Oneshot: Santa Baby

[andrew_in_drag]

Title: Santa Baby
Author: andrew_in_drag
Pairing: Die x Kyo
Rating: mature
Warnings: AU, idiot Die, grumpy Kyo
Synopsis: "It doesn't matter that you're a bastard. You're Kyo. That's all I care about."
Notes: this is my first ever Christmas-themed anything. I don't know what's happening to me. 

Santa Baby

1999

Our first Christmas together, it was snowing so fiercely and so silently that it took my breath away.
It was Christmas Eve, I was twenty-three and he was twenty-five, and we were at his shithole apartment building and I couldn’t get my fucking car out. I’ve never been a good driver anyway: it’s too easy for my mind to wander.
He’s no better; once he fell asleep at the wheel, nearly killed us both. It was great. Nothing makes you feel so alive as almost dying. I was laying into him but I didn’t even feel mad, not really; I was shaking, but not with anger. It was something else. He must have felt it, too. He grabbed me by the arms and kissed me for the very first time. Then I was angry. But not for too long.
But Christmas in 1999, I couldn’t get my car out of the parking lot and he was grinning so smugly you’d think he planned it.
“Problem?” he said, almost singing it. I huffed, climbing out from behind the wheel and slamming the door closed in irritation.
“I’m stuck,” I said flatly, refusing to give into his frivolity. Christmas and me don’t really get on.
“C’mon,” he said, gentler, “Don’t you want to spend Christmas here?”
“It’s such a fucking dumb holiday.”
“It’ll be romantic,” he suggested, and I snorted.
“Got a tree and some mistletoe and a roaring log fire up there, have you?”
“Grumpy, grumpy,” he grumbled. “I’ve got a bonsai tree. I’ve got a radiator.” He wrapped one of his stupid long arms around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze, still grinning moronically. “Come on, play along. Don’t you want to come in and stay for Christmas?”
I sighed, my breath a cloud of white mist in the cold air.
“Alright, I’ll come in. I’m freezing my balls off out here—”
“Don’t be silly,” Die corrected, “You want to come in because it’s a lovely holiday and I’m a lovely boyfriend. Aren’t you scared of turning into the Grinch? You go all green, so I guess that’s gangrene. Or leprosy. Aren’t you scared?”
“Not really.”
“Yes you are,” he said loudly, “It’s a horrible disease that will kill you!”
He grinned at me. “Let’s go inside.”
I rolled my eyes and allowed him to lead me. When he wasn’t looking, I let myself smile.  

2000

That was the year I moved into a real house, not just an apartment. It had a scratchy little square of garden at the front, and a path, and a gate, and inside it had a staircase that was just for me. It had a fireplace and a chimney.
It had two keys for the front door, one for me and a spare.
That’s why I walked in on Christmas Eve, stamping the cold from my frozen feet, and immediately saw two long lanky legs sticking out over the hearth. Stupid, stupid long legs in a pair of faded light blue jeans, big clumsy clown feet in tattered All Stars; I’d have known those legs anywhere.
“Die,” I said in disbelief.  
“Not Die, Santa!” was the muffled reply, and then there was a pause. “Have you been good this year?”
“Do you…need help?”
“…Could you yank on my legs?”
“You’re a fucking idiot.” I pulled my coat, scarf and boots off, leaving them in an untidy pile on the floor. I’ve never been the neatest person anyway. It took a lot of coaxing and tugging, but eventually Die fell into my fireplace like a baby bird, all limbs spread and fragile looking, covered in soot and ash. His eyes were two white moons. His smile was blinding.
“Have you been naughty or nice?” he gibbered nonsensically, not missing a beat, “You’re so cute in that hat.” He smothered my protests with a kiss, smearing my face with the same black dust that covered him.
“Cute,” he said again, triumphantly. I opened my mouth but there weren’t any words.
His smile always does that to me. Normally people look fucking moronic when they smile, and I guess he does too, but it’s okay, it’s like a kid. It sounds stupid because it’s so simple, but he looks happy. He looks so happy he could burst.
“Get out, Santa,” I said flatly, “You’re trespassing.”
“I’m gonna take a shower,” he said, cheerfully ignoring me. “When I come back, I’m going to be one of Santa’s reindeer. And you’re gonna feed me your carrot.”

2001

“Oh fuck, oh Die, oh fuck—”
I could never tell anybody else, but I love it when he fucks me. Sometimes I feel like everything inside of me is wound up so tightly I’m going to explode, and when that time comes, it’s so good to just lay back and have him do what he wants with me.
So on that Christmas Eve he had me gasping, kneeling in his lap with his dick so deep inside me I could almost taste it. He was still wearing that stupid Santa hat. I ripped it off and buried my hands in his hair, meeting his gaze squarely; when he fucks, suddenly he’s never joking anymore. It’s like his eyes get a hundred shades darker; a thousand times deeper; deep enough to get lost in.
“You’re so amazing,” he breathed against my lips, hitting that place inside of me to make me cry out. I threw my head back and his lips were on my throat, pressing hot kisses there. His nails were scrabbling at my sides, at my back; in one smooth motion, his practised right hand found my dick and began to stroke it, long quick motions to match his thrusts inside my body.
“Cum for me,” he commanded, and right there, that’s it, that’s what I love: how suddenly he’s so demanding, so powerful, and so fucking sexy it’s like I can’t even talk.
“I think I – I—,” I gasped, clinging to him like a drowning man, and moaned as his thrusts got faster and sloppier, more erratic, and with a low cry he emptied himself inside of me. His hand on my dick squeezed and I lost it, my cum decorating his chest, and he lay us both down shakily.
“I think maybe I love you,” I finished dazedly, and felt as he laughed a breathy little laugh against my hair.
“Of course you love me,” he said. “Have you only just realised? I’ve known for years.”
“Die, I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
He rolled on top of me, supporting himself on his elbows, and smiled at me softly. “I love you too, you know,” he said, and kissed me on the cheek when I flushed and had to look away.
Then he snickered, quietly at first, and then louder.
“What?” I snapped, irritable because I was embarrassed.
“Look,” he said, sitting up and showing me his chest. Cum dripped down it in pearly lines, and I couldn’t help but reach up to trace one.
“Well, what’s so funny?” I asked. He was grinning so widely I thought he’d explode if he didn’t tell me.
“It’s a white Christmas,” he said proudly, and I wrestled him to the floor.

2002

Christmas Eve of 2002, we had a fight. He called me a headcase and I called him a moron, and we fell asleep stiffly on our own separate sides of the bed.
They say you should be careful what you wish for. Every night when we fall asleep, he squeezes me close to him so tight I don’t think I can handle it. Funny how I got all the space I wanted, and realised that it was too cold and too loose, and I didn’t really know what to do with my arms or legs, and I couldn’t get comfy the whole fucking night through. I lay there and stewed because it was my fault and I knew it.
The next morning, there was a quivering, catlike kind of silence between us as we showered and got dressed. I don’t like Christmas decorations, so there wasn’t a tree or anything. Die and I never give each other presents, either. I don’t know why, we just never have.
“Why d’you put up with me?” I asked, brusquely, and he jerked to wide-eyed attention.
“What?”
“You heard. Why d’you put up with me?” I set my hands on my hips, turning to face him. “C’mon, you said it yourself; I’m grumpy, and I’m ungrateful, and I’m impossible to impress. And I’m not the best-looking person around, or the richest, so I know you’re not with me for that. So why d’you keep coming back?” I paused, because he looked so surprised.
“I really wanna know,” I admitted in a mumble. “If I was you, I guess I would have given up.”
He stood up, fucking tall prick, and put his arms around me.
“Is this you saying sorry?” he asked.
“I suppose so.”
“Then it doesn’t matter that you’re grumpy or ungrateful. I know you are grateful really, or you wouldn’t have asked me any of that. And you say you’re hard to impress, but I don’t buy it. ‘Cause you look at me like I’m gold.”
He paused. “Now do you want your Christmas present?”
“What? Die, we don’t give presents.”
“I know, but I prepared something special and hid it in your bedroom. Why don’t you come and get it in about…ten seconds?”
I couldn’t help it: there was a smile pulling insistently at my lips.
“Alright,” I agreed, and he gave me a quick squeeze and rushed off.

Die’s not a subtle person. I heard the clink of his belt buckle and his muffled curses as he stumbled around my room, trying to get undressed; still, I dutifully counted to five and then rapped on the door.
“All set?” I asked drily.
“Come on in,” he sang, and I pushed the door open.
Stupid, stupid Die. He was lying on my bed, perfectly naked except for that fucking Santa hat perched perkily over his dick. His arms were crossed behind his head, and he was grinning like he knew exactly how clever he was.
“It doesn’t matter that you’re a bastard,” he said carelessly, “You’re Kyo. That’s all I care about.”
“Yeah?” I asked, feeling strangely unembarrassed. “Well…I guess all I care about is that you’re Die.”
“I’m not Die,” he protested, “I’m Santa!”
I snorted, pulling off my T-shirt and throwing it at his head.
“Sure,” I said sarcastically, “Santa baby.”
But I realised that I was smiling. And outside, I think it started to snow.