Happy Holidays all! This was written for a really good friend of mine, Rosanna (NPD18) xxx

Hope you all have a great 2007!


The doors were locked, the heating was on and Samantha Spade was ready to curl up in front of the box with a pint of Ben & Jerry's and whatever movie she could find for this chilly Christmas Eve.

She had just closed the cutlery drawer, spoon in hand, when she heard a knock. Her brow furrowed in confusion and intrigue as she put the spoon with the pint on the coffee table and peered through the peep-hole. Martin?

"Martin?" Samantha asked, opening the door to her visitor. "What are-"

"I have pizza, with peppers; I have a six pack of beer, and I have no feeling in my toes." He smirked, gesturing to the items.

"Then I guess you'd better come in," She pushed the door open with a smile and stepped to the other side. "What brings you here? Other than my heat?"

"Would hunger and good company suffice as an answer?"

She collected napkins from the kitchen. "Hmm…no."

"Family dispute," Martin said, sitting down on the couch. Samantha was well versed in Martin's, never mind her own, version of 'family disputes'.

"So you sought refuge with me?"

"Danny has a date."

"Fallback! Boy, do I feel special," Samantha smirked, twisting off a bottle cap and handing Martin a beer.

They talked mindless chitchat until just one stone-cold and congealed slice and four empties remained, and both were slumped back on the couch, full and comfortable.

"What's on now?" Martin asked, nestled into the corner cushions with a much giggled at tomato stain down his shirt. He grabbed the remote and flicked around. "Coyote Ugly?"

"You've seen Coyote Ugly?" Samantha chuckled, sitting up in her seat to glare at him somewhat shocked.

An eyebrow rose. "Do you know how long I searched for that bar?"

"You mean Danny isn't a regular?"

"Not to that one," he snorted.

Samantha settled back down with a chuckle, the beers and history they both shared moving her into the crook of his arm. Martin shuffled them both into a comfortable position. They watched, trying to pinpoint the New York locations that the characters frequented. Eventually, the settled into a comfortable lull.

"Shame you didn't find that bar," She smirked a bit later, when 'Mr. Donnell' danced on the bar.

"I bet," he said, not realising his fingers were playing in her hair.

She rested her hand on his knee, her fingers drawing lazy shapes over the material.

When the film rolled into the long-awaited seduction scene in Adam Garcia's apartment, Martin's fingers slid down Samantha's arm, momentarily caressing the side of her breast, and on to her hip. He wasn't sure himself if it was intentional, but the mood in the room, coupled with the beer buzz and beautiful girl snuggled into his chest, it was quite possible. He waited to see Samantha's reaction, if one at all.

She let him sweat it out for a minute or two. Ever-so-slightly, the hand resting on his knee moved up his leg, allowing her elbow to ever-so-softly return the momentary caress. A wicked smirk was flashed privately when she felt his body go rigid for a second, every muscle tightening.

He waited for a minute-or-two himself before beginning Round 3. The fingers on her hip started a slow trail across the material of her Quantico sweat pants. They agonisingly slowly tickled the small strip of skin visible between her shirt and pants. He felt her intake of breath, and continued with his journey, slipping his pinkie finger beneath the hemline of the sweats.

Oh, this meant war.

Samantha realised she wasn't really in a position that could execute adequate revenge. Other than another 'accidental' slip of her elbow, she was out of sensitive areas of which to torment. So went for the next best thing. With her free hand, she began to undo the top few buttons of her shirt. She realised he probably already had a pretty good view down her top, but now it was a whole different ballgame.

She relished evilly in the exhale of breath on her hair, meaning his head, and attention, was now focussed elsewhere from the somewhat-forgotten film.

Martin debated whether to slip his hand further down, his mind quickly running out of ideas (and blood) for his next move. Instead, he whispered in her ear, "Y'know, the sooner you go to bed, the sooner he comes."

Samantha let out a laugh, "That is the worst seasonal chat-up line possible."

"That depends on the result," he smirked, his voice huskier from the volume and arousal. "I could always say I was talking about Santa. It is Christmas Eve after all."

That was true.

She remained still for that minute-or-two that seemed necessary to the game, then unfolded herself from Martin's grasp. As she walked, she undid the few final buttons to her shirt and threw it onto the chair as she passed. She cast a look over her shoulder.

A minute-or-two later he joined her.