My Siegemas contribution for @dualrainbow ‘s event! The prompt was cuddling by the fireplace.
Thatcher reclined on his ratty couch, flipping lazily through the channels. Christmas ad after Christmas ad flickered over the screen before he thumbed his way to the next channel. Die Hard was running as well as Harry Potter, but Thatcher had yet to find anything that captured his interest. He certainly wouldn’t be caught dead watching a Hallmark movie.
Thatcher must have dozed off, a knock at the door causing him to jerk back awake. Frowning, he swung his feet to the floor and padded over. If his brother was here to ask for money again—
The knocking came again, this time louder. Thatcher was moving to check the peep hole when someone yelled from the other side.
“Oi, Maggie. Open up. It’s bloody cold out here.” Smoke pounded again for good measure.
“Bugger off!” Thatcher shouted back, fully prepared to walk away and let him freeze, irate that he’d been made to move.
“Mr. Baker, I made pie!” A younger voice, muffled by the door, but soft and sweet.
“Oi, pie, Maggie. You wouldn’t let me little girl freeze?” Thatcher stopped and sighed loudly, before turning back around.
He opened the door and was greeted by Charlie, standing there in matching pink coat, beanie, and mittens as she proudly held up a pecan pie. Behind her Smoke was grinning wildly while Mute lazily leaned against the porch railing. Thatcher glared at Smoke a moment longer before stepping aside and permitting them entry. His place wasn’t incredibly clean, but Charlie didn’t seem to mind as she wandered toward his kitchen. Smoke and Mute followed close behind, the two already bickering about how they should have precut the pie. Smoke wandered in, leaving a snow trail behind him, while Mute carefully hung his jacket on the wall hook before following him. Thatcher trailed after, amused with how Charlie simply set to work getting plates out. The couple were trying to where his knives were when a louder knock sounded on the door.
“Those better not be bloody carolers, Porter.” Thatcher muttered darkly, at which Smoke’s grin only widened with a wink. Thatcher shouted that he was coming, as he huffed his way back to the front. On the other side stood Sledge, Diana tucked under one arm and the other precariously balancing a number of containers. Behind him, Maestro held several more, including a platter wrapped in tin foil.
“Hope you’re hungry. Adriano made enough food to feed the entire base.” Sledge greeted. Smoke appeared to pluck some of the load of his hands and coo at Diana.
“Glad ya made it! Maggie was just saying how he was hopin for carolers. Maybe Maestro could help us out.” Another wink as Smoke retreated out of reach and into the kitchen. Thatcher’s glower contradicted that notion, and Maestro stayed blessedly silent for the time being.
The squad plus Charlie made up plates, Diana happily dancing around their feet, hoping for scraps. Thatcher’s home wasn’t well equipped for this many people and they all ended up piling into the living room. Thatcher was sandwiched between Mute and Smoke (Smoke having somehow wriggled his way into the small space to Thatcher’s right) while Sledge perched on the arm rest. Charlie and Maestro took up residence closer to the fireplace, both of them chilled from draft in the house. Conversation flowed freely and through a multitude of topics; Sledge lamented that Diana liked Charlie more than him, Mute complained that Smoke took too big of a pie piece, and at one point, Maestro started to sing to Charlie’s amusement and everyone else’s irritation.
“I appreciate the food, but why are you lot here? Don’t you have your own holiday plans?”
“Why would we do anything else when we could cuddle in front of the fireplace with you?” Mute asked, smirk playing at his lips. On Thatcher’s other side, Smoke snuggled impossibly closer.
“We’re a family, Baker. Christmas alone is boring and there wasn’t anything we were doing at home that couldn’t be done here.” Sledge added, tone full of conviction, looking over to Maestro, who nodded, smile wide.
Thatcher let the topic drop, head unusually giddy for his lack of alcohol. At some point in their conversations, Smoke recovered the remote from between the cushions and flipped through channels before settling on a Hallmark movie. Thatcher complained about his poor choice in movies, but watched it nonetheless; there was something odd about knowing exactly how a movie ended but still being curious to see how it would get there.
All the while, the fire crackled merrily in the background.
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