Series Note: 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!

Author's Note:Thank you SO much to NoCleverSig for allowing me to expand on her fantastic story "The Wine Tasting" and for her brilliant beta. You read my mind sometimes! I would strongly advise you read her story before this, but it's not totally necessary.

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
Part 6: The Kissing Bough, by NoCleverSig
Part 7: Cottage Christmas, by Steph_Schell
Part 8: Not a creature was stirring…, by MajorSam

The 12 Days of Sexmas

A Merry F****** Christmas Indeed

"Not a creature was stirring"

Copyright 2010, MajorSam

The party was in full swing. As Nikola had predicted, the guests had been thoroughly impressed by the quality of wine Helen had presented to them and quickly indulged. The various bankers, investors, friends and fellow scientists were now being "plied" with the cheap stuff but were completely ignorant of the fact and happier than ever. Helen, confident that she had mingled with every guest she needed to, was taking a break from her hostess duties and simply enjoying the night. She was currently ensconced in John Druitt's arms, being swept about the dance floor as skillfully as if they were the leads in a Christmas ballet. The last time they'd danced like this, they'd had to maintain a proper distance between them while draped in countless layers of clothing. Now they were free to hold each other as close as they wanted, only his dress shirt and her tight red dress in the way of skin-to-skin contact. Helen still held herself to a high degree of propriety, so she didn't press herself against him as she'd like to, but still, it was a vast improvement.

John, while completely without guilt about their earlier encounter in the wine cellar, had still been whispering sweet things in her ear ever since. She knew he was using the guise of apologizing, sucking up, one could even say, to keep her on edge. His words were innocent enough, but the way his breath caressed her ear as he leaned in, how his hand squeezed her waist, gave light to his true intentions. He wanted more. Helen tried valiantly to stay poised and proper throughout her party, but despite her frustration with him, she found herself quite distracted. To the rest of the attendees, John was being a perfect gentleman, escorting her about, fetching her drinks, dancing romantically. To Helen, he was breathing, dancing sin. She wanted to rail and curse at him for continuing to tempt her so, but of course, she kept it all in check. She was burning with pent-up desire, but the only outward sign of this was the slight tenseness to her jaw when she spoke to friends and colleagues.

The only two people in the room who recognized this, besides Helen and John, were Will and Tesla. Will didn't quite know what to think or how to feel about it, so he turned and looked the other way. Tesla, however, stood in a corner by the grand Christmas tree, one arm crossed over his chest while the other held an always-full glass of wine. He glowered silently, completely still but for the movement of his eyes as he followed the pair as they glided about. His frown deepened as he watched John lean in and whisper something against Helen's ear, making her laugh. The sweet sound drifted all the way across the dance floor, hitting Tesla like a sonic blast. John grinned widely at her response, and kissed her on the cheek. Nothing anyone would even notice, but to Tesla it was like a slap in the face. Such a sign of open affection would have been scandalous back when they were The Five. Helen and Druitt hadn't been able to keep themselves completely discreet, but their lips had never touched any part of the other in public. Thank God.

Tesla continued to watch as John spun Helen outwards, keeping hold of her hand. Her red-clad body twirling so that he could see every curve, every angle of her gorgeous physique, made Tesla's mouth go dry. He took a long sip of wine. Druitt twisted her around in his arms so that her back pressed against his chest. Helen kept his arms about her and shimmied downwards in time to the music, coming back up again when the tune deemed it right. A simple, easy dance move. Tesla felt like hurling. An excuse for the vixen to rub herself all over the demon. Such a flagrant display of lust! Did no one but him see this atrocity before them? Tesla scanned the crowd quickly and found that, indeed, it was his vastly superior sight and mind that allowed him to recognize the horrid display going on. He sighed. The poor, ignorant guests. The ex-vampire was just about to raise his glass for another sip when he saw the little beastie walk up to the couple, tapping Helen on the shoulder urgently. The couple broke apart, (finally) and turned towards him. With much gesticulation, Heinrich seemed to be telling them there was a problem. Tesla saw Helen's beautiful face frown and grow concerned. Beastie nodded, sure that his message had been conveyed, then turned and ran out of the room. Helen moved to follow him, but John grabbed her arm and said something. She shook her head and replied. (God! Tesla wished he still had his extra sensitive vampire hearing!) John shook his own, bald head, and spoke again. A hurried conversation ensued, and Helen finally consented. She sighed just a bit, nodded her head, squeezed his arm, and swept out of the room, graceful even in her tall high heels. John followed not a step behind.

"Damn," thought Tesla. "Can't really follow them, can I…" He took a sip of wine. "Or can I?"

Helen hurried down the winding corridors of her home, mind racing.

An abnormal, loose in the lab? How was that even possible? Granted, she had let a few out for the evening for guests to meet but, after their introductions, they had all gone back to their respective rooms, cages, ponds, what have you. She trusted that Henry had sealed all appropriate doors and locks. Will had been watching the whole time to make sure no abnormals, or humans for that matter, became agitated during their conversations. Kate had been off in a corner with a multitude of hidden weapons in case the worst happened and she had to defend someone. Of all her many Christmas parties, this one had been one of the better ones. Her traitorous brain skipped quickly to a vivid memory of her and John in the cellar. Perhaps the best one ever…. She admonished herself, taking a deep breath and focusing back on her mission. She flew down the dark hallways with ease, knowing the fastest route to the lab that passed by the small weapons locker. She punched in the lock combination with hardly a thought, stepping in and grabbing a few choice weapons. Henry hadn't known which exact abnormal had gotten loose, the blur on the camera being too fast to catch before the feed was cut off. She had to have one of everything, just in case. Without a word, she handed the guns over to John, who accepted them, fitting one into his waistband, and quickly inspecting the other before holding it comfortably in his grip, waiting for further instruction.

They had always been a good team, Helen and John, when they weren't at each other's throats. Helen's mind once again flashed to the cellar. A good team indeed… She gritted her teeth, mentally slapping herself as she grabbed a radio, setting it to the frequency Henry had told her to. She automatically moved to clip it to her waistband, but found her hand sliding down her side, almost dropping the device. She frowned and looked down. Oh, right… definitely no pockets on this dress. She looked up into the smiling face of John Druitt, his hand extended. She narrowed her eyes at him, daring him to laugh as she handed it over for him to clip to his trousers. She thenpicked out a weapon for herself. She chose a new invention of Henry's: a rather massive gun that required two hands to wield and acted like a shotgun, but with laser energy. Dozens of tiny shocks were emitted when the trigger was pulled, covering a wide. Each pulse was strong enough to knock out a good size creature, and if the entire array contacted one of the larger ones? Well, the weapon hadn't failed her yet. She hefted it easily into her arms, and stormed out of the locker. John let her pass, letting his jaw drop as she swept by, marching down the hallway.

Helen Magnus, in a glorious, tight, red dress, legs that went on forever, encased with killer, high heels at the end and carrying a gun that would make Rambo jealous. She was the most glorious thing he'd ever beheld. He swallowed, painfully. He had been semi-hard for her the entire time on the dance floor. He'd hoped that they wouldn't ever leave the Wine cellar, but alas Helen's damned sense of obligation and responsibility had surmounted her desire for more fun, and he had gracefully accepted defeat. He'd pushed her enough for that moment in time, at least. Her guests had been due to arrive soon, and he didn't dare disrupt her finely planned schedule. Now that the guests were all here, drunk, and having a good time, John figured it would be more than ok to insist she "take a break" again. John, watching Helen's fine bottom disappear around a corner, willed himself to have patience, and took off after her.

He caught up to her just as she got into the elevator, pushing the button to descend to the level of her lab. He slipped in as the doors were closing, breathing a sigh of relief. The doors finally shut, and there was silence. Suddenly John was assaulted with the smell of her perfume, rich, yet subtle, simple yet seductive. Intoxicating. He glanced over at her, but her jaw was set, and she was staring at the doors of the lift, no doubt planning what way to best approach her laboratory. His hands itched to reach out and rub her shoulders, calm her down. He remembered he carried a weapon in one, and grudgingly decided he shouldn't just drop it and grab her. The elevator pinged, and the doors opened up. He looked sharply out into the hallway to see if the creature had escaped the lab doors although Henry had locked them. Now that they were on the lab level there could be danger, and his mind instantly focused on that. He had to protect Helen at all costs.

The subject of his thoughts glanced over at him, and he nodded, silently letting her know he was ready when she was, waiting for her to take the lead. She inclined her head ever so slightly in acknowledgement and started to slowly advance. Her expensive shoes made not a sound on the floor as she moved, scanning her weapon back and forth, alert for any movement, sound, or smell that would give away their prey's position. They made it to the lab in quick time, finding no evidence of any rampant abnormal. When they arrived, the door was closed and locked. She keyed in the lock combo, and slid the door soundlessly open. The light was on, so she quickly took a first sweep of the room, her blue gaze piercing every hidden corner and shadow. Nothing. Helen had learned to never trust a scene that was too good to be true, so she crept into the room, walking through the entire space looking up, down, under, and over every surface. One never knew what kind of sticky creature could be hanging out under the tabletops! She finished her sweep, John right behind her double-checking everything. Still nothing. She was just about to open her mouth and tell John they should go get a scanner when the Big Guy's voice crackled over the radio at John's hip.

"Magnus!" Biggie said. John swiftly handed her the radio. She shifted her gun to rest on her hip, dislodging a hand to hold it.

"Yes, it's me," she replied.

"We've got the abnormals!" her friend and employee informed her. She breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thank God. Who was it?"

"The tigris musculus," he grumbled in response. Helen smiled.

"So no damage done then?"

"None. They're back in their cage, with a bit of extra cheese. Content."

"Excellent! Thank you very much. We'll be back up to the party soon," Helen said, handing the radio back to John when she'd finished. He looked at her, curiously, placing the radio on the counter beside him.

"Tigris musculus?" he inquired.

"Tiger mouse," she told him. He couldn't help but let out a snort.

"A tiger mouse?" he repeated, disbelieving. Helen rolled her eyes, apparently quite accustomed to this response.

"Yes, John, a tiger mouse. An especially rare, enlarged species of mouse with distinctive striped patterns to their fur." He grinned as she finished her mini-lecture. "They are very misjudged by people thinking them to be a dangerous rodent. They are in fact quite docile creatures, and curious. They must have smelled the food from the party and tried to investigate. They sometimes get into the piping, but have never caused any troubles."

John pondered this for a moment. "So I guess creature's are stirring, most especially the mice!" he quipped. Helen laughed at his reference to the classic Christmas tale.

"Well, I guess we should get back then," she said, lifting her gun back up with two hands, preparing to turn around and walk out of the lab. John's hand flew to grasp her arm lightly, but firm enough to stop her.


She obliged, her eyes open with question.

"Yes?" she asked when he didn't reply. He'd been too busy once again taking in the sight of her in her Christmas chic and huntress's weaponry. Her hair was still loosely wavy, spilling over her shoulders, and her high-heeled feet were spread wide, balanced. She looked like some kind of sci-fi queen from a movie poster. Helen quickly recognized his look of appraisal and felt a shiver run up her spine.

"John," she warned, her voice low. "We've been through this tonight. There's no time," she said sternly.

"But Helen, my dear," he protested. "Your guests are more than happy. They're so intoxicated they won't have even realized you've left the dance floor!"

Helen opened her mouth in instant protest, but paused. He did have a good point there.

"It doesn't matter," she stubbornly shot back. "It's my duty as hostess to ensure they don't get too intoxicated."

He scoffed.

"Honestly, Helen? You're not the liquor police. You have how many employees watching over them? You really think they'd let your party be ruined by an overzealous banker?"

Helen pursed her lips. Damn him and his logic! He knew her staff wouldn't let anything go amiss tonight. And all those "bankers" really were quite sloshed… merrily so. John could see her working her lip between her teeth, knowing she was starting to come round. He slowly laid his gun down on the counter by the radio, freeing his second weapon from his waistband and letting it join the others. He gently brought his hands to her upper arms, sliding them down her elbows, her wrists, to her hands, still grasping her gun. He eased his hands underneath hers, taking the weight of the gun out of her hands and into his. He hoped he hid his look of shock. The thing was heavy! And yet she'd carried it about like it was nothing. His heart pounded – his love, so strong, so capable. He knew firsthand the power of her body, the way her hand could grip his manhood, her thighs squeeze his waist as he thrust into her. A wave of lust pulsed through him, and he quickly deposited the final weapon on the counter. He looked down at her, asking her final permission to proceed. Helen sighed, closing her eyes. How could she resist this man? When she opened them, he grinned. He could see her lust growing to match his own.

"Quickly, John," she demanded. He let out a low chuckle, moving in and gripping her waist.

"As the lady wishes."

He gripped her hips tightly and lifted her up, backing up and sitting her down on the table in the middle of the room. He moved to work the buttons of his trousers but she stopped him.

"John, we've already done it like this tonight," she told him, somewhat affronted. "Perhaps a new location?"

He gaped, slightly offended at her insinuation that he was unoriginal, but at once determined to find a new way to please her. His gaze raked over the lab, taking note of all breakable or potentially dangerous materials. The only surfaces that were free and clear were the table she was already sitting on and the counter that he'd covered in their armaments. He quickly grew aggravated, his erection straining painfully against his zipper, as he tried to think of where they could go. The EM shield was up tonight, for the protection of her guests, so he couldn't just teleport them away as he would like. He looked back at Helen, growling with frustration, and found her silently shaking in laughter.

"What?" he snarled.

"I'm not asking you to invent some new position for us amongst the microscopes," she told him.

He spluttered, "Well then what…" but she cut him off by placing a slender pointed finger against his lips. When he was silent, she raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly at the floor. He started.

"Really? Are you sure?"

"John," she said firmly, hopping off the table, forcing him back a step. "We have five minutes before my conscience starts to get the better of me again. I want you inside me, now, so get on the damn floor already."

"Certainly, my dear!" he said quickly, undoing his pants and shoving them down to the floor. He was about to grab her and pull her to the floor but took a moment to reach over to the wall and shut off the main light. The room was now bathed in the blinking lights of dormant machinery. He grinned at her, pleased with the flickering, romantic mood it set, before grabbing her hands and finally pulling her with him to the ground. He let go of her and captured the discarded clothing, bunching it up and placing it at the small of her back. It not only gave her some small measure of comfort against the hard floor, but it pushed her hips up ever so slightly so that he had the perfect angle to enter her. While John shed his boxers, Helen shimmied out of her panties, pulling her dress up to her stomach. The lab was perhaps the cleanest area in the whole Sanctuary – her dress wouldn't be ruined by lying on it. He held her bare hip with one hand while the other rested beside her head, bracing himself. He smoothed the hand on her hip down to her center, sliding between her folds to test her preparedness. She was wet and ready for him. He moved his fingers back to her hip and tensed his hips, thrusting into her with one, solid lunge. She cried out as he did. Ready as she was, she was a little shocked, every time, by his incredible size. And as he started to move, her slickness coating him and easing his passage, he grew even bigger. She looped her arms under his shoulders, taking him and pulling him down to crush her lips against his, tongues entangling. He now tasted of the wine they'd so carefully picked, and she felt smugly satisfied at the taste. Very fine wine, drunk by a very fine man.

Helen lifted her knees up, allowing her hips to push up even further with the help of her 'cushion'. After a minute, she lifted her feet clean off the ground, wrapping her legs around his waist, allowing him even deeper inside. John wondered briefly if he'd have imprints of her shoes in his back the next day, but the thought flew away when she gave a little twist with her hips. He groaned and circled his own hips in response. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. He knew their time was limited, and though he wanted nothing more than to take this slow, languish in the feel of her, he resisted. Still kissing her, but careful not to crush his chest against hers lest they start sweating through their clothes, he slid his hand from her hip to her center, gathering their juices and smoothing it up to her clit. She let out a high pitched sound that led him to touch her again, and again, rubbing and circling and pressing. In no time at all, the sounds she made started to meld into one long, keening moan and he thrust into her harder, faster.

As she felt the end coming, Helen had to tear her mouth from John's, resting her cheek against his, gasping and choking, trying to get enough breath to stave off the delicious light-headedness that accompanied making love with him. She opened her eyes, intending to move to look into that of her lover's, but gasped in shock and horror. Over John's shoulder, she could see the silhouette of someone standing in the doorway of the lab. She screamed out, "John!" ut just as she did, he tilted his hips so that his pubic bone ground straight into her clit as he delivered a particularly hearty thrust, and his name became a cry of passion as she felt herself explode in pleasure. She couldn't stop her mind from short circuiting, her head rocking back, eyes squeezing shut against the torrent of sensation. He erupted inside her, filling her, crying out her name, completely unaware of their audience. Helen could do nothing but breathe for a few seconds before her brain restarted with a jolt. Her eyes flew open and she gasped, pulling John down on top of her to fully cover her naked lower half. John was mindless above her, but before she could form a coherent sentence to warn him, the shadow in the doorway spoke.

"I'm going to be sick."

Helen sighed in relief, then realized how ridiculous that was, and tensed again. John's body went rigid, the familiar voice cutting through his haze like a knife.

"Nikola," she breathed, trying to keep her voice as steady as possible.

"Honestly, you two, I just…"

Helen could hear him shaking his head in disbelief and disgust. She had no idea what to say to him, and so remained silent. John, his bottom fully bare and sticking up to his rival's gaze, also stayed silent.

Helen could tell by the minute movements of the Serbian's shadow that he still had something to say, but didn't know how to say it. She'd finally found a way to shut him up!

With a final utterance of pure distaste and silent heartbreak, Tesla turned about.

"I'm never coming to one of your parties again!" he yelled as he stalked down the hallway towards the elevator. He was going down into the god-forsaken cellar and grabbing as many bottles as he damn well pleased.

In the dark laboratory, Helen and John lay quiet. When John realized he had grown soft inside her, he gently pulled out, not bothering to pull his clothes on yet as he slumped to the ground beside her.

"Well…," he finally said. Helen made a sound akin to a sigh, a snort, and a laugh all rolled into one.

"Well indeed," she replied.

"Why on Earth would he have been down here? You don't think he's been following us, do you?" John asked. Helen thought for a moment before replying.

"No, not at first at least. Did you see the way he was watching us on the dance floor?"

"Was he watching us?" John asked, fake innocence oozing through his deep voice. Helen shot a hand out to her side and smacked him.

"He must have seen Henry talking to us," she mused, refusing to comment on John's childish behavior. "I suppose we've been gone a while now and he wanted to make sure everything was all right. He wouldn't have heard over the radio that the abnormals had been caught."

John hummed in agreement.

"I suppose he did have good intentions. He'd want to protect you, at least," he reflected.

Helen refused to feel guilty. Tesla shouldn't have been snooping about after them, intent to save her or not. He should have trusted her abilities to keep everything under control. She couldn't think he deserved what he got, but still. He couldn't just float about, poking his nose into all of her business.

"I do…" John started to say, but stopped himself.

"You do what?" asked Helen.

"I do feel rather sorry for the old boy," he grudgingly admitted, muttering his words.

Helen felt her heart beat with tenderness.

"Me too," she admitted. "We have been rather… well… active, this evening."

John snorted. "You could say that."

The cold and hardness of the floor finally started to seep into Helen now that the heat and high of lovemaking had worn down. She sat up and started searching about for her panties, finding them and pulling them on. John did the same with his clothing. They sat still, mulling over the events of the past hour, before looking over at each other, reaching out hands to help each other up.

"He'll probably be draining your cellar by now," John remarked. Helen sighed deeply.

"We should go apologize."

"Apologize?" John protested, "He's the one that barged right in and…"

"John!" she interrupted. "Whatever the reasons for his intrusion, something very… well, upsetting, happened, and I'm sure he's feeling terribly down. He's accepted the fact that I'm with you, but we don't have to rub his nose in it every chance we get."

John huffed. "Are you sure?"

She glared at him, and his shoulders slumped, ever so slightly.

"Very well," he consented. "Though he might just slam the door shut in our faces, you realize."

Helen raised an eyebrow.

"But we shall still try, of course. No one should be unhappy during the holidays."

"Quite right," Helen agreed. She looked at the glum face of her partner, and touched his elbow, drawing his gaze to hers.

"Thank you, John," she said softly, smiling a little. He melted at her gratitude.

"Anything for you, my love," he replied quietly. She smiled a bit more and tilted her head up to kiss him gently. After a few moments she pulled back, kissing his cheek quickly before taking a step away from him.

"Off we go then?" she said briskly, turning and walking away.

"As the lady wishes."

The End