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Published:
2019-12-24
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1,366
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1/1
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Make the Yuletide Gay

Summary:

Michael reaches into his pocket for his phone as he steps out of the room. He’s got an unread text from Alex.

When you’ve had enough of the Real Housewives of Roswell, come find me in the living room

***

Michael and Alex have a moment to themselves at Isobel's annual Christmas Eve party.

Notes:

I’m not even a little bit sorry for this. Merry Christmas (Eve)!

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Pretty much everyone Michael’s seen all night has been wearing either a heinously ugly sweater or pearls and cashmere. He stands awkwardly in a festive flannel with a beer in one hand and his will to live slowly slipping from the other.

It’s Isobel’s annual Christmas Eve party and he’s surrounded by Roswell’s most eligible divorcées in Isobel’s kitchen, trying and failing to keep up with their catty conversations around the spinach and artichoke dip. If another cougar drags her acrylic nails down Michael’s arm while laughing about what Karen brought to the bake sale last year, he’s going to lose it.

Michael very unsubtly looks at the clock on the wall behind him, but everyone is too captivated by all the hot gossip to notice.

Mmm. Not late enough for a forgivable Irish goodbye. Maybe if he and Alex stick it out another hour they can bail and spend the rest of the evening making out on their couch.

Where is Alex anyway? He left for the bathroom twenty minutes ago.

Michael reaches into his pocket for his phone as he steps out of the room. He’s got an unread text from Alex.

When you’ve had enough of the Real Housewives of Roswell, come find me in the living room

That’s where Michael finds him, sitting in a big squishy armchair. All the other party goers are crowded in the kitchen and the back patio so it’s just the two of them.

“Was wondering where you went,” Michael says as he approaches.

“I couldn’t bring myself to go back in once I escaped,” Alex explains.

“Not even to rescue me?” he pouts, standing in front of Alex with his hands shoved into his pockets.

“Looks to me like you made it out of there unscathed,” Alex says, dragging his eyes up and down the length of Michael’s body.

Michael leans down into Alex’s space, his hands bracing on the armrests on either side of Alex’s body.

“You can look all you want, but you’re not gonna see the psychological scarring I’ve got from hearing about Gloria McGillicuddy’s Ben Wa balls,” he says, truly wishing he was joking.

“Oh, ew,” Alex shudders. “I’m sorry. You mad at me?”

No, Michael thinks, but what he says is, “Absolutely. I demand no less than three orgasms when we get home as payment for personal damages.”

He means it as a joke, but Michael watches the challenge register in Alex’s eyes and his blood runs hot.

“Why stop at three?” Alex asks, dipping a finger in the collar of Michael’s shirt. He reels him in like he’s going to kiss him, but swerves at the last minute so they’re cheek to cheek, Alex’s lips brushing his ear when he says, “Bet I could push you to four.”

“Fuck,” Michael groans as he pulls away, fighting every instinct he has telling him to drag Alex off that armchair and into his truck. “Don’t say shit like that to me yet. Isobel would kill me if we left this early and you are doing nothing for my self control.”

“Hey, you started it,” Alex smiles, the bastard.

“And I can’t wait to finish it. Later,” Michael says and leans in to kiss him.

He’d intended it to be a quick peck, but Alex’s fingers tighten on his collar and keep him there a little longer. His lips are soft and warm and taste faintly of Liz’s Rompope. Michael can’t help the way he smiles into it, especially when he thinks about the fact that he’s kissing Alex at what amounts to a family function. He wishes the Michael of ten years ago—hell, even ten months ago—could see him now. They’ve come so far and Michael’s never been happier.

When Michael finally pulls away and moves to straighten up, Alex reaches for him and says, “No, stay.”

Michael should really tell him no, that they should go back into the party and mingle or whatever so there’s witnesses that they at least tried to stick it out til the end of the party, but this is Alex, finally communicating with him about what he wants and needs and Michael thinks that deserves a little positive reinforcement.

“I don’t think these fancy people came here for a show, baby, but if that’s really what you want…” Michael trails off, lifting one foot off the ground and sliding his knee on the outside of Alex’s thigh like he’s going to straddle him.

It gets the reaction he expects and Alex laughs with his head thrown back a little. Michael is mesmerized by the column of his throat, by the warmth of his palm on Michael’s hip as he stops him.

“Not like that, unless you don’t want Isobel to invite us to any more parties,” Alex says.

“Hmm. Tempting.”

“Michael.”

“Alright, alright, how do you want me, then?” Michael asks, cocking his head to the side.

“Turn around and sit on my lap. I want to hold you.”                    

Michael does as he’s told, making sure he’s not putting too much weight on Alex’s right leg. Alex’s chest is solid behind him as his arms come around Michael’s waist to pull them flush together.

Surrounded by the tasteful Christmas decorations he helped Isobel set up, Michael feels a little like a kid balancing on Santa’s knee at the mall.

Inspired, he leans back to whisper in Alex’s ear, “So, have I been a good boy this year?”

Alex’s fingers clench tighter around his waist, but his reply sounds supremely unimpressed. “We are not bringing Santa play into this relationship.”

Michael cackles. “Santa play? Is that even a thing?”

“Everything’s a thing if you look hard enough, Guerin.”

“Aw, come on, Alex,” he says, choking on a giggle, “I thought you liked stuffing my stocking.”

Alex stares at him, very pointedly stony-faced. Michael takes that as a challenge.

“Come on, baby. Don’t you want to come down my chimney? Jingle my—“

“You’re the worst,” Alex finally breaks, laughing in spite of himself. “The absolute worst.”

Michael laughs, far too pleased with himself.

“Yeah, maybe. Best you’ve ever had though,” Michael says cheekily.

Alex rolls his eyes, but pulls him closer against his chest. “Yeah,” he says, resting his chin on Michael’s shoulder. “You really are.”

Michael turns his head to press a kiss to the side of Alex’s cheek. “I love you,” he says, and he hopes Alex never gets tired of hearing it. He knows he never gets tired of saying it.

“I love you too, Michael,” Alex whispers back, nuzzling into the side of his neck.

They sit in silence for a long moment, the weight of those words a warm blanket over the two of them. Things have been so hectic lately that it’s nice to take some time to just be together.

As nice as it is, though, Michael can’t help but think about how much nicer it would be if they weren’t at a fucking holiday party. He feels his will to hold out that full hour pass by with each gentle kiss Alex presses into his skin.

“Hey,” Michael says, interrupting the moment.

“Mm?” comes Alex’s drowsy reply.

“What do you say one of us fakes food poisoning so we can get out of here?”

“God, you read my mind,” Alex says, practically pushing Michael off his lap in his eagerness. “Quick, give me your keys so I can warm up the truck while you make our excuses.“

Michael laughs as he fishes his keys out of his pocket and hands them to Alex with a kiss on the lips before heading off to find Liz. He finds her by the drink cart.

“Hey!” he says when he catches up to her. “If Isobel asks—“

“Lemme guess,” she interrupts him. “Migraine? Sudden work-related emergency?”

“Food poisoning, actually,” Michael smiles.

“Creative,” she laughs. “Go on, get out of here, Mikey. I’ll be sure to tell Isobel how sick Alex looked.”

“Thanks, Liz, I owe you one,” he says and practically books it to the front door.

The smile Alex gives him when he finally gets in his truck is more than worth any grief Isobel will give him later.

Notes:

Find me on tumblr @prouvaireafterdark!