Happy holidays, lovelies! And most importantly, happy noot fic exchange/ secret Santa to @itsaash --you're a legend, a sweetheart, and a friend I hold near and dear to my heart. I hope everyone is staying safe and sound! You've made it through the shortest day of the year; it's only up from here! Thanks to @veryspacecowboy for coordinating the exchange and @lumosinlove for the characters!
TW for implied smut and mild Vaincre spoilers
Here comes Santa Claus, here comes Santa Claus, right down Santa Claus Lane…
“Fourth line, take it left!”
…and all the fun we had last year…
“Good work, boys, remember we’re working clockwise.”
Run, run, Rudolph, Santa’s gotta make it to town…
“I know, I know, but we need to get that down before we break today.”
…come on, it’s lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with…
“Keep those crossovers clean in the corners, Sunny!”
…the very next day, you gave it away…
Arthur frowned at his clipboard. An ache had started up along the inner corner of his eye, and not even the steady working of his thumb brought relief. The song changed to something bright and tinny with silver bells; the things he would give for a nice, quiet O, Holy Night right about now. Something soft, with minimal jangling. A saxophone would be lovely.
They had a schedule. They always had a schedule. The boys were used to rotation exercises—he had even taken pity and not added anything new or complicated to the roundup. The whole damn thing was laminated and taped to the damn glass around the damn bench on both damn sides of the goddamn rink.
Arthur’s eyes ticked typewriter-smooth down the list, but his ears alone would have told him it was a lost cause. Messy crossovers. From Sunny. Crunchy, scratchy steps from skates of perfect sharpness. Low muttering, barks of laughter, rollercoaster-arcs of chatting when they were supposed to be focusing. Cap did his best, but Harzy looked about two laps from chewing his way out through the boards.
Well. It was almost Christmas. He could be kind.
The whistle broke through Brenda Lee’s second chorus; 20 heads popped up.
“Revision!” Arthur called across the ice, drawing a steady line through the end of his list. “Bring it in.”
Their rush to the bench was the cleanest they had sounded all day.
“We’re going to finish a little early today—”
A wave of cheers cut him off, then petered out at his unimpressed glance.
“We’re finishing a little early,” he repeated when the Christmas spirit had released their souls at last, leaving only a faint ringing in the upper levels of the bleachers. “Because I’m taking off the last rotation.”
Arthur slipped his pen back into the clipboard clamp. Olli raised a tentative hand. “So…we can go…?”
Arthur frowned. “What? No, we’re going ‘til noon, if you just—guys, the schedule is right there—”
“Nooo—”
“But Coach—”
“—Christmas!—”
“I haven’t even—”
“—been here so long—”
“—like you don’t even love us—”
“—mom’s gonna kill me if I don’t—”
Unbelievable. Simply beyond words. Arthur looked over Nado’s pleading hands, hoping for an ounce of solidarity from the one person besides himself who was literally appointed for this duty, and was met with only a beleaguered, whale-eyed stare in return.
Arthur raised his eyebrows.
Sirius gazed back.
For such a large person, he could really pull off ‘sickly Victorian child begging for gruel’ when he wanted to.
“Alright,” Arthur muttered. It was lost in the sea of writhing and wailing. “Alright!”
The team (finally) fell somewhat silent.
“I am very sorry,” he began, pausing to slide his clipboard onto the bench hook. Their anticipation was delicious. “That I assumed a group of grown men playing their favorite game for millions of dollars would be able to handle one morning practice for their last competition before a holiday break.”
Pots’ eyebrows pitched as if he had been stabbed. “But Coach, it’s Christmas.”
“It is December 22nd.”
“I haven’t even found something for my dad yet!” Walker piped in.
“Sounds like a personal problem with time management.”
Pascal—the traitor—shuffled on his skates. “I was going to make holiday cookies with my children,” he said sadly. “They grow up so fast. We might not have many years of it left.”
Arthur rolled his eyes. “I’m letting you go at noon, not locking you in here overnight. And I know you make cookies on Christmas Eve, because you put them on my doorstep every year.”
Pascal tsked, but didn’t deny it.
“You get cookies?” O’Hara perked up, craning his neck to look at Pacal. “How come we don’t get cookies?”
“Because I don’t need you to like me,” Pascal said with a smile.
“What if we need to catch flights?” Knut interrupted.
Arthur squinted at him. “Knut, we have a game tomorrow. You better not be going anywhere.”
“Well, no, but the sentiment stands.”
“No, it does n—you know what, fine, if you make it through…” Arthur leaned around the glass to squint at his beautiful, crisp schedule. “Your next two—TWO, I don’t wanna hear it—rotations before 11:30, I will let you out then.”
“And no lift tonight?” Kuny asked hopefully.
“Don’t push it.”
“Veto.”
Budding protests froze over in one collective puff of breath.
…the stars are brightly shining…
“What?” Arthur asked at last.
A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices…
Sirius licked his lips, shifting from one foot to the other. “Veto.”
Arthur opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Every eye in the room was fixed on their captain. He rested his chin on top of his hands, folded on his stick. Lupin’s gaze flickered back and forth.
“But I…” Arthur faltered, gesturing at the schedule.
“I get three.”
“It’s not even 9:30.”
“No questions asked.”
“We have a game.”
“It’s snowing outside.”
“How do you know that?” Arthur asked despairingly.
A grin skipped across his face. “I’m Canadian. I can smell it a mile off.”
“Also, Tremzy texted everyone right before practice,” O’Hara added.
“It’s snowing, have fun at practice, you fucking losers, ha-ha,” Knut recited with a grave nod.
“No, no,” Sirius corrected. “My bones are made of snow and I was born with hockey skates in one hand and a thermometer in the other.”
“That, I believe.”
Arthur waved his hands between them before the already-unbearable situation could get any worse. “Let me just…” His headache was coming back. Going home early was starting to sound less terrible by the minute. “You, as captain, get three vetoes across the span of your contract.”
“Ouais.”
“Which you can use to veto any practice you want, for any reason, with no questions asked by me or other staff.”
“That’s what I signed, yes.”
“And you’re using it on a snow day? With barely two hours left of practice? Before a game and a week off?”
Sirius smiled. “Veto.”
“Lupin.” A last-ditch effort. Perhaps a dirty play, but it was warranted. “Lupin, don’t you have anniversary plans? Birthdays? Anything else he can use this on?”
The captain’s barely-contained mischief was bad enough. Lupin’s mild bemusement was worse. “I’m sorry, Coach, but I can’t question a veto from my captain.”
Arthur scanned the crowd of hopeful faces. Sometime in the last minute and a half, Knut had slipped his phone off the bench and was doing his best to text under Winter’s elbow. Kelly Clarkson sang along to his imminent defeat. He sighed, shook his head, and opened the gate. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Nobody moved.
Arthur blinked. “Merry Christmas?”
Not a twitch.
“Ho-ho-ho, get out.”
The dispersal was the most active they had been all day, surging forward in one mass of whooping red and gold. Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Moody turn the music up a notch before hustling back into his office.
The herd had vanished down the tunnel in a matter of seconds. Arthur shook his head, turned his smile toward the empty rink, and pulled out his phone.
--
The locker room was a disaster.
“Don’t pull so hard!” Leo grunted as he fought to wriggle out of his jersey, hopping on one socked foot while Finn tried to help him out of his remaining skate. “I’m gonna fall, I’m gonna fall, Kasey—”
An elbow to the ribs righted him. “Yeah, no, I’m on my way out,” Kasey called over the ruckus, sandwiching his phone between his ear and shoulder. “Yeah, lemme get my shoes on. Al’s driving? Jesus, maybe I’ll just walk.”
“A tie is bad, right? That’s a bad gift?”
“T, I’m sure your dad will love anything you get him.”
“But I got him one for his birthday.”
Remus grimaced for just a moment, but it was enough. Thomas dropped his head into his hands with a groan.
“No, hey, it’s a good gift!” Remus tried, patting his shoulder. “Does he have a lot of ties?”
“He’s more of a sweater guy.”
“T.”
“I know, I know, I know.” Thomas sighed. His head fell back against his stall, then rolled toward Remus as his lip slid out in a pout. “I don’t even know where to start.”
Did Remus have to give him a minute with this one? He was a little afraid he did. “T,” he started. “Your dad likes sweaters.”
“Yeah.”
“So get him sweaters.”
“But what if he doesn’t like them?”
Remus took him by the shoulders and gave him a gentle shake. “He likes you.”
Thomas made a desperate sound and rolled his head the other way, then heaved himself upright. “I need to go outside. The cold clears my mind.”
“Way ahead of you!” Finn shouted over his shoulder, one hand clasped in Leo’s and the other on the doorknob with his skates teetering dangerously over his shoulder.
Leo hoisted their duffel bags, shuffling through the narrow doorframe with all the grace of a newborn giraffe. He gave them one last clumsy wave with a glove half-on. “Lo sends his love, even if he’ll never say it!”
“Yes, I’m coming,” Kasey laughed, presumably still to Natalie. He caught the door with his foot just as it was beginning to close; Remus grabbed the edge of it from him and waved off both his grateful look and mouthed thank you. “Yes, baby,” Kasey repeated. “Usual spot. On my way.”
It was a disaster, and then as fast as they had all tumbled in, everyone flooded out. A few of the newer guys remained, muffled by the hum of the showers. Dumo ruffled up Sirius’ hair as he passed, preoccupied by Celeste’s rapid-fire French on the phone and the hustle of his light jog. Remus was pretty sure he caught some mention of the park; there was one near their house with a pond that froze around this time of year. He was a little surprised Logan wasn’t already staking his claim on it.
Sirius’ arm was around him before he even started to sit. It made for the perfect guide and counterbalance, settling him firmly on a denim-clad thigh with a kiss to seal it in seconds. “Hey,” Sirius mumbled against his shoulder blade.
“Hi, trouble,” Remus laughed.
Sirius hummed, obviously pleased, and gave him a squeeze around the waist. “That felt good.”
“Using your powers for evil?”
“Mhm.” Another pulse, this time with a cheeky pinch to his hip. “And you.”
Remus scoffed, swatting at him, but couldn’t help leaning back into his warmth all the same. He was lucky Sirius couldn’t see the heat of his face, too preoccupied with nuzzling his way across the span of Remus’ back to leave a kiss at the top notch of his spine before burying his nose in the divot below. Odd creature, that one. Remus liked him far too much. “What are you doing?”
“You smell good.”
“I haven’t showered.”
“I noticed.”
Remus bit the inside of his cheek for a moment. He gave the room a cursory glance—the stragglers were just finishing up, too engrossed in whatever wisdom James was bestowing on them to notice the graze of Sirius’ teeth over the arch of his shoulder. “I was thinking,” Remus started, then lowered his voice. “Was thinking we could do it at home instead.”
Sirius’ smile pressed bright and devious to his skin. “Yeah?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Am I invited?”
“Unless I’ve started using the royal ‘we’,” Remus teased, digging his elbow lightly back into the curve of Sirius’ rib.
His laugh was soft, but the pat to Remus’ outer thigh was perfectly heavy with promise. “Get your bag.”
News of their early departure had obviously reached the ears of the rest of the training staff, because the halls were stark in their emptiness on the way out, after many goodbyes to James and promises of dinner tonight. Remus had been dying for some actual holiday time—he had planned gifts months in advance, dedicated an entire Monday to wrapping, agonized over delivery times and game schedules and delays.
But he was craving the substance of it, the literal meat and potatoes of people coming over to ooh and aah at the ornaments over dinner by the fire. Most of all, he wanted some time that was theirs. A brief moment to enjoy the lights and the smell of fir with just himself, Sirius, and the dog. It had been…three weeks? More? Since they put the wreaths and boughs up around the house. He was pretty sure that was the last time they had been able to do holiday things that didn’t involve obviously sneaking off to get gifts for each other.
Sirius seemed to feel the same. They had hardly made it past the PT room before he was pulled into an empty hallway for a kiss that melted in his mouth like butterscotch. He hummed, pushing into it, but Sirius just took him by the hips and pressed him back against the wall. Okayokayokayokayokay came the giddy whirl of the end of his thoughts.
“This.” Sirius’ mouth moved against his jaw, threatening a mark above his pulse point. “This is what I was after.”
“Cancelling practice just to kiss me,” Remus said, breathless already. His throat caught at a flash of teeth under his ear. “So irresponsible.”
Sirius’ eyes were bright and playful. “And I’d do it again.”
They got away with another minute—or five—before footsteps sounded down the other hall. Remus took him by the hand and pulled him toward the parking lot at a brisk, tumbling clip, sneakers pattering on the floors Filch was waiting to wax until they were all gone for the break. Hooligans, he called them. It echoed in Remus’ head as he kissed Sirius stupid in the hall beside the display cases. If only he could see them now.
The air bit his face as soon as they stepped outside, hot and kiss-fresh. Remus could hear voices around the corner but Sirius’ hand was sliding ever-lower and he just—“There’s people!” he hissed, fighting his grin with a blind bat backwards.
Sirius was too fast. A firm grab made him hoot, startling a laugh from both of them. “The entire world has seen us making out in a car, loup,” he snorted. “I think that’s worse.”
It was only the Cubs, after all, and half a snowman wearing a disjointed collection of gear. Leo’s oh-so-subtle text must have done the trick to summon Logan out of his holiday relaxation. He had only flown in that morning after the Rangers’ last game, but he seemed plenty awake despite the journey.
“You’re making me cold just looking at you,” he argued, adjusting his beanie over Leo’s ears while Finn finished rolling the head beside them. “You’ve lived here for years, and still you forget a hat?”
“Merci, baby.” Leo tried to sound begrudging while he obediently bent to let Logan work, but it only came off as fond. Remus could relate.
“And Fish just lets you walk out of the house like this. Unbelievable. It’s snowing.”
“It wasn’t snowing when we left,” Leo pointed out. “I seem to remember a ha-ha, losers text informing us of the change.”
Logan’s tsk was sharp as black ice while he tenderly tucked Leo’s curls under the hat’s knitted edge and kissed each of his cheeks. “Completely frozen over,” he informed Leo. “You’re welcome.”
“Now you’re going to get cold.”
Whatever disbelieving expression Logan made was lost to Remus as Sirius ushered him around the back of the car, but his scoff was plenty audible. “I’m Canadian. I don’t get cold.”
Sirius’ forehead hit the steering wheel the moment their doors closed. “I want to be home,” he complained.
“You’re in the right place to get there.”
“I don’t want to drive.”
“I can do it.”
A pathetic sigh heaved his back and shoulders. “I don’t want to wait fifteen minutes.”
Remus tugged on the back of his hat. “Not that I’ll ever say no to a little New Year’s action, but I feel like we just covered why that’s not a great idea in broad daylight.”
Sirius groaned, grumbled, and turned the car on.
Between salt and the morning commute, the roads were mostly clear. The familiar crunch of snow under tires pulled half of Remus’ brain from the rink; the other half followed at a sluggish pace, coaxed away by radio carols and the mindless chatter the two of them somehow managed in spite of spending eighty percent of their time together. The window was cold on the side of his head. Remus never liked freezing, but there was something about a snow day that always felt like home.
The house lights cast red and green glimmers over Sirius when they pulled in. They were working on getting decorations he liked; things he actually wanted, not just what Instagram said he should use. It wasn’t a lot yet, but it was a start. The icicle lights above the door had been a particularly good find.
They were greeted by a loud bark and the scrabble of paws. Hattie careened around the corner from the living room (she had taken to dozing under the tree) and spun herself at their feet in a few tight circles for maximum petting efficiency.
“We’re home so early!” Sirius cooed, gathering her wiggly body up in his lap like she was still tiny. “Oh, you’re so excited. Did we surprise you?”
“We were so mean to poor Coach,” Remus agreed as he dodged her lolling tongue. “Yes, baby, so mean, but now we’ll be home all day.”
Hattie keened and whined and nibbled on everything in reach for a tolerable thirty seconds, then launched herself out of Sirius’ lap and made a beeline for her toy box. She had hardly made it halfway to them when a cardinal flitted past outside—her ears spiked up, body puffing on a low bwoof. Remus barely got the screen door open before she was off like a bird-seeking missile, cutting through the snow in leaps and bounds.
They dumped their gear in the mudroom, made a snack, planned lunch, played with the dog, dried the dog, cleaned her paws, and finally—finally—they were standing in the same room, with nothing to do for another hour at least.
“Hi,” Remus said, heart kicking.
Sirius smiled. “Hello.”
Hattie’s teeth squealed on her peanut-butter-filled toy.
They wasted no time for foolishness on the stairs. A sweater on the ribbon-wrapped banister; socks in the hall. Sirius’ pants didn’t even make it across the bathroom threshold, belt clattering on the floor. Remus turned the shower on with his eyes closed because he quite simply could not be bothered to spare more than one hand.
“C’mere,” he murmured into Sirius’ mouth, even as he stepped backward under the spray. “C’mere, don’t move.”
Sirius’ response was wordless and perfect.
Steam built around them, chasing off the chill. The house was decorated. The presents were wrapped. Meals were planned, the dog was busy, and Remus was tired but he was so, so awake now, with ink-black hair wound around his fingers and a boy that held him so the hot water never left him.
Sirius rested his head on Remus’ shoulder and went lax at the drag of a soapy hand over his back. “So good.” His mouth rested at the curve of Remus’ jaw. Every word cooled his skin. “So good to me.”
“Doing my best,” Remus joked with a scritch to his nape.
Sirius raised his head, blinking sleepily around the water that spilled down his face. “I don’t remember the last time I wasn’t scrambling for gifts this time of year.”
“I do.”
“Mm?”
“Last year.” Remus smudged a few soap bubbles down the bridge of his nose. “Shopping for you.”
Sirius’ forehead wrinkled. “Me?”
“I was being cranky,” Remus assured him, running his thumbs over Sirius’ collarbones. He didn’t have a lot of soap left, but he would be shameless and greedy about touching like this. “Lily knocked some sense into me.”
“She’s good at that.”
“The best.”
“And she’s lucky to have you.” A kiss pushed the side of his hair into a cowlick; Sirius grinned as he smoothed it down with one hand. “Trop mignon.”
Hot hot hot hot hot. Remus wrapped both arms around his waist and sank his teeth into the knot of soft muscle above Sirius’ heart. Sirius’ laugh jostled him, but that was fine. He was used to it. “I love the holidays with you.” One last little kiss to his neck, to the spot he had bitten the other night and made Sirius’ leg tremble. “I love you.”
“I’m going to veto every single practice forever.”
“No,” Remus laughed, swaying them back and forth. He covered Sirius’ wicked smile with his hand and kissed the back of it. “No, non, not allowed.”
“But I get kisses and showers and I love you’s and dinner—” His hands skimmed up and down Remus’ sides, running over wet skin with the expertise of someone who knew all his soft spots. “—and you bite me and our dog loves us and we get to see James and Lily tonight—”
Remus cut him off with his lips this time. “Your perfect day,” he whispered, though it was just them in the house. “Sounds pretty close to mine.”
“Copycat.”
“Maybe we should just stick together,” Remus offered. Sirius’ fingertips found his own, lacing together all too easily. “For maximum perfect-day concentration, you know.”
“Nothing else, of course,” Sirius agreed.
“Oh, nothing.”
“Hey.”
“Hi.”
“I put mistletoe above our bedroom door when we were decorating.”
This archive was programmatically generated and may have mistakes and weird formatting.
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Thousands of little snowflakes fluttered around us in lighthearted spirals, occasionally kissing our noses or our cheeks while others preferred plummeting to the ground to join their own in the endless heaps of glistening white. A slight shiver coursed my spine, though not from Cardan’s intoxicating presence by my side but due to the cold breeze slicing through the winter air like Madoc’s blade on one of his particularly moody nights . Cardan paused in his step, turning slightly towards me to give me that famous jaunty smirk he always reserves for his “darling nemesis”. It seems as though becoming his wife didn’t change a thing.
“Chilly already, Jude? In your own world?” he asked, small bells of tease and laughter jingling in his voice. We’d gone to the mortal world, mid-winter, to give Oak a little birthday present. It never snowed in Elfhame, but this arrogant man’s faerie body had already adapted, warming up a few degrees higher while I was left shivering and freezing endlessly.
Suddenly, strong, delicate fingers enveloped my right hand into a warm gloved palm. Cardan’s thumb gently stroked over my knuckles, one by one, carefully tracing the scars and hills he was all too familiar with. His grip tightened over my folded fingers in a sweet attempt to warm me up with the seeping warmth radiating from his magical blood.
He gently tugged me over to an empty street, the honey golden glow of the dim streetlamps painting starry streaks on his sharp cheekbones and ebony dark locks. I fell right into his intimate embrace, one of his hands latching onto one side of my waist while the other one held out my opposite arm, fingers intertwined with mine, his grip firm and real.
“Let’s dance, my sweet villain,” he murmured directly into my ear, molten saccharine words flowing like the finest of velvet straight into my mortal heart. “I heard that movement and exercise warms you up.”
With that, a soft twinkling hum of no particular provenance rose in the air as we spun and danced under the faithful watch of this December’s night’s stars. Though it did nearly nothing for my practically frostbitten fingertips, it sent a loving warmth blooming in my chest. Between steps, I gently lifted my head up towards him to press a chaste kiss to the underside of his jaw. He laughed softly, the constant irritating smirk that I’d grown to love ever present on his face. Cardan leaned down until his breath playfully ghosted over my features, and his lips finally settled down, crashing upon mine like Icarus falling into the sea.
It surprised me every time just how such a man could have such soft lips. His kissing mannerisms were a mix of both worlds, too. Cardan’s lips would be sweet and gentle, handling my own with utmost care and devotion while his tongue battled fiercely and roughly, even a bit messily, unleashing a whirlwind of passion and the pent-up emotions of years of not having anything or anyone to permanently call his own.
His hands drift up to cup the sides of my face, thumbs delicately retracing the blooming blush of my cheeks. It was incredible just how soft and flawless his hands were, almost a bit feminine, devoid of the scars and calluses of a fighter, unlike mine. Though this did not make him in any way a gentle lover. Not in the slightest, and especially not in the way that his teeth playfully nipped my lower lip every now and then. His fingers moved to brush over the round curve of my ears in fascination before returning to their regular spot, fisted in my hair, palms resting on my nape, holding my head still as though he were afraid I’d pull away and deny him.
After a while, satisfied, Cardan pulled away, hands falling to the sides of my neck and shoulders. “There. That’s better.” Though the faint redness painting the tips of his ears and his frantically swaying tail proved that he wasn’t as self-confident and unaffected as he proclaimed.
I smiled at him, fingers brushing his hair behind his ears to get a better view of the effect I have on him. “We should get going, Vivi will get bored of waiting for us and might just lock us out.”
He gave a condescending laugh, pulling my hat a bit at the sides to make sure it covers my frozen ears. “Oh Jude, darling Jude, would that really be so terrible? It would be an excuse for you to hide in my coat, against my body, all night to keep warm.”
I couldn’t help but blush at his claim. He had such a way with words; once in time he’d turn compliments into insults and vice versa, now he just uses his talent to tease me relentlessly. I stepped away from him, out of his arms, though still holding his hand, ducking my head a bit to keep my flushed cheeks out of sight. “Let’s go.”
And so we walked and walked and walked towards Heather’s apartment. Why did she have to live in the middle of downtown? It was worse than having to navigate through the halls of the Tower of Forgettings at night with no lamps lit.
I elbowed Cardan. “Psst, Cardan, can you glamor that taxi driver to drive us instead?”
He raised an eyebrow at my so extravagant request, dramatically sighing and shaking his head as though I’d just given him the most difficult of quests. “Anything for you, I guess, my High Queen.”
He gave an overly exaggerated wave of his hand simply for the purpose of entertaining me, an o so feeble and magic-less being. The driver’s eyes glazed over, a pleasant expression appearing on his face as he stopped the cab near the sidewalk. Cardan, the ever regal gentleman, opened the passenger door, gesturing me to get in. And we were off.
“We could have just stolen his car and drove off alone instead, you know.” Cardan looked horrified at my proposition. “What do you mean, drove off alone instead? Do you even know how to drive?
I shrugged, not too preoccupied. “It can’t be that hard, right?”
Soon we made it to where Vivi and Oak now live with Heather. Cardan released the driver, and we walked up to the apartment building. Not used to seeing such immense constructions, he stared wide-eyed at the massive 30 story-high building. “Isn’t that going to fall over?”
I sighed and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “No, it’s not going to fall over.” I led him up through the main entrance and into the elevator and punched in the numbers for the 27th floor. The moment the elevator doors closed and it jolted upwards, Cardan lurched forward in a sudden panic, his tail shooting out from under his shirt in a terrified straight line, curling up in every direction in fear.
“Jude! Jude! What is this thing? What’s happening?” His voice was all high-pitched and squeaky, it was comical to see him like this. Poor man was even more terrified than that one time I kidnapped him and threatened him. I grabbed him by the back of his feathery cloak, pulling him backwards and successfully stopping him from prying the doors back open. He held onto me for dear life, not relaxing even when the elevator came to a halt and the doors opened once again. With a trembling Cardan wrapped around me like a clingy baby koala, I exited.
“It’s just a box that moves you up and down quickly. A mortal’s version of a vertically moving carriage.”
His heart nearly lurched out of his chest, a little gasp escaping him when he saw, through the window, just how far up we were from the ground. Wait…
“Wait, Cardan, are you afraid of heights?” His head quickly snapped around to give me a half-hearted glare. “Am NOT!”
Honestly, it was insanely cute. Stifling a laugh, I showed him the way to the apartment. His arm was still wrapped tightly around my waist, nose practically buried in the back of my head.
After a few insistent knocks, Vivi popped up behind the door, greeting me with her classic smile and Cardan with her classic glare reserved just for, and I quote, “The-Fucker-That-Was-Mean-To-MY-Sister-And-Suddenly-Seduced-Her”. But then, a mischievous smirk tugging at the corner of her lips, she practically shoved a sprig of mistletoe in our faces.
What I Have With You (I don't want with anyone else) by lululawrence @lululawrence
Length: 73k
Louis smiled. “I’m sorry for how I ran away last night.”
“It’s totally fine. I’m sorry I did all that. I never asked if you were okay with it, and I really should have.”
Louis didn’t know how to respond to that. “I mean, I wasn’t really telling you no before that. How were you to know I’d be fine and then… not.”
“Well, if I had asked you first like I should have, then I would have known your boundaries.”
“How can you know my boundaries when even I don’t?” Louis scoffed. “Shit.”
Louis hadn’t meant to say that much to Harry. It’s not like he was embarrassed by who he was, but he still didn’t really talk about it openly either.
“What do you mean?” Harry asked.
Louis shook his head and kept his eyes trained on Harry’s chest. The shirt was old enough he could see the ghost of Harry’s tattoos through it.
“It’s a long and complicated story that is also very boring, so I don’t think you actually want the answer.”
Or Louis is an asexual alpha, Harry is his aromantic alpha friend and possible roommate, and faking a relationship might be exactly what they need to get their families and friends off their backs.
Metropolis, Early December.
The city is half-dressed in Christmas lights, and Clark’s pretending not to notice the pattern in the break-ins. But Bruce has already noticed. Of course he has.
Bruce: Five tech companies in two weeks. All using prototype energy cells.
Clark: You’ve been keeping busy.
Bruce: Surveillance only.
They’re standing on a rooftop again, wind slicing through the quiet. Bruce’s cape moves like part of the night itself. Clark’s coat doesn’t have quite the same effect.
Clark: I was hoping you’d come back.
Bruce: You mean to Metropolis.
Clark: Sure. To Metropolis.
Bruce glances at him — unreadable.
Bruce: You could have called me.
Clark: Maybe. But it’s easier when you’re here.
Bruce: Easier, or better?
Clark: You’d like to think those are the same thing.
The silence — always the silence — lingers between them. It’s not pleasant this time, but Clark blames the cold, biting wind whipping through their clothes. Below them, sirens fade in and out like distant thunder. Clark’s hearing catches a thousand tiny details, but none of them matter more than the quiet between them.
When the suspects finally show, it’s almost anticlimactic. Two men, one van, stolen tech. Batman moves with that precise, predatory rhythm Clark has come to recognize — silent, deliberate, relentless. Clark intercepts the van before it can crash, and it’s over in less than a minute.
Afterward, they regroup on the rooftop, breath fogging in the air.
Clark: You make that look easy.
Bruce: It was easy.
Clark: You don’t have to sound disappointed.
Bruce: Efficiency isn’t disappointment.
He would kiss him — kiss the bruise, whisper in Bruce’s ear that he’s done more than enough, that he should rest in a warm, comfortable bed and enjoy all the luxuries a rich kid deserves.
But he doesn’t.
He doesn’t, because Batman is his friend, and asking him to stop would go against the very core of who Bruce is. And although Clark would love to see him safe, warm, and at peace, he loves him for who he is: Batman.
Clark: I’ll file the report. You should get warm.
Bruce: I’m fine.
Clark: You always are.
He smiles as he says it — not mocking. Bruce doesn’t respond, but his shoulders are calm.
The city below them hums — bright, endless, alive.
And for the first time since Gotham, Bruce doesn’t turn away immediately.
Metropolis, Monday Night.
The air is cold, and Clark can hear the city breathing — traffic, heartbeats, laughter, all of it mixing into that low hum he’s come to love. It’s almost peaceful until he hears a sound that doesn’t belong: boots on concrete, a cape cutting through wind.
Clark: You don’t usually announce yourself like that.
Bruce: I didn’t. You just hear everything.
Clark: Occupational deformation.
Bruce: Or boundary issue.
Clark smiles before he can stop himself. Bruce Wayne, Gotham’s shadow in an immaculate coat, stands on a rooftop overlooking Metropolis like he’s measuring it for weaknesses.
Clark: I thought Gothamites were allergic to sunlight.
Bruce: This is reconnaissance.
Clark: You mean vacation.
Bruce: I don’t take those.
They fall into silence. Below them, the city glows. Clark wants to ask why Bruce really came; he knows it isn’t business that brought him to Metropolis. He also knows he won’t get an answer.
Clark: What do you think?
Bruce: Bright. Loud. Too clean.
Clark: You say that like it’s an insult.
Bruce: It’s an observation.
The wind picks up. Clark watches Bruce scan the skyline, the way his gaze lands on the Planet’s globe, then the river, then nowhere at all. There’s a kind of reverence there. He’ll never admit it, of course.
Clark: If you stay long enough, the noise becomes part of the rhythm.
Bruce: I’m not planning to stay long.
Clark: You never are.
He says it softly, but Bruce looks up as if he’d shouted it. For a moment, neither of them says anything. Clark can only think about how much he’d like him to say something — anything.
Of course, there are no words when it comes to Batman.
When Bruce finally turns to leave, Clark calls after him:
Clark: There’s a diner two blocks from here. Best coffee in the city.
Bruce (without turning): I’ll take your word for it.
Clark watches him disappear into the skyline. The wind moves again. For someone who claims not to linger, Bruce feels a lot like something that does.
Clark never meant to drag Bruce into holiday shopping. Truly. He’d been following a lead — something about energy signatures tied to those stolen prototypes — when he spotted Bruce on a balcony, staring at a building-sized inflatable Santa like it was a tactical threat.
Clark: You look like you’re planning an ambush.
Bruce: It’s unsettling.
Clark: He brings joy to children.
Bruce: He breaks into homes. That’s a crime.
Clark laughs. He doesn’t mean to, but it comes out bright and warm and impossible to ignore. Bruce doesn’t smile, but something in his face relaxes, which is as good as a smile for Batman.
They walk. Neither of them calls it that, but it is — a walk. Among crowds, lights, and that particular December warmth that has nothing to do with temperature. Clark notices Bruce analyzing everything: security systems, crowd patterns... Christmas ornaments.
Clark: You never decorated the Manor?
Bruce: Alfred tried.
Clark: Making things beautiful is the point.
Bruce: Beauty isn’t practical.
Clark: It doesn’t have to be.
Bruce stops at a storefront with a small, ceramic star. His reflection glints in the glass — sharp edges softened by the golden light.
Bruce: It won’t fix anything.
Clark: No.
Their eyes meet. It’s brief. It’s everything.
Bruce turns away first.
Bruce: The stolen energy cells are powering something. I found traces of a containment field on the docks.
Clark: Work tonight?
Bruce: I don’t take holidays.
Clark: So you keep saying.
