#GOD IM SO EMOOOO SLJDFSDFSDFLJSLDKFSDF

[phpruitts]

Phoebe could stay like that forever— even though her couch was not particularly spacious, and they would maybe even need a blanket, or some water, eventually Phoebe was perfectly content to lay atop Rafael's chest until the ending of time.

It just felt so ... right.

He felt so right. Broad and warm and firm. He didn't mind how much Phoebe snuggled into him. If anything, Phoebe thought he might be equally cuddly as well. Rafael Dahar, kingpin of Las Vegas, stroked his hand along the length of Phoebe's neck, deposited a kiss atop the crown of Phoebe's head.

If she could have purred, she would.

'Oh, yeah,'

'It’s Christmas, isn’t it?'

Phoebe, still smiling to herself, manages a rather limp nod.

'That means it’s time for your gift. I should’ve given it to you as soon as I walked in,'

And then he's moving— shifting Phoebe from his body, gently, pulling up on the waistband of his pants before retrieving something from the coat he'd shed earlier. Oh, that was right. Raf had mentioned a gift before! He was already so fucking generous, he already owed her nothing, especially after his promise to come see her every day, but Phoebe would be lying if she said her heartbeat didn't skip a little when Rafael returns to the couch, a small white box clutched close to his abdomen.

There's a minute pause. Phoebe just smiles at him gently. Tucks a ribbon of hair behind her ear with a curious glance.

He extends the little box out to her, and Phoebe plucks it with a quirk of her lips, eyeing the rich crimson ribbon, the rounded white corners that obscured the shape of whatever was inside.

Hmm. It could be anything. Rafael could gift her a rock he found outside, honestly, and Phoebe would be content, but she tugs at the velvet of the wrapping, lifts the lid of the box with curious and, and there, nestled in the center is—

Oh.

Hmm?

"It's a key?"

Phoebe, rendered hazy and formless from their orgasm, stares down at the silver teeth of the key, the smooth black FOB that looked like a river stone.

She blinks. Blinks again. That was most certainly a key, was it not? But ... why would Rafael be giving her a key? And why would that key— very new looking, very pristine — have that circular logo on the handle of it? Phoebe was almost certain she recognized the symbol, a luxury one, but she most have been wrong, the apartment light was playing tricks on her, the late hour had her mind fogged and boggled.

A beat.

Why was Phoebe's hand shaking? And why, when she spoke, did her voice sound so wobbly and thin? Confusion compounds in her chest, and a smile stretches across her face, cautiously, carefully, the question obvious there in the pull of her lips. "...It looks like a car key, Raf."

It just— but it wasn't a car key. Of course it couldn't be a car key. Rafael was wealthy, yes, but Phoebe didn't deserve a car, and she certainly didn't deserve one from Rafael, of all people, who had already taken her to the nicest restaurants in the city, bought her wine, picked her up from the club and deposited safely at home without a single complaint, held her close and called her gorgeous. He'd given Phoebe, for the first time in her fucking life, a Christmas that felt beautiful instead of achingly lonely.

There was no way Rafael had given her a fucking car, because that was too good for Phoebe, and Rafael was too fucking kind to her. Another second passes. Her entire heart seems to flip.

One tear, two, three, plop from Phoebe's eyes and land heavily on her hand, and she swipes at it, hard, for a moment, before finally scraping up the courage to raise her head and look at Rafael in the eye, chin wobbling, lip trembling, brows knit together in disbelief.

Sometimes, after an intense orgasm, Rafael felt exhausted. He could just fall asleep. Tired and overexerted, but — this wasn’t one of those times. How could he sleep after all of this revelation? After all of their intimate declarations for one another? If anything, Rafael felt revitalized. Content. No — happy. Genuinely fucking happy.

Phoebe buried herself into Rafael’s chest, and he took the opportunity to place a hand on the nape of her neck. He rubbed there, very gently, feeling — well, a smile, pressed up against his chest. Rafael smiled, too. He couldn’t stop.

Rafael followed Phoebe’s gaze, over to the clock, which showed that it was nearing two in the morning. Wow. It was late. And he knew that his mother would want him there for breakfast on Christmas morning, but Rafael had already made the decision not to go. If mama knew, she’d understand. She’d encourage it, actually. Rafael wouldn’t miss the dinner.

"...Merry Christmas, Raf."

“Oh, yeah,” he replied. “It’s Christmas, isn’t it?”

He kissed the top of her head.

“That means it’s time for your gift. I should’ve given it to you as soon as I walked in,” he said.

As much as he didn’t want to remove himself from the couch, he wanted to give Phoebe her present. He’d been nervous about it. He wondered if it was too much. He remembered asking his friends for advice, in a very … vague manner.

‘Do you think this type of gift is too much for someone?’ He would ask.

And their responses were never really answers. They just interrogated Rafael, wondered who he was asking for.

“One second,” he told her. He gently slid out from beneath her. He pulled up his pants, leaving them unbuttoned, as he walked over to the coat that he’d draped near the front door. He reached inside of the pocket, pulling out a white box, adorned with a satin red bow. Rafael was embarrassed by how long he’d been holding onto that. A few weeks, at least. It hadn’t really been intended as a Christmas gift, but … it’d turned into one.

He’d been so nervous to give it to her, so worried that she might be offended, or take it the wrong way. There were no expectations with this gift. Honestly. He’d just wanted her to have it.

Rafael walked over, sat back down on the couch beside her. He reclined back on the couch, rolled his head to one side. He held the box against his stomach for a few short seconds, noting that he didn’t feel so nervous anymore. He only hoped that she liked it.

Finally, Rafael extended the tiny box to Phoebe.

Inside, Phoebe would find … a key.

A key to her new car.

A brand new white Mercedes GLE. If Rafael had coordinated this better, he could’ve had it parked out front, but. Well. He’d been waiting for the right time, and this part hadn’t been planned. It would be no issue, though. Rafael could have it parked out front by the time they both woke up.

Rafael didn’t like the idea of Phoebe being out in public transportation whenever he wasn’t available to pick her up or drop her off. He wanted her to have something reliable — something paid for. With no strings attached, of course. This was a gift, and he expected nothing in return.

If she decided to walk away from Rafael — well. It didn’t matter. The car was still hers. Totally paid for. It had insurance on it. The registration had been paid for. Everything.

And he’d continue paying for all of it. Any future expenses. It was part of the gift.

“Merry Christmas, Phoebe.”