Clark grinned, flopping down onto the cold ground.

Lex towered over him, raising one skeptical eyebrow. "You expect me to sit on the ground?"

"Don't be such a grump." He took off his jacket and draped it on the snow. "Come on."

Clark settled the two plastic cups he was holding and pulled Lex down next to him. Smiled as he titled his head to give Lex a slow, lingering kiss.

"Feeling warmer?"

"Mmm."

"Good." He thrust one of the drinks into Lex's hand.

"You seriously want me to drink this."

"This is the best thing about winter." Clark grinned happily like an overgrown puppy that just got a treat.

Lex frowned suspiciously at the dubious contents in the clear plastic cup. "Slurpees?"

Still grinning. "Slurpees. In a snow-filled field. Nothing but pure white on the ground as far as the eye can see. Stars in the cloudless sky happily twinkling down at you."

Lex shook his head. Why would anyone want to freeze their asses off? He paid a shitload for state-of-the-art heating, so why was he sitting out here with Clark, adding to his coldness by drinking frozen syrup that didn't even have alcohol in it. Wondered what the odds were that Clark would have something he could spike the drink with.

"Try it." Clark had an arm around him, happily drinking the concoction.

"Explain the part about the Slurpee again."

Clark smiled happily at the open field. "Slurpees are good anytime of the year. But it's perfect in the winter, when it's cold enough outside so that it doesn't melt."

"You're insane. You know that, right?" Trust him to find and date the one teenage, gay alien in Kansas who had a fetish for fucking freezing his (and Lex's) ass off.

Clark simply smiled even more before leaning in to kiss him. Then wordlessly turned back to stare out into the snow and drink his Slurpee.

Lex chuckled. Well, at least Clark was happy. He looked down at his drink and took an experimental suck. Fuck. You couldn't drink this shit. You had to eat it. Frowned.

"Something wrong with your Slurpee?" Clark was staring at him.

"I need a spoon for this."

Clark laughed lightly before pulling the straw out of his cup, waving what looked like a little spoon on the tip of the straw. Huh.

"Haven't you had a Slurpee before?"

"No." Lex Luthor drank Ty Nant and 30-year-old scotch from a microbrewery in the Swiss Alps and Kristal when he's tired of his Dom Perignon. Not... this.

"And you say that I had a deprived childhood?!"

Clark chuckled lightly as he leaned back to look at the sky.

Lex poked his drink experimentally. This was not what he had expected to do tonight. He thought he would be engaging in a little food, a little alcohol... a lot of sex.

Clark had showed up at his house earlier in the night, bouncing on his heels in excitement. Barely giving Lex the opportunity to grab his jacket and scarf off the peg before dragging him to the Kent truck. Carefully avoiding any real answers as Lex grilled him about their destination.

Finally, they had ended up in some anonymous field. Sitting in the fucking snow. Not what Lex had planned for the night. His feet were cold, his hands were very cold, fuck, even his head was cold.

"My head is cold."

Clark turned to look at him. Then started groping his jacket underneath Lex.

"What are you looking for? You don't need an excuse to grope my ass, you know."

Clark laughed, giving Lex's ass a firm squeeze before pulling out a toque from under him. Oh, no.

"Hell will freeze over first."

"I thought it already did." Clark grinned and jerked his head at the field before them.

Lex Luthor does not wear green and yellow toques that have blue puffs on its tip. "No."

"Stop being a baby, Lex."

Lex tried squirming out of Clark's iron clad grasp.

"You're going to bruise yourself with all that wriggling, Lex."

"Stoppit!"

"You stop it!" Finally, Clark got the toque on him. With a firm wag of his finger, Clark scolded him like he was a little child. "Don't take it off."

Lex sighed in resignation. There was no arguing with a Kent. Any of them. Could never get your way.

At least Clark had shifted over so that Lex was between his legs. Mmm. Warm, hard body against his back. And he grudgingly admittedly (only silently to himself) that the toque was nice. He felt warmer now. Probably looked like a fucking idiot though. Glanced around him surreptitiously. No need to worry. No one would be enough of an idiot to be out here when it was this fucking cold.

No one except Clark Kent and his lapdog of a boyfriend, Lex Luthor. He groaned inwardly. When had become so whipped?! He was a fucking embarrassment.

"Are we aiming to become Popsicles or can we actually leave at some point?"

Clark wrapped his arms tighter around Lex. "Five more minutes."

"You know, Clark. We could be in my bed right now. And I could be on my knees, sucking you until you could see stars without having to be outside."

Lex smiled in triumph when Clark groaned softly.

"Five more minutes." Very resolutely.

"Or alternatively, you could be on your hands and knees and I could be buried balls deep in your ass."

Lex could almost feel Clark's resolve faltering as he bucked up slightly into Lex.

"Or we could get into a sixty-ni--"

He stopped short as his eyes caught a star shooting across the sky. Then another.

"Shooting stars." What the-- Then it occurred to him. The meteor shower. Of course.

He could feel Clark's grin on his scalp. "When I was younger, I used to wonder if perhaps the meteor showers were my birth parents coming for me. Or maybe just their way of saying hi."

"Is that why we're sitting out here?"

"Well. Kinda." Clark sounded almost sheepish.

He tilted back onto Clark's shoulder as they watched stars blazing across the sky, crisscrossing in seemingly random patterns. Lex tracked each one carefully, trying to figure out if there was reason in each star's trajectory. Gave up when he figured that Mother Nature didn't exactly have the best track record in making sense. So he just turned his brain off and enjoyed the most magnificent show of fireworks he had ever witnessed, more so than anything humankind could conceive.

Then they gasped simultaneously as bright red, green and blue curtains of light seemed to pour into the sky. Random buckets of paint splashed haphazardly, as though someone couldn't get the colours up fast enough. Occasionally, a bright shooting star would race across the shimmering lights. Nature outdoing its own splendid grandeur.

For what seemed like hours, they sat quietly in awe, watching the playful colours glistening above them, the odd brave star streaking through the sheen. Then Clark stood up, pulling Lex up with him.

"Come on. I have to go to school tomorrow and you have to work."

Lex twisted around to face Clark, slipping his arms around Clark's waist.

"Thank you."

Clark kissed him gently. "You're welcome."

"Let's do this again next year."

"With Slurpees?" Clark sounded so hopeful.

To my knowledge, there are no meteor showers in the middle of winter. The Perseid meteor shower did trigger an aurora in 2000, though. Also, I might have gotten a lot of little facts wrong because you know what, I've never seen a meteor shower or an aurora before. I do, however, sit out in the snow with Slurpees during the winter. *g*

So, sorry about being factually incorrect (hey, if the SV writers do it...), but if you want to get all nitpicky on me, you know that Clark and Lex are no-- mppph.

HARRY/SNAPE

Title: The Best Christmas Ever
Author: Diana Williams
RATING: PG
Pairing: Severus Snape/Harry Potter
Fandom: Harry Potter
Disclaimer: I don't own them. If I did, I'd be basking on a Caribbean island right now.
Spoilers and Notes: Not any, really. This takes place in a vague future time.
Note: Part of the Slash Advent Calendar Challenge situated at: http://www.kardasi.com/Advent
Feedback: Diana@slashcity.com

"Are you *sure* you can't spend Christmas with us?" Ron had asked. "It's been *ages* since we had a proper visit - and you haven't seen much of little Harry, either." Hermione had added her voice to Ron's, in between hushing the baby and crooning lullabyes, but Harry had been adamant. He'd just Apparated in to drop off their presents and wish them a Happy Christmas, had several more stops to make, really had to rush off again. They'd looked disappointed but hadn't made any effort to persuade him, and it was with a profound sense of relief that he escaped from the bedlam that was the Weasley-Granger household.

"Can't you change your plans?" Sirius had said. Or rather, his head had said, from Harry's fireplace. "We've got plenty of room, and Moony's making your favorite dessert for tomorrow." Harry had smiled affectionately at his godfather, had firmly repeated his refusal, and had asked Sirius to wish Remus a Happy Christmas for him. Sirius had wished him the same, and then had vanished to hunt up something Remus needed for decorating the tree. Harry had grinned and shook his head. Sirius was so wrapped…

Harry had spent Christmas Eve puttering around the living room of his small cottage. Several parchments from old friends littered the tables, chairs, and his desk, cards from friends and classmates, as well as an invitation to join the Hogwarts staff for Christmas. Harry had owled his refusal to Professor Dumbledore last week. Some of his happiest Christmases had been spent at Hogwarts, but he didn't regret his decision not to attend this year.

The phone had rung late in the evening, its shrill tones piercing the quiet of the cottage. Harry had frowned; he only had the Muggle contraption so that his agent could reach him but surely he wouldn't be calling this late on Christmas Eve? His galleys weren't due back for another two weeks, and the next book was well under way, so there was no reason for a call. A few other people had the number, but he'd already spoken to most of them by more usual Wizarding means.

It had turned out to be Seamus, who had sounded more than a little tipsy as he entreated Harry to join a few of the "old gang" for a proper pub crawl. Harry had refused, citing his preference to sit home by his fire tonight, and Seamus had laughed and asked if he was expecting Santa to drop by. Harry had grinned and replied, "Something like that" before hanging up and returning the cottage to its normal quiet.

And now he was sitting in his living room, in front of the fireplace, staring into its unlit depths contemplatively. Wood for a fire had been laid and just awaited lighting, and Harry sat cross- legged on a comfortable blanket in front of it. A bottle of champagne sat chilling nearby, and in the background soft music - non- Christmas - was playing. All that was needed now was 'Santa'.

At the stroke of midnight, there was a sudden flash in the fireplace and a figure appeared. Unlike the Jolly Elf, this one was lean and dressed in black, and he sneered slightly as he stepped onto the hearth.

"Well, Mr. Potter. Waiting up for Santa Claus, are we?"

Harry tilted his head and looked up at his former Potions teacher with an innocent look. "Of course. I've been a very good boy this year."

Severus Snape stepped down onto the blanket and gestured at the fireplace, setting the wood there ablaze. "That would be a novel occurrence," he said dryly.

"Although the bad boys seem to be the ones who have all the fun," Harry commented thoughtfully, "not to mention getting the best presents."

Snape removed his outer robe, sat down on the blanket beside Harry, and raised his eyebrows. "Indeed, Mr. Potter?"

"Oh yes," Harry purred. He pushed the other man down onto his back and crawled up to straddle his thighs. "Lumps…of coal," he said, and his hand ghosted down Snape's chest to run teasingly over the front of his lover's suddenly-tight trousers. "And switches."

Snape groaned under Harry's teasing ministrations. "I had no idea you were so kinky, Harry." He wrapped an arm around Harry and pulled him down so he could ravish his lover's mouth.

Harry laughed softly and nipped at his lover's lower lip. "There are a *lot* of things you don't know about me…yet. That's what makes unwrapping Christmas presents so much fun." His hands swiftly moved down the front of the white shirt, unbuttoning and pushing the fabric aside. He bent down to run his tongue across the suddenly taut nipples and then grinned at Snape. "Mmm. Peppermint flavored."

"They are not," Snape said indignantly, then rolled so that he had his young lover pinned under him. "And I thought that I was supposed to unwrapping *my* present."

Harry waggled his eyebrows at Snape. "I don't know - have you been good this year?"

Snape smirked. "I have been *more* than good. I've been incredible. And if you've forgotten, Mr. Potter, I suppose I shall have to demonstrate that fact…again."

Harry grinned and pulled his lover down for another intense kiss as he wrapped his legs around the slim hips. Yes, it looked like this was going to be the best Christmas ever.

The End

KIRK/SPOCK

Title: Your Place or Mine
Author: Liz Ellington
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Fandom: Star Trek TOS
Disclaimer: Paramount owns everything but these words
Note: Part of the Slash Advent Calendar Challenge situated at: http://www.kardasi.com/Advent
Feedback: liz at allslash.org

The fal tor pan had given him back himself--if still an incomplete version of it--but not his control, not the barriers built brick by mental brick over decades of living with humans . . . with one particular human.

Jim circulated through the party-goers in the Vulcan embassy's garden with practiced ease, while Spock watched from an inconspicuous corner. After a few moments, though, it struck him that 'practiced ease' was exactly what he was seeing--an experienced man working a crowd with skill, but without much enthusiasm. He moved toward Kirk with the same sense of urgency that had brought him to Kirk's side in the past, in the face of more obvious dangers. He had no idea what he would do when he reached Kirk, only that he should be with his captain.

The woman with whom Kirk was speaking became aware of Spock's unswerving course toward them, and the animation in her face died away. What remained was irritation--irritation overlaid with nosy curiosity. Kirk turned and swept Spock in as though he'd been expecting the interruption.

"Spock, you know Dr. Ryka?"

Spock did. He inclined his head. Dr. Ryka's lips twitched. Kirk glanced back and forth between them, looking unexpectedly amused.

"Well, Louise," he said, "I think we've talked that subject to death, don't you?"

She surrendered gracefully, at least, touching Kirk's hand as though to make some kind of point before moving away. Kirk's other hand came up to rest at the base of Spock's spine, a gesture as possessive and obvious as it was apparently casual. The habits of a lifetime, that would once have resulted in, at most, a questioning eyebrow, had evaporated with the disintegration of Spock's mind in the radiation chamber. He jolted in astonishment.

"Do you mind?" Kirk asked softly.

"You know what people will think," Spock managed to get out between lips stiff with shock.

"Do you mind?" Kirk asked again, his meaning clear.

Spock turned to look at him. Kirk gazed back with that particularly enigmatic expression he could always summon when he wished, but in his mind Spock could hear Don't turn away, oh don't, please . . .

Very slowly he relaxed. Jim's face softened into a smile. Some inner demon whispered into Spock's ear, and he raised his arm over their bodies and laid it casually across Kirk's shoulders. Kirk's smile froze in place, and then thawed into pleased acknowledgement. "Checkmate," he whispered, with an outright grin. "I don't think I'd better try to top that."

"Not here, at any rate," Spock shot back, and watched in fascination as Kirk's face flamed nearly as red as his uniform. Kirk's mind flooded with joyous hope, and the rest of his body threatened to embarrass them both.

Spock took pity on him. "Perhaps we should go," he suggested.

Kirk moved away enough that Spock had to remove his arm from Kirk's shoulder. Kirk promptly took his hand, and in the sudden lull of conversation that accompanied the curious looks they were getting, asked sweetly, "Your place, or mine?"

There was a muffled gasp or two, but the envy on most faces made up for the frank stares. Spock considered the question, and then activated the transponder on his wrist, setting it for a three foot radius.

"Ours, I think," he said calmly, just before they materialized inside the new Enterprise, and saw from the wide grin on Kirk's face that it had been the only logical choice.

END

JIM/BLAIR

Title: Set in Stone
Author: Polly Bywater
Fandom: The Sentinel
Pairing: Jim/Blair
Rating: NC-17 for SEX between MEN
Author's Website: http://www.geocities.com/polly_bywater/index.html
Feedback: Pollyabywater@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: Pet Fly and Sci-Fi, but not I. Sigh. No filthy lucre from this action, just fun and personal satisfaction.
Summary: Blair finds the perfect gift for Jim, and Jim finds the perfect words for Blair.
Author's Notes: Part of the Slash Advent Calendar Challenge situated at http://www.kardasi.com/Advent  I'm dipping my toe in Sentinel waters, here, so be kind. And, oh, yeah... holiday schmoop warning. 'Tis the season, after all.

Jim Ellison wearily settled himself into the embrace of his sofa, casting a bemused glance at the brightly ornamented Christmas tree that Sandburg, in the grip of some kind of seasonal fever, had insisted on putting up. That wasn't the end of it, either. The entire loft was abundantly adorned in a schizophrenic blend of December holiday traditions. Jim couldn't even identify some of them. Even the upstairs railings hadn't escaped.

Jim supposed he must have the most PC decor in all of Cascade, but it was the Christmas tree that regularly drew his attention.

The Christmas tree.

In Jim's opinion, Christmas trees had always been the exemplification of every failed holiday expectation. Every disappointment. Every loss, from the year his mother had abandoned him and his brother to the year he and Carolyn had admitted their marriage was a sad mistake, and all the years in between. Years spent on Army bases or in foreign countries or on frigid stakeouts. As for the time Jim had spent in Peru... at least he'd been living on Chopec time, then, and not by the tyranny of the calendar. Christmas had passed unnoticed, which was just the way Jim preferred.

Or *had* preferred.

Somehow, Sandburg managed to sweep Jim up in his solstice furor, until Jim actually found himself enjoying the season, as difficult as it was on sentinel senses. Carols blasted willy-nilly, either in tinny muzak or tunelessly whistled by passersby. Hordes of shoppers stampeded around town dragging along the obligatory screaming kids and there were all the smells that accompanied masses of humanity. And everywhere there were lights, tinsel, and garland, glittering in wild colors never seen in nature.

If it *hadn't* been for Sandburg, Jim thought he'd likely stay zoned from Thanksgiving until after New Year's.

But, there *was* Blair Sandburg. Blair Sandburg was *there*, and somehow, somehow, with just a husky-voiced "Dial it down, Jim" and a hand placed on his shoulder or back, the holidays stopped being a painful monument to failed expectations and somehow, somehow, became symbolically representative of peace, love, and joy.

Of course, Jim mused, it wasn't what the holidays brought you that determined how much you enjoyed them. It was what *you* brought to the holidays, and this year, thanks to Blair Sandburg, the peace, love, and joy was within *him*.

Jim Ellison settled into his sofa, inspected the Christmas tree, and smiled.

++++

Blair Sandburg, on the other hand, was standing on a sidewalk in the relentless rain, busily cursing Christmas, the weather, shopping in general, and specifically, anal-retentive impossible-to-buy-for Jim Ellison in all the languages he could think of. It was an impressive, if rather futile, litany.

"Bah, humbug!" He finally ended his tirade in grand tradition, glared around him at assorted wide-eyed passersby (who all ducked and hurried away), then proceeded down the block to the next place where he was hoping to find an appropriate gift for the most important person in his life.

At least he had plenty of hair he could tear in his frustration. Plenty of cold, wet, stringy, dripping hair, at that.

He squeezed out the excess moisture as best he could before entering The Jealous Mistress, an art gallery presumably named for the Emerson quote. As soon as the door closed behind him, he relaxed, almost against his will. First of all, the place was warm, both in ambient lighting and temperature. Nothing like any other gallery he'd been in that day, and hadn't he been to every one in the metro area? Instead of chilly hardwood floors and tracklights, this shop was lavishly carpeted, had a merrily blazing fireplace against one wall, and was conspicuously free of seasonal decorations. Even the background music was non-holiday-related, being a soothing, subtle background of tribal drums and flutes. Sniffing, he could identify white sage and incense burning somewhere. It was so totally familiar that he fully expected Naomi to come waltzing out of a back room.

Blair closed his eyes and let out a deep, heartfelt sigh, opening them to find a plump gray-haired older woman cheerfully grinning at him from behind the cash register.

"Welcome to The Jealous Mistress. You look like you could use a cup of tea. Orange and spice? With honey?"

"That would be wonderful, thank you," Blair said gratefully, and started his perusal of the paintings and sculpture that dotted the room.

Landscapes of fantastical creations, brilliantly colored abstracts and smooth marble forms that cried out for hands-on treatment vied with a number of more traditional figurines and pictures. He saw a great many things that *he* liked, a *lot*, but nothing jumped out at him that might appeal to Jim Ellison. Impossible-to-buy-for Jim Ellison.

"What made me think he'd like a painting, anyway?" Blair asked himself irritably, startled when the clerk seemed to materialize at his elbow.

"Many people do," she remarked, handing him a steaming stoneware mug.

Blair buried his nose in the steam and inhaled.

"*Thank* you," he said again, and she smiled at him.

"You're welcome. Such nasty weather. It should be snowing, but-" and she rolled her eyes. "Cascade in December. I'm Nana Crofford, by the way."

"You're the artist!" Blair said, having noticed the signature on most of the paintings. "I'm Blair Sandburg. I love your work. I'm just not sure if-"

"-if the man you're buying for will. I understand, believe me. I've got one at home who's difficult to indulge."

"That's it exactly. Jim doesn't *need* anything, so whatever I get him will be an indulgence," Blair admitted.

It was precisely that train of thought that had led him to look for artwork in the first place, and he wanted something special for Jim this year. Something to mark the sea change that had taken place in their relationship. More than friends, more than partners, more than Sentinel and Guide; he and Jim were lovers now, and the romantic within him wanted to find a gift that would say "I love you" every time Jim looked at it.

Particularly since the words themselves were so seldom spoken.

Blair said them frequently, of course, although maybe less often now than when their friendship had first become sexual. He'd grown reluctant to declare his love, because Jim had such a hard time expressing how *he* felt. Blair occasionally had to wonder if that was because Jim *didn't* feel the way he did, although nothing about Jim's behavior ever even remotely indicated that might be true.

As usual, Blair dismissed his concerns immediately. He refused to let himself get bogged down in negative thinking, especially while trying to find Jim's gift.

He sipped at his very good tea, caught Nana Crofford inspecting him appraisingly, and asked himself how much his expression had revealed.

"Friend, relative or lover?" She asked when their eyes met, and got her answer when Blair blushed. "Come up to my studio. Something tells me I have just what you're looking for."

Nana called to her goddaughter to watch the shop, and when Blair Sandburg didn't seem to notice the pretty young woman who came out of the back room, Nana knew she was right.

Reminded once again that everything happens for a reason, Nana laughed to herself and led her gorgeous client up the stairs.

She just loved Christmas!

++++

"As you can see, it's not quite finished, and now I know why. I was waiting to see your face, Blair. Do you have a picture of your man?"

Still speechless with astonishment, Blair absently pulled out his wallet and handed Nana a couple of pictures of Jim, and one of himself and Jim together. She studied them for a moment then lifted one eyebrow and nodded.

"Very nice. May I keep these? I'll have this done by the 21st and you can pick it up then, and the pictures, too."

"But how did you- I mean, it's-"

"When I paint, I suit myself. When I sculpt, I suit the stone. That's what it told me to do. I think it's some of our best work, actually."

"I don't know if I can afford-"

"How much were you planning to spend?"

Blair named a figure and Nana Crofford gave him another approving smile.

"That will be fine."

He took her free hand and lifted it to his mouth in a gesture that might have seemed theatrically flamboyant or overly personal under different circumstances. Right now, it seemed like the only proper thing to do.

"Wow, Nana, thank you. It's going to be perfect. Thank you so much."

"You're very welcome, Blair. It's my pleasure, believe me."

They went back downstairs, where Blair picked out a small (easily portable), luminously watercolored seascape for Naomi. It was a very cheerful, contented Blair Sandburg who finished the last of his holiday shopping that day.

++++

Christmas Eve found Blair and Jim curled up together on the sofa. They had both learned that by simply cuddling at the end of the day, they could stop being Detectives Sandburg and Ellison, Guide and Sentinel, and could just decompress. In their shared oasis of peace, Jim was discovering he could safely drop his stoic facade, while Blair found he didn't need to hide behind a barrage of anxious conversation. It had become a valued routine, much to their privately held wonder.

Dinner had been eaten at the coffee table in clear violation of a no-longer-enforced house rule. Nothing fancy, but still unusual enough to be special; barbecued ribs with fixin's and beer. They'd taken great delight in licking each other's fingers clean, both enjoying the fact that everything they did together was a form of foreplay, even clearing away the assorted debris and washing the dishes.

The only illumination in the room came from the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree. A CD recording of Handel's 'Messiah' played low in the background, while the faint aromas of cider, cinnamon, and barbecue sauce hung sweetly in the air.

Jim sighed in satisfaction, his stomach full of good food and his arms full of Blair. He nuzzled his way through silky curls to whisper into an available ear.

"This is the best Christmas I've ever had."

Blair smiled, although part of his heart ached at hearing that rare admission. It always saddened him to realize how unhappy Jim's life had been. Of course, that merely strengthened his resolve to make Jim happy, and keep him that way.

Blair had recognized years ago that a happy Jim made for a happy Blair.

"Even though I have to work tomorrow?" He teased gently, both of them having already come to terms with the fact that, as low man on the totem pole, seniority-wise; Blair was stuck with pulling holiday duty.

"Even though I'm having lunch with Dad and Stephen," Jim teased back, genuinely untroubled by the prospect. When he held Blair in his arms, Jim honestly believed there was nothing he couldn't handle. "But I think I'm going to work on Simon. If he bases next year's holiday schedule on our closure rate we should both end up off."

"Mmm." Blair lazily pondered the notion, pretending not to notice as Jim's tongue tasted the side of his neck. "That might work if everyone else will agree. Then you can take it to Simon as a motivational technique."

"Motivational techniques are good," Jim agreed, sliding one hand under Blair's shirts to pet and pull on Blair's chest hair. "Can I motivate you up to bed?"

"With that technique? Oh, yeah, man." Blair would have purred if he could. "But I want to give you your Christmas present first."

"You aren't it?" Jim asked with well-played surprise, tugging lightly on Blair's nipple ring and loving the low groan that resulted. "You know you didn't have to get me anything else."

Given that they weren't going to spend Christmas day together, they'd already exchanged a few small practical gifts (although Blair initially insisted there was nothing practical about the several pairs of silk boxers Jim had given him. Jim had countered by saying Blair in silk boxers would be a present for them both, and Blair certainly wasn't going to argue). They'd originally planned to exchange their big gifts on Christmas night, but Blair decided his couldn't wait.

"Get real. Besides, I think you're going to like this."

"I already do," Jim said, his arms tightening around Blair, whose face turned up for an unhurried kiss. Then, seeing the anticipation that shone from those sapphire eyes, Jim relented. "Okay, Darwin. Go for it."

Without rushing, and with the maximum amount of body contact, Blair slid out of Jim's arms and retrieved a largish, elegantly wrapped box from beneath the tree, which he carefully set on the coffee table in front of Jim.

Jim took a moment to appreciate the artful packaging, then ripped it off unceremoniously, opening the box. He lifted something out that was securely wrapped in several layers of bubbled plastic, and when he finally unraveled what was inside, caught his breath back in a gasp.

"Oh, Blair," he managed to whisper, and his reaction was everything Blair Sandburg had hoped for, wished for, when he'd seen what Nana Crofford was creating with the stone.

Two men, meticulously carved in black marble, worked in such a way that the rippling veins in the rock somehow echoed the natural movements of muscle and hair. Standing, not one behind the other, but side by side. The shorter figure had one hand on the shoulder of the taller one, whose head was slightly canted as if he was listening for something, a hand at his partner's back.

Jim ran his sensitive fingertips over the cool marble, tracing the subtly suggested lines of clothing to the meticulously detailed hands, then along the almost mobile fall of the shorter figure's wild curls. It felt almost alive in his hands, this graven representation of two men supporting each other with simple touches.

Two men, with faces clearly recognizable to Jim as himself and Blair.

He became aware his mouth was open but nothing was coming out.

Tearing his gaze off the sculpture in his hands, Jim gaped at his lover. Blair's eyes were suspiciously bright, and although Jim rarely gave voice to his feelings, he suddenly found some words that weren't difficult to say, after all.

"Next to you, this is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life. This is the way I love you, set in stone, Blair. Forever."

Blair closed his eyes long enough to draw in a shuddering breath, then curled his hands around Jim's, around the sculpture.

"That's what I wanted it to mean, because that's the way I love you, Jim," Blair promised, holding Jim's gaze. "Like the stone, eternal, even after we've left this world behind."

Jim pushed the box aside and set the sculpture on the coffee table, its sturdy base belying the caution he used. His fingertips drifted over the marble one last time, then he turned to Blair. Cupping his hands around that precious face, Jim brought their mouths together in a kiss that spoke very plainly of his love.

When Jim drew away, Blair's eyes were nicely glazed and his breath was hitching in unsteady pants.

"Thank you, Blair," Jim murmured, more words too seldom said. Blair's lips curved into a joyous smile that Jim found himself returning automatically. Some time went by before Blair cleared his throat and spoke.

"So, uh, you really like it, huh."

Jim heard that faintly hesitant question and had a revelation of sorts. It didn't matter how much or how often he showed Blair how he felt. Blair needed to hear it said, and hadn't he already decided that he'd give Blair anything?

"I *so* like it," Jim amended, intentionally using a Blairism just to see that bright smile again. "It's perfect. How did the artist do it? Do my face?"

"I showed her your photograph." Blair moved until he was straddling Jim's lap. "But, Jim, she had everything done except for our faces when I met her. She said she sculpts what the stone tells her to. Pretty weird, huh?"

"A lot of things that I used to believe were weird don't strike me that way anymore." Jim began the time-consuming process of removing Blair's many shirts, his movements focused and intent. "Like eating ostrich meat, or seeing ghosts, or hearing your heartbeat from two blocks away. And before you ask, I'm glad about it. Well, maybe not the ostrich meat."

Jim finally succeeded in peeling the last layer of clothing off his lover's upper body.

Now free to look and touch, Jim filled his palms with the firm flesh of Blair's chest, scritching his fingernails through the always unexpected softness of the hair there. He let his thumbs rub tenderly over peaking nipples, smiling to himself as Blair's head fell back on a low hum.

"You are beautiful, you know," he whispered, part of him relieved to be saying the things he'd been thinking for so long. It was easier than he'd suspected. Sliding his hands around Blair's back, Jim pulled them closer together. Close enough for him to taste that bared throat, then nip at it, actions that satisfied some primitive urge that lurked in Jim's soul.

"Beautiful?" Blair's voice shuddered out breathily, like he'd never heard the word and didn't even recognize the language. His own hands had moved to hold Jim's head, hips rocking forward involuntarily as Jim seized a mouthful of skin and marked him. "Oh, God, Jim."

"Oh, yeah. I can see the lights from the tree, reflecting in your skin and your hair, like you're covered in rainbows, Blair. Beautiful."

Jim moved his lips to a new spot and left another mark, growling in the back of his throat when Blair writhed and moaned against him.

Sometimes, given the way Blair responded to him, he thought Blair was the one with the hyperactive sense of touch. That artless, freely offered response was always incredibly provocative to Jim, making him feel possessive and wild, while at the same time inducing a bone deep need to protect and cherish the man in his arms. He'd stopped trying to understand it months ago, accepting it all as one more part of the dichotomy that was Blair Sandburg, who protected him, owned him, cherished him, and ravaged him to a stupor on a regular basis.

He buried one hand in the thick curls at the back of Blair's head and pulled, bowing his lover's chest out so his mouth could play over that nipple ring. Blair, like this, was a feast for his senses, *all* his senses, as he caught the strangled sounds his efforts drew forth.

Jim dialed up his hearing, listening to the blood that rushed to fill Blair's body, grounding himself on the familiar rhythms of that big heart. The heady scent of Blair's arousal poured forth and mingled with his own, further stimulating Jim, until as good as this was, it wasn't *enough*.

He needed to have Blair naked, now. Needed to be naked with him. Needed to reduce that busy, brilliant, stubborn brain to mush. Needed to engrave his love on Blair's soul to the cellular level, so Blair would take it for granted in the best possible way.

Jim just *needed*.

Blair's world tilted on its axis. He landed flat on his back on the sofa, barely able to parse his momentary abandonment before Jim was unfastening his pants and pulling them off, underwear carefully drawn over his throbbing erection. He took fleeting thankful notice of the fact that Jim left his socks on (the room was a bit cool), then all his attention was taken up in watching Jim strip, and Blair was nothing but warm.

Jim removed his own clothes like a man on a mission, which judging from the feral gleam in his eyes, Blair reckoned he was. A moan escaped Blair as Jim shucked his jeans, baring his hard luscious cock, and Blair reached out automatically. Jim, damn him, stepped back.

"What do you want, baby?" Jim asked, making Blair whimper. Having Jim call him baby got him right in the groin, and he certainly couldn't say that it made him feel at all effeminate. It just made him feel wanted.

He let his head loll over to the side, drooped his eyelids and licked his lips, rewarded when Jim visibly shivered.

"You're such a fucking prick tease," Jim accused hoarsely, and it was Blair's turn to shiver. Jim was, without a doubt, the most physically expressive lover he'd ever had, but Jim seldom verbalized during sex. Hearing Jim now was a huge turn-on for Blair, who simply loved the sound of Jim's voice.

"Not teasing. Want you, Jim." Blair's whisper would have been inaudible to anyone else. Jim let out another subvocal growl that vibrated through Blair like the visceral thump of a bass speaker.

His hips moved involuntarily, and Jim knelt beside him with a rather speculative expression, one-handedly catching his hands and pulling them over his head. Jim's other hand went to Blair's mouth, not to gag him, but to play, one long finger sliding into Blair's mouth to rub over the tip of his tongue. Blair gave it a lingering suck, intent on sending a clear message about what he wanted, feeling Jim's skin flush hot in response.

"Do you know what you look like, lying there like that? Like every wet dream I ever had, spread out and offered up like some kind of sacrifice to pleasure. I never know what I want most, your beautiful tight ass or those cocksucker lips wrapped around my dick. I just know that I want you, Blair."

Jim trailed his wet finger along Blair's straining length from base to leaking tip, winning a harsh groan when he brought his finger to his own mouth, tasting Blair's essence. The flavor exploded over his tongue, making him grateful for his senses, even though it seemed to Jim that his skin ached for Blair. He released Blair's hands and crawled up onto the sofa, blanketing his lover's body with his own.

Blair's arms and legs wrapped around him, holding tight. Their erections rubbed together, the sensation clouding Jim's mind, but he was determined that Blair would know exactly he felt. He put his mouth next to one sweet ear and spoke, raspy-voiced.

"I want you because I'm in love with you. Because you fill up my empty places. I love you so much, Blair. Don't ever doubt it. Don't doubt *me* and don't doubt *us*."

"I won't," Blair swore raggedly, almost beyond thought, let alone speech. "Won't. Never again, I promise. Please, Jim. *Move*!"

And Jim did, taking Blair's mouth in the kind of kiss that was its own sex act, fucking tongues as instinct moved their lower bodies. Blair lost it first, having been halfway to coming just from hearing Jim's words. He stiffened and arched beneath Jim, keening out a shriek that Jim fortunately muffled, as his climax exploded in a burst of pure joy. Too much stimulation for Jim... hearing Blair's orgasm erupting even before it pulsed free to paint their skin in wet heat. Catching the scent of Blair's completion, feeling it slick the glide of their cocks, Jim threw back his head and roared, overwhelmed and coming hard.

Blair kept them from flying apart through a series of shuddering aftershocks, gradually gaining awareness as Jim levered up on his elbows. Gentle fingers brushed Blair's temples, and it was only then that Blair became aware of the tears seeping out from underneath his tightly closed eyelids.

"Blair?"

"I'm okay," he insisted, forcing his eyes open, knowing Jim would worry otherwise. He and Jim were practically nose to nose, so much devotion in those pale eyes that Blair felt instantly guilty for ever having had doubts. "I'm sorry."

Somehow, Jim understood exactly what he was apologizing for.

"I can't promise to say it enough, Blair. I'll try to do better, but you have to know, whether I say it or not, I feel it all the time."

Jim watched a glorious smile move across Blair's face, that special sunrise smile that he knew was for him alone, then Blair's hands were holding his head still for an exquisitely tender, too brief kiss.

"If you never say it again, I'll know. I love you, Jim."

"I love you too, baby. Want to go upstairs and wish me Merry Christmas?" Jim asked casually, shifting just enough to draw his fingers over Blair's belly, tasting the flavor of their mingled seed.

"Insatiable." Blair pulled Jim's head down so he could whisper in Jim's ear. "Not that we always celebrated them, but this is the best Christmas *I've* ever had."

"You haven't gotten your big present from me yet," Jim protested. He reluctantly got to his feet then helped Blair stand, running one hand over that fine firm ass.

"Oh yes, I have. Now, take me to bed, and give it to me again, Santa."

"Ho, ho, ho!" Jim replied with a leering grin that turned into laughter as Blair scrambled up the stairs.

Jim brushed his fingers over the marble sculpture, marveling, then kicked their scattered clothes under the Christmas tree.

It was the perfect touch, he thought, following Blair to bed.

The End
8 Dec. 2002

SPIKE/XANDER

Title: A Ha'penny Will Do
Author: Mary Willing Prey
RATING: PG
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Fandom: Buffy
Disclaimer: 1) I am not making any money. 2) I do not own the characters. 3) No copyright infringement of any kind is intended. 4) This story is for entertainment purposes only. It's parody people. I claim it under fair use.
Summery: Xander gives Spike a Christmas present.
Notes: I am doing a lot of foot kissing to my betas at Preyland. They take my stuff and turn it into something wonderful.
Note: Part of the Slash Advent Calendar Challenge situated at:
http://www.kardasi.com/Advent
More notes: Not canon. I know Spike has his soul back. This is my take on the whole 'losing/gaining' a soul thing. And I just dropped it into the Buffyverse sometime after Spike got chipped. But he's not enamored with Buffy.
Feedback Email address: mary willing prey

MISCELLANEOUS (SNAPE/PERCY - HARRY POTTER UNIVERSE)

Title: All I Want for Christmas
Author: RavenclawGrrl
RATING: NC17
Pairing: Snape/Percy Weasley
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 jl_foxy for beta-ing this.
This is a follow-on piece to my story “Unexpected Ganymede” located at
www.restrictedsection.org . However, I do think that this piece stands
on its own. Merry Christmas.
Feedback Email address: padme_patil@yahoo.com  (Please, please, please let me know what you think.)

Percy Weasley hurried out of the Great Hall and into the gardens. The atmosphere in there had been cloying. He had been prattling on for what seemed like hours to Ron, Harry or anyone else that would listen about any Ministry related topic that came to his mind. He had been desperate; desperate to keep all thoughts of Snape from his mind during the Yule Ball.

He hadn’t realized what a mistake it would be to come to Hogwart’s this evening. It had been six months since he had seen or heard from Snape. Severus. Professor Snape. What was he supposed to call him now? Last spring, during his final months of school he had had a few most assuredly inappropriate encounters with Snape. The relationship, if you could call it that, had been sudden, unexpected, and now, it seemed, temporary.

Percy had left at the end of his seventh year and promptly entered the Ministry. He had spent the last six months trying to figure out what the hell had happened between Snape and himself in the spring. He’d had to avoid his family, too many embarrassing questions about Penelope, but that was easy enough to do - just bury himself in work. The more time he spent at the office, the less time he’d have to answer his mother’s questions.

Penelope. He should have taken into consideration the fact that she would be here this evening. Every time he’d seen her tonight, she had been glaring daggers at him. He supposed this was to be expected, he had ended the relationship between the two of them rather abruptly. Actually, he hadn’t ended it at all. He had just… not bothered. It was a very similar situation to the one he now found himself in with Snape.

This summer and fall he had started letter after letter to send to the man, incinerating each one after a few paragraphs. What to say? How could he ask? What was he even asking? Dear Severus – may I come and visit this weekend? How ridiculous was that?

What was it he wanted? What exactly did he feel for Severus? Was it infatuation? Simple lust? He and Penelope and managed to stumble and fumble their way around a couple of times into trysts that were sufficiently satisfying. Why was sex so extraordinarily different with Severus? Was it simply the thrill of something so very, very wrong? Sex with a teacher? Head of Slytherin House? A friend of his father’s worst enemy?

But goddammit when he had been with the man there had never been a moment that felt wrong. Indeed it seemed like the physical relationship they had was the only right thing he’d ever done.

Perhaps Severus did this every spring? Perhaps he chose a lover each year? Percy thought he would have heard gossip to that effect if this had been the case, but still…

He stopped. Up ahead Severus was talking with someone Percy didn’t recognize at first. Then he picked up the accent and realized it was Professor Karkaroff. He froze, listening to the voices, hearing Severus’s usual cold, sarcastic tone, as dismissive of Karkaroff as he was of any one of his students. Finally, Karkaroff left and Severus roused a few more students from their hideouts in the bushes. Percy was turning to leave when he heard that voice again.

“I was surprised to see you here tonight, Weasley. I had heard from Dumbledore that Crouch would not attend, but I did not realize you would be his replacement.”

Percy was surprised at the softness in his voice, barely more than a whisper, but distinct enough. He cleared his throat, “I’m, um, sorry I didn’t speak with you earlier this evening, I, um, didn’t want to interfere with your chaperoning duties.” He motioned at the bushes around them.

Severus gave a small laugh, “Yes, the things students will get up to.” He stood looking at Percy intently in the moonlight; the double entendre was not lost on either of them. “It’s good to see you again,” he said simply then he added, “You haven’t an outer cloak with you, Weasley. You should go inside.” And he turned to leave.

Percy stood dumbfounded for a moment. The man was all he had thought about for the last six months and now they were saying hello and good-bye in less than a minute? Then, ahead of him he heard Severus say, “Well, are you coming along or not?” And Percy fell into step behind him.

They did not go back in through the ballroom. Instead they swept along, robes billowing behind them, down a path that led to a side entrance near the Slytherin area of the castle. Percy remembered it well, a private entrance to Severus’s chambers that avoided the Slytherin common room. Percy heard Severus murmur the Spells that unlocked the outer doors and they made a short descent down stone stairs, their footsteps echoing heavily.

They arrived at the inner door to his rooms and he said “Lumos”, lighting the room as he opened the door ushering Percy in.

Severus admired Percy’s form as he entered. The boy had always been tall and slender, but over the summer he had lost some of the gawkiness. He bore himself well, Severus thought, and both the cut and color of the navy blue dress robes suited him. Inwardly, Severus sighed and damned Lupin to hell in his mind yet again. Gryffindor golden boys, what had he been thinking? Last year, with Lupin here, it had brought back one painful memory after another, topped off only by the utter humiliation he’d suffered at Black’s hands. And now, tonight, memories worse than any of those, had been brought back by that ass Karkaroff. Severus shook himself from his reverie as he realized Percy was addressing him nervously.

“Here, I, um, didn’t know what you might want for Christmas,” Percy said, hesitantly holding out a small package.

Severus thanked him and took the package, opening it. It was a compact Quick-Quotes Quill, a very nice one at that. It was a gift that was personal, but not too personal, expensive but not too expensive, a gift that was completely innocuous and said absolutely nothing. Flourish and Blott’s probably sold about a million of them each Christmas. Severus and Percy both knew it.

Severus smiled and thanked him again. He was too polite to offer an insincere apology for not having a gift Percy. And they both knew that, too.

Percy took a few steps over to stand near the fire, still chilled from their brisk walk in the cold night air. Severus caught himself admiring Percy again in the firelight. The glow from the fireplace made his red hair seem to blaze on its own. Percy turned to face him again. Severus sighed; he had forgotten how beautiful the boy was. Red hair, with a golden halo from the fire, fair skin, aquiline nose, and eyes as blue as any ocean. Ganymede, he thought to himself. Zeus carried Ganymede away to safety. Would he be able to do that? Could he keep anyone safe?

He shook off the reverie yet again. “Percy, you’re still cold. Can I get you a drink? Scotch? Firewhiskey?” Severus smiled at himself for that last statement. Percy caught the humor as well, he was no longer a student, and Severus could offer him a drink. Never mind the fact that he’d taken him to his bed throughout the spring while Percy was still his student.

Percy accepted a whiskey. Somehow that simple act changed the dynamics between the two of them and they both relaxed. Severus leaned forward and kissed Percy. When he pulled back, Percy said, “I didn’t think you wanted to see me again.”

Severus thought for a moment before answering. He needed to tell someone… everything. He sighed, “Percy, you are a young man. And I am an old man and right now I feel like a very old man. One who has just learned that there is a high degree of probability that I will be dead in a short amount of time.”

Percy was concerned. “Are you ill?” he asked with alarm.

“No,” Severus answered thoughtfully, “no, but I’ve had disturbing news and…” he hesitated. He knew that Percy worked for the Ministry, knew that he would have some level of understanding about the heightened activity of the Death Eaters. But how much should he tell him now? “And I don’t want to think about it right now,” he finished leaning forward to kiss Percy again.

Percy stepped into his embrace, his arms circling about Severus’ waist to pull him closer. He returned the kiss passionately. This was what he had been waiting for, missing, all through the summer and fall. He savored the feel of the other man’s face against his, pleasantly scratchy; he inhaled the scent of Severus around him, the crisp, clean, evergreen scent of him.

Severus’ right hand shifted to undo the buttons of Percy’s robes. Percy waited, he always waited for Severus to begin to undress him, before he began his own assault on the fasteners of his lover’s robes. Severus slipped Percy’s robe off and then removed his shirt, captivated by the sight before him. A Gryffindor golden boy indeed – his gaze lingered on fair skin, light dusting of freckles and soft patch of ginger curls at Percy’s chest.

“I have indeed missed you, you know,” he murmured, holding him by the waist with his left hand, while his right hand stroked across his chest.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Percy asked. “Why didn’t you say anything when I left?”

Severus hesitated again. Past and future – it seemed he was going to have to address them both tonight. “How old are you now Percy?”

“Eighteen, you know that.”

“When I was eighteen…,” Severus struggled to continue, “the decisions you make… I was rash… And I don’t want to put anyone else in danger because of those decisions I made so long ago.”

“I don’t understand.” Percy said looking at him intently.

Severus sighed and slipped his own shirt off. He held out his arm and the shock on Percy’s face was evident.

“Why is it visible?” Percy asked.

Severus was taken aback. “You knew that I had this mark?”

“I read all I could about the trials in the Ministry files. I know you were one of those tried, that Dumbledore vouched for you at your trial. And…,” now it was Percy’s turn to pause before continuing. “My father told us things, things that perhaps he shouldn’t have about the time he went to Azkaban. He saw you there. He knew…he knows why you were there. About the Longbottoms…,” Percy paused again, “and I guess I’ve always suspected that you were a Death Eater at one point. But what does it mean that the Mark is visible now?”

“I’m not sure precisely what all it means now, but I do know that shortly I will be called upon, by Dumbledore, to perform certain… tasks. I do know that you may hear about them, that you may doubt me. And I know that if certain individuals were to find out about you, you could be in great danger.”

“I won’t doubt you,” Percy said and he leaned forward to kiss Severus again. He paused and whispered, “And you said you didn’t want to think about it, so tonight – don’t.”

He kissed Severus, harder this time, his tongue pressing insistently against the other man’s mouth. Severus parted his lips and his own tongue clashed with Percy’s. He turned his partner toward his bed and pressed him down upon it. Severus skimmed his hands along Percy’s sides until they came to the waistband of his trousers. He undid the fasteners and Percy raised his hips as Severus tugged his garments off, over his arousal and sliding them down off of his legs.

Severus straightened and shed his own trousers then quickly joined Percy on the bed. His hands roamed freely over Percy’s body, gliding down to grasp his penis firmly with one hand and begin stroking him. He held Percy close and kissed roughly across his face and down his neck. Percy moaned when Severus bit down harder than he meant to.

With one thumb he circled across the silky tip of Percy’s penis, finding the moisture there already, pleased that his partner was as anxious as he was. He circled his thumb around and around the glans, teasing the slit only to circle back down around the ridge of his cock. Percy moaned again, this time in pleasure. Severus increased the pressure and pace of his stroking and was soon rewarded with the sight of Percy’s eyes closed in ecstasy as he bucked his hips forward and gasped his release, coming in Severus’ hand the same as he had done their first night together.

Severus kissed him and held him close, unmindful of the fluid between them. He then gently turned Percy over on his belly, one hand skimming down his back and up over his buttocks. “Percy,” he whispered, “I need to fuck you. I need to fuck you hard and I need to fuck you now.” He slid one finger between Percy’s cheeks and pressed insistently at his entrance.

Percy mumbled back, “God, yes, why do you think I’m here?” He shifted slightly as he felt Severus position himself between his thighs. Severus Summoned the lubricant from his night table and applied it generously to Percy’s opening. He inserted one finger and then a second, exploring, readying, Percy to receive him. He leaned forward and kissed Percy’s shoulders and down to the small of his back and hip, then raised himself and pressed forward gently, the head of his penis at Percy’s entrance. He entered slowly, gauging his lover’s reaction, trying not to hurt him.

Percy sighed. He loved the feel of Severus between his legs, the warmth of the other man’s body covering his own. He groaned in pleasure as Severus finally entered him fully and rested atop him for a moment before beginning to fuck him in earnest.

Severus hadn’t realized just how much he needed release this evening. All the recent anger, and fear and frustration were pent up inside of him and he pounded away against Percy’s willing body, hot and tight around him. Tension built quickly for him. He felt the sharp sparks of release that began in his balls and raced along his shaft. He arched his back and roared his release as he filled Percy’s body with his hot fluid in one crystal moment of oblivion.

After a moment he slid to lie beside Percy. Thoughts of the upcoming tasks that lay before him returned unbidden to his mind. The part of his mind that had been a spy for the last fifteen years realized that not only was Percy his lover, he could be a valuable ally within the Ministry itself – a spy for a spy. He began tentatively to broach the subject.

Percy interrupted him. “Whatever you need. You can trust me,” he whispered earnestly.

“No, Percy,” Severus answered him, “what I want is someone who trusts me.”

~ Fin ~