Title: The True Meaning of Christmas

Author: Askani'daughter / Eruntalince (newloverboys@yahoo.com)


Rating: NC-17

Pairing/main characters: Cyclops/Angel, Iceman, Beast

Series/Sequel: complete

Summary: Scott's been down lately, so his three best friends take him out on Christmas Eve to cheer him up... and one gives him a Christmas present he'll never forget!

Disclaimer: The X-Men belong to Marvel Comics, not Askani'daughter. If they belonged to Askani'daughter, there'd be more sex, and some *really* sick and twisted villains. *grin*

Date: Dec 2001

Archive/distribution: Of course, but please ask me first.

Warning: Slash, slightly au, mild angst, mild romance, mild sap, strong profanity, dark humor, sarcastic wit, and graphic homosexual sex.

Notes: Okay, I'm going off-kilter here. Let's play pretend in the future. I haven't been following the X-Men for the past four years, but I know a little of what's happened. So this is the future based off my limited knowledge of what's happened in current X-melodrama. Jean left Scott six months ago for his cold treatment of her, and Scott's been very depressed, very cold, and very nasty to everyone (as opposed to his normal uptight, repressed asshole-ism). None of the four characters featured have developed relationships, and if they have one I'm unaware of at the moment, let's pretend it's over and hasn't gone anywhere. Personally couldn't care less if they have one or not. I'd just break them up anyways.

Challenge Fic: This is in response to a Holiday Challenge set forth by Devin Alicia Harris, using some very amusing smart-ass comments from her list. Please refer to the X-Fiction Message Archive for the full list, or e-mail Askani'daughter for it. I think I used more than six, though... Every line used from the Holiday Challenge list will be marked as shown below.
~ holiday challenge line ~



The True Meaning of Christmas

By Askani'daughter


Someone once said that Christmas isn't so much a holiday, as it is a frame of mind.
I suppose the proper frame of mind would be happy, cheerful, generous, loving, and more bullshit along those lines. You could say my frame of mind was in exact diametric opposite of the "proper" Christmas mindset. All this fucking holiday cheer was enough to convince me to become a Jehovah's Witness, only I'd hate going to people's doors and converting them. We're all going to hell anyway, why delay the inevitable?
And if one more person likened me to Scrooge or the Grinch, I was just going to rip my visors off and go to town on them. Fuck morals. A man cannot be expected to listen to Jubilation Lee sing the entire Grinch song to him at least once an hour without being allowed to beat the shit out of her, at least once. The Professor had apparently thought it would be wonderful to get the whole X-Men family together for Christmas. And I thought the bald bastard was supposed to be a fucking genius of some sort. All the fucking adolescents in this house have convinced me that I was lucky to escape Nathan's teenaged years, and that I should get on my knees and thank God (should I ever find religion) that I have no other children. In this timeline, at least.
It was Christmas Eve, and I was trying to avoid watching _It's a Wonderful Life_, and considered drowning Jubilee in her eggnog again. So I decided to avoid the temptation to murder obnoxious, loud, and highly irritating teenagers by withdrawing to my bedroom. There, I could get some goddam alone time. Never mind that I've been having nothing but alone time for the past six months. Hell, Jean left me so I could spend more time with myself. What's the point of having a pity party for one, if there's another person joining you?
Of course, she was hurt, I was a bastard, and so on and so forth. But she's a hell of a lot better off without me, than she was with me. At least now she's happy again, and dating some completely normal, boring accountant. I expected her to start dating Logan, or even Warren, but no, Jean started shacking up with some accountant with mouse brown hair, watery blue eyes, and a whiny voice. I credited her with more taste than that, but she calls it love. But then again, Jean fell in love with me, so that does explain her taste in men. He wouldn't even be so bad looking if he stopped wearing tweed business suits and a bowtie.
I was trying to drown my sorrows in a bottle of Scotch (the eggnog was non-alcoholic), when Henry McCoy burst down my door. I eyed him angrily, wishing he could see my glare. Behind him stood a grinning Bobby and a smarmy-looking Warren. He's always either brooding or smarmy. I like him better when he's brooding. He leaves me alone then. Both Hank and Warren had on image inducers to look like normal humans, which was odd.
"Merry Christmas, Slim!" Hank said, bouncing him into my room. I resisted the urge to blast him. See my self-control?
"Get the fuck out of my room, McCoy," I greeted him.
"Ah, now that's the Scott we all know and loathe," Warren said drolly, rolling his eyes at me and entering my room as well.
"Jesus, Scott, lighten up! It's Christmas!" Bobby said in his usual manner, which reminded me of Jubilee and made me wish I had some eggnog to drown him in. He also entered my room.
"~Ohhh, let me turn on the part of my brain that gives a damn~," I growled, thinking that yes, adamantium claws are so much more fun than optic beams, and couldn't I trade Logan for them?
"What the fuck is your problem, Scott? ~Did the aliens forget to remove your anal probe~?" Bobby retorted, giving me an odd look.
"Shut up. Why the fuck are you staring at me at like that?" I asked, near becoming enraged.
"~I'm trying to imagine you with a personality.~ And failing," he quipped.
"Out. All of you. Or someone gets hurt," I said, using my most menacing of voices. I'd have given Sabretooth a run for his money at that moment.
Hank smiled at me patronizingly. "Sorry it has to be you, old buddy," Hank grinned, and next thing I know, I was being tackled by three of my friends, and Hank had my glasses, and bastard though I was, I would *not* have hurt one of my friends. I was wrestled to the ground, forced to keep my eyes shut tight, and lie on my stomach. One of them put a gag in my mouth before I could say anything.
"Okay, so who's going to force him in the shower?" Hank asked. "It sure as hell won't be me. The Hankster and Naked Scott don't belong in the same room together."
"I'll get him in the shower, but I'll need help stripping him," Warren said smoothly, and I struggled vainly against Hank's grip.
"I'll use my ice to keep him pinned, but I ain't stripping him, oh no. I'd rather kiss the Human Torch in full immolation, than strip *him*," I heard Bobby say, and suddenly ice pinned all my limbs and my neck. I struggled again, truly irritated.
"You two are such babies," Warren sighed, and I felt his smooth, cool hands start peeling my clothes off. I thrashed a lot at this, especially when he stripped my boxers off. Not only was I unhappy, but I was naked. Never a good combination.
The ice that was pinning me receded, but Hank grabbed me by the arms, and Warren by the legs, and I was literally dropped into my shower. My bathing goggles fell in my lap, and I put them in, glaring upward at Warren, noting Hank and Bobby at the doorway.
"Bathe. Or I could always bathe you, if you wanted me to..." Warren offered, a wicked glint in his blue eyes. I growled and pulled the shower curtain around to block their view of me.
I bathed slowly, trying to plot a way to get past Warren, Hank, and Bobby without having to use my optic beams. Thanks to the Scotch in my system, the only plan I could come up with involved seducing Warren and grossing Hank and Bobby out with said seduction. I disregarded it almost immediately. No telling if Bobby would be grossed out or not. I never could figure him out.
"Five more minutes, Scott. Or I'm going to open the shower curtain and start scrubbing your ass," Warren said smoothly. He just sounded like he was enjoying this too much. I wanted to break the perfect nose on his perfect face, and then crack the perfect skull of his perfect head.
I finished quickly, peering out from behind my shower curtain. "Can I dress in private? I don't put on free strip shows, sorry," I sighed.
Warren pulled out his billfold from his tailored pants, and tossed me a twenty. "There. Now dress," he smiled, opening the door. Obviously, he wasn't going to leave. I sighed dramatically and stepped out and brushed past him to get into my bedroom. It's not like we hadn't seen each other naked over the years, especially when we shared showers in the men's locker room.
I held up the twenty as I brushed past him. "Twenty? All those years of working out and training in the Danger Room and I'm only worth twenty dollars?" I asked him.
Warren grinned, exaggerating a glance over my body as I picked out my clothes. "Here. I must admit, that ass alone is worth it," he said snidely, tossing a hundred at me.
"Now, that's more like it," I said as I put on a pair of pants, bending over to pick up the hundred. And I'll be damned if I was going to give it back to him, either.
I grabbed a shirt and turned around. "There. Now I'm clean. Can you leave me alone now?" knowing there was more to this than an overwhelming urge for my three best friends to make sure I showered.
Warren blinked, looking me up and down. "~Whatever look you were going for, you missed.~ We're going *clubbing*, Scott. Do you really want to look like *that* at a club?" he asked, sounding exasperated.
"What's wrong with what I have on?" I asked, looking down at my clothes. Faded jeans, and a striped red and white shirt. Looked fine to me.
"If you're Harry Potter, nothing. Here, I'll pick your outfit. Why does Jean always goes for the fashion disasters? Logan and his flannel, you and your jeans and t-shirts, and what's-his-name and the tweed business suits. If I was wearing a goofy Christmas sweater and corduroy pants, I'd bet I'd be knocking the back out of her right now," he sighed, rummaging through my belongings.
I ground my teeth when he brought up Jean. Sure, our relationship was over, but did I needed to be reminded of it? Never mind that I was at fault for it's end. I still care about her.
"Here! Perfect!" he cried triumphantly. He was holding a red silk shirt with a black dragon emblazoned on it, and a pair of black leather pants that Bobby had bought me for my birthday as a joke.
"You must be kidding," I said acidly. Both were presents that I accepted through a strained smile, and quickly joined the other pile of trendy clothes in my closet.
Warren smiled at me. "I could call Hank and Bobby back in here and we could dress you," he said sweetly. "And I'd just love to slide leather over your legs, Scott."
I snatched the clothes from his hands, glaring at him from underneath my bathing goggles. "~Did I mention that kick in the groin you'll be receiving if you touch me?~" I asked him dangerously.
"I had no idea you liked it so rough, Slim," Warren smirked.
Now before I get ahead of myself in the story, you must understand that flirting was an old joke between me and Warren. Ever since he confessed he was bisexual to me when we were twenty, I would joke about it with him, to make him feel comfortable. It worked, too. Warren's openly bi, though most people don't notice it to due to his playboy persona, which he only assumes every once in a while now. If you ever bothered to stop and observe Warren, you'd notice it. Ask him, and he'd tell you. Of course, we normally just exchanged one sexually loaded comment or two at a time. But I didn't really notice that Warren was being more flirtatious than normal. That's what happens when you're cutting loose at that pity party for one.
I dressed quickly. Warren handed me back my glasses, and then forced me to allow him to style my hair. He even made me put on cologne, the bastard.
"Perfect. Now we can go," he smiled.
"Why are you three doing this?" I asked him wearily, knowing damn good and well why they were doing this. Obligatory friendship routine. Take the depressed guy out, get him drunk, get him laid. Like that would solve all my problems.
"Because all the women that flock to my incredible good looks, and charming personality are far too numerous to just be shared with just Hank and Bobby. I needed another man to ease the pressure off me. Since all the men were unavailable, I settled for you," he smiled, flashing perfect white teeth at me. One day, I'll ask him what toothpaste he uses.
"~If I throw a stick, will you leave?~" I retorted, glaring from behind my glasses as a pair of combat boots were thrust at me.
"What's your damage, man? You act like going out and going clubbing with lots of hot people around is a bad thing," Bobby sighed as Warren ushered me out into the hallway where Hank and Bobby were waiting.
"~Do I *look* like a frickin' people person?~" I asked him, being literally shoved down the stairs.
Suddenly, I was surrounded by all the X-Men, or rather X-Women. They were all grinning at me knowingly, most of the women jeering at my Warren-made look. Warren was proudly showcasing me, boasting about my hair. Jubilee whistled at me, Jean grinned, and Rogue slapped me on the ass while I walked past them. Women are so immature.
And now my ass really hurt.
Bobby grabbed me around the shoulders as I was forced by a stern Hank to wait at the door, grinning at all the jeering women. "Yeah, don't he look great? Scott's so hot, I'm turning gay just for him," he grinned, making kissy faces at me.
"~I'm not your type, I'm not inflatable,~" I told him deadpan, causing practically all the women to fall down laughing. Bobby withdrew his arm and gave me the evil eye. Like we all didn't already know about the blow-up doll under his bed.
"Alright, gentlemen, time to go get Scott drunk and laid. It might not get him out of depression, but at least it'll improve his attitude for the holidays," Warren grinned, and the four of walked outside the mansion. Or they walked, and I was being dragged by the arm by both Warren and Hank.
"That'll have to be some lay. Might have to take care of him yourself," Bobby joked, opening the car door and Hank literally tossed me inside.
"Hmm. I'll consider that option. After all, I *do* like a guy with a nice, tight ass, and if anyone is a tight-ass around here, it's Scott," Warren said smoothly, sliding in next to me.
"More information than I needed, War. Mental imagery and all that," Bobby sighed and got in the passenger side.
"What the hell are you picturing my ass for, Drake?" I snarled as Hank started the car and pulled out of the drive in the usual Hank manner. We left our stomachs somewhere along the drive.
At every stop light, I tried to get out of the car, but Bobby had frozen the door, so I couldn't get out. They spent most of the ride exchanging dirty jokes, and I decided to stay out of it. Sulking is a full-time job, you know.
"Scott, stick out your bottom lip a bit more. You look so cute with that pout on your face," Warren said snidely as Hank pulled into the parking lot of a very loud, very crowded club.
"Fuck you, Worthington," I snarled, annoyed that they had interrupted my attempt at getting drunk and passing out for this.
"Anytime, anywhere, baby," Warren purred into my ear, rubbing my crotch urgently for a few seconds and then quickly exiting the car.
I was frozen to my seat, but not thanks to Bobby. Now, all jokes and occasional flirting in private aside, Warren had never *touched* me before. True his flirting with me had become a little more public since Jean and I divorced, but stepping up the jokes to *grope* me was a bit much. He *was* joking, right?
"C'mon, Summers. There's several glasses of alcohol and some willing pussy calling my name. Let's go," Bobby complained, opening my door.
I got out of the car after checking to make sure I wasn't sporting any revealing bulges in my leather pants. Warren smirked at me, and then turned his back, sauntering towards the club entrance. Hank pushed me along.
Okay, so yeah, Warren's groping turned me on. Try getting felt up while wearing leather by someone as hot as Warren and then tell me *you* wouldn't get turned on. Okay, so yeah, I was something of a closet case. It's not that I'm ashamed that I'm bi, more that I was pretty much exclusive with Jean for most of my life. But fuck, I'll admit I *thought* about sex with other guys. And I'll admit Warren popped up in an erotic fantasy or two hundred. I'll admit I even enjoyed them. Just never acted on them or even really considered acting on them.
The club was decorated for Christmas, and most everyone was wearing some sort of Christmas something. They were passing out Santa hats at the door, and Hank made me put mine on. Bobby was already fighting to get us a table. It was crowded as hell, and trying to worm your way past people bouncing to loud Christmas songs done in techno-pop did not add to my Christmas spirit.
Bobby was able to get us a table, and Hank's muscle got us the four chairs we wanted. Warren got one of the wandering waitresses, wearing a skimpy Santa girl costume, and ordered us all drinks. He got me more Scotch, no ice. Good Warren. Keep getting me alcohol, and maybe you'll get off my shit list.
I was putting on my most sour expression, ignoring the milling people around me, listening to Hank, Bobby, and Warren shout at each other in what passes for a conversation in clubs. Our drinks came in a few minutes, and I set about getting myself drunk. Whether I got drunk in my room, or at a club made no difference. I just wanted to get wasted.
Warren's knee kept bumping into mine under the table, and I raised an eyebrow at him. He just smiled pleasantly at me. Bobby got up after downing his first drink, and tried to dance with just about any willing cute girl he could fine. He settled for a plump, but attractive Spanish girl, while Hank left the table to try his luck. He wound up with some truly hot blonde woman. Bobby's better-looking than Hank, but Hank has better luck with women, even blue and furry. Go figure.
I stared at Warren, finding him more interesting than anything else at the moment than anyone else. His hair had grown out only slightly since his military buzz cut, so his hair was very short, spiking gently over his forehead. It drew you more into those deep crystal blue eyes he had. Warren hooked a leg underneath mine, and I stared at him in question. Was he hitting on me? Or was this more of his jokes and empty flirtations?
Warren leaned over closer to me, but that meant nothing. It was loud, and he had to, if he wanted to be heard. "Alright, Scott. You've had like a year to recover from Apocalypse. I know it sucked having the bastard in your head. Try having him fuck with your genetic structure and proclaim you one of his Horsemen. I got over it, well, not completely, but I did. And don't try that pity shit on me. I've been fucked over by him myself," he said, his blue eyes narrowed. He looked like he was trying to peer into my soul.
I sighed. Yeah, if anyone knew what it was like to deal with Apocalypse fucking your head over, it'd be Warren. "As I recall, Archangel, it took you a few years to do so. I've only had one," I said stiffly.
"If you can handle what happened to your son, you can handle this," he said coldly. I was able to tune the music out, and he was getting easier to hear.
"Yeah, but what happened to Nathan wasn't easy, and it didn't point out what a fucking bastard I really am," I said bitterly.
"Welcome to the Bastard Club, Scott. I signed my soul to him. Dotted lines and everything. But you sure as fuck didn't have to take it out on Jean. Why didn't you just let her help you?" he sighed.
I worked my jaw and got up, stomping from the club. I'd humored them long enough. I managed to get outside, sorry I'd only got one glass of Scotch. I was already in the backseat of the car, waiting to be taken home since Hank had the keys, when Warren got in beside me.
"Talk to me, Scott. I know how you feel. Do you think I don't? I willingly gave up my soul just to have wings again. I almost killed all of you," he said coldly, his face shadowed by the dark.
I sighed and turned my face from him. I *hadn't* talked about this. Maybe it would help to talk to Warren. He sure as hell couldn't judge me. "I didn't want her to help me, Warren. Jean's a fucking saint. And she thought I was the best thing since sliced bread. I had to show her what I was really like. I'm a cold, uncaring bastard. And she deserves better. What's-his-name treats her like gold, and she deserves that," I admitted, staring out the window at various drunken groups exiting the club, most of them wishing to continue the party more privately.
"You're not a cold, uncaring bastard, Scott. You might not be the boy scout you tried to be, but you're not a bad guy. Apocalypse just showed you your dark side. We all have one, even you," he said gently.
"Fucking Christ, Warren, don't you think I know that? But it still fucking hurts like hell to see it," I growled, turning to glare at him for his trite, cliche answer. Couldn't he do better than that?
"And it always will. You know what you're capable of. What part of you wants to do. But you haven't done anything that bad, other than hurt Jean, but she recovered. That actually says a lot about you. You looked into the pits of your own soul. Of course it's going to fuck your head over," Warren shrugged, staring down at the car seat between us. He must have been comparing our experiences and reactions.
I said nothing, just turned to stare back out the window.
"It's not like you're suffering alone, Scott. We all have problems. And you have friends. Even Jean is still your friend, if you would look past your own misery and notice her again. You have me. And I know how you feel," Warren sighed.
"You're right. What was I thinking, Warren? Let's look at the bright side of things. ~I started out with nothing, and I still have most of it left,~" I retorted darkly.
My face was slammed into the window when Warren punched me in the back of my head.
"Does friendship mean so little to you, Scott? Does *my* friendship mean so little to you? Do *I* mean so little to you?" Warren hissed, his eyes flashing angrily.
I adjusted my glasses, staring at him. I may be a cold, uncaring bastard, but...
"Friendship means something to me. You mean something to me," I finally said.
"Good. Then try being a fucking friend to all of us. We know you're not perfect now. I like you better now, actually. When I thought you were perfect, you pissed me off. Now you're just like me, Scott. Used, damaged goods. So we're not perfect heroes. Does that mean we should both stop trying?" he asked me.
I turned to stare out the window. "No," I answered.
"It's Christmas, Scott. Tomorrow, when we all stumble downstairs for breakfast and to rip open presents, can you please crack a smile? Be nice to everyone? You've been bumming most of us out."
"I'll try, okay?"
We fell silent, both having nothing else to say. His little pep talk was not going to remove a year's worth of depression and self-loathing. I felt his fingers on my back, trailing lightly down my spine. I shivered and turned to him, wondering what he was doing.
"I was never too good with heart-warming speeches, Scott. I was going to wait until tomorrow to give you my Christmas present, but I guess I can give it to you now. But it's one of those presents you don't have to take if you don't want it," he said calmly, his eyes shadowed in the dark, his face very close to mine.
I don't know why it never occurred to me that he was hitting on me. I just never thought Warren would be interested in me. So I was more than a little surprised when he kissed me on the mouth.
I pulled back after a minute, trying not think about how warm he was, and that it was indeed very cold in the car without being able to run the heater, and yes it had been a year since I'd gotten laid.
"Sex is not going to solve my issues, or yours, Warren," I sighed.
"Not saying it will. But it's a nice distraction," he shrugged, kissing me again, since I hadn't told him to stop. I kissed back, grateful when his wings went around us both for warmth. Warren tasted pretty good, and I'll be damned if he wasn't a good kisser.
Ever gotten to the point that you don't fucking care who you're fucking? That your inhibitions get tossed to the side, because you just want someone, anyone to touch you, and you don't really care what they are? I'm not saying I was that desperate, but I was close. Close enough that I didn't care about technically being gay, and surprised how much I'd missed human contact.
His hands were sliding to my leather pants, fumbling with the zipper. His pants were buttoned, and I didn't feel like fooling with them, so I just ripped them open, not surprised to note he wasn't wearing underwear. The sound of my pants being unzipped was satisfying in of itself, and the feel of his hand drawing my throbbing cock out of them was even more satisfying. You can't wear underwear with leather.
Warren knew just the right places to grip, his fingers stroking the vein on the underside of my cock. I moaned into his mouth, gripping his own dick, squeezing slightly, making him hiss. His other hand slipped into my pants, peeling them back so he could grip my balls. Oh, the little angel's hands were very nimble, and very skilled. He started to massage my balls, rolling them in his hands. I bit on his lip, working his cock over with my own hands, tugging gently.
"I want you to fuck me, Scott," he whispered, peeling his pants off and climbing onto my lap. I was very hot and very flushed.
"Don't we need some lubrication or something?" I asked, locked into another kiss with him. Very hot, very wet, very exciting.
With boneless grace that's really incredible for a man with huge wings on his back, he twisted to the side and down to start rummaging around on the car floor and pulled out a bottle of hair gel that Bobby used. He shrugged and grinned at me, squeezing some out and working my dick over with it.
"It'll do," he shrugged.
"Bobby's gonna be pissed when he finds out what we're using it for," I chuckled, squeezing some more out and working it into Warren's tight little entrance.
"Too fucking bad. I'm horny," Warren chuckled back, pushing me back a little so he could slowly impale himself on my length. God, but watching Warren's face as I went inside him was exquisite. He *felt* exquisite, tight and hot on all the right places around my cock. I groaned and started thrusting into him, finding myself as horny as he was. It *had* been awhile. I was depressed, not dead.
Warren was bouncing gently on my hips, groaning appreciatively and uttering dirty little urgings that I only half heard, because I was way too fucking busy focusing on fucking his brains out. I just kissed his throat or his mouth, and drove into him as hard as I could. I wasn't going to go easy on him, either. Wasn't in the mood. And he loved every minute of it.
I started working his dick with my hands, squeezing gently and milking him for all he was worth. Warren finally came with a loud, hoarse cry, clenching his internal muscles as he did so, which caused me to go over the edge. I came hard, strangling my own cry of pleasure.
I leaned back against the door, panting, appreciating the squishy noises Warren made as he drew himself off of me and leaned on top of me, breathing hard. Warren's image inducer was somewhere on the floor, and his pants were torn apart, and both our clothes were soaked with sweat and cum. I actually felt pretty good at that moment.
"Fuck, Scott, you just ripped my two hundred dollar pants, but it was fucking worth it. You really do know how to fuck. I see why all the ladies like you so damn much," Warren said after awhile.
"Two hundred dollar pants??" I asked in surprise. All that money for a pair of pants?
"They were on sale," he chuckled.
"Warren Worthington III, bargain shopper," I quipped.
"Want to go back to the mansion?" he asked me after a few minutes.
"~Too many freaks, not enough circuses.~"
"I take that as a 'no'."
"Take it as a 'fuck no'."
"What do you want to do then?" he asked, sitting up to look into my shades. His tongue flicked out and licked the end of my nose lazily.
I put the Santa hat he had knocked off during sex on his head. "I want to fuck you all night long with that hat on your head. I like distractions," I answered.
"Wow, how do you say things like that so deadpan?" he smirked.
"Years of practice," I said.
"Um, couldn't you guys get a room??"
We looked up in mild surprise to find Bobby staring into the car with a mixture of horror, curiosity, and disgust on his face. Warren yawned and made no effort to put his pants back on, or move off of me. I was beyond caring. Hank just looked mildly amused.
"Actually, a room would be nice. Drop us off at a hotel, Hank. Then you two can come back here and attempt to get laid yourselves," Warren said, dropping his head on my chest and folding his wings to hide any graphic views of us.
"Sure thing. And tomorrow, the two of you can scrape your sexual fluids off my backseat, too," Hank replied cheerily, and got in the car.
"Is that my hair gel?" Bobby asked, purpling.
"Yes, it is. Want it back?" I said evenly, holding it up.
"Oh no. I don't where that's been, and I don't want to know. Keep it. Merry Christmas," he blanched.
Hank was bubbling with laughter, and pulled into a nearby motel. I zipped my pants back up, knowing I was still a mess, and not caring. Warren's pants were ruined, but he pulled them on, and buttoned his coat to cover the ripped buttons.
"Later," I said to Hank and Bobby, exiting the car. Warren just smirked at them and exited after putting on his image inducer.
Apparently, two men trying to get room was not a big shocker for the clerk, and he said nothing, didn't even look at us funny. He just drolly handed me a key after I paid him. I went up the stairs to the room, and went inside, Warren following close behind me.
He closed and locked the door and I turned around, fully intent on stripping him and dragging him off to the bed, but he wriggled free from my grip, an odd look on his face.
"What's wrong?" I asked. He just let me fuck him silly, and now he wasn't going to let me touch him?
"That wasn't my Christmas present in the car. I don't want you to think that," he said, biting his bottom lip, and looking unsure of himself. Warren looking unsure of himself is almost unheard of in my presence.
"Okay... I didn't exactly go Christmas shopping this year, Warren, though I could get you something if you like..." I said slowly, wondering why he was looking at me like *that*. Don't ask me to define what "*that*" meant, either.
He snorted. "I don't want any*thing* from you, Scott. I had wanted...to...but you...I never can..." he sighed, and turned his back to me, his image inducer being tossed to the side, and his wings visibly fluttering.
"What?" I asked him.
He sighed and turned back to me. "Nothing. Nothing important," he sighed, turning back to me.
Yeah, because he makes sense. But he started kissing me, and pulling my clothes off, and hell, I didn't even like the clothes anyways, so I had no problems with them being removed. I pulled his off as well, letting him pull me towards the bed, which was my original intention. Sure, having sex in car seats and on kitchen counters is fun, but beds are so much more comfortable.
Warren switched the light off, apparently preferring sex in the dark. I couldn't care less, I just wanted to forget all my problems with more sex. It was better than alcohol.
We fucked again, long and hard. Warren was a little less urgent this time, and more gentle with me, though I wasn't with him. He sat on my hips when it was over, looking down at me, his wings framing me on either side. I reached up and absently stroked his face, wondering why he was giving me *that* look again.
"Scott...do you like me?" he asked after a while.
No, I'm engaging in sexual activity because I hate your guts, Warren. What the hell kind of question was that? "Of course, I like you, Warren. We're friends," I shrugged, dropping my hand and stroking his wings. Nice and soft.
"Do you *really* like me?" he asked. Okay, this was getting weird. He was sounding like a kid.
I eyed him oddly. "Sure. What do you want? A rim job or something?" I blinked.
"This isn't about sex, Scott," Warren said sullenly. I stared at him. He actually looked hurt.
I lifted myself up on my elbows. "Then what is it about, Warren?"
"My Christmas present."
"Which is?"
"It's not Christmas yet."
"It's past midnight, so technically it is."
He turned his face, his face taking on an odd expression in the dark. It was sentimental, vulnerable. A side of Warren he rarely shows anyone.
"I was wondering, since you're single, and I'm single, and you don't seem to mind sex with other men, and since I'm in love with you, and we both understand each other, and I know how you feel, and we're friends, and you said liked me, and we live in the same house anyways, and-"
"~Does your train of thought have a caboose?~" I asked him, trying to digest all that information.
"Would you like to, well, have well, a relationship with me? A real one? One of those exclusive, emotional-sexual kind of things?"
I stared at him, speechless. Okay, surreal doesn't even begin to describe that moment for me. Of all people, Warren *knew* what a bastard I can be, *knew* I was having problems, and he wanted a relationship with *me*? And he was in *love* with me??
"I'd make a joke about the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse showing up because the world has ended, but it wouldn't be funny, given our history."
Warren got this incredibly hurt look on his face and he went to get off me, but I grabbed his wrists. He struggled, but I'm stronger than he is.
"I'm not saying no, Warren. How? When? Why?"
He looked back at me, working his jaw. "How could I love you, you mean? Why not? We have a lot in common, actually. You're interesting, smart, funny when you want to be. Love isn't an exact science. As for when I fell in love with you, I can't answer that because I don't know. I just know I do, and since before you and Jean got married. As for why I want a relationship with you, well, I'm lonely, you're lonely, and maybe I want someone to be with again. Pity parties for one aren't as fun as you think they are. They get old real quick. I know you could hurt me, and I understand you may not love me. That doesn't matter to me. I could hurt you just as bad, Scott, and maybe if you opened up your damn heart again, maybe you could love me, too," he said.
It wasn't terribly original, or beautifully worded, but it was from his heart. Maybe I'm not as unfeeling as I thought, because it touched me, and I haven't been touched in a long time.
Warren stretched out on top of me, nestling his head against my chest. "That's my Christmas present, Scott. Me. If you want me," he whispered.
"Thank you. And I do," I told him, stroking his short blond hair.
I felt his arms around me, and could feel him smile against my flesh. It would be nice to have someone to hold and be with, someone who understood, someone I didn't have to worry about tarnishing and corrupting. I felt sort of happy, and I drew Warren up for a kiss, and so I could hold him better. I felt warm, for once, and while I was far from being okay with all that had happened, I felt a little better about it. Enough that I would be willing to work on my issues, whereas before I was happy wallowing in my misery. There's something about receiving stark and unconditional love from unexpected sources that'll do that to you.
"Merry Christmas, Scott."
"Merry Christmas, Warren."
So I guess what I'm trying to tell all you people out there is that Christmas isn't about the baby Jesus, or cheap, tawdry presents, or even about hanging out with your family, who may or may not irritate the fuck out of you. To me, at least.
To me, Christmas is about love, and generosity, happiness, sharing, and a bunch of other bullshit I won't get into. I'm sure you get the idea. And the true meaning of Christmas is going to be different for every person. For me, that year, it meant a new beginning, and finally starting to heal and recover from the festering wounds on my heart and soul. It had nothing to do with religion, or the neck ties and cheap watches I received the next day.
So, ending on a sappy note, I just hope that your Christmas is as special to you, as that Christmas was to me. As a crippled little boy in a very old, and classic Christmas story once said, "Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night."