Christmas Ficlet!
Title: It's Cold Outside
Rating: PG
Pairing: Gillington
Prompt: Snow
(Author's Note: Merry Christmas! This is sappy, and not my best work, but darn it, I wanted to do one of the prompts before Christmas! At this rate the Thomas/Andrew Christmas story I'm writing will be a Christmas 2009 story.)
James held up his glass of Madeira so that the amber liquid glinted in the light of the fire. "I don't think I'll ever get used to Christmas ever being this warm," he commented as he looked out to see the breeze gently move amongst the tree leaves. "Still, to another Christmas finding us hale and hearty and with many more to come. Happy Christmas, Andrew."
Gillette nodded his head and raised his glass in response, murmuring the polite words in response before taking a sip of his own glass. "James..." he said noncommittally, "Do you remember the first time we met?"
Memories of long ago, more than ten years ago in fact, rose to the surface of James Norrington's mind. A smile began to spread on his face, so soft as to be almost invisible but to the man he knew as a lover. "Halifax."
He was a scrawny pole of a boy then, still trying to awkwardly make his way in the navy, and wondering why of all places he'd been sent to Canada. Half the people still spoke French, though thank God that lot seemed to stay in Quebec, and it was very far away from any action that would gain him the honor and achievement he wished for himself.
And he was lonely, but he was far too manly to admit to that.
"Halifax," Andrew repeated in a happy tone of voice, "Christ it was cold that year." He shivered despite the heat of a Jamaican winter.
James laughed softly. "There I was, walking along, minding my own business, when I'm pelted by a snowball by God knows which of the Mids from your ship, probably Theo if I should guess. I and my fellow Mids were honor bound to respond with a full broadside. We won the day, if I recall."
His lover snorted. "Are you sure your memory isn't fading, dearest?" Andrew asked in fake sympathy, "Because if I recall...you only won because my mates and I slipped on a patch of ice and into a snowbank."
"Ah, but that's when I won."
Andrew's eyebrows rose and his quirked up into a doubtful smirk. "By technicality."
James did nothing but take a sip of his wine and smile at the glass. "Whatever you wish to call it, Andrew, love, but I did in fact win. That was the day I extended my hand to a auburn haired Midshipman to help him out of said snowbank only to be unceremoniously pulled into it myself, and rather conveniently on top of the previously mentioned fetching Mid."
He settled back into his wing-back chair, waiting for Andrew's response, likely something witty and incredibly sarcastic.
Instead Andrew shivered. "I was cold, James," he admonished, "I thought it only your duty to warm me." He shivered again.
James leaned forward, setting his glass onto a side table. "And I take it that you wish me to extend the same offer again?" He smiled again, this time an expression of love and contentment, before meeting Andrew's lips with his own.
"Happy Christmas, Andrew."
Rating: PG
Pairing: Gillington
Prompt: Snow
(Author's Note: Merry Christmas! This is sappy, and not my best work, but darn it, I wanted to do one of the prompts before Christmas! At this rate the Thomas/Andrew Christmas story I'm writing will be a Christmas 2009 story.)
James held up his glass of Madeira so that the amber liquid glinted in the light of the fire. "I don't think I'll ever get used to Christmas ever being this warm," he commented as he looked out to see the breeze gently move amongst the tree leaves. "Still, to another Christmas finding us hale and hearty and with many more to come. Happy Christmas, Andrew."
Gillette nodded his head and raised his glass in response, murmuring the polite words in response before taking a sip of his own glass. "James..." he said noncommittally, "Do you remember the first time we met?"
Memories of long ago, more than ten years ago in fact, rose to the surface of James Norrington's mind. A smile began to spread on his face, so soft as to be almost invisible but to the man he knew as a lover. "Halifax."
He was a scrawny pole of a boy then, still trying to awkwardly make his way in the navy, and wondering why of all places he'd been sent to Canada. Half the people still spoke French, though thank God that lot seemed to stay in Quebec, and it was very far away from any action that would gain him the honor and achievement he wished for himself.
And he was lonely, but he was far too manly to admit to that.
"Halifax," Andrew repeated in a happy tone of voice, "Christ it was cold that year." He shivered despite the heat of a Jamaican winter.
James laughed softly. "There I was, walking along, minding my own business, when I'm pelted by a snowball by God knows which of the Mids from your ship, probably Theo if I should guess. I and my fellow Mids were honor bound to respond with a full broadside. We won the day, if I recall."
His lover snorted. "Are you sure your memory isn't fading, dearest?" Andrew asked in fake sympathy, "Because if I recall...you only won because my mates and I slipped on a patch of ice and into a snowbank."
"Ah, but that's when I won."
Andrew's eyebrows rose and his quirked up into a doubtful smirk. "By technicality."
James did nothing but take a sip of his wine and smile at the glass. "Whatever you wish to call it, Andrew, love, but I did in fact win. That was the day I extended my hand to a auburn haired Midshipman to help him out of said snowbank only to be unceremoniously pulled into it myself, and rather conveniently on top of the previously mentioned fetching Mid."
He settled back into his wing-back chair, waiting for Andrew's response, likely something witty and incredibly sarcastic.
Instead Andrew shivered. "I was cold, James," he admonished, "I thought it only your duty to warm me." He shivered again.
James leaned forward, setting his glass onto a side table. "And I take it that you wish me to extend the same offer again?" He smiled again, this time an expression of love and contentment, before meeting Andrew's lips with his own.
"Happy Christmas, Andrew."