try to write one thing and get bit hard in the ass with other bunny. I don’t think this is entirely IC??? oh well, christmas is time for sap.
“Looks like snow,” Jean said, lifting the curtain and peering outside.
Immediately, Oliver’s fingers stopped mid-button, his head coming up fast to stare hard out the window. After a moment, his shoulders relaxed, his mouth twisting in a small scowl. “Ass. No, it doesn’t. Get your coat.”
“Looks like snow,” Jean said again firmly, despite the clear twilight sky outside, he dropped the curtain. “We should stay in.”
Oliver shook his head. “We can’t.”
“Why not? It’s not an official thing.”
Oliver’s fingers paused on the last button, “well no, but…”
Jean crossed the room to him. “Matthew won’t miss us. He won’t even know we’re not there.”
Oliver let one eyebrow rise incredulously. Jean ignored it, his hands coming up to curl around Oliver’s, pulling his fingers away from the half done button. “Besides, it’s going to snow.” Slowly, Jean began to undo the polished buttons on the navy wool coat, one by one.
Oliver’s hands came back up. “It’s not going to snow just because you don’t want to talk to Matthew’s bosses tonight-”
Jean made a face at the thought. In a moment it was gone, covered up by layers of what he would have described as ‘French charm.’ His fingers began to creep under the lapels of Oliver’s coat. “CBC is playing In the Good Old Summertime.”
Oliver stilled at the mention of what was, despite its name, his favourite Christmas movie. Judy Garland and Van Johnson did sound far more appealing than stuffy MPs…
Jean took the moment to slide Oliver’s coat off his shoulders.
“I brought The Hockey Sweater and La guerre des tuques. There’s a bottle of brandy in the cupboard.” Jean tossed Oliver’s coat to the side and stepped in close, dipping his head down to murmur in his ear, “we’ll put another log on the fire…” His voice had taken on a silken quality as he painted a picture of what could be, if only Oliver would go along with him. Oliver recognized the tactic. It was one of his own. Still… Against his will, Oliver’s eyes wandered back over the living room. The couch, with the faux fur blanket draped haphazardly over it, did look rather inviting. He’d closed the gates on the fireplace earlier, but the embers still burned merrily behind them. It would be easy just to throw another log on…And December in Ottawa was cold. And the weather could change, he supposed…
He felt Jean’s lips quirk up in a victory grin against his cheek.
“Are you sure you haven’t already been into the brandy?”
Jean nipped his earlobe.
One day, Oliver thought idly, he really would do something about having such an obvious and exploitable Achilles heel. It wasn’t good business. He leaned against Jean, pressing in close as they passed a mug of brandy spiked hot chocolate back and forth between them.