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Christmas Holiday
In theory, this was supposed to be the Christmas holiday of their dreams.
He’d had it all planned out. He’d rented the cottage in the middle of nowhere, where it could be just the two of them. No London, no Hillingdon, no Night Council, no faction disputes, just the pair of them together for the holiday -- and the dogs, of course. He knows Lancelot well enough to understand he’d have a hard time relaxing without bringing them along as well.
The place is gorgeous. Probably a bit further out of his price range than he would care to admit, but he isn’t admitting and he’s willing to pay for a proper holiday together just the two of them.
In retrospect, Faolan should probably have known that with such high hopes as he’d had, something had been bound to go wrong. Just as soon as they had arrived, the clouds had taken on a rather ominous appearance, and then nearly seconds after setting foot out of the car, the rain had begun.
“It’s not exactly the most seasonal Christmas, is it?” he asks, glancing out the window at what has now become a frozen sleet mixture pelting down out there.
Lancelot follows his gaze, shrugging as he closes the door of the oven with a muffled thump.
“I don’t know,” he says, moving to lean against the counter. “I think it adds to the atmosphere.”
A large crash sounds from outside and very suddenly, the lights flicker off. Lily shuffles toward them from where she’d been laying just out of the way, whining softly until Lancelot’s hand reaches down to ruffle through her fur.
“You were saying…?” Faolan grumbles, raising an eyebrow at the other man though he doubts that Lancelot can see it in the dark.
With no small amount of effort and routing around through an unfamiliar house, Faolan does manage at least to find a box of matches and a candle or two. Glancing up, he catches sight of Lancelot and the two dogs padding in toward the light.
“Any luck?” Lancelot asks, and Faolan shakes his head.
“Must have been a tree branch out on the line,” he says. “Nothing down in the basement that I can find. Though there are these,” he adds, holding up the candles. “How’s the food?”
“Ah,” Lancelot says, gently. “Well, I’ve put it back in the refrigerator. So long as it stays mostly shut, it will keep.”
Faolan winces, setting one of the candles on the mantle in the attempt to light the rest of the room.
“I’m sorry for this,” he says. “Maybe we should have just stayed home, this isn’t… It’s not exactly how I’d imagined that things would go…”
“Don’t be sorry,” Lancelot replies, stepping forward to pet Faolan on the cheek and shush him. “Here, see if you can’t light that for me?”
He gestures towards the fireplace.
Faolan definitely raises an eyebrow at him now.
“Cold?” he asks.
“I have an idea.”
And with that, Lancelot disappears back into the kitchen.
With a shake of his head, Faolan sets about building a fire. He hopes that the logs set beside the thing mean that it is safe to use, he can’t honestly remember whether it had said anything in the materials or not. Last thing they need is to burn the house down around themselves when it isn’t even theirs to begin with.
He’s just about got the kindling lit when Lancelot returns with chopped sausage and pieces of vegetable skewered on a pair of sticks.
“It’s not exactly how I’d planned to make these,” he says, moving to examine Faolan’s work. “But it’ll do. Here.”
He hands Faolan the sticks.
“Hold these over the fire,” he says, straightening to pad over to the couch and fetching a blanket off of it.
“For how long?” Faolan asks, as Lancelot drops back down beside him.
“Hmm,” Lancelot replies, peering at the vegetables, “Certainly longer than that.”
He bends to sit down beside the other man, tossing the blanket over Faolan’s shoulders with a smile, leaning into his side.
“Here,” he says, reaching forward to gently position the sticks a little closer to the fire.
“Alright?” he asks.
“Is it?” Faolan asks in return, leaning to tuck the other end of the blanked in around Lancelot in return. “It isn’t… Exactly what I pictured.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Lancelot says. “We’ve got food, it’s warm.” He gestures to the fire. “And you’re here.” He nudges Faolan gently.
Faolan flushes, ducking his head towards the fire.
“Oh, and Lily and Sadie, of course,” Lancelot continues, which earns him the thumping of tails from where the pair of them have settled themselves in their various corners of the room.
“Don’t worry,” Lancelot says to Sadie, “you’ll get your sausage too.”
“So… Holiday not ruined after all?” Faolan asks, somewhat nervously, which earns him a bright laugh from Lancelot in return.
“No,” he says. “Holiday definitely not ruined after all.”
He leans in to press a kiss against Faolan’s cheek.
“Merry Christmas, Faolan.”
Faolan turns towards the other man, flashing him a sheepish smile. Reaching to tangle his fingers in Lancelot’s curls and tugging him in for a proper kiss, lingering there in his warmth.
Lancelot smiles against his lips.
“Try not to burn the sausages,” he says, softly.
He’d had it all planned out. He’d rented the cottage in the middle of nowhere, where it could be just the two of them. No London, no Hillingdon, no Night Council, no faction disputes, just the pair of them together for the holiday -- and the dogs, of course. He knows Lancelot well enough to understand he’d have a hard time relaxing without bringing them along as well.
The place is gorgeous. Probably a bit further out of his price range than he would care to admit, but he isn’t admitting and he’s willing to pay for a proper holiday together just the two of them.
In retrospect, Faolan should probably have known that with such high hopes as he’d had, something had been bound to go wrong. Just as soon as they had arrived, the clouds had taken on a rather ominous appearance, and then nearly seconds after setting foot out of the car, the rain had begun.
“It’s not exactly the most seasonal Christmas, is it?” he asks, glancing out the window at what has now become a frozen sleet mixture pelting down out there.
Lancelot follows his gaze, shrugging as he closes the door of the oven with a muffled thump.
“I don’t know,” he says, moving to lean against the counter. “I think it adds to the atmosphere.”
A large crash sounds from outside and very suddenly, the lights flicker off. Lily shuffles toward them from where she’d been laying just out of the way, whining softly until Lancelot’s hand reaches down to ruffle through her fur.
“You were saying…?” Faolan grumbles, raising an eyebrow at the other man though he doubts that Lancelot can see it in the dark.
With no small amount of effort and routing around through an unfamiliar house, Faolan does manage at least to find a box of matches and a candle or two. Glancing up, he catches sight of Lancelot and the two dogs padding in toward the light.
“Any luck?” Lancelot asks, and Faolan shakes his head.
“Must have been a tree branch out on the line,” he says. “Nothing down in the basement that I can find. Though there are these,” he adds, holding up the candles. “How’s the food?”
“Ah,” Lancelot says, gently. “Well, I’ve put it back in the refrigerator. So long as it stays mostly shut, it will keep.”
Faolan winces, setting one of the candles on the mantle in the attempt to light the rest of the room.
“I’m sorry for this,” he says. “Maybe we should have just stayed home, this isn’t… It’s not exactly how I’d imagined that things would go…”
“Don’t be sorry,” Lancelot replies, stepping forward to pet Faolan on the cheek and shush him. “Here, see if you can’t light that for me?”
He gestures towards the fireplace.
Faolan definitely raises an eyebrow at him now.
“Cold?” he asks.
“I have an idea.”
And with that, Lancelot disappears back into the kitchen.
With a shake of his head, Faolan sets about building a fire. He hopes that the logs set beside the thing mean that it is safe to use, he can’t honestly remember whether it had said anything in the materials or not. Last thing they need is to burn the house down around themselves when it isn’t even theirs to begin with.
He’s just about got the kindling lit when Lancelot returns with chopped sausage and pieces of vegetable skewered on a pair of sticks.
“It’s not exactly how I’d planned to make these,” he says, moving to examine Faolan’s work. “But it’ll do. Here.”
He hands Faolan the sticks.
“Hold these over the fire,” he says, straightening to pad over to the couch and fetching a blanket off of it.
“For how long?” Faolan asks, as Lancelot drops back down beside him.
“Hmm,” Lancelot replies, peering at the vegetables, “Certainly longer than that.”
He bends to sit down beside the other man, tossing the blanket over Faolan’s shoulders with a smile, leaning into his side.
“Here,” he says, reaching forward to gently position the sticks a little closer to the fire.
“Alright?” he asks.
“Is it?” Faolan asks in return, leaning to tuck the other end of the blanked in around Lancelot in return. “It isn’t… Exactly what I pictured.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Lancelot says. “We’ve got food, it’s warm.” He gestures to the fire. “And you’re here.” He nudges Faolan gently.
Faolan flushes, ducking his head towards the fire.
“Oh, and Lily and Sadie, of course,” Lancelot continues, which earns him the thumping of tails from where the pair of them have settled themselves in their various corners of the room.
“Don’t worry,” Lancelot says to Sadie, “you’ll get your sausage too.”
“So… Holiday not ruined after all?” Faolan asks, somewhat nervously, which earns him a bright laugh from Lancelot in return.
“No,” he says. “Holiday definitely not ruined after all.”
He leans in to press a kiss against Faolan’s cheek.
“Merry Christmas, Faolan.”
Faolan turns towards the other man, flashing him a sheepish smile. Reaching to tangle his fingers in Lancelot’s curls and tugging him in for a proper kiss, lingering there in his warmth.
Lancelot smiles against his lips.
“Try not to burn the sausages,” he says, softly.