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hermannsthumb · 4 years ago

Note

Could you do #40 cancelled holiday party? Thank you!

40. i just found out that a friend of a friend of a friend isn’t hosting their annual holiday party this year, so now how am i going to have my annual run in with you?

from winter writing prompts here

happy xmas eve, if you celebrate it!

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Newt doesn’t really have many friends, and certainly not enough to warrant a flood of party invitations come December, but for the past few years he’s been able to rely pretty consistently on at least one. Back when the band was still together, his drummer had a pretty cool girlfriend who would sometimes let them tag along as the entertainment for parties around town, and her brother (who was almost as cool as her) ended up liking the way they sounded so much he invited them back to his own parties a couple times. Then he dated Newt’s guitarist, and then he broke up with Newt’s guitarist, and then he dated Newt, and then he broke up with Newt, and it sort of fell apart from there (and so did the band), but the breakup was actually pretty amicable, and he’s never failed to extend the invitation to Newt for his annual holiday bash as a courtesy. And Newt’s never failed to make an appearance. What’s there not to like, you know? It’s free booze, free food, and the chance to not feel like a total loser loner for once. Plus…well. Another reason.

But this year isn’t looking too good for Newt.

“Sick?” Newt says. “What do you mean he’s sick?”

“I mean,” Newt’s ex-drummer says, irritably, “he’s sick. Caught the flu or something. I don’t know, Jackie just wanted me to call and tell you, she didn’t give me any details.”

“Couldn’t he have called me himself?” Newt says.

“No,” Newt’s ex-drummer says, “I told you, he has the flu, he’s totally out of it, man. Party’s off this year. Hey, did you get our Christmas card?”

“What? Oh. Yeah,” Newt sighs. He tacked it up on his fridge: the two women with their arms around each other, one pink-haired, one blue-haired, holding up their cat in the middle like it was their son or something. Clever. Quirky. Newt just makes a generic Tweet mid-December wishing everyone a happy holiday season and calls it a success—less effort. “Yeah, it was cute. It’s definitely cancelled? He can’t just, I don’t know, take some Advil or something and—”

“Newt,” she says.

“Yeah, okay, fine,” Newt says. “Tell Jackie to tell him to—get well soon? Soon enough for New Year’s, maybe? Because it would be great if—”

She hangs up on him. Newt probably deserved it.

He stalks Jackie’s brother’s Facebook for a bit after the phone call to make sure he’s not just lying about the flu to get out of inviting Newt to the holiday bash he’s definitely having. It becomes clear pretty quick it’s pretty legit—he’s made exactly one post in the last few days, and it’s a selfie of him looking absolutely horrid in his bed, advising everyone to not be like him and get their flu shots. Not lying, then. Damn it. There’s not even going to be anything for Newt to crash.

“Damn it,” Newt groans, and slams his laptop shut.

In all honesty, Newt’s not pissed about missing the party itself. He’s pissed about missing the party guests. How else is he going to have his annual spat at the snack table with his mortal enemy, Dr. Bitchy, British, Badly-Dressed Gottlieb?

Mortal enemy is too strong. Rival, maybe? Though certainly not a friendly one. He’s fond of Dr. Gottlieb, really, in some insane, backwards kinda way, like he’s a specimen Newt would love nothing more than to cram under a microscope and study up close. What makes him tick? What makes him scowl like that, yell at Newt—more or less a stranger—like that, attend the same party year after year like that only to stand in the darkest corner like a vampire and avoid every single other person? The first time they met was at the party three years ago, when Dr. Gottlieb loudly accused Newt of deliberately snagging the last cucumber finger sandwich because he somehow knew Dr. Gottlieb was eyeing it up, too, and only did it to annoy him, and it’s only gone downhill from there. Or maybe uphill. He fascinates Newt.

He’s also insanely attractive to Newt. Bitchy, British, Badly-Dressed, but, my God, what a set of cheekbones, what a set of eyes, what a big ‘ole mouth that Newt can only assume would be awesome for kissing. And only a few inches of height on Newt, too; he wouldn’t even need to stretch up that far to test out his hypothesis.

Since Newt has Facebook open, he does another search for Dr. Gottlieb—Dr. Hermann Gottlieb, technically, though he’s furious whenever Newt tries to call him anything other than his full title. If Newt was normal, he’d just shoot the guy a friend request or something. A simple message. He just stalks his page instead, which makes him feel the sting of the cancelled party even more keenly: Dr. Gottlieb doesn’t post, like, any pictures of himself, but the ones he’s been tagged in by his company and someone who appears to be his brother make it very clear very fast that he kinda just got even hotter over the year. He’s started wearing his oversized glasses on a librarian chain, and his haircut—which had always been a severe sort of undercut—has grown out up top to be adorably poofy. Tragic.

He shoots his ex-drummer a text later. Can you ask Jackie to ask about that Gottlieb guy that’s there every year? Like, what’s his deal?

The reply comes later, while Newt is reheating some leftover Chinese takeout for dinner. they’re friends w gottlieb’s younger bro. mostly invite him to be nice.

“Figures,” Newt mutters.

Well, if there won’t be a party at which to have their annual run-in, Newt is simply going to have to orchestrate a run-in himself. The first step is finding out where Gottlieb works.

Newt picks a miserable day to set his plan into action. A snowstorm swept through the city a few days prior, and before the sidewalks were even finished dethawing, a sleet storm followed and turned them into eighty-percent sheets of ice. And then more snow comes. Newt slips and slides all the way to the cafe across from Gottlieb’s humble little robotics research facility, cursing himself for not having invested in proper winter boots yet. Docs are practical and cool, but they could be warmer, and Newt’s are so old the treads are basically nonexistent. He orders himself the most expensive coffee on the menu as a reward for his troubles and claims a chair near the large shop window in front, underneath a hanging fern. He would simply wait and watch for Gottlieb to walk out. The man had to walk out eventually. Lunch break, or coffee break, or even just clocking out for the day. He had to.

“Would you like to see our sandwich menu, sir?” a waitress asks Newt. “We have a new—"

“Nah, no thanks,” Newt says. He doesn’t tear his eyes away from the window. “You don’t have to call me sir, by the way. It makes me feel old. Does a Dr. Gottlieb ever come here?”

The waitress snorts involuntarily; she flushes a second later. “Sorry,” she says. “It’s just that—yes, Dr. Gottlieb comes in a lot, and he’s kind of…”

“Awful?” Newt grins.

“Particular,” the waitress says. “He has us remake his coffee if it’s not perfect enough for him. And we have to write out the whole thing, Dr. Gottlieb, on his cup, every time. He tips really well, though, so we don’t really mind.”

“Has he come in today yet?” Newt says.

She opens her mouth as if to answer the question, but then furrows her eyebrows. “Why do you want to know, anyway? Are you guys friends?”

“Not really,” Newt says. Deciding it’s not worth the effort to explain the complex homoeroticism of his dynamic with Gottlieb, and to random waitress who probably doesn’t give a shit at that, he amends “I mean, yes. Good friends. I’ll see that sandwich menu, actually.”

Newt has a nice breakfast of avocado and egg on a bagel, and pretends to do work on his laptop for a few hours, but—to his disappointment—Dr. Gottlieb doesn’t come in for a coffee. Newt doesn’t catch sight of any familiar dark-haired, scowling men walking in or out of the institute, either. Gottlieb must have off today. Maybe it’s for the best, anyway; Newt’s not totally sure what he would’ve done if he ran into the guy on the street, or how he would have even explained why he’s there to Gottlieb if he did. He was just sort of operating under the assumption he’d figure it out in the heat of the moment. He calls it quits around three in the afternoon, not wanting to walk home in the dark after sunset. “Happy holidays,” he tells the baristas gloomily, and steps out into the snow with one last cardboard cup of coffee.

He mulls it all over in his head as he avoids ice patches and passersby on the way home. Should he ask for Dr. Gottlieb’s number? Is it weird to ask your ex, or even his sister, for the number of a guy you’re sorta-interested in? Newt supposes it’s weird to invite your ex to a holiday party in the first place, but he really wasn’t lying about it being amicable. Maybe he wouldn’t care. He could always just send that fucking Facebook friend request. Or he could just wait until next year. It’s just a year.

He’s so distracted that he doesn’t notice the patch of ice directly in front of his apartment until he’s already stepping on it, and his stomach flips in a way that lets Newt knows he’s just fucked up; his worn-out boot loses traction, his arms pinwheel, his coffee goes flying, and he lands—

In someone’s arms?

Well, even that’s not totally right. He lands mostly in someone’s arms, but he hears a little oof, an exclamation of surprise, and then they both topple over and into a snowbank. The coffee lands somewhere next to Newt’s head. “Bugger,” a familiar voice groans.

Newt sits up. Dr. Gottlieb is laying on his back next to him, wrapped in a green parka and about three scarves. To Newt’s relief, he doesn’t look angry. More embarrassed than anything else. “Apologies,” he says. “You were heavier than I’d anticipated. Or perhaps I was not as strong as I anticipated.”

“I appreciate it anyway, dude,” Newt says.

He gets to his feet, locates Gottlieb’s cane from where it’s somehow landed on the other side of the sidewalk, then tugs Gottlieb to his feet as well. Gottlieb makes a face as he rights himself. “You ought to watch yourself, and be more careful,” he says. “You could break your neck next time.”

“Worried about me?” Newt says. He dusts some snow off Gottlieb’s shoulders. “What are you doing outside my apartment, dude?”

“Er,” Gottlieb says.

He goes a strange shade of pink, and clears his throat. “I fancied…a walk. In the snow. Fresh air. And I just happened to be—er—” He clears his throat again. “I happened to discover you lived here, and my walk happened to take me by. I wasn’t looking for you, if that’s what you’re implying. Or waiting for you. I have better things to do with myself.”

“Really?” Newt says. “’Cause I was looking for you.”

“Oh,” Gottlieb says.

He really is cute right now, with his red-tipped ears, his dumb coat, his dumb scarves, the snow sticking to his back and his poofy hair. Sticking to his long eyelashes. It’s the first time Newt’s ever seen the guy not, like, at least mildly annoyed at him; it’s doing something funny to his heart. “Hey, you wanna come in for a coffee or something?” he says. “Mine kinda spilled, and I could go for another.”

“I couldn’t possibly,” Gottlieb says.

Newt grins. “Come on, I know you want to. It’s cold as shit out and you’ve clearly been out here for a while. We can order a pizza or something, too.”

“Well,” Gottlieb says, and he ducks his head as he finally smiles back. It’s worth the wait, because my God, is it cute, all broad and crooked. Newt has the feeling not too many people get to witness it. “Perhaps for a bit. I was hoping to discuss your latest article with you, you know, and was very put out when I learned I wouldn’t be seeing you at the party this year.”

“Oh?” Newt says. He holds out his hand, and Gottlieb startles visibly a moment before taking it. Newt can feel how cold Gottlieb is even through his thick red mitten—he could use a little warming up. Newt can light a fire in the fireplace he rarely uses…maybe break out some wine…it’ll be nice and romantic… “Did you like it?”

“Not in the slightest,” Gottlieb says cheerily.

“Just what I was hoping,” Newt says. “After you, Doctor.”

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous

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sailor-slam-dunk · 7 years ago

Text

Christmas Eve Service

hhgghhh chrimmis fic

Tagged: @heelnev [whose post format i am stealing here hah a ] @transboy-tyler-official [message me if any of you would like to be tagged in the future!]

Oneshot

Fandom: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment

Rating: Teen and Up

Warnings: N/A

Relationships: Cedric Alexander/Enzo Amore

Characters: Cedric Alexander, Enzo Amore

Other: Christmas Fluff, Family Bonding, tfw you get roped into going to a christmas eve service with your boyfriend's intimidating relatives

Summary: Enzo wants to spend Christmas Eve alone with Cedric. He ends up at church instead.

[ao3 link] [text below cut]

“OH no, no, no, no,” Cedric exclaimed as he threw a blanket over Enzo. “Oh, no. Not tonight, not right now. Absolutely not.”

Enzo’s lip curled in a pout as he sat up in Cedric’s bed. He tried to throw the comforter back off, but Cedric was already pinning it back over his chest (lest he…expose himself, again) with one hand, the other busily buttoning a starchy white shirt up his own neck.

“Ya serious?” Enzo whined as he sat up again, this time careful to keep himself covered. “It’s fuckin’ Christmas! Ya gonna ice me out on Christmas?”

Cedric’s attention was now turned to the mirror, hands busily trying to fumble a knot to secure his necktie. “First of all, it’s Christmas Eve,” he said brusquely. “Second, that’s exactly why I’m doing it. Damn—” A muted stream of swears left his mouth as he failed again with his tie. Enzo beckoned Cedric to the side of the bed with a curl of his fingers, and, apprehensively, Cedric knelt down by the edge. Enzo twisted and reached over, and started to undo the ungodly thing that Cedric had somehow managed to put in the fabric and retie it.

“Bright red? Real festive. What’s the occasion, huh?”

“Since when did you know how to do a necktie?” Cedric asked, his brow knitted together with confusion. “Your definition of formal wear is putting on pants.” Enzo glared up at Cedric as he finished up the new clean, straight knot.

“Yeah, a’ight, hilarious; now answer my question? Where ya goin’? Especially when you could…” Enzo paused, and pulled Cedric in by the end of his tie, bringing their faces just inches apart, “Keep me n’ the bed warm?”

Cedric flushed red as he gave Enzo’s shoulder a shove. “Church, dipshit. I’m going to church. Pretty sure you’ve heard of it?” Cedric punctuated this thought with a little slap to the cross tattoo adorning Enzo’s left arm. Now it was Enzo’s turn to blush, holding the skin that Cedric had just brushed against.

“Thought Christmas was ‘bout spendin’ time with family n’ friends and shit…” He grumbled, turning his face down to his knees, tented below the blanket. Cedric sighed, turning around to face Enzo, hands resting behind him on the vanity.

“Well, I got my mom and grandma downstairs waiting on the couch in their Sunday best. They’ve been waiting on me for the last fifteen minutes, we’re probably already late. And if you think I’m going to look into my old, black, octogenarian grandma’s eyes and tell her that I am skipping a Christmas Eve service because a perverted white boy stumbled in through my—how did you get here?”

“Window,” Enzo said, as simply as if it were nothing.

“—Through my window and into my bed to have sex with me, we’re both going to hell on the spot.”

Enzo exhaled through his teeth and looked away. He kind of hated it when Cedric was right, because it made him feel a bit stupid. “Alright, fine, ya win,” he grumbled at the ceiling, “go ahead. I can find my way back out—but I might, ah, steal a carton of nog from ya fridge first, a’ight?”

Cedric sighed again as he looked Enzo over. He knew that he had been right, but Enzo had a point as well: it was the season to spend time with family and friends. He had the family waiting downstairs, and Enzo…well, he was sort of dwelling in that space between “family” and “friend” with Cedric, even though neither of them really knew how he’d ended up there.

“Do you…” Cedric started slowly, but Enzo’s head had already snapped to attention so quickly that he kind of chuckled. “Do you, maybe…wanna come with?” Already, Enzo was squinting at Cedric, so he quickly added, “yes, I’m serious. I can’t just leave you alone here on Christmas Eve.”

A peculiar expression came over Enzo’s face as he bit his lips, and Cedric had difficulty figuring out whether or not it was excitement.

After a minute’s deliberation, Enzo shrugged his shoulders. “Why the hell not? It’s not like I got anything else to do with you outta commission.” He threw the bed sheets and blanket aside (Cedric was careful to look up at the ceiling and away from him) as he sat up, and set about pulling his tight pair of black jeans—gaping holes ripped into the knees—up his waist. With his other hand he fished around behind the pillows, and pulled out a garish jacket, printed in patches of leopard and tiger and zebra and God-Knows-what-else-skin, and Cedric nearly cried out in despair.

“Oh no you don’t!” He exclaimed, snatching the jacket away from a very offended Enzo’s hands.

“Hey!”

“You are not gonna set foot in church dressed like that,” Cedric scolded, throwing the jacket into the nearby hamper.

“Fuck do you want me to do, then? Go naked?” Enzo folded his arms up over his bare chest. Cedric scratched the sides of his head as he thought for a moment, but then brightened with an idea.

“Hang on a sec,” Cedric said, turning around, hands going to work pulling open the closet door and a flurry of drawers. Black socks, slacks, and a dress shirt fell down onto the bed around Enzo in a blizzard, each of which Enzo picked up and inspected in his hands.

“Ya want me to wear these?” Enzo said, almost incredulously.

“Why not?” Cedric asked, handing Enzo a small hairband he’d found. “Get your hair back, by the way.” Enzo stretched the band over his wrist, and then unfurled the pale blue shirt against his own chest. His expression was skeptical.

“Don’t think you n’ me wear the same size, big fella,” Enzo said. Cedric patted his cheek reassuringly, causing him to redden.

“Don’t worry about it. Besides, it’s better than what you had on.” With that, Cedric moved up towards the door. “Be down in the next ten minutes, or else my mom is going to kill me, and then you. In that order.”

“Where are you gonna tell ‘em I came from, huh?” Enzo smirked wryly as he pulled his hair back into a frizzy bun. He was met with a similar smirk from Cedric.

“Came in through the window, remember?” Cedric started to walk out the door, but stopped short, and turned around to face Enzo one more time.

“By the way,” he said, gravely, “don’t swear. And if you start whining within the first minute, I’m gonna haul you over to the cross and nail you right up there next to Jesus. Got it?”

Enzo waved Cedric off with his hand as he pulled the shirt over his elbows. “We Gucci! Don’t worry about it!”

Cedric thought that he certainly hoped so, and pulled the door shut behind him.

To Enzo’s credit, he stuck to his word. He waited until two minutes of the sermon had passed before he started complaining.

“How long is this?” Enzo said in a low groan from his throat. He then winced as a sharp elbow was drawn into his side (courtesy of Cedric’s mother, “madame Alexander” as he mentally termed her) for the third time in a row. He bowed his face further into the program card to avoid Cedric’s gaze, which he knew was twisted with a smug amusement that would fill him with resentment if he saw it.

“It’s two hours, Enzo,” Cedric whispered softly, and Enzo cringed to hear the smirk in his voice.

Simultaneously, as he pretended to read over the program, his mind boggled—two hours for what? In what dimension should it take two hours to explain to a room full of dedicated Christians the meaning of this holiday? Enzo thought to turn to ask Cedric, but evidently Cedric must have sensed that first, because before Enzo could even move Cedric had jabbed his own elbow into Enzo’s side, leaving him wheezing and pinched on either side of his torso. Three different “shush”es came from indistinct corners of the room, and Enzo hunched his shoulders inward with embarrassment. He felt eyes upon him—Enzo assured himself that it was primarily because he’d been too loud, once again, but all night he had, in the back of his mind, suspected another reason. Primarily, that he was a white man—not that he was the only one; this church turned out to have a rather equitable mix of races all across the board. But Enzo was a white man sitting in the middle of a black family, that he, very obviously, didn’t claim any relation to, unless they perhaps had adopted him. And Enzo assumed that Cedric’s family had been members of this church for a while, so that was definitely out of the question, unless he was one of those rare (so rare that they probably didn’t exist) children who got adopted in their 30s.

Not to mention, he was, again, a man. There was nothing inherently wrong about that, either, except that he was a man curled up against Cedric’s side—he consciously inched away now—much closer than any brother or friend would be. Of course, he didn’t want to accuse anybody in this church of anything, because he didn’t know any of them, but…Enzo just felt so uncertain, all of a sudden. He was certain that someone was judging him, and—worse yet—judging Cedric because of him.

Or maybe it was how he was dressed? Enzo was used to that sort of thing being the reason for many disbelieving stares, but then he gazed down at the stiff, plain shirt rumpled over his chest and suddenly remembered that he wasn’t in his usual sort of attire. On one hand he was glad for this, because Cedric has certainly been right about the clothes he’d had on earlier. If Enzo had tried to enter like that he probably would have been banned from the church. But, on the other hand, he still didn’t look quite right—as he’d expected, Cedric’s shirt was too big for him (for a moment he felt a twinge of shame over his lanky frame) and hung loose from his chest in a large bubble, making him appear awkward and thin. Enzo felt like—he grumbled softly again, attempting to smooth out the wrinkles of his unfortunately baggy slacks—a complete geek. A complete geek in an unfamiliar place with a bunch of unfamiliar people—well, except for Cedric. Enzo found himself instinctively scoot a bit closer to Cedric’s side. At least he radiated a familiarity, a sort of safe spot that Enzo could hitch himself to.

For a moment, his hand brushed against Cedric’s, whose head snapped up as if he expected some other dumb remark to come from Enzo’s mouth. Instead he just found him looking confused and concerned, and Cedric’s expression softened as he gave Enzo’s hand a quick, reassuring pat. Enzo took a breath in and nodded as he tried to ease back into the sermon, though he didn’t have the faintest clue what he was even pontificating about.

Then, suddenly, everyone rose up from the pews. Enzo stumbled up a full second late, and Cedric reached out as if he meant to steady him. From either side, around his shoulders, Enzo spotted the inquisitive stares of Cedric’s family, and suddenly pined to be able to shrink all the way down into that stupid shirt like a turtle. As he attempted to straighten himself out, he noticed as everyone reached down into the wood racks in the seats before them, and pulled out a small book, which seemed to be of—oh.

“Aw, Jes—” Enzo somehow managed to catch himself early, though he still earned a rather stinging glance from the corner of Cedric’s mother’s eye. He mouthed a tiny apology as Cedric leaned over.

“What’s the matter?” He whispered against Enzo’s ear. Enzo gruffly pulled a songbook out from the rack.

“We’re gonna sing?” Enzo said in despair. Cedric’s lip wrinkled sardonically.

“You ever go to a church where you didn’t sing?” He asked. Enzo flipped through the pages of the book, trying to find his place.

“In Catholic church we mostly just drink wine and yell,” Enzo admitted, trying not to groan as his eyes took in the scattered notes of the sheet music. Yet, in his peripheral, he saw a small smile crawl over Cedric’s face.

“That explains everything about you,” Cedric said. Enzo could hear a small chuckle being bitten off in his breath, and he suddenly felt a bit more at ease.

A hymn started up from the pianist on the stage, and Enzo felt eyes on him the moment he opened his mouth. He winced to hear his own voice croak out into the first few lines of “Adeste Fideles”—was that the harmony? He thought as he felt sweat bead on his neck. How in the hell did these people learn the harmony? Most people he knew barely had a grasp on the melody. Enzo’s voice lowered sharply—a rarity—with embarrassment as he tried to hide his face with the songbook. Cedric turned his head slightly and took notice, quietly taking a step closer to Enzo’s side. He pulled the book down from against Enzo’s nose and to a distance where he could reasonably see the notes. Softly, Enzo heard Cedric’s voice close to his ear, providing him a buoy to cling to and try to find his place. For a moment Enzo about melted, before remembering that he was in the house of God—he shouldn’t have been so taken in by it, because Cedric wasn’t trained, either, and his voice warbled faintly as he struggled to quite find certain notes, but to Enzo he sounded almost perfect, and for a minute he wanted nothing more than to just listen to him perform. But nevertheless, Enzo pulled himself to reality and muttered along, trying to turn the awkward strains of his throat into song. As he listened to himself he brightened a bit. It was as if just having Cedric to guide him made him better.

Then—how strange—Enzo thought he heard two other voices, female, crowding closer to him. He glanced off to either side, careful to keep paying attention to Cedric’s voice guiding him, and flushed as he found that both Cedric’s mother and grandmother had lowered down to their level. Enzo looked upon madame Alexander to his left inquisitively, and his heart almost stopped when she smiled at him faintly. They were trying to help him—a thought that made Enzo’s heart swell up for a bit as he found himself raising up his voice a bit louder.

It was like being in a family, for a moment.

Even after the two hours had passed, and all of them were standing out by the cars in the parking lot, everyone was still smiling. Enzo thought this a bit odd, because he knew he’d been more than a bit of a pest that night; but he didn’t know the last time he had people as respectable as Cedric’s family smiling at him to any capacity, so he didn’t even dream of questioning it, and smiled back at them warmly and shyly. At the end of his arm—he had to look down to confirm it, because he almost didn’t believe—Cedric’s hand was tightly entwined with Enzo’s own, fingers clasped shut and squeezing. Pink scattered along Enzo’s cheeks, and he suddenly couldn’t remember whether or not Cedric had told him if he’d come out about the two of them to his family yet. But, then again, Cedric was being suitably obvious with the way he clutched Enzo’s hand, stroking his knuckles with his thumb, and yet his mother simply kept chatting and laughing as if she thought nothing of it. Enzo felt his eyes sting, in the best way possible, as he realized this.

Cedric even reached over to Enzo’s hand a couple of times on the drive home, holding it down under his palm on the console between the seats. Enzo, in the passenger seat, still worried about his place there, turning his head back several times to Cedric’s grandmother to tell her that if she needed this seat, she could have it, but she insisted that she was just fine where she was (and Enzo swore that, at least once, she said that while her eyes squared in upon Cedric’s hand resting on his).

And yet, when they parked in front of Cedric’s house, Cedric grabbed Enzo’s shoulder as he tried to unbuckle his seatbelt.

“You stay here a minute,” Cedric said. Enzo blinked in confusion, watching as Cedric led the two matriarchs out of the car and into the house, leaving him sitting in the car with a coat around his shoulders.

In about ten minutes, Cedric came bounding back out to the car with quick strides. Enzo opened the door, ready to meet him outside, but Cedric was already leaning in and kissing his lips hard, almost pressing Enzo’s head into the driver’s seat. In a moment he pulled back, and Enzo sprung back up like a spring, eyes wide and cheeks tinged red.

“How you doin’…” He murmured, a confused smirk edging into his face. Cedric returned to him a bright and earnest smile, one that made Enzo’s heart tremor, as he leaned in to press another kiss into Enzo’s forehead. He stepped back and shut the door, before quickly reappearing through the driver’s side door and settling in behind the wheel.

“You did good behaving, tonight,” Cedric said as he pulled the seatbelt across his chest. “Mama and grandma were real impressed—and so was I!”

Enzo felt a pang of pride in his chest at Cedric’s words, but still, he had to ask. “Why ya strappin’ in? We goin’ somewhere?” Cedric turned to him with a smile that bordered on mischievous.

“Well, you behaved so well tonight, and my family’s at my house, so…I told them we’re gonna go back to your place for a bit.”

The red tinge in Enzo’s cheeks darkened, and Cedric couldn’t help but laugh.

“No, no, not that…necessarily.” Cedric reached out to Enzo’s red face, and cupped a hand over his cheek. Enzo pretended to roll his eyes at the affection, even as he tilted his head closer into Cedric’s palm. Cedric smiled at the adoring look in Enzo’s eyes. “I do want to kiss you when we get there, though. A lot.”

“Alright, I-I…sure, I…” Enzo’s eyes widened as he stammered. Wait, what did he mean, just “sure”? Of course he wanted to go—but something in his brain was stopping him. “Actually…can we go back inside here first?”

Cedric raised an eyebrow, releasing the seatbelt and winding it back into the wall. “Why? I mean, sure, but why?” He asked. Enzo bit his lip.

“Just, ah…wanna thank your family for having me tonight, maybe talk for a little bit?” Enzo felt a hot rush of embarrassment as he recognized the amusement in Cedric’s eyes. Cedric climbed back out of the car, and soon was opening Enzo’s door, offering a hand to help him out—a hand that Enzo took.

“Alright, fine,” Cedric said with mock-weariness, “we’ll go have a brief chat with the in-laws.”

Enzo beamed in a way that was nearly blinding, and he nuzzled the side of Cedric’s face.

“Thanks, babe.”

Of course, “a bit” turned into “the rest of the night”, and when Enzo woke up with an arm around Cedric on the downstairs couch of the latter’s home, he was a tad bit embarrassed. But, when Cedric’s mother and grandmother came down, and soon they were all drinking coffee, Enzo found that he didn’t mind all that much—in fact, he didn’t really care at all.

It was always nice to spend Christmas with family.

#205 live #enzo amore #cedric alexander #falalalala-lalalala~

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