Frosty Fiction: MJ and Sonny

“Why are we doing the blindfold, Precious?” Sonny asked, staggering down the fucking gangplank. “We’re docking for Christmas, not playing hide the sausage.”

“No, I’m not in the sausage-hiding mode right now, but thanks for the offer.” MJ patted his ass. “Step down.”

“Down how far?” He’d damned near broken his ankle stepping off the boat, MJ having neglected to tell him they were at a plank, not a dock...

“There’s two steps. You and your weak fucking ankles...”

“I never had ankle problems until I hooked up with an eco-terrorist in North Carolina.”

“You have to watch out for them; they’re assholes. Trigger-happy, too.”

“I know. Blowing shit up.” Sonny nodded, stepping down carefully.

A set of keys was pressed into his hand, the blindfold removed. “You forgot Ding Dong stealing.”

“Well, I bought the Ding Dongs for you.” Sonny stared at the 1970 Plymouth Hemi-Cuda. Red with black racing stripes. Christ. The last time he’d seen one at action it had been half this good and it had gone for a cool two million.

“Merry Christmas, Sunshine.” MJ’s fingers traced a circle in the small of his back.

“Holy shit, Precious.” MJ had bought him maybe fifteen muscle cars over the years, from Camaros to Chargers, but this was like the Holy Grail. “Uh, what do you want for Christmas this year?”

“Well, I figure the Mustang got me blowjobs...this is vastly better.”

“Oh, so no blowjob, huh?” He walked over to the car, running his hand over the shiny hood.

MJ leaned, all smiles and laughing eyes. “You like it?”

“Yeah. Yeah, Precious. I like it enough to let you do me in the backseat. Got lube?”

“I do. First, though, I want you to drive.”

Sonny grinned, the expression stretching his cheeks until they hurt. “Think they got enough road on this rock for me to get up to speed?”

“I do.” MJ came right up close. “I think that the local federales also have instructions to leave a certain redneck alone, too.”

“No shit?” Oh, now, that was the best Christmas present ever. Permission to speed. He bent and took that smiling mouth with his, the kiss going nuclear fast.

He was going to have to buy a case of Ding Dong flavored lube for his.

Either that or buy a boat for MJ to blow up.

Frosty Fiction: Sam/Gus

“What’s your position on the Nutcracker Suite?”

Sam’s head swiveled to look at him, the low growl barely audible. “Why?”

Gus grinned, slow and lazy. God, they hadn’t fought in so long. “Come on, Puss. You’re a dancer. Were you the mouse?”

“I was a choreographer, you animal, not a ballet dancer.”

He pouted, making sure it was as dramatic as possible. “No tutu?”

This time the growl was louder. “No?”

“Not even for me, Puss?”

The toe of a pair of boots whipped toward him, just barely touching his balls. “Let’s discuss nut cracking, Sweet.”

Frosty Fiction: Bax and Jason

“Goddamn it, Mini! Are you trying to kill yourself?” Bax was about to boil over. Jason had been out there with an axe, trying to trim branches off their Christmas tree.

“No. If I was doin’ that, I’d be whacking at my legs and shit.” Jason’s eyes rolled, searching for him. “I didn’t hit an artery, did I?”

“No. No, but you were headin’ that way.” Bax took the axe, glad Mini didn’t make him wrestle for it.

“I was helping.” Oh, there was pouting involved now, full-on. Shit, marthy, that was cute as fuck.

Bax manfully fought the urge to kiss that lower lip where it stuck out. “How did you even find the axe, Mini?”

“It was in the toolshed.”

“So, what, you wandered around calling for it?"

“Nope. I wandered around feeling for it.” Jase just grinned like a monkey. “I moved the rakes.”

“Good to know. I ain’t blind, but I might just kill myself on them.”

“Don’t be pissy, Bax. This is the only way I’ll get to see the tree this year. Once the glass shit is on it, no one will want me touching it.”

Well, shit. He’d not thought of that. He had a bunch of stuff of his momma’s, and Brenda had sent a box for Jason...

“We could hang the glass stuff off the garland on the big wall. Do the tree up in stuff for you.”

Jason shrugged, cheeks pinking. “I don’t want to be no problem.”

“Why would it be a problem? This is our place, not your momma’s or mine.”

“It’d make things a little easier, to not have to worry about knocking into the tree.”

“Well, then, we’ll do that.” He forgot, sometimes, that Mini couldn’t see. Jase got around so much easier every day. It sucked, not to see the twinkly lights and pretty wrapping paper and all.

“Okay.” Jason sighed. “How ‘m I supposed to buy you a present, cowboy?”

“You think I need anything? Hell, tell Missy to take you to buy me new Wranglers.” He hooked an arm around Jason’s waist, hating that defeated fucking look, hating God and the job and the world with all his soul, for mucking up the man he loved. “You know my size. Intimately.”

“I know all about you.” That grin went all goofy and Andy knew he’d gone and done something good and that loosened up that acid in his heart. “Intimately.”

“There you go. All I want for Christmas I got.”

It wasn’t true. He wanted Jason’s sight back. Now, but both of them knew it, so neither of them said it.

Weren’t neither of them young enough to believe in Santa and shit. They just had to believe in each other.

That was enough.

Frosty Fiction: Lily and Marc

She looked at the EPT stick in her hand, shaking her head. 

They'd only been married three months. She was on the pill. They didn't need a baby.

A tiny voice at the back of her head whispered, "The last time Granny visited you she promised twins."

"Oh, shut up."

"Lady? Honey? Lily? You okay?" 

"Uh-huh." The tears started then, pouring down her cheeks and she fought the sobs, knowing that her lover, her soul mate, her lion would know, would just need the slightest clue to...

The bathroom door opened, Marc standing there, looking like he was storming a beach somewhere. "What is wrong? What is it? Are you sick? Are you?"

His eyes landed on the pregnancy test in her hand, the positive sign almost glowing. "Lily? Is it true?"

"Merry Christmas?"

His smile, even through her tears, let her know that yes, yes it was.

Frosty Fiction: Jordan/Shaw/Stephanie

"Jordan, did you get something for our girl?"

His mate looked over from the chair where Jordan was repairing snowshoes. "Huh?"

"It's December. Christmas? You know?" Their first holiday altogether as a threesome, as three wolves, as lovers. As family.

Jordan snorted. "She's a witch. She doesn't do Christmas."

"Everyone does Christmas!" Didn't they? Trees. Lights. Carols.

"Jewish people don't."

Shaw was going to bite Jordan, hard. "Steph's not Jewish."

"I know that. She's a witch."

"Jordan!"

"What baby?"

"Did you get Steph something. For. Christmas?"

"Nope." Jordan didn't even look at him, but Shaw could scent amusement.

"Boys, I'm home." Cinnamon. Stephanie smelled like cinnamon and ginger and citrus and...oh, yummy. "Busy day at the shop today. I brought gingerbread. Are there steaks?"

"Gingerbread?" He glared at Jordan. "As in Christmas cookies?"

"Christmas cookies, Yule cookies, holiday cookies. I just wanted gingerbread and lights. When are we putting up the tree? I love the lights."

"See?"

"Tree's in the back, baby girl, just waiting for you to get home to decorate it. I even got you candy canes."

Shaw's mouth opened, closed, then opened again. "You suck."

Steph came to him, kissed him soundly. "So do you, Shaw. Hell, so do I? Wanna see?"

"Uh-huh." He spared a half glare at Jordan, but his mate just chuffed softly. 

"So easy to tease, baby."

He would have growled, but Steph was kissing him, loving him. 

Again.

It could wait for later -- after the sweets and the tree.

Frosty Fiction: Seb and Markus

“You want to do a Christmas album someday, Candy?” Seb pulled his guitar off the stand, coming to the soft, comfortable couch they wrote from.

“I never say never, baby, but we’d have to be in the studio in fucking June with it.” Markus shrugged. “I never loved that.”

“I like carols, though.”

Markus grinned at him, eyes warm, sweet, like a fucking drug, and Sebastian warmed, balls deep. “What’s your favorite?”

“I love O Holy Night. You?” 

“All I Want for Christmas is You.” Markus started singing away, almost bellering it. Jackass. Beautiful, musical son of a bitch.

Sebastian smiled, he had to because he knew Markus. The man meant it, playing around or not. “You want to pick some?”

“More than breathing.” 

He nodded. Santa couldn’t bring him anything he needed more. He had Markus and music, everything a Cajun needed. 

Except for etoufee.

Oh, he wondered if he could hire Jean-Jacques to fly down to make some. Maybe Eduardo would know someone local...

“Baby? You got smoke coming out of your ears.”

“I want etoufee for Christmas dinner. Etoufee and pralines. Can we make that happen?”

Markus hooted for him. “Baby, you leave it to Santa. It will happen.”

It was good to be him. 

Damned good.

“All right then.” He strummed the melody they’d been working on the night before, picking the complicated line. Then Markus’ harmony joined him, sweet as spun sugar and they were off, making music.

Together.

Frosty Fiction: Shane and Galen

Shane whistled, draping Christmas lights over the dock. The house was lit, the driveway. Car port. Barn. Bait shop. There was a moving lit-up alligator and eight flamingos in the front yard, sparkling palm trees on the back porch, and an inflatable Rudolph bobbing in the pool. The door had a rainbow sparkly wreath, the porch light was red, and the doorbell sang jingle bells.

The dogs had on Christmas collars.

He had on one red and one green flip flop and Grinch boxer shorts. 

December was here. 

He was ready. Like whoa ready. 

He looked down at his chest, the battery operated LED blinking lights clipped to his nipple rings just merry as fuck. 

Now, all he needed was his Galen to come home from helping Momma at her new house so that the man could admire.