Fic: Assorted Christmas Presents (3/5)
The Christmas Party
for the_reverand
Nathan Barley, Dan/Jones, PG-13, 284 words
Claire's Christmas party had been a success. She'd networked her heart out, and by night's end was flushed with happiness and single malt whiskeys.
Jones, who had good-naturedly agreed to letting the squat be the venue for the proceedings, had spent the entire night hunched over his decks, ignoring anyone who came up to him to request "Mad World" or "something funkier". As the party wound down, Dan stood a few feet from the door, which had been propped open, letting cold winter air tickle the bare skin of his arms. He was watching Jones. He put a cigarette in his mouth and rolled it between his lips, but didn't light it. He took out his lighter and flicked his thumb over the wheel, then let the flame spark out, and then did it again.
Jones looked up from his decks and met his eyes, and smiled. People were beginning to filter out of the house, and Jones' mix was becoming mellower - though "mellower" in Jones' musical language meant wailing ambulance sirens, slowed down to a low speed. Jones jerked his head at Dan, beckoning him over.
Dan lit the cigarette finally, and walked over to the decks. He had to push his head close to Jones' just to hear him over the cacophony. Jones' lips buzzed his forehead, then travelled down to his ear.
"Happy Christmas, you sorry bastard," he said, his breath hot against Dan's skin and laughed. He grabbed Dan's cigarette from him and took a puff of it, and handed it back. "There. Now you ain't got to worry about getting me a gift."
Dan smiled. He had a gift for Jones already, but he'd surprise him with it later.
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The Christmas Portrait
for voodoohedghog
RPS (!), Noel & Julian, PG, 325 words
Noel drew and doodled constantly. It had been one of the many things Julian had found it difficult to grow accustomed to after they first became friends, or working partners or - whatever it was they were. Sometimes he drew fantastic things, sometimes he drew whatever he saw, but Julian always thought that even if it was something as boring as a sugar bowl he'd somehow make it look like it came from another planet. He got into the habit of picking up those bits of napkins or back-ends of receipts that Noel would leave behind him, and looking at the pictures later, in the hopes that they'd help him figure out exactly how it was Noel saw the world.
One time Noel caught him pocketing one of his scribbles as they left a pub. "What's that about then?" he asked. "I hope you don't have a secret room in your flat with a shrine to me, Ju. That's well stalkerish."
"Just thinking of the future," Julian replied, sliding easily into the banter they'd developed over the months. "One day when you're - we're truly famous, these drawings will be worth a fortune. I'll sell 'em all to collectors, right, make myself a tidy sum and retire."
Noel looked at him, his nose scrunched up in a thoughtful expression, and smiled.
Maybe that's when he'd had the idea. This was in October, and by the time Christmas rolled around, Julian had forgotten all about it. Noel hadn't. After Julian opened the wrapping on the present Noel had given him - it was flat and stiff, square-shaped, not too big, he'd thought it might be a CD or something, but it wasn't - Noel grinned expectantly at him.
"What's this?" Julian asked dumbly.
Noel blinked. "Contribution to your pension fund," he said with a shrug, and that's when Julian remembered.
Later on he hung the little framed portrait of himself up in his flat, and thought, I'll never sell it.
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The Christmas Snowstorm
for xthursdaynextx
The Mighty Boosh, Howard/Vince, PG, 271 words
"Now this is how Christmas should be," Howard said briskly. He clapped his hands together, and clumps of snow fell from his soggy mittens.
"Howard," Vince said, "Howard, I think my hair is frozen. Can we go home?" He poked delicately at a heavy, sodden lock, stiff with snow.
"Christmases like this don't come very often, Vince," Howard said. "And if you'd wear a sensible hat like me, you'd be fine."
"I ain't getting' any of my hats wet," Vince grumbled.
"Look at your ears, they're bright red!" Howard said, smiling broadly, as though he were getting some kind of weird enjoyment from Vince's discomfort. He took his mittens off and stuffed them in the pocket of his jacket, and slid his hands over Vince's ears.
"Ah!" Vince shouted, jerking away. "Your hands are bloody cold, Howard! Get away!"
"They'll warm up in a bit," Howard said, holding on tightly.
Vince scowled, but Howard was right, they did warm up. Soon his ears were stinging as they thawed. Little trickles of melted snow ran over Howard's hands. They must look pretty ridiculous, the two of them - standing in the near-deserted park, snow collecting on their shoulders, Vince in his leather duster, Howard in his ski cap, while Howard clamped his hands on either side of Vince's face. Vince smiled.
"Better now?" Howard asked, removing his hands and sliding his mittens back on. He turned and began to walk down the path.
"I'm cold in other places too," Vince called after him. "What are you going to do about that, eh?"
The only answer he got was a snowball in the face.
<<>>
for the_reverand
Nathan Barley, Dan/Jones, PG-13, 284 words
Claire's Christmas party had been a success. She'd networked her heart out, and by night's end was flushed with happiness and single malt whiskeys.
Jones, who had good-naturedly agreed to letting the squat be the venue for the proceedings, had spent the entire night hunched over his decks, ignoring anyone who came up to him to request "Mad World" or "something funkier". As the party wound down, Dan stood a few feet from the door, which had been propped open, letting cold winter air tickle the bare skin of his arms. He was watching Jones. He put a cigarette in his mouth and rolled it between his lips, but didn't light it. He took out his lighter and flicked his thumb over the wheel, then let the flame spark out, and then did it again.
Jones looked up from his decks and met his eyes, and smiled. People were beginning to filter out of the house, and Jones' mix was becoming mellower - though "mellower" in Jones' musical language meant wailing ambulance sirens, slowed down to a low speed. Jones jerked his head at Dan, beckoning him over.
Dan lit the cigarette finally, and walked over to the decks. He had to push his head close to Jones' just to hear him over the cacophony. Jones' lips buzzed his forehead, then travelled down to his ear.
"Happy Christmas, you sorry bastard," he said, his breath hot against Dan's skin and laughed. He grabbed Dan's cigarette from him and took a puff of it, and handed it back. "There. Now you ain't got to worry about getting me a gift."
Dan smiled. He had a gift for Jones already, but he'd surprise him with it later.
<<>>
The Christmas Portrait
for voodoohedghog
RPS (!), Noel & Julian, PG, 325 words
Noel drew and doodled constantly. It had been one of the many things Julian had found it difficult to grow accustomed to after they first became friends, or working partners or - whatever it was they were. Sometimes he drew fantastic things, sometimes he drew whatever he saw, but Julian always thought that even if it was something as boring as a sugar bowl he'd somehow make it look like it came from another planet. He got into the habit of picking up those bits of napkins or back-ends of receipts that Noel would leave behind him, and looking at the pictures later, in the hopes that they'd help him figure out exactly how it was Noel saw the world.
One time Noel caught him pocketing one of his scribbles as they left a pub. "What's that about then?" he asked. "I hope you don't have a secret room in your flat with a shrine to me, Ju. That's well stalkerish."
"Just thinking of the future," Julian replied, sliding easily into the banter they'd developed over the months. "One day when you're - we're truly famous, these drawings will be worth a fortune. I'll sell 'em all to collectors, right, make myself a tidy sum and retire."
Noel looked at him, his nose scrunched up in a thoughtful expression, and smiled.
Maybe that's when he'd had the idea. This was in October, and by the time Christmas rolled around, Julian had forgotten all about it. Noel hadn't. After Julian opened the wrapping on the present Noel had given him - it was flat and stiff, square-shaped, not too big, he'd thought it might be a CD or something, but it wasn't - Noel grinned expectantly at him.
"What's this?" Julian asked dumbly.
Noel blinked. "Contribution to your pension fund," he said with a shrug, and that's when Julian remembered.
Later on he hung the little framed portrait of himself up in his flat, and thought, I'll never sell it.
<<>>
The Christmas Snowstorm
for xthursdaynextx
The Mighty Boosh, Howard/Vince, PG, 271 words
"Now this is how Christmas should be," Howard said briskly. He clapped his hands together, and clumps of snow fell from his soggy mittens.
"Howard," Vince said, "Howard, I think my hair is frozen. Can we go home?" He poked delicately at a heavy, sodden lock, stiff with snow.
"Christmases like this don't come very often, Vince," Howard said. "And if you'd wear a sensible hat like me, you'd be fine."
"I ain't getting' any of my hats wet," Vince grumbled.
"Look at your ears, they're bright red!" Howard said, smiling broadly, as though he were getting some kind of weird enjoyment from Vince's discomfort. He took his mittens off and stuffed them in the pocket of his jacket, and slid his hands over Vince's ears.
"Ah!" Vince shouted, jerking away. "Your hands are bloody cold, Howard! Get away!"
"They'll warm up in a bit," Howard said, holding on tightly.
Vince scowled, but Howard was right, they did warm up. Soon his ears were stinging as they thawed. Little trickles of melted snow ran over Howard's hands. They must look pretty ridiculous, the two of them - standing in the near-deserted park, snow collecting on their shoulders, Vince in his leather duster, Howard in his ski cap, while Howard clamped his hands on either side of Vince's face. Vince smiled.
"Better now?" Howard asked, removing his hands and sliding his mittens back on. He turned and began to walk down the path.
"I'm cold in other places too," Vince called after him. "What are you going to do about that, eh?"
The only answer he got was a snowball in the face.
<<>>