December 4

ADVENT STORIES FOR
DECEMBER 4

CLARK/LEX

Title: Clark Kent’s “The Night Before Christmas”
Author: Reetchick
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Clark/Lex
Fandom: Smallville
Disclaimer: All characters are property of DC comics and/or TRB. The poem, of course, is an homage to “A Visit from St. Nicholas,” previously thought to be authored by Clement Moore, recently posited to be the work of Major Henry Livingstone Jr. (Hey, it’s a whole big controversy. Who knew?)
Note: Part of the Slash Advent Calendar Challenge situated at: http://www.kardasi.com/Advent.
Feedback: Oh, please?!?! Really, tell me anything. I'll love it, it'll fit, and I promise not to return it. daga8922@cox.net.
Dedication: How about to the lovely folks at Preyland. You encourage me to keep up with my slavish devotion to All Things Lex. (As if I need encouragement for that. Heh.

Clark Kent's
"The Night Before Christmas"

‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the manse
The townsfolk were trying to get in Lex’s pants.
They’d snuck in at all hours each hoping to make it
To the bedroom where they could then promptly get naked.

We knew nothing of Smallville’s nefarious plot;
When necking, higher brain function often was shot.
With Lex in his tight pants and I in my shorts
We had just settled down to “exchange gifts,” of sorts.

When down in the office there arose such a clatter
I sprang from our bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the first floor I ran –did not fly.
(Indoor aeronautics irritate my sweet guy.)

The moon on the breasts of the half-naked Chlo’
Made me stumble and stutter and say “How did you – whoa –“
Then what to my wondering eyes should appear
But a lust-driven Gabe – hey, who knew he was queer?

Both were headed upstairs – I was starting to twitch
When I noticed Pete, Lana and that Hardwick bitch.
What the hell were they doing? I wanted to freak,
Which would do us no good; so I started to speak.

“Out, Lana! Out, Chloe! Get out of here, Vicky!
You too, Pete and Gabe! Put your pants on – that’s icky!
Get out of our house! No invading in our bed!
Now, go the hell home so I can give Lex some head!”

Well, I should have figured that would not do the trick.
These people were all hot to have Lex’s dick.
They blithely ignored me as they kept on approaching
Our ‘playroom of love’ they would soon be encroaching.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the landing
A voice that was sexy and yet so commanding.
My heart started pounding as I slowly turned ‘round
To see (yes!) my lover, as he stood his ground.

He was wrapped snug in leather from his ankle to waist
I looked forward to later, when I’d both touch and taste.
A matched pair of tasers he held in his fists
And pleasantly said, “Get out now. I insist.”

His eyes – how they glittered! His skin, soft and white
His ass was just begging to get screwed tonight.
His hot, sexy mouth was drawn up like a bow.
How I wanted to watch as it sucked down below.

Not yet! I remembered as I looked straight on down
And saw the stunned faces of half the damn town.
“We won’t go!” they cried out, and they started to run.
“Oh, dammit,” I swore, “this will not be much fun.”

I should have expected that Lex had a plan.
He neatly stepped back and he tripped the first man.
From there it was easy; between Lex and me,
We quickly subdued the unwelcome parties.

Lex spoke not a word but went straight to his work
And zapped the intruders, then turned with a jerk.
He grabbed my left hand and he led me to bed
Saying “They’ll all be fine later. Now, you mentioned some head?”

He sprang into bed; I tore open his fly,
Took his cock in my mouth and began with a sigh.
But I heard him exclaim as I started to suck,
“Clark might save all your asses, but it’s mine that he’ll fuck!”

HARRY/SNAPE

Title: Playing it by Ear
Author: CJK
Feedback Email: lena@warpedcore.net
Pairing: prelude to HP/SS
Rating: G
Series: Harry Potter
Disclaimer: Not my characters, not my money. Only the words belong to me.
Summary: Snippet from a longer story - Harry slowly trying to breach Snape's walls.
Note: Part of the Slash Advent Calendar at http://www.kardasi.com/Advent

PLAYING IT BY EAR
by CJK

The middle of November brought biting cold and heavy, sticky snow, perfect for making castles and snowballs out of. Although it was more than a month before Christmas, the festive cheer started creeping through the castle. Ghosts were caught humming carols, and people were emptying Hogsmeade shops in search for the perfect Christmas present.

It was Friday afternoon, and Harry was huddled in an empty classroom, reading a Transfigurations book Hermione had lent him to study for an upcoming test. The delicate clearing of a throat made him look up from a text describing how to turn piglets into padded footstools.

"I'm afraid my piglet always ran around with a paisley pattern afterwards, in my school days," Dumbledore said and his specs twinkled in the fading sunlight.

Harry stretched. "I find Transfiguration really easy these days. Or a fun challenge."

"Both options are appropriate. But shouldn't you be out helping to defend Mister Weasley's fortress?"

Harry shrugged. "Eventually they'll drag me out, I guess, but I wanted to get a head start on this book first."

The silver buckle on Dumbledore's belt glittered the same colour as his beard. "You remind me of Severus, he is bound to be staying in his dungeons, and not only today."

"What's so special about today, then," Harry grinned impishly. "Is it his birthday or something?"

The afternoon light reflected in Dumbledore's spectacles made it impossible to see his eyes. "Good luck, Mister Potter."

Luck is what Harry needed indeed, half an hour later, and looking into most of Hogsmeade's shops. What does one give someone you don't know all that well - or at all?

In the end he settled for a pretty little letter opener, in the shape of a serpent with tiny emeralds for eyes, and a set of sombre black and white bookmarks with very beautiful line art. The same shop sold him a sheet of silvery wrapping paper, and before he could examine the impulse that had led him shopping he was already halfway back to the castle.

He had two options, employ a house elf or deliver the little parcel himself. The former was impersonal, but safe. The latter was. decidedly Gryffindor. Praying silently to a tribe of Gods he hardly knew the names of, Harry walked down to the dungeons, keeping out of the way of a choir of ghosts that were besieging the main staircase with a fairly strange rendition of "Oh Come All Ye Faithful".

Snape's face had first shown cautious surprise, and then carefully hidden it beneath a familiar sneer. "Yes, Mister Potter?"

Before something could happen, or be said, or be thought, Harry quickly thrust the little silver parcel into Snape's hands. "Happy birthday," he said hurriedly, and almost ran back up the stairs. Some part of him was already wondering what Snape would do with a present from him - flush it down the loo or burn it under a cauldron?

Halfway down the corridor from the common room, the shakes hit.

Harry sank down a wall, huddling into a pile of misery next to a shiny suit of armour, trying to suppress the trembling weakness in his limbs. He'd just given a present. To Snape. A man he barely knew, a man who hated him. A man who used to be a murderer.

"I don't even know him," Harry whispered desperately. "Why the hell did I just do that?"

There was a chuckle from the portrait of an anorexic blonde across the corridor. "Tough luck, dear."

* * *

Saturday morning began with sleet and blazing fireplaces. Harry crawled out of bed and was halfway through his bathroom routine when he realised that he would face Snape at breakfast. Well, not actually face, per se, but they would be in the same room, roughly speaking. slapping himself with a wet towel, Harry glared sternly at the face in the mirror.

"You stop that right now, Potter," he growled. Very quietly, in case Ron or Seamus would hear him from the showers.

Nervously picking at his porridge between Hermione and Neville later on, Harry realised he needn't have worried; Snape was indeed in the same room, but he never even as much as looked at him. Harry let out a long-held breath.

His classes passed with the usual speed and rhythm. Flitwick cast a cheering charm on Ron and so Harry had to endure stupid giggling fits for half the day. Lupin assigned a long essay looking almost apologetic, and McGonagall hovered.

When Harry almost ran into Snape in a third-floor hallway, he didn't think of anything better than a smile and a good evening, leaving the professor looking extremely weirded out.

* * *

In spite, or maybe because of the tense expectations, snowy Christmas mood came late. But come it did and the castle was soon awash in red-green-white decorations, ranging from extremely tasteless (as seen around the Hufflepuff common room) to austerely elegant (in Professor McGonagall's classroom).

Thick heaps of fluffy snow covered every bit of roof, tower and turret, sparkling in the short sunlight or sleeping among dark blue shadows at night. As every year, Professor Flitwick decorated the Great Hall and the main Christmas tree with tiny floating lights that sparkled if you went past. He also got little bunches of mistletoe to float in doorways, giving blushing couples a not-so-very-much-needed excuse to snog while being in the way of basically everyone else.

Professor Sprout covered every more or less static corridor with enchanted holly that had torn half the students' sleeves before someone thought of putting a protective ward on the spiky leaves. Altogether, the spirit of the first Past Voldemort Christmas was barely under control, and nobody minded much.

Harry tried not to think about the reason why a soberly wrapped package found its way into his Christmas shopping. But the birthday present hadn't been too much of a disaster, so he decided to make a habit of it. After all, there weren't that many people, who gave Snape presents, were there?

The Friday afternoon, as the Hogwarts Express carried off all those who weren't staying at school for the holiday, Harry found his way down to the dungeons, noting the lack of decorations on Slytherin territory.

Snape looked up as he came in, expression changing from slight surprise to a frown before settling into the familiar sneer. "Mister Potter. The holidays have officially begun two hours ago, and this means I shall be free from the attentions of you and your schoolmates for the next two weeks. Now state your business and get out."

Harry allowed himself a tiny smile. "Actually, Professor, I was going to ask if you need any help with putting things away for the holidays, and the likes."

There was a startled silence, and then Snape's expression hardened. "Very well. Sort out the ingredients cupboard."

Placing the tight pack of Jobberknoll feathers between the glass of powdered Bicorn horn and a stained phial with something extremely nasty-looking and identified as chopped daisy roots in lead carbonate, Harry sighed under his breath. "You know, Professor, it isn't a prank I'm playing on you, and I haven't even been double dog dared to be here, either."

There was silence, and then the silky voice almost caressed his ears. "Then why are you here, boy?"

Damned if I know, thought Harry, and picked up the dried Bundimun jar.

* * *

END

KIRK/SPOCK

Title: Sardines
Author: Farfalla, webmistress of http://spirk.cosmicduckling.com
RATING: R
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Fandom: Star Trek
Beta: Sawa the Moondroplette :-) Thanks babe! Appreciate it. And thank you Sianna, and thank you my beloved Maoric - the two people who helped put an MPAA rating on the danged thing ;-)
Disclaimer. The entire Trek universe belongs to Paramount and will not suffer much from the poking and prodding of our curious collective imaginations. We mean our beloved characters no harm and think that quite possibly they enjoy the variety ;-)
Note: Part of the Slash Advent Calendar Challenge situated at: http://www.kardasi.com/Advent
Feedback: blueberrysnail at yahoo dot com

SARDINES
by Farfalla

"Hurry, Mr. Spock. Get those computers back on line!"

"Negative, Captain. All systems have shut down." Spock dashed around the tiny two-man shuttlecraft pressing buttons and banging on panels. "We will collide with the asteroid in five point eight--"

"What about manual controls?" Panic flew around in Captain James T. Kirk's head like an angry wasp.

"Captain." Spock looked up from his frantic duties. "*Nothing* in this shuttlecraft is working, except for the life support systems."

"Yes, and they're not going to do us any good in a few minutes. Spock," Kirk said, "if there's no way to get this shuttlecraft to change course, we've got no choice."

"Agreed, Captain." The tall Vulcan strode to the other side of the craft and flung open the storage compartment where the two emergency spacesuits usually resided. He froze.

Kirk appeared at his side. "Spock? What's...."

There was only one suit in the box.

"There's supposed to be two," Jim stated dumbly. "Somebody must have put it in the wrong place. It's.... got to be here somewhere." He broke away from his friend's side and began tearing apart the craft's panels madly.

"Captain, this is the only spacesuit on board this vessel. None of the places you are investigating are big enough to contain an entire Manned Maneuvering Unit." Spock's eyes swept over his beloved Captain, memorizing his golden face sadly. "You must take the suit and abandon this doomed craft immediately."

"No!" Kirk breathed heavily. "You take it, Spock. The Federation needs your great brainpower. You'll be Captain of the Enterprise... take good care of her, Spock."

Spock shook his head. "We have no time to argue, Captain. Please. I do not wish to see you die."

"But I--!"

"The matter is not up for discussion." Spock grabbed the captain's shoulders and tried to force him into the suit. Kirk wriggled around and for a few seconds, they both attempted to push the other one's body into the MMU. Finally, Spock nerve-pinched the captain and tucked his limp body carefully into the spacesuit.

Touching him to this extent for the first and last time, Spock felt the unwept tears running through his veins, tears his Vulcan half could not cry. He and the Captain had shared a special kind of friendship, but he had never been able to express it as well as Jim deserved. Knowing that Kirk was knocked out and wouldn't see, he dared to do in the moments before his own end that simple action that spoke volumes. A tiny, warm, pure little kiss from the Vulcan's lips to the Human's forehead.

One minute sixteen.

The Enterprise would be around within several hours to investigate why her shuttlecraft had never arrived. Tracking the craft's planned trajectory, they would discover the Captain floating in space, suspended in his Manned Maneuvering Unit. He was too small to be picked up on ordinary ship sensors, especially because they weren't going to be on the lookout for a single life-form dangling there in the cosmos. Luckily, both Kirk and Spock had their arms injected with subcutaneous transponders before their mission, in case of a completely unrelated planetside emergency. Spock checked Kirk's wrist to make sure the transponder was in working order.

*What* transponder??

Spock couldn't believe his eyes, or his hands, for that matter. He ran his fingers over the soft tan skin, his worry growing exponentially. Kirk's arm had no transponder. Somehow, in the hustle and bustle of leaving the Enterprise, visiting Sickbay had slipped through the cracks.

Spock's eyes darted around the craft. There was nothing sharp he could cut his arm with to excise his own device and toss it in there with the Captain. His mind immediately jumped to his next idea.

Thirty-four seconds.

Spock pushed the MMU closer to the shuttlecraft doors and, bracing himself and holding his breath, flung them open. He held on to Jim and the spacesuit with arms of tight steel as they were sucked out into the dark black vacuum of space. Silky black hair whipped around his head in the wind of lost air.

Not wasting any of the seconds they had, Spock slipped his own thin body into the suit and forced the seals shut. Once he was safely inside, although completely squished against his unconscious friend, he pulled the small cord near his hand to re-pressurize the inside of the suit. Only then did he breathe again, drinking in the air that was scented with stale spacesuit, and Jim.

As he drifted away from the shuttlecraft, he watched it through the small viewing area. The damaged craft gracefully careened through space, and then noiselessly collided with the life-threatening asteroid in a sort of catastrophic ballet. Silently, the craft exploded, sending a wave of pebbles out into its immediate vicinity. Spock felt the shock of the explosion bump the MMU into a slightly new course, and hoped that the Enterprise would still be able to discover her two highest ranking officers floating in space. They were out of range of the transponder in Spock's arm as of the moment. There was enough air in the suit for both of them to last approximately twelve hours. There was usually enough for a full day, but there were two creatures breathing in the one-man suit.

Spock shifted to a slightly more comfortable position. He had packed himself sideways into the suit and now he wriggled around so that he now faced Kirk. The viewscreen was now to one side of them. Through it, Spock stared at the stars outside, and counted the minutes until his friend regained consciousness.

After some time, a small moan attracted his attention. Kirk was coming around. "Spock?" was his first word. He lifted his eyebrows in amusement. "You certainly found an interesting solution to our... argument."

"As you humans are fond of saying, necessity is the mother of invention." Spock spoke softly. The two men were pressed together like sardines, and more than whispers wasted air and was not necessary.

"So that's a neck pinch," said Jim. He tried to move the arm opposite the offended shoulder, but found it pressed too tightly against Spock's hip. "My shoulder hurts."

"I shall endeavor to mend what I have damaged." Spock struggled to move his own hand up to Kirk's shoulder, which he carefully and tenderly massaged.

Kirk smiled. He had always found comfort in his dear Vulcan friend. "I'm so glad you squeezed yourself in here, Spock. I don't want to think about what my life would be like without you." He felt so safe, even floating in the blankness of space, since his friend was here with him.

"I will always be by your side."

"You're not at my side now, are you, Mr. Spock? You're at my front!" Kirk grinned at his own joke.

"Indeed," said Spock, cocking his head and lifting an eyebrow. "Captain, why were you not injected with a subcutaneous transponder?"

"There wasn't time. Bones had just gotten the machine fixed when we were leaving on the shuttlecraft," said Kirk. "We had to get to the planet on time for negotiations, or else the Hippocastanaceans would have taken it as a personal offense and blown us up."

"You might have died anyway," said Spock soberly.

"Well, luckily, I didn't, Mr. Spock." Kirk smiled a tiny sheepish smile. "Twice I didn't, thanks to you."

"You are my friend. There was nothing else I could have done." Spock's eyes were full of simple love.

"Isn't it.... painful for you to be touching a human?" Kirk knew Spock's race were touch-telepaths. Both of them were taking comfort in the silent mental hum of each other's close presence, but both minds were politely guarded and not explored by the other.

"It would never pain me to be close to you, Jim."

"Is that your way of saying, 'there's no one else I'd rather be stranded in space stuck together like slices of cheese with'?" Jim teased.

"Captain, I believe that is a privilege reserved for you alone," Spock retorted.

Jim smirked. "I'm flattered. Thank goodness it was me, then, and not Bones."

"Indeed," said Spock. "It is possible that you are slightly more slender than the doctor."

"Oh, is THAT all!" Jim teased. "How long until the Enterprise comes looking for us?" He was mildly enjoying being suspended in space, and almost suspended in time, where the peace would be undisturbed and the only company the pleasant counterpoint heartbeat of his dearest friend. And it was a rare and unfamiliar sensation to be so physically *close* to Spock when one of them wasn't in danger of dying. Not that even then, in those desperate times, were their bodies ever fit together as completely and tightly as this. Thrilling, almost....?

"Approximately three hours, forty-five minutes, and--"

"How do you do that?" Jim interrupted.

"Do what?"

"How do you always know what time it is, to the second?"

"I am a Vulcan," explained Spock.

"Ah," said Jim. "All right. What's our situation."

"We are, at present, floating in space, occupying a single-man suit with enough air for the next ten point one five hours. Our shuttlecraft collided with the asteroid and left only pebbles." Starlight from outside the viewscreen glinted from Spock's dark eyes. "We have no gravity, and extremely little room."

"I... gathered that, Mr. Spock." Jim sighed. "What about the treaty we signed down there on Hippocastanea? Did that... blow up in the shuttlecraft?"

"You had put the disk in your pocket before we lifted off from the planet," reminded the Vulcan. "I am assuming it is still there."

Jim patted his side rather awkwardly, since he could barely move his arm. "Yeah, it's safe. Good thing, too. I must have forgotten what I'd done with it, once the computer problems started on board the craft. Do we have any kind of record of those malfunctions so Engineering can analyze them and tell us what happened?"

"Signals were transmitted and will be picked up by the Enterprise when she arrives," said Spock. "Unfortunately, I was not able to notify them of our escape from the vessel."

"Well, hopefully Scotty will be able to pick up the signal from your transponder," said Jim. "Otherwise we'll be drifting here together forever." A tiny smile flitted across his face. Spock did not say anything, but instead continued to gaze into Jim's eyes. "As it is, we probably only have about four hours to wait, right?"

"That is correct, Captain."

"Four hours of not being able to move," remarked Jim.

"You have not lost the ability to move your hands from side to side," Spock pointed out. Kirk had been able to check his pocket for the disk, and was now trying to find a comfortable place for his hands to rest that would not offend his friend.

"And we can still talk, thank God."

"I am pleased that you regained consciousness so quickly," said Spock. "Your conversation is most welcome."

"That nerve pinch was an... interesting experience," said Jim. "I don't think I lost consciousness completely, as a matter of fact. Probably because I was trying to fight you at the time."

"You were, most illogically, trying to sacrifice yourself for my sake," said Spock. "You are my Captain, and my friend, and I must protect your life at all costs to my own."

Words like that were like the soft embrace of silk on Jim's heart.

Jim's voice grew softer. "Spock... while I was out... you kissed my forehead."

Spock's lush eyelashes hid his downcast eyes. "You are my friend, my t'hy'la. At the time I believed I would never see you again. I thought that my action would express my thoughts better than any words I have encountered." He glanced out the little window, waiting for Kirk's answer. "I am sorry if anything I have done made you feel uncomfortable. I assure you I will not repeat my actions."

"Spock?" Jim leaned his face a little closer to Spock's pointed ear, which now faced him since the Vulcan had turned away. "Can I kiss you?"

Spock's velvet face revealed nothing, but he whispered only, "Jim." It was permission.

Jim moved his head over a little further and placed a tender kiss at the base of the Vulcan's cheek, just next to the edge of the mouth. An encyclopedic definition of the exact nature and breadth of the unique love he had for this creature could not have conveyed more pure feeling and knowledge than that simple brief touch.

Spock turned his head back to face Jim. "Love..." The whispered word escaped from his lips. "You love me. I felt it." The mental shields that they had once thought necessary because of the extreme nature of their physical contact were melting away like dry ice, and a deep, pure affection appeared magically in its misty smoke. "That is what it means. Nothing else is... logical."

"Once more?" Jim's lips were almost already touching Spock's at this point.

"Captain, I am yours." And then they kissed. The tiny suit filled up completely with the swimming thoughts of oneness as Kirk's experienced lips and tongue gently taught Spock how to express his love even more eloquently.

Jim's hands couldn't move very far, but they *could* move sideways. They snaked around between Spock and the back of the suit and held his butt firmly. Jim kneaded the other's buttocks and a low moan escaped into the kiss.

Their bodies had already been welded together by the conditions of their maroonment, but now they ground together in a cooperatively rhythmic dance of passion. It was impossible not to notice the twin arousals that had sprung up in the place where their bodies met.

Kirk and Spock simultaneously decided that it was time to investigate exactly *how* far they could move their hands. . . .

Four and a half hours later, Scott waited nervously in the transporter room as the spacesuit materialized on the pad. The shuttlecraft's fate had been determined by the radiation levels and the scattering of pebbles and debris, and scanners had only been able to locate the signals of one spacesuit floating in the void. Bones' face had gone white when he heard the news, and he muttered only, "It's Spock. Jim never got his transponder put in." He stood next to Scotty, heart heavy at the apparent loss of his Midwestern friend.

The spacesuit beamed aboard successfully, and then whatever was inside collapsed in a heap from the shock of the sudden influence of gravity. Scott and McCoy rushed to open it, and were stunned, puzzled, and confused to find inside not only Spock but the Captain as well, dripping with sweat and with their arms around each other.

"Captain! You're alive! Oh, thank Heavens." Scott helped pull the Captain out of the suit.

"You saved his life," remarked Bones, extending a similar helping hand to Commander Spock. “Thank you.”

"The only logical--"

"Captain! What happened? Ye've got bite marks or bruises or something on your neck!" Scott was peering curiously at Kirk's collar in fascinated horror. "What did they do ta ya down there on Hippopotamus or whatevertheycallit?"

Spock's ears turned green.

"Mr. Scott," Kirk said in a businesslike tone. "Have you determined the reason for the shuttlecraft's computer malfunction?"

"We're working on it, sir," said Scott. Forgetting about the bite-marks, he happily left to return to his station.

Bones lifted his eyebrows at Kirk and Spock. "You didn't have those hickeys when you left the planet, Jim, I saw you on the viewscreen."

Spock looked at the wall behind Bones' head. Kirk grinned. "And?"

Bones looked at Spock, then at Jim, then at Spock's uniform, which was oh-so-slightly messed up to, dare we say it? human levels. "I'll see you two in... a couple of hours down in Sickbay to be checked out... okay?" He winked at them as he left them alone.

"I miss being part of your body," Jim murmured when McCoy had left.

"I believe we should retire to your quarters," Spock pointed out. "Floating in space may have served a certain 'romantic' purpose, to a human, but beds are more efficiently designed for--"

"What are you going to do to me... Mr. Spock?" Jim teased.

The shining eyes said everything.

Note: 'Hippocastanaceae' is the scientific name of the buckeye family (trees that grow in North America). Farfalla is a botanist. :-)

SPIKE/XANDER

Title: Hallelujah
Author: Witch Hazel
RATING: NC-17 for explicit sexual situations, violence and angst
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Fandom: “Buffy the Vampire Slayer”
Disclaimer: I did not create nor do I have any ownership of authority over any of the characters in this story. The world of “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” is the sole domain of Joss Whedon. The lyrics to the song Hallelujah were written by Leonard Cohen, and originally appeared on the album Various Positions (copyright 1984, Columbia/Sony). Since then, it's been covered by a number of artists, including Rufus Wainwright on the Shrek soundtrack, John Cale (on I'm Your Fan, the first of two Leonard Cohen tribute albums), and Bono (on Tower of Song, the second tribute album).
Note: Part of the Slash Advent Calendar Challenge situated at:
http://www.kardasi.com/Advent
Feedback welcome at: jaiken2002@aol.com

HALLELUJAH

Now I've heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do you?

If Xander closed his eyes he could almost believe it was Anya. The violence, the strength, the passion. Lips sucked and teeth bit his neck and chest while fingernails clawed down his back. “Oh, God! Ah…”

It goes like this
The fourth, the fifth
The minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah.

“Yes!” His hands grasped the mattress cover, tangling it into submission.

Hallelujah, Hallelujah.

His cock swelled and rose, searching for contact. Finding the lean, smooth stomach, Xander bucked against the cool skin.

Hallelujah, Hallelujah.

He grabbed a handful of hair – short hair that was definitely not Anya’s. Xander was too far gone to care. He pushed Spike’s head forcefully down toward his cock, needing to be taken in, swallowed, sucked, drained.

But Spike fought back. With his superior strength he pushed up on Xander’s body to take his lips. Forcing them apart he fucked Xander’s mouth with his tongue, moving in and out violently until he heard a moan of submission. “That’s right,” Spike laughed. “You know I have what you need, baby.”

Your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you.

Xander moaned again and sighed. He hated it when Spike was right. But he needed this. Needed Spike. Needed him now.

He reached for Spike’s cock, as hard as his own, and squeezed the base unmercifully.

“Oh, yeah,” Spike groaned. “Oh, yeah!”

She tied you
To a kitchen chair
She broke your throne, and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah.

Xander shifted so that Spike's cock rubbed against his own. Both cocks strained for more contact. Spike thrust into his hand and Xander stroked him roughly.

Hallelujah, Hallelujah.

Spike threw his head back, eyes closed, moaning softly. Xander licked the soft, white neck, then moved in to suck cruelly over the jugular vein until Spike cried out wordlessly.

Hallelujah, Hallelujah.

“I want you in me. Now.”

Spike’s hoarse laugh was the only reply. With one deft motion he flipped Xander over onto his stomach and pressed him face down into the mattress.

Baby, I've been here before.
I know this room, I've walked this floor.
I used to live alone before I knew you.

Spike held Xander down so strongly that he could barely breathe and his cock hurt like hell pressed so hard into his own stomach. Still, Xander felt no desire to resist, willing himself to lie motionless as Spike licked his way down his spine.

Yeah I've seen your flag on the marble arch,
But listen, love is not some kind of victory march,
No it's a cold and it's a very broken Hallelujah.

Spike shifted position and Xander raised his ass up into the air as he felt Spike’s cold tongue rimming him. Spike let his saliva drip onto and into Xander’s ass as he thrust his tongue deep into the hole. In and out, tasting him, wetting him, driving them both into a frenzy.

Hallelujah, Hallelujah.

Spike raised himself up onto his knees and pulled Xander to a kneeling position, ass up, face in the pillow. He moved in and butted the tip of his cock to Xander’s asshole, applying only slight pressure.

“Come on, damn it! Do it!”

And with one vicious thrust Spike buried his cock inside Xander.

Hallelujah, Hallelujah.

Xander screamed.

There was a time you let me know
What's really going on below,
Ah but now you never show it to me, do you?

Spike pulled out entirely, and when he drove his cock back into the tight opening Xander’s screams turned to whimpers. Spike found a rhythm, rocking in and out, pushing in as deep and hard as he could, and soon Xander was begging for more.

“Yes! Oh, God… So good. Harder. Yes! Oh, yes!”

Yeah but I remember, yeah when I moved in you,
And the holy dove, she was moving too,
Yes every single breath that we drew was Hallelujah.

Spike’s ferocity, his need to do consensual harm--the only harm that didn’t make his head explode in pain--eased as the sheer physical pleasure Xander’s body gave him took over. This was good. No need to break this beautiful man. Only an irresistable need to love him, to fuck him, to make him come.

Hallelujah, Hallelujah.

His movements gentled. Still deep and strong, still hard and forceful, but designed to please and arouse Xander, not hurt him. In and out. Plunging into Xander’s body, stroking Xander’s prostate with his cock, making Xander scream again.

Hallelujah, Hallelujah.

Screams of pleasure replaced screams of pain. To Xander, they were equally good. Pain or pleasure, it didn’t matter. As long as it made him forget everything except this. Only the physical sensation. He screamed again.

Maybe there's a God above,
As for me, all I've ever seemed to learn from love
Is how to shoot at someone who outdrew you.

The power he had over Xander’s body sent a rush through Spike, and he came with one mighty thrust. Now their screams mingled, becoming one ecstatic sound drowning out all memory, all but this moment.

Yeah but it's not a complaint that you hear tonight,
It's not the laughter of someone who claims to have seen the light
No it's a cold and it's a very lonely Hallelujah.

Still buried to the balls in his lover, Spike reached around Xander’s hips to grasp his swollen cock. With ragged breath, Xander laughed manically while Spike jerked him off.

Hallelujah, Hallelujah.

A wail of “Yes, God, yes!” escaped his lips as he came onto his own stomach and into Spike’s cold, cold hand.

Hallelujah, Hallelujah.

The sound of carollers drifted through the night air in a twisted, mocking counterpoint to the depraved joy the lovers had shared.

I did my best, it wasn't much.
I couldn't feel, so I learned to touch.
I've told the truth, I didn't come all this way to fool you.

Xander sobbed uncontrollably. Spike just held him and stroked his hair. Maybe crying would make Xander feel better, but Spike didn’t need to feel better. He didn’t need to feel at all. They had this. It was enough. For now it was enough.

Yeah even though it all went wrong
I'll stand right here before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my lips but Hallelujah.

Hallelujah, Hallelujah.

END

JIM/BLAIR

Title: Lupines and felines
Author/pseudonym: Kata Avalon
Fandom: Sentinel
Pairing: Jim/Blair
Rating: R
E-mail address for feedback: kata_avalon@yahoo.co.uk
Other websites: http://kavalon.moodyblusr.com
Disclaimers: Not mine, but I’m working on it.
Notes: Not much of a plot
Summary: Too short for such
Warnings: AU (or maybe not)

***

/This is ridiculous./

A grey wolf crept amongst the vibrant bushes and trees of the great forest, cursing under its breath.

/I should just turn back and stop acting like a lovesick cub./

The wolf loped across a sunny meadow. The heady fragrance of summer flowers dominated the air.

/I’m the senior apprentice of old Surefoot, for crying out loud. I should have *some* dignity. I should take my position into account as Blacktail keeps telling me./

The wolf could hear the tinkling of the small brook as it neared the border of the lupine and feline territories. Under a fallen tree trunk, around a grandfatherly oak and the brook came into view.

A sleek black panther was sitting on its haunches under a young willow by the brook. The wolf’s heart started to beat in a faster rhythm and it was practically panting. Seeing the lazy grin coming into bloom on its lover’s face and noticing the happiness evoked by the wolf’s arrival creeping into the blue eyes of the beloved soothed away the irritation.

/Okay, I admit. I’m a lovesick cub, but I’m a *happy* lovesick cub./

END

MISCELLANEOUS

Title: Mistletoe
Author: Kelandris the Mad
RATING: Nearly G, but PG-13 for the drug mentions and the kissing
Pairing: Jay/Bob
Fandom: View Askewniverse, general
Disclaimer. The usual--Kevin Smith is godlike in his ability to ignore the insignificant. Or maybe it’s just that we keep insisting that he’s hung like a horse.
Note: Part of the Slash Advent Calendar Challenge situated at:
http://www.kardasi.com/Advent
Feedback: kelandris@drakmail.net
Warnings: Language, of course. Jay uses bad words. Plus this is a kissing story. Giggling, brief m/m interaction, mention of drugs, the usual.
Author’s notes: This was inspired by the cover of the first holiday issue of the Clerks comic.

“Mistletoe”
by Kelandris the Mad

The giggling rose in volume, and Jay had just about fucking had it.

“What the hell you laughin’ at?” He scowled, crossing his arms across his chest so tightly that he nearly crushed a Romulan warbird dangling from a bicep. He stood by the big tree, decorated tip to trunk in joints, cloves, 'shrooms and little airport bottles of alcohol. God help them all if the cops busted the house.

Kina didn’t seem too worried, though. She circulated merrily, wearing a little flip-skirt in red with white trim, and not much else, pulling on a longneck Dos Equis and smiling wickedly at her guests. She’d asked everyone to dress up for the holiday bash. And she was the one who’d started giggling at Jay.

Silent Bob, true to his name, said nothing. He stood to one side, large and resplendent in black, dark red and white--the red and white of the Santa suit underneath his trademark black trench. The Santa beard was pushed down off his outfit so he wouldn’t light it on fire. He thought for a moment, looking around, and then looked back at Jay.

All right, for Jay the outfit was a little off his norm. This was a kid who generally liked to drown in layers upon layers, never revealing anything beyond his knees and his hands. Now he stood by the tree with big Vulcan points pasted over his ears, wrapped in Christmas lights, dressed in a torn mesh T, black denim cut-offs, and torn black fishnets. Here and there he’d had Bob attach ornaments--the warbird, which at this point had a broken nacelle, the Enterprise in three incarnations, little figures of Spock and Kirk and Odo.

He’d even tied tinsel into the mesh at his shoulders. It was kind of stunning in its own way. And he was wearing fishnets. Bob turned away, scanning the room for something else to do. Because even torn, they clung to his calves, outlining them, creating some odd impulses that Bob didn’t want, just yet, to think through.

He looked around again. Nope. Room still laughing. He dared a look back. Jay’s hands were now fisting at his sides.

“You fuckers better tell me what the fuck is goin’ on--”

And then Bob got it. Oh, dear God--he *could not* laugh, Jay would kill him. But he couldn’t pull him away, either. He looked up at the ball of dried mistletoe, decorated with festive ribbon. It hung directly over Jay’s head.

Shit.

He took his last puff of the cigarette, exhaling through the side of his mouth, and sighed. Loudly. Audibly. Stubbing the cig out in the nearest ashtray, he shook his head, shoving his hands in the pockets of the trench. Little blond troublemaker, and now how the hell was he going to get him out of *this* mess…

He froze. An idea had crossed his brain, and left rapidly, chased by screaming neurons that flung themselves after him, regardless of their own safety. No. No. *Can’t* do that. Jay would fucking *kill* him, and he *knew* the boy could, he’d seen him fight--

But. Bob looked up. Mistletoe.

Hmm. He *might*, just *might*, be able to pull this off. Under the pretext. Point it out to Jay and all.

Maybe he’d have to duck a little, first…

Tossing his head, squaring his shoulders, he ambled over to where Jay stood, trembling with his rage. He moved with an utter calm assurance that was completely faked. Finally, he stood in front of Jay, shaking his head.

“*What*, tons-o-fun, I *ain’t* in the mood for guessin’ games--”

And Bob pulled his hands from his pockets, placed them on either side of Jay’s lean face, pulled him close and kissed him.

Just for a moment, Jay was stiff and unyielding in his arms. Then he yelped, and twitched, his hips bucking against Bob’s just long enough for him to evaluate that his interest might be returned. Bob kissed him long enough to make the point, not long enough to make the party laugh harder, and then stepped back.

“Motherfuck…” Jay breathed. He looked--unhinged, now, as if all his strings had been cut and he was dangling in place, off-kilter, with no visible means of support left. “What the…?”

Bob pointed up, waiting until Jay’s stunned face rotated, peering at the ceiling. He blinked for a few moments, looking at the mistletoe ball, teal eyes wide and bright as stars.

Then he blinked, straightening, and Bob sighed, the corners of his mouth twitching. Crisis averted. Wonderful. He tapped out another cig from the pack, lighting it with a practiced flick of his lighter, falling back into the crowd as Jay stretched out his arms.

“Lay-*dees*! Your Jay has *arrived*, baby girls, we are ready and *open* for business!” He waggled his hips suggestively, humping the air. “Who’s up for a little deep Jay action?”

As usual, the girls in the party were split. The older ones, including Kina, made disgusted sounds nearly in unison, and turned and walked away, while the younger set giggled and cooed and approached Jay from all sides.

Bob leaned against a wall, watching his roommate drown in scented flesh. Let him have his fun now. Oh, were they going to have a talk when they got home.

Or…maybe not. Preserve the air of mystery a little longer. Maybe they’d just have another kiss.

Silent Bob laughed under his breath and went to the kitchen for a beer.

END
************
Kelandris the Mad
who’s up for eggnog, then?