Jane Davitt's Blog - Posts Tagged "advent-calendar"

I love advent calendars; opening them up as a kid, we got a picture behind a door, not chocolate, but it was a huge thrill.

So I'm doing my version of one and posting a tiny snippet, a paragraph or so, featuring an original character, someone from a fandom I write (list here: http://archiveofourown.org/users/Jane...) or someone from my books every day of December up to and including the 24th

If anyone has a character, pairing, setting, kink or prompt they'd like to see featured, tell me in the comments!

Day Two opened by Sunne
John/Nick from Laying a Ghost

Light of my Life

“Christmas Eve and no snow.“

John scratched his nose. The disappointed note in Nick’s voice had him panicking. Suppose the man decided to leave the island, bored with the endless rain and short days of winter? What was to keep him here? They’d been together such a short time, after all. Long enough for him to know Nick was the only one for him, but did that hold true for Nick?

“Well, we get snow . Not often, but we do. Plenty of it on the mainland, I hear.”

Nick stared out of the window at the darkness, mouth drooping before he summoned a smile. “What the hell. It’s Christmas and we’re together. That’s what counts.”

He wanted more than resignation. He wanted joy, delight on Nick’s face; warmth in his eyes. For this first Christmas together to be special.

A memory stirred. Him with his dad one frosty night, his breath visible on the air, the ends of his fingers numb, too entranced to care. Would they be lucky tonight?

He'd risk it. Hadn't he already risked everything for Nick and had it pay off? He was the luckiest man on the island. Time to prove it.

“Come outside with me.”

Nick tilted his head questioningly. “Why? It’s nearly midnight. Too late to go visiting and the pub’s closed.”

Officially, maybe, but John knew behind locked doors there’d be plenty of drinking going on until the wee small hours.

“Trust me. And turn off the lights.”

Outside, the sky was pricked over with sharp, white sparks, stars burning coldly, their light undimmed here. No streetlights, no glowing windows, no moon.

“Close your eyes, love. I won’t let you fall.”

“If I do, I’m telling Santa to put you on his naughty list. Okay, eyes closed, no peeking.”

John took Nick’s hand and led him to the wall running around their land, surefooted even in the darkness, lending Nick his certainty of where to place each step.

“What—"

“Hush,” John told him and stopped his mouth with a kiss, sweet as the sherry his mother had insisted they drink earlier. As they kissed, he turned Nick, facing him toward the north.

Facing toward the lights.

They blanketed the sky, unearthly, luminous, a shimmer of green, a surge of gold raying out to meet a vivid purple. Nature at her gaudiest, dressed to party.

“You can look now. It’s not snow, but you can get that anywhere. Even in England.”

“John—" Nick drew in a breath. “My God, I didn’t know you could see them here.”

“Oh, aye. Many’s the time I’ve frozen my arse off staring at them.”

“So beautiful. Miraculous.”

“They are that,” he agreed, but he was peering through the darkness, watching the smile grow on Nick’s face, not the display in the sky.

That was his Christmas wish granted, right there. Nick’s smile.

***
There are some wonderful pictures of the lights seen from Scotland here:

https://www.visitscotland.com/see-do/...

Day Three opened by Sunne
Dan/Tyler from Wild Raspberries

Domino Theory

It’s probably not the best idea to smack your lover in the face with a snowball when he’s a trained killer, capable of wreaking a terrible revenge, but Dan does it anyway. The snowball arcs through the chill air and—Tyler dodges it easily, twisting his body to the side.

The snowball hits the trunk of a sapling and a shiver runs through it. Cause and effect. The snow deposited on a narrow branch slips off and lands neatly on Tyler’s head.

For a moment, Dan’s fate hangs in the balance. Tyler’s hot as hell, kind in his own way, and Dan loves him to bits, but the guy has a moody side.

Not today. Tyler lets out a startled whoosh of breath, shakes his head vigorously, then charges. Dan lands on his back in the deep snow, Tyler’s weight pressing him into the cold fluff, Tyler’s hands on him in all sorts of interesting ways.

“Brat,” Tyler says and kisses him, cold lips, warm tongue. “Gonna make you pay for that.”

“Yeah? How?”

Tyler’s sneaky. He has the zipper on Dan’s jeans down, the button flicked open, and his hand through the narrow gap before Dan registers the attack. His cock wakes up, eager, hungry, then Tyler tugs on fabric and the world becomes a colder place.

Bare ass against the snow, cock sticking up like an icicle, Dan flails wildly, but Tyler’s not letting him go.

When Tyler’s mouth fits around the head of his cock, warming the chill, sending a sizzle of heat down to his numb toes, Dan loses interest in trying.

Day Five opened by Vivian
Liam, Jay, and Austin from Room at the Top

Tinsel Time


“The tree looks pretty, don’t you think?”

Liam didn’t expect an answer from either sub. Jay’s mouth was filled with a gag the same size and shape as the ornament Liam held in his hand, though considerably less fragile, and Austin’s mouth was filled by Jay’s cock, as it had been for some time.

Since Liam began decorating the tree, in fact.

Liam studied them, not bothering to hold back his grin. Jay stood tall and straight like the blue spruce, red tinsel wound around him from his shoulders to his thighs, trapping his arms, keeping his legs together. His cock, from the glimpses Liam got, was as red as the garland. For Austin, he’d kept it simple; a single strand of silver and white to bind his wrists behind him.

Liam hung the ornament and picked up a length of purple tinsel he’d found at the bottom of the plastic storage bin. It didn’t match the color scheme he’d chosen and it was decidedly ragged. It had to be a decade old. Using it on them as a whip was pointless; it was too soft. The wire at its core held possibilities though. It seemed thicker than the other strands scattered around the carpet. Probably banned now for health and safety reasons. Experimenting, he doubled the strand over and over, reducing it to a short, fairly solid club. Still nothing to damage skin or even inflict pain, but he liked the idea of using it on them.

And after all, it was the season to indulge oneself.

Smiling, he tapped the tinsel against his palm. Austin first. He was flagging in his efforts somewhat. Then after a moment or two, he could rest while Liam tested the effect of the makeshift flogger on Jay’s tormented, teased cock.

The tree could wait. He’d neglected his boys. Let them play without him for far too long.

Time to join the party. He slashed the tinsel across Austin’s arse and startled a muffled yelp from him. It wasn’t going to hurt at all. Pity. But there was time to move to more traditional methods later.

And, oh, the delicious, strangled moans Jay gave when it struck his balls…

Door Six opened by me (again :-))

Working on all the great prompts; just scattering them through the month. Busy day today, so I'm cheating slightly (naughty list for me!) and reposting a fanfic I wrote back in the day.
It's The Sentinel and all you need to know is that Jim's a cop, this is the Christmas party at the station, and Blair's the student living in his loft and observing Jim's super-senses.

Topping the List

Blair's weaving through the crowd like a pinball on speed. I watch him bounce off Rhonda as she nibbles fruitcake and turn, spinning, to grin up at her, sweetest smile you've ever seen, and brush crumbs off her blouse. Or cop a feel. Maybe both. Drunk (and he's sure lit up tonight) Blair likes to spread his charms around. Henderson from Vice doesn't know what to make of him, I can tell, but if he didn't want a sloppy, seventy-percent-proof smooch, he shouldn't have held that mistletoe over the kid's head and dared him. Not much of a dare. Blair's been laying kisses on everyone who stands still long enough since about ten seconds after his first drink kicked in.

Blair had told me he was going to make a list of everyone he kissed and rank them according to a system he'd worked out: minus points for bad breath and brownie points for not using tongue on the first lip-lock. There was more to it than that, but I tuned him out and he drifted over to Simon and grinned up at him engagingly for as long as it took for the message to get through that Simon would squish him like a bug if he puckered up. Blair wasn't drunk enough to have lost his sense of self-preservation, which was good, because I wouldn't have saved him. I told him to steer clear of the eggnog, damn it.

God knows what the winner of the game gets, but I'm not playing. Kiss Blair in public? Be just one of the crowd? I don't think so. And I'm not sure I could pretend that it was the first time and make it convincing.

See, I know just how he likes to be held, my hands sliding into his hair, my mouth as gentle as I can make it on his. I know how to flick my tongue and get a moan that makes me shiver, how to move one hand down to cup his ass and bring him in closer. I know how to reduce him to the state he is now, buzzed and babbling, eyes unfocused, voice slurred, without a drop of alcohol involved.

Let him kiss his way around the room and make his list. When we get home, I'll tear it into shreds and watch it flutter down like snow as he smiles up at me, swaying gently, telling me that none of them kissed him as well as I do, none, Jim, not even close, so I'm the winner, and I can claim my prize right the hell now.

Think I'll wait until you've stopped puking, Chief. Take a rain check until you're conscious.

And in the morning, when his hangover's making him wish that he was dead, I'll kiss his aching, clammy forehead and tell him what I want for my prize when he's feeling human again.

Winner takes all, and Blair's always at the top of my wish list.

Door Seven opened by Tully.

This is a sequel to my BDSM Kink in Ink story, A Lick and a Promise with Jeff and his pup getting a real dog.

Puppy Training 101


“What do you think?” Jeff scratched the puppy’s ear, reducing it to a wriggle and a whine. “Cute, huh?”

I did that when he petted me. Didn’t mean I wanted to see a real dog do it. “One of his ears is lopsided, he limps, and he’s got a mean look in his eyes.”

“What?” Jeff turned the pup, a mongrel if ever I saw one, and studied its face. In return, it licked his nose. Unhygienic and clearly badly trained. “No way. This pup’s made of candy canes and chocolate. And the limp…never mind.”

“Chocolate’s poisonous for dogs.” I edged toward the door of the pound. “Can we go? Because I’ve got masses of Christmas shopping to do and we agreed both of us had to like the dog or we wouldn’t adopt it.”

“Yeah, I know.” The pup barked and wriggled its butt again, but Jeff set it back in its cage, closing the door carefully. “Let’s head out.”

He didn’t look at me when he said it, but he didn’t look back at the puppy when it barked either.

***
Jeff was out with friends, celebrating a birthday, but I’d begged off. Literally, on my knees, nuzzling his hand as he stroked my face, and he’d agreed to go alone.

After easing down his zipper and letting me suck him dry, that is. He tasted clean from his shower, his cock warm against my tongue, and I used every trick I knew to make the blowjob last, but eventually he cried out and shot, filling my mouth. I swallowed and he pulled out, wiping his cock against my cheek, leaving his scent on me.

“Be good,” he said, with a hint of sternness. “No alcohol or candy. There’s water in your bowl and you’re to stay down unless there’s an emergency. “

That was shorthand for staying in puppy mode, on my hands and knees, collar around my neck, naked, a butt plug and tail stretching my hole, mitts on my hands. I nodded, and turned, presenting my butt for the insertion of the plug. He took his own sweet time fetching it and the lube, but I didn’t move, quivering with arousal, knowing he’d enjoy picturing me hard and aching, waiting for him to come home. My erection would subside, but not the longing.

The burn of the plug told me he’d used a size up from the usual one. That could be to punish me or to reinforce the dynamic between us. I could’ve asked which it was, but I stayed silent, already deep in a mindset where spoken words didn’t belong.
“Sweet pup,” he told me, fastening the mitts on my hands. “Be good for me, you hear?”
I barked, a sharp sound he had no trouble interpreting as agreement.

The door closed behind him, I whined and crawled to my kennel in the den, a room only we used these days. My kennel had a padded floor and a hook set into the wall. I was put there after a spanking, leash attached to the hook, my ass burning, my face wet with tears, to think over what I’d done. Now I went there to think about what I’d done and not gotten punished for.

We’d discussed a dog and agreed to it in theory. In practice, jealousy and possessiveness I was ashamed of had made me veto every dog we’d seen. Jeff had been patient, even offering to table the adoption, but I’d continued to insist I wanted a pet while steadfastly blocking any progress toward that goal.

I know. Made no sense. But I didn’t want my Master to see my flaws. Bad enough that I knew they existed.

I turned around three times and settled into a comfortable position, but I was restless. The pup’s brown eyes haunted me. It’d been such a tiny scrap of a dog.

I left my kennel and went to the laptop on the kitchen table. Too high to reach without breaking the rules and standing, but I’d need to remove the mitts to use it anyway. I couldn’t fasten them myself, so Jeff would know I’d been disobedient. I got a not-so-secret thrill out of being punished, but disappointing my Master left me uneasy with guilt. Better to beg for a whipping than earn one.

Unavoidable tonight. I set the laptop on the carpet, sitting out of the question, and navigated to the pound’s site.

The pub, Jake, was still listed as available. I clicked on his history. Shit. Left by the side of a busy road, he’d fought free of the sack imprisoning him, and been hit a glancing blow by a car, driven, luckily, by a woman who’d stopped, rushed him to a vet, and paid for his treatment. But she was the mother of a child with severe allergies and Jake had ended up waiting for adoption. He’d been in that cage for three weeks now.

I was sobbing by the time I finished reading, messy, snotty tears, washing away the horrible emotions clogging my soul and leaving me with only one worry; that Jake wouldn’t be there when we went back to the pound.

He was. And the lick he gave my hand when I picked him up for my first cuddle was forgiving, loving, happy. Or maybe he was after the treat I held.

Training was important. I knew that. But a little spoiling and a lot of love were too.

I knew that from experience.

Door Eight is opened by Michaella who asked for Daniel/Cameron.

Not in Kansas

The sheen of sweat across Cameron’s shoulders makes Daniel want to touch, to taste. Stupid, really. It’s sweat. It’ll leave his fingers damp and his tongue tasting salt. He knows this and he still wants to do it.

Curiosity is the besetting sin of an archeologist. Not that he thinks of himself in those terms these days. Too many Goa’uld kills under his belt, too many worlds saved, deaths died, resurrections managed. He’s not sure what he is, but archeologist is the least of it.

One certainty is that he’s Cameron’s lover. And isn’t that surprising? So easy to go there, so satisfying to discover how all that boyish enthusiasm translates in bed to a focused determination on getting Daniel to cry out, whimper (once) and beg (same time as the whimpering, never to be repeated while there’s breath in his body. If Jack found out, the teasing would be unbearable.)

He settles for stroking Cameron’s ass, tracing the curve with an appreciation for all that taut muscle and the welcoming space his cock fits into so snugly. Cameron’s asshole is conquered territory. Daniel’s put his fingers, tongue, and cock into it, not in that order, and if his curiosity’s long since appeased, his appetite isn’t.

Cameron murmurs, sleepy, sated, and rolls over. “What?”

“It’s Christmas Eve. If you were at home, what would you be doing now?”

“Not lying in bed naked with a guy, that’s for sure.” Cameron yawns, not troubling to cover his mouth. His breath smells of coffee and cum. “Kansas at Christmas… It’s quiet, you know? Lots of hot cocoa and cookies, meals that leave your stomach aching it’s so full, people singing carols like they’re on a damn commercial. Homey. Yeah. It’s homey."

It’s as alien as a distant planet (and he knows his distant planets.) “Do you wish you were there?”

Cameron wrinkles his nose thoughtfully. “Kinda. Glad I’m not if you’re staying the night.”

“I’m not.” Daniel doesn’t hide his regret, but he doesn’t apologize or make excuses. Cameron knows why he can’t, why they can never have more than an hour or two together. Unless a blizzard arrives, trapping him, he’s got to leave at a reasonable time after spending an innocent evening ostensibly watching movies with a team mate.

Sometimes he wants to take the regs and shove them into the nearest black hole. But they’re not an object to be destroyed; more a mass of prejudices and caution. Because, leaving their gender aside, this is still forbidden what he’s doing, and for good reason. He doesn’t care, though. He’s arrogant enough to trust himself to keep his feelings for Cameron separate from their interaction in the field.

Daniel Jackson. The Special One. That’s him. He spares a moment to laugh silently at himself, then tunes back into what Cameron’s saying and lets him spin a fantasy land of snow and silent woods, blazing fires and family. How much of it is true, he’s not sure. That picture-perfect scene in reality probably contains mushy vegetables, squabbles, hurt feelings, buried resentments flashing to life, rain instead of snow, and indigestion.

But he lets himself listen to the longing in Cameron’s voice and translate it to the loneliness Cameron keeps hidden.

Maybe he’ll stay a little longer, after all.

Been shopping in Toronto all day so another oldie for today :-) Again, it's Jim/Blair from The Sentinel. I'm rewatching with my 16 yr old daughter and she's loving the slashiness.

Hunt

Jim smells the vodka from clear across the room and wrinkles his nose. It clashes with the mulled wine in a way he can't articulate but doesn't like.

Or maybe he's just pissed at someone's idea of a joke. A single drink probably wouldn't do much harm to someone driving; the glasses are small and the concoction's too sweet to be drunk in volume. Laced with vodka, though, a glass is enough to send someone out to their car just that little slow in reacting, and the roads are slick with ice.

A quiet word in the ear of the server, whose blouse is decorated with a Rudolph brooch, red nose flashing (a sartorial crime even at this time of the year, but not one Jim's interested in prosecuting) and the punchbowl is whisked away.

Time to hunt down the joker.

Jim takes a deep, satisfied breath, smiles, all teeth, and startles a passing professor into spilling her drink (luckily club soda). It's at times like this that he loves having enhanced senses. His steps quicken and he's breathing lightly, quickly, heart thudding with excitement.

The flat, empty bottle makes the student's jacket hang down on one side. Too stupid to ditch the evidence, or too arrogant to think that he'd be caught? Jim doesn't care. He hauls the boy into an empty hallway and scares the shit out of the punk without breaking a sweat, gets his name, and promises reprisals.

The boy scurries off, shoulders hunched.

"You enjoyed that way too much," Blair says in his ear.

Jim grins. Busted.

"And you were good. I watched you. You didn't hesitate; just homed in on him."

Jim shrugs. "It was easy."

"A thousand different scents to sort through? A year ago, you'd have told me it was impossible." Blair sounds regretful. "You don't need me now."

"Never going to be true, babe," Jim tells him sincerely. "Trust me, when you said a sentinel needs backup, you were right." He steps in close and guides Blair's hand to the strong, hard pulse of his erection for a fleeting moment, listening for approaching footsteps without taking his attention away from Blair. "God, you were so right…"

"That's not your back," Blair says, his lips twisting in a smile, "and anyone can take care of that little problem."

"You're wrong about that," Jim says, ignoring the 'little'. They both know it isn't. "And if you want to watch my back, take me home and bend me over something when you fuck me; you'll have a great view of it then."

Blair's breath catches and the look he gives Jim is fierce, hungry as his hand reaches out. "That hunt really got you going, didn't it?" Jim nods, too aroused to speak now that Blair's playing with him. "I guess you earned a reward," Blair muses and Jim nods again, wondering what he'll get from Blair.

Blair who guides the hunt, and holds his leash tightly, just the way he likes it.

This isn't very old but I loved writing it so I'm reposting. Original characters.


Lighting Up My Life

Living out in the country meant no one but a wandering bear (not the sexy kind, but the real deal. Still hairy with a growl, but less likely to be in a leather bar) would see our Christmas lights, but I wanted them up anyway.

So I like a little twinkle with my season. It’s not a crime. And, yes, for a log cabin, the furnishings are less woodland rustic and more Parisian loft chic, but a space is a space and I could make a tent look ready for a photo-shoot in a décor mag.

Or if Kelly was lying on the sleeping bag naked, a few autumn leaves scattered across that gorgeous bod, berry juice drizzled across his nipples, cock as stiff as a tree trunk, an entirely different kind of publication.

Kelly’s the troll under the bridge to my goat. He’s big and gruff and I trip along happily, anyway, It was a goat in the story, right? My parents never read me stories – I know, sob, sob – and we lived too far from town to make the library an option. I missed out on huge chunks of stuff everyone else knows. If they didn’t make a movie of it, I’m lost. Kelly’s never without a book or three on the go and he reads to me when I ask, deep voice slow on the words, giving me time to put them into order in my head.

Love him. Love him so fucking much. Even if he took a box of battery operated diamond lights from me in the store last week and said we had enough, no more.

There’s always room for another book, but not my impulse buys. I’d pout over it if he didn’t have a teensy, tiny point. And he’s right; blowing a circuit and spending Christmas in the dark would suck.

It was snowing lightly this Christmas Eve, and we had one more string to put up. It was a special string, the one I save until last because Kelly got for me the day we met. I couldn’t get the box down from the shelf and no one would help me. Not out of meanness. Crater’s a nice country town in Southern Ontario. It’s big enough that we’re not the only gay guys or gals around, but people were super busy and I was ready to swarm up the fucking shelves and risk them tipping over if I could just get my hands on that box of candy red twinklers.

I started to climb, foot on the shelf, about to push off and up, when an arm snaked around my waist and hauled me back. I spun around, and trust me, a sassy pivot in snow boots isn’t easy to pull off, but I did it. Found myself looking at a plaid shirt and a wide chest. I tilted back and stared at into blue eyes and a frown.

“That’s dangerous.”

Stamping my foot was overkill but my toes twitched with the need to act out. My inner child’s a brat. “I want those lights. They’re worth the risk.”

He grinned, slow and hot, like soup simmering. “Ask nicely.”

I don’t bend that easily. “Point me at Mr. Nicely and I will.”

He hummed, the sound coming from deep in his chest. Be fun to feel it up close, let it tickle my ear. “Sassy mouth.”

I licked my lips. Bad idea in the winter, but I had lip balm in two pockets. Raspberry-lemon and choc-mint. I like a mixed message. “You have no idea how right you are.”

I expected it to scare him off or freak him out, but he tapped his finger on my lips as if he was testing them for something. Maybe just to see if I’d pooch them up automatically in a kiss, which I did. “Sassy’s good. Polite’s better.”

I widened my eyes, green contacts that day, nice and seasonal (red was too, but…yeah. No.) and addressed an empty piece of air. “Dear Santa, please send a sweet little elf to get me down that box of lights. I swear I’ve been good all year. And if I was naughty once or twice, well, it’s Christmas, so let me off with a warning.”

He snorted, amusement putting sparks in his eyes. “Don’t think it works that way, and I’m no elf, but if you want those lights that badly you’ll flirt with someone like me, I’ll reach them down.”

He handed them to me and nodded before walking away. Hell, yeah, I went after him. Someone like him? The hell? Whoever had done a number on his confidence I didn’t know (still don’t) but I was good at rebuilding a man’s ego. And the rest is history. Our history. So we live together in my granddaddy’s cabin and he rents snowmobiles to tourists in the winter and canoes in the summer and me, well, I do this, that, and the other to help out. We get by.

And now he was up on a stepladder with me holding on to keep the steps from spilling him into a drift.

Interesting view. My face was a few inches from an area I knew intimately. He reached up, grunting as he fought to hook the strand over the nails I’d hammered into wood in the shape of a star and his jacket rode up. Even better view now. Worn denim and a zipper over a shape I wanted defined, promising. In our bedroom, snuggled under a thick quilt, I could get his cock up and hard in a matter of seconds, but out here in the cold was more of a challenge.

Kelly’s shy behind the growl. Outdoor sex isn’t his thing, but it was close to dusk and the woods were silent. Okay, not totally silent. Woods never are. But there were no people noises, just the creak of snow-laden branches and the sigh of a breeze. We were invisible. Safe behind a curtain of falling flakes and darkness.

I breathed out. No way had he felt it through denim, but he jerked as if he had. “Stop that.”

“Too late for you to send my gifts back to the North Pole. Last time I checked, Santa was on his way.” I tugged his zipper down, the rasp of metal zinging over my nerves. I wasn’t hard, but I was turned on. Kind of weird, body and mind out of sync. It didn’t matter. I was doing this for him.

Well…maybe a little for me. Love getting my mouth filled and stretched by his cock. He’s always so fucking gentle until I push him to a rougher place. I hate myself afterward but never at the time.

“I’m busy. And on a ladder.”

I slipped off my gloves, then worked his cock through the gap, shivering reflexively. The only bare skin I was offering up to the air was on my hands and face and I planned to keep it that way. “You’re here and I’ll catch you if you fall.”

Physical impossibility, but he knew what I meant.

“I’m not doing this.” He sounded firm, but his cock was too. It uncurled, stiffening, straightening, and I grinned and listened to it, not him.

“You’ve got a job to do, mister. String those lights. Just ignore me.”

He muttered something under his breath I was intended to hear and I sniffed. For that, he was getting a BJ to leave his knees shaky and his heart pounding, helpless moans and whimpers pouring out with his spunk.

I’d teach him to liken me to a mosquito when he knows how much I hate those tiny bits of hell spawn.

Slow licks, hot puffs of breath… Like the organic version of wax and ice play, all natural and pure. The air around us, spangled with frozen snow, added light touches of cold with every flake settling on his cock. I held off from taking him deep, entranced by the way they held their shape for a split second, white on red, like the most lickable candy cane ever, then melted.

If they melted, his cock couldn’t be that cold, right?

I swirled the tip of my tongue here and there, darting licks, making it last. I got a hit of his taste, the warm aroma of his skin down there lost to me because the cold had shut down my nose. Shame. I adored breathing in his scent, earthy, trapped in the dense mass of dark hair clouding the shape of his balls.

He stopped moving. Were the lights in place? I didn’t look. Too busy concentrating. I’d dropped my gloves, slush had worked its way inside my boots and turned my socks to clammy heaviness and I didn’t care.

The act itself was familiar. I wasn’t doing anything I hadn’t done to him a hundred times before. My mouth on his cock. Sucking, tongue caressing hot stiffness, me trying to deep throat him and failing because the spirit’s willing and the gag reflex is really, really strong.

It was the setting making it magical. And, okay, Kelly on a ladder and me standing in a drift, head wedged against the metal rungs, was awkward as hell, but it didn’t matter. I could feel his silent laughter, the flex of his stomach as he kept that laughter from shattering the hush around us. Could tell when amusement faded and he surrendered, the string of lights hanging down, forgotten, as he reached to touch my cheek. Gentle fingers, soft as the whiteness and he came in a slow, sweet wave, spunk breaking over my tongue.

I pulled back, then nuzzled into the flesh I’d left wet and vulnerable, shielding it from the icy air. I was hard now, but it was a distant arousal, a comfortable ache I could wait for Kelly to soothe later.

Something in his front pocket, all straight lines and hard edges, dug into my cheek. I made a puzzled sound and he eased me off him and zipped up. With a grunt, he jumped off the ladder and came around it to hug me.

“You’re wicked.”

“If you’re waiting for an apology…”

“Nope. I like your brand of wicked.” He reached into his pocket and took out a jewelry box. “I like it this much.”

Sweet Saint Nick. A ring. It glittered from a cushion of pale satin, a circle of white gold set with tiny rubies. My lights in miniature.

“I should be on my knees for this.” He scratched his chin. “The hell. Why not?” He sank into the snow and looked up at me. “Marry me? Please? And if the answer’s ‘no’, wear the ring anyway because it’s as pretty as you.”

“I—” Speechless. My throat closed around the words I wanted to say to him, my beautiful giant, kneeling in front of me, every barrier down, letting me see into his heart. I’d never been loved before. Never known how it felt to be the needed one, the necessary one. He was offering me more than metal and stone, more than his name linked with mine.

He was giving me everything I’d ever wanted and I gave him a ‘yes’ he couldn’t have heard, it was so quiet.

I ended up on my back in the snow, the ring warm on my finger as he kissed me. Maybe he’d got really good hearing, because he grinned before his mouth met mine. When the kiss ended, I stared past his head and up, dizzy at the sight of the flakes spinning around, a wild cloud of them.

Best Christmas ever. Or it would be.

“Get off me. You need to finish the lights.” I fluttered snow-wet eyelashes when he frowned. Maybe a few tears in the mix, but I’d never tell. “Please?”

“This time, you hold the ladder, not my dick.”

I didn’t promise, so I wasn’t technically being naughty when my hand slipped and slid sideways. I was holding him steady, I swear.

Holding him close, always.

Door Eleven is opened by Trio and Sunne who asked for Sterling and Owen from Bound and Determined

A Place in my Heart

“There! That one!” Sterling rushed over to a blue spruce Owen estimated to be two feet higher than the ceiling in any room of their house.

That wasn’t what made him frown. Sterling was under orders to stay within reach once they left the car and entered the Christmas tree lot. It was an order Owen gave from time to time when Sterling’s emotions were chaotic and his focus as scattered as a kaleidoscope.

Holidays were difficult times. Reconciled with his mother, but not his father, Sterling’s home was with Owen and likely to stay that way. It didn’t matter that Sterling was at the age where moving out and finding his own place was natural; he’d lost his childhood refuge and that had to hurt.

Sterling had been weirdly distracted the last week, humming songs, tweaking the decorations he’d put up until Owen had spanked him with one of them. He wasn’t sure what it was, but Sterling had hung it over the handle to the front door, a long piece of wood decorated with dancing reindeer and white glitter. Every time Owen opened the door it shed sparkles.

The reindeer looked considerably less perky when he’d finished turning Sterling’s ass Santa-red. And the glitter against all that bruised skin did lend a festive air, he supposed.

Owen understood and sympathized with Sterling’s feelings, but he had no intention of allowing him to get away with flagrant disobedience. The place was quiet, no one nearby. He whistled, a sharp sound that had Sterling jerking around, then slipped the glove from his hand. The snap of his fingers, the curl of his finger, hooked Sterling as surely as a fish taking the bait and Owen reeled in his wayward sub.

“Repeat your instructions,” he said when Sterling was beside him, head down, the picture of penitence.

“Stay within reach of your hand, but that one was per—ow!”

Owen smiled, noting that Sterling didn’t rub his stinging ass. Didn’t even seem too perturbed by the smack, judging by his grin. “See? Now you’re making life easy for me. Much better.”

“I didn’t mean to disobey you. It’s just…” Sterling waved his arms and gave the impression of jumping up and down, though his feet stayed grounded. “Christmas! I love Christmas. And last one was kinda mixed-up and weird, but this year it’s you and me and it’s going to be perfect.”

Stunned by the sheer joy in Sterling’s voice and the glow in his eyes, Owen swallowed back a question. Asking Sterling if he was sure he didn’t mind not going home would be cruel.

Besides, he had the feeling that once they’d chosen a tree and loaded it up, that’s exactly where Sterling thought he was going.

Home.