Wonderful Christmastime
Day 9 of the 12 Days of Christmas Challenge Fic
Part of the Greatest Peace verse.
-
“Say, Feliz Navidad!” Jaime grins down at Jean-Eric, far too chirpy for eight in the morning, their son in his arms. Alex gurgles, sticks his fist in his mouth.
“Ugh.” Jean-Eric replies, tugs the covers back over his head. He’d been the one to have the baby monitor last night, and so he’d dragged himself out of a warm, cosy bed and out of Jaime’s arms to deal with a crying, hungry baby and a dirty nappy, at two in the morning
“Jean, it’s Christmas.”
“I’m tired.” Jean-Eric groans, fights for the covers back when Jaime tugs it from him one-handed. “Jaime!”
“Dada!” Alex yells back, blinks at them when they both stare at him.
“He didn’t.” Jaime whispers.
“He did.” Jean-Eric whispers back, then does a double-take. “Jaime, what is he wearing?”
“It’s Christmas.” Jaime grins innocently. Alex is dressed in a red, festive baby-gro, hat with antlers and all. He looks ridiculous.
“Jaime, he is going to hate us when he finds his baby photos.”
“Every child does, it’s a fact of life. You get up, we’ll make breakfast. And then, we need to film you saying ‘dada’.” Jaime wanders out chatting merrily away to his son, leaving Jean-Eric to drag himself out of bed and eventually, follow the smell of coffee to the kitchen. Jaime’s chattering away to Alex in Spanish, their son banging cheerfully away at the tray of his highchair. Their presents are stacked on the kitchen table, not that many because they’d hardly had to time to shop, Jaime’s family is still barely talking to him, and really, Alex is not going to remember any of this and so most of his presents are clothes they’d already unwrapped. Alex is growing fast, and they can‘t really dress him in clothes that are too small, so they don‘t exactly feel guilty about opening presents early. “Morning.” Jaime smiles, turns round from his scrambled eggs to kiss Jean-Eric, before he concentrates on making their breakfast again
“Morning.” Jean-Eric replies, yawns. Alex is waiting for his bottle, so Jean-Eric settles into to a chair, baby in one arm, bottle in the other, and no matter how many times he’s done this, he still loves it, the warm weight of his son in his arms, so tangible and still so new and so perfect. The baby-gro really is hideous festive, but it’s Christmas and tomorrow Jean-Eric will happily wake up at two in the morning, if only to burn the bloody thing. “Ooh, thanks.” He nods, eyes up his breakfast and watches Jaime eat his own. God, they’re really domestic. Not that they had any choice really, it’s not like you can raise a baby with the sort of party lifestyle that’s almost expected of them, but you know. Dan’s been mocking.
-
“Don’t shake it!” Jean-Eric yelps, ten minutes later. Jaime yelps, immediately stops shaking his last present. Alex giggles, starts chewing on his new soft toy, looks up at Jean-Eric from where he‘s sat in his lap. “Be careful!”
“Sorry!” Jaime says, chastened, carefully unwraps the present to reveal a beautifully engraved photo frame, a picture of Alex and them when Alex was only a few days old. “Oh, it’s perfect!” Jean-Eric shrugs, reaches for the last of his presents and unwraps it one-handed, because Alex is squirming again, until Jaime gets up to heft him above his head and fly him around for a while, helpfully providing a tissue for Jean-Eric to sniff into and dry his tears while he examines the photo album, crammed with photos of all three of them, ones from before Jaime’s pregnancy, baby scans, several of Jaime at various stages of his pregnancy, and pages of Alex over his seven months of life. “One now?” Jaime suggests, picks up his camera, sets the timer and poses, grinning as Jean-Eric tries to not actually just burst into tears again with the pefectness of its all
-
“Well.” Jaime yawns, at six in the evening. Alex had dozed off ten minutes ago, and they’re stood watching him sleep in his crib. Jean-Eric has happily binned the baby-gro.
“Bed?” Jean-Eric asks, flings an arm around Jaime’s shoulders.
“Sleep sounds excellent.” Jaime admits.
“No. Bed.” Jean-Eric clarifies. “Alex has his own room, and it is Christmas…” He trails off, looks hopeful. Jaime smirks, and tugs Jean-Eric after him, stripping on the way and being sure to both turn on the baby monitor and shut the door, because he’s definitely a responsible parent.
-
“I love Christmas.” Jaime pants, some time later, peels himself away from Jean-Eric to pad naked across their bedroom to fetch a washcloth from the bathroom. Jean-Eric laughs, lets himself sink into their mattress and sighs, feels every last bit of stress drain out of him
“Me too.” He says, wipes himself down and tugs Jaime into bed, wraps himself around him limpet-style. Jaime doesn’t mind, merely tugs him closer. Alex snuffles over the baby monitor. “Oh, thank God, he’s still asleep.”
“I’m surprised. We need more quiet sex practise.” Jaime smirks.
“Of course. Tomorrow evening, same time?” Jean-Eric giggles quietly, flicks off their lamp and falls asleep to the wonderfully familiar sounds of Jaime’s breathing right next to him and Alex’s breathing over the baby monitor. Not a bad Christmas. Not a bad Christmas at all
Part of the Greatest Peace verse.
-
“Say, Feliz Navidad!” Jaime grins down at Jean-Eric, far too chirpy for eight in the morning, their son in his arms. Alex gurgles, sticks his fist in his mouth.
“Ugh.” Jean-Eric replies, tugs the covers back over his head. He’d been the one to have the baby monitor last night, and so he’d dragged himself out of a warm, cosy bed and out of Jaime’s arms to deal with a crying, hungry baby and a dirty nappy, at two in the morning
“Jean, it’s Christmas.”
“I’m tired.” Jean-Eric groans, fights for the covers back when Jaime tugs it from him one-handed. “Jaime!”
“Dada!” Alex yells back, blinks at them when they both stare at him.
“He didn’t.” Jaime whispers.
“He did.” Jean-Eric whispers back, then does a double-take. “Jaime, what is he wearing?”
“It’s Christmas.” Jaime grins innocently. Alex is dressed in a red, festive baby-gro, hat with antlers and all. He looks ridiculous.
“Jaime, he is going to hate us when he finds his baby photos.”
“Every child does, it’s a fact of life. You get up, we’ll make breakfast. And then, we need to film you saying ‘dada’.” Jaime wanders out chatting merrily away to his son, leaving Jean-Eric to drag himself out of bed and eventually, follow the smell of coffee to the kitchen. Jaime’s chattering away to Alex in Spanish, their son banging cheerfully away at the tray of his highchair. Their presents are stacked on the kitchen table, not that many because they’d hardly had to time to shop, Jaime’s family is still barely talking to him, and really, Alex is not going to remember any of this and so most of his presents are clothes they’d already unwrapped. Alex is growing fast, and they can‘t really dress him in clothes that are too small, so they don‘t exactly feel guilty about opening presents early. “Morning.” Jaime smiles, turns round from his scrambled eggs to kiss Jean-Eric, before he concentrates on making their breakfast again
“Morning.” Jean-Eric replies, yawns. Alex is waiting for his bottle, so Jean-Eric settles into to a chair, baby in one arm, bottle in the other, and no matter how many times he’s done this, he still loves it, the warm weight of his son in his arms, so tangible and still so new and so perfect. The baby-gro really is hideous festive, but it’s Christmas and tomorrow Jean-Eric will happily wake up at two in the morning, if only to burn the bloody thing. “Ooh, thanks.” He nods, eyes up his breakfast and watches Jaime eat his own. God, they’re really domestic. Not that they had any choice really, it’s not like you can raise a baby with the sort of party lifestyle that’s almost expected of them, but you know. Dan’s been mocking.
-
“Don’t shake it!” Jean-Eric yelps, ten minutes later. Jaime yelps, immediately stops shaking his last present. Alex giggles, starts chewing on his new soft toy, looks up at Jean-Eric from where he‘s sat in his lap. “Be careful!”
“Sorry!” Jaime says, chastened, carefully unwraps the present to reveal a beautifully engraved photo frame, a picture of Alex and them when Alex was only a few days old. “Oh, it’s perfect!” Jean-Eric shrugs, reaches for the last of his presents and unwraps it one-handed, because Alex is squirming again, until Jaime gets up to heft him above his head and fly him around for a while, helpfully providing a tissue for Jean-Eric to sniff into and dry his tears while he examines the photo album, crammed with photos of all three of them, ones from before Jaime’s pregnancy, baby scans, several of Jaime at various stages of his pregnancy, and pages of Alex over his seven months of life. “One now?” Jaime suggests, picks up his camera, sets the timer and poses, grinning as Jean-Eric tries to not actually just burst into tears again with the pefectness of its all
-
“Well.” Jaime yawns, at six in the evening. Alex had dozed off ten minutes ago, and they’re stood watching him sleep in his crib. Jean-Eric has happily binned the baby-gro.
“Bed?” Jean-Eric asks, flings an arm around Jaime’s shoulders.
“Sleep sounds excellent.” Jaime admits.
“No. Bed.” Jean-Eric clarifies. “Alex has his own room, and it is Christmas…” He trails off, looks hopeful. Jaime smirks, and tugs Jean-Eric after him, stripping on the way and being sure to both turn on the baby monitor and shut the door, because he’s definitely a responsible parent.
-
“I love Christmas.” Jaime pants, some time later, peels himself away from Jean-Eric to pad naked across their bedroom to fetch a washcloth from the bathroom. Jean-Eric laughs, lets himself sink into their mattress and sighs, feels every last bit of stress drain out of him
“Me too.” He says, wipes himself down and tugs Jaime into bed, wraps himself around him limpet-style. Jaime doesn’t mind, merely tugs him closer. Alex snuffles over the baby monitor. “Oh, thank God, he’s still asleep.”
“I’m surprised. We need more quiet sex practise.” Jaime smirks.
“Of course. Tomorrow evening, same time?” Jean-Eric giggles quietly, flicks off their lamp and falls asleep to the wonderfully familiar sounds of Jaime’s breathing right next to him and Alex’s breathing over the baby monitor. Not a bad Christmas. Not a bad Christmas at all