InsaneJournal

Ficlets: All I Want For Christmas
Title: All I Want For Christmas
Author: nishizono
Characters: Severus/Draco, Sirius/Remus, Lucius/?, Shacklebolt/Moody, Lucius/Severus
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: They aren't mine.

Summary: Draco is amused, Sirius is very proud of his package, Lucius is in love, Shacklebolt learns why company holiday parties never end well, and Severus is sure he's surrounded by idiots.

Author's Notes: A collection of ficlets written between working on more serious projects.

Other Universes: Gravitation | Loveless | Ai no Kusabi


-= Convinced =-

“What in the name of—be damned!”

Draco smirked and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the wall just outside the sitting room door.

“Salazar’s bloody grave—“

There was a crash, followed by a muttered expletive, and Draco bit his lower lip to stifle a snicker.

“Oh for the love of—Draco Malfoy!”

Draco took a deep, calming breath before pushing open the door of the sitting room and sauntering in. The sight of his lover looking horribly out of place amidst towering piles of brightly wrapped gifts was almost, not quite but almost too much. Then, Severus glared, and Draco fell apart.

“Is this your idea of amusing, Mister Malfoy?” Severus snapped, crossing his arms over his chest and not looking very intimidating at all considering he was still in a dressing gown and slippers.

“No, that’s not the word I’d use for what this is,” Draco laughed, clutching his sides. “This safely falls into the absolutely hilarious category.”

“Well, I am gratified to know that watching me navigate this ridiculous obstacle course of yours to retrieve my morning coffee is the source of such entertainment for you,” Severus groused. “We’ve already discussed this Christmas nonsense, and I see that, as per usual, my words seem to have fled that hollow cavity meant for a brain you obviously do not possess.”

“You’re adorable when you’re angry,” Draco commented, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “But really Severus, you said no Christmas tree—you didn’t say a word about gifts.”

“Do not call me that,” Severus snapped, blushing furiously. “Furthermore, I’m sure the meaning of the words ‘I do not celebrate Christmas’ were not lost on you entirely.”

“Ah!” Draco replied, holding up a finger as he carefully made his way across the room. “You never said I wasn’t allowed to celebrate, though.”

Severus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

“Besides,” Draco went on, wrapping his arms around his lover’s waist. “Don’t you think I’d look pretty with some of this ribbon wrapped around my…”

Severus huffed as Draco finished the rest of the sentence against his ear. “I’ve been asking myself for three years to explain why I continue to endure your existence in my home, and I have yet to offer myself a satisfactory answer.”

“Maybe you should stop talking to yourself and enjoy Christmas morning with me,” Draco smirked, leaning in for a kiss. “Happy Christmas, Severus.”

“Bah humbug,” Severus murmured, but kissed him anyway.



-= Crass =-

“Moony!”

“Hmph,” Remus replied, burrowing further down into his blankets. It was far too early for anyone to be singing his name like that, especially given the quantity of alcohol he’d consumed at James and Lily’s Christmas party the night before.

“Oh, Moony!”

“What’s it?” Remus mumbled to the pillow, then pulled his head back and made a face. Apparently, there was a very good reason that cotton was not a staple on breakfast menus.

“Moony, you lazy old man, would you wake up already?” Sirius laughed from the doorway of the bedroom. There was a gift box in his hands, and a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

“What’re you doing?” Remus replied, rubbing at his eyes and glancing at the alarm clock beside his bed. It was only half past ten, which was approximately three hours before either of them should be awake on a Saturday morning.

“Well, I was going to wait until Christmas, but then I decided you’d probably need something to cheer you up since you’re always such a grumpy asshole when you have a hangover,” Sirius announced cheerfully. When he approached, there was something awkward in his stride that Remus wasn’t sure he liked very much, almost like Sirius was purposely trying to keep the gift box at hip level.

“Is that mine?” Remus asked, eyeing the box with a fair amount of trepidation. Early morning encounters with Sirius never ended well, at least not for him.

“It sure is,” Sirius replied with a grin, dropping down onto the edge of the mattress. “Aren’t you going to unwrap it?”

“Will it bite me?” Remus sighed. “Cause a horrible rash, spit poison in my eye?”

For some reason, Sirius seemed to find the last part of that question hilarious, which did not bode well.

Deciding the chances were very good that he could go back to sleep once he’d opened the thing, Remus reached over and lifted the lid off the box. For a few moments, he only blinked at the contents, then glanced up at Sirius, and back down again.

“Do you like it?” Sirius prompted, with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows.

Remus hit the annoying sod with his pillow, then did it again just for good measure. Once he’d dislodged Sirius from the bed, he flopped down on his stomach and growled, “Pervert.”

“But you like me,” Sirius laughed, peeking up over the edge of the mattress.

Remus opened one eye, staring at Sirius for a moment before sighing. Rolling onto his back, he lifted the edge of the blanket and muttered, “Come back to bed.”



-= Companion =-

“This chocolate is even better than last year.”

Lucius sighed with contentment and leaned back against the cushions of his favorite chair, stretching his feet out toward the fireplace. Beside him, his lover sat in complete but companionable silence, guarding the half empty box of Swiss chocolates Narcissa had brought home from her most recent trip abroad.

“The holidays aren’t the same without Draco here,” Lucius commented with a frown. “I rather miss having him pilfering sweets and making a nuisance of himself.”

The room’s other inhabitant made no reply.

“But of course, this means I have more time alone with you,” Lucius purred, reaching out to rub a thumb over his lover’s forehead. “You still haven’t told me what you want for Christmas, but you must know I’d give you anything to make you happy.”

“Lucius?”

Lucius sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering if he could will Narcissa away or perhaps hide beneath his desk until she went searching for him elsewhere. Unfortunately, the woman seemed to have an innate sense of her husband’s whereabouts at all times, and a moment later, the door of the study opened to admit her.

“What are you doing in here?” Narcissa asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “Are those my chocolates?”

“Of course not, dear,” Lucius lied, and then, “Maybe.”

“Lucius Malfoy,” Narcissa snapped. “And who were you talking to?”

“No one,” Lucius mumbled, but he had a feeling the fact that he was blushing and refusing to meet his wife’s glare was about to give him away.

“That bloody cane again,” Narcissa sighed, pointing at the object in question. “I swear, if didn’t already know you were absolutely mad, I’d have you committed.”

“Narcissa,” Lucius began plaintively, “I’ve tried to tell you how much Sir Hiss means to me.”

“There are some days I wish I had someone to pray to for strength,” Narcissa replied, shaking her head. Then, sighing again, she gestured vaguely to the door and said, “Come to bed—and before you ask, no, he absolutely cannot sleep with us.”

“Alright,” Lucius murmured, feeling very much like a disappointed schoolboy. Leaning in, he pressed a reverent kiss to the top of his walking stick’s serpentine head, and whispered, “I’ll see you tomorrow, my love, and in the meantime, think of what you want for Christmas.”

Narcissa was watching the interaction from the doorway, and when Lucius stood up and offered her a subdued pout, she rolled her eyes. “Fine, but just tonight, and he comes back downstairs tomorrow.”



-= Cunning =-

Kingsley Shacklebolt was not the sort of man who was easily amused. Therefore, it was a testament to the nature of the Auror Division's annual holiday party that he could be found standing near the open bar with a smirk on his lips and a gleam in his eyes. While he sipped club soda and cranberry juice, his colleagues seemed to be making a valiant effort to drain the British Isles dry of firewhiskey. Blackmail was currency amongst Aurors, and he had no doubt that by the time the evening was over, he'd have enough of that to last him for the rest of his career.

"Drunken buffoons," Moody slurred from somewhere a tad too close.

"They are that," Kingsley replied, moving down the counter a bit and deciding not to point out that Moody himself seemed to be swaying on his feet.

"Caught Mottlefroom snoggin' Stile near the toilets," Moody declared gruffly, magical eye spinning in his head as if to catch others who might be doing something similarly untoward.

"They do that every year," Kingsley pointed out with a sigh. "It's kind of sad, really—three years in a row, and they still haven't gotten to second base."

Moody grunted, which could have meant any number of things, and took a sip of whiskey. Gesturing with his glass, he asked, "See that? Bumberg and Franklin dancin'?"

Kingsley surveyed the crowd until he spotted the two Junior Aurors near the back of the room. Everyone had been speculating about the two for some time, and their inappropriately intimate embrace seemed ample evidence to support rumors of a relationship. Unfortunately, neither seemed the sort to be particularly embarrassed at being found out.

"Startin' to think everyone in the damned division's gay," Moody growled into his glass of whiskey.

"Seems that way sometimes, yeah," Kingsley replied with a quiet laugh, "or at least when everyone's been drinking."

"Are you?" Moody asked abruptly, glaring at Kingsley with both eyes.

"No," Kingsley replied, frowning. "Moody, you know I was seeing Clarissa down in Records a couple of months ago."

"Oh," Moody grunted, looking very interested in the contents of his glass.

"Uhm," Kingsley began, shifting uncomfortably. "Why, are you?"

"No," Moody spat, just a little too quickly in Kingsley's opinion.

"Oh, okay," Kingsley replied, examining the other man from the corner of his eye. Something was going on, and though he wasn't sure why, he was suddenly in a hurry to finish the conversation and get as far away as possible.

"So," Moody huffed, and Kingsley's stomach plummeted to somewhere in the general region of his feet, "want t' go wank in the garden with me?"

"No!" Kingsley squeaked, nearly tripping in his haste to back away. It wasn't as if he'd never been propositioned by a man before, but being solicited by Mad Eye Moody was an entirely different story. "Bloody hell, what are you thinking?"

"Could just've left it at no," Moody grunted, rolling both eyes and turning back to his drink. "Should've known you'd be frigid."

"I am not frigid," Kingsley retorted defensively. "I'm also not gay."

"Suit yourself," Moody shrugged, still not looking directly at Kingsley. "Could've shown you a good time—you shouldn't be afraid of a little man love, Shacklebolt."

"That's disgusting," Kingsley declared, setting his drink down on the bar, "and this conversation is over."

Moody didn't say anything as Kingsley pushed his way across the crowded dance floor. The man must have consumed more than twice his body weight in alcohol to go around propositioning people that way, considering he still held the division record for most shots taken in one sitting. Unless, of course, he hadn't been drunk at all, and was planning on using the whiskey as an excuse if he was turned down.

Or unless Moody had been after the same thing Kingsley was: blackmail.

"You fucker," Kingsley laughed, shaking his head. In addition to being the division's champion for alcoholism, Moody was also notorious for coming away from every holiday party with someone new wrapped around his finger. Well, the bastard's luck had finally run out; as far as Kingsley was concerned, Moody was going to be writing his reports for him for the next year.

Kingsley chuckled again and stuffed his hands in his pockets, slowly making his way through the snowy gardens. Tilting his head back, he smiled up at the stars and sang, very softly, "Merry Christmas to me, merry Christmas to me, Moody's my bi-itch, merry Christmas to me."



-= Cold =-

“Lucius, of all the—“

“Severus, if you would just—“

“—asinine ideas—“

“—let me get a word in.“

“—this is by far the worst you have ever had.”

“Look,” Lucius began, as reasonably as he could with his teeth chattering, “I’m sure it won’t be very long now before they notice us missing.”

“Oh, what a comfort,” Severus sneered, somehow intimidating even with blue lips and snow clinging to his eyelashes. “And tell me, just what are the chances of your coddled wife and spoilt progeny venturing out into this blizzard to find us?”

“Surely they’ll send one of the elves,” Lucius offered, sliding a bit closer to the other man and huddling against him for what precious little warmth they were still producing.

“Let the heavens be praised for that,” Severus commented dryly.

“It isn’t so bad,” Lucius replied with what he hoped was a charming smile.

Severus looked doubtful at best and murderous at worst. “Yes, I suppose I could be dying of hypothermia next to Sirius Black instead of an irritating prat who insists on being optimistic, even while trapped in a bloody cave in the middle of a snowstorm because he wanted to ‘rough it a bit’ and cut down his own Christmas tree.”

“We’ve got the tree, though,” Lucius pointed out glumly, eyeing the heap of snow at their feet that had once been a lush mass of green needles and thick limbs.

Severus sighed, and Lucius had no doubt the man would be pinching the bridge of his nose if not for the fact that his hands seemed to be frozen in place under his arms. “Lucius, I sincerely hope that tree is worth your life, because if you don’t die from exposure, I plan to kill you myself once we’re back to the house.”

Much as Lucius hated to admit it, Severus was right. They’d been trapped for nearly an hour while the storm raged outside, with heavy gusts of wind that tossed flurry after flurry of snow into the cave. Not even their combined warming charms could withstand the rapidly falling temperatures, and since they were still on the manor grounds, apparation was not an option. Unless help arrived soon, they were going to quite literally freeze to death.

“You’re an idiot,” Severus declared with a frown.

“Yes, thank you for the explanation, you weren’t quite clear the first time around,” Lucius spat, which he followed shortly thereafter with a violent shudder.

“The tree,” Severus clarified, jerking his chin toward the lump of snow at the mouth of the cave. “You should have thought of it sooner.”

“I hardly think preservation charms would have kept it—“ Lucius began.

“That isn’t what I mean, you twit,” Severus interrupted. The ice on his robes crunched as he straightened an arm and reached for his wand with trembling fingers. “We’re burning it.”

“The bloody hell we are!” Lucius cried, forcing his hand to move so he could grab the other man’s wrist.

“Unhand me,” Severus snarled.

“But it took us ages to find it,” Lucius protested. “There’s no time before the holiday to find another.”

“Lucius Malfoy, I am burning that sodding tree, and I am not above knocking you unconscious if you try to stop me,” Severus snapped, wrenching his arm away. Before Lucius could offer another argument, he raised his wand and muttered, “Incendio.”

Despite the wet mass of ice and snow clinging to its limbs, the tree immediately caught fire. Flames shot up from the previously dry needles, lapping at the roof of the cave and leaving black soot streaked across the grey stone.

“Bugger,” Severus growled, casting a dampening charm to keep the blaze under control, “I’ve told you not to irritate me when I’m working; it always results in an explosion of some sort.”

Lucius hummed in agreement, too distracted by the warmth of the fire to pay proper attention to anything else. Sinking down to his knees, he all but ripped both gloves off and shoved his hands toward the flames. Heat danced across his palms and over his wrists, and he groaned with satisfaction.

“Bloody hedonist,” Severus muttered, but he was mimicking the gesture with a quiet sigh of approval.

“Oh,” Lucius moaned, “Severus, you genius.”

Severus snorted.

Lucius glanced at his fellow refugee from the corner of his eye and smirked. Despite the derision with which his compliments were usually met, he knew Severus couldn’t resist being praised. Just as he’d suspected, the corners of his companion’s lips were twitching.

“Severus,” Lucius purred, leaning in close to nuzzle the other man’s shoulder with his cheek, “I’ve stopped shivering.”

“Good,” Severus murmured distractedly.

“Maybe not,” Lucius hummed, pressing his cold nose against the side of his companion’s neck. “I think I read somewhere that it could be a sign of the onset of hypothermia.”

“For heaven’s sake, you don’t have—“ Severus began with an irritated huff, but fell abruptly silent when Lucius licked his jaw.

“I might,” Lucius suggested in a low voice. “You should see to it that it doesn’t get worse.”

“And how should I do that?” Severus inquired with a quirk of his lips.

“Keep me warm,” Lucius replied, leaning in to press their lips together, gently at first and then more insistently.

“Is there any circumstance at all in which you’d not find an excuse to shag?” Severus sighed, but it sounded halfhearted at best.

Lucius pretended to deliberate for a moment before laughing quietly and pushing the other man onto his back on the floor of the cave. Leaning down for another kiss, he hummed, “Not likely, no.”

“You’re infuriating,” Severus muttered, almost affectionately.

“And you,” Lucius smiled into the kiss, “are going to replace my tree.”

“Not bloody likely,” Severus smirked, tugging him closer. “Now, shut up.”