ADVENT STORIES FOR
DECEMBER 25

Tom Riddle/Lucius Malfoy
by Suse

CLARK/LEX

TITLE: Going Back
AUTHOR: Titti
PAIRINGS: Lex/Clark
FANDOM: Smallville
RATING: PG-13
FEEDBACK: titti_adriano@hotmail.com
WEBPAGE: Titti's Realm
DISCLAIMER: Alas, they are not mine.
SUMMARY: Superman shows Luthor that things can chance when they return to being Lex and Clark.
NOTE: Part of the Slash Advent Calendar Challenge
ARCHIVING: The Slash Advent Calendar Challenge and my site. Anyone else just ask.
It was Christmas Eve and Lex Luthor, ruthless businessman and ruler of Metropolis, sat in the dark, a fire in the fireplace providing the only illumination. A crystal glass filled with fine whiskey was his only companion.

The door of his balcony opened from the outside. Luthor didn't have to look up. There was only one person who could land on the balcony of his thirty-fourth floor apartment. "Go away, Superman."

"I want you to come with me, Luthor," the Man of Steel said in his strong voice.

The bald man laughed. "Why would I do such a thing?"

"I need you to see something." Superman remained vague.

"You've destroyed enough of my property. Why should I trust you?" Luthor raised an eyebrow.

"I would never hurt you, Lex." The name rolled easily form Superman's tongue. So familiar, so lovingly.

"You've hurt me in way that no one else could." Lex stared at the alien. "My father would have been proud to call you his son." Lex knew how much that would hurt his former friend.

"I promise not to hurt you, tonight. Please?"

"Can't you leave me alone? You can make it my Christmas present." Lex hated when he sounded so much like his younger self. He was now ruthless. He had dominated all his emotion, just like Lionel had always wanted.

Superman stretched a beckoning hand, hope in his blue eyes. Lex sighed. He took his meteorite ring and saved it in his lead box. Superman smiled in a way he hadn't done in years. "We're going for a trip, Lex."

~*~LL~*~CK~*~

"We don't talk civilly for years and you decide to play nice so you can take me to the suburbs," Lex said incredulous.

"You can't say I'm predictable," Clark answered as he parked the car - not the mode of transportation that Lex had expected - in front of a common-looking house. "Come on, let's get inside."

Lex followed his rival into the house, only to be welcomed by the sight of a very pregnant Chloe Sullivan pacing around a living room. "Shouldn't you be in a hospital, Ms. Sullivan?"

"Lex?" Chloe looked wide-eyed at the man. She hadn't seen him in years, unless she counted the newspaper photos. She shook her head. "I'm giving birth in my house," she explained. "My midwife is upstairs making sure everything is ready."

"Yes, Chloe can't do anything like a normal person," Clark said as he put his jacket on the couch and kissed her on the cheek.

"I'll let you know that women have been giving birth in their houses for million of years, Clark," Lex pointed out. "Where…who is the father? Clark?"

Chloe snorted. "That idiot of a husband of mine is probably off somewhere having the time of his life."

Clark laughed. "John is doing a reportage on the new uprisings in the Middle East. He is not having an affair."

"You know what? At the moment, I'd rather do the reportage and he can go through labor," Chloe spit back.

Lex smirked. Even with all his powers, Clark would never learn how to handle women properly. Lex cursed himself for even thinking of Superman as Clark. That would be fatal in the future. He focused on Chloe again. "How long?"

"Maude, my midwife, keeps saying it could be minutes or a day, but honestly we think another few hours."

"You're taking this rather well, Ms. Sullivan," Lex remarked.

"Of course! I've read, I meditated and I'm ready."

~*~LL~*~CK~*~

Chloe didn't know how wrong she was. At about 11:30, she began to feel the strong contractions that signaled the impending birth. Her calm went out the window as she started to swear at Clark, Lex, Maude and her absent husband.

Holding Chloe's hand, Clark eyed Lex as he sat behind the future mother, letting her rest on his chest between contractions, talking to her when the pain hit. This Lex was miles away from the Luthor Superman faced everyday. This was the Lex who would do anything to help his friends.

"One more and your baby is born," Lex whispered as Chloe pushed with all her strength.

The baby's head slipped out as Chloe screamed in relief.

"You're doing beautifully." Lex brushed Chloe's blond hair as she smiled.

The midwife carefully maneuvered the baby out. She cut the umbilical cord and then placed the screaming baby boy in Chloe's arms. Lex closed his arms around the newborn and his mother.

"Congratulations." Lex's voice was filled with awe.

"He's beautiful, Chloe. What are you going to call him?" Clark asked.

"Matthias."

"God's gift," Lex said. When he saw Clark's surprising gaze, he smiled. "Matthias means God's gift. It's proper for a baby born on Christmas Eve."

"The baby was born exactly at midnight," the midwife pointed out.

"Is he born yet?" The room occupants stared at the man who had busted in.

Lex was ready to strike this unknown threat. Clark saw the shift in stance and leaned over. "That's her husband," he told Lex.

Lex got up elegantly, kissed Chloe and the baby. "You take care of them or you'll deal with me," he warned John. The man, who had found his wife in Lex Luthor's arms, was uncertain on how to react to the not-to-veiled threat.

"Lex, leave my husband alone or you'll deal with me," Chloe answered for her husband.

Lex smiled. "I know better than to take on Chloe Sullivan."

~*~LL~*~CK~*~

"If your partner had seen me got out of this battered domestic car, she wouldn't have let me live it down," Lex said as Clark pulled into the parking garage of LexCorp high-rise.

"I think Lois would be more upset to know that we are friends and I didn't tell her."

"Were," Lex said.

Clark frowned, not understand what Lex was saying.

"We *were* friends. We haven't been friends for years, Superman." Lex braced himself for the spiteful reply. Instead he only saw the hurt in Clark's eyes. "Do you want to come up? I promise no green rocks for tonight."

"Thank you."

They walked into the empty apartment. The fire was dying down. Clark looked around Lex's house. He was never here on non-official business and Lex's ring usually kept him to the outskirts of the apartment.

"You have no tree," Clark remarked.

"People aren't exactly lining up to spend Christmas with me."

"Sorry, I didn't mean…This is so stupid. There was a time when I could talk to you about everything."

"It was a long time ago. So why did you want me to go with you, tonight?"

Clark approached Lex and put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "You're self-destructing, Lex. I wanted you to go back, to see the important things, to remember your friends, us, Smallville."

"A night with Chloe won't undo years of hate, even if it was a special night," Lex said. Clark could hear the sadness.

"Lex, I was stupid and young. I don't know why I cheated on you, but it's been fifteen years. I've apologized over and over again, only to be pushed away. I don't know what else to do?"

"You can't turn back time, can you?" Lex asked, only half-joking.

"No, but I can give you a present. I can be Clark, at least for tonight, if you want."

"I can't live with a night, Clark. You know me. If you give me tonight, I'll be twice as vicious when you leave me."

"And if I don't want to leave?" Clark asked uncertain.

"Don't do this, Clark. You know you'll fly off as soon as someone calls you."

"Superman will, but Clark will always come back to you." Clark saw the sadness in Lex's gray eyes. "I'm sorry to have bothered you. I'll go, now."

Clark opened the door when he heard Lex whisper, "I don't know if I can be Lex again." Clark smiled; a burst of happiness filled him. He reached Lex at superspeed and hugged him. His lips descended on Lex's and teased gently until Lex responded. The kiss withered as Lex's need for oxygen took precedence.

"Merry Christmas, Lex," Clark said with the trademark grin that had captured Lex's heart back in Smallville.

"Merry Christmas, Clark

END

KIRK/SPOCK

Kirk/Spock cartoon
by Farfalla

KIRK/SPOCK (X-over with TNG) PICARD/Q

Title: Crossing Paths
Author: jm
Series: ST: TOS/TNG
Pairings: Kirk/Spock, Picard/Q
Rating: G
Summary: Meeting in the Nexus, Kirk and Picard figure out a few home truths. Rewriting "Generations". (Twisting it to suit my own ends.)
Disclaimer: I'm not the heir to the Paramount/Viacom throne. All I'm getting from this is a little fun. Or maybe some gray hairs.
Beta: None, because I'm writing this at the last minute on a crippled computer.
Notes: Part of the Slash Advent Calendar Challenge situated at: http://kardasi.com/Advent/
These * around a word are for emphasis. These ::: ::: are for someone's thoughts. This is just a little snippet.
Feedback: itsjustjm@yahoo.com  (any comments welcome)

"We bide our fate as best betides
What ends the tale may prove the first.
Stars know as truly of their guides
As we the truth of best or worst."
--Ivor Gurney, "Generations"

CROSSING PATHS

:::What...where am I? What is this place? ... Wait, *how* did I get here? There was something, something about a ship...a ship on her maiden voyage...no, I just can't *remember*.::: Kirk sat down on a large rock. He was feeling strangely disembodied as well as disoriented. The questions just kept wanting to nag at him, making him dizzy.

Then he felt it. Strange tendrils of peace and contentment were reaching out to him, trying to enfold him in their snare. It all seemed so much simpler now to just give in, let go of all the questions and just *be*. He looked around him, and with a cry of joy he recognized this place. His childhood home in Iowa. He couldn't wait to get inside that door...

It was happening again. He was in that elusive *somewhere*, that place that was really no where at all. What was he just doing? Everything was a bit fuzzy. Kirk tried to push on the walls in his mind, but they wouldn't yield, and he just ended up feeling it wasn't worth it. He was tired, yes, and sad. But that didn't seem to be right! Wasn't he ecstatically happy just a few moments before? But that brought him 'round in a circle again. *What* was he doing just a few moments before? *Sigh* Never mind that anymore. The point was to try and find that happiness again...

James T. Kirk was at the academy again. The familiar halls, the beloved library. Old friends...wait, *old*? Stop. Don't think too hard, it doesn't really matter... There was a girl, someone he regretted not getting closer to, they could have had something together if they had only tried harder. There she was, just coming down the hall towards him. Yes. So many regrets. Now he could do it over...

This was that one time on school break, where he wished he had only taken the time to get to know her better. Or was that a different girl? No, it wasn't important, he barely remembered her. So why did something seem to be trying to bring it all back again? Was *that* what was happening? He was traveling into his past? No...this was the present, wasn't it?

Oh, hmm, he wasn't on school break after all. This was one of those missions where, in hindsight, he wished he had taken a different course of action. Ah, his beloved starship. How he wished he never had to leave her. Left? When did he leave the Enterprise? For what reason? Kirk felt that he was happy, only to lose it again in a moment. The feeling of being robbed, cheated of something important wouldn't leave him. The thought kept plaguing him, making him angry and miserable. A scream was wrenched from the depths of his soul. Why did things keep changing?! (Now came that soothing feeling again.) No, they didn't. It was only a mistaken fancy of his. Really, he was so joyful, at peace. Everything was going to be all right. He mustn't try so hard. Just let go. But wasn't there someone he was forgetting? Someone important...

This was it. The one thing to make him truly happy. But he was still missing someone, wasn't he? Oh well, thinking too hard about it just made him upset. Perhaps this *someone* would show up later. Yes, Kirk was sure that would be wonderful. Ok, then. No need to worry.

----

Captain Jean-Luc Picard was rapidly loosing his sense of self. First he was on a planet, trying desperately to stop.... who or what was he trying to stop again? He now wasn't even sure what planet he was talking about. But now, he was...here. Yes, that would have to do. But no, that wasn't really good enough, was it? He pressed a hand to his head. Looking around, Picard realized that he was in room inside of...somewhere, that was richly decorated in a mixture of traditional and 24th century French style.

The room was beautiful. And the centerpiece of it all? A giant Christmas tree glowing in the corner. Dozens of hanging glass trinkets helped reflect the light coming off the tree. It also showcased other, lovely old ornaments culled from generations of Picards celebrating the jolly holiday. Gifts wrapped gaily clustered under the tree. From a far window, snow could be viewed falling outside. So odd, though, that all of this should be a mixture of the familiar and unfamiliar. Some things could be placed in the fog that had become his mind, but others could not.

Like this child, for instance. Child?! Oh, yes, a boy, handsome and lively, standing before him. There was something about the lad that spoke to him. Ah, there it was, a resemblance to himself (what?) etched over the child's features. A strong wave of love and tenderness washed over him. Wait, how could this be? He had no child, correct? Wasn't he...wasn't it just recently that he felt the sadness, the regrets, of never having a child of his own? The memory seemed to wriggle away from him; he could no longer pin it down.

Picard felt that normally he would be concerned over the fuzziness of the situation, but something seemed to be urging him to just relax, and accept. It was a powerful suggestion, and perhaps it would indeed be silly to resist. Such a perfect place, the seeming embodiment of all he could wish for. Other children came rushing in, hugs and kisses were spread around. In all of them, something which marked them as his own.

Slowly, their names came to him. More details pressed themselves upon him. But in all of it, there was a thread of unreality running through. A woman was standing beside him. Who...oh yes, his wife, the mother of his children. She had a sweet smile. An aura of belonging radiated out from her, from this place. Picard tried to embrace it, to move with the flow. It was all so perfect; or rather, perhaps someone's story book idea of perfection. He still had this pressing feeling of unease. There was something that needed doing, wasn't there?

With much noise and excitement, the family moved off into another room. Something he only half registered, which appeared to have to do with dinner. Ah, the Christmas feast. However, even though he figured this should all seem very compelling to him, it did not. The confusion in his mind threatened to overwhelm him. Then, suddenly, standing at his side was another woman.

The shock Picard vaguely expected to feel didn't come. It felt like he was sitting under water. Most peculiar. Even stranger was the conversation that ensued between this enigmatic, ageless woman, whom he realized he knew from someplace else, and himself. In the end, his sense of purpose returned, if not all his memories. There was something to accomplish, and he needed help. Soran had to be stopped. And, the Guinan person informed him, Kirk was here, in this non-time and non-place called the Nexus.

----

Because he wished it, he was here, with the legendary Captain James T. Kirk. Standing in what appeared to be a kitchen in a lovely house that was a construct of something Kirk once had himself. Trying desperately to explain, to get across the urgency that Picard was feeling slip away. "I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard. I'm from the 24th century. Ah, not that that matters much here. And I need-"

"Where is 'here'? Just curious. I seem to have just arrived, or to have been here forever. I'm not sure, but somehow I think it's *both*. Doesn't make much sense, I admit. *Nothing* about this place appears to make much sense." Kirk didn't seem to be at all interested in why there was a starship captain claiming to be from the 24th century in his kitchen.

"So you have no idea how long you've been here?" Feeling weary, Picard had a sudden desire for a cup of Earl Grey.

"How long? I don't even know how I got here in the first place!" Kirk sighed in frustration. Then, as an afterthought, "You didn't answer my question. Do you know the answer?"

"We're in the Nexus. It's an energy ribbon traveling
through space. But it's also a kind of heaven, of sorts. I'm not sure, things are a little hazy right now. I seem to have forgotten so much...but I do know that I need your help."

"Interesting. So, does this mean that I'm dead? I'm just trying to get a handle on the situation here."

"Dead? No, I don't think so. I don't claim to know exactly how all this works, but I feel that we both are very much alive, kept in a sort of stasis in this place."

"Alive. Well, to me, somehow that doesn't seem as important as it should at the moment. And how long did you say it's been? Since I arrived here in this 'Nexus', I mean."

"I didn't, actually. However, it has been 78 years since you were reported dead," Picard spoke carefully.

"Yes, of course, the Enterprise B. Some of it is coming back to me now. But what does it all mean?"

"I'm not sure I follow. The point I need to get across now is-" Picard was cut off mid sentence once again.

"Jim? I'm waiting!" A woman's voice drifted down from somewhere above them.

"What?" both men asked simultaneously. It was obvious neither one was expecting that.

"I think I recognize her voice. But why is this happening?! I'm getting such a strong sense of deja vu here. It's like this place, over and over again, is trying to tempt me with all these different scenarios from my past. But just when I start to get into it, something at the edge of my consciousness reminds me that it's not what I really want and need. But I can't recall what that something is! I don't know how much of this I'm expected to take; being dragged from the brink of bliss time after time. *What is it that I'm missing?!*" The yell was one of despair. Kirk then strode angrily off towards a flight of stairs going up.

Picard followed. "Is there any way that I can be of assistance?" All thoughts of the challenges that lay outside the Nexus temporarily left his mind. In Jim's voice Jean-Luc heard incredible pain. It was something he could identify with of late.

They were fast approaching their destination. A door in the upper hallway awaited them. Kirk reached out for the handle...and then let his hand drop. "On the other side of this door will only be yet another mirage. Phantoms chasing me, running me down for a purpose I have yet to discover. All I really want is something *real*. Someone...Spock. Spock! How could I have forgotten *you*? The other half of myself, my life, my bond mate. I let this place run me in circles, showing me half remembered regrets from my past, when all the time there was something far greater that I didn't regret at all."

Kirk had spoken to the door, but as he finished, he turned to face Picard. Looking at him, Picard couldn't quite read the expression there. "Don't blame yourself. This place operates under its own rules. Perhaps it wasn't able to read us as well as it would like. Or, we may have confused it. I suddenly seem to recall that my most recent regret was that I had never taken the time to have a child. My only sibling and his son were just killed in a fire-" Picard stopped himself, mentally gasping in pain and unaccustomed to sharing things about himself. But this was a special case, and he finished haltingly, "And this place showed me a home at Christmastime, complete with a wife and children."

Sudden comprehension dawned on Jim's face. "It's all coming back to me now! I was on the bridge of the new Enterprise, when I met Sulu's daughter again, and I wondered when he had ever found time for a family. But that doesn't mean that I ever would want to give up Spock! No one fulfills me like Spock. I love him." He voice had gotten quiet at the end. Kirk was mostly talking to himself at this point. He had completely forgotten about the other man in his rush of understanding. Now he knew why he had been paraded with a series of women while he was here.

"As I would never want to give up Q." The equally quiet voice of Picard brought Jim up sharply.

"Q?" Kirk was puzzled.

An extremely intimate exchange of information such as Kirk had wrought, however unintentional, deserved no less in return. Yet it was still hard for him. Slowly Jean-Luc spoke, "Yes. He is my love. I need him, as he needs me. The man and the entity." Picard's eyes carried the faintest hint of a smile.

"You remind me a bit of a certain Vulcan I know, what with your calmness, and restraint." Kirk had an actual grin on his own face now.

"Actually, he said I had a few qualities of Sarek in me. I'm not sure if he meant it as a compliment." There was a wry twist to Picard's voice.

"Do you mean-" Kirk abruptly backed away from the question. He wasn't sure if he was ready yet for the answer. Perhaps there would be time later.

"Right now," Picard broke into Kirk's thoughts, "I think you were about to open a door?"

"Yes, of course." Kirk twisted the door knob, and opened to a barn instead of a bedroom, complete with horses. He laughed. "I guess a woman can't compete with horses. Shall we ride?"

"Why not? And while we do, I have a few things to tell you about an impossible mission that needs your special touch. We both have an appointment with eternity that we can't afford to miss."

~finis~

HARRY/SNAPE

Title: By the Light of the Moon
Author: Saori
Rating: R
Pairing: Harry/Snape
Fandom: Harry Potter
Disclaimer: The characters and situations depicted in the Harry Potter Series belong to J.K Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended. The following story is for entertainment purposes only and does not profit in any way.
Note: Part of the Slash Advent Calendar Challenge situated at: http://www.kardasi.com/Advent 
Feedback Email address: snappy_sev@yahoo.com 
Beta: a bow to Panko Piskun, Witch Hazel and CJ for their helpful comments (all remaining mistakes are mine)

BY THE LIGHT OF THE MOON

Professor Harry James Potter, First Order of Merlin, Member of the Order of the Phoenix, Defence against the Dark Arts Master, Coach of the Hogwarts dueling team, consultant for the Ministry on Matters of Muggle Affairs, guest speaker at various public and private scholarly institutions, honorary member of both the Foundation for War Orphans and Amnesty for the Children of Death Eaters was a very dangerous man to cross as the Winter Holidays drew near.

Since the "Fall of Voldemort", he'd always spent this far too brief fortnight of freedom on a new adventure or discovering a new activity, and generally being as carefree as possible, unwinding after having had to shoulder the responsibilities he'd gotten roped into.

Christmas was the only time of the year when Harry refused to teach, give speeches, write articles, collect money or lobby the Ministry. These two weeks were his alone. And Harry was damn well going to spend them as he wished.

Harry dropped his school robes (not minding making creases on his usually impeccable straight attire) on the side of the bed and opened his dresser. He threw out jeans, a pair of leather hiking boots, t-shirts, woolen sweaters, and a parka in the general direction of his bed.

He had these two precious weeks a year to just be Harry. Not Professor, Master, Sir, "Oh, by Merlin, it's Him!" or as the former Potions Master had once snapped, "The- Boy-Who-Lived-To-Become-The-Next-Gilderoy-Lockhart." Nothing would pry him away from his holiday. He would ensure his limited freedom at the point of his wand, if necessary.

Especially since last year. He was going to try and see *him* again. He only hoped the infernal man hadn't changed his mind since their last encounter. Harry couldn't see why. The man practically lived alone up there. Surely he wouldn't be offended if Harry showed up a second time? Harry recollected the events of last Christmas...

Sirius, his tag-along holiday companion, had been drunk and sniffing around for easy company, as usual. After a few empty promises of sorting his turbulent life out, Sirius had latched onto a passing waitress, completely forgetting his godson's presence, as usual. Harry was able to sneak free and to get on with his own vacation.

Harry could understand his godfather's desire to catch up on life, after being a prisoner for over a decade and later a fugitive. But sometimes, Harry was afraid Sirius would go too far in his whoring and drinking expeditions. Harry had no wish to see his godfather sent back to Azkaban.

As he passed by a group of accommodating women and their johns, he caught part of their conversation. "Another corpse found ... drained of blood ... a wild boar ... the freak's island ... occupied again ... too dangerous ... won't hunt there again."

Well, not too dangerous for Harry. It sounded like a vampire had taken residence on a nearby island. Harry wasn't the Hogwarts DADA teacher (four years running) for nothing. He'd read all about vampires. And he was very curious to meet one for real. With a grin, he approached the small group of revelers and asked for directions.

He learned that there were strong anti-apparating wards all around the island. After testing just how strong those wards were by being hexed and thrown back on his arse a few times, he had to agree with that assessment. Even he couldn't break them. So Harry went hunting for a boat.

None of the fishermen he met in the small wizard town wanted to go to the island with him, especially not at night. Harry was miffed. He'd taken care of a Dark Lord for these people, and they couldn't even give him a lift?

Finally, an ancient-looking fisherman with blackened and crooked teeth agreed to sell him a boat for fifty galleons. A patched up accumulation of waterlogged planks became Harry's newest possession. By the look of the ratty thing, he'd be lucky if he could make a one- way trip. Harry had a sinking feeling about his expedition.

Gathering his Gryffindor courage, he pushed the boat into the lake and jumped in it. The boat rocked and banked dangerously sideways for a moment. He sat in the middle of it and waited until it had stabilized itself. Harry then paddled quickly toward the dark shape of the Hermit's Island, as the old fisherman had called it. Harry hadn't gotten much information about the place. Only that it belonged to an old Serbian family, that there was a manor somewhere on the island and that nobody had lived there for over thirty years. But one night, about four years ago, things had changed. Lights were seen on the island. Some of the villagers, who used the untended forest as their private hunting grounds, had been worried that riff-raff from the city had moved into the manor. So, they journeyed there in their boats with the firm intention of removing the competition. The old fisherman had paused in his tale. His eyes flashed in merriment. "Oh, they came back," he'd said, "But they never went huntin' on the island again."

Sooner than he'd like, cold and wet started creeping around his ankles. Harry paddled faster. If he didn't hurry, he'd have to finish his journey by swimming to the island. He didn't fancy his chances of making it to the shore. It was the end of December. Patches of ice floated slowly around the boat. Harry's breath misted and seemed to freeze in mid-air before dissipating.

The boat sank ten feet from the shore. There was nothing for it. Harry's lower-half body was already wet anyway. His jeans were frozen stiff on his legs. Harry jumped off and waddled to the shore with water up to his waist. He groped for dead branches and pulled himself onto the steep slope of the shore. He progressed toward to top of the slope. He could almost grab the ledge. Harry slipped on snow-covered leaves and slid back into the freezing lake.

Harry balled his fists and hit the water. Ice cold muddy water splashed all over his face and front. He wanted to cry. Instead, fuelled by anger at the absurdity of his predicament, Harry managed to get a firmer grip on a bunch of branches. He pulled himself up the slope and onto level ground.

His chest heaved with the effort of the climb. A heating spell would have been welcome at this point, but Harry's fingers were too numb to cast it properly. He looked at his new surroundings. A dark forest stood before him. There were no lights up ahead. Only the illumination of the moon made it possible for Harry to see a scant few feet ahead. From where he stood, Harry could almost imagine that the full russet-tinged moon was about to bleed over the blanket of star studded sky.

A bass howling sound echoed through the woods. It stopped suddenly in a shriek of pain. Harry's attention snapped to it and he morphed into his animagus form. He should have thought about it sooner. As a wolf, he wouldn't feel the burning cold. He sniffed around. He was too close to the water to pick up the vampire's scent. He trotted forward.

His senses were on alert as the snow began to fall anew. It covered the soggy mess of leaves and old dirty snow in a new mantle of pure white. He'd smelt blood and had followed the trail. He had to rely on his sense of smell alone. Any footprint made by either vampire or prey was gone. The smell was getting stronger. Harry's wolf form ran toward it.

Harry felt the familiar echoes of magic as he moved closer to his target. So the vampire had to be a wizard. It was uncommon, but not unknown. Like werewolves, vampire wizards had to be registered at the Ministry. Harry didn't know of any registered vampires in the area. Not that he'd ever met one or known one in the first place. But an unregistered vampire was even more intriguing to the DADA teacher in him. Harry's curiosity was renewed. He had to catch up to the vampire. There was a lot more he could learn firsthand compared to what was in the books.

Harry emerged into a clearing. A nude man stood in the small glade. Harry watched the pale human form in fascination. Kneeling before a slain boar, his long dark hair, a sharp contrast to his alabaster skin, hung low and close to the dead beast. A glacial wind blew at Harry's back and carried his scent forward. The vampire stiffened. Muscles bunched on his back and thighs. Before Harry could take another breath, the vampire spun around and stood facing Harry's wolf form.

Blood dripped from his mouth. It covered his throat and bare chest in a spray of crimson. It stopped near the dark covering of hair between the vampire's sturdy legs. The tip of the man's engorged penis seemed to glisten in the moonlight. Harry tore his gaze from the mesmerizing sight. He'd wanted to avoid the vampire's gaze, but the rest of the body was equally dangerous. He couldn't afford to loose the grip he had on his mind. A vampire's gaze was reputedly more effective than the Imperio curse. Even if he could resist the curse, he wasn't going to tempt fate and look directly into the face of a fed vampire.

"Potter," the vampire growled.

Oh, shit. Harry would recognize that voice anywhere. He was so startled that he lost his animagus shape. He stood up shakily and, previous resolution forgotten, looked at the other man's face. Black eyes pierced him with their burning hunger, or was it rage at being disturbed?

"P--Professor Snape," Harry stuttered. He looked down immediately, and then thought better of it. Better risk the glare than ogle the body of his former professor.

Snape was smirking. "Enjoying the view?" he asked in a low growling voice. His arms came to rest on his chest, as he looked Harry up and down. His ramrod posture reminded Harry of old times, when the Potions Master had given him one of his regular scathing tirade. Except he used to wear more clothing then.

Harry cleared his throat. "You're-- you're naked, Professor."

"Very astute Potter. Now, come here."

Harry didn't think twice. He didn't think at all. He felt the Call wash over him in a soothing blanket of warmth. Harry forgot about the cold burning his feet through the soles of his shoes. He forgot about his stiff fingers and the throbbing of his earlobes. His feet moved toward the other man.

Snape's hand shot out and grabbed Harry by the chin. Harry felt himself lifted slightly upward. His feet still touched the ground, barely. Harry's own hands shot up and grabbed Snape's hand for support.

"Why are you invading my home, Potter?"

Harry was pressed against the other man's body. Snape's erection was an insistent hard nudge against Harry's own groin. "Sightseeing?"

"Still too cocky for your own good," Snape growled.

Harry's own burgeoning erection began to make itself known. "Getting there anyway, Sir," Harry grinned.

"I could crush you." Snape's hold of Harry's chin tightened painfully. "Or drain you." His obsidian eyes peered closely into Harry's face. Snape took a deep breath, seemingly taking Harry's scent inside himself.

"You're not supposed to breathe... or have a hard-on, come to think of it." Harry fidgeted. Maybe coming here hadn't been such a good idea after all. Pleasant, if unexpected, scenery aside. Did Snape actually mean to hurt him? What did Harry really know about vampires? If the information contained in the books was as ludicrous as the chapters on werewolves, Harry was in deep trouble. Oh, well, should have thought of that sooner.

"Oh, but contrary to popular belief, I do have a heart, Potter. And now that I've fed, it's pumping blood into my body. My sense of smell is also intact." Snape chuckled. "Can't you throw off the Call, boy? I can smell your arousal." Snape lapped at Harry's throat. "Taste it."

Harry moaned. "Don't want to try-- too fucking beautiful. Don't stop!" he panted.

Harry was lowered to the ground. Strangely, he didn't feel the snow seeping into his clothes. He didn't feel it fall lightly on his chest, as his shirt was opened. What he could feel was Snape's hair falling teasingly over his nipples. Snape's hands running over his stomach, his thighs, bypassing his groin. Harry heard himself moan. He lifted his hips in a vain attempt at further contact. A rich chuckle was the only answer to his unspoken plea. A wet mouth attached itself to his neck. Sharp teeth bit into him gently, breaking the surface of Harry's skin. A tongue lapped at his neck. Overhead, the red moon filled Harry's vision. Tongue, teeth and mouth played on his chest for what seemed like hours. Harry's arm clung to the other man's hard muscled back. Tears filled his eyes, and he cried both in pleasure and for lack of release. He felt himself being lifted above the ground. He was going to be swallowed by the moon. Harry closed his eyes, as he was carried away.

He woke up again on a large bed. The curtains were drawn around it. Harry could only see vague shapes surrounding him. His clothing had been removed. A fire was blazing nearby, warming him up.

Snape lay on his side, gazing at Harry. His hand plucked a dead leaf from Harry's hair and threw it aside. Harry's hands went to the other man's torso; he gently caressed it, then his inquisitive fingers followed Snape's exposed flank and powerful leg. His hand toyed with the coarse hairs of Snape's groin, before sliding along the prominent erection.

"I still want you, even without the Call," Harry said.

"I've made do without company for a long time, Potter."

Harry gripped Snape's erection and very slowly pumped his fist up and down. "You know, if you hadn't gone about the school with twenty layers of black cloth on and a nasty attitude, I think I would have tried to jump you sooner, Professor."

"Ah, the shallow youth of today," Snape commented.

"Why hide a body like yours? And you have the mind to match. You're a great catch, Professor," Harry said playfully.

"I'm not a Snitch, Potter. And unlike you, I don't need a following of slobbering idiots."

"My students don't do that anymore. Not after a few dressing downs anyway. I learned from the best," Harry replied.

"Thank Merlin I didn't stick around to see the teaching standards at Hogwarts take such a devastating blow. Let me guess, Albus gave you the Defense position? The old codger is ripe for St. Mungo's."

Harry kissed the man to shut him up. Snape parted his lips and plunged in like a hawk diving for its prey. Harry drunk in the coppery aftertaste of blood.

"I've missed you, Snape." Harry laughed. "I never thought I'd say that. No one ever puts me down anymore." Harry looked at Snape more seriously. "You disappeared before the ceremonies."

"I'd more than earned my freedom."

Harry looked down. "Wish I'd thought to do the same."

"Why don't you?"

Harry shrugged. "It takes time to clean up the mess. Everything came loose during the War. So Harry bloody Potter gets waved about as the model of upstanding wizard."

"If you don't care to play their mascot anymore, Potter, then leave."

"It's not that easy. Aren't you scared someone might get it into their head to replace Voldemort?"

"Are you so immature as to think your presence as a figure head for the Ministry will change that?" The older man snapped.

"I hope, maybe, I'll make a difference."

"You're deluding yourself." Snape shifted his body closer. His hands drifted to Harry's body again. He idly caressed Harry's hair with one hand, while exploring flushed skin with the other. "There is always going to be a next Mordred, or Grindelwald, or Voldemort. Letting people manipulate you through your misplaced sense of duty is not going to change the fact. Not that I care if you choose to throw you life away."

"So, your solution is to hide from the world?"

"I'm not hiding. I'm conducting private research."

"Ha! Who even knows you live here? And it's not like you're registered either..." Harry accused.

"I will not be registered," Snape hissed, "like a dangerous animal!" Snape rolled on top of Harry. Harry kept his grip on Snape's cock, while the man slid up and down Harry's body. "Dumbledore knows I'm here."

They continued their exploration of each other in silence. Snape didn't seem able to control the urge to scratch and taste Harry every once in a while.

"When-- when did you get turned?" Harry asked at the man currently lapping a shallow scratch on his upper thigh.

"Twenty-five years ago."

Harry's eyes widened.

"Oh, yes, your most despised teacher was really a vampire," Snape smile evilly at Harry's shock. "Albus had me take a potion to curb the thirst, of course."

Snape growled low as Harry's fingers traced the wet tip of his erection.

"That explains your temper. Must have been frustrating, not being able to get it up. I'm glad you're not taking the potion anymore," Harry smirked. Snape pressed him more firmly into the mattress for that moment of cheek.

"Are you going to blabber all night or are you going to part those legs of yours, Potter? After a feed, my erection only last for about three days, you know."

"Bloody Merry Christmas to me!" Harry complied.

Snape's estimation had been off by half a day, but by that time Harry hadn't been able to complain. Or walk for that matter.

Recovery had taken place at Snape Manor. It had been a pleasant surprise. Harry had expected to be thrown out on his arse as soon as the blood had run its course in Snape's body. Instead, Severus had asked Windy, his House Elf, to light fires all over the manor. She also brought Harry solid food. Snape had cleaned him up. He'd healed his numerous scratches and soothed overused muscles.

Harry had spent the rest of his holiday with Snape. Either in the huge family library, reading by the fire, or in the private laboratory, helping Snape with his potion research. They'd even slept in the same bed, but Snape made no move to go out again and feed.

All too soon for Harry, they'd had to part ways. The new school term crept on him unnoticed until one day Snape opened the floo connection and stood waiting by the mantelpiece.

Harry hadn't dared broach the subject of a returning visit. That Christmas had felt like a moment of true comfort enchanted in time. His constant feelings of oppression, of forever losing control over his life had, for a short time, been held at bay. And by Snape of all people. Harry had feared to break the spell. Weighing his duties against his wishes, he had kissed a grunting Snape goodbye and stepped into the magical fire.

Now, a year later, Harry stood on the shore of the lake. Snape Island rose from the mist in all its forgotten majesty, blanketed by a russet full moon. The old fisherman with the crooked teeth was standing beside him once again.

"Didn't get enough of the beast the first time 'round, did you?"

Harry turned and smiled. "It may take a few tries. You wouldn't have another boat for me, by the way?" Maybe Severus could convince him to stay this time. And to hell with the rest of the world. If only...

"I have just the thing," the old thieving sailor said, pointing to a half-rotten boat.

Harry smiled again as he felt the first whispers of the Call.

~The End~

SPIKE/XANDER

Title: Cider
Author: Kayla
RATING: R, still with the possible NC-17 for innuendo
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Fandom: Buffy
Disclaimer: ::cries::  They got away!  Dang it!  ::sniffle::  Well, I'll just have to try again next year.  You wait and see.  They'll be mine someday...
Note: Sequel to 'Gingerbread', last in the mini-series.  Part of the Slash Advent Calendar Challenge situated at: http://www.kardasi.com/Advent
Feedback Email address: kayla6978@aol.com

Cider

"Stupid vampire."

"What was that, pet?"

"Nothing!  ...evil, *stupid* vampire..."

"What are you mumbling about over there?"

"Do you mind!  I happen to be having a private conversation with myself, and you're interrupting!"

"...ooooo-kaaay...I'm just gonna...go back over there..."

"...stupid vampire.  Oh sure, just sprawl there looking all...*fuckable*!  With the hands...and the ass...and...oh!  Tummy showing!  Argh!  Stupid vampire!"

"...you done yet?"

"Shut up!"

"..."

"Oh sure, just jump me repeatedly and make me...*gay*, like it's all in a day's work.  Stupid vampire!  I'll show you!  No one messes with the Xan-man!  I'll teach you to work your gay vampire wiles on *me*!"

"Um, Xan?"

"What?!"

"When you get done talking to yourself, think you could bring me a mug of that cider?"

"...oh, he wants *cider* does he?  Cider to use to his evil advantage and overpower me again so he can have his wicked way with me!  Well, we'll just see about that!"

"Thanks, mate...um, what are you doing?  Hey!  That was my favorite shirt!"

"Hold still, would you?"

"What the--?  Ahh!  Ooohhhh..."

"Ooops.  Gee, I seem to have spilled this delicious hot cider.  Whatever should I do about that?  Guess I ought to clean it up."

"Ah!  Xaaannn...licking...oooohhhh..."

"Oh no.  I've spilled it again.  Oh well, let me get that."

"Aaaahhh...Ah!"

"Now how did it get way down there?  Let me just get these pesky jeans out of the way and I'll clean that right up."

"Unnnnhhhhh..."

"Mmmmmmm..."

"Oh!"

"Goodness, this stuff just got *everywhere*, didn't it?  Well, shouldn't let it go to waste."

"Ah!  Xaaaan...yeah, another one, luv.  Gimme another finger..."

"Like this?  Hmm, now what would happen if I moved them like...this?"

"Aaaahhhh!  Xan!"

"Heh.  Your dick jumps when I do that, Spike."

"Ah!  Unhhh!"

"Heh heh."

"Bloody hell!  Get on with it already!"

"What...you mean *this*?"

"Unnnghhhhhh..."

"Ooooohhhhh..."

"...what are you waiting for?  Move already!"

"Bossy, bossy!  Unh!"

"Oh yeah...just like that...there!  Again!"

"Yeah?"

"Ah!  Come on, *harder*!  I'm not some dainty little chit!  Fuck me harder already!"

"Geez you're...uhh!...pushy...ooohhh!"

"Shut up, would you?"

"Mmmphh?"

"Mmmmmm..."

"Mmrrmph!  Mmmph!  Hhhnnn!"

"Mmmrrrrmmmm..."

"...oh...my...god.  Spike!"

"Xan!  Ahhhh!"

"Spiiiike!  Ooooh...love you...ahhhh!"

"Uuuuuuhhhhhhh.  Oooohhhhh."

"..."

"..."

"Um...I..."

"You...you said..."

"Yeah....um...shut up, Spike."

"..."

"..."

"Hey Xan?"

"...yeah?"

"...I...Merry Christmas."

"...oh.  M-merry Christmas, Spike."

"Hmmph.  Be a good vampire warmer and cuddle up here why doncha?"

"Heh.  Sure, Spike."

"Mmmmm.  Hey, is there any of that cider left?  I'm still thirsty."

Finit.

MISCELLANEOUS (Snape/James - Harry Potter Universe)

Title: Be Careful What You Wish For (Version 1)
Author: RavenclawGrrl
RATING: PG-13
Pairing: Snape/James
Fandom: Harry Potter
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, JK Rowling does.
Note: Written for the Slash Advent Calendar Challenge situated at:
http://www.kardasi.com/Advent
Thanks to Sister Pavarti for beta-ing this for me!
There are two versions to this fic. Version 1 is serious, angsty, sad, be warned! Version Two is a humorous parody because the similarities between two certain characters just crack me up. I hope you enjoy them both.
Feedback Email address: padme_patil@yahoo.com
Severus Snape swept up and down between the rows of work tables, robes billowing behind him as he double checked the students' work. The seventh years would be brewing Veritaserum, his Christmas present to them. He allowed himself a faint, cold smile. It was always fun to have them brew this as their last project before the Christmas break. Then he'd make the little dunderheads try it out on themselves.

BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR

Yes, this was his favorite part; strike that, the only part of Christmas, he ever enjoyed. They would either fail to make the potion properly and experience some humiliating result such as turning into a canary or breaking out into boils in front of the class. Or, they would succeed and he would see to it that they still received their fair share of humiliation.

He looked at the cauldrons. Ahhh, Miss Granger, of course she'd succeed. He snapped, "Miss Granger, your potion appears complete. Sample it now please."

Hermione looked up at him and hesitated. "NOW, if you please, Miss Granger!" he roared at her and she quickly used a glass dropper to place three drops on her tongue then swallowed hard.

Snape allowed his smile to broaden into one the Grinch would have been proud of. "And now, Miss Granger," he purred in a voice like silk, "would you please tell the class what you really want for Christmas?"

"I." Hermione paused, choking back the words.

"Yes?" Snape prodded.

"I." Hermione started and paused again.

"Out with it please, Miss Granger! Let us determine the efficacy of your potion. What do you really want for Christmas?"

"I want Ron to stop being such a prat and let my parents pay for him to come spend Christmas skiing in Austria with us!" she blurted out, blushed furiously and glanced at Ron who was turning red himself. Then both of them quickly looked away from each other and hung their heads as the Slytherins tittered and the Gryffindors winced on behalf of their friends.

The Slytherins tittered just a bit too loudly for Snape's liking. No, this was Christmas time and he intended to share the joy with everyone. "Miss Parkinson, you're next," he said as he whirled around, nearly startling Pansy into upsetting her own cauldron.

"Me, sir?" she whispered as meekly as he had ever heard her.

"You. Now. Try your own potion." He nodded at her still wobbling cauldron.

The Slytherins were used to obeying the Potions Master. Pansy quickly took three drops of her own potion then looked up at Snape with pleading, puppy-dog eyes. Snape folded his arms across his chest and stared at her. "Now, Miss Parkinson, what is it that you really want for Christmas?"

"I."

"Yes?"

"I."

"NOW!"

"I really want Draco to stop being such a selfish bastard in bed. He finishes way too soon and it's really frustrating to get all worked up for nothing." Pansy squeaked then put her head on her desk in shame.

Snape chuckled to himself. This was too easy, really. He'd suffered through seven years of Granger's know-it-all attitude and Malfoy's rich-bitch "my father can pay to get me out of anything" sneer. Revenge was indeed sweet. Who next to grace with his own special brand of Christmas cheer?

His let his gaze travel around the room. Everyone was carefully avoiding his eyes, pretending to concentrate on some last minute addition to or stirring of their cauldrons. He chuckled again to know how they must be quaking in their shoes, begging whatever deities they believed in to let him pass them by.

And then his gaze landed on his arch-nemesis of all time. Harry Potter. Potter whose mere presence infuriated him. Why? Why did he hate Harry Potter so? Could it be because his hair was a black as a raven's wing, like another boy so long ago? Could it be because his eyes were as green as the most rare emeralds, like that other? Could it be because his body was strong and lithe, a seeker's build, like that other? Of course it was. He hated Harry Potter because he was the spitting image of his father James.

James. James. James was his first love, his only love. And James had proved false. After all they'd shared and meant to each other in school, upon their graduation James had told him it was time to move on; time to put such childish things behind them. He'd taken up with that little red-haired Mudblood witch. He'd MARRIED her. A girl! He'd married that girl with whom he had produced a son. And that son had sat here in his class for seven years, mocking him for what was lost. A son that the bloody idiot had DIED to save sat in his class day after day. James, the bastard had DIED so that there was never a chance, ever again for him to touch him, to hold him, to hear his voice.

A clatter from the back of the room drew him out of his reverie. He jerked around. Longbottom! Longbottom was about to upset his own cauldron with a stack of Charms books. Snape strode briskly to the back of the room. From the look of it, Longbottom was studying for his Charms exam AND attempting to brew his potion at the same time. Snape was going to give him so much detention he'd have to stay over the Christmas break to complete it all!

Neville was completely absorbed in his Charms study, stirring the cauldron half-heartedly. Hermione nudged him and he jerked his head up, practice Spell still on his lips as Snape approached him. Snape didn't notice the simple chalk circle that Neville had surreptitiously inscribed on the ground for holding the small demon he planned to Summon as practice. All the Spell needed for completion was the name of the demon to be Summoned.

"MR. LONGBOTTOM WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING!" Snape bellowed.

The rest happened too fast to be believable. Neville slammed the book closed, his elbow completely upsetting the cauldron, which sent the potion flying everywhere. It spattered on Neville, Hermione, and Snape himself. Without thinking, Snape swallowed.

"Wh-wh-what do you want sir?" Neville whispered in horror, looking up at his potion soaked teacher.

For once in his life, Neville had gotten a potion correct the first time Snape felt the inescapable pull of the Veritaserum. He fought it. He really did. But the truth forced itself out. "James," he croaked the name hoarsely. "I want James."

The Summoning Spell was completed. There was a clap of thunder and a brilliant flash of bright light. Snape stepped back as the smoke cleared.

For the second time in his life, Neville had done something right the first time. Almost. Standing in front of Severus Snape was a young man with a strong, lithe body, built like a Seeker. A young man with hair as black as a raven's wing, so black indeed that the light seemed to give it a blueish sheen. The blue-black hair hung down in his eyes in a wild, unkempt, and most attractive fashion. The youth's emerald green eyes sparkled at him, questioningly.

The class was in an uproar. Snape peered closely at the young man who seemed quite disoriented. He was dressed in robes that were fashionable over twenty years ago.
The young man/demon reached into his pocket and Snape quickly drew his own wand for defense while the students squealed and scampered across the room. "James?" he whispered pleadingly.

"Severus?" the young man answered questioningly, then tried to step forward but was prevented by the circle. "Severus, what happened?"

There was another clap of thunder and flash of brilliant light and the boy vanished in a puff of blue-black smoke. Snape reached out and then froze, his whole body rigid, aware of the class watching him. Then his hand descended like a claw and grasped Neville roughly by the shoulder. "What did you do?" he hissed. "How did you Summon someone from the past? What did you do?"

"I don't know, sir," Neville whispered. "I don't know."

END

JIM/BLAIR

Title: The Teddy Blair Affair
Author: Bluesky
Disclaimers: Not mine, No Harm, no foul. No cash made.
Rated: R for Sex.
Feedback: Desidera21@aol.com Yes please!
Author's Notes: This is a first time story. My thanks to FalconKenobi and CJ for a wonderful Beta! Any mistakes are mine. This would have so sucked without them!

TEDDY BLAIR AFFAIR

"I assume full responsibility for my actions, except the ones that are someone else's fault" Blair stood in the middle of the loft, arms crossed in front of him.

Sullen.

A little afraid.

Jim was pissed. Pissed in that I-am-not-saying-a-thing, jaw-twitching way that he had. Blair had seldom seen him [like this] for more that a few moments at a time. He worried briefly about a Jim having a stroke. As nice as that might be for him to not get killed, he worried about his friend. He had to calm him down somehow.

"Damn it, Sandburg! You should have known that the guys at the department would take it the wrong way! You have been around cops and the Department for what, over three years?"

Another man might have tossed him out. Another might have punched him or the brick wall. But not Jim-oh-so-fucking -controlled-Elision. He paced.

Blair felt like he was being stalked. The path that Jim was cutting back and forth across the room was getting closer and closer to him.

Jim was like Panther in a cage at the zoo, and Blair was on the wrong side of the bars

A smart man would have grabbed his jacket and ran. A smart man would have locked him self in his room. He had the fire escape if Jim broke down the door, after all.

A smart man would not have outed his partner about a touchy subject. Not in front of all of his hard ass buddies, men that he had to work with every day.

But Blair had proven once more that he was not a smart man.

He had spent too much time growing up with Naomi, and living with people that spoke the truth, at least about the important personal things.

Obfuscation. He had learned on his own, and from some story tellers and shaman that saw that the world that you create could be as real as the one that you live. Sigh.

"It is not that big of a deal, Jim. In a few days every one will forget all about it."

That was SO the Wrong thing to say.

"You have no idea what you are talking about. I have known and worked with them for seven years. No one is just going to let this go." Jim reached for him. Hands grasping the flannel of his shirt.

For a moment Blair expected to be shoved into the wall.

Deep sigh Jim pulled back, his hands dropping.

At last the anger drained out of him as he let Blair go. He sat on the long couch. Carefully, Blair sat on the arm of the couch farthest away from Jim.

He sat as still as he could. For as long as he could. Five minutes later. "So Jim, what can I do to make things better?"

"Retroactive wiring of your jaw is not feasible." Jim sighed. He gave Blair his long suffering, patented, how-could-do-this-to-me look. "I just like to keep my personal life personal. Who or what I have in my bed is no one's affair."

Blair took a chance, and moved a little closer. "The Su-taz tribe some times sleep with items of power, things that have meaning and protection in the sleep spirit world. This is just the same as that."

"It is a teddy bear, Blair. You told every one that I sleep with a teddy bear."

"It could have been worse. I could have told them you sleep with me." Blair flinched.

Again, he knew that was the wrong thing to say. The fact that he wanted to take the teddy bear's place, the jealousies that he felt when he saw the stuffed animal in the place that he felt that he should be occupying, well, it had been eating at him for weeks. No wonder Jim had not allowed him to enter his bedroom often. A tough cop did not need the comfort of a childhood toy.

Jim looked at Blair in open mouth amazement. Shock made his blue eyes wide and light.

Blair knew that he was going to die any way. Might as well die happy. He leaned into his sentinel and kissed him, wrapping his arms around him. If nothing else Jim would have a different reason to kick him out, or kill him. And he could not live this way one more day.

That was the worst that Jim would do. Kill him.

Or so he thought.

In fact, the worst that Jim could do was nothing. For long moments, Jim did not move: his guide's mouth on his, arms around him, all but sitting in his lap.

Blair looked deep into Jim eyes. Man. He had zoned.

Carefully, "Jim. Jim. Jim. It is OK. I'm here. Follow my voice. You are safe. It is OK."

And Jim was back. Looking at him. Fully aware of what Blair had done. Waiting for an explanation. And still doing nothing.

At least Jim had not killed him. Yet.

Damn. This was the worst day of his life. He pulled back.

"I want to tell you a story. Its is about the King that asked his court to think of an excuse that would be worse than the crime someone was trying to get away with. And none of his wise men could come up with a proper solution. " Blair looked away. This was the hardest obfuscation that he had ever done.

"Later, the King's favorite Fool had come up behind the King, and pinched his ass. In the ensuing upheaval, just before the Fool was to be hung for his miss deed, He was asked why he had pinched the King." Carefully he looked Jim in the eyes. "And the Fool replied. I am so sorry sire. I thought that you were the Queen! And the fool was granted pardon because he had solved the Kings riddle."

Jim burst out laughing. He ruffled the younger man's hair, affection rich in his eyes.

"So, this was you pinching me, right Chief?" Pause. "Right Chief?"

Blair couldn't meet Jim's eyes. Jim finally put his hand under Blair's chin, bringing his head up.

Jim studied the younger man. "So, It is like that?"

Blair dropped his head in misery.

A handful of heart beats.

Jim got up and went up stairs.

It was as nice a rejection as Blair could expect. He was still alive, and he had not been kicked out.

And he would not cry.

Later, he would run down to the store, and when he was blocks away, he could give in to the crushing depression and loss.

But not now.

He could not do that to himself or to Jim.

Sunk in his misery, he did not hear Jim come back down, or feel his presence beside him.

Blair looked up. A small smile was on Jim's face. The teddy bear was in his arms. He put it on the couch.

"I think that I have out grown this. Think that I need something a bit bigger and warmer in my bed. Care to volunteer?"

It was Blair's turn to drop his jaw in shock.

Jim held a hand out to him. Shakily, Blair took it.

Jim pulled his guide off of the couch, and gathered him into his arms, holding the back of his head, fingers tangled in the rich mane of hair, he tilted Blair's head back so that he could look him in the eye. "Is this what you want Chief?"

"Man, have been asking my self that forever. I always wanted a Sentinel. Now I just want you." He took a deep cleansing breath. "At first I thought that I must have summoned you out of my dreams. You've been every thing that I've ever dreamed of. At first you were like some long wet-dream." Blair took a deep breath. Considering his words.

"The things you could do, the way you are. Man, I was half in love with you the first time I saw you in the hospital." Blair chuckled. "That lasted about 6 weeks."

"After moving in with you, I started to see the real you. Good and bad: human." He tried to look away, but Jim would not let him.

Jim's eyes never left his. "And?" He asked Blair softly.

"It stopped being Hero worship a long time ago." Blair kissed him, bending Jim's head down to his.

Jim took his Guide's hand, and led him up the stairs, leaving his discarded bed partner behind him.

Part II

Suddenly both Jim and Blair seemed shy, this was Jim's room. What should Blair do? He looked at Jim for a clue.

Man, he seamed as cool as ice. He had on his walking-into-a-room-full-of-guns-blazing-look. That just was not right. That was a mask, the one that he wore to convince the world at large that all was right and he had no fears, or problems.

Wrong.

Blair had not spent years dedicated to watching this man, to be so easily fooled. For a moment, doubt entered into his mind.

Did Jim want this?

Or was he doing this as some sort of misguided offering, something that he felt that he owed to Blair or that had to happen to keep him from leaving?

As if.

He was so not into leaving. And His Pride Demanded That He Know The Truth.

He pulled his Sentinel to him.

"Is this what you want Jim?" He searched his eyes. Looking for the micro clues that only he could read, to try and get into his head.

With gentle hands Blair guided them to the bed. Just to sit. Just to talk. He needed to be on equal footing so to speak for this conversation.

But conversation was the last thing on Jim's mind. He was a doer, not a talker. That went double in bed. And he knew that if Sandburg started to talk this out, it would be days before any thing might happen.

If then.

If Blair didn't say the wrong thing, or he say the wrong thing, or (shudder) somehow they talked each other out of the need that he could feel, and had felt for far too long.

Actions speak louder than words he smiled at his Guide, kissed him, then playfully scooped him up and deposited him in the middle of the large bed.

He had never felt like this with any other lover. Clothing was always removed slowly. More primitive urges were coming into play, needs long suppressed seeking resolve at last.

He wanted to strip the layers off of his guide, burrow under the shirts to find the golden nipple ring, tease the chest that he knew was so sensitive.

"So Chief, shall we take this slow and easy?"

"Sounds like a plan." And kissed him, drawing him down to the bed beside him.

Minutes later, both naked as two people can get. "Hold on a second, Big Guy!" Blair gasped.

Damn.

Jim knew that this was going to happen. The Kid was going to fuck this up by talking it to death.

A long-suffering sigh of resignation quietly exited his lips. He let go of the tight hard nipple that he had been teasing with his teeth and lips, a last lap with his tongue as a parting shot, making Blair shudder.

"Oh Man, You have been holding out on me." Blair kissed Jim with passion. "We have got to talk"

The dreaded words.

This is one of the reasons that Jim did not date often. Talking in bed had almost no appeal for him. If it had, he was sure that he would have jumped his verbose guide a long time ago.

"The KY and condoms are in the table draw. Pineapple is my safe word. If you want whipped cream you will have to go out and buy some. Later. I do not care if I am top or bottom, just let me know what you want. I love you, and yes I will make you pancakes in the morning. That covers it all from my end. Any questions?" He grinned at Blair. Hoped that would shut him up. At least for now.

"Safe word? Whipped cream? You LOVE me?! Pancakes? You never make pancakes!"

"I only make pancakes for lovers. Are we done? And do you have a safe word?"

"Man.. Am I going to need one?" Looks of arousal need and fear crossed his expressive face. Instead of bolting he held on to Jim tighter.

Jim's blue eyes were dark with desire, wide with amusement, and he smiled with affection. "You never know Chief. Better to be prepared. Are you with me? It might be a bumpy ride ahead."

Blair nodded. Eager but subdued.

Same look of determination on his face that he had just before he had jumped out of an airplane for him. Damn. He should not have scared him like that. But better to test the water than to find it too shallow to dive.

"Safeword, ah, how about Safeword? You will know what I mean. Right?"

"Sure, Chief, I promise not to hurt you." He nipped on Blair's neck. Blair yipped, more in shock than pain. "Much. Still up for this?"

Blair guided Jim's hand down to his raging hard on. "What do think? Lets do this!"

Seldom before had his guide said anything that had made him this happy. Or this hot.

Blair happily attacked his partner. He had large firm hands, and experienced gentle fingers.

If Sentinels were his passion, sexuality was his life. Jim knew his history with women. Ether he was a very quick study or his experiences with men was almost as diverse.

Blair began on Jim neck, kissing licking, feathering kisses down his arm. Licking and blowing on the inside of his elbow, grazing teeth all along his arm, down to the wrist.

A Deep moan was elicited from Jim. Encouraged Blair continued

Licking down to the palm, sucking each finger, sliding his teeth along each digit, and swirling the tip of his [tongue] around the pads, in slow, hot, wet movements.

Blair finished by tonguing the spaces between the fingers, then lapping and sucking the knuckles on the back of the hand. Ohmygod. Jim came close to [coming]. Or zoning.

Jim had had some amazing partners. None that had ever gotten that sort of reaction from him without even going below the waist though. He was [teetering] on the verge of coming. If Blair had not stopped when he had, he would have shot his load over his Guide without him ever touching Jim there.

Blair looked at his quivering sentinel. He was pulled as tight as a longbow. His impressive cock was rigid and leaking, and he was arched up away from the bed. One more stroke or lick would undo him. Blair smiled to him self. "How was that? OK?"

But Jim was far from OK. Drifting on an inner tube down a rapid, that was OK. This was Body surfing on Blair's talented tongue. Breathing had been something that had taken back-seat to all else a bit ago.

He opted to keep that information to himself. He really did not want Blair to know that he could be taken down by having just his arm licked. That was way more information than Blair needed at this time.

Now it was his turn. He turned an evil grin on Blair. Retribution would not be swift. But it would sure. The cocky look on his Chief's face faded. Oh, Jim knew just how turned on he was. Now to see how close to the edge he could get his guide.

He pushed his subdued guide down, pinning him to the center of the bed. Kneading the shoulders, straddling the hips, looking down, almost predatory, eyes slit, rubbing his hardness over Blair's leaking cock. Leaning down to kiss his lovers' mouth. Trailing fingers over the furred chest, stroking up along the sensitive ribs, zig-zagging over tummy, feathering up and down his chest, rubbing eraser hard nipples between his fingers, twisting them lightly.

Blair whimpered, and squirmed under him. Jim smirked. He had just begun to excite his poor guide. So much uncharted flesh. So much time. This was going to be fun.

"Jim! Please! You are killing me!"

Jim breathed in one shell-like ear. Tugged on the earrings with his teeth. "I have ways of killing you that will take 50 years. And you will be begging for mercy in the first 5 minutes." Then he licked the inner passages of the ear, sucking on the lobe just as he felt Blair gather him self, surging, shuddering. Hips swelling, pumping his rock hard cock over Blair's. He felt the hot pulsing spilling up and over his inflamed manhood, and was lost.

A scream suddenly bitten back, as Blair realize how close Jim's ear was to his mouth. He could not do that to his lover. Not to Jim. Under normal conditions it would be cruel. At a time like this it would be -

And Jim came. Perhaps not loud, but the gasp of need and release filled his ear, and was near painful, or would have been, if Jim had not turned to smother the moan with Blair's mouth.

Aftershocks echoing from body to body, kissing, as though to hold on to the moment by will alone. Cradling each other in the aftermath of what felt like the center of a lighting storm.

All things must come to an end. But some times a delay can be arranged. Moving so slowly. At long last the two fell apart, just to wipe down with discarded tee shirts.

Jim lay on his back, arm around Blair. Blair lay with his head on Jim's shoulder, arm across his chest. Content. No speech. No movement. No needs.

Sentinel and Guide. And a world with in each other to explore.

END

SPIKE/GILES

Title: Love Bites
Author: Penemuel
RATING: NC-17
Pairing: Giles/Spike
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Completed: 12/24/02 @ 2:01 am... Unbetaed because she's asleep, like a smart person...
Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me -- I'm just playing with them and will give them back when I'm done. They may be a little sticky, though
Note: Part of the Slash Advent Calendar Challenge situated at: http://www.kardasi.com/Advent
Archived: also at http://www.squidge.org/~penemuel/stories.html  once the stories are released
Feedback Email address: arkadi_1@yahoo.com
Warnings: tiny reference to piercing
Spoilers: vague ones for the Thanksgiving episode, the title of which I've forgotten
Summary: Spike's going to be spending the holidays with Giles, and he may not be chained in the bathtub any more

Love Bites
by Penemuel

Giles sighed, releasing Spike from his chains and backing away. The difficulties of Thanksgiving finally out of the way, he felt he could allow the vampire some leeway in the privacy of his flat.

"Just don't cause any trouble," he warned, reminding himself not to watch as the vampire stretched his lean form and turned back to smile at him.

"Don't you trust me?" the vampire purred, leaning against the door jamb. "You *know* I can't hurt you..."

"Yes," Giles said softly, "I'm well aware of that."

"Then what are you worried about?" Spike asked, taking a step closer. "That the Slayer might find out?" Another step, and he was close enough to stroke Giles' cheek. "I promise *I* won't tell..."

"Spike--" Giles whispered, trying to remember the last time someone had touched him like that. Had it really been Ethan?

And then the lean form was pressed hard up against him, those amazingly strong hands sliding down over his back and pressing him even closer.

"Ohh..." he groaned, allowing the roughness as the vampire maneuvered him into the wall and pressed a strong thigh between his legs. "That's good," he purred, wrapping his arms around the lean male form.

"It *has* been a while, hasn't it?" Spike asked, leaning in close and licking his throat, smelling the heat and musk rising off the man. "You smell *amazing*..."

Giles moaned, arching into Spike's strength and tilting his head back to bare his throat. "Do I?"

"Yeah," Spike murmured, nibbling and licking along the throbbing vein in Giles' neck. Hunger surged through him and he felt his features shift suddenly, becoming the vampiric 'game face' that revealed the demon within. Unable to control the hunger, he opened his mouth wide and tried to bury his fangs in Giles' neck.

"Oh! Bloody *hell*!" he gasped, falling back from Giles as if struck; squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his fists to his forehead. "Fecking bloody hell..."

"Can you stop taking once you start?" Giles panted, stepping away from the wall and grasping Spike's wrist.

"Of course," Spike answered, sounding almost offended. "I wasn't born yesterday..."

"Then come to my bedroom, now," Giles ordered, tugging the vampire with him. He turned back once and was surprised by the look of genuine happiness on Spike's face.

Giles knew he was insane for welcoming Spike into his bed -- after all, the vampire was known for his brutality and ruthlessness. However, William, the human he had once been, had been a romantic soul. While Spike didn't show it often, that romantic streak had not been destroyed by the demon that lived inside him.

When they reached the bedroom, Giles stripped off his sweater and draped it over the back of a chair, then turned back to Spike. As he removed his shoes and then began unbuttoning his shirt, he asked, "You're not planning on wearing all your clothes, are you?"

Spike smiled, watching Giles strip; then wriggled out of his tight t-shirt, tossing it aside carelessly. His smile broadened as he saw Giles stop dead and *stare* at him -- he didn't even need his vampiric senses to see the shiver of lust that went through the Watcher's body.

"I'm almost ashamed to be shirtless in front of you," Giles admitted, looking hungrily at the vampire's perfectly sculpted body. And then Spike unbuttoned his jeans and shimmied out of them, and Giles closed his mouth with an audible click.

"You like 'em lean and toned," Spike purred, stalking up to him and carefully removing his glasses and placing them on the bedside table. And then he leaned in to gently nibble a collar bone.

Giles shivered and let out a quiet moan, and suddenly nimble fingers were at the waistband of his underwear, hurriedly helping him out of them. A moment later, those same fingers cupped his balls and rolled them gently, and Spike smiled as he groaned and thrust forward.

"Easy, there, Luv," Spike murmured, and then he moved closer, pushing Giles back onto the bed.

"Oh!" Giles gasped as Spike climbed onto the bed with him. The vampire slid an arm under his back and hauled him up to the pillows without straining, and Giles tried to ignore how much the demonstration of strength turned him on. Normally, he was the dominant one in relationships, although with Ethan it had been a constant competition. As Ripper, he had always had to prove he was strong enough to defeat Ethan if he got out of line. Being able to submit to someone like Spike -- and still know that he could stop him in an instant if he had to with the aid of the chip -- was a welcome change.

And then Spike's hands were distracting him; the vampire's skin slightly cooler to the touch than a living man's, it sent shivers of pleasure through him as nimble fingers slid down his abdomen and a cool hand wrapped around his aching cock. The other hand toyed with his nipples, plucking them into hardness and then flicking across the puckered nubs. He moaned and arched into the stimuli, then brought up his arms to pull Spike closer and kiss him.

For a moment, the vampire stiffened, and he thought he had pushed it too far. When he opened his eyes, he could see emotions racing across Spike's face. He was unaware that his own face betrayed his longing and concern, but when Spike's eyes turned sad and his mouth quirked up in an ironic smile he let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Spike, please... I won't tell anyone. I promise."

"Don't know what you're talking about, old man," Spike said flippantly, leaning in to nuzzle closely.

"Of course not," Giles said tenderly, guiding Spike back to his lips and kissing him once more. This time, the vampire melted against him, and he could feel the lean body trembling. When Spike drew back once more, Giles smiled and said, "But I don't know why you're calling *me* old..."

"Smartarse," Spike growled, but Giles could hear the smile in his tone. "For that, I ought to--" He broke off and clambered down the bed until he straddled Giles' legs, looking at the erection bobbing in front of his face. "Not bad at all," he purred, right before diving in and swallowing it down.

"Oh!" Giles cried as the surprisingly cool wetness surrounded his aching erection. Spike pulled back to tease his foreskin with the tip of his tongue, then traced his way down the big vein down to Giles' balls, smiling at the helpless way he thrust upwards wordlessly begging for more. Very carefully, he nibbled at Giles' foreskin, allowing him to feel the sharp fangs but not breaking the skin. As he did, he could feel Giles' hunger grow; his legs spreading and his hips bucking up helplessly.

He drew back again, flicking at the eye of Giles' cock with the very tip of his tongue, then stopped and looked up at him. "Tell me what you want, Luv..."

"What I-- oh-- I..." Giles frowned, trying to drag the power of speech back out of the depths of his mind where his libido had shoved it.

"Yes?" Spike asked, chuckling slightly. He didn't want to let the Watcher know how close he was to being non-verbal himself, his senses swimming in the musk and heat of aroused, willing male. It was all he could do to keep from diving in and taking a long, hard snort.

"Can you--" Giles began, then trailed off, unsure he really wanted to let the vampire know what he wanted.

"What?" Spike pressed, leaning in closer and nibbling gently at the head of his cock to try and remind him what he was missing.

"Guh!" Giles blurted, and then he blushed fiercely. It was bad enough he was going to ask for what he was going to ask for -- but to act like an overeager teenager when he should be so much more in control... "Can you suck me and bite at the same time?" he asked, his voice refusing to come out at louder than a whisper. From the look on Spike's face, not only *could* he do it -- it was what he desperately wanted to do.

"You want me to bite you... down there? Do you have any idea--"

"Yes, actually, I think I do. Can you stop before you take too much?" Giles asked, regaining his senses in time to ask the important questions.

"Will you want me to?" Spike asked, catching and holding Giles' gaze. "It can be *very* intense..."

"So I've heard," Giles answered. "But yes, I will stop you if you don't stop yourself -- and I'd prefer not to have to hurt you..."

"Yeah..." Spike swallowed hard and leaned in to lick at Giles' cock again, taking a deep breath and sighing before he could stop himself. "Smell good..."

"Go ahead, Spike -- we *both* want it. Suck me and bite me down there," Giles whispered, expressly giving his permission so there would be no chance the chip would misinterpret. And then Spike was on him again, that amazingly cool mouth engulfing him and sucking hard. It never ceased to amaze Giles how versatile a mouth could be when the owner of said mouth didn't *need* to breathe...

Spike backed off suddenly, trying to ignore the whimper that escaped Giles before he began moving on the bed. "You know, I can bite in a better place if we're in a different position," he suggested, looking back at the half-crazed man.

"Yes," Giles hissed, reaching out to help Spike straddle him, then guiding the vampire's cool erection to his own mouth. He licked and sucked his way along the pale erection; paused to nibble at the base of Spike's cock before taking one of the swollen balls into his mouth and rolling it gently with his tongue and then moving on to the other. Spike's body jerked in response, and then the vampire let out a delicious low groan and swallowed his cock down again. This time, he could feel the sharp fangs teasing at the base of his cock as Spike's amazing throat muscles and tongue massaged his shaft. Each tiny prick of pain sent a shiver of arousal through him, and for a moment the sensations reminded him of the way it had felt when Ethan pierced his ear. He moaned and had to let go of Spike's balls long enough to swallow and lick his lips, then he opened wide and sucked the vampire's cool cock into his mouth.

Both men were growing more aroused, beginning to thrust into each other's mouths and creating a perfect circle of pleasure. Spike groaned as Giles teased him with his tongue, then returned the favour by biting down just hard enough to break the skin and get his first taste of the Watcher's blood. Giles jerked up into his mouth as he moaned and began to quietly growl. The vibrations on Giles' cock in turn made him moan around Spike's cock, and the vampire thrust in response.

Spike couldn't help thrusting into the wet heat that engulfed him -- it had been too long, and Giles was surprisingly talented. He didn't think any of the others knew what their 'tweedy' Watcher was capable of, but he was going to enjoy finding out. He could hear/feel Giles' heartbeat now, smell the coppery tang of blood, begin to feel the threads of warmth entering him -- he had to bite; to take more... He could feel Giles intensifying his efforts, and knew the Watcher had felt the change -- he knew Giles wanted it *now*.

He buried his fangs in at the base of Giles' cock, feeling the hot flood of liquid as that heady, hormone laden blood washed over his tongue. He swallowed hungrily, feeling Giles' body thrusting helplessly up into his mouth as a second flood of liquid spurted down his throat. At the same time, the rush of warmth Giles' blood sent through him settled in his balls and he came *hard*, flooding Giles' mouth with his own release.

The two of them thrust and writhed together, Spike retaining just enough sense to withdraw his fangs and let the bite begin to heal. They milked each other's cocks until they both fell, spent, on the bed. After a long moment of gulping in air, Giles looked up and asked, "Spike? You okay?"

"Bloody *hell*, Watcher..." Spike muttered, managing to get to his hands and knees, then shakily turning around and sprawling against Giles' side. "Is that part of the training?" he asked with a chuckle.

"Hah! They wish..."

Giles tugged the covers out from under his body, then held them up for Spike. "Climb into bed, Spike -- you're nice and warm now, but I already know I'm going to be waking up next to an icicle."

Spike joined him under the covers, snuggling in close and not even complaining when Giles wrapped him in his arms and gently kissed the tip of his nose. He could still hear Giles' heartbeat, and knew they were going to be tied closer together each time they did this, but at the moment he didn't care. He sighed softly, hearing that heartbeat slowing into sleep, then looked up. "Hey..."

Giles opened one eye and muzzily asked, "What?"

"Does this mean I don't have to be chained in the tub anymore?"

Giles smiled and ruffled the peroxide blond hair, then kissed the tip of his nose again. "Yeah -- I think I've got a few more uses for you here in my bed..."

--end--

MISCELLANEOUS SNAPE/JAMES (Harry Potter Universe)

Title:  Be Careful What You Wish For  (Version 2)
Author:  RavenclawGrrl
RATING:  PG-13
Pairing:  Snape/James???
Fandom:  Crossover
Disclaimer:  I do not own these characters, JK Rowling does.
Note:  Written for the Slash Advent Calendar Challenge situated at:
http://www.kardasi.com/Advent
Thanks to Sister Pavarti for beta-ing this for me! 
There are two versions to this fic.  Version 1 is serious, angsty, sad, be warned! Version Two is a humorous parody because the similarities between two certain characters just crack me up.  I hope you enjoy them both.
Feedback Email address:  padme_patil@yahoo.com

Be Careful What You Wish For

Severus Snape swept up and down between the rows of work tables, robes billowing behind him as he double checked the students' work.  The seventh years would be brewing Veritaserum, his Christmas present to them.  He allowed himself a faint, cold smile.  It was always fun to have them brew this as their last project before the Christmas break.  Then he'd make the little dunderheads try it out on themselves.
 
Yes, this was his favorite part; strike that, the only part of Christmas, he ever enjoyed.  They would either fail to make the potion properly and experience some humiliating result such as turning into a canary or breaking out into boils in front of the class.  Or, they would succeed and he would see to it that they still received their fair share of humiliation.
 
He looked at the cauldrons.  Ahhh,  Miss Granger, of course she'd succeed.  He snapped, "Miss Granger, your potion appears complete.  Sample it now please." 
 
Hermione looked up at him and hesitated.  "NOW, if you please, Miss Granger!" he roared at her and she quickly used a glass dropper to place three drops on her tongue then swallowed hard.
 
Snape allowed his smile to broaden into one the Grinch would have been proud of.  "And now, Miss Granger," he purred in a voice like silk, "would you please tell the class what you really want for Christmas?"
 
"I."  Hermione paused, choking back the words.
 
"Yes?" Snape prodded.
 
"I." Hermione started and paused again.
 
"Out with it please, Miss Granger!  Let us determine the efficacy of your potion.  What do you really want for Christmas?"
 
"I want Ron to stop being such a prat and let my parents pay for him to come spend Christmas skiing in Austria with us!"  she blurted out, blushed furiously and glanced at Ron who was turning red himself.  Then both of them quickly looked away from each other and hung their heads as the Slytherins tittered and the Gryffindors winced on behalf of their friends.
 
The Slytherins tittered just a bit too loudly for Snape's liking.  No, this was Christmas time and he intended to share the joy with everyone.  "Miss Parkinson, you're next," he said as he whirled around, nearly startling Pansy into upsetting her own cauldron.
 
"Me, sir?" she whispered as meekly as he had ever heard her. 
 
"You.  Now.  Try your own potion."  He nodded at her still wobbling cauldron.
 
The Slytherins were used to obeying the Potions Master.  Pansy quickly took three drops of her own potion then looked up at Snape with pleading, puppy-dog eyes.  Snape folded his arms across his chest and stared at her.  "Now, Miss Parkinson, what is it that you really want for Christmas?"
 
"I."
 
"Yes?"
 
"I."
 
"NOW!"
 
"I really want Draco to stop being such a selfish bastard in bed.  He finishes way too soon and it's really frustrating to get all worked up for nothing."  Pansy squeaked then put her head on her desk in shame.
 
Snape chuckled to himself.  This was too easy, really.  He'd suffered through seven years of Granger's know-it-all attitude and Malfoy's rich-bitch "my father can pay to get me out of anything" sneer.  Revenge was indeed sweet.  Who next to grace with his own special brand of Christmas cheer?
 
His let his gaze travel around the room.  Everyone was carefully avoiding his eyes, pretending to concentrate on some last minute addition to or stirring of their cauldrons.  He chuckled again to know how they must be quaking in their shoes, begging whatever deities they believed in to let him pass them by.
 
And then his gaze landed on his arch-nemesis of all time.  Harry Potter.  Potter whose mere presence infuriated him.  Why? Why did he hate Harry Potter so?  Could it be because his hair was as black as a raven's wing, like another boy so long ago?  Could it be because his eyes were as green as the most rare emeralds, like that other?  Could it be because his body was strong and lithe, a seeker's build, like that other?  Of course it was.  He hated Harry Potter because he was the spitting image of his father James.  
 
James.  James.  James was his first love, his only love.  And James had proved false.  After all they'd shared and meant to each other in school, upon their graduation James had told him it was time to move on; time to put such childish things behind them.  He'd taken up with that little red-haired Mudblood witch.  He'd MARRIED her.  A girl!  He'd married that girl with whom he had produced a son.  And that son had sat here in his class for seven years, mocking him for what was lost.  A son that the bloody idiot had DIED to save sat in his class day after day.  James, the bastard had DIED so that there was never a chance, ever again for him to touch him, to hold him, to hear his voice.
 
A clatter from the back of the room drew him out of his reverie.  He jerked around. Longbottom!  Longbottom was about to upset his own cauldron with a stack of Charms books.  Snape strode briskly to the back of the room.  From the look of it, Longbottom was studying for his Charms exam AND attempting to brew his potion at the same time!  Furious, Snape decided to give him so much detention he'd have to stay over the entire Christmas break to complete it all!
 
Neville was completely absorbed in his Charms study, stirring the cauldron half-heartedly.  Hermione nudged him and he jerked his head up, practice Spell still on his lips as Snape approached him.   Snape didn't notice the simple chalk circle that Neville had surreptitiously inscribed on the ground for holding the small demon he planned to Summon as practice.  All the Spell needed for completion was the name of the demon to be Summoned.  
 
"MR. LONGBOTTOM WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING!"  Snape bellowed.
 
The rest happened too fast to be believable.  Neville slammed the book closed, his elbow completely upsetting the cauldron, which sent the potion flying everywhere.  It spattered on Neville, Hermione, and Snape himself.  Without thinking, Snape swallowed.
 
"Wh-wh-what do you want sir?"  Neville whispered in horror, looking up at his potion soaked teacher.
 
For once in his life, Neville had gotten a potion correct the first time Snape felt the inescapable pull of the Veritaserum.  He fought it.  He really did.  But the truth forced itself out.  "James," he croaked the name hoarsely.  "I want James."
 
The Summoning Spell was completed.  There was a clap of thunder and a brilliant flash of bright light.  Snape stepped back as the smoke cleared.
 
For the second time in his life, Neville had done something right the first time.  Well, almost.  Sort of.  Except there was one tiny problem.  Standing in front of Severus Snape was a young man with a strong, lithe body, built like a Seeker.  A young man with hair as black as a raven's wing, so black indeed that the light seemed to give it a blueish-purplish  sheen.  The blue-black hair hung down in his eyes in a wild, unkempt, and most attractive fashion.  The youth's emerald green eyes sparkled at him, questioningly.
 
The class was in an uproar.  Snape peered closely at the young man who seemed quite disoriented.     He was dressed in a most odd fashion - trim white trousers, tight black t-shirt, and cropped white jacket emblazoned with the letter 'R'.  'R', thought Snape.   Why 'R'? James had been in Gryffindor, not Ravenclaw.
 
The young man/demon reached into his pocket and Snape quickly drew his own wand for defense while the students squealed and scampered across the room.  "James?" he whispered pleadingly.
 
"Prepare for trouble!" the youth said, producing a small red and white orb from his pocket.

RavenclawGrrl