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holiday card drabbles
I took drabble requests for holiday cards, and ended up writing about 10 different pairings/scenarios...
justin/jc
[closeout]
Lynn celebrates Solstice, of course. Trace'd never understood why Justin didn't mind missing Christmas, but Justin's always loved the legends of the sun coming back from the darkness. Just getting to stay up and tend the overnight bonfire had been exciting when he was little.
December's usually crazy, but this year, the universe cooperates. The Triple Crown finishes early and the radar doesn't show any storms that'll hit Jaws. JC comes to Oahu, drapes himself over Justin's back while they watch the flames. They let the fire die as the sky lightens, and Justin is the one who feels reborn.
threemanbus
It hadn't counted before.
No one touched Justin on those nights. It had just been the two of them, and Justin, the lounge dark and hot with post-show adrenaline.
Most nights, Justin stayed, added his own moans to Chris's whispered curses, JC's gasps. Sometimes, though, he stumbled away, lay in his bunk aching and hard, hating them for having each other while Britney was half-a-world away.
Tonight doesn't count, either.
Now--after Wade's slip--it doesn't matter that JC's stripping him roughly or that Chris knows exactly where and how hard to touch. Now, there's no reason to be alone.
jc/chris
Everyone's always surprised at how into the holidays Chris is. Not so much by him draping a quarter-million lights over anything that won't run away--because, seriously, who wouldn't expect that from him? But everything else? That Chris even cares always comes as this huge shock--to everyone except JC.
C understands that it works better if you don't just cram shit into the stockings; that the perfect, obnoxious card is out there waiting to be found; that tinsel looks best if you put it on one strand at a time, even if the tree is fifteen feet tall.
Most importantly, he gets what Chris is really celebrating. Ho-ho-ho and the most wonderful time of the year are fanfuckingtastic, but that's not really it. Chris squints up at JC, fiddling with the angel tree-topper, and the preschooler who went to stay with a new family looks back.
"What's next?" JC asks. "Cookies?"
The always-hungry kid who still lives inside Chris grins. "Joey and Kelly sent anatomically-correct gingerbread men molds."
"Chicks, too?"
"It's Joey; what do you think?"
"Awesome." JC smiles, and Chris checks off one more year of payback from the universe that never seemed to care about his family.
jc/lance
It's going to be a small party--at least by Lance's usual standards. He catches himself obsessing over trivialities; sits himself down for a good talking-to. He has to keep a cool head.
It's clichéd as hell, but New Year's is the perfect time to start fresh. The timing had been off last year--Jesse too newly gone; Eva not quite done with her agenda. This year finally feels right. This year he'll finally say everything to JC.
This year, he's finally ready for whatever JC might say back; good or bad. Once way or another, this party is it.
nick/jc
[something so right]
When the ball finally drops, a half-dozen gorgeous girls press close for JC's kiss. Across the room, Nick has a tiny blonde in one arm and a dark-haired Playmate in the other.
Later, when Nick's spread out on the floor under him, panting and swearing and shaking, JC stops, asks Nick which girl does it for him.
Nick looks back over his shoulder, taunts, "Why? You thinking about watching?"
Growling, JC fucks Nick until they're both half-screaming. It takes him months to recognize the sheer possessiveness that had roared through him that night, months more to do anything about it.
joey/jc
Deep in the water park Joey called a backyard was a tiny grotto edged by a lily pond. As soon as he could shower off six days of grit and sweat, JC slipped out to its relative peace.
Joey found him hours later, staring unseeingly at the koi, unable to stop the house, tree, shattered, splintered chasing round his brain.
"As long as you need, C." Joey stopped close behind JC. "You know I got your back."
If JC'd once wanted more than Joey could give, he'd never discounted what he did have. He leaned into the strength and breathed.
post-jesse
He's fine.
It's a break-up; it's supposed to suck. But he's getting out--clubbing, dinner, parties. There's no end--at least, not yet--of hot guys who want him, whenever, however, wherever.
He's fine; it's just that he found the box he'd been saving for Hannukah. Goofy things, mostly, but one for real, a braided leather and turquoise bracelet. In the gallery, he'd thought it perfect: nice, but not extravagant; discreet, but still personal.
Someday, he'll deal with how wrong he was; today, it's all he can do to make it to the trash without punching something.
He’s fine. Really.
chris/lance
New Year's Eve or not, Chris was too old for this waking up naked, hung-over, and without a fucking clue who was in bed with him shit.
As if cued, the tanned body next to him shifted restlessly. Chris saw familiar ink, and whoa.
"Bass." Chris poked at sheet-covered ribs. "Bass."
"Chris," Lance groaned, grabbing Chris's finger and bending it back. "You promised. 'No freaking out.'"
"Ow, fuck, stop that," Chris said. "I'm not freaking out."
Lance pulled his head out from under the pillow, arching one eyebrow. Chris's world tilted even further as the thousands of memories he had of that expression were suddenly blown away by a blurry flashback from the night before.
Who knew that amused smirk could be so... so... fucking hot?
Reaching out--warily, in case Lance went back to his finger-bending ways--Chris traced the line of bruises that curved down Lance's neck, quite clearly remembering taste and texture, and yeah.
"No freaking out going on over here."
"Good," Lance breathed, and Chris remembered that, too; that voice going hoarse and breathless under him.
"Just ... putting the pieces together," Chris said, grinning, and hell, no, not too old for this shit at all.
justin/lance
"Shit, Bass, you're not serious?"
"Thirty grand, J." Lance stretched, lazy and smug. "I expect value for my donation."
"It's not my fault the power died," Justin muttered. "I provided alternate entertainment."
"Very well, too," Lance purred, but then sighed. Finally, Justin groaned and dashed across the room to grab the bottle of Jack, swearing as his bare feet froze on the tile.
"No ice?"
"You want ice?" Justin dove back under the down comforter, pressing close against smooth, warm skin. "Anything else, Mr. Bass, sir?" he mouthed over the bull.
"Gimme a second," Lance gasped. "I'll think of something."
fred
Fred isn't surprised when Cordelia drags everyone up to her room.
"See?" Cordy hisses. "Who decorates a log? And what's with the candelabra on the mantel? We aren't having freaky power issues, are we?"
"It's called a menorah, Cordy." Fred jumps back as the Yule log catches fire suddenly.
"Okay, missing something over here," Charles says, taking the matches out of her hand. "You're not Jewish."
"Or Wiccan," Angel adds, shifting Connor to one arm.
"Nor Swedish," Wesley finishes.
"So, why--?" Angel's gesture takes in the tree and mistletoe, the evergreen swags on the windows, St. Lucia's wreath on the table.
"I--it's so long until spring, so easy to forget…" They're all watching her, seeing CrazyFred; maybe they're right, she can't tell.
"Ah," Wesley says. "To remember the light."
"As many ways as possible." Fred takes Connor from Angel and holds him close.
"Cool," Charles says. "Can't hurt, as long as you don't burn the place down around us." He puts the guard back on the fireplace on his way out.
"Presents work, too," Cordelia calls back, as she leaves with Charles. "Everybody should remember that."
"Yes, Cordelia," Angel and Wes chorus, but their smiles are for Fred.
[closeout]
Lynn celebrates Solstice, of course. Trace'd never understood why Justin didn't mind missing Christmas, but Justin's always loved the legends of the sun coming back from the darkness. Just getting to stay up and tend the overnight bonfire had been exciting when he was little.
December's usually crazy, but this year, the universe cooperates. The Triple Crown finishes early and the radar doesn't show any storms that'll hit Jaws. JC comes to Oahu, drapes himself over Justin's back while they watch the flames. They let the fire die as the sky lightens, and Justin is the one who feels reborn.
It hadn't counted before.
No one touched Justin on those nights. It had just been the two of them, and Justin, the lounge dark and hot with post-show adrenaline.
Most nights, Justin stayed, added his own moans to Chris's whispered curses, JC's gasps. Sometimes, though, he stumbled away, lay in his bunk aching and hard, hating them for having each other while Britney was half-a-world away.
Tonight doesn't count, either.
Now--after Wade's slip--it doesn't matter that JC's stripping him roughly or that Chris knows exactly where and how hard to touch. Now, there's no reason to be alone.
Everyone's always surprised at how into the holidays Chris is. Not so much by him draping a quarter-million lights over anything that won't run away--because, seriously, who wouldn't expect that from him? But everything else? That Chris even cares always comes as this huge shock--to everyone except JC.
C understands that it works better if you don't just cram shit into the stockings; that the perfect, obnoxious card is out there waiting to be found; that tinsel looks best if you put it on one strand at a time, even if the tree is fifteen feet tall.
Most importantly, he gets what Chris is really celebrating. Ho-ho-ho and the most wonderful time of the year are fanfuckingtastic, but that's not really it. Chris squints up at JC, fiddling with the angel tree-topper, and the preschooler who went to stay with a new family looks back.
"What's next?" JC asks. "Cookies?"
The always-hungry kid who still lives inside Chris grins. "Joey and Kelly sent anatomically-correct gingerbread men molds."
"Chicks, too?"
"It's Joey; what do you think?"
"Awesome." JC smiles, and Chris checks off one more year of payback from the universe that never seemed to care about his family.
It's going to be a small party--at least by Lance's usual standards. He catches himself obsessing over trivialities; sits himself down for a good talking-to. He has to keep a cool head.
It's clichéd as hell, but New Year's is the perfect time to start fresh. The timing had been off last year--Jesse too newly gone; Eva not quite done with her agenda. This year finally feels right. This year he'll finally say everything to JC.
This year, he's finally ready for whatever JC might say back; good or bad. Once way or another, this party is it.
[something so right]
When the ball finally drops, a half-dozen gorgeous girls press close for JC's kiss. Across the room, Nick has a tiny blonde in one arm and a dark-haired Playmate in the other.
Later, when Nick's spread out on the floor under him, panting and swearing and shaking, JC stops, asks Nick which girl does it for him.
Nick looks back over his shoulder, taunts, "Why? You thinking about watching?"
Growling, JC fucks Nick until they're both half-screaming. It takes him months to recognize the sheer possessiveness that had roared through him that night, months more to do anything about it.
Deep in the water park Joey called a backyard was a tiny grotto edged by a lily pond. As soon as he could shower off six days of grit and sweat, JC slipped out to its relative peace.
Joey found him hours later, staring unseeingly at the koi, unable to stop the house, tree, shattered, splintered chasing round his brain.
"As long as you need, C." Joey stopped close behind JC. "You know I got your back."
If JC'd once wanted more than Joey could give, he'd never discounted what he did have. He leaned into the strength and breathed.
He's fine.
It's a break-up; it's supposed to suck. But he's getting out--clubbing, dinner, parties. There's no end--at least, not yet--of hot guys who want him, whenever, however, wherever.
He's fine; it's just that he found the box he'd been saving for Hannukah. Goofy things, mostly, but one for real, a braided leather and turquoise bracelet. In the gallery, he'd thought it perfect: nice, but not extravagant; discreet, but still personal.
Someday, he'll deal with how wrong he was; today, it's all he can do to make it to the trash without punching something.
He’s fine. Really.
New Year's Eve or not, Chris was too old for this waking up naked, hung-over, and without a fucking clue who was in bed with him shit.
As if cued, the tanned body next to him shifted restlessly. Chris saw familiar ink, and whoa.
"Bass." Chris poked at sheet-covered ribs. "Bass."
"Chris," Lance groaned, grabbing Chris's finger and bending it back. "You promised. 'No freaking out.'"
"Ow, fuck, stop that," Chris said. "I'm not freaking out."
Lance pulled his head out from under the pillow, arching one eyebrow. Chris's world tilted even further as the thousands of memories he had of that expression were suddenly blown away by a blurry flashback from the night before.
Who knew that amused smirk could be so... so... fucking hot?
Reaching out--warily, in case Lance went back to his finger-bending ways--Chris traced the line of bruises that curved down Lance's neck, quite clearly remembering taste and texture, and yeah.
"No freaking out going on over here."
"Good," Lance breathed, and Chris remembered that, too; that voice going hoarse and breathless under him.
"Just ... putting the pieces together," Chris said, grinning, and hell, no, not too old for this shit at all.
"Shit, Bass, you're not serious?"
"Thirty grand, J." Lance stretched, lazy and smug. "I expect value for my donation."
"It's not my fault the power died," Justin muttered. "I provided alternate entertainment."
"Very well, too," Lance purred, but then sighed. Finally, Justin groaned and dashed across the room to grab the bottle of Jack, swearing as his bare feet froze on the tile.
"No ice?"
"You want ice?" Justin dove back under the down comforter, pressing close against smooth, warm skin. "Anything else, Mr. Bass, sir?" he mouthed over the bull.
"Gimme a second," Lance gasped. "I'll think of something."
Fred isn't surprised when Cordelia drags everyone up to her room.
"See?" Cordy hisses. "Who decorates a log? And what's with the candelabra on the mantel? We aren't having freaky power issues, are we?"
"It's called a menorah, Cordy." Fred jumps back as the Yule log catches fire suddenly.
"Okay, missing something over here," Charles says, taking the matches out of her hand. "You're not Jewish."
"Or Wiccan," Angel adds, shifting Connor to one arm.
"Nor Swedish," Wesley finishes.
"So, why--?" Angel's gesture takes in the tree and mistletoe, the evergreen swags on the windows, St. Lucia's wreath on the table.
"I--it's so long until spring, so easy to forget…" They're all watching her, seeing CrazyFred; maybe they're right, she can't tell.
"Ah," Wesley says. "To remember the light."
"As many ways as possible." Fred takes Connor from Angel and holds him close.
"Cool," Charles says. "Can't hurt, as long as you don't burn the place down around us." He puts the guard back on the fireplace on his way out.
"Presents work, too," Cordelia calls back, as she leaves with Charles. "Everybody should remember that."
"Yes, Cordelia," Angel and Wes chorus, but their smiles are for Fred.
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::points up:: This is Fred, in case you didn't know. =)
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ps - still love mine VERY MUCH!
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The Chris/JC...I kept trying to cut it down to 100 and there was just no way, so I decided that hey, it's the holidays, I'm allowed to indulge. The 200 works so much better.
And thank you; so glad you like what popped into my brain for the threesome of our hearts. =)
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Also, this one:
Chris squints up at JC, fiddling with the angel tree-topper, and the preschooler who went to stay with a new family looks back.
That was awesome and bittersweet.
Also, I really liked the Fred one.
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