Series Notes: A child of several spirited Twitter conversations, "The 12 Days of Sexmas" marathon is an ode to Helen and John. The idea is very simple: Throughout the month of December, a group of authors will be posting stories that include: Helen/John, Smut, and Christmas. Any other details are up to the author! Good/Evil John, Established/New relationship, drabble or drama… Whatever! We hope you enjoy our festive offerings. If anyone wants to jump into the fray and contribute, please contact MajorSam at: majorsam_ for details! Enjoy!
Authors Notes: Pure sappy sweet holiday romance, no plot in sight :D Thanks to NoCleverSig for the uber fast Beta. Distracted at work again? ;)
The 12 Days of Sexmas so far:
Prologue: Naughty and Nice, by NoCleverSig
Part 1: Peppermint Twist, by NoCleverSig
Part 2: Christmas in Corsets, by MajorSam
Part 3: The Wine Tasting, by NocleverSig
Part 4: Biggie's Gift of the Nubbin, by ladydeadlock
Part 5: Eggnog and Embers, by MajorSam
The 12 Days of Sexmas
"Eggnog and Embers"
A Merry F****** Christmas Indeed
Copyright 2010, MajorSam
"Another drink, my love?" asked John, moving to fill her glass.
"No!" Helen replied quickly, trying to bat his hand away but misaiming and hitting somewhere around his elbow instead. She giggled. "Woops!"
John abandoned his drink making, leaning back on the couch and looking at her. A silly smile was plastered on her face, which was flushed red. He didn't think the redness was caused by the heat of the fire which flickered at them from beside the couch where they sat, in the far corner of the Library. He turned his gaze towards the coffee table, noting their two glasses, surrounded by tumblers and decanters full of various amber liquids, and the small amount of eggnog still left. Freshly shaved nutmeg which had missed the glasses was sprinkled across the table like a light dusting of rich smelling snow. How many eggnogs had they had? And after all the wine they had paired with dinner, of course. John found he couldn't quite focus enough to count.
His attention was drawn back to Helen as she suddenly stood up off the couch, swaying slightly, needing to rest her hand on the edge for a moment before cautiously moving over to the plush rug in front of the fireplace. She managed to gracefully ease herself down onto it, immediately lying back and stretching out. She let out a contented sigh, feeling the thick carpet underneath, running her hands through the soft material, heated by the fire. Years ago, when she had finally relented and invested in her first clothes dryer, she would make sure she arrived in the laundry room just as it was finishing. She'd listen to the last few seconds of the machine in action, then pull out the clothes immediately following the finish bell. She took the clothes, the sheets, whatever was there, and wrapped them into her arms, letting the soft, clean heat wash through her. She'd always admonished herself for the silly comfort she drew from the ritual, but couldn't stop herself. Sometimes even now, Biggie would mysteriously not be there to immediately fold the fresh laundry.
John, of course, had never witnessed her love of fresh, warm materials, and so was fascinated by the joy she seemed to be gleaning from laying in front of the fire. He quickly shook himself of his stupor and carefully moved to join her, lying down at her side. He was shocked, but beyond pleased, when she immediately turned to face him, burrowing her face into his sweater-clad chest and wrapping her arms around his waist and neck. Her movements caused him to be lie on his back, entangling one leg with his, coming to rest half-sprawled on top of him. She let out a notable sigh, and he couldn't help but laugh a little. The sound rumbled through his chest, and Helen's head bounced slightly with the reverberations. She laughed softly in return, rubbing her cheek against him as she moved to look up at him.
"Hello," she said, grinning.
He wrapped his long arms around her.
"Hello," he returned, stroking the small of her back through the softness of her dress.
They simply gazed at each other for a while, feeling their heartbeats join in a mutual rhythm as they held one another close. John's curiosity eventually grew, and he broke the silence.
"The rug?" he questioned.
Helen shrugged against him. Her blue eyes were slightly glazed, and being turned away from the fire, the only source of light in the vast library, they were dark as night. He fought not to become lost in them.
"It looked warm," she finally replied, burying her face into him once again. He chuckled at her simple logic, holding her just a bit tighter. Even she, the most complex, intelligent, powerful woman he knew, sometimes just wanted to be warm. He loved seeing this softer, sillier side of her. He knew she rarely let go like this, but the combination of holiday spirit and holiday spirits had put her in a rather serene state of mind the past few days. Though he'd never ask her, he hoped secretly that his presence also was making her happy. All he wanted to do these days was make her happy.
He let the hand stroking her back take a wider sweep, running up the length of her spine, then down her side. Despite the heat, she shivered.
"You are rather warm yourself," he noted. The heat of the fire had seeped into her back, and he wondered if she wasn't a bit uncomfortable.
"I don't care," she replied, half whispering, squeezing his waist lightly. He wasn't sure whether to believe her or not, when she continued.
"There's nowhere I'd rather be than here, with you," she said softly. His heart skipped a beat, and he wondered if she'd felt it through his chest. His love for her swelled, impossibly. He enveloped her in his arms, pulling her so that she was almost completely on top of him. He needed to feel her, hold her close. Perhaps he could convince himself that she was finally his, and that if he desired it, he'd never have to let go.
Lost in the thought of lying there forever, with her, he unknowingly drifted into sleep. Helen's mind, dulled by eggnog and joy, only processed that he wasn't fully present anymore, and drifted off itself to find him in her dreams.
When they woke later the fire was dwindling, but its warmth had soaked into them, so that their intertwined bodies radiated a heat of their own. Helen breathed in deeply, inhaling his scent, sending out a prayer to whoever was listening that it could be the smell she always awoke to. It swam through her head, mixing with the lingering effects of wine and brandy, creating a heady mixture. John murmured, no words, just contentment, and moved her up his body so that he could press a kiss into her hair. So thick, so soft. She hummed in response, shifting her long form to find a comfortable position. Her movement caused her to brush against his upper thighs, and another part of him awoke. When she realized what she'd done, Helen slid her body the rest of the way up his, eyes half lidded as her lips sought out his, pressing against them gently.
He reveled in the silken texture of her lips, accepting her slow touches. Her hands travelled up his torso to cradle his face in her hands, fitting them against his strong cheekbones, shuddering slightly at the feel of his day-long stubble scratching against the soft skin of her hands. He fit his hands into the curves of her waist, stroking them with his thumbs before enfolding her completely in his embrace. They stayed like that, kisses so gentle that they almost fell back asleep.
Something, perhaps an old wooden shelf, creaked, and the sound echoed throughout the vast library. Helen frowned, and pulled herself away from him, looking down to see if he'd heard it. He had. She slowly realized where they were, the very public area that could be entered by any member of her staff at any time.
He looked up at her with a raised eyebrow. Looking down at his handsome face and steel blue eyes, she found herself already forgetting the fact that they should move this to a more private area and that he could teleport them anywhere in a manner of seconds. But they were here, in this moment, and she wouldn't waste even those few seconds. She needed him now.
Hooking a leg underneath his, she grasped his neck and gently rolled to the side, lying flat and pulling him on top of her. His heart sped up, and he worked to calm himself, resting himself on one hand while the other moved to stroke her cheek. She gazed up at him through husky eyes, and he leaned down, taking her soft mouth into his once more. He gently licked her lips and she opened them, allowing their tongues to lazily explore one another. He tasted of sweet drinks and spices and John. She made a soft noise and moved her hips against his. He moved a hand to her knee, massaging it gently before tracing his fingers up her thigh, under the hem of her dress, pulling it up to her waist. The buzzing in her head made her limbs feel heavy and slightly detached. She was so lost in the elation of his kiss that she didn't really feel as he slid her panties down. A few seconds more and he was sliding into her most tempting heat, both gasping quietly.
Their eyes stayed half open as they moved, each trying to convey their love through the hazy mist of warmth and alcohol and firelight. He rocked against her slowly, and when they finally reached nirvana, they found it together, John leaning down to swallow her soft cries, and muffle his own, in a tender but deep kiss.
When their bodies stopped trembling, he pulled himself out of her while keeping her cocooned in his arms. He moved to lie on his side, turning her so her back was too him, fitting her smaller form perfectly against his. He pressed a kiss to her hair, her neck, breathing her in.
"I love you," he whispered. His hand stroked languid circles on her stomach, and the movement lulled her to sleep before she could force her lethargic brain to respond in kind. He smiled against her, knowing she would tell him as soon as she awoke, in his arms.
He let sleep claim him, and dreamed of her.