#OTP: January Embers | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dcbbw · 2 years ago

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Hazy Shades of Winter

Happy 2023, tumblrs! Or as I like to say, “Welcome to 2020-3,” which means Year 3 of the Year 2020. The FIRST DAY of the NEW YEAR, I tested positive for Covid. For the second time within a year. I’m grateful both cases have been relatively mild, and I remain (somewhat) functional.

My first fic for 2020-3 is a collection of drabbles comprised of the many Winter OTP asks sent to me by the lovely @neotericthemis. I could’ve made it easy on myself and simply answered Person A/Person B, but I’m extra and frankly, I wondered if I could make coherent, cohesive stories from the asks … and here we are.

Not beta’d, and it’s mostly written, proofed and edited by Covid. You’ve been warned. MS Editor rates this story 99% error-free. Please excuse any and all typos, missing/extraneous words, and/or grammatical errors.

I hope all who read this enjoy it. THANK YOU to those who comment, like, and/or reblog; it is appreciated more than you will ever know.

Pairings in this story (these stories): Liam x Riley; Liam x Maxwell

Rating is M for Mature (it’s me, and better to err on the side of caution)

All characters (except Fric and Frac) belong to Pixelberry

Song Inspo: Silent Night, DRM

Word Count:4,779

Discontent Liam x Riley

Who wants to cosy up to the fire?

Who wants a kiss under the mistletoe?

Who is bad at ice skating and keeps falling on their butt?

The doors to the monarchs’ private suite quietly shut behind the King as he entered the darkened quarters. A fire burned in the hearth, embers popping and hissing as the blaze consumed the logs. The heat warded off the chill from the snow and ice outside.

It was a centuries-old palace; windows were drafty despite upgrades to the heating units.

His eyes adjusted to the dimness, and his gaze found Mara dozing fitfully in a wingback armchair. As he silently padded across the carpet, he saw his wife’s prone form on the settee in his peripheral vision.

Her white satin sleeping gown was yellowed by the firelight; a blanket was bunched at her feet. Her soft snores reminded him of a kitten purring.

Mara started at feeling the gentle shove upon her shoulder; her eyes blinked open, and she looked sheepishly at her employer. Liam reassured her with a small smile.

“You’re fine,” he whispered. He tilted his head in his wife’s direction. “Did Riley eat tonight?”

The sentry nodded affirmatively. When she spoke, her tone was hushed. “Pasta. She made sure a plate was put aside for you. It’s in the refrigerator.”

“What did she … drink?” His voice tripped over the last word.

“Wine. Just one bottle tonight.”

Liam nodded slowly, staring at a sleeping Riley before speaking. “You go get some sleep, Mara. I’m here now.”

Mara stiffly rose from her seat. “I’ll put the alarm on my way out.”

“Thank you,” the King replied as he made his way to the sofa, removing shoes and jacket along the way.

He paused to pull the throw up over Riley’s body before settling into a corner of the divan, gently lifting his Queen’s head so it now rested in his lap. January moonlight eked through partially closed curtains as his gaze trained on the fire.

There was a time when Riley would be the first one awake, dressed, and ready to indulge in outdoor winter sports, particularly ice skating despite the fact she was terrible at it. She would hit Liam over his head with pillows until he grudgingly woke up and joined her and their friends at the pond on the North Lawn.

Her eyes would widen with fright as she wobbled and stumbled onto the ice; they would fill with rueful acceptance and laughter when she inevitably fell. But they would close in blessed relief when Liam’s strong arms wrapped around her, steadying her balance as he guided them around the lake.

Now, she fretted that all the falls contributed to her infertility, despite assurances from doctors and her husband that it wasn’t true.

Christmas was their favorite holiday. Riley liked to say winter was a time of rest and rejuvenation; that the world slowed down and people were kinder, gentler when the nights were the longest. Of all her duties as Queen, her favorite project was the annual holiday decorating of the Grand Foyers at both the Palace and Valtoria. She hung mistletoe beneath every doorway, and over their bed as not-so-subtle hints to her husband to kiss her.

As if he needed reminders.

On Christmas Eve, she would enter their bedchambers naked and covered in faux mistletoe; the sun would be rising before Liam removed all the green leaves from her body.

His fingers idly combed through her hair as he recalled that his Queen had not hung one mistletoe over the holiday season. Liam could not remember the last time he and his wife had touched each other intimately.

God, he missed her.

He sighed as his gaze shifted from the fire to Riley’s profile. She looked … peaceful in repose. There was no worry, no stress, no tension in sleep. He removed his fingers from her hair, pressed a kiss to the index and middle fingers, and lay the digits against her cheek.

At least she still enjoyed sitting by a fire. They could continue to share that, at least.

“Liam?” Riley stirred slightly.

“I’m here, love,” he answered quietly.

He expected her to leave; rise up, grab a bottle of gin, and sweep into her chambers in an effort to avoid the fact she had a husband, that they had a marriage.

But she didn’t.

“The fire’s lovely, isn’t it?” she murmured sleepily as she continued to lay her head in his lap.

“It is. Do you need another blanket?” he asked, the back of his fingers idly stroking her cheek.

She shook her head slightly. “No.”

“Do you wish to retire to your quarters?”

A pause. “Can we just stay here?”

Liam released a silent sigh of relief. “Of course, love.”

Object of Affection Liam x Riley (Mermaids)

Who still believes in Santa?

Who is the best gift giver?

Who wants to go caroling?

“Lady Riley, why aren’t you ready?” Liam demanded indignantly.

He stood in her common area, wearing a tuxedo and a top hat. His hands were on his hips, and a frown downturned his lips.

“Ready for what? And why are you dressed that way?” Riley questioned as she rummaged in her refrigerator. She let out a triumphant cry as she pulled out a carton of Lythikos nog.

“Caroling! Every year, the reigning monarch, along with their family and closest friends, go caroling the week before Christmas along the Stormholt Historic District. I put it on your calendar!”

Riley drank her nog directly from the carton, wiping away the left-behind creamy mustache from her upper lip with the back of her hand. Her eyes went between Liam and looking down at her outfit: blue yoga pants, a sleeveless white tee shirt that read: Peace. Love. Bubblegum.; fuzzy pink slipper socks were on her feet. Her hair was a frizzy afro.

“I never got the calendar invite. You can check for yourself,” she shrugged.

Liam began to pace the rooms, clearly agitated. “This is TRADITION, and you are treating it so … so nonchalantly! As Queen, you will be expected to …”

“You forget, me marrying you was MY idea! NOT yours. I realize the expectations. I am telling you, I received nada from you or your people,” Riley retorted as she disappeared into her bedroom.

“Where are you going now?” Liam demanded angrily.

“To get ready!” Riley snapped.

Liam tossed his hat onto a nearby chair before picking up his betrothed’s phone. “May I check your calendar?” he called out.

“I don’t care,” Riley replied before the sound of the shower turning on filled the space.

Liam’s brow furrowed as he pulled up Riley’s outlook. Obviously, she stayed logged in as it opened immediately. His eyes quickly scanned the list of correspondence: Regina, Madeleine, himself, her assistant. He tapped the calendar icon; December 18 was empty.

The frown between his brows deepened. Liam had personally sent the invitation on December 1; he hadn’t had time to follow-up with Riley on her confirmation. End-of-year was a busy time for governance, and he had been busy meeting with duchy leaders regarding finances, trade agreements, and a military alliance amongst many pressing issues.

Did he somehow overlook her invitation?

“Do I need to carry a candle and a book, like Charles Dickens?” Riley’s question interrupted his wonderings.

He looked up, and his eyes widened in wonder and delight. His fiancée stood before him in a high-necked, green velvet maxi dress adorned with white sequined snowflakes. Her hair was an upsweep of glossy brown curls. Sensibly heeled dark brown boots adorned her feet and disappeared beneath the skirt of her frock.

“You look utterly gorgeous,” Liam praised as he bowed to kiss the back of her hand.

“Thank you,” Riley blushed.

“Is the car waiting downstairs?” Riley asked as Liam helped wrap a white, woolen cloak about her body.

“We’ll be arriving by horse-drawn carriage,” Liam corrected.

“You know what would be a better tradition? A live Christmas Eve concert at Bossina Cathedral broadcast to all Cordonia so no citizen is or feels left out.”

Liam paused to stare thoughtfully at Riley. “That is definitely something to consider.”

“I’m on the Holiday Planning Committee. I’ll bring it up at the next meeting.”

In the carriage, the couple made small talk.

“What were your plans this evening if not for caroling?” Liam inquired as he held Riley’s gloved hand in his.

“Hanging Christmas lights inside my rooms. Santa has to know where to find me now since I didn’t leave a forwarding address.”

“I believe Santa knows where to find all the good boys and girls.”

“And we’re back to: I need him to know where to find me!” Riley chuckled.

“I’m happy to help you with the Christmas lights if you’d like,” Liam offered, his eyes glued on her profile.

Riley looked at him skeptically. “My people will call your people.”

They settled into comfortable silence, relishing in the scenery and each other’s company. Liam’s thoughts were focused on his Christmas present to Riley.

Her engagement ring. Her new one. One given out of want and respect, not duty and obligation.

The carriage slowed as they reached their destination, Stormholt Square.

“Will there be bathroom breaks?”

“Shopkeepers provide us with refreshments such as hot cider, hot cocoa, fudge, treats. We are also welcome to utilize their facilities.”

“Thank God,” Riley muttered as she prepared to open her door.

Before she could pull the handle, the door was swung open; before her was the Duchess of Lythikos, her red hair hidden beneath a black Russian fur hat, and her svelte figure encased in a chic red coat. Her Grace’s expression swiftly changed from delight to one of bewildered confusion; Riley saw thinly veiled consternation creep into Olivia’s green eyes.

And in that moment, Riley knew exactly what had happened to her calendar invite.

SGL x Riley B. (DC AU)

Who makes the other hot chocolate?

Who listens to Christmas music way too early?

Who puts up the Christmas lights?

“Voila! Chocolate chip Belgian waffles and caramel hot chocolate!” Liam announced with a wink as he placed a plate and mug before Riley.

Riley’s brown eyes rolled as she took in Liam wearing a snowman onesie, complete with a jaunty red scarf around his neck and a black top hat on the hood, but grew appreciative when she saw the food.

“Why are we dressed this way for breakfast?” she questioned as she pushed the sleeves of her Grinch onesie further up her arms. Riley was messy with syrup, and she liked her waffles with lots of butter and syrup.

“Tis the SEASON!” Liam explained as if it were obvious, before blowing on his cup of cocoa.

Riley looked around as she chewed her waffle; it was delicious. Liam had made them with buttermilk and vanilla.

The sounds of Ella Fitzgerald singing Christmas carols filled the apartment. A six-foot-tall tree stood in a corner of the dining area, decorated with garland, balls, and various ornaments collected over the years. Every window in Liam’s apartment was framed with twinkling Christmas lights. An inflatable reindeer stood watch on the fire escape.

“Liam, you’ve done a great job decorating, but don’t you think it’s a little … much?” she asked.

Liam looked at Riley as if she had slapped him. “THAT right there is why you’re the Grinch, Riley B.! I never figured you to be a Scrooge!”

“And I never thought you were a psycho!”

“I like Christmas, okay?”

“IT’S VETERAN’S DAY! I get it … Christmas is special, for good reason. But celebrating early detracts from the holidays that precede it and makes Christmas less special when it arrives!”

Liam shoved a forkful of waffles into his mouth. “What’s wrong with invoking the spirit that Christmas brings a little earlier? People are kinder, more generous, and just BETTER human beings at Christmas!”

“Then become a Catholic and celebrate December 25 through January 6!”

Riley held out her empty plate. “More, please.”

Liam’s eyes widened in an almost comical manner. “You just called me a psycho and told me to join an organized religion simply because I LIKE CHRISTMAS!” He shook his head resolutely. “No more waffles for YOU!”

Riley set her empty plate down slowly. “I … I didn’t say THAT!”

“But you did!” Liam argued.

“Not LIKE THAT!” Riley protested.

“YES, like that! Those words were said with intent, Riley B. Whether it was specific or general can be debated. But you spoke them with a clear intent.”

He sliced more waffle, then glanced over at her mug. “Drink your cocoa before it gets cold.”

He watched Riley lift her cup before resuming the conversation.

“My wishing to celebrate Christmas earlier is no different than a person celebrating their birthday the entire birth month. Does that somehow lessen the significance of the actual birth date?”

Riley shook her head. “It isn’t the same!”

“Why isn’t it? Tell me HOW, using your own argument, that the person celebrating their birthday all month doesn’t detract from another’s actual birthday in the same month?”

“YOU are celebrating Christmas SIX WEEKS early! You aren’t even in the birthday month!”

Liam smirked. “Christmas is a SEASON, in addition to a day. Can you tell me when the season starts?”

Riley was nonplussed. She bit her lip as she thought.

“Christmas SEASON officially begins the day after Thanksgiving and ends January 2; therefore, I’m only two weeks early, not six. Even with that, I’m still a week behind the big-box retailers.”

“Did you … did you just go Lawyer Liam on me to defend decorating early for Christmas?” Riley asked as she sipped more hot chocolate. “While dressed as a snowman?”

Liam slid from his stool to turn the waffle maker on. He tossed the red scarf over his shoulder before looking back at Riley and giving her a big wink.

“Yup!”

UnRomance Liam x Riley (The 9 ½ Weeks AU)

Who is excited for trimming the Christmas Tree?

Who wraps the presents?

Who wants to build a snowman?

I stand naked before the plate glass window wall in my dining room, watching snow fall into the East River.

“Liam, wake up!” my mother excitedly shakes me awake.

I rub my eyes and scrunch my nose, trying to wake up. It’s Christmas morning, which normally means I would already be awake, but I had stayed up late wrapping mom’s presents.

“It’s snowing! On Christmas Day!” she exclaims in a hushed whisper.

My eyes fly open; my bare feet thump heavily across the wooden floor as I race to the window. My nose presses against cold glass as I watch thick, white flakes fall to join the inches already accumulated on the ground. Our neighborhood is a quiet sea of untouched white crystals.

I turn to look at her, happiness and excitement both in my face and voice. “Mama, can we go out in it?”

She giggles as she rakes her fingers through my sleep-tousled hair. “Of course! Why do you think I woke you up?”

“YAY!” I jump up and down. “We’ll build a snowman?”

She nods in agreement. “Get showered and dressed. Breakfast soon.”

I sip cautiously at the hot black coffee in my mug as I turn from the window and walk through the living room. There is a short Christmas tree standing in one of the corners, no more than four feet tall. Riley put it there. I don’t celebrate the holidays.

“There will be NO TREE, Riley! I have told you REPEATEDLY I DO.NOT.CELEBRATE. ANY. HOLIDAY! You are free to go home to decorate and celebrate as you see fit!”

“You put up that ceramic tabletop tree! A TREE IS A TREE!”

“You need to go home,” I respond quietly. “You have no idea how to respect wishes or boundaries.”

Fear leaps in her eyes at being told to go home. “It’s just a tree. I’ll make sure it’s a small one. PLEASE??”

“I will have nothing to do with it OR this Christmas bullshit you INSIST on bringing to MY house!

She nods sadly. “It’s just a tree,” she whispers.

It’s an artificial one, pre-lit. Lights of red, green, and white twinkle against silver tinsel and golden-colored balls. There are three gifts beneath it: two are in gift bags. They are to me from Riley.

The third is wrapped in comic paper. It’s my mother’s favorite perfume. I bought it for her every year when she was alive. I have brought it for her every year since.

I climb the stairs that lead to the upper floor; I enter the dark, quiet study and sit behind my desk, contemplating what I’m about to do. I don’t turn on the computer or the television. Instead, I place my mug on the desk and rise, making my way towards the closet.

I thrust my arm inside to pull out a shopping bag; it’s filled with wrapping paper and Riley’s gifts. They’re not Christmas gifts; I don’t celebrate the holiday. She’ll merely receive them on Christmas Day.

I carry it all to the desk and begin neatly cover the purchases with silver wrapping, carefully cutting paper, and folding and tucking in corners. The sky lightens as I work; the snow continues to fall. I place the boxes into the bag and return to the closet.

I rummage on the upper shelf, my hand finding what I seek: a newspaper-wrapped ceramic angel holding a sparkly star. I place her atop the gifts and carry bag and mug back downstairs with me. The bag goes beneath the tree, and I carefully unwrap and place my mother’s angel atop it.

I walk into the kitchen, pour the dregs of my coffee down the drain, and check the refrigerator for breakfast ingredients. I slowly head for my bedroom, enjoying the dimness and silence. When I enter, I see a robed Riley clutching a panel of blackout curtain in one hand, her face so close to the glass I’d wager her nose is pressed against it. She turns when she hears me, her face alight with a joyous smile.

“Liam! It’s snowing! On Christmas Day!” she gushes happily.

I stare at her, wanting to tell her to stop being such a child, and to get back in bed.

But I don’t.

She doesn’t know that there is a present for her beneath the Christmas tree. She doesn’t know that I am preparing one of her favorite breakfasts this morning: French crepes, bacon, and matcha latte.

All she knows is that it’s snowing on Christmas morning, and that she’s with me.

I allow her to be happy and enjoy this moment.

I see myself in her.

“Breakfast soon,” I promise as I climb beneath the covers, turning my back to her and the window.

Riam

Who puts up the Christmas lights?

Who hits up Black Friday sales?

Who starts a snowball fight?

“Get back here, you little heathen!” Riley ordered, just before tripping over one of her sons’ toys and faceplanting into the plush carpeting of the boys’ nursery.

Her firstborn, Frac, stopped running when he heard her fall; he stopped and turned, then burst into laughter at seeing his mother felled like a tree.

He pointed a chubby finger at Riley, chanting, “Heevin”.

His mother closed her eyes and slowly counted to 10. It was too early for the emotional damage being inflicted upon her by the tiny humans she helped create.

“You cannot say ‘heathen’ around dada, do you understand?”

“Dada heevin! Dada heevin!” Frac laughed.

Fric, his identical twin and the youngest by three minutes, toddled around Riley and was repeatedly poking his finger into one of her butt cheeks, prominently outlined through her flannel nightgown due to a gigantic wedgie.

“Mama butt!”

“Oh, dear LORD! Stop touching it, little boy!” Riley huffed as she gently smacked Fric’s hand off her.

Frac hurriedly joined his brother, and the boys clambered onto Riley’s back, knocking her back to the floor before she could fully stand; the pair rocked back and forth and bounced up and down on their mother, tiny fingers gripping her gown while shrieking with laughter as they alternated between saying, “Horthee” and “Heevin butt.”

A brisk knock on the door preceded a freshly dressed Liam’s entry; his greeting died on his lips as he took in the scene before him:

His wife face down on the floor, flailing her legs and pounding her fists against the floor, yelling, “STOP THAT!”; a section of her nightgown was bunched between her butt cheeks.

His sons, naked except for diapers, using Riley for horseback rides, while yelling something that sounded suspiciously like horse’s heathen butt.

“Francis! Jonathan!” Liam addressed his sons by their Christian names in a firm tone as he strode towards his family.

The boys abruptly halted their movements, turning their heads almost guiltily. Bright, guileless smiles wreathed their faces when they saw their father.

“DADA!” They scrambled off their mother and ran to Liam.

The King squatted so he was eye-level with his sons. “What were you doing to your mother?” he demanded.

“Mama heevin,” Frac stated as if that explained everything.

“They tried to KILL ME, Liam.” Riley moaned dramatically as she rolled over onto her back. “They are implementing their plan of world domination, and I’m the test subject!”

Liam wagged an index finger before the twins’ faces. “Your mother is NOT a heathen, and we will continue this discussion,” he promised.

The twins looked at each other with startled eyes. “Oh, oh!” they said in unison before scampering off to their bedroom.

Liam chuckled as he stretched out beside his wife. “What did we do before those two came along?”

“Have peace, quiet, allll the food, and not live in fear for our lives.” Riley threw her forearm across her brow.

Liam turned his head so his eyes could take in Riley’s profile. “Do you want to try for another one?”

Riley turned her head, meeting his gaze. “Yes,” she answered softly.

Their hands reached for the other’s, and they lay in relative quiet for a few moments.

“We need to head to Valtoria before the storm comes,” Liam stated.

The royal family would be spending the Christmas/New Year holiday season at the Queen’s duchy as they did every year. This winter season, Valtoria was experiencing significant snowfall and with more accumulation expected all week, it appeared there would be a white Christmas.

“Gladys informed me yesterday that all the orphanages received their packages from “Santa”, so that’s good. And multiple deliveries were made to the Great House from online shippers, so guessing my Black Friday purchases arrived as well.”

“You weren’t the only one to take advantage of lower prices and free shipping, love,” Liam reminded her.

“Did you use my Prime account?” Riley demanded.

“Did you use my credit card?” her husband countered.

Silence. “Maybe.”

Liam laughed quietly as he moved closer to Riley. “Then we’re even.”

“We need to leave within the next hour if we’re going to arrive before more precipitation. Maybe we can take the boys out in the snow before it gets too heavy.”

“Judging by what I walked in on, it’s going to take you that long to get them clothed.”

“You dress them, I’ll order breakfast to go and get ready. Make sure to put them in their reindeer snowsuits.”

Liam’s brow knit. “Love, where did our children learn words like heathen and butt?”

Riley shook her head. “No idea. Maybe those Mickey Mouse cartoons they watch.”

Liam’s eyes narrowed. “I think you do know.”

“You can’t prove that!”

“But I can settle it. Snowball fight in Valtoria.”

“Heathens versus Butts? You’re on!” Riley accepted the challenge as Liam helped her from the floor. “Just so you know, I’m the heathen.”

Liam eyed her posterior admiringly as she made her way to the door. “It’s looking like a butt from here.”

The Queen stuck out her tongue before disappearing through the doorway.

Writer’s Choice (Laxwell)

Who wants to see the Christmas parade?

Who throws the Christmas party?

Who makes homemade gifts?

“This is going to be the BEST Christmas EVER!” Maxwell announced delightedly as he tucked into his lunch.

The Duke of Valtoria, Liam Rys, stared dubiously across the table at his lover before reaching for dressing to pour over his salad. “It’s going to be such a whirlwind! I much prefer a slower-paced, quieter holiday.”

“New Year’s will be quiet. Just us,” Maxwell promised.

“Thank goodness. I don’t want any wild parties, Max!”

“We got the Beaumont Bash, Holiday Edition scheduled on the 23rd. No one will have recuperated enough for another one so soon.”

“Then on Christmas Day, I’m Grand Marshal of the Valtorian Christmas Parade,” Liam added.

“I’ll be front row, and I’ll walk the entire parade route with you. You won’t be alone.”

Liam chuckled as he sliced into his grilled chicken. “With rumors of the entire duchy attending, I would hope not!”

“Your constituents love you.”

Liam shook his head. “They didn’t when I raised the tax rate.”

“Sales tax! By only 3%, and it’s still the lowest in all of Cordonia. Besides, if they don’t, I do,” Maxwell looked up from his plate to bat his eyes at Liam.

“And I love you more,” Liam smiled fondly at the young Lord.

“Y’know, I was thinking … since Christmas Day is going to be jam-packed with the Parade and family dinners, maybe we could exchange gifts Christmas Eve,” Maxwell suggested as he ladled gravy onto his mashed potatoes.

Liam’s eyes widened appreciatively over the rim of his wineglass. “Excellent idea, love!”

“I can’t wait for you to see your present!”

Liam’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Is it a peacock?”

Maxwell raised an eyebrow, his expression giving away nothing. “I’m not telling.”

“Max, if you got me a PEACOCK … you KNOW I’m allergic!”

“Is that what you’re calling being a scaredy-cat nowadays?” Maxwell teased.

Liam bunched up his cloth napkin and lobbed it at his boyfriend. It harmlessly bounced off Maxwell’s hair and onto the carpet. “No peacocks!” Liam warned.

Maxwell grinned to himself. He most definitely had not gotten Liam a peacock, but there was a puppy. A Corgi, rescued from the local animal shelter. That was gift number one.

Gift number two spoke to Liam’s sentiment; it was a pinboard, handcrafted by Maxwell himself. With the help of the Great House’s staff.

It was made of cork, wood that had been painted in Cordonian blue, and macrame rope. Maxwell put a lot of thought into what would go onto the board: peacock feathers; a photo of Queen Eleanor and baby Liam; the ticket stubs from their first U2 concert; a copy of his letter to Liam on their second anniversary; glitter; a picture of Liam the day of his coronation as Duke of Valtoria, wearing his coronet and carrying a shield decorated with the Valtorian coat of arms; a stock photo of two clinking beer bottles, and a photo of their mothers at a tea party, grinning conspiratorially at each other over tea cups.

He hoped Liam liked it.

Liam, across the table, was finishing his meal debating if he should get a refund on Maxwell’s gift. The second-born to the throne was now absolutely convinced that he was getting a peacock for Christmas.

His gift to Maxwell was a two-week trip to France next summer. They would be attending the Peacock Society’s annual electronic dance music festival in Paris. Max would be upset that the Peacock Society had nothing to do with actual peafowl, but in-person attendance at an actual festival would make up for that.

After the three-day festival, the pair would be off to hike the Pyrenees Mountains.

The trip they never got to take.

“WHAT?” Maxwell exclaimed as he reached for more chicken and potatoes. “I feel you watching me!”

“Good! Because I am going to KEEP watching you, every day until Christmas Eve.”

“Well, let me make it worth your while, …” Maxwell pulled his sweater over his head, exposing his muscled bare chest, hippo tattoo, and rippled abs.

He winked at Liam before eating a forkful of chicken and salad.

The Duke audibly gulped before licking his suddenly dry lips. “Please, continue,” he urged.

“If I do that, I’m giving you your present early,” Maxwell protested with a sly grin.

Liam had risen from his seat and was pulling Maxwell from his. “I’ll still want it on Christmas Eve.”

“But the surprise!” Maxwell mock protested as he willingly let Liam lead him towards their bedroom.

“You’ll think of something between now and then.”

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#dcbbw answers #winter otp ask #liam x riley #laxwell #writer on tumblr #writeblr

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