You hate Christmas.

 

Most people don’t believe you when you say it but you honestly do. The crowds of holiday shoppers, reevaluating every relationship in your life to determine who should be receiving a gift from you, all those corny ass decorations and those fuckers in Santa suits yelling “HO HO HO” outside every goddamn grocery store and pharmacy in the city. And tinsel. You fucking hate tinsel.

 

Your boyfriend on the other hand loves Christmas. The lights, the hunt for the perfect gift, how there are decorated trees everywhere and they’re all different, all beautiful in their own way, loves how everyone says “Merry Christmas” or “Happy Holidays” by way of farewell. Most of all he enjoys calling you a Scrooge, amused by your general sullenness during what he considers the happiest time of the year.

 

You’d humored him for the most part, letting him put a tree up in your apartment, helping him bake cookies, and enduring the endless “how can you not like Christmas” conversations. It’s just a day, you’d told him, like every other day. Your mother loves Christmas forcing you to wear festive sweaters and dragging you to a hundred different stores to find that one perfect gift for everyone in your family. All of this had worn thin after the age of nine but you put on a happy face and humored her but you decided that when you got your own place you weren’t going to fake it anymore. It just didn’t matter to you.

 

Which you suppose is how you got into that fight in the first place.

 

“Hey do you want a window or aisle seat?” Justin asked, his eyes flicking to you from behind his computer screen.

 

You looked at him bewildered from over the kitchen counter. “Am I flying somewhere?” you questioned bending over to look inside the oven. Aren’t those damn cookies done yet?

 

“Yeah we’re going to Memphis,” Justin said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world and you straightened again, looking at him. “For Christmas,” he said his eyes widening at you in a “duh” expression.

 

“Justin I can’t go to Memphis for Christmas,” you said, laughter in your voice as you turned up the oven a little.

 

“Why not?” he asked and you had turned to look at him, finding his brow furrowed, a slight pout in his lips.

 

“Because I have to work, baby,” you said shaking your head in disbelief.

 

“So ask off,” he replied petulantly and you sighed looking back at him.

 

“I can’t,” you replied and his frown deepened.

 

“You can’t?” he questioned, his eyebrow quirking. “What are you physically incapable of saying the words ‘Hey I’m going to my boyfriend’s family’s place for Christmas.’”

 

“No,” you spat, annoyance burning in you. “We’re really busy right now because a ton of other people have asked off for the holidays. Not all of us can up and leave whenever they want.”

 

Justin laughed, a humorless sound as he shook his head. “Always comes back to my job…” he muttered and you glared at him.

 

“Justin if I asked you to just up and fucking leave for a week when you were busy with…” you trailed trying to grab for one of the many things he does with his career, “whatever the fuck,” your hand flailed, “you’d laugh in my face.”

 

“It’s Christmas, Claire,” he said soberly and you rolled your eyes, watching his face go from pouting to pissed. “Just because you don’t give a fuck about it doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter. I want to spend Christmas with my family.”

 

“Then fucking go,” you yelled, flinging your arm out and he gritted his teeth frustrated.

 

“I wanted to spend it with you too, goddammit!” he yelled back.

 

“Well I’m sorry but I can’t go,” you said, shaking your head and he scowled.

 

“You won’t even ask?” he pushed and your fists balled at your sides, anger boiling in you.

 

“I hope you remember this conversation when I ask you to take a vacation with me,” you said, grabbing the bag of sugar on the counter and turning to put it back in the cabinet.

 

“This is what it all comes back to right?” he spit, his hands on his hips now, his jaw tight from anger. “My job and how I’m never fucking around. Eye for an eye, is that it?”

 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you said, turning to look at him like he was crazy. “That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying you’re a fucking hypocrite for demanding I take off work on a whim because you want me to. I would never ask you to do something like that,” you said and just for the hell of it you add, “mostly because I know you wouldn’t fucking do it anyway.”

 

And so it had gone, screaming at each other for the better part of an hour, all of it culminating in him yelling that he hoped you had a Merry fucking Christmas all by yourself, the slamming of the door causing your entire apartment to vibrate.

 

You regret it now of course, fumbling with your keys and opening the door to a dark and quiet apartment. The street lamp outside gives just enough light to show the shadows of the furniture in your living room, the tree blocking out most of the light and you sigh, dropping your keys on the table by the door. You change into your pajamas, make yourself a cup of cocoa and sit on your couch, looking at the dark tree critically. You sigh getting up to search for the plug, shoving it into the wall and hundreds of colored lights fragment the darkness, the star on top glowing like a dull ember. You sit back on the couch, picking up your mug and looking at it sadly. It’s Christmas Eve, a day of the year you’d spent your entire adult life denying had any meaning at all but sitting here by yourself in the semi darkness of your empty apartment, watching snow spit against the window you can’t help but feel like you’re missing something important.

 

You jump as loud banging issues from your front door, nearly throwing your cocoa all over the floor and you set the mug down, hurrying to answer it. Who the hell would be pounding on your door on Christmas Eve? Swinging the door open you gasp, your hand going to your mouth as you see Justin standing there, snow dotting the shoulders of his black peacoat, his shoulders bunched up to his ears, shivering. He scowls deeply at you.

 

“I hope you’re goddamn happy,” he says moodily and you can’t control yourself, just throw your arms around his neck, pressing your body to his.

 

“Oh god I’m so sorry,” you murmur, the wool of his coat scratchy against your cheek and you feel his arms wrap around your waist, holding you close.

 

“Flew all the way back on Christmas fucking Eve,” he mutters, pressing his face into your hair. “Do you know what the airport was like?”

 

“I’m so glad you’re here,” you say, your voice thick and you refuse to let him go, fingers curling against his coat.

 

“Yeah, well my mom made me come,” he mutters and you pull back finally, your fingers twisted in the lapels of his jacket. He’s looking at the ground, shuffling his feet against the hallway carpet before giving an awkward shrug, hands dug in his pockets. “I was miserable without you,” he grumbles, his eyes flicking to yours and your heart trembles, reaching to run a hand down his face. “She said I was ruining her Christmas.”

 

You laugh, a watery sound and you hadn’t realized you’d been crying until then, wiping quickly at your face. “God come inside,” you say, sniffling softly as you pull him in, closing the door behind him. “Justin,” you say, helping him off with his coat, hanging it on the rack and he heaves a weary sigh as he turns to look at you. “Justin I’m so sorry.”

 

He nods, hands on his hips looking a little exasperated in that way he gets when you’ve successfully gotten him to do something he didn’t really want to do.  You feel really bad, keeping him from his family when that’s where he wants to be, hating that you made him have to choose. All because you were stubborn.

 

“What can I do,” you find yourself saying and he looks at you, “to make it up to you.”

 

He raises an eyebrow and you didn’t realize how suggestive it sounds until now. You roll your eyes at him, laughing a little at his dirty mind but you’re not opposed to it. You know how to make him feel better no matter how bad of a mood he’s in and technically you’re in the doghouse at the moment.

 

“I dunno,” he says. His voice is playful but turns to martyred in a matter of seconds. “I mean…” he trails looking over at the tree and sighing. “Christmas is a time for family.” He turns to look at you again, his face wounded in a truly heart wrenching way. A lot of people say he’s a terrible actor but they don’t know shit.

 

“Are you hungry?” you prompt, thinking that if he’s going to make you work for it you could tease him a little. He takes a step closer, shaking his head. “Do you want something to drink?” you ask, watching his hands smooth around your waist, his palms warm through your thin pajama top. “A Christmas cocktail?”

 

“Cocktail?” he questions one eyebrow lifting just slightly, his eyes alight. “You’re getting closer.”

 

You giggle, your hands smoothing down his chest, the cashmere of his sweater soft against your palms and you can feel the taut muscle underneath. You bite your lip, looking up at him from under long lashes and find a smile tugging at his lips, his eyes smoldering slightly. You let your tongue snake out across your bottom lip, stepping even closer to him so that one of your feet is planted between both of his and you rise on your tip toes, nose nuzzling against his as your hip presses against his crotch. The only indication he gives that this effects him is the slight hitch in his breath but you watch his pupils dilate before his eyes sink closed when your lips press to his. You watch him as he kisses you, the thick fan of his lashes lying delicately against his cheekbones before your eyes sink shut, the tip of your tongue reaching out to swipe his bottom lip.

 

You pull back when he opens his mouth to you, granting you access and his eyelids flutter open, a pronounced pout puckering his lips. You smile, pressing your mouth to his in short, slow kisses, pulling back each time his tongue makes a swipe at yours, not allowing him to deepen your kiss. Finally his hands cup your face, holding you still and your knees literally go weak as he presses his lips to yours hard, his tongue sliding slick and strong against yours. Your fingers gather in the soft cashmere of his sweater, pushing it up and he pulls back just long enough to discard it, your hands tugging at the lapels of his button-down. He chuckles against your mouth, his stomach trembling as the coolness of your fingertips trace over the warm skin of his abdomen, your lips pecking at his over and over.

 

He maneuvers backwards, taking slow steps towards the couch and your nose brushes his lips pressing over and over again as your fingers make quick work of the buttons, finding warm skin underneath. Your hands smooth up his chest, pushing the shirt off his shoulders and he lets it flutter to the ground before reaching up and running his hands over your hair, cupping your face as he kisses you slow and deep. But you won’t be distracted, your fingertips pressing against the hard muscle of his chest and he tips backwards, falling with an “oomph” over the arm of your couch. You giggle at the bewildered look on his face, his long legs hanging over the end, feet dangling in the air.

 

He watches you as you pull at the bows in his laces, loosening them to tug his shoes from his feet and then peel his socks off, tossing them aside. You crawl over him then, your knees sinking in the couch cushions on either side of his hips, your lips finding his and he props himself up on his elbows.

 

“You gonna let me make this up to you?” you ask, licking your lips and his eyes flutter open to regard you curiously.

 

“What did you have in mind?” he questions softly watching your finger trail down his chest and his stomach trembles as your fingers brush over the trail of blond hair that disappears into the top of his jeans.

 

You simply smile at him in response, the corners of your mouth pulling tight as your fingers flick open the button of his pants, letting the zipper down. He hisses softly as you reach inside, his head hanging loosely to the side as he watches you touch him through the thin cotton of his boxers, rubbing and teasing until he’s solid against his leg. His breath is coming more rapidly now, his tongue clicking as he tries to wet the inside of his dry mouth and you kiss him slow, your tongue teasing his, drawing it into your mouth. You suck softly, pulling a low rumble from his chest as your hand slips into his boxers, touching him skin on skin and he pulls back from you to lick his lips. He pulls his plush bottom lip between his teeth watching as you slip him out over the waistband, stroking slowly, gripping him tight at the base and loosening until your finger tips tease the head. Your nose nuzzles against his as your thumb swipes across the slit, teasing him as his hands begin to wander, slipping under the hem of your pajama top, his fingertips cool against your back. His hands flatten against your waist, your shirt bunching at his wrists as his palms smooth warmly up your sides, holding you at your ribcage while your hand works his dick slowly, giving him just enough pleasure to keep him going.

 

You release him when he urges you to raise your arms, tugging your shirt over your head and he sighs, cupping your breasts in his hands, biting his lip as he watches his thumb rake across your nipple. You hum in appreciation, your hands flattening against his chest and it takes all your willpower to push yourself back, slipping off his lap. His bottom lip protrudes in a pronounced pout as he watches you round the end of the couch, nudging your coffee table farther back and his face dissolves into a Cheshire smirk as you sink to your knees. He scrambles to pull himself into a sitting position, swinging his legs from over the arm of the couch and settling back against the cushions, rolling his shoulders, making himself comfortable. You shake your head at him laughing softly as your fingers gather in the rough denim of his jeans and he lifts his ass enabling you to pull them down and off.

 

He’s sitting before you now in nothing but a pair of gray boxer briefs the outline of his hard cock visible in the semi darkness of the room, his skin glowing golden from the light of the Christmas tree. His knees part as you lean forward, the air rushing from his lungs as your chest presses between his legs, your lips placing feather light kisses all over his stomach which clenches and trembles with want. You let your nails scratch lightly down his sides, causing him to issue a shaky breath before your fingers curl around the waistband of his underwear, tugging them down and watching his skin go from golden peach to apple white and then turn golden again at mid-thigh.

 

He’s chewing his bottom lip slowly, watching your every move as you run your hands along his thighs, the soft hairs tickling your palms before leaning in. He lets out a low, tortured groan as your lips press to his hipbone, heaving a sigh as your lips drag across his lower belly to suck on his other hipbone. He wiggles restlessly, his dick brushing your neck and you grin, your fingers finally wrapping around the base causing him to hum in appreciation, his head falling back and his eyes closing settling in for what he knows is coming to him.

 

You smirk. “Justin,” you breathe, the warmth of your breath causing his dick to jerk in your hand and his eyes open reluctantly. “I really am very sorry.”

 

He blinks slowly as if trying to place your words and then a slow smirk crawls across his face. “Uh huh…” he says eyeing you skeptically.

 

“Do you think you can find it in your heart to forgive me?” you question softly, your tongue sneaking out to wet your bottom lip and his lips part at the sight of your tongue so close to the head of his cock.

 

He nods dumbly. “I…I think I could be persuaded,” he breathes, fingers threading back into your hair and you smile at him, licking your lips again.

 

He moans softly as you take the tip into your mouth, your tongue massaging the slit slowly as your hand keeps a firm grip at the base. He sighs as your mouth inches down slow, keeping your lips tight around him as you go, taking him in about half way before bringing your mouth back up, your lips sliding wetly against the soft skin of his shaft. He swallows hard, watching you rub your lips against the head, your tongue flicking out and tracing back and forth over the slit, teasing him before dropping your mouth down again. You start a slow rhythm, your mouth dipping down wetly, applying soft suction as you pull back up and your hand comes up, twisting from the base and back down, your saliva making him slip and easy to stroke. His breath is coming hard, soft “oh”s and breathy whimpers passing his lips, his hands lying helplessly at his sides as his eyes are riveted on your mouth. His stomach trembles, his thighs tensing when you moan around him and his head falls back, a guttural groan pulling from his chest.

 

“Fuck baby that feels so good,” he whimpers, so you do it again and again, your mouth dipping up and down, pausing every now and then to suck sweetly on the head.

 

Your tongue flattens against the little ball of skin just underneath the ridge on the underside of his shaft and he hisses, fists clenching and unclenching, head lolling with pleasure. Your lips leave him with a soft pop, your hand jerking slow, finishing each stroke by rubbing your palm over the head and you watch his face, his eyes half mast, your hand a blur on his cock. He groans loud when you bring your face back down, puckering your lips against the head and sucking against the slit before opening just wide enough to let him slip in, sucking slowly down until you meet the stroke of your hand and then sucking back up again. Your eyes meet his as you begin your quick strokes again, finding him staring at you mesmerized and you can’t help but grin, never losing eye contact as you dip your head and let the flat of your tongue travel up the vein on the underside of his shaft, enjoying the way his eyes roll back before smirking to yourself and continuing your work on his cock.

 

“God…” he whimpers weakly, back arching slightly. “Claire…fuck just like that.”

 

He’s restless now, his body jerking forward every now and then when your tongue flattens against the underside of his shaft on your way back up. He cries out when you release your hand, dropping your head all the way down until your nose touches the thin smattering of hair over his shaft and drawing back up again quickly. His fingers fist in your hair, nails scratching at your scalp and you can tell by the clenching of his thighs that he’s close, the rapid hissing of his breath echoing harshly in the silent room. You drop down all the way one more time, enjoying his low groan when he hits the back of your throat and sucking hard all the way back up, his dick falling from your mouth with a soft pop. A pitiful whimper tears from his throat, his head falling back and you’re panting yourself watching his chest heave, his cock standing straight between his legs.

 

“Goddammit woman,” he growls and you squeal when his fingers wrap around your biceps, tugging you roughly into his lap.

 

He moans when you settle your full weight against him, your tongues battling fiercely as his hands run up and down your naked back, sliding down to grip your ass and pull you harder against him still. You pant, your nipples brushing the soft skin of his chest, teasing them to attention and this doesn’t go unnoticed by him, his lips prying from yours to dip his head, kissing along the top of your breasts before sucking one bud into his mouth. You allow your head to fall back, your hips grinding against his, panties sliding wetly against your center and you want nothing more than to be as naked as he is right now. His hands are squeezing your ass methodically, his mouth switching back and forth licking and sucking then blowing, causing goose bumps to prickle up on your skin. Your fingers twist in the curls at the nape of his neck, tugging wickedly as zings of pleasure shoot up and down your spine.

 

Once again you manage to summon some will power and slip backwards, his hands reluctant to release you, his eyes dark with want. You stand back from him, sliding a hand down your stomach and you think he’s going to choke on his own breath when it slips into the front of your sleep pants, one finger reaching between your slick folds to press against your clit. Your eyelids flutter and he growls, leaning forward to reach for your hip and you giggle, barely catching his own chuckle as he presses his lips just above your belly button, fingers curling in the waist band of your cotton pants and tugging them down along with your underwear.

 

His hands are on your ass again, pulling you forward still, his mouth brushing your hip bone as one hand slides down the outside of your thigh, fingertips brushing across your knee and then sliding warmly up the inside of your other thigh. His mouth opens against your skin as his fingers find your slick folds and your hands fist in his hair.

 

He looks up at you smirking. “You get this wet just from sucking my dick.”

 

You grin, a blush heating your cheeks as you push on his shoulder. “Lay back,” you say and he narrows his eyes at you turning his body so that he’s laying across the length of the couch, one hand curling behind his head, the other falling restlessly at his side. You bite your lip, looking at him laid out before you, taking your time to examine every inch from head to toe and back again. When your eyes meet his again you tremble at the smoldering look he’s giving you, demanding without words that you get on with this. He can’t wait much longer.

 

You respond with a smirk, turning away from him and you can practically hear his lips part to protest until you swing one leg over him, straddling his hips, placing a hand on his knee for balance. You look over your shoulder at him coyly and the look on his face is priceless, his blue eyes wide as saucers as if he can’t believe what’s happening to him right now. You arch your back giving him the perfect view of your ass and his hands grasp it appreciatively as you reach between, gripping his hard cock on your hand. He hisses low, fingertips digging in hard enough to bruise as you rub the head along your slick folds, you letting out a quiet moan of your own as you rub him against your clit, gasping at the tiny sparks of pleasure it brings. His hands push against your ass, urging you forward so that his cock slides against your entrance and you allow your hips to lower achingly slow, taking him in inch by inch, feeling him stretch your body lusciously.

 

“Jesus Christ babe,” he breathes and you look over your shoulder again, biting your lip as you see his head hanging back, a look of tortured euphoria painted across his handsome face.

 

You let out a shaky breath yourself, your hands trembling slightly as you grip his thighs, just holding your hips steady against his, feeling him warm and solid pressing deeply into you. You can’t move just yet, savoring the feel of his hands smoothing up and down your back, fanning out over the wide set of your hips, sliding around and up your stomach to cup your breasts, thumbs teasing your nipples. It’s this that causes you to move, the pleasure causing an involuntary twitch of your hips and the movement makes you groan, a rush of pleasure causing your thighs to tremble. He breathes out a shaky sigh, his hands leaving your breasts and sliding down your sides, settling on your hips, waiting for you to move.

 

You start out slow, letting your hips grind against his in slow circles and then back and forth, your mouth dropping open every now and then at the pleasure, fingers digging in to the hard muscle of his thighs. He’s humming and hissing, hands gripping your hips tight before loosening and allowing his fingertips to roam, tracing down your spine, splaying across your ribcage, ticking up and down your thighs.

 

“Fuck baby you feel so good,” he breathes, his voice nothing more than an airy whisper and you glance over your shoulder at him again, finding his head propped against the arm of the couch, his eyes heavy as he watches you.

 

A small smile tugs at his lips before they pucker in a soft “oh” of pleasure, his eyes sinking closed only to open again, trying to hold on yours, hands guiding your hips over him. He bites his bottom lip hard, brows drawing as he lets it slide free, a low moan coming from his throat and he finally surrenders to the pleasure, his eyes closing, soft grunts pulling from his chest with every twitch of your hips.

 

You face forward again, body on fire as you increase your pace, feeling his fingertips bite into your flesh, his grunts turning to moans and a slew of expletives that causes your stomach to tremble. You lean forward more, raising your ass until you’re almost completely off him and then rolling your hips forward and down, feeling his dick hit that spot inside you that makes your thighs shake, whining softly as your release builds.

 

His hips are moving in time with yours, knees bending just slightly so he can press his heels into the couch cushions, pushing his body up into yours and meeting you thrust for thrust. You throw your head back, fingers clutching at his thighs as you ride him hard and fast, hips smacking against his and your release is so close, your body aching for it as his dick hits your spot over and over again.

 

“Fuck…come for me baby,” he whimpers, his voice thin and barely under control, one hand moving from your hip, fingertips crawling across your lower stomach and down.

 

Your back arches as the rough pads of his fingertips find your clit, rubbing slow circles and you feel your entire body start to shake, hands pawing at his thighs as you coil tighter and tighter. Your hand covers his between your legs, fingers aligning with his before your index and middle finger part and move farther back, feeling him slick and hard entering and leaving your body and that’s all it takes, your back arching as his name tears from your throat, echoing harshly off the walls.  Your body jerks violently, hips twitching hard over him and you hear him gasp, the hand on your hip clutching hard enough to bruise as his stomach clenches and he releases into you with a soft cry, his body arching off the couch.

 

“Oh fuck baby…oh god yes,” he moans as you ride out his orgasm, your hips finally rolling to a stop, listening to him heave a satisfied sigh.

 

Your arms are weak and trembling, still holding onto his legs for support, your feet tucked under his back and you don’t want to move just yet, your flesh tender and swollen but your muscles are weak, barely holding you upright. He shifts beneath you, causing you to whimper at the friction but he shushes you softly, reaching up to hold your shoulders as he tries to pull you back. Your legs slide free, his body slipping from yours and he guides you to lay back against him, his hands turning you so that you’re facing him again. He tucks your face into his neck, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist as you pull your arms to your chest, savoring the feel of his skin on yours.

 

He sighs heavily, a content sound. “Mmmmm.”

 

You giggle. “So am I forgiven?” you ask softly, your cheek resting over his heart and you smile as his chuckle vibrates against your skin.

 

“Yes…yes you are,” he says, heaving another sigh and you smile, pressing a kiss to the center of his chest before resting your cheek against him again.

 

You stare at the Christmas tree, blinking slowly and as cheesy as it sounds you think you finally get it. This is what Christmas is all about. Not the gifts, not the decorations or the hassle. It’s this, right here. Laying with someone you love and enjoying the lights, enjoying the quiet.

 

“Hey you turned on the tree,” Justin says, his head lifting slightly and his voice sounds surprised, as if he’d just noticed.

 

“Yeah,” you say with a sigh, rubbing your cheek against him.

 

“Who are you and what have you done with my girlfriend?” he teases and you rest your chin against his sternum, smiling up at him.

 

“I think I’m beginning to get this Christmas thing,” you say and he beams at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

 

“Really? You like it now?” he asks and you shrug non-comitial but you can feel your heart warm at his happiness. “You like the decorations?” he asks and you give a small nod. “You like the lights?” he asks and you laugh softly, nodding and rolling your eyes. “And the baking and the spirit of giving?”

 

“Yes, Justin,” you say, rolling your eyes. “I’m a giant ball of Christmas joy. Feel free to shut up about it.”

 

“But this is big babe!” Justin exclaims, his eyes dancing merrily. “You hated Christmas! I mean it was a serious throw-down just to get that tree! And now you like it.” He grins. “Maybe next year we can get more ornaments and maybe even some tins-”

 

“NO tinsel,” you cut him off forcefully and he laughs, both your bodies shaking with it.

 

“Okay, okay,” he says with a sigh of mock disappointment but smiling at the pronounced pout on your lips. “No tinsel.”

 

You’re both quiet for a moment, watching the lights twinkle on the tree, the snow frosting the window behind it and you can’t think of anything you could want more in this moment, listening to his heart beat, his skin soft and warm against yours.

 

“Hey Justin,” you say softly, turning your head to rest your chin on his chest again and he hums, looking down at you from under heavy lidded eyes. You smile as you shyly say, “Merry Christmas.”

 

He gives you a wide smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he responds.  “Merry Christmas.”