You, Me and the Christmas Tree

Fandom: RPF

Category/Rated: A for Adult

Year/Length: 2007/~3356 words

Pairing: Steve Carlson/Jensen Ackles

Disclaimer: You and I both know that this didn't really happen, don't we?

Summary: Jensen heads home to visit his folks for Christmas, leaving Steve to pine in LA.

Beta: by the lovely and gracious lorelei633

If there's one thing that Steve Carlson hated, it was people trying to cheer him up when he'd decided to be grouchy. It was Christmas Eve, and despite his CD exhorting everyone to have themselves a merry little Christmas, he wasn't feeling even slightly festive himself.

He'd decided that Christmas was going to be miserable when he'd heard that Jensen had headed straight for Richardson without stopping in Los Angeles first. He knew that there was no chance of Jen missing Christmas with his family, but Steve had thought that he would drop by to see him before heading south. When Jen had called him from his family's home, it had become obvious that there was no chance of seeing him. Steve thought that he'd probably have to head up to Vancouver in January sometime, if he wanted to give Jensen the present he'd bought him.

"Bah, humbug," he snarled and kicked his chair across the room. Too late, he remembered that he was barefoot, and cursed roundly, having managed to stub his toe.

"Chill out, man," growled Chris, who had been stretched out in a chair, his hat tipped over his eyes as he sucked absently on a longneck. "You pout, your face'll stick like that, and Santa won't deliver anything but coal."

"Yeah, right," growled Steve, scowling ferociously. "An' who says I want anything anyway?"

"Oh, come on! You know the boy goes home when he can. He doesn't get to see his folks too often. You can't begrudge him spending the holidays with them." Chris didn't move, other than to tip his bottle a little higher. Steve, still determined to be grumpy, merely swore under his breath, launching into a litany of complaints about the day, the bad attitude of people who were supposed to be friends, and the entire shitty Christmas thing that had everyone so worked up. Chris merely laughed and went to fish another beer out of the fridge, wordlessly handing one off to Steve as he returned to his seat and picked up his guitar.

"Come on, boy. Music'll make you feel better," he said, aiming a kick at the back of Steve's chair. Steve growled but did as he was told and picked up his instrument, deftly tuning it before turning back to Chris and pausing expectantly.

"Okay. Now what?" he grumbled. Chris laughed and launched into, "Never Take the Place of Your Man." The huge, shit-eating grin on his face made Steve laugh even though he still wanted to smack his friend.

The evening went better after that. The two of them sang and reminisced, drank beer and eventually found themselves smoking some of Steve's weed out on the back porch while they gazed up at the stars.

"Mer' Christmas, dude," slurred Steve. "Got your present…" He waved his hand vaguely towards the house and slumped back. He dropped his joint as he pointed, and Chris cried out, went scrambling after it, only to tumble bonelessly down the stairs and lie giggling on his back on the grass.

"Dude, yer drunk," snickered Steve, attempting to rise to his feet and failing miserably. Then he fell back, floundering helplessly on the deck. "'S nice, innit." He gave a gentle sigh and began to snore.

It was just getting light again when Steve came to. He was still lying on his porch, and he lay there wondering whether a skunk had crawled into his mouth and died. His head ached and his joints were stiff.

Stumbling through to the bathroom, he opened the medicine cabinet and seized the bottle of aspirin, then staggered to the kitchen. He filled the biggest glass he could find to the brim with water and gulped it down in an attempt to rehydrate his brain, which seemed to have shrunk to the size and texture of a pickled walnut.

Gulping down the cold, clear liquid and pouring himself a second glass, he headed for his bed, shedding clothing as he went. Chris had found it first, and was passed out lying face down, still wearing his boots. Steve sighed and flopped down next to him, and before any further minutes had passed, he was dead to the world once more.

Much later, Steve opened his eyes once more, relieved to find his headache was slightly more bearable. Chris had apparently awakened some time after he'd come to bed, because he was no longer wearing his boots, and now lay on his back, mouth open as he snored.

Squirming out of the bedclothes, Steve went for more aspirin, gathered his jeans from where he'd discarded them earlier and was soon in the kitchen brewing coffee, squeezing oranges and finding breakfast.

He was about to enjoy the first cup of coffee of the day when the doorbell rang.

He was inclined to let it ride and pretend he wasn't home. He almost didn't go to the door, but then he reconsidered. If it was some kind of religious crazy using the fact that it was Christmas day to attempt to convert him, he'd take great pleasure in giving them his expressed views on the holiday, Christianity, love, truth AND, if the bastard was still at his door, glued to the spot by the fluency of profanity, his opinion of boyfriends who fucked off to be with their family without first dropping by to receive their gift.

So he stomped to the door, flung it open with a ferocious scowl on his face and prepared to vent.

Only when he looked, it was Jensen standing there.

Jensen.

Smiling, perfect, holding a couple of shopping bags and looking fine.

"Uh," he croaked, feeling the fluttering in his belly that spoke of the things he wanted to do to that sweet, perfect body, things that would widen that smile.

"Yeah. Merry Christmas back atcha, Grinch." Jensen's smile was edible. In contrast, there was Steve, clad only in his jeans, unwashed and unlovely, smelling of weed, and old booze and with the worst case of bed hair ever. "I caught the early plane, because I wanted to come be with you for at least a part of Christmas."

Belatedly recalling the manners his mom taught him, Steve stood aside, beckoned Jensen inside and closed the door. "Was just making coffee an' wakin' up," he confessed. "Not at my best, y'know."

"I see that." Jensen seemed to be picking up on Steve's unease, and Steve felt his heart sinking. "So you had a good night last night?" He smiled, easy as he followed Steve into the kitchen and grabbed the coffee Steve had poured for himself. Laughing, he sipped. "You don't need to answer that. I can tell."

"Yeah, Chris came over and we kinda got plastered. Woke up a few minutes ago and some goddamned animal took a dump in my mouth. Lemme go wash up, an' I'll show you merry Christmas, okay?" He almost managed a smile, and Jensen obviously took it as one, because he smiled back, a wondrous, eye-crinkling gleam of teeth that sent the hormones galloping through Steve's system and made it suddenly a good day.

"Okay." The grin on Jensen's face had turned wicked. "You go get yourself beautified, and I'll forage, okay? There will be breakfast and then we can see about doing Christmas properly."

The whole of Steve's being sang in harmony at the thought of doing Christmas properly. Feeling like an inarticulate idiot, Steve smiled, and nodded and fled to the bathroom, images of Jensen lending him speed.

It didn't take long for Steve to emerge, showered, shaved, combed and shiny, although he was still clad in the same pair of faded 501s that he'd had on before, half buttoned and riding low on his hips to reveal a faint treasure trail of golden fluff.

Prowling into the kitchen in search of coffee and Jensen in that order, Steve started to feel a little less like Scrooge, and a little more like unwrapping Jensen Ackles and playing with his toys. The kitchen smelled satisfyingly of coffee, and Steve had barely come through the door when a mug was thrust into his hands.

"Dude, you haven't got any food in this place. Have I given up dinner with the folks to eat stale bread and one dubious piece of lunchmeat?" Jensen had found and defrosted a couple of breakfast burritos, and as he took them out of the microwave, Steve suddenly felt guilty for being such a grouch. "I'm sorry," he said, rising to his feet and going over to where Jensen was slapping the food onto a plate. "What do you want to do? Want me to go shopping and get something good, or you want to eat out, or shall I just take you back to the airport?"

"Shut up, bitch." Jensen turned to face him, grabbed him and pulled him close, white teeth gleaming in a smile. "Just make believe that you're happy to see me. You didn't even kiss me yet."

It was true. He hadn't. He made up for it at once, leaning up to capture that smile and press it to his own answering one, relishing the taste of coffee from Jensen's lips.

"I got you a present," he murmured against Jensen's stubbled chin.

"Yeah, I can feel it," laughed Jensen, yelping as Steve swatted his ass. "Want me to unwrap it now?" Sliding a hand down between them, Jensen's deft fingers found the next button down on Steve's 501s and popped it so that he was in danger of losing the pants. A moment later, he didn't care what happened to the pants, because Jensen's hand was curled around him, and all he could do was hang on and moan against plush lips.

They were locked together, mouth on mouth, Steve's jeans slowly descending to knee level as Jensen fondled him, when Chris sauntered into the room.

Neither man noticed him at first – Steve, because his eyes were closed, and Jensen because he was surveying the wreckage he was creating from his lover with a smirk on his face. Chris's cough froze the two of them. Jensen, who was facing towards Chris, gave a little laugh. "Well, well, well, Christian Kane, as I live and breathe."

"Well, fuck me, you live and breathe? There was I, thinkin' you was a blow up sex doll." Chris headed for the coffee pot, his smile beatific as he contemplated Steve's ass. "Who's your friend, Ackles? I don't recognize the face."

Passion temporarily killed, Steve hastily gathered his jeans up and fled to the bedroom, with a mumbled, 'Be right back,' on his lips. Hastily dressing, he reflected that Chris might be his best friend, but he certainly wasn't welcome right now. He wondered if the man would prove to have a previously undiscovered shred of tact, or whether he'd hang around and cockblock them for the rest of the day. As he tugged on a wifebeater, he found himself rehearsing ways of telling Chris to get lost.

Upon his return to the kitchen, he found that Chris had eaten both the burritos and was currently perched on a stool, working his way through the contents of the coffee pot as he regaled Jensen with a long, involved tale about his quest to free the rubber ducks of Germany. Steve stood in the doorway, listening, taking in the way that Jensen's ready smile came and went, crinkling his eyes.

Finally, as Chris concluded his tale, Steve could stand it no more. He spared Chris a brief smile and then turned his full attention onto Jensen, who was wearing a strange, intent look on his face that caused Steve's heart to leap into his throat. With Jensen looking like that, Steve couldn't tear his eyes away from him. Chris was all but forgotten as he drank in the sight of the man lounging so nonchalantly against the countertop. He stalked towards Jensen with intent in his eyes and stopped in front of him, his blue eyes boring into pretty green ones. Reaching out one gentle hand to stroke along Jensen's brow, he moved it slowly down to caress a freckled cheek, cup his face and guide Jensen's mouth to his. Jensen went with it, his own eyes wide as Steve's mouth came closer.

The first touch of Jensen's mouth against his was feather-light, a brief caress like a butterfly's wings, barely grazing his lips. He felt, rather than heard Jensen's protest and leant closer, his eyes drifting closed. He returned the kiss, pressing more firmly this time, although from the way Jensen's fingers clutched his arm it was still too lightly for his liking. He grinned up at Jensen, and Jensen laughed softly, sweet-smelling breath ghosting over his skin to set him shivering.

"Don't mind me!" Chris's voice sounded amused and somehow proud, as though he'd been the one to bring the two of them together.

"That's okay, we won't." Jensen's words were mumbled from against Steve's skin, and brought a snort of laughter from Chris, who rose to his feet. "Listen, guys. I can tell how heartbroken you must me to see me go, but go I must, because, see, Steve's clothes don't fit me, and I need to change." He clapped the two of them on the shoulders as he moved past them. "I'll be back in a couple hours. Got a gift for you… actually, got one for each of you. I'll expect dinner."

Steve didn't respond to that other than to raise a hand, extend his middle finger and rotate his wrist suggestively. Chris's nasty laughter could be heard all the way to the front door. A moment later, there was the snick of the lock, and silence.

Gazing at Jensen, Steve smiled, then moved in close once more until there was a mere fraction of an inch between them. Jensen sighed and parted his lips as Steve kissed him harder, mouth moving slowly over Jensen's, making his senses swim. He took his time, teasing himself with the agonizing slowness of it all, before he finally flicked the very tip of his tongue against Jensen's lips.

Jensen shivered at that, and their tongues met, the touch sending a thrill through Steve that ignited every nerve ending, dancing through his body to find and swell his cock. He gave a soft little cry, all thoughts of coffee or food now forgotten. All he could think of was Jensen, here, now, his, and that was enough for him to move in, press closer, sliding clever, musician fingers under Jensen's T-shirt and begin to seek out the places that would make his lover cry out.

"Dude, right here on the kitchen floor? Maybe not such a good idea." Jensen was smiling again, and the sight made Steve dizzy.

His jeans were unaccountably unfastened once more, and Jensen was looking pleased with himself, that agile hand slipping down to cup him as he grinned and leaned forward to lick along Steve's lips. He forgot himself in kissing Jensen all over again as tongue sought tongue until it could dance teasing along his, sliding across the soft, sensitive skin inside, mapping out the hard surface of his teeth, delving to the very depths and owning him – owning him completely. His burgeoning erection was becoming more and more difficult to control, and he gave up on it, lost in the sensations Jensen was sparking in him, a small whimper escaping him.

He had intended to be cool, capable, to make love to Jensen and watch as he came apart from the sheer poetry of his lovemaking, but in the event, all he could do was react. Jensen was the one in charge; Jensen was the one calling the shots, stroking sweetness along his jaw, down his tongue and lower, sinking gracefully to his knees to press his face to Steve's groin and make him gasp and stagger and lean back against the counter.

"Jesus, dude, you want to kill me?" Steve was laughing breathlessly as Jensen did that thing he does with the tip of his tongue and just about ensured that Steve's knees would give way. "If I don't sit down or something, I'm gonna fall down."

Jensen only laughed, rose to his feet and with a quick hitch of powerful arms, lifted Steve so that his bare ass made contact with the cold countertop. "That do?" he asked as Steve swore roundly. He was snickering, his eyes gleaming wickedly as he bent to his task.

"Better for my knees anyway," he murmured, and took Steve into his mouth. "Gonna get you boneless and make you my bitch. What do you say?"

I am already, thought Steve, but he laughed and went with it, because there was no way he could stop. A few more minutes under that wicked mouth, and Steve was giving it up, head back as he gasped out his orgasm.

"That's it," said Jensen, his mouth reddened and loose, making Steve's belly flip. He leaned forward, chest still heaving as he tried to recover his breathing. "That's how I want you."

The look on his face was nothing short of predatory as he surveyed the wreckage that once was Steve Carlson. Hands reached and his jeans were history. He was wide eyed and laughing as Jensen helped him down from the counter, spun him around, still laughing and pushes him forward. "Now it's my turn," he whispered, licking at the back of Steve's neck. "This is the way that Christmas should be celebrated."

There was something greasy applied to Steve's ass as busy fingers reached to stretch him, and he had to ask, even though he couldn't help spreading his legs wide to welcome the invasion. "Dude, what the fuck…?"

"Margarine," replied Jensen, with a breathless chuckle. "It's all good."

Steve opened his mouth to protest. That's just wrong, he thought. And then Jensen was pressing against him, the blunt head of his dick forcing past loosened muscle to enter him. It burned but it wasn't wrong at all. It was right, so right that it was perfect. He felt owned, invaded, and so damned fucked that he couldn't see straight. Turning his head he found Jensen's rough jaw, and licked it, and Jensen started to fuck him, uttering dirty things against his ear in the deep, smoky voice that made Steve crazy.

A hand crept around to seize and fondle Steve. He was suddenly hard all over again, feeling the sweet prickles of lust creep back along his veins as Jensen rode him, pounded him and got him to the point where he knew he would come again any minute.

When he heard the soft little whimper in the back of Jensen's throat, he recognized as the signal that he was going to come. He gasped too, because that thought was enough, and it felt like summer lightning striking as he followed his lover, coming hard as Jensen flooded his ass. Joining him, he shot endlessly, smearing his kitchen cabinet with his spunk.

They weren't good for much afterwards. Kissing and holding each other, somehow they made it to the couch in the living room, and collapsed together to lie in each other's arms. Steve's heart was pounding, and he couldn't seem to stop touching Jensen.

"I didn't think I'd see you," Steve confessed. "Thought you'd stay with the folks 'til you had to go back."

"You think I'd leave you all alone? You'd probably write some angst filled song of longing, and then girls would mob you, and I'd lose out." Jensen smiled sleepily. "Besides, you're gonna feed me Christmas dinner, and treat me like a prince, aren't you?"

"Shit!" The word dinner reminded him that he still hadn't got any food, and Chris would be returning soon. "I guess I should go shopping for food and a crown." He sighed. "Can we pick up where we left off later?"

"You betcha, dude. I'm all yours til the third."

Sighing, Steve rose to his feet and held out his hand to Jensen. "We're good," he murmured. "It'll be a happy song this year, okay?"

---

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