Here We Come A-Caroling

MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY READING!

*~*~*
Family and friends have left, the ruins of present wrappings litter the floor. Two gifts remain safe under the tree. You go and retrieve goes and retrieves his. Then you sit, facing each other, amidst the ruins of Christmas cheer.

“Happy Christmas, Harry,” he speaks softly, dropping a kiss on your cheek and handing you an expensively wrapped box, the paper shiny and crisp, covered in the images of snowmen. Hesitantly you undo the paper, being extra careful not to rip it- not to decapitate any of the snowmen. Opening it, you gasp, almost letting go of it in your shock. It’s lovely! The most beautiful thing you’ve ever received. Worry seizes your nerves. What if he doesn’t like your gift? It’s second hand and he buys new. With trepidation, you hand your present to him.

“Happy Christmas, Draco.”

You watch him remove the bow, taking just as much care in unwrapping his gift as you did your’s. The paper is folded and set with the bow. He slowly examines it, running his hands over the smooth surface. He looks up, undecipherable emotion shining in his eyes. “Harry, I-“

You don’t let him finish. Stealing the words, good or bad, you pounce. You crawl into his lap and lock him into a kiss. He responds hungrily, meeting your lips. Your goal is to distract him and you succeed, twining your tongue with his.

You gently push him backward, straddling his stomach as his head is cushioned on the discarded gift wrap and ribbon. He looks back at you shocked and surprised.

“I want to give you something special,” you whisper as explanation, nuzzling at his flesh, covering his skin in gentle kisses and playful nips.

“You already have, Harry.” He speaks so softly you don’t hear. You are too focused on lapping at his neck, leaving your mark. You want him to know, the world to know, he is yours as much as you are his.

“Stay here.” You watch his eyes darken at the order but he stays in place, watching your every action from his place on the floor.

You slip back into your bedroom, searching through the rumpled blankets and pillows. You leave your clothing behind: your new sweater, your trousers, and boxer now in a heap at the foot of the bed. You return to him naked, carrying with you the bottle of peppermint oil.

He’s lying in the same position but he, too, has taken off advantage of his time. You spy his clothing, neatly folded, and set beside the nativity scene. You smile at him, thankful for his show of respect, his prone position on the hardwood even as you are thinking that the baby Jesus probably wouldn’t see it the same way.

Once more you come together. Passion makes your kisses sloppy, tour touches bordering on rough. You don’t care- you are kissing him, touching him.

You lean back, resting against his stomach. “I love you.” You press one more resolute kiss to his lips.

You reach out for the bottle you retrieved, pouring it over your fingers, letting the excess slowly dribble onto his chest.

He watches you through intense eyes, watches as you slowly draw one finger around your entrance, watches as your body greedily accepts one finger. His eyes focus intently on you, sitting astride him, preparing yourself.

A second. You groan as you slowly v you fingers, loving the stretch, loving the way his breathing speeds up, matching yours. He is so fucking gorgeous, lying there, covered in a sheen of sweat and lubricant.

Three. You enjoy the burn- and so does he. He doesn’t rush you though, graciously allowing you the time to play. Staying silent, he gifts you control of the moment.
He moans, groans, and whispers prayers to god when the fingers are removed and your body positioned above him. You draw out the intensity of the moment, both of you trembling through the tension, your heavy, panting breaths echoing across the room. In careful increments you allow your body to envelope his, pulling forth every ounce of passion he has to give.

This is your present to him, delicately balancing give and take with your smooth rise and fall. His hands on your hips offer support, guiding your pace. He lifts you. Gravity brings you back down. You clench around him.

He keeps the motions and speed constant, never enough to bring either of you to completion. You don’t care. You want to stay like this forever, on top of him, loving him.

He stops you, holding your body presses closely to his. Bracing you, he struggles to his feet. You groan in discomfort and moan in pleasure as he brushes that tiny bundle of nerves.

You break the mood when you let out a giggle. It grows into a full blown laugh- your body shaking. He cries out.

“And… What exactly is so funny, Harry dear?” You don’t answer, can’t. Instead you gesture with a wave of your hand. He turns to look, trying to find what has sent you into peals of laughter.

Disgruntled, he pulls away the flattened silver bow from his backside. “Very funny,” he mumbles, his voice pressing close to your ear. “But you want to know what I think?”

You’ve gone silent at the lust that pours through his voice. All you can do is look into his eyes and offer a shaky nod. Gods, do you want to know what he thinks!

“I think this is your bow. I think this is the very bow of the latest Weasley sweater, the one Mrs. Weasley hand-wrapped. Mrs. Weasley gave you this bow, Harry.”

He keeps up the panted conversation, walking you backward. Between the passionate words and the jostling of his body in yours, you could just about come.

“Not yet, Harry. Don’t you dare.” He reads you and in that moment you could just about curse his familiarity with your body. You would trade just about anything- would exchange all your gifts for a lump of coal- if only he would let you have your release. “No. I want to play with my Christmas gift a while yet.” You whimper at his firm denial.

“Gods,” he gasps, “Look at yourself.”

You have to crane your neck awkwardly to the see the mirror behind your back. The sight though is worth the discomfort. You are breathtaking- you and he, bodies twined, contrasting each other in every way. You watch him intently as he takes the bow and presses it firmly over your ass- the bow right above where your bodies join.

“What a beautiful gift. Will you be my present next year, Harry? And the year after? For all my Christmases?” You fall in love all over again as he presses kisses and promises into your neck.

“For all my Christmases, Draco,” you repeat the vow, panting, completely lost in the spirit of Christmas and the arms of your lover. “I will be yours for all my Christmases.”

He responds by lifting you, pulling you up and then letting your body once more sink onto his. He isn’t looking at you. His gaze instead focuses on the picture in the mirror- his eyes locked on that silver bow.

You stare as well- captivated by the image of you fucking him, him fucking you.

“Draco- I need….”

But he anticipates your wants before you can form the words. He’s carries you to the bed, pushing aside the pillows, he lays you down- his body now firmly on top of yours, pinning you to the mattress. “Gods… please…”

He thrust deep and you cry out, your hips rising- meeting his. The pace he sets now is fast and hard. After a morning of teasing play and an afternoon of slow loving, the almost punishing pace is what you desire. You grip the sheets in a white knuckle grip, his name falling from your lips in rhythm.

“Gods… Draco… I… Draco…please…gods…Draco-“

“Don’t come yet, Harry, Not yet.” His husky voice alone could send you over, but you forcibly hold yourself in check, reciting the names of Santa’s reindeer in your head.

Rudolph.

Dasher.

Vixen.

Comet.

Cupid.

Donner.

Blitzen.

Two more. Which are you forgetting? He thrust at a new angle and your concentration in dissolves. You struggle to keep from breaking his order.

Dancer! That’s it! And…

Prac-

“Come now, Harry,” he manages to groan out. In one stroke, he is coming inside you and you are lost.

~*~*~*

You both lay in the afterglow, tired and worn yet completely sated- your body a limp noodle. Gently he removes the now destroyed silver bow and carefully towel off your body, before tucking you under the sheets.

“Happy Christmas, love.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“Happy Christmas, Draco.” You turn over and catch him in a deeper kiss. “I love you.

“I love you, too.”

You smile and settle down to sleep- drifting off to a chorus of Jingle Bells from the carolers out in the snowy streets.


AN- Three Chapters! That's two more than my average. Any errors in this are mine. Marcy, my lovely beta, only got to read the rough draft and not the final product, I was just so excited to be done. After a month of working on this I'm officially done with Christmas and done for the year.
Let me know what you think, pretty please. Leave a review or a rating. It is probably the cheapest gift you could give this season and it really would mean a lot.
Merry Christmas, folks, and a Happy New Year!