Here We Come A-Caroling

AN: So...Unbloomed is actually out of town, this weekend- and told her loyal beta to post this, as to delight you lovely readers for the holidays.
Don't worry, this doesn't end here.
Enjoy!
*~*

Jingle.

Jingle.

Jingle.

You jingle with every movement and shift of your body. You look around and let out a relieved sigh. No one is looking your way- with any luck they will continue not to notice. Maybe they assume the faint tinkle is merely another facet of all the hustle, bustle, and ring-a-linging of Christmas cheer. You still wish you had done your shopping earlier. Being surrounded by the holiday crowd, the fear of discovery has you hyper-aware, on edge and feeling every shift, every jingle.

Jingle.

You wish you could hurry along, finish, and be done. You would have been done hours ago but for his present. The last item on you list, his gift, must be perfect, it just has to be. Truth be told you are also slowed by the bells. You daren’t move to quickly.

Jingle.

Jingle.

You gasp when someone bumps into you from behind. They move on unknowing, uncaring- just another faceless, last-minute shopper. You however become the distracted victim of the bells and the pleasure that has been unwittingly sent jingling through your body.

Jingle.

You shop for what seems like forever. Dashing into one store, exiting into the snow, darting into another, being expelled by the rushing, flowing crowd into one more storefront display. Night is falling. One more final shop and then you are going to give up. You promise yourself if you don’t find it here, he will be just as happy with a sweater or another pair of leather gloves. After all, it’s the thought that counts. You go in, almost expecting to look briefly and then turn around. Then you see it, the gift, his gift. You stop short.

Jingle.

It’s right there, in a second hand store, sitting disenchantedly amidst a pile of junk, ignored by the gabbing hands of desperate shoppers. Overlooked though it may be, it calls to you as his, this is what you have spent all day looking for. You reach out for it quickly, The abrupt action… the intense jingle.

Jingle.

Jingle.

Jingle.

You draw attention and can feel the blush that stains your skin. The stranger throws you an inquisitive glance. Thinking fast, you lift the leg of your trousers and mumble, “my socks,” exposing holiday socks patterned with the muggle Santa Clause. There are no little bells sewn on but this is just a frazzled shopper, not a trained detective, and with nothing more than a flickered downward look, the stranger vanishes, once more consumed by the Christmas Eve crowd.

Jingle.

You finish as quickly as possible, dealing with the winding line, the chatty elderly man who wishes to reminisce about the past and holidays with his grandchildren- you remind him of his eldest. The line is worse than the searching as you smile politely at the old man and deliberately resist the urge to shift foot to foot in boredom and anticipation.

Jingle.

The perky yet overworked girl at the register offers you a phony, hassled smile as you wait for her to ring up your purchase. When she hands over the wrapped, bow-laden packages, you merely nod in thanks and mumble an insincere ‘Happy Christmas.’ It doesn’t matter. She’s begun ringing up the next customer and you are forgotten.

Jingle.

You pop a peppermint in you mouth and then set out into the snowy night. You waste no time and take the quickest route home, desperate now for relief- from the crowded streets, obnoxious merriments, and the bells- the bells have you on the brink of sanity.

… Jingle.

You hurry up the ice covered walkway with care, enjoying the sight of the festive yard. Your sidewalk is lined with lit candy canes- your trees wrapped in red and white. A band of artificial icicles wrap around the house- real ice clinging to the tiny bulbs. You smile at he memory of the Saturday spent working on the yard- an afternoon of random curses, random kisses.

Jingle.

The step up to the porch has the bells once more going off and your musings are cut short. Your gloved hands don’t fit into your coat pocket, so you are forced to slip one off. Withdrawing a set of keys, you hurriedly search out the one to the front door.

Jingle.

There’s a fire roaring from the living room, the bright orange flames throwing shadows into the multi-colored glow on the evergreen tree nearby. Presents are piled underneath, spilling out into the room. Garland is strung along the walls above the rows of assorted photos.

Jingle.

He comes around the corner carrying a mug you gave him Christmases ago. It’s shaped like a snowman and you are willing to bet there is hot chocolate and little marshmallows within. He smiles, takes a quick careful sip, and then places the cup on a holiday coaster. He presses his warm lips to your cold chapped ones for a chaste welcome back kiss then begins helping you out of your winter layers. Your scarf is unwound. The remaining glove is slipped off. Your coat is unbuttoned and hung in the coat closet. He come ups and presses himself to you back.

Jingle.

“You find anything, baby?” He places kisses along the side of you neck.

You let out a slow moan. “This and that,” you mumble, you head tilting back to allow him better access.

“What did you get for me?” More kissing, teeth gently nipping at tender flesh.

You are almost lulled into telling him. Your excitement- his nibbles have you relaxed into vulnerability. Fortunately you are brought back by the jingle of the bells you have spent all afternoon cursing. Time to regain some semblance of control.

Jingle.

You reverse your position, turning in his arms and then pressing him to the wall. You are so close to the tree you can feel the warmth of the dim bulbs on your skin. You take possession of his mouth. The sweet chocolate and the mint mix as you tongues become consumed in the kiss. The flavors are intoxicating, but the passion, the lust…

Jingle.

The force is bruising. He tries to win back control of the kiss. You hold his lips, hold the kiss. The pace is not punishing, rather it is vengeful, passionate, everything it needs to be.

Jingle.

Those bells! You enjoy rocking yourself into him, setting those bells off over and over, watching his normally pale eyes darken with awareness and arousal. Those bells have you poised, hanging on the brink…

Jingle.

You move to his neck- he continues his attempts to regain control and at the same time turns his head to the side, letting you continue. Your hands slip under his sweater. It’s an older one, softened through wash and wear- one the Weasley’s gave you years ago- and though he’d never admit it to anyone it’s one of his favorites. You begin pulling it over his head, abandoning his neck. The new skin you have revealed tastes just as sweet.

Jingle.

The kisses follow the faint line of hair; his pants are unsnapped and drawn down. The red silk boxers follow. You roll your eyes at him- then remember your socks. The holiday season seems to get into the both of you.

Jingle.

You have shifted onto your knees for better access. You lower your head your hands holding him trapped against the wall. Slowly, you give him little licks- like a child enjoying a holiday candy cane. You are enjoying this, watching him surrender to your mercy. From this angle he could pass for an angel, a gloriously sinful angel.

Jingle.

You swallow him whole and know that in that moment this is the best Christmas present you could hope for. You would ask for nothing if it meant you could keep everything you have in this moment, if you could keep him with you forever. Your whole world, your greatest present is right here by the tree, wrapped in your mouth.

Jingle.

The tinkling of bells only seems to heighten his pleasure. He throws his head back and you wince, watching a strand of carefully hung garland now flutter to the floor. He seems unconcerned, lost in a world of warm suction and moans. You begin to hum, a trick you know will drive him nuts. You go with the first song that you can think of, the one that has played in your head since this morning- torturing you. He gifts you with his release to the faint hum of Jingle Bells- a moment of vulnerability you treasure for its rarity.

Jingle.

He slides down the wall, capturing your lips, delighting in the flavors he finds there. His hands are at your buttons, and you shiver as he unwraps you, leaving your flesh free for him to enjoy. The fire crackles from across the room but fails to defeat the chill that sprinkles bumps across your taut skin. His warm kisses though keep you distracted.

Jingle.

Jingle.

Jingle.

He pushes your shoulders back, looking for better access to the downward path he wishes to travel. Unfortunately, you collide with the Christmas tree behind you. Cardboard presents are crushed, and the sound of liberated ornaments rolling over the hardwood floor echos across the room. You ignore the unbalanced tree, ruined packages, and lost decorations; you have waited all day, on edge, for this moment.

Jingle.

He presses kisses to flesh that is slowly warming with lust. Down your chest, stopping to play with your naval. If it weren’t for…

Jingle.

He moves on, skipping over your cock, over the ribbon he had left there this morning, tied in an elaborate bow. That damned ribbon of crushed red velvet has worked in tandem to those blasted bells all day. Though you are enjoying his ministration, you have been dangling from this precipice for long tortuous hours. At this point you can honestly say all you want for Christmas is…

You scream louder than you jingle as he envelopes your cock in warmth. Your back arches and those bells beginning to ring anew. All you are aware of are the sensations, the lovely delicate vibrations that spiral through every nerve ending- the cat-like lapping of his tongue and the ever so exquisite raking of teeth.

Jingle.

Your body reluctantly surrenders a treasure it has harbored since morning- his hand behind you tugging firmly on the end of the string of bells. You moan and sigh at the pressure, loving the feel of a bell breaking free- its jingle well coordinated to the pleasure that rings along your veins.

Jingle.

“Gods-“ gasp.

Jingle.

Jingle.

“You are-“ pant.

Jingle.

Jingle.

Jingle.

“Driving me-“ moan.

Jingle.

Jingle.

Jingle.

Jingle.

“Cra-“

A scream rents through the air as he pulls the final bell free. At the same time, using his free hand he pulls at the bow, undoing all the intricate loops and twirls instantly. Through the rush or orgasm, you can hear the clatter of bells being tossed across the room. You don’t care. Wave after wave of sensation course through you. Everything but this very moment fades to inconsequential.

You slowly let the world seep back into focus and come face to face with an angel, a cold lifeless plastic angel. Your eyes open wide and you sit up, dislodging him from his place against your stomach. Your living room looks like the aftermath of a Christmas war. The angel, the expensive tree topper, just one of the victims. The tree, collapsed presents, loose ornaments, and fallen garland have all become casualties to your passion. A stack of Christmas cards have been ambushed- toppled by a discarded sweater. The plate of cookies “left for Santa” now empty- gingerbread parts now scattered about the couch cushions. The fire has slowly smoldered to a glowing orange- and on its grate, hangs a silent strand of perfectly round, golden bells.

~*~

AN: So....review? Or rate. Or refer your friends! =D