December 15

CRIME:

due South, Fraser/Kowalski

Author:  Lucysmom
Title:   The Gift of The Mad Guy
Rating:  PG
Pairing: Fraser/Kowalski
> Summary: It's Christmas.  Fraser is depressed. Ray is mad. He tries to find the perfect gift for Fraser.
Show:    Due South
Date of Publication:  Dec.15, 2004        
Disclaimer: I don't own them  Alliance-Atlantis and Paul Haggis do. Not meant for profit.
Feedback address:  Lucysmom@Adelphia.net
Advertisement: Part of the Slash Advent Calendar of 2003 at         http://www.kardasi.com/Advent/2004/SAC-2004.htm
Beta: Joyce1050

The Gift of the Mad Guy

Ray Kowalski was mad.  He did not enjoy the Christmas Holiday Season. He used to, when he was young he loved all the festiveness and joy and pageantry of the season. But, that was B.S., before Stella  His ex-wife had not exuded holiday cheer.  Christmas was not high on her list of priorities, ranking somewhere near the bottom after  Ray and having a family, but before pets.  After she had realized that the Chicago detective would never fit into her politically centered world, she had stopped trying and asked for a divorce  at Christmas.  So Ray had cause to be a Grinch.

Ray was also mad because he could not come up with the perfect Christmas present for Benton.  He had thought and thought and nothing was just right for conveying the love and trust he felt for his lover and best friend.  He had looked in many store windows hoping something would scream out Benton's name, but so far not as much as a whimper. What did you get the Mountie who had very little and seemed content with that?

Benton Frazer also had trouble dealing with Christmas.  Growing up with strict Canadian Grandparents had made Benton miss out on the childhood joys of Christmas.  Since they were librarians his gifts were always books and he never had a proper  tree.  Until he had come to Chicago, he had not experienced the holiday craziness of a big city.  His first Chicago Christmas with Kowalski as his unofficial partner with the Chicago Police Department had been horrendous.  He
had gotten himself beaten up by thugs for being the sanctimonious Mountie he was capable of being.  His friends at the 27th ultimately came through for him and he enjoyed a raucous Christmas Party
surrounded by friends.   He had even let Ray K wear his sacred Stetson.

But that was Christmas past and this Christmas Benton had hoped would be an improvement. After their trip to find the Hand of Franklin, he and Ray had cemented their relationship and had admitted their attraction to each other and were living in a committed, loving relationship.  Most of the time, but Benton was having trouble dealing with a Ray Kowalski who seemed to be mad at the world and at Benton Fraser, in particular.  They had not been intimate since Ray had become moody.  First Ray was not in the mood and then Fraser had become unresponsive.  If Ray wasn't ignoring him, he was being short and rude to Fraser.  He was beginning to become annoyed.

*  *  *

Two days Later, December 19th

Ray had just screamed at Fraser for putting their lives in danger yet again, by not thinking and throwing himself off of a two story building.  Naturally Ray had to follow, but his temper boiled over from the dumpster they had landed in and the language that erupted from said dumpster was loud and terrible.  Fraser had had enough, now he was angry.  He pulled himself up and out of the dumpster, not even bothering to check and see if Ray was following him..

That is why Fraser had walked away from Ray and was not paying attention when the car came from out of nowhere and plowed into Benton and sent him flying through the air.  He landed on the road, an unmoving crumpled form.   Ray heard the sickening thud and catapulted out of the dumpster. Ray ran to the unmoving man, whipping out his cell phone and dialing 911 as he ran.  Ray was mad.  It seemed to take forever for the ambulance and police to arrive.  Ray stayed by Fraser and talked to him, even though Fraser kept going in and out of consciousness.  Ray's anger melted away and he kept apologizing and pleading with Fraser to not leave him.

When the paramedics finally arrived, they assessed Fraser and loaded him into the ambulance.  Ray insisted on coming along.  He was too scared to be angry.  When they arrived at the hospital, Fraser was whisked into the Emergency Room. Ray was forcefully restrained from following and it took the arrival of Lt. Welsh and Frannie Vecchio to calm him down.  He stayed outside the Emergency Room until Frannie finally persuaded him to get some coffee.  When they returned the surgeon talked to them.   Fraser had broken ribs, a broken arm and a fractured leg, and a possible concussion.  He had had some internal bleeding and would need a blood transfusion. 

Unfortunately, because of the holiday season, the hospital's blood supply was dangerously low Ray immediately pulled out his Red Cross Donor card and announced that he had type O Blood, the universal donor and he wanted Benton to have his blood.  Ray was immediately sent to the Lab where his blood was taken, tested and proved to be usable.   Frannie followed him   Ray demanded that they take two pints which was about the amount that Benton had lost.   The phlebotomist said that since their blood supply was so low and this was an emergency, he could take two pints, spin it to remove the plasma and put the serum back into Ray. 

After he was done with the procedure, the technician  insisted that Ray  rest for a while, but Ray being Ray  made it up off the bed only to collapse after taking a few steps.  Two orderlies scooped him up and deposited him back on the bed. When he was finally allowed out of the bed after drinking two glasses of orange juice, Ray made his way back to the Emergency Room with Frannie's help.  She kept telling him he had to stay strong for Fraser.  Ray knew that Frannie was right, but her
constant yammering was just making him mad and that was the last thing he wanted to be when he finally would get to see Fraser.  He made a huge effort and told her he understood and could she please shut up already.  Frannie wisely demurred.

Early the next morning, Fraser wad taken to ICU where Ray was allowed to see Fraser for fifteen minutes every couple of hours.   Four days later. Fraser was transferred to a private room into which  Ray, for all purposes,  moved also.   Because of the holiday season, the patients that could be dismissed were and there were very few patients on the floor.  Someone brought a Christmas Tree for Benton and the gentle glow of the lights at night made the room less antiseptic.  Ray sat by the bed and held Fraser's hand.   They talked a little, but mostly they were both content to be in each other's company.   They both appreciated the fact that this Christmas could have been Fraser's last and they had been given time to be together and love each other and grow in that love.

Ray placed the gentlest of kisses on Fraser's forehead and told him there would be plenty more of them when  he felt up to it.  Fraser tightly squeezed Ray's hand and told him: "Understood."  Then Ray climbed unto the narrow bed and carefully but thoroughly wrapped himself around his Mountie.  He whispered: "Merry Christmas."  And again gently kissed him this time on the lips.  After they broke the kiss, Benton looked into the eyes of his lover and sighed deeply and demonstrated the depths of his trust by falling into the deepest sleep he had been able to achieve in the hospital so far.  Ray chuckled quietly and settled into the tight space gingerly.  He was content to watch his lover sleep peacefully.

Through the transfusion of his blood into Benton, Ray Kowalski had given his soul mate the ultimate gift, his Life Force.  Although the present wasn't wrapped in fancy paper or in a beautiful gift box, it
was the best gift that Benton had ever received, the ability to continue living with and loving the man  with whom he wanted to share the rest of his life.  Benton spent Christmas Eve wrapped in Ray's
arms in his hospital room looking forward to the New Year.  Ray might have been a Mad Man, but he was Benton's Mad Man and the same volatile blood now coursed through both their veins binding them to each other for eternity.

END

NOTE: The medical  procedure of taking two pints of blood from one donor can be done in emergency situations.

SCIENCE FICTION

Battlestar Galactica - Apollo/Starbuck

Title: Giving to Charity - A Yuletide Tale
RATING: Remember the time of year and be ashamed of yourself for your impure thoughts. This is as pure as the driven snow – well, until the end when it gets a bit warmer. A bit of Yuletide fluff
PAIRING : Apollo/Starbuck.
ARCHIVE: www.apollolovers.com  and By Your Command.
SYNOPSIS : It’s a seasonal tale. Yup. That’s all I’m going to say about it. Seasons Greetings to you all.
DISCLAIMER: Universal owns ‘em. I’m not making any money out of them. I just like playing. This is for fun, okay?
OTHER WARNINGS : Spelling is erratic, but theoretically British English throughout.
Clunky Galactican terminology: yahren = year, sectar = month, secton = week, centar= hour, centon = minute, micron = second. There's no special term for day or night.
Oh, and sorry, but there’s a cute kid alert. Mercifully a short appearance from Boxeykins, but Christmas is for children after all.
FEEDBACK : email me at sekeht_an_ankhmehit@hotmail.com

Giving to Charity - A Yuletide Tale

By ANNA

"Pol?"

"Uh-huh?"

"It’s Yule in two sectons."

Captain Apollo glanced up briefly from the computer screen where he was patiently and painstakingly correcting a certain lieutenant’s errant grammar and spelling before submitting the said lieutenant’s report to the bridge office. He frowned. Without speaking, he turned back to the computer, flicked through to the calendar and studied it carefully.

"Yeah," he said after a centon. "Can’t fault you on that one."

"You were checking? Oh, very touching, your faith in me."

"I know," agreed Apollo. "And before you ask, yes, I’ve bought you a present, and no, I won’t tell you what it is."

"I wasn’t going to ask you about a present for me," Starbuck protested. "I know you’ll get me something. It’s just that I was thinking."

"Oh?" Panic set in.

"About Yule and the poor kids in the orphanage on the Kruzan."

The panic receded into mute sympathy.

"I was thinking that it’s not so much fun for them at Yule," said Starbuck. "It wasn’t when I was a kid. The orphanage staff always made an effort and we all got a present each, but the kids here aren’t likely to get even that in the circumstances. Last yahren was pretty poor for them."

"It was just after the Destruction," Apollo pointed out. "It wasn't so hot for any of us."

"I know," said Starbuck, running a hand through his hair, and frowning with frustration. "But I don’t know that it’ll be that much better this yahren. Finding the kids real families is slow work, and there’s still too many of them stuck on the Kruzan."

"I guess it will be bad at that." Apollo itched to stretch out a hand and smooth Starbuck’s hair again. He repressed the urge sternly.

Starbuck sighed and nodded. He watched Apollo for a few microns then said, with only the slightest tinge of wistfulness and envy, "Did you always get *everything* you asked for when you were a kid?"

"Yes. Not when I grew up. These days, what I want doesn’t comes gift wrapped."

Starbuck grinned. "You mean, you want peace and love to all, but all you get are Auntie Maisie’s hand knitted sweaters and enough pairs of socks for a centipede?"

"Something like that."

"I’d like to do something, Pol."

Apollo grinned. He was the only one who knew that Starbuck was a regular visitor to the Kruzan; a dispenser of small delights like sweets and stories, and most of all, of time and attention. He gamely repressed the internal voice that shrieked warnings about making rash promises. "I’ll help," he said. "I suppose I could always donate your present to the orphans."

"You wouldn’t! Besides, if you’ve got anything at all I’d like, it wouldn’t be suitable for children. What’d you get me?"

"I wouldn’t, you will, it isn’t and I ain’t telling," Apollo said firmly, not rising to the bait and thinking with satisfaction of the lurid and extremely naughty Pyramid deck he’d managed to find for Starbuck’s Yule present. The little bazaar that had sprung up on the Equus was developing into a treasure trove of the unusual and exotic. Not to mention the pornographic. He’d blushed buying it.

Starbuck smiled, looking equally satisfied. For a centon they grinned at each other, understanding each other pretty well.

"Your mother was pretty hot at the fundraising thing."

Apollo shuddered. "If you like charity lunches with dreadful women with big hair and too much time and money, happy to pay for the "right" causes."

"You mean that these women paid to have lunch with your mother?"

"And any minor celebrity she could coerce onto the charity committee to make it fashionable. They’d pay thousands of cubits a time."

"Given the disgusting glop served up in lieu of food in our commissary, I don’t think that will work." Starbuck sighed. "I can’t see anyone paying to eat lunch there. And who’d we get as the minor celebrity?"

"Well, you’re pretty celebrated yourself, Star, but since we can all eat with you for free any day of the secton, I can’t see anyone coughing up a so much as a bent cubit for the privilege."

"Thanks, that’s really helpful." An offended pause, then reluctantly: "What else did she do?"

"Gala balls are right out, I’d guess?"

"My ballgown’s at the cleaners."

Apollo thought back and shrugged helplessly. "Oh, I don’t know, Star. They had collections and lunches, and sales, and auctions. All that kind of stuff. I stayed away from it all."

Starbuck sighed and subsided. After a few microns, Apollo went back to proof-reading Starbuck’s report.

"Pol?" said Starbuck, eventually.

"Uh-huh?"

"The auction idea's not a bad one."

Apollo saved the report, opened his mailbox and prepared to send the document to Colonel Tigh with a polite covering note that invited the Colonel to find, attached for his attention, the latest batch of reports. Signed, Apollo, Captain.

"I mean, I’m sure we could collect together enough things that people will be willing to bid for, and I’ll be the auctioneer and it’ll be fun, and we can have the OC to do it in and get some extra food laid on – Jolly knows all the cooks - and get some party streamers and extra drink, and Boomer will do the music …"

‘We?' thought Apollo, hitting the send button and sitting back, listening to Starbuck’s increasingly excited babbling. It made him nervous. Starbuck and enthusiasm: two words to make a strong man quail. Self preservation and that internal warning voice screamed at him to be careful.

"Not bad at all," he said. "Everyone will probably give generously for the kids."

"Especially if you do your threatening mean bastard of a captain act," agreed Starbuck. "And scare ‘em into it."

"I don’t know what you mean," Apollo said, offended. Everyone knew he was the easiest and sweetest tempered of men and he couldn’t understand why they pretended otherwise. "But they’ll give even more if they have fun with it."

"So we organise an auction?" Starbuck was looking excited.

Apollo sighed. There was no denying that hopeful look. "Looks like. Tell you what, I’ll start you off with things to auction. I’ll donate a few dozen pairs of socks."


*^*^*^*^*^


Starbuck looked around the brightly lit and festively decorated Officer’s Club with a satisfaction that was so intense he was probably glowing with it.

The auction had been a wild success. He’d made more money than he’d ever dreamt possible, there were still two full days to go before Yule and plenty of time for the orphanage superintendents to go shopping for presents, and most of the warriors not on duty on Yule Day had promised to come and stage a party for the kids. It promised to be a much brighter Yule for the orphans than anyone could have hoped for.

It had been a helluva lot of hard work. He’d spent days cajoling auction-able goods out of his fellow warriors, persuading them to give up precious fripperies and even more precious necessities. Apollo had got on with the more mundane stuff like organising the date, the room and the party, setting up the food and drink and negotiating for permission with the Powers-that-be, as embodied by a dubious Colonel Tigh – a permission graciously granted after the captain had both explained the charitable objectives and, he said in opening remarks made in a pointed and mildly threatening way, promised good and exemplary behaviour. And yes, Starbuck, I do mean you.

Despite that gross calumny, the party and auction had been loud, noisy and terrific fun. Most of all, Starbuck had been on top form, and he knew it. He’d sparkled and glittered on the auction platform, outrageous and sexy and funny, and by sheer strength of personality he’d increased the takings out of all expectation, charming people into buying the auction goods at hugely inflated prices. They’d loved doing it. And they’d loved him too.

Starbuck glowed with the adulation and affection coming his way.

There had been one moment when he’d glowed with some other emotion, one he hadn’t analysed yet. He’d held up a deck of Pyramid cards that he’d have given his eye teeth for; a beautiful deck, richly decorated and edged with gold, almost too beautiful to play with. At the last centon, Apollo had casually donated it to the auction, and Starbuck had found himself auctioning off his own Yule present. He’d known it, of course. And he’d also known that Apollo, carrying through a carefully staged bidding war with Boomer with the rest of the warriors unusually quiet, would buy the cards back at four or five times what he’d originally paid for them, and on Yule morning they’d be handed to Starbuck again, gift wrapped.

They were priceless, those cards. And not because of the cash Apollo eventually handed over to regain them.

And now it was over. There was nothing left to sell.

Starbuck, wreathed in smiles and party streamers, held out his arms to them all. The response was loud catcalls, hooters, more streamers and it was a few centons before he’d got them to be quiet enough to hear him.

"That’s it, boys and girls. That’s it. There’s nothing left -"

"One cubit!" said Apollo, loudly.

There was a burst of laughter from the assembled pilots, and Starbuck stopped, stared, and grinned, thinking that his abstemious Apollo had had one ambrosa too many. "The auction’s over, Apollo."

"You said everything on the platform had to go. You’re still up there."

Starbuck wondered uneasily why his pulse was quickening. "So?"

"So I’m making a bid."

Starbuck stared, momentarily bereft of speech. Then someone laughed nervously and broke the silence, setting off everyone else.

"For Starbuck?" Giles called from the other side of the room.

"Yup."

"Brilliant!"

"Apollo, I’m not for sale. I’m the auctioneer," said Starbuck, wondering what the hell was going on and wishing that he didn’t sound so nervous.

"Not now you aren’t. Boomer, would you please auction Starbuck?"

"Cool," said Boomer, admiring. "You mean it?"

"Get up there. You owe me."

"I owe you?"

"You were supposed to drop out of the bidding for those cards five cubits earlier." Apollo gave the dark lieutenant a cold and unforgiving look. "I could take those five cubits outa you in other ways if you like."

"It’s a good cause!" protested Boomer.

"I don’t deny it, but they were my five cubits and I had plans for them. You’ll find it a lot easier to get up there and do as I tell you. Auction. Starbuck. Now."

"Cool," said Boomer, getting to his feet, and trying not to giggle. "Cool and evil."

Starbuck stared at them, for once his glib tongue failing him. "Apollo!" was all he could manage, and what it lacked in eloquence it made up for in volume.

"This is an order, Starbuck."

"What do you mean, an order?"

Apollo sighed and took on one of his most patient, saintly expressions. "What are these?" He pointed to the captain’s pins in his collar.

"Bloody undeserved!"

"They’re still better than yours."

"You can’t order me to be sold at auction!"

"I just did. Do you want to complain about my order, Lieutenant?"

"Damn right I do!"

"Permission to complain denied. You’re for sale, I made an offer. Get on with it. Boomer."

"Yes sir. Selling Starbuck, sir!"

Starbuck stood there helplessly, listening resentfully to the laughter and the catcalls, and repressing the urge to step up to the Captain and smack him on the side of the head.

"Captain, is this some kind of spookily weird personality transfer?" called Bojay from one of the other tables.

"In what way?" Apollo was seemingly intent on going through the contents of his pockets, lining up the cubits in a neat row on the table top and using the triangular coins to weigh down a surprisingly fat wad of notes.

"Well, there’s Starbuck and there’s you, Apollo. This is the kinda stunt I’d expect him to pull, not you. That’s all."

"All I’m trying to do here is raise some money for the orphans," said Apollo. "What’s so spooky about that?"

Starbuck glared at him. "What he means, Apollo, is that I’m the charming and funny and quick witted one and you’re - "

"Yes, Starbuck?"

" - you’re the charming and sweet and shy one," said a Lieutenant who recognised imminent danger of death when he saw it.

Apollo gave his wingmate a cold look from eyes that looked like they were chipped from green ice. Starbuck smiled back weakly, mutely resentful about being wrong-footed by Apollo for the second time in as many centons. He turned on a safer target.

"Boomer, are you going along with this nonsense?" he demanded.

"You heard the man, Bucko. I feel for you, really I do, but I really don’t want him taking five cubits worth of revenge outa my hide."

"What’ll you do with him, Apollo?" asked Cassie curiously.

Apollo smiled at her. Starbuck didn’t quite know what he thought about that smile. He wasn't sure that he wanted Apollo smiling at Cassie like that, even though he and Cassie had broken up, quite amicably, sectars ago and both Apollo and Cassie were free, romantically speaking. When Cassie smiled back at the Captain, he was very sure that he didn’t like that. He refused to analyse why, but a persistent little memory of Cassie pronouncing that Apollo was both damned good looking and appealingly unaware of it, insisted on coming between Starbuck and inner peace and harmony.

He liked Apollo being appealingly unaware of his charms. It meant he was blind to the feminine wiles expended on him and had more time for Starbuck.

"I’ll think of something," said Apollo.

"Knowing you, you’ll have me doing reports and the filing," grumbled Starbuck.

Apollo grinned. "Well, I wouldn’t say that that was first on my list, but it’ll do for starters. What do you think, Boomer? Twelve centars, say, of Starbuck’s time in lieu of all those miscellaneous duties he’s wriggled out of over the yahrens?"

"Twelve centars work for one cubit?"

"Oh, that was just to establish the auction. I’ll bid ten."

"Ten cubits Have you never heard of the Minimum Wage, you oppressor of the proletariat, you? That’s less than a cubit a centar!"

"You mean you can count and I did your math all through the Academy under false pretences?" asked Apollo, mildly enough.

Starbuck’s mouth, still open to voice further protest, closed with the words unsaid. That threat of death was back.

Beside him, Boomer called the room to attention. "Now, I’m not Starbuck and I’m not going to pretend to be as brilliant and entertaining. This is a serious business. Ladies and gentlemen and the socially-difficult-to-place representative from Council Security who’s standing at the back, we have a man to sell. And what a man! On offer, twelve centars of servitude for Starbuck here - "

"This is ridiculous!" complained Starbuck, quite put out at being out-Starbucked.

"Shut up, Starbuck," said Apollo.

"Yeah, shut up, Starbuck." Boomer dug Starbuck painfully in the ribs and grinned at him. "All right, ladies and gentleman – and security – I'm offering you one the finest specimens of Colonial manhood: handsome, brave and, by his own account, devastatingly sexy…"

"Hey!"

"Shut up, Starbuck. Opening bid ten cubits from the Captain. Any further offers?"

"Twelve cubits," said Cassie from where she was sitting with Athena, Sheba and a few of the other female pilots. "And I’m not wasting him on the filing! They used to auction slaves for far more interesting things than that." Cassie smiled very sweetly at her ex-boyfriend and giggled when the warriors all laughed.

"Sure you can handle him, Cassie?" Jolly called.

Cassie’s sweet smile became very suggestive. "Oh yes. I think I know what to do."

Starbuck rolled his eyes. He was too old and too cool to blush. He was too old and too cool. He would kill Apollo later, but he was damned if he’d let the bastard embarrass him. He’d have to go along with it and put the best face on this he could. And it was for the orphans after all. It was just Apollo’s weird and wonderful way of giving to charity.

He’d still kill the bastard later.

"Fifteen," bid the said bastard, without looking up from the cubits ranged along one edge of his table.

"Eighteen," said Cassie, with another giggle.

Apollo did glance up briefly at that. Starbuck saw those green ice-chip eyes look from him to Cassie, then back down at the money again. "Twenty."

There was another buzz of laughter from the assembled and well-lubricated warriors. It had been one helluva a party so far, and the climax was proving, obviously, to be more fun than they expected. Starbuck thought glumly that it wasn’t what he’d expected either, but somehow he was failing to garner any amusement from it.

And, listening to some of the ribald comments coming from the back of the room, and forgetting that it had been his own suggestion, he was suddenly slightly insulted that all Apollo seemed to want him for was to do the filing.

"Twenty cubits from the Captain," said Boomer. "Any more bids? This is an unrepeatable offer, ladies and gentleman. Just look at what you’re getting! Handsome and brave - "

"You’ve done that bit," Sheba reminded him.

"You can never say it too often where Starbuck’s concerned."

"Boomer!"

"Shut up, Starbuck. Just take a good look, everyone. Nice hair, nice eyes, nice teeth and he swears they’re all his own. A very fetching item."

"I’ll bid twenty one," said Cassie.

The yelled comments made even Cassie blush.

"Twenty three!" called Giles. "It’s twenty two more than he’s worth, though!"

This time the comments made Starbuck want to blush. I'm too old and too cool, he told himself frantically. Too old and too – and I'm going to kill the bastard!

Apollo looked sharply at Giles, then back at his row of cubits. "Twenty five."

"I’m out," said Giles. "He’s definitely not worth that."

"One helluva way to find out who your true friends are," Starbuck grumbled. "That’s you off my Yule-card list."

"But I’m a true friend, lover, " said Cassie. "I’ll bid thirty."

"Thirty five!" Greenbean proposed, his voice a touch slurred.

Giles laughed and shook his head. "He's drunk," he said.

"Forty," said Apollo.

"Forty-five!" said Greenbean happily.

"I’ll take the drunk’s bet," said Boomer. "Ladies?"

Silence. A gaggle of female heads went together for a centon of intense whispering, then Athena appealed to Boomer. "Can we do a group bid?"

"You’ve only got twelve centars of his time, honey," one of the other pilots called.

"He’ll manage," said Athena, and smiled. "He never found it a problem to run more than one of us before." She gave Cassie a hard look.

"No group bids, Boom-boom. Please."

"I dunno, Bucko. Sounds like fun." Boomer looked wistful, and the room exploded into cat-calls.

Cassie blushed again. It worried Starbuck that Athena didn’t. Instead she just licked her lips slightly, like a feline crouched over a bowl of cream.

Starbuck looked imploringly at Apollo, who stared blandly back, then nodded slowly. For a micron, Starbuck stared down at his boots, and when he looked up again it was the devil may care Starbuck, the Starbuck who’d take on a bevy of pilots and give them twelve centars of bliss.

He stretched languorously, letting his slim hips rotate slightly, sinuously, and the famous, patented Starbuck smile charmed the entire OC. The ladies - and more than one of the gentlemen and the socially-difficult-to-place Council security man at the back - all sighed audibly, and Apollo continued watching, his expression unreadable.

Starbuck didn’t know what Apollo thought he was doing, but he’d be damned if he’d let his best friend – his former best friend, he corrected himself grimly – either get away with it or gloat over it later. Whatever "it" was, and whatever reason Apollo might have to gloat. It just wasn't going to happen.

Which really left open the question about why Starbuck was going along with that slow nod. It really did, and Starbuck had every intention of leaving the question open and no intention at all of trying to answer it.

"Okay, Boomer," said Starbuck. His voice dropped to its best sultry and sexy tone. "Anything to oblige the ladies."

Amid the laughter and the shouting he gave them another roll of those oh-so-supple hips, a sinuous writhe of that slender, elegant body. There was another gusty sigh from the ladies’ table and the Council security man looked very glumly down into his pot of ale. Even Sheba was looking interested, Starbuck noted as he performed for them, knowing that even if all he did was stand there, breathing, he was still the sexiest thing in the room. Gyrate that groin, and he was better than exploding solenite.

Filing, indeed!

"Group bids accepted," said Boomer, judgement pronounced to resounding cheers.

"Fifty cubits, then," said Athena.

"Fif.." Greenbean started, and was unceremoniously shushed by Giles.

"No bid," said Giles. "He’s broke anyways, Boom-boom."

"Drunk is okay, broke is not," pronounced the auctioneer sternly. "The bid stands at fifty. Any advance on fifty?"

"Fifty five!" Bojay offered.

"And what do you want him for?" demanded Drake.

"Me?" Bojay was all innocence. "I’m just trying to make sure that Bucko goes for a price commensurate with his greatness, that’s all. That, and I’d be very disappointed to be chucked off his Yule-card list."

"Do you actually have fifty five cubits?" asked Boomer.

Bojay shrugged. "I will come pay day."

"Not good enough!" Starbuck protested. "The orphans don’t accept promissory notes."

"Cash bids only, please! We’re still at fifty. Any more bids? Captain?"

"Sixty," Apollo said, almost negligently. He leaned back in his chair, and sipped on his ambrosa. He glanced from his sister, to Starbuck and back to Athena again.

Starbuck, still posing gracefully and sexily on the dais, thought indignantly that his (former) best friend looked all too casual about it. This was important, dammit, and the least Apollo could do was look like he realised it.

"Seventy," said Athena, her eyes narrowed as she watched her brother. There was the faintest undercurrent in her voice.

Starbuck heard it. He wondered what it meant, watching them both, wondering what those two were up to. He’d known them too long to think that they’d colluded in this. The two of them were on reasonably good terms, but that something in Athena’s tone smacked of faint resentment and challenge. It wasn’t overtly unfriendly, but it was there.

"Seventy cubits," said Boomer, after a micron in which Apollo studied first his row of cubits and then his ambrosa. "Any advance on seventy cubits?"

Silence.

"Any advance on seventy cubits?"

Athena began to smirk. Apollo looked up and the two of them stared at each other, blue eyes into green; Athena smiling with smug triumph, Apollo looking faintly bored.

"Come on, people," said Boomer. "We’re talking twelve centars worth of time from the man who claims to be the sexiest and best lay on the Galactica."

"There’s no ‘claims’ about it," snorted Starbuck, outraged. "I am! And that's in the fleet!"

"And he’s going to be all mine." Athena was almost purring.

"Ours," said Cassie, sharply, and Athena sniffed.

Apollo leaned back in his chair and stretched and yawned, eyes on the ceiling, apparently indifferent to this exchange. Alarmed by Athena in full cry, Starbuck looked at him appealingly, trying hard to radiate his best efforts at vulnerable and charming. Apollo didn’t even glance at him.

"No more bids? Then the last bid, twelve centars of Starbuck is going at seventy cubits. Going, going…"

"Seventy five," said Apollo.

Starbuck sighed gently.

Athena’s eyes narrowed with anger. Starbuck looked from Apollo to Athena. She glanced back at him, then turned to go into huddled, intense negotiations with the rest of her table. Sheba was looking dubious and Bree was shaking her head.

Athena turned in her chair to look straight at Apollo. Starbuck wondered what was going on inside her head, what demon of jealousy and revenge was keeping her in this game. The problem was, he thought sadly, that the stubbornness was a family characteristic.

"Eighty," bid Athena.

Bree threw up her hands in disgust and even Cassie was looking worried. She emptied her purse onto the table and started picking through the contents.

"Ninety," said Apollo.

Athena scowled.

The laughter was a little more muted now. They were getting into serious money, far more than anything else had made all night. And maybe, Starbuck thought exasperatedly, maybe everyone else in the room was finally picking up on the strange undercurrent between Apollo and his sister, and maybe, too, beginning to wonder what Apollo was up to.

"Ninety five," said Athena, into a silence.

"Thenie!" protested Sheba.

"I’ll cover it." But there was a flicker of anxiety in Athena's eyes.

"Ninety five, I’m bid," said Boomer, all pretence at jocularity gone. "Ninety five."

Silence.

"Apollo?"

Apollo shrugged, and Starbuck looked at him anxiously. He didn’t want to be bought by that coterie of harpies, he thought, panicking and uncharitable with it. He didn’t want to be bought by Athena. Definitely not Athena. If anyone was going to buy him, he wanted it to be Apollo.

He definitely wanted it to be Apollo.

"Going at ninety five," said Boomer, when Apollo didn’t respond.

Apollo, still not returning any of the appealing glances Starbuck was giving him, and not seeming to take his attention off his sister, nodded.

"One hundred." He paused. "And twenty."

"Strewth," said Jolly, quietly, looking worried.

"Pol!" Starbuck was thrilled, and he didn’t know why. He saw Athena’s expression, but not even escaping that accounted for the way his pulse started racing.

The silence in the OC was almost physical, several dozen pairs of eyes switching as if hypnotised from their Captain to the ladies table. Apollo looked – well, like Apollo. Not like a man who’d just bid an entire secton’s pay for his wingmate. In stark contrast, Athena’s glower would have blistered paint, but even as she opened her mouth, Cassie caught at her arm.

"No," she said. "We’re out of it. Let him have it, Athena."

"I’d love to," Athena snapped back. "Right between the eyes."

Oh and a very happy Yule to you too, thought Starbuck, so relieved he could have kissed Apollo right there and then.

"Okay," said Boomer, laughing nervously. "I’m bid one hundred and twenty cubits for twelve centars of Starbuck’s time. Any more bids?"

Silence.

"No more bids. Going at one hundred and twenty cubits. Going. Going." Boomer threw out his arms. "Gone to the Captain!"

Starbuck sighed silently in relief, letting the sexy pose relax. Thank God. Thank God. Filing was such a safe occupation compared with being hunted by Athena. Much, much safer.

Apollo looked down at his piled cubits, then grinned. Boomer walked across to take the coins and notes to add to the impressive pile Starbuck had already made, counting it quickly.

"All correct. One hundred and twenty. Tonight’s best price!"

The cheers, catcalls and foot stamping could have been heard all the way to the Cylon capital and back. Starbuck bowed in appreciation, almost forgetting this hadn’t been his idea. From a lot of the comments, most people assumed that he and Apollo had set this up between them.

"The man’s all yours, Apollo," said Boomer.

There was a very odd expression on Apollo’s face. He stood up and drained his ambrosa, and when he finally spoke, Starbuck thought that there was a pretty odd note in the Captain’s voice, too.

"Right, I’m off. Enjoy the rest of the evening, you lot, and remember what I said about best behaviour."

Starbuck’s mouth dropped open. "Where in Hades are you going?"

"To collect Boxey from his grandfather," said Apollo. "Why?"

"Whaddya mean, why? You just bought me!"

"Impulse buy," said Apollo, sadly. "I'm prone to them. And then I never know what the hell to do with ‘em. G’night, all."


*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^


"You’ve been avoiding me!" said Starbuck, slamming shut the duty office door and leaning up against it, to prevent his victim’s escape.

His victim winced, and cursed the mischance that had had him at a genuine meeting (there’d been one or two false ones that he’d spent hiding in various storerooms, counting things) that had over-run until he’d lost track of the time. He’d thought he’d have a little longer before Starbuck was back. Time enough to think up another avoidance tactic, anyway.

"I’ve been busy," said Apollo, knowing he sounded feeble and unconvincing. Knowing, in fact, that he sounded nervous and guilty. All of which he was. He was feeble and unconvincing and nervous and guilty and in a whole pile of trouble.

"Oh yeah. Busy." Starbuck was so sarcastic that Apollo thought uneasily of the time hiding in the storerooms and wondered if Starbuck had somehow found him out. "So busy you had to send me on patrol with Giles!"

"Well, Greenbean wasn't so well."

"What Greenbean was, was hung-over. Badly. You never let me get away with that!" Starbuck’s expression was so unfriendly that Apollo’s uneasiness became more visceral, more pressing. "What in hell were you playing at last night?"

"Giving to charity?"

"Humiliating me in public is more like! What if Athena had bought me? She’d kill me, that sister of yours! She’s a man-eater."

Apollo tried to decide if Starbuck was really mad. "I wasn't about to let that happen," he said reassuringly.

Starbuck didn’t look mollified. "And you expect me to be grateful for that? I have never been so embarrassed in my entire life! You should have heard what they said after you went!"

"I can imagine," said Apollo, ruefully. The comments he’d heard while he had been there had been bad enough. He really didn’t want to imagine what was said once his restraining presence was removed.

Because that’s what had made him chicken out, in the end. He'd had every intention of following through his impulse buy, but the thought of those comments had unnerved him.

"And where in hell did you get that much money?"

Ah, much safer ground! "Last secton when we went to the chancery on the Rising Star and you deserted me for that redhead. I got lucky at the Pyramid table."

Starbuck’s unfriendly expression grew colder. "And you didn’t tell me?"

"I couldn’t get a word in. You were too busy telling me about what you got up to with the redhead." Apollo was proud of the way that his tone remained uncomplaining. He was often deserted when they went to the Rising Star, and often spent the return journey on the shuttle listening to the tale of Starbuck’s latest adventure. "I thought it might come in useful at the auction."

"You gave away a secton’s pay?"

"For a good cause." Apollo pointed out. "Besides, winnings aren’t like real money, are they? It’s like buying something on credit. You don’t really have to pay for it."

"If that’s an inherited stupidity about money, how in hell did your family ever get to be so rich?" Starbuck demanded, disgustedly. "And no wonder you’ve spent the entire day hiding from me. Out with it. Right now. What the hell was that all about?"

Trapped. For a centon Apollo just stared, wondering if he really dared do it, if he could say that seeing Starbuck up there on the platform and a with secton’s pay in his pocket, that the temptation had been irresistible. That he’d never be given the Yule present he’d always wanted, gift-wrapped or not, and he’d seen an opportunity to buy it for himself.

The cold blue eyes glaring at him were not encouraging. "Well?"

Apollo sighed and took a deep breath, moistened suddenly dry lips and opened his mouth. Before he could speak, the comunit on his desk squawked loudly. Apollo closed his mouth again and listened cheerfully to his rescuer.

"Captain Apollo to the bridge office, immediately. Captain Apollo to the bridge office, immediately."

"Another meeting?" Starbuck said, tone dangerous.

"Looks like," agreed Apollo, getting out from behind his desk and trying not to beam happily.

Starbuck moved slowly away from the door. "I’ll see you when you get back, then."

"Oh yes, "Apollo said brightly. Too brightly.

Starbuck's eyes narrowed. "I think I’ll come with you. I can wait outside the bridge office door, then you and me can have our little chat when the Commander’s finished with you."

Apollo actually felt the brightness dim. "Uh… don’t you have a report to write?"

"In your mail."

"Nothing else to do?"

"Like you, I’m off duty in about three centons. What’s to do?"

"Oh."

"Other than listen to your fascinating explanation, of course."

"Oh," said Apollo, glumly. "Okay. Sure."

"I mean," said Starbuck, following close on Apollo’s heels. "I won’t make you tell me right away. I’m sure that you’d rather prepare mentally for your meeting with the Commander. I wouldn’t want anything distracting you from that."

The pure evil in that gloating voice had Apollo looking at his wingmate with dislike. Starbuck seemed unmoved, crowding into the turbolift with him and smiling cheerfully and dangerously every time Apollo caught his eye. Apollo tried to do that as little as possible.

"You don’t have to come with me," he protested.

"I’m happy to. You can take it out of my twelve centars of servitude if you like."

Apollo muttered something obscene and very, very uncomplimentary.

"What?"

"Nothing." Apollo sighed.

He left Starbuck outside the bridge office and went in to find out what it was he’d done, or neglected to do, this time. His despondency was so deep that it was a centon or two before he realised that the Commander wasn’t bawling him out over anything, and that it was a perfectly straightforward piece of business he’d been called up to discuss.

So straightforward, in fact, that he couldn’t help wondering why the Commander had bothered. Why, if it had to be raised at all, which was doubtful, couldn’t it have waited until the next morning and the regular command meeting? This smacked of an excuse to get him up there.

So he agreed with the Commander’s proposals, watched as his father fiddled with the pens on his desk and waited to be told what was behind all this. It wasn’t long coming.

"Apollo, Athena came to see me today. Not officially, I mean."

Oh yes? Apollo stiffened in suspicion, wondering what his unprincipled little sister was up to now.

"She was a little upset, Apollo."

"Really?" said Apollo, trying to be as coldly discouraging as possible and still remain with Regs.

"She felt very humiliated by what happened at the charity auction last night." Adama said. "I didn’t quite grasp what went on - she was really very upset and not entirely clear – but some trick you and Starbuck pulled on her, really got to her."

"But I didn’t - "

"I’m sure you didn’t mean it, but you know how sensitive she is, Apollo."

In her brother's humble opinion, Athena was about as sensitive as a shuttlecraft with its throttle jammed open. Apollo choked indignantly, but his father went on regardless.

"And you know that she’s especially sensitive about Starbuck. It was a little thoughtless of you, son. I’m sure it was no more than that, and you wouldn’t deliberately set out to hurt your sister. I’m sure you’ll go and apologise to her."

Oh was he? Well, in that case the Commander was in for a severe disappointment. Not this side of Hades! Not this time!

Apollo took a very, very deep breath. "I don’t think so. No."

"Apollo?".

"Last night had absolutely nothing to do with her. It’s only her vanity that's talking. That and the fact she’s an insensitive and selfish little - "

"Apollo!"

"And I would *die* rather than apologise to her. I bid for Starbuck because I want him for myself, and I don’t give a damn about how sensitive Athena feels about it. She had her chance with him and she blew it. He’s mine, and I’m not letting him go."

"Apollo!!"

"Sure I’d like it better gift wrapped, but I’ll take what I can get. And if you’ll excuse me, I’m now off duty. I bought Starbuck for the next twelve centars, and I’m going to make bloody sure I get my money’s worth!"

"Apollo!!!"

"And happy Yule, Dad."

Apollo was out of the bridge office and half way down the corridor before he remembered Starbuck. He turned. The Lieutenant was where he’d left him, a most peculiar expression on his face.

"You!"

Starbuck jumped. "M.. me?" he faltered.

"I expect you in my quarters at -" Apollo glanced at his chronometer. " - at eighteen hundred. You’ll get your explanation and start your servitude, then. Understood?"

Starbuck nodded dumbly.

"Good." Apollo swung around and stamped away. "Be there."


*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^^*


"It’s Yule!" Boxey yelled as a greeting, hurling himself on Starbuck.

"Well, almost. It’s not Yule-eve until tomorrow," Starbuck temporised. He gave Apollo an anxious glance, trying to gauge both the Captain's mood and get some indication of how this hand was going to be played out with a rambunctious six yahren old child racing around the room in over-active mode. "Slow down, kid. Have you been drinking hyper-drive fuel again?"

"I’m going to a party. I thought you were Dillon’s mom, coming to get me."

Ah, really? So Boxey had plans for the evening, did he? Plans that left Apollo alone at home? Well, that might make for an interesting end game, after all.

"I don’t look anything like her. She’s not nearly as pretty as me."

"Silly. I’m staying there all night." Boxey whirled away to fling himself onto his father. "Will you miss me, Daddy?"

Starbuck was relieved to see Apollo grin. The fit of bad temper provoked by the commander seemed to have passed.

"Well, I won’t miss the fight we have every night when I tell you it’s time to go and get cleaned up and go to bed. And I won’t miss the way you get up five times to get a drink of water. And I won’t miss the way you get up ten times to go to the flush because you’ve been up five times to get a drink of water. And I definitely won’t miss the way you like to come and wake me up in the middle of the night, to tell me you’ve got up to go to the flush, because you’re worried I might have missed it."

Boxey giggled.

"Why does it matter if you miss it?" Starbuck asked, deeply interested.

"He just likes me to know. It’s one of the delights of fatherhood, my father tells me, to have your son’s full and unrestrained confidence. I think he’s being ironic." Apollo shrugged. "Or maybe he’s talking about Zac."

Starbuck grinned, and caught hold of Boxey, swinging him around the room. "Aren’t you a bit young to be staying out all night?"

"I’m six!" protested Boxey, when Starbuck got dizzy and deposited him back onto his father. Literally and with emphasis.

"The worst age," said Apollo, gasping with the shock of having a sturdy child land on him.

"Why?" demanded Starbuck, laughing breathlessly and falling onto the sofa next to them.

Apollo sighed and rubbed at a mark on his uniform that hadn’t been there before a Starbuck-propelled Boxey impacted on it. "No sense, always needs a bath and he’s always so sticky."

"I bet you were, too, when you were his age."

"Grandpa says Dad was sticky. Stickier than Uncle Zac," Boxey said squirming on his father’s knees in a way that had Starbuck wincing in sympathy. "He says that whenever Daddy had chocobars, he got sticky from here to here and ear to ear."

He ran his hand over Apollo’s face from hair to chin, then one ear to the other, and laughed. Starbuck had a sudden longing to run his hand over Apollo’s face too, and had to suppress it firmly.

"That’s my Dad," Apollo sighed. "Such a supporting sort of parent."

"He still does get sticky," said Starbuck, treacherously. "You should have seen him in the Commissary the other night trying to eat a meringue…"

"You are not helping, here. How am I expected to maintain discipline in the ranks?"

"Starbuck says I have to be naughty sometimes," confided Boxey.

Starbuck caught the look in Apollo’s eye and grinned. "You teach discipline, I teach subversion. Fair split."

"Starbuck says it’s his job to lighten us up. And I can help."

Apollo sighed. "You’re turning into Starbuck before my very eyes."

"Oh, that’s all right," said Boxey, confidently. "You love Starbuck."

Starbuck watched the result of that innocent remark with interest. He’d never seen Apollo quite that pink before.

"Maybe," said Apollo, and the peculiar note was back in his voice. "But even I couldn’t manage with two of him. One’s more than enough."

"It’s okay, Pol. I’m unique." Starbuck grinned, but before he could pursue this interesting conversation further, the door bell rang and, being unencumbered by Boxey, he got up to open the door to a slight, pretty blonde with another excitable six-yahren old clinging to her hand.

Boxey scrambled up to grab his bag, then, evidently conscience stricken, got Apollo into a stranglehold that Starbuck rightly assumed denoted love and hero-worship and admiration. "Will you be very lonely, Daddy?"

"I’ll take care of him, don’t worry," Starbuck put in.

"That’s not the same," said Boxey.

"No," agreed Starbuck. "I certainly don’t intend it to be."

"Wha - ?" Apollo started, but was choked off with another crushing hug.

"I’ll be back tomorrow, for Yule," Boxey assured his father. "And I’ll be *very* excited tomorrow night."

"I’m sure of it."

"I might even be sick."

"I’ll look forward to it."

"Rash promise?" asked Starbuck, when Boxey had finally left, after racing Dillon excitedly around the room a couple of times while Apollo and Dillon’s mother had tried to get through the kind of parental discussions that Starbuck assumed were necessary and usual on such occasions.

"What?"

"That he’ll be sick?"

"Racing certainty," said Apollo, and his grin was very rueful.

They were quiet for a few centons. Starbuck was content to wait, to let Apollo tell him, his earlier anger completely melted away into a wonderful sort of contentment and anticipation.

"Drink?" asked Starbuck, when he was morally certain that Apollo, who was staring glumly at the floor, had completely forgotten his manners.

"What? Oh, of course. Sorry, Starbuck." Apollo got up and wandered over to the kitchen area. He stood there for another few silent centons, staring at the counter, obviously forgetting what he went there for.

Starbuck took pity on him. "Pol?"

Apollo sighed, and turned. "Go to the OC, Starbuck. It was a dumb idea, and you’re free. I won’t hold you to the twelve centars: you were right, what you said to Boomer last night. It is nonsense."

Starbuck took a deep breath and hoped that his voice wasn’t shaking too badly. "Oh I don’t know. It surprised the hell out of me, and I’m still not sure why you just didn’t come right out and ask me. I mean, it was sweet of you to give all that money to the orphans, but you didn’t have to buy me, Pol."

"I know," Apollo choked, red faced. "I’m so sorry, Starbuck. It was unforgivable of me."

"You aren’t listening to me, Pol. You didn’t have to buy me. You only had to realise that I’ve always been yours."

Apollo stared at him.

"I have a bad habit of listening at doors. I was mad with you earlier because I didn’t really understand what you wanted. I never realised that I wanted it either, mind you, but I got a clue when I heard you yelling at your Dad. Then I did. Then I knew what I wanted. It was kind of a nice feeling."

"Oh."

"Time for you to get a clue as well, Pol."

"Oh."

"Besides, I just made a promise to Boxey." Starbuck edged closer. "I promised I’d keep you company tonight, and we have twelve whole centars to do it in." He put his hands up and clasped them at the back of Apollo's neck, pulling Apollo's head towards him. Apollo let him, looking dazed and delighted and disbelieving, all at once. "I mean this, Pol. And I mean keeping company in the old fashioned way."

"Wha – " said Apollo, but stopped and shut up fast when Starbuck kissed him.

Taken by surprise he might be, but Apollo didn’t let it get in the way of kissing Starbuck right back. Starbuck found himself being impressed by the speed and efficiency at which Apollo responded. You could see why the man had made captain. His reactions were pretty fast, after all, and he seemed to have a fine grasp of the strategy the Academy had taught him, if the places his hands were going were any guide.

He tasted nice, too, but that was something the Academy didn’t teach you. And he felt nice, pressed up close, his hard cock pushing against yours, and that was definitely something that the Academy didn’t teach you. And he kept saying incoherent things about loving and wanting, and when you said them back, he kissed you until you saw stars and you felt as bright as a comet, and that was something that the Academy definitely ought to consider the next time they revised the curriculum.

"Star?" said Apollo, when they finally came up for air and in between those little murmured endearments that were turning Starbuck’s spine to water, but were stiffening other parts very nicely, thank you.

Starbuck, wondering how in hell – and when - he’d got up onto the counter, his legs around Apollo’s hips and both Apollo’s hands in his pants, managed a small groan. Apollo’s hands were doing dreadful things to his self control. Dreadful.

"Do you mean it?"

Starbuck rolled his eyes. "How much more evidence do you need, Pol?" he asked, trailing kisses up the side of Apollo's neck, stopping to do a more thorough job on the mouth before trailing kisses down the other side.

"That's nice." Apollo moaned. "Star?"

"Uh-huh?" said Starbuck in an I'm-busy kind of tone.

"Star, what have you got wrapped around your cock?"

Starbuck nibbled on the side of Apollo’s neck. "Apart from your hand?"

"Apart from that."

"Show you." Starbuck kissed him again, savagely tender about it, and slid his feet back onto the floor. "Help me get my pants off."

Sheesh, but that man had a fine grasp of how to achieve a military objective. Starbuck didn’t have to ask twice. When Apollo stopped kissing him and took a step back to look, Starbuck waited on his verdict.

"Gold suits you," said Apollo, and Starbuck could swear to the tears in those green eyes. "I like the glittery bits, too."

Starbuck smiled. "You wanted gift wrapped, gift wrapped you get."

He took hold of one end of the ribbon and pulled, letting it fall away. It had exactly the response he’d hoped for and it was several centons before he could get out the rest of the festive greeting, and by that time Apollo’s pants had joined his in a heap on the floor, he was back on the counter, his legs back around Apollo’s hips and Apollo was reaching for the bottle of cooking oil with a very determined expression on his face.

"Happy Yule, Pol."

Apollo poured the oil over his fingers in a golden stream, and smiled right back. "Oh it’s going to be, Star. Believe me, it’s going to be."

"You mean, this is one orphan who’s getting his present early?"

Apollo shook his head, and leaned down for a kiss, his oily fingers slipping down between Starbuck’s legs to find the secret place inside him that had Starbuck bucking wildly.

"Ooh! And often, Pol! Give it to me often!"

"No. This is one orphan who’s found his family." Apollo kissed him again. "And I’m a responsible kind of guy, Starbuck."

"Meaning?" Starbuck threw back his head and groaned, feeling the burn as Apollo’s thick cock pushed up inside him, stretching him, filling him. It was wonderful, it was heaven, he didn’t ever want it to stop.

"Meaning that an orphan is for life, not just for Yuletide." Apollo pulled back, then pistoned forward again, sending lightening and fire up Starbuck’s spine. "Happy Yule, Star."

Couldn’t get happier.

God bless us, every one.
 

SCIENCE FICTION

Star Trek - Kirk/Spock

Author: T'Len (2003)
Title: Captains also have to be nice
Date: 15
Fandom: Star Trek TOS/Sci-Fi
Pairing: K/S
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Jim gets what he deserves, but from whom?
Disclaimer: The characters in this story don’t belong to me. I only borrowed them for some fun. No moneymaking, and no violation of copyrights is intended. The story is mine, and it is just fanfiction. If you are under age, please stay away. If you have a problem with this topic, then look elsewhere for your entertainment.
Feedback: tlen2@freenet.de
Advertisement: Part of the SAC-2004 at: http://www.kardasi.com/Advent/2004/SAC-2004.htm
Note: My homepage: The TOS Twins and Friends: http://tostwins.slashcity.net  (Star Trek, M*A*S*H, Sherlock Holmes, Karl May, Kung Fu – TLC, Unser (T)Raumschiff, Die Schöne und das Biest Unsere Zines, Links und mehr.)
Beta: English is not my native language, so please be patient with my mistakes. PhenDog did a really great job correcting my errors. My greatest gratitude to her. For all remaining errors, blame me.

Captains Also Have To Be Nice

He smelled the aroma of the needles – they had decorated the tree this afternoon - and also of the cookies – mom had baked some hours ago – as little Jimmy carefully climbed down the stairway in the dark. Actually, he should be in bed and sleep, but he just wasn’t able to sleep the night before Christmas. Especially now, because he had heard some suspicious noises. That just had to be Santa Claus, bringing his presents. He loved to get presents so very much. And he wanted to have them now.

“James T. Kirk, you are not a nice boy!” the boisterous voice let him wince.

Captain Kirk sat upright in his bed and squinted when the last remainders of his dream – a nice memory of his childhood at home on the farm in Iowa – gone away. But the boisterous voice didn’t fade. He realised it didn’t belonged to the dream but to that guy with the red cap and coat and the white beard that he saw in the dim night illumination standing in front of his bed.

Red coat? White beard? Shouldn’t that tell him something? Santa Claus! Santa Claus stood in front of his bed? Impossible! He still must be dreaming. Santa Claus didn’t exist! And he was to old to be still believing in him.

“Light on!” Jim ordered. The stranger didn’t disappear as his cabin became more brightly lit, but somehow he looked vaguely familiar now. Wasn’t there swung eyebrows looking out the red cap?

“Spock, is that you?” Jim asked, confused.

“I am Santa Claus,” the stranger emphasised, but, in spite of the changed voice, Jim was certain it was the Vulcan in front of him. Who else could have been able to come unseen and at night into his cabin, through locked doors (only the one to the bath he shared with Spock was open) and without triggering the alarm? Only the true Santa Claus – and he didn’t exist.

“What is this masquerade about?” Jim asked, slightly upset about the disturbance of his sleep. Okay, he had told Spock he should get more familiar with old Earth customs, but did he have to exaggerate things that much? And where the hell had he found that costume on board the ship?

Santa Claus pulled a book out of his sack. He also had a sack. Jim began reluctantly to admire Spock’s ingenuity and original faithfulness. But did he have to wake him in the middle in the night for that? The next day would have done as well. He really was exhausted from doing all the things that had to be settled by the end of the year – especially too long delayed reports. And tomorrow – or more accurately today, as it surely already was after midnight – the Christmas celebration with the crew was scheduled. The celebrations on the Enterprise were a well-known and famous legend, for which Jim always felt personally responsible, so he had had lots to do lately.

He wanted to accelerate things a little bit and go back to sleep. “Do you have a present for me, Santa?” he asked with twinkling eyes; he still loved to get gifts.

“James T. Kirk, over the last year you have not always behaved nicely,” Santa Claus ranted

“Didn’t I? “ Jim asked back. “Can you give me an example?”

Santa leafed in his book. “You embarrassed your t’hy’la because you were flirting with strange women.”

“Hey, that was only in for the cause of our missions,“ Jim defended himself. “It has never happened otherwise. And, if you are jealous, why don’t you just tell me and then I stop?“

“You do not live according your nourishment plans,” the other continued without reacting to Jim’s objection.

“Have you conceived this ‘game’ together with Bones?“ Jim asked back.

Again, he did not get an answer. “You do not always follow the directions of the Federation and Starfleet.”

Jim just rolled with his eyes.

“You often bring yourself unnecessarily in danger, frightening your friends with your actions.”

“Okay, okay,” Jim defended himself. “I understand. Let us bring this to an end. What do you want from me? Shall I recite a poem? Sing a song?”

“You deserve the rod,” was the boisterous return.
And before Jim really realised it, he had received a strong blow on his back.

He instantly burst out of the bed. “Ouch! That’s enough! You are over doing it, Spock!”

“I think more than one blow would be appropriate for your offences.“

Again the rod was lifted. Jim backed back against the wall. “Enough!” he said. “Or shall I make it an order, Mr. Spock?”

“I am Santa Claus, I do not take orders from anyone,” his attacker answered indignantly.

Jim sighed. “You are really exaggerate, darling,” he noted. “Please tell me what you want so that I can get back to sleep.”

“Do you promise to behave better next year?” the deep voice asked. “Not to flirt so much, to follow your diet, and to be more careful and considerate with all your actions?”

Jim nodded. “I promise.”

“Well, you also did much good for your people and many others. So you will be forgiven but be warned, I will observe you further.”

“Okay, okay,” Jim mumbled.

“Then you should have your gift,” Santa pulled something out the sack.

As Jim accepted the packet, he was not able to resist his curiosity. He really loved gifts. Impatiently he removed the bow and packaging; then he held an antique book in his hands, one he had longed after for a long time.

“Spock, thank...” Jim looked up, and cut himself off himself. His cabin was empty.

///

“You were a convincing Santa Claus, darling. You should play the part at our Christmas-celebration. But I’m tempted to be upset with you because of the blow with the rod,” Jim said as Spock entered his cabin five minutes later through the bathroom. He now wore a black gown that made him look very sexy, at least in Jim’s opinion.

“Santa Claus? I do not understand?” Spock lifted both eyebrows.

“Oh, come on! Stop the game. I recognised you, of course.” Jim climbed out the bed, embraced Spock and kissed him. “Thank you very much for the book. It really wasn’t necessary to make me such a valuable gift, but I love it of course.”

Spock looked somewhat irritated at the book that lay on Jim’s night table. “I did not give this to you,” he said. “I wanted to give my present to you after the celebration.“

“You have not?” Now Jim also was somewhat confused. The book was obviously there; he could not have dreamed the whole episode. And who else would have played Santa Claus on him? Bones? Impossible; the physician would have betrayed himself after two minutes with shaking from laughing. That was sure. Another crew member? No, that would make no sense. Why should someone have done this? It was Spock, period! But obviously he wanted to play it further.

“Darling, it’s so sweet of you that you want to give me joy with celebrating old earthly Christmas-traditions. But you can really admit it.”

Spock shook his head. “T’hy’la, I assure you, I was in the laboratory until exactly 5.67 minutes ago. The computer can confirm that. After that I returned on direct way into my cabin, changed clothes and came to you. I did, however, not give you this book, and I was previously not in this cabin.“

Jim stared at him. Spock did sound so convincing. And Vulcans did not lie, did they? “Have you really not been here? Dressed as Santa Claus?” he asked.

“No.”

“But who was it then?” Jim thought aloud. “It just can’t have been... no, impossible... or? Santa Claus? Does he exist?”

“There are more things between sky and earth than you may think,” Spock quoted. And in his dark eyes there was for a brief moment a suspicious glimmering when he kissed Jim.

End

SCIENCE FICTION

Star Trek - Kirk/Spock

Author: Saavant
Title: Birds on the Tree
Date: December 15
Fandom: Star Trek TOS (Science Fiction)
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Rating: G
Summary: Challenge reply. Spock gets a gift he doesn't know what to do with; Kirk shows him.
Disclaimer: I disclaim Star Trek characters. I disclaim having invented them. I disclaim to be profiting monetarily from writing about them. I am not Roddenberry. I am not Paramount. I am Saavant. So There.
Feedback address: saavaant @ yahoo . com
Advertisement: Part of the SAC-2004 at: http://www.kardasi.com/Advent/2004/SAC-2004.htm 
Note: Inspired by Farfalla's story "Grandma's Goodie Box," and also by something else (see end of story).
Beta: Korey

Birds on the Tree

Twas the night before Christmas, and Spock and his Kirk
Had just settled down from a long day of work
When, 'twixt ten in the evening and ten and a quarter,
There came a delivery through the transporter.

'Twas packaged and wrapped with much festive finesse
And with a Minneapolis return address,
And it would not take the most clever of Spocks
To identify Grandmother's latest treat box.

For Jim there were muffins and cookies and cake,
And scarves of the type that Jim's Gran loved to make,
But poor Spock received a most unwanted gift,
And it left him appearing uncommonly miffed.

He said, "Jim, I know that this grandma at home
Does not realize that I have a Y chromosome,
But it's doubtful that even a feminine spouse
Would be seen with these earrings outside of her house."

Jim looked at them, and could not help but agree.
There were seventeen pairs of the things he could see,
And Gran must have thought their most breathtaking merit
Was that each one was carved in the shape of a parrot.

They were painted in every conceivable hue,
From fluorescent pink to electrified blue,
Some colors were subtler and others were bolder
And they filled the whole space from the lobe to the shoulder.

Said Spock, "I don't mind that the colors are bright,
With my room's clashing decor they'd fit in just right,
But were I to wear them elsewhere, I'm afraid
An impression of dignity would not be made."

Jim nodded, and they sat in silence some more,
In a quandary as to this painted eyesore,
But then Kirk jumped up from his chair suddenly
And removed from his closet a miniature tree.

"I've had this since I was in college," he said.
"Don't worry, it's fake, it's not dying or dead.
I used to put ornaments on it each year,
But it's something I've wanted to give to you. Here."

He gave Spock the tree and then gave him some orders:
"See here, this would look just divine in your quarters.
The green would clash great with your red and orange sheet
And those earrings, as ornaments, couldn't be beat!"

Delighted, Spock set up the tree in his room
And it glowed every hue in the dimly lit gloom,
For they say it's good luck to have birds on your tree,
And no man on the ship was more lucky than he!



END


The earring collection and tree that inspired this poem (yes, they're mine!!) is this picture entitled "Sitting in a Tree."

FANTASY

Smallville - Clark/Lex

Title: A Lump of Coal
Author: Lacey McBain
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Clark/Lex
Summary: “It had been meant as a joke. A tease. Something friends did. Lex hadn’t known what would happen. Or had he?”
Show: Smallville
Date of publication: Dec. 15, 2004
Disclaimer: If they were mine, they would definitely be on Santa’s Naughty list. And with good reason.
Feedback address: laceymcbain@netscape.net
Advertisement: Part of the Slash Advent Calendar of 2004 at http://www.kardasi.com/Advent/2004/SAC-2004.htm
Beta: Thanks to privatetentacle for initial enthusiasm and gasping in the right places. Any mistakes are mine.

A LUMP OF COAL

It was supposed to be a joke.

Lex hadn’t meant it to be anything else, but it was too late to claim ignorance, he supposed. Clark would never believe him now, and really, was that so surprising? Did he even believe himself? Somewhere deep inside he sensed he had known what would happen, had suspected at the very least, and yet he’d gone ahead and done it anyway. Dressed it up as a joke with the worst possible punchline --ever--and now Clark was gone. Probably for good. His goodbye had been nothing more than a rush of wind, silencing the flames in the fireplace and leaving a cold, aching space. As if the fire had gone out of Lex as well. He’d extinguished their friendship more completely than Clark’s lies ever could.

It had been meant as a joke. A tease. Something friends did. He hadn’t known what would happen. Or had he? And wasn’t that the same thing Clark was asking himself now--wherever he’d gone when he’d turned and run--asking himself how much Lex knew, if this had all been one more test? The only successful one. Ever.

Lex laughed, a hollow sound that echoed in the gaping hall. The thing is, he hadn’t known, hadn’t guessed, not really, certainly hadn’t admitted it to himself anyway--the self that harboured hopes for merry Christmases and friendly hugs from farm boys with smiles that glistened like snow. He hadn’t known.

He clung to that truth the way a shark wraps itself around the leg of an unsuspecting swimmer, clamped down and hard, jaws leaking blood but knowing that to let go is to lose everything, and Lex couldn’t afford to lose. Not like this. Not yet. He would find a way to make things right. He had to--in the same way he had to breathe to stay alive. Except more so.

But everything made sense now. How foolish he’d been, naive enough to think that Clark’s secrets were so much simpler than this. Arrogant thinking that the boy didn’t have a real reason for his fear, for the lies that tumbled from his lips as easily as his name. Or Lex’s.

He hadn’t known. Surely Clark would realize that. He would come back and they would talk, set things right as they always had in the past.

The significance of what had happened started to sink in. He knew Clark’s deepest secret, and he was a Luthor. Not to be trusted. Evil. Unworthy. Clark’s secret needed to be protected at all costs. At any cost. One way or another, Clark would be back.

Lex rekindled the fire in the hearth, poured himself another drink, and sat down to wait.

***

Earlier that day

It was Christmas Eve, and for the first time in a long time, Lex was looking forward to the holiday. His father was nowhere in sight, and for once the castle in Smallville seemed like the best place on earth to be spending Christmas.

Clark was expected at any moment, and Lex had done something distinctly unLuthorlike and decorated his office. He’d hung a pair of stockings by the fireplace--a deep purple velvet trimmed with silver ribbon, and beside it a matching stocking in scarlet trimmed with blue. It was supposed to be symbolic. Lex wanted Clark to see the pair of stockings--so different and yet somehow belonging together--and know that the two of them could also stand side by side and make it work. Lex hoped it was direct enough. There was no room for subtlety with Clark.

He’d wanted to fill the stockings with treats--toys and sweets and oranges. The kinds of things he remembered from when he was young enough to be granted such indulgences, when his mother still insisted “he’s just a boy,” and he’d been allowed the luxury of not being a Luthor. Those times were rare in his memory.

But then he’d decided to tease, just a little, make Clark Kent blush because he could, and because it warmed Lex through to see someone still so innocent. To imply that Clark could be naughty, and it was something Lex could do because they were friends--he desperately wanted their relationship to be at a place where he could tease and Clark would laugh and the world wouldn’t be thrown off-balance because of it. He was tired of everything being darkness or light, life or death, grand gestures and destiny. Sometimes he just wanted a normal friendship, even if there was nothing normal about either of them, and there were other names than friendship for what was happening between them.

So, Lex had decided to give Clark coal in his stocking. A hard lump of dirty black coal as if to say, “Well, haven’t you been a naughty boy? What is it that you’ve been up to, Clark?”, and he could picture the surprised look, the blush that would roll across Clark’s face like a wave, the way his green eyes would dance when he realized he was being baited. Then maybe he would say something completely unexpected, a tease on the tip of his tongue--as only Clark could--and Lex would feel the energy surge between them, the way their eyes locked as they both considered what it meant to be naughty.

Maybe Clark would step towards him then, look at him through the long curve of lashes, and Lex would see pride and want and a hundred things Lex couldn’t name and Clark wouldn’t admit to. Maybe there would also be permission, and Lex could reach up and run his hands though that dark hair, let it run through his fingers like water. He wouldn’t close his eyes because he would need to see this, need to know it wasn’t just another fantasy, Clark’s lips sliding against his like a key sliding into a lock.

Maybe. Lex thought that Clark might just be able to make him believe in Christmas and miracles, the way he’d made him believe in friendship ... and love. He stuffed his hope into a dark corner of his heart and concentrated on what Clark’s laughter would sound like when he held a lump of coal in his hand, the ultimate badge of naughty boys at Christmastime.

Except this was Kansas, and there was no coal around. Just miles and miles of corn, and the potash they used at the fertilizer plant--nothing as substantial as coal. So, Lex had improvised. Grabbed a rock from the grounds, a rock that was dark and jagged and heavier than it looked, with flecks of bright green staining it through. It was the same green as Clark’s eyes, and Lex liked the feel of its weight in his hand as he imagined it settling into the toe of the stocking, heavy enough to make an obvious bulge, round enough to be a Christmas orange..

Clark had pushed through the mansion’s doors, pure breathless anticipation dusted with snow, and Lex had shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from pulling him into a hug. It was Christmas, but still, he wasn’t sure what the rules were. Did friends hug on Christmas Eve? It seemed like their hugs tended to follow life-or-death situations, excitement and relief pressing them together as they made sure they were alive. It was Christmas, though, and Lex really wanted something to go right for a change, wanted a week without blood or apocalypse, without head trauma and mutants and the familiar taste of lies.

Clark had noticed the stockings right away, and the flash of his smile was the brightest thing in the room. It outshone the star on top of the ridiculously tall tree that Clark had dragged in to Lex’s office, leaving a trail of wet snow and pine needles behind him, the tree Clark had insisted on helping him decorate with ornaments dredged out of the attic.

“You hung stockings, Lex,” Clark had said, smiling at Lex in a way that said he understood exactly what it meant that there were two of them hanging there. Together. Like destiny.

Lex had crossed over to the mantle then, and felt the toe of each. Made a show of massaging the toe of Clark’s stocking, indicating there was definitely something inside. Clark had raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.

“Hm, looks like there’s something in this one,” Lex murmured. “Wonder what it could be?”

“It’s too small to be a truck,” Clark said, coming closer. “Could be a very small car, I suppose.”

“Could be just the keys,” Lex supplied helpfully. Clark’s face froze for a moment as he wondered if Lex was serious. If Lex thought he could get away with it. If Jonathan Kent had been any other man, Lex might have risked it.

“You wouldn’t do that,” Clark said, breathing again. Another step and a hand reaching for the stocking.

Lex batted his fingers away, wanting to keep the game going another few seconds. This slow tease between them like really good brandy on a cold night, the way it burned a path inside him, warming places he hadn’t known were frozen.

“It’s Christmas, Clark. I’m allowed to give you presents,” Lex said slyly.

“Lex, what’ve you done?” Clark asked, but he was smiling.

Lex slipped the stocking from its peg on the fireplace, let its weight rest in his hand as he pretended to ponder what might be in it. He tried to look thoughtful.

“I think that maybe you’ve been a naughty boy this year, Clark. Feels like a lump of coal. What have you been up to?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Clark’s voice full of challenge, a hint of something that sounded like lust, although Lex was never quite sure. The words hit him like a fist to the chest, and suddenly he was breathless with want. He’d been in love with this boy forever. He stopped thinking, had to force his fingers to stop lightly rubbing the rock in his hand, imagining what other things might feel like hard beneath his fingers.

“So Clark Kent has a dark side?” Lex said, watching the flames reflected in Clark’s eyes. Clark smiled and caught his lower lip between his teeth.

“Everyone has a dark side, Lex. I’m not fifteen anymore.”

Thank God for that, although seventeen wasn’t much better. Still, Clark’s summer in Metropolis had changed him, aged him, and the intensity that had always marked their relationship had simply become more deliberate on Clark’s part. Lex hoped he wasn’t misreading the signs.

“So, what do bad boys get for Christmas?” Clark asked, still standing too far away. Lex swallowed.

“Anything they want,” Lex murmured, meeting Clark’s eyes. He saw his own desires reflected there, and suddenly he felt off-balance. This was still Clark, no matter what game they were playing. He didn’t want to lose his friendship, even for something that could be a hundred times better. Time to pull back, stick with the plan, do it slowly. Clark would let him know if this was something he really wanted. He was determined not to push.

“Better see what Santa left you,” Lex said casually, and tossed the scarlet stocking to Clark.

He caught it neatly, turning the stocking upside-down and giving it a shake, even as the easy grin threatened to slip off his face. He took an involuntary step backwards, confusion spreading like wildfire. The rock rolled into his hand.

Lex grinned. “It’s not exactly a lump of coal, but it’s ... Clark?”

Clark was staring at him as if the space between them had turned into miles instead of feet. Lex wondered why Clark looked frightened and surprised and betrayed all at once. The rock pulsed to life with a burst of green that echoed in Clark’s eyes. His skin. He choked out Lex’s name, as his smile shattered into a thousand broken pieces. Clark tumbled to his knees while Lex stared in slow-motion horror. He didn’t know why Clark didn’t just let the damn thing go, but it was as if it were glued to the palm of his hand, colour bleeding into Clark’s skin, racing through his veins like understanding.

Lex was unable to move, the weight of a thousand questions holding him in place, and it was a moment of absolute clarity. The rock was hurting Clark like nothing else could, and suddenly Lex realized the extent of his wilful blindness. Green was snaking across Clark’s flesh, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead, and his eyes were begging Lex to do something, anything. Underneath it all, Lex could feel the word “why” on the tip of Clark’s tongue, and Lex realized all this time he’d let Clark keep his secrets so he could keep the fantasy of a boy who would love him, who would always arrive in time to save him--even from himself. He hadn’t known. He hadn’t wanted to know, and really there was no difference anymore.

“Lex.” It was no longer his name, but something broken in Clark’s mouth, and Lex stood frozen, unbelieving, and maybe he couldn’t be blamed for that, but maybe he could. Clark would certainly blame him, and maybe that’s why Lex’s steps were slow on the parquet floor, slower than they would’ve been if this had been any other day in Smallville and Lex had found Clark hurting like this. Lex knew the instant the rock was removed, Clark would be gone, and so he moved as if through water or a dream, watching the exquisite twist of pain on Clark’s face as he sprawled sideways on the floor, still unable to let the rock go, even to save himself. It was as if the shock of betrayal had seared it to his skin, and no one but Lex could set him free. Lex wasn’t sure if he had the strength to do it, if it meant losing Clark forever. He wanted this moment to last. Even if it hurt them both.

“Please, Lex,” Clark whispered. “Help me.”

Lex knelt beside him, and placed his hand against Clark’s cheek. He could feel the veins pulsing under his fingers.

“You lied to me,” Lex whispered, his voice full of awe. He suspected it sounded more like anger, but he knew it for what it was. Clark wasn’t human. His best friend wasn’t human, and Lex still wanted him so much he ached. Lex wondered why love couldn’t ever be simple. Or painless.

“Lex, please,” Clark begged. He tugged on Lex’s sleeve weakly. “Don’t do this.”

“I didn’t,” Lex said, stroking a hand gently through Clark’s hair. “You did.”

Lex closed his eyes and leaned closer, rolling Clark onto his back, and kneeling above him. Clark’s lips were soft and yielding beneath his. Lex tried to imagine that the soft moan was one of pleasure, not pain or disgust, as he kissed him as gently and thoroughly as he could. Clark was kissing him back--he could feel the gentle struggle as Clark fought to find enough strength to move his lips. Lex swallowed his whispers and flicked his tongue gently over Clark’s lips.

“You won’t believe me, but I didn’t know,” Lex said pulling back, Clark’s hand in his own. He started to gently unfold the hand that held the shining green rock. “You should’ve trusted me.” Lex spread Clark’s fingers. “I loved you.” The rock dropped into Lex’s palm, and he threw it across the room. It skittered along the floor, dark and hard as coal. The green pall disappeared from Clark’s skin instantly, and Lex caught a look of hurt so raw it made him look away. He closed his eyes as he fell backwards against the floor, aching from the touch of a hand that was gone before his body could register its warmth against his chest, the familiar rush of air around him.

When he opened his eyes, he was completely alone.

***

Lex knew the instant that Clark returned.

“Is it gone?”

Lex stared into his drink and tried to pretend that he didn’t know exactly what Clark meant. There were too many answers to that question, and all of them should have been “yes,” but none of them were.

“What do you mean, Clark?”

“You know what I mean.” There was no trace of the wide-eyed playful boy who’d wanted his Christmas stocking. Lex was looking at a man with crossed arms folded across a chest as wide as Kansas, staring down at him with black eyes and a touch of hatred that Lex recognized all too well. He’d seen it in other people, but never in Clark, and it hurt like it never had before. Lex fought back a bark of hysterical laughter as he realized he’d managed to scar Clark in a way that would never show on his body. Yet there it was in his eyes, clear as cut-crystal. He suspected his father would’ve been proud. He swallowed the last mouthful of brandy.

“Is it gone?” Clark repeated.

“Be specific, Clark. The brandy? Our friendship? That lovin’ feelin’?”

“The rock, Lex.”

“Ah, the rock.” Lex’s eyes flickered to the fire, then up to Clark. How easy it would be to lie to him, how easy to let it all end here. Now. Before it hurt more, before it got worse. Lex had never taken the easy way out. “No.”

“No?” The step backwards said it all. As if Lex had struck him with something, and after all, wasn’t that exactly what he’d done? “Why isn’t the rock gone?”

Good question, Lex thought. It was something he’d been asking himself since he’d held the rock in his hand, placed it gently in a lead box and set it on the fireplace mantle. Waiting. The thing was that he knew Clark wouldn’t believe him if he said yes. Even if he’d gotten rid of every damn meteor rock in the whole of Lowell county, Clark would’ve insisted on scanning Lex and the mansion with whatever he did with his eyes. Lex somehow thought it hurt less to let Clark be right about him in some small way.

“No, the rock isn’t gone. It’s in the box on the mantle.” Clark’s eyes narrowed, and Lex felt a certain villainous pleasure when he added: “The one you can’t see through.”

He’d had some time to think while he was waiting for Clark to return, time to replay the moments of the past few years. Building a case against Clark, adding and discarding truths and lies, making them fit together like a puzzle that he’d always had the pieces to but never the time to assemble. Now he had the time, and everything, everything made perfect sense. He couldn’t believe he’d been so blind.

“What are you planning to do with it?” No acknowledgment whatsoever, and they were back to secrets and lies. All business. Clark wasn’t here to patch things up, to ask questions, to find out why. He wasn’t here to listen, give Lex a chance to explain as he’d done so many times in the past. He was here to ensure that Lex could be controlled, neutralized like a stray dog that wandered into other people’s yards and needed to be taught a lesson. Lex could almost see Clark running through the list of options. Could he hurt him? Lex was certainly no stranger to head trauma. Could he kill Lex if he had to? Could he do it if Lex was that much of a threat? The possibility was intriguing. Lex wondered how many other ways he had misread the boy in front of him.

“I’m not planning on doing anything, Clark. It was a joke. I know you won’t believe that, but I honestly didn’t know.”

“You’re right. I don’t believe you.” Beneath the anger, an overwhelming chord of hurt, and Lex could feel it echoing in his soul. There’d been betrayal on both ends. Clark seemed to have forgotten that.

Lex shrugged. “Suit yourself. You’ve already made up your mind, so I don’t even know why you’re here. You don’t want to listen, you won’t let me explain. You’re only here because you’re trying to figure out if you have to kill me to protect your secret.”

Clark flushed and Lex knew he’d been right. The thought didn’t comfort him. He’d never imagined that Clark would hurt him--at least not physically. It was a surprise to realize how naive he’d been. The amount of trust he’s placed in the one person who could destroy him with almost no effort.

“I couldn’t--kill someone, Lex,” Clark said and he sounded like he always did when he was trying to reassure him. But the shake in his voice told Lex more than he wanted to know. Clark was more frightened than Lex had ever seen, and fear warped people in strange and unpredictable ways. Lex had put a hole through Roger Nixon’s chest because of fear. He knew that sometimes killing someone was not so much a choice as an absence of one. If he’d left his father to die under that pillar during the tornado, it wouldn’t have been the same as killing him with a gun. He could’ve played the grieving son and no one would’ve been the wiser. It wasn’t as hard to kill someone as people might think.

“I’m not here to ... kill you, Lex.”

“But I know your secret, Clark. I know what ... hurts you,” Lex murmured, still staring into the fire. He had let Clark writhe on the floor in agony because watching him hurt was easier than letting him go. He wondered what that said about him. Maybe he was a Luthor, after all.

“Other people know my secret.” Lex felt an insane stab of jealousy. Of course, they did. People that Clark trusted. People who weren’t Lex.

“Other people aren’t Luthors.”

“You’re not your father,” Clark said, but it lacked conviction.

“But I could be,” Lex stated. It would be so easy--already the lines between right and wrong were blurred, the world he lived in more grey than anything else, and it was only when Clark was around that there seemed to be moral certitudes. Lex wasn’t sure how he was going to manage on his own, without Clark, because it was pretty much a given that Clark wouldn’t be walking through his door anymore after tonight.

“Why did you kiss me?” It wasn’t the question Lex had been expecting, at least not yet. It should’ve been “why did you do it? Why did you put the meteor rock in the stocking?”. Lex had answers to those questions, carefully constructed answers that he’d thought about while the clock ticked off the endless seconds and the brandy failed to warm the soul-deep chill in his bones.

“I had nothing to lose,” Lex said. “I knew you would never let me ... after what happened. I guess I should apologize for that.”

“But you’re not sorry.” The tremor in the voice sounded much more like Clark, and Lex risked a glance at him. The arms had unfolded, but anger and tension were etched across his face, pale as marble in the firelight.

“No, I’m not sorry about the kiss, although it wasn’t the best timing, I admit. I am sorry about hurting you.”

“Are you sure?” Clark said, poking at the fire with a wrought iron poker. The wood snapped and shot embers into the air.

Lex sighed with frustration. “I didn’t know, Clark. Yes, you’re the worst liar in history, but apparently I was more than willing to buy your bullshit because I really didn’t know. I didn’t want to know.”

“That’s a lie. You’ve been pushing me to tell you since we met.”

“And I’ve never pushed hard enough to find out.” Lex was on his feet. “You don’t think I could’ve made you tell me--if I’d wanted to? If your secrets were all I wanted?”

Lex took the poker out of Clark’s hands and threw it aside. He put his hands on Clark’s face and pulled him close, close enough to see himself reflected in Clark’s eyes. “You don’t think I could’ve seduced them out of you if I’d really been trying? Come on, Clark, even you’re not that naive.”

Clark pulled his face out of Lex’s grasp and took two steps back. Lex watched him lick his lips, tongue dark as flame, and Lex waited for the denial, the recriminations. This friendship was over and it was only a matter of whether it went out with a bang or a whimper. Lex felt a cold hand around his heart, and wondered at the fact that breathing was not nearly as automatic an activity as he’d been led to believe. He watched Clark watching him, and waited while the fire crackled and spit between them.

“Say I believe you,” Clark said finally, and Lex felt the air rush out of his lungs. “Say I believe that you didn’t consciously know what you were doing.” Clark’s eyes raked across Lex’s face. “It doesn’t change the fact that you know.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Or that you could hurt me,” Clark said quietly.

“I hurt you without knowing your secret, Clark. Is there really any difference?” Lex returned. “Besides, you can hurt me too.”

Clark looked up at that, and Lex felt a shiver ripple down his spine as Clark nodded. He’d never ever felt afraid of Clark until this very moment, and yet there was something exciting about a Clark that could snap his bones in two.

“You have to tell me the truth, Lex,” Clark said. The darkness seemed to pull itself around Clark as he crossed the few feet to stand in front of him. Lex nodded blindly, knowing that he couldn’t refuse Clark anything. He owed him something for what he’d done. If Clark wanted his life, maybe it would be better for all of them.

“The truth, Clark.” There were hands on Lex’s hips, and Lex had forgotten how big Clark’s hands actually were. They covered his thin hips, fingers stretching around his waist like a belt.

“I’m not human,” Clark whispered. “I could destroy the world.”

The whisper seemed to float from Clark’s mouth directly into Lex’s, and he swallowed the words like a tonic. Clark’s fingers tightened on his back, hard enough to mark the silk, and Lex didn’t care because Clark was afraid, and somehow that made everything bearable. It gave him something to work with, something to hold on to. Lex wanted to smile, but knew it would ruin everything, that Clark would think he was laughing at him, mocking him, the alien farm boy with the angelic face and the too-large hands who wasn’t allowed to play with other children because he might hurt them.

“I could destroy you,” Clark said carefully, making sure that Lex understood the truth of what he was saying. The subtle pressure on his back suggested there would be new bruises there by morning.

Lex stepped closer until there was nothing but the silken rub of fabric between them. His eyes glanced at Clark’s lips, the nervous flickering of his tongue as he struggled with the words. Their breathing was harsh and unsteady, and Lex realized with some detachment that they were both afraid.

“I could destroy you, too, Clark.”

Clark’s eyes fixed on him, hands lifting him off the floor just a fraction, enough that Lex could feel Clark’s strength coursing through his body. The fire snapped restlessly beside them.

“What would you do? If I wanted to destroy the world?” Clark’s voice was a breathless whisper against Lex’s skin, and he could smell sweat and cloves and the lingering smoke from the fire. An ember floated upwards and flared against Clark’s skin. Lex touched it with his finger, brushing away the grey smudge of ash.

“Would you help me, Lex? Would you stop me?”

Hands were unbuttoning his shirt now, fingers gliding hotly against exposed skin, and Lex wanted to close his eyes. Stopping Clark wasn’t anything he wanted to consider at this moment. He could feel the terror and the want and the fear just under Clark’s fingertips, all the repression that held his darkness in check. Fingernails scraped lightly across his chest, and Lex gasped as Clark’s fingers found a nipple and gently flicked.

“Would you let me destroy you?” Clark whispered, and the mouth that covered Lex’s was hot and hard, lips pushing into his, against his. The kiss was all teeth and tongue, and he could feel his lips swelling as they were licked and sucked. He fought back with every ounce of strength he had, struggled for control, forcing his tongue into Clark’s mouth, fucking him with it, knowing the taste of triumph when Clark groaned and pulled him hard against his groin.

Then they were falling, tile floor underneath them, grey as old armour, and Lex felt the rip of fabric and he didn’t know if it was him or Clark that had done it. Silk and flannel, denim and wool were pulled and tossed until there was nothing but skin, bare and golden in the light of the fire. Lex buried his hands in Clark’s hair and pulled him savagely closer, knowing there was nothing he could do to hurt Clark, at least not physically, and somehow it felt right to wrench his mouth aside, bite hard against his neck and listen to him try to form a sentence.

“Fuck, Lex, I came here … to hurt you,” Clark choked out, his lips red with kissing, and maybe a little with blood. Lex could taste the coppery tang of a split lip, and couldn’t bring himself to care, as he rolled over and over with Clark, bodies registering the shift from tile to wood, the heat from the fireplace no longer causing sweat to bead on their skin. They were naked and hard and angry, and Lex knew there was no way this would end without someone being fucked, someone split open and bleeding, the world a breath away from destruction. The thought thrilled him the way danger always had. He felt Clark trying to push him away, and fought to keep him close enough to lick and suck, and oh God, the hands on his body moved like lightning, electricity crackling between them like a whip.

“You wouldn’t hurt me,” Lex whispered, realizing it was true, and that Clark didn’t know. Clark was so afraid of what he could do. Lex kissed him, tasting blood again, letting his hands seize Clark’s wrists in a grip that would’ve hurt anyone else.

“I could’ve killed you, Lex. I--I actually thought about it,” Clark said, and Lex rolled them over again, until he was straddling Clark, pinning his arms above his head, and breathing raggedly into his face. His cock leaked hot and heavy against Clark’s muscled stomach.

“I know.” Lex kissed him hard, his tongue pushing past Clark’s defences, drawing out a moan that rattled the windows.

“God, I wanted to hurt you for--”

“For hurting you,” Lex finished. He stared into Clark’s eyes as he sucked on his own fingers, wetting them, licking his own palm before reaching down and grabbing Clark’s cock in his hand. Clark’s eyes rolled back as he bucked up into Lex’s palm, and Lex stroked him hard, harder than he could’ve stroked anyone else, and it seemed right that it was him.

“Yes,” Clark said, and his voice was a low rasp as Lex’s fingers slid over the head of his cock. “God, yes, I wanted to ... hurt you. Because I could.”

“Go ahead.” Lex said, pushing his own erection hard against Clark’s hips, needing the pressure, needing to feel Clark’s skin against his own. “Hurt me.”

“No, I don’t--I couldn’t--” Clark was breathless and needy, and when Lex let his hands go, they went straight to Lex’s ass, pulling him against him, trapping Lex’s hand between them, still stroking Clark’s red, wet cock as if his life depended on it ... and maybe it did. Lex almost laughed at the thought. If Clark wanted to fuck him to death, he really couldn’t see a reason to protest.

Lex grabbed one of Clark’s hands and pulled it to his mouth, sucked two long fingers into his mouth, and watched Clark’s eyes flare wide. His tongue licked around the fingers, getting them wet, knowing Clark was imagining his tongue somewhere else.

“Yes, you can, Clark. Come on, do it. You want to.” Lex nudged him roughly, and they were rolling again, Clark’s hand cradling Lex’s head before it hit the floor. Lex smiled into Clark’s shoulder.

“No,” Clark said, but Lex reached for his cock again and stroked hard, pulling a wretched cry from Clark as he fell against Lex’s chest, sucking on the nipple he found there, as if it were an involuntary reflex. Lex arched up into him, and everything was a blur of skin and touch and sound. Clark slipping down his belly, the flat of his tongue swirling in and out of his navel, slicking once over the head of his cock before swallowing him whole, and Lex might have screamed something that was Clark’s name. Clark’s mouth sliding up and down his length, awkward and desperate, tongue finding the vein on the underside and licking it eagerly, Lex pushing up, up against him, burying himself in Clark’s throat, and begging for more. He felt Clark swallowing around him, and that was enough to send him over the edge, Clark’s name carving sparks against the stone as he came.

Lex closed his eyes, felt the cool air as Clark pulled away, and Lex wasn’t ready to let him go, let this go.

“Don’t, Clark,” Lex said, voice wet and dark as Clark’s mouth. He caught Clark’s shoulder and pulled him down, the warmth of Clark’s flesh like a blanket covering him. “Don’t run. Stay and finish this, or you’ll never know.”

“Know what?” Clark whispered, and his lips looked swollen in the dying light. Lex reached out a finger and ran it across his mouth, then kissed him, sure he would never get tired of Clark’s mouth on his own. He could taste himself on Clark’s tongue, bitter and salty, and it was the most intoxicating thing he’d ever known.

“How this ends. Destiny. What you came here to find out.”

Clark looked at him blankly, and Lex laughed. Maybe it was the laugh of a madman or the suicidal or someone who doesn’t have anything left to lose, but for whatever reason he understood Clark better than he understood himself, and he could give Clark what he needed, whether Clark knew what that was or not.

“You came back because you needed to know what I would do, and more than that. You needed to know that someone could push you back. The rock surprised you ... and me too. You’ve always been the strongest person around, Clark. You could destroy the world, but I won’t let you. Yes, I’ll hurt you and you’ll hurt me because we both can--we’re both strong enough for that--but fuck, Clark, you’re the only one who keeps me from becoming my worst nightmare. I need you. I need you to keep me human.” Lex realized the irony of that, knew that somewhere the fates were laughing their asses off, but he didn’t care.

“But I’m not human.” Clark’s voice broke.

“Whatever else you are, you’re Clark Kent,” Lex murmured, hand tangling in his hair, “and you’re strong enough to do what’s right.”

“And what’s that?” Clark asked, sounding lost.

“Love me,” Lex said, and his voice broke. Clark’s hands were on him immediately, and Lex shook him off. “Love me, fuck me, hurt me, but don’t run away from this, don’t leave me with nothing. The only way you’ll destroy the world is by giving up on me, Clark, because without you ...”

“The world means nothing.” Clark finished, and kissed him hard.

“Yes,” Lex said breathlessly. Clark got it, Clark understood. Whatever else they were, they were equals in this. It was always easier to do someone else’s work than your own, easier to keep someone else’s demons at bay. They could both destroy the world, but neither of them would let the other one do it. They were strong enough to fight each other and survive.

Lex stared into Clark’s eyes, green as meteor rock, and the world was reduced to an expanse of skin. The fire was nothing more than embers, and Lex thought they looked like a new galaxy of red-hot stars that sputtered and died in the space of a heartbeat, a breath.

“What now?” Clark asked, and there wasn’t a flicker of doubt as Lex answered, “Fuck me.”

Clark rolled off and strode to the desk, Lex admiring the way every muscle moved with perfect grace as Clark opened the bottom drawer and extracted a small bottle of lube.

‘How did you–”

“X-ray vision, Lex,” Clark said, settling himself between Lex’s legs with the first hint of a smile. Clark slicked his fingers with the lube, lightly stroking Lex’s already recovered cock, before gently lifting Lex’s legs and slipping a finger inside him. Lex arched, pushing himself onto Clark’s finger, and letting out a hiss of pain.

“I can hurt you, Lex,” Clark said darkly, “but I don’t need to, I don’t want to.” There was another finger joining the first, stretching and scissoring, and Lex pushed harder, wanting it to hurt, knowing it would make it real.

“Pain makes it real, makes you know you’re alive,” Lex breathed between clenched teeth, concentrating on the movements of Clark’s fingers as they stroked into him, opening him wider and wider, finally finding the spot that made him see stars.

“Makes you know you’re human,” Clark whispered, and Lex nodded. They were more alike than he’d ever thought possible. The fingers slipped out and Lex groaned in protest. A gentle laugh, and then Clark’s cock was nudging at his hole, pushing through the first tight ring of skin, robbing Lex of thought and language, everything that wasn’t pain and pleasure and want. He was full of Clark, his own cock throbbing in response at Clark’s first thrust, a long deliberate slide, too careful, and so exquisitely Clark.

“Clark,” he said, and he heard his name given in answer, traded as if it were something precious, a name for a name, secret for a secret, and then Clark was all the way inside him, splitting him like an atom. Lex dug his hands into Clark’s shoulders, and opened his eyes, watched the wonder on Clark’s face as he thrust again, harder, brow furrowed in sweet concentration, and Lex matched his rhythm as much as he could with the stone hard at his back and Clark’s hands slick on his hips.

“Come on, Clark,” Lex said. “Harder. Don’t hold back. I want everything.”

Clark shook his head weakly, but his thrusts became harder, and Lex pushed himself off the floor, pushed himself against Clark, daring him to look away, daring him to let his strength go. Clark’s cock was burning inside him, hot and thick, each push a shock of pleasure and when Lex moved, the world went white as Clark found his prostrate and Lex might have screamed, really screamed as if Clark were killing him, ripping him apart inside, and really, wasn’t that what he’d been doing all along with the lies and the secrets, shattering him piece by piece with looks and touches and promises of what could be. When Clark came inside him, Lex thought the world had ended, white-hot and blinding, his body torn in two and his own cock emptying its chamber like a gun, Clark’s voice still echoing like a shot, Lex’s name ricocheting off the walls.

Clark curled around him like a wisp of smoke, and Lex wondered if he were drunk or dreaming or if the world really had ended and somehow this was what dying looked like–Clark, naked and smiling, wrapped around him in front of a glowing fire, cum still wet on their skin, open-mouthed kisses making a path along his neck. He rolled over and touched Clark’s face.

“Did I hurt you?” Lex asked, and Clark laughed. It was the best sound in the world, and Lex felt it wash over his skin like a tongue.

“I think that’s my line,” Clark said, gathering Lex against him protectively. “I’ve never ... let go like that. Ever. I ... I could’ve seriously hurt you.”

“It was ... better than dying,” Lex said honestly, and Clark’s eyes darkened slightly. “I mean, when I hit you with my car--”

Clark nodded and didn’t look away.

“--I died. For a moment, I was flying over Smallville.”

“I remember,” Clark said seriously.

“This ... us together. It felt like dying, like the end of the world, the beginning of it. Everything.”

Clark nodded again. “It was everything I could never tell you, everything I was afraid of. I’ve wanted you for so long, Lex, and I was afraid of that, of you, myself. What would happen, what I could do to anyone I loved … or hated.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. The rock. I really didn’t know,” Lex murmured, and Clark tucked him closer.

“I know. I could see it in your face, underneath it all. How scared you were, and fear--”

“Fear makes people crazy,” Lex finished, kissing him. “Love too.”

Clark smiled. “We have a seriously screwed up relationship, you know. I wanted to hurt you, Lex, and I could’ve done it. You couldn’t have stopped me.”

“I still have the rock,” Lex said calmly. “I wasn’t kidding about it being on the mantle.”

Clark looked at him thoughtfully, skin a shade paler in the flickering light. Lex stroked his hair gently, glad that he could touch him now, like this, the need to possess and control gone from both of them.

“But I didn’t need the rock, Clark. I know you. I trust you. You needed to know that too. To trust yourself. No matter what you think you could do ... well, I know you. You wouldn’t have hurt me.”

“And that’s why you ... you let me fuck you. To prove a point?” The beginnings of anger crept into Clark’s voice.

“No. I’m a selfish bastard, Clark. I wanted you. I’ve loved you since the day I opened my eyes and tasted you in my mouth. And no matter how hard I try, I’ll always be willing to do anything for that, for you. You have the strength to destroy the world, but you wouldn’t. If I didn’t have you, I would.”

“So why let me back in? Why not end it all? I lied to you for two years, Lex,” Clark whispered, and his voice was barely audible.

“Because you save me every day,” Lex said, brushing Clark’s lips gently with his own. “Because today you needed me to save you ...if only from your own fears. And mine.”

Clark kissed him gently, and Lex could taste the gratitude on his tongue, sweet as mint. He pulled away, and held Clark’s face in his hands.

“I love you,” Clark murmured, and his smile lit up the room.

“So this is what it feels like to save the world,” Lex said, and didn’t resist when Clark pushed him gently backwards, hands and tongue and mouth the only thanks he needed.

THE END

FANTASY

Smallville - Clark/Lex

Author: Angelee
Title: And Then He Kissed Me
Date: December 15
Fandom: Smallville
Pairing: Kal El/Lex
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Sometimes all it takes is a special kiss.
Disclaimer: Heh. Right.
Feedback address: angelee79912@yahoo.com
Advertisement: Part of the SAC-2004 at: http: www.kardasi.com/Advent/2004/SAC-2004.htm 
Beta: By my sister Anna. All final errors are mine-with apologies.

And Then He Kissed Me

Kal El stared out the window into the pristine beauty of his world, sighing heavily. It would soon be all his. A great honor to rule such people as the Kryptonians and it mattered to him greatly. He cared greatly about his people and his planet yet for a joyous occasion that it should be he found for him it could not be.

Could not for he was sad, soul-sick and so very lonely. None of the beautiful females or males his mother and father paraded in front of him eased his deep ache of loneliness or ease the hunger it caused to gnawed at him insistently, constantly in an never-ending waves of pain. None were what he needed. None. The hunger for his soul mate, the one he had yet to find, ate at him. Never giving him a minute of rest. Time grew so short, so very short.

Others of his world at the age of sixteen were all ready bonded with families of their own. Yet he stood in front of his bedroom window still alone, still lonely. Still so very lonely and untouched by anyone. Heart, body and soul still pure. Waiting, silently waiting.

He sighed once again. Startling when a voice behind him spoke. “Son, your answer will not be found staring out your bedroom window.”

Kal El turned unable to hide the sadness in his wide green eyes from his mother. “I know, but it helps to easy the pain. Knowing my true love is out there somewhere. Perhaps even searching for me as I search.” He said wistfully.

Lara touched her son’s arms offering him comfort. “I’m sure he or she is, son. You must be patient.”

“I know mother. But time grows short and I hurt with the need to find my soulmate. The need grows as does the pain. I wish for the love of my soulmate, for a family of my own.” Kal El rubbed his abdomen absently. No matter who he mated with, male or female, Kal El would be able to bear children. The only male on all of Krypton able to do so. A distinction given only to the Ruler of Krypton. And one of the reasons for his pain now. Time was running out. If he did not find his soulmate by the Winter Solstice, the day of his coronation as Ruler, the ability would cease to exist as would his bloodline.

“Have faith. It will happen, my son. I know it will.” Lara told her beautiful son confidently. Sadden by the fact her son had yet to find the mate of his soul. It worried them all. All of Krypton waited anxiously. For the handsome Prince was loved greatly by his people. All felt his pain, his anxiety, his need.

“I wish I could be as sure as you, my Mother.”

“It shall, Kal El. Even now your father searches the universes for your mate.”

Kal El smiled for the first time in many days. “Father has helped greatly. It