"

"You haven't managed to do it yet, what makes you think stand a chance now?" Harry replied with a slightly evil smirk. "You're just born to always come in second to me. Deal with it."

"Hrmmm, I wonder what Dumbledore would say if he knew his prize pet talked like that," Draco mused. "After all, he thinks that you're his innocent little boy..."

"Go ahead and tell him, I'd love to hear the explanation and you trying to convince him I'm anything but his golden boy," Harry replied, leaning against the wall to watch Draco carefully. "Besides, whoever said I was innocent?"

"I should have known," Draco sneered, glaring at Harry. "You're as bad as You Know Who; so, do you want to bugger me too?"

"What the hell are you talking about, asshole?" Harry snorted and then clued in.

"Poor little Draco, want me to throw you a pity party? Try having your mind raped on a near fucking nightly basis!" the Gryffindor sneered. "Or how about watching and _feeling_ people die in every possible way and knowing there's nothing you can do to stop it, all you can do is live through it again and again.

"Try feeling that bastard cast the killing curse, crucio and any other fucking unforgivable he feels like, just because he can. Try watching people get _raped_ and feeling like it was you doing the raping, because you're stuck inside the mind of the sick fuck doing it. I'd rather be raped once than raped on a fucking nightly basis, thanks all the same," the raven haired boy seethed, all the nightly torment seething up from underneath his happy façade to burst out like oozing poison.

"I always thought you were stronger than that, Malfoy, thought you were a survivor like me. Out of all of them you're the one I expected to survive, to live through this. The rest of Slytherin, cannon fodder, but you? You always had style. I might have hated you but I respected you. What the hell changed? What turned you into a wimp?"

"Oh boo fucking hoo, Potter, you've felt people being raped, why don't you try having it done to you and then you can talk."

"Then go ahead, Malfoy, give it your best shot. You've always wanted to fuck me over. Go on, I won't fight you, do to me what Riddle did to you."

Draco sneered, one white-blond eyebrow rising to be obscured by his hair. "In your dreams, Potter. I wouldn't wish that on anyone, not even you."

“Then stop acting like a god damned drama queen and do something constructive with your rage, channel it, go after the bastard who hurt you. Fucking help me instead of pissing me off!"

"You have the answer for everything, don't you... Harry..." Draco turned and eased toward Harry, sensuality oozing from every pore. "And just how do you want me to help you?"

"You're father's a fucking Deatheater, your house is a meeting place. I'm sure you've heard something, anything that can help us stop the madness. You think Riddle is gonna stop with just the muggle bloods, the half bloods and the ones who are against him? He's not going to be happy until he has everyone under his thumb," Harry replied passionately.

"You think that you're the only one he's going to rape just to get his jollies off? It might be Parkinson, or Zabini next, any other Slytherin child could be given to him at his command in order to appease the Dark Lord. _You_ have a chance to stop it, to stop someone else from getting hurt that way. Or can you live with the knowledge that your friends are gonna probably go through the same thing you did, but didn't have to if you'd helped me stop him?"

Draco laughed harshly and looked out at the snow-covered woods. "You think they're my friends? They only want what they can get from me, and vice versa. I think most of them would gladly bend over for him and be happy for it, to be on the winning side. Face it, Potter, when your troops don't care if they die, you have the upper hand, and that isn't the case with you goody-goodies."

"Fine. Fuck you too, arsehole. At least I've got the balls to stand up for what I believe in. To stand up for what I think is right. Keep up pitying yourself, maybe someday you'll actually believe the 'poor little me' shite you're trying to sell. I don't have time for you, for this," Harry snarled, throwing his cloak over himself again and heading for the exit.

"You're never gonna change _ferret_, you're gonna die being the same stuck up, self centered arsehole who tried so damned hard to be my friend because he always knew he was gonna be second best."

Snarling in rage, Draco pounced, bearing the invisible form to the ground and hitting at it, finally tearing the cloak away from Harry's face and kissing him almost viciously, his lips bruising Harry's.

"Malfoy, what the fucmmph," Harry attempted to shout, only to have his lips mashed into his teeth and the taste of copper explode over his tongue. And then his arms were fighting their way out of the cloak and coming up to wrap around the blond's neck, pulling him in closer as pleasure shot through him.

"Shut up, Potter," Draco snarled, kissing him again, his weight shoving at Harry's body as their tongues dueled.

"Fuck you, Malfoy," Harry replied in kind, pulling Draco into him harder and grinding his hips upwards, feeling a corresponding hardness under Draco's own robes. "Is that a wand in your pocket, Malfoy, or are you just hard for me?"

"I could ask the same of you, Potter," Draco snarled. "I have no problem admitting what I am, what about you? Are you hard for me, or hard for the thought of who I've done?"

"Considering you and I barely snarl at each other, let alone carry a civil conversation, I don't think we've ever actually discussed my sexual orientation beyond you trying to insult me," Harry smirked. "Of course now I understand it was just your pathetic attempt to make people actually believe you're anything but a poufter. I mean _please_ Malfoy, one hair out of place and you shriek like a girl. You spend more time on your appearance than the Patil sisters."

"So in other words you do want to do me," Draco smirked. "What a shock."

"I seem to recall trying to leave and you tackling me, Malfoy," Harry snarled, rolling them over so that he was now on top of the blond. "And I don't fucking rape people," the Gryffindor continued, pushing himself up off of Malfoy. "So you can take your sick and twisted little game and shove it up your arse. I only want people who want me back. I don't take advantage of anyone, even you."

"Go ahead and repress it all, Potter, go take it out in bed with one of the sluts you bed; after all, I'm too soiled for the likes of you." Draco pushed back and went to lean against the wall, his eyes as empty as the landscape below.

_Soiled?_ What the fuck? Harry shook his head, confused by the sudden left shifts and steep dives this conversation was taking. Then again, Malfoy _was_ one hell of a drama queen, so it kind of made sense in a Malfoyesque sort of way.

So what _did_ Harry feel for the Slytherin? He really didn't understand it, if truth be told, all he knew was that Malfoy was as much a part of him as Ron and Hermione were. Perhaps Malfoy was the darkness inside of him, just like Ron and Hermione were his heart and soul. But that was neither here nor there right now.

Walking up behind Malfoy, Harry spun him around and pressed him into the wall next to the window. Cupping Draco's jaw in order to hold the Slytherin still, Harry took his lips slowly, gently, wanting to show him how devastating patience and softness could be.

"Sod off, Potter," Draco snarled, shoving at the dark-haired boy. "I don't need your sympathy."

Harry shoved Draco back harder, trapping him between the stone wall and his body. "Like I'd ever offer it to you, git," he said mildly as his fingers dug into the pale skin to hold Draco more firmly in place. "You're a snot nosed, pain in my arse, poncy pillow biter, but for some fucked up reason you're a part of me. As much a part of me as my friends are. It's always been us, Malfoy, you and me, enemies, rivals, the ones the rest of our house looks to. It's always been there, this thing we have.

"Voldemort is a moldy old prick who can sod off and die for all I care. It doesn't change this thing between us, though. It'll still be there when I Avada his cadaverous ass. I'm just taking you up on your invitation. However, I've decided to change the rules a bit." And with that Harry sealed his lips over Draco's mouth yet again.

"How?" Draco rasped, not fighting Harry any longer, simply staring up at him, his blue eyes unfocused.

"How what?" Harry whispered, running his tongue over Draco's lower lip before sucking it between his teeth and nibbling on it lightly.

"How're you changing the rules?"

"You'll just have to wait and see, won't you?" Harry murmured before dropping to his knees, hands working to get Draco's robes out of the way and his school pants down around his knees so that he could take Draco's cock into his mouth, suckling on it hungrily.

Draco howled to the night sky, the cold nothing in comparison to the heat of Harry's mouth. His fingers clenched against Harry's robes and he twisted upward, wanting more.

Reaching underneath his chin, Harry cupped Draco's balls and began to fondle and caress him even as he swallowed the blond down further until his nose was brushing up against blond curls. And then Harry started to hum, doing to Malfoy what he liked to have done to him by the girls he’d been with before this.

Draco screamed once again, his whole body twisting against the blood heat around his cock, not sure if he was trying to get closer or move away.

Harry purred happily and continued to nurse at Malfoy's erection, wanting to taste his spunk as it poured down Harry's throat.

"Fucking Muggle-lover... what are you doing?" Draco gasped, his fingers tightening in Harry's dark hair, his whole body thrumming with tension.

Harry looked up between Draco's spread legs, eyebrow quirked in surprise. If Draco didn't know what Harry was doing he soon would. Humming louder, Harry scratched his nails lightly along the underside of Draco's balls and then over his perineum before massaging a finger in between his ass cheeks.

Draco threw his head back and moaned, spreading his legs wider as he felt Harry suck him. "Fuck me, Potter. Rather it be you than him," he whispered.

Harry's mouth slid off of Draco's cock and looked up at him assessingly. "Care to elaborate that statement, Malfoy? Rather me than him who?"

Blue eyes narrowed to thin slits as Draco stared at Harry. "Just who do you think, Potter? Who did you say I'd been blowing all this time?"

Harry swallowed, eyes closing as the emotions roiled. "Bastard," Harry whispered, eyes snapping open suddenly and blazing a poisonous green. "He can't have you, you're _mine_!" he snarled, not even realizing what he was saying, only reacting to the thought that Riddle would _dare_ to touch Draco that way.

"Potter, you're a fool," Draco rasped, shaking his head. "I belong to my father and whoever he wants to give me to."

Harry surged to his feet, hands gripping Draco's shoulders hard enough to bruise. "Fuck that., Fuck Lucius Malfoy, and fuck Riddle too. You're _mine_, Malfoy! You've been mine since that day in the robe shop. I'm not... you're not... I'll kill the slimy prick before he so much as tries to touch you, and that bastard of a father of yours too." Harry knew he was being unreasonable and slightly insane, but he was acting on instinct and adrenaline. And he didn't fucking share _anything_ with Riddle that he could avoid.

Draco shook his head, but cupped a hand along Harry's face, stroking his cheek. "It's good for you to think so, Potter, but real life is different, I'm sure you know that."

“Fuck that, I don't fucking share, get used to it," Harry snarled, slamming his hand into the wall next to Draco. "I'm not...." Harry shuddered and fought to get himself under control. Turning his head, he turned Draco to face him with his unwounded hand. "Shut the fuck up, Malfoy, okay?" Harry whispered casually before sealing his lips over the Slytherin's again.

Past experience took hold and Draco relaxed, giving in to Harry's needs, his hands stroking over the other wizard's sides and back.

Harry felt the change in the other boy happen and sighed, pressing his forehead to Draco's. "I won't do to you what he did. I'm not going to make you a victim, Malfoy. You either want this and are as into this as much as I am, or we walk away from it. I may be forced to be connected to him through this fucking scar, but I refuse to be _like_ him. So, do I walk away, Malfoy?"

Draco laughed harshly. "_Can_ you walk away, Potter? Fuck me. Like I said, I'd rather it was you than him."

"Fuck! Fuck," Harry whispered harshly. "You know I bloody well can't do that, Malfoy, you prat." Making a sudden, snap decision, Harry walked to the door and picked up his invisibility cloak from where it lay. "Put that on and come with me," the Gryffindor ordered. If he was going to do this, it wasn't going to be on the cold, drafty floor of the astronomy tower, and he couldn't risk bringing Malfoy into Gryffindor tower and being discovered by his dorm mates, so that just left Harry one option, the room of requirements.

"You think I'm going to your cozy little common room? You must be twisted!"

"Shut up, Malfoy. Do you really think I'd let you into the Gryffindor tower? If they saw you, they'd skin you alive. I happen to want your skin just where it is. I know another place, that's where we're going."

"And just where is that?"

"You'll see, now shut your hole. Can't have thin air talking if we happen to turn a corner and run into Snape or something," Harry replied with a roll of his eyes. "I'm not going to take you to Dumbledore's office and shag you over his desk, if that's what you're worried about."

Draco smirked. "What? You mean you haven't done that to you other girlfriends?" That said, he stopped talking and followed Harry down the hallway.

Harry turned and stared at the spot that the disembodied voice had come from. "So you're my girlfriend now, Malfoy? Should I be giving you my school pin for you to wear?" he smirked.

"You wish you could have me like that," Draco snorted. "It would be your Christmas present."

"Yeah, just what I always wanted," Harry replied sarcastically, "Draco Malfoy in a school pinafore with knee socks, pigtails and my pin over your heart. If you wanted me to lose my erection, that's a definite way to do it."

"Glad to hear it, the thought of more of you goody-goodies around here makes me ill."

"God, someone kill me now, death is preferable to torture by your mouth," Harry groaned, banging his head against the wall.

Draco smirked. "And you haven't even felt my mouth; you're such a wuss, Potter."

"And you're a prat, but I still want to fuck you."

"So do it, or are you scared of me?"

"I'm scared of that mouth of yours, if truth be told," Harry replied, starting to walk down the corridors again towards the Room of Requirement, his pace actually quickening.

"And just where are we going? Another of your secret places?"

Harry rolled his eyes and kept walking until he came to the door. Leaning in close, he thought hard about what he needed and then whispered the password low enough that Draco couldn't hear. The door creaked open to reveal a huge four-poster bed in center of the room and candles everywhere. Next to the bed was a small basket full of condoms and lubricant. "Not bad, not bad at all. You coming in, Malfoy, or hanging about in the hall all night?"

"Oooo, Harry Potter's sex harem. Nice, very nice." Draco sauntered in and began stripping off, baring his pale skin to the other boy's gaze. "Had many here?"

"You're the first, but don't make anything of it. I just wanted a bed and I can't see you in Gryffindor tower any more than see myself in Slytherin."

Draco shuddered. "Now there's a way to make me permanently limp." He got rid of the rest of his clothes and dropped onto the bed, stroking his cock as he watched Harry. "So, Potter, going to do me or what?"

"Be still my beating heart, how can I possibly turn down such a declaration of romance as that?" Harry groaned. "I'm not going to fuck you just because I'm the lesser of two evils, Malfoy. I thought we'd covered this already," Harry sighed, stripping off his own clothes and leaving them piled on the floor next to the blond Slytherin's.

"Just answer me one question. It won't leave this room, I'll forget it in the morning and you can deny you ever answered it, but I need to know. Do you _want_ me, Draco, or am I just a means to an end?"

Draco pushed up onto his elbows, totally serious for the moment. "Fuck me, Potter; I'd rather it was you than him, and, if you must know, I'd rather it was you, period."

"I promise to never make you say that or admit you said that ever again," Harry half-smiled, leaning down to kiss Draco with quiet passion. "Wouldn't want you to strain yourself trying to actually tell the truth after this."

Draco rolled his eyes and pulled Harry in for another kiss. "Just shut up, Potter, all right?"

Harry couldn't help it; it was a knee jerk reaction more than anything.  "Make me," he smirked down at the blond even as he reached for the lubricant.

Blue eyes narrowing dangerously, Draco shoved, pushing Harry over to his back and dropping on top of the shorter teen. “All right,” he purred, sliding down Harry’s body to take his hardening cock into his mouth, sliding his tongue over the length before starting to suck.

“Bloody hell!” Harry gasped, as his body quivered and he fought the urge to thrust up. “Warn me when you’re going to do that, you arse!” Moaning, the Gryffindor felt his bones liquefying, and he could have sworn that Draco had just hit him with a jelly legs curse. It felt bloody wonderful!

Draco pulled back enough to smile evilly down at Harry. "Now what would be the point in that?" He asked, licking a line from Harry's balls to the head of his erection, then swallowing the entire length into his throat.

“God, you’re such a prat, Malfoy!” Harry moaned. “At least turn around so that I can return the favor, so to speak,” the raven haired Gryffindor demanded, desperately needing a distraction, or the reason why they were here wasn’t going to happen any time soon.

"Why?" Draco asked lazily, pulling back to lick at the swollen head of Harry's cock.

“Because I want to taste you, dammit!” the Gryffindor growled, his hands digging almost painfully into the sheets as he fought the urge to just bodily haul Draco into the position he wanted. However, the fact that Draco had wanted _Harry_ to fuck him, not the other way around, had Harry re-evaluating things, thinking that just perhaps Draco wanted a bit of strong arm tactics.

With a barely audible growl Harry yanked himself away from Malfoy and pulled the blond upwards, using quidditch hardened muscles and the bulk he’d gained from his DA training. Rolling them so he was on top once more, Harry smirked down at a blinking and slightly shocked Slytherin.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you that it’s dangerous to play with fire, Malfoy?” Harry purred, nipping the tip of Draco’s aristocratic nose. “Although it is rather… exhilarating, isn’t it?” And with that Harry’s lips slid over petal soft lips, down the pale column of throat and came to latch onto one of Draco’s nipples, cocks rubbing against one another even as he used his weight and superior position to keep the other teen pinned to the bed.

"If you're fire, I'm ice, Potter," Draco rasped, not fighting Harry's hold on him; instead, arching upward under him and rubbing his erection against Harry's belly.

“In other words we cancel each other out?” Harry responded after a moment, allowing himself the slight distraction of speech. “Or perhaps we’re petrol and a match, each a separate entity that when joined creates a conflagration.”

"Petrol and a match? What in Merlin's name are you babbling on about, Potter?" Draco snarled, humping up against Harry's body.

"You can be so ignorant," Harry chuckled. "Petrol is a highly flammable liquid that's used to make the motors of cars run. Cars are things that muggles drive. A match is what a muggle uses instead of a simple fire starting spell. You really need to get out more, Malfoy, you're far too sheltered," the raven haired youth continued to tease as he reached for the lubricant and poured a dollop onto Draco's belly before swirling his fingers through it to get them well greased.

Hooking one of Draco's legs over one of his own shoulders, Harry began to stroke his slick fingers across the tight pucker of Draco's anus, getting him used to the feeling before he actually slid a finger inside. And from what he'd heard, there was never such a thing as too much lubrication.

"I'm going to have to take you on a tour of the muggle world sometime, just to show you that they're not lower than flobber worms or whatever other nonsense you've got in your brain about them," Harry commented, distracting the blond with an argument so that he didn’t tense up before Harry could penetrate him.

"You keep going on about Muggles and that'll be the end of this," Draco growled, glaring up at Harry, his blue eyes icy with disdain. "Just because you love them doesn’t mean I have to."

“Yes, Malfoy, whatever you say, Malfoy,” Harry repeated with the same tone of voice that he used on his aunt Petunia when she went into full shrew-like lecture mode.

Deciding that tuning the Slytherin out was the best course of action, Harry chose instead to concentrate on stretching Draco, adding another finger, and another, taking the time to seek out and find the blonde’s prostate in order to give him a real thrill. Harry figured it couldn't be too hard to find, after all, because there was really not a great deal of space to work with, so to speak.

Draco gave an inarticulate shout and spasmed around Harry's fingers, his cock leaking pre-come on his stomach. "Merlin, Potter, _do_ it!"

“I’m not gonna rip you to shreds just to ensure that _he_ doesn’t get to do it first. Dammit, Malfoy, what kind of a bastard do you think I am?” Harry snarled, his own control on tether strings as he tamped down the urge to simply yank his fingers out and shove his cock in to the hilt.

A hole was a hole after all, right? How different could shoving his cock up an arse be from what he'd done with girls?

However, Malfoy was a virgin and it would hurt no matter what, or the gender for that matter so prick though he might be Harry didn’t want to hurt the git, he wanted to… make him come back for more. However he also knew that if he didn’t get into Draco soon he’d explode and then what good would he be?

Swiping the rest of the lubricant off of Malfoy’s stomach, Harry used his free hand to liberally coat his erection and, pulling his fingers out carefully, began to press inside the blonde, moaning when the head of his cock finally popped passed the tight ring of Draco’s anus. “Bollocks, you’re so fucking tight it’s all I can do to keep from coming!”

"Can't handle a challenge?" Draco hissed, his jaw clenched with the slowly easing pain.

"I can handle anything you throw at me, prat.  Can you say the same?" Harry growled, fighting off the need to come if for no other reason than to prove Malfoy wrong.

"Doing it now, aren't I?"

"Shut up Malfoy," Harry growled, "you're beginning to piss me off." And with that the Gryffindor sealed his lips over Draco's, taking it onto himself to silence the Slytherin in the most effective way he knew how even as his hips began the slow thrust and retreat
motion.

Draco smirked against Harry's lips, arching up against him, trying to get the other teen to move faster.

Harry growled low in his throat, the need to dominate the pushy Slytherin burning through him. Fighting back his darker urges, Harry continued to slide in and out of Draco, his mouth moving away from his lips to slide down the alabaster column of a throat, leaving bright red love marks in his wake, hands releasing Draco's to play with the other youth's nipples.

"Merlin, don’t stop!" Draco almost screamed, bucking upward to get friction on his aching erection, his whole body shaking as Harry played him so expertly.

The dark haired youth chuckled, sending vibrations around the nipple he so avidly suckled on, his hips never letting up their tempo. It felt so good to be inside Draco, the hot, tight heat of the other teen squeezing down on his cock so much more tightly than having sex with a girl had done for him, that Harry wasn’t so sure he would ever want to go back to the rather dull and boring relationships he’d had with the likes of Cho and Pansy. Draco was turning out to be highly addictive.

Draco gave a gasping sob and clenched down tightly around Harry as he came, his seed wetting both their bellies and causing them to slide together even more freely. "Damn... Potter, do it," he gasped, needing to feel the other boy's release as well.

"Do what?" Harry huffed as he continued to thrust hard and fast, knowing full well what Draco meant, but feeling perverse enough to want to be a bit of a prat about it. Nonetheless the contractions of Draco's body combined with his increasingly frenzied movements made it impossible to resist the Slytherin's directive or the demands of his own body.

Groaning low in his throat, Harry sucked hard on Draco's neck, well above where their school collars would lie, and sucked as hard as he could while his hips bucked and he came hard into Draco's tight passage.

Feeling Harry shudder over him, and the pulsing heat within him combined with
the pain at his neck, Draco muffled a cry by biting down on the back of his
own hand. He continued to move, though, milking every bit of Potter's climax
from him that he could.

"Bloody hell," Harry groaned, collapsing on top of blond as his body finally gave out and melted. "That was… all right," he muttered, not wanting to say that Draco curled his toes just in case it went to the Slytherin's head.

"Gryffindor romance," Draco muttered. "Not that I'm wanting any of that from you. I will say you're a decent shag, Potter.”

"Damned with faint praise," Harry quipped, lifting his head off of Draco's chest and grinning up at the blond.  "But then again, considering our past I'd say that's practically a marriage proposal, _Draco_."

"I hope you're not expecting me to swoon at that comment," Draco said dryly.

"Hey, you're the one propositioning me, maybe I should be the one to swoon," Harry returned, rolling off of Draco with a sated sigh.  "You know, I could get used to this, shagging blokes, I mean.  It's a helluva lot better than being with some of the girls here.
They're sort of.... boring."

"Well, Potter, one thing I can say about you is that, prat though you may be, you are _never_ boring."

"Is this where you offer me your school ring, we announce to all the houses, and you ask me to go steady?" Harry replied with a snicker, ducking when Draco swung at him half-heartedly.

"You're not so bad, yourself, Malfoy. In fact, you're almost… enjoyable to be around. Insults and all. But I'd still kick your arse in a wizard's duel."

"Take it as a compliment," Draco muttered. "It gives you experience beating Death Eaters."

"So this is all for my own good, then?" Harry asked, an eyebrow quirked in disbelief. "Your altruism absolutely floors me, Draco.” Draco attempted to open his mouth for yet another comeback and Harry took advantage of it to kiss the blonde thoroughly. When they came up for air again, the Gryffindor had a familiar lust-filled twinkle in his eyes. "We've got all night, we just need to make it back before the rest of our houses wake up. What say we have another round and this time you can do _me_?"

***

A plain brown school owl flew into the hall and landed in front of Draco Malfoy, dropping off his 'Secret Santa' gift, the last one exchanged. Each student had the option to reveal their identity to their chosen person or remain anonymous, so many people were squealing with glee or revulsion or still trying desperately to figure their Santa out. The fact that it was a school owl led the Slytherins and most of the other houses that watched Draco covertly to believe that the Malfoy heir's Santa didn't want to be discovered.

However, that was not entirely the case. Harry only wanted Draco to know who it was, and not even Hermione and Ron would be able to figure out what he'd done. He'd played his last gift too close to the vest and made sure that he'd hidden the present from all eyes but Draco's when he opened it, by putting it deep inside a box with a caution letter taped to the lid.

It was an enchanted galleon. One that would let Malfoy communicate to Harry through his galleon that he wanted to meet and would allow Malfoy to find the room of requirement when Harry was alone in it. Harry wouldn't put the DA at risk, or his friends, but he wasn't quite ready to give up shagging Malfoy yet either, so this… gave them options.

Now to see if Draco would take the bait.

Smiling, Harry excused himself from the table after he’d tucked his own secret Santa gift, a present from Neville, in his bag and left the hall, claiming to want to catch up on some potions reading. He quickly and stealthily made his way to the Room of Requirement and sprawled on the bed, waiting. Taking out the potions text just to give him something to do, Harry waited to see what would happen next.

Draco sat on his bed and looked at the galleon, mulling over his options. Throwing caution to the wind, he tapped the galleon with his wand; if he was lucky, he'd only be turned into a ferret again.

Harry's face broke into a huge grin as he felt a surge of magic in his galleon. Apparently Draco had taken the bait. Harry activated the corresponding spell that would guide Malfoy to the Room of Requirement, closed his textbook, and stripped naked, settling back to wait for his… whatever Malfoy was to him, lover, friend, shag partner, rival… to appear.

As an afterthought, Harry took out his wand, muttered a quick incantation and smiled as a huge red bow appeared, wrapping itself around his prick. Happy Christmas indeed, he thought with a smug grin.

Following the galleon's pull, Draco found a door he recognized and pushed it open, his eyebrows arching as he saw who was waiting for him and how he was attired. "Happy Christmas to me, eh, Potter?" he asked, suddenly chuckling and closing the door behind himself, intending to make full use of this present.

End~

ANIMATED

X-Men - Scott/Logan

Author: Starkindler
Title: Heart’s Desire
Date: December
Fandom: X-Men/Animated
Pairing: Scott/Logan
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Logan gets his heart’s desire granted on Christmas Eve.
Disclaimer: Alas, the characters and places in this story are not mine. They belong to Marvel and 20th Century Fox, and I’m only playing with them for fun.
Feedback address: nufaciel@yahoo.com  or starkindler76@yahoo.com 
Advertisement: Part of the SAC-2004 at: http://www.kardasi.com/Advent/2004/SAC-2004.htm 
Beta: Drusilla; all remaining mistakes are mine.
Note: This story is based upon the movie-verse, as I have only the vaguest knowledge of the comic-verse. It's sappy and has no redeeming value whatsoever. Just the way a holiday fic should be.

Heart's Desire

"Damn," Logan muttered as he fought a losing battle with the tangled string of Christmas lights. How he'd managed to get conned into one of the most horrific holiday jobs possible was beyond him, and it was all he could do to restrain himself from just slicing through the wires with his claws and calling it quits. He would go out and buy some new lights.

"Those are more than adequate, Logan," a voice from behind him said, causing him to visibly jump just a little. "There is no need to ruin perfectly good decorations, and you might learn some patience from this task."

Logan turned around and gave Charles a half-hearted glare. "Could you please not sneak up on me like that? And quit reading my mind."

"I have no need or desire to read your mind. I am afraid of what I might find. No, it was the snarl on your face that gave you away," Charles stated.

"Yeah, whatever," Logan said. "Who the hell put these lights away last year? They should be taken out into the street and shot."

"Oh, come now, Logan. Surely you don't think that shooting Scott is the answer to your problem?" Charles said as he pivoted his chair to face the man in question. "Of course, I do believe he had the rather daunting task of dealing with a four-year-old assistant at the time as well. It's no wonder that it was a less-than-stellar job."

Logan turned and stared at Scott, who was currently sitting on the floor and going through a box of ornaments with the same little girl who had assisted him last year. She was an adorable little girl named Veronica. She had joined the school last year, just before Thanksgiving. Her vast telekinetic powers had developed early, causing a bit of mayhem at her home, and her parents panicked. They had been deathly afraid that if their neighbors were to find out, they might do something to her, and even though they themselves had little problem with their daughter's gift, they had begged to send her to the school early, to make sure she would be safe. Charles had agreed, and once she arrived, she'd immediately attached herself to Scott, and her affection for him was nothing short of hero-worship.

Scott was just as smitten with the little girl. Logan thought the two were cute together, though he'd never admit it, not even under torture.

"They are rather adorable," Charles said in a low voice, so only Logan could hear.

"I told you to quit reading my mind," Logan replied. "Go play with someone else's head for a change."

Charles laughed as he wheeled himself toward a group of children who were creating new ornaments for this year's Christmas tree. Logan smiled to himself as he watched Marie and Bobby working together at one end of the long table, talking and acting as if the others had fallen off the face of the earth.

Logan couldn't remember ever feeling that way about anyone before, not that he remembered much of his former life, and from the flashes he'd had, he really didn't want to remember. Still, it wouldn't be such a bad thing to have someone to care about for a change.

The only person he'd ever come close to loving had been Jean, and when she gave up her life to save her friends, it had hurt like hell. He never thought that he'd feel anything like that again. That was until he and Scott had called a truce to their rivalry.

After Jean's death, having life go on normally wasn't easy for Logan, but it had been especially painful for Scott. Seeing the man in pain, even if Logan didn't particularly like him too much, wasn't something that he could sit by and watch, not if there were something to do. Swallowing his pride and more than one snotty comment, he'd held out the proverbial olive branch.

Their friendship had built slowly, first starting out with simple late-night conversations about nothing when they ended up in the kitchen at the same time, or evenings spent outside sharing a bottle of whiskey until both were so completely hammered that they had trouble walking back to the school.

By late fall, drinking binges gave way to one-on-one basketball games, the occasional football game on television, and late-night conversations that every now and then brought out mention of Jean. Logan actually liked hearing stories about both her and Scott during their younger years, as both seemed to get themselves into trouble quite often.

While helping Scott cope with Jean's death, Logan was going through a dilemma or two himself, the biggest of which was what to do with his life. After meeting William Striker and finding out a little of how he came to be what he was, and after finding out that he was once one of the biggest bastards on the face of the planet, Logan decided that it just wasn't worth trotting around the United States and Canada looking for answers. He just didn't know what to do with himself now, and even the few meetings with Charles hadn't helped him.

Then during one of their late-night chats, Logan asked Scott for his opinion on the subject, and Scott had immediately asked him to stay. He cited the X-Men needing him and the children's adoration of him as reasons to stay, but Logan knew that Scott liked him enough now to not want to lose a friend. In the end, Scott's desire for him to stay was the deciding factor, that and the offer to become a professor.

So he'd stayed, and he'd taught self-defense for the better part of two years now. It was the best decision that he'd made in a very long time.

"Are you all right, Logan?"

The question and the touch of a hand to his shoulder startled Logan out of his reminiscing. He turned his head and smiled at the woman who had come up to him. "I'm fine, Jean. How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine, I suppose. It's difficult at times, knowing that I should know everyone here, some more than others, and remember almost nothing." Jean said. Logan watched as she looked around the room, her eyes stopping on Scott. "I am sorry that I've caused him such pain. I just don't know how to be who I once was."

"He doesn't expect you to be, Jeannie. None of us do. What happened isn't your fault," Logan told her.

It was the truth. No one had expected to see Jean Grey, who many had seen die, come walking through the door a year and a half ago, just after the Thanksgiving holidays. It had been a big shock to everyone, particularly for Scott, who had finally accepted that she was gone and there was nothing to do but get one with his life.

Unfortunately, though she had come back, her memory was all but gone. She remembered flashes now and then, which was how she had found her way to the school. For the past year, she and Charles had been spending much time together, attempting to reconstruct what had happened to her and retrieve more of her memory, which Charles suspected still lay deep within her mind.

When Scott and Logan found out that Charles had suspected she had survived, they had been furious, but when Charles had explained that because of the changes Jean had undergone and her lack of memory, and that it had been next to impossible to find her amongst the thousands of mutants on the planet, they had calmed down. They'd also realized that if Charles had told them back at the beginning, they both would have dropped everything and went searching for her.

"I know. I just feel bad about it," she said, sighing.

Logan smiled at her. "Why don't you go help Storm? I think she's getting pissed off at Kurt," he said, pointing to the opposite side of the room, where Kurt was teleporting within Storm's range t