Disclaimer: Wreck-It Ralph is the property of the Walt Disney Company.

Author's note: This is rated M because the beginning has the language and the sexual situation to justify it, but it's not an explicit fic so that's why I'm posting it here. It's most definitely fluff.

"The arcade opens tomorrow," Taffyta says sleepily.

"Mm hm."

King Candy feels her breathe in deeply, and she shifts in his embrace, then asks, "Are you happy about that?"

He's been absently twisting a strand of her hair around his finger for the past few minutes; now he pauses, presses his lips into her hair, and says, "I'm always happy, my dear."

That makes her laugh softly but she doesn't argue. Well it's mostly true anyway—his life consists of two things, racing and her, and he sees no reason, usually, not to be the happiest man alive.

Especially when there's cum from their latest fucking session drying on his stomach, sticking to both of them—on his leg too, which she's straddling as she lies on top of him, her back to his chest—and there's a slow leak of liquid from her that's this close to making him hard again. He splays his fingers on her stomach, then traces one from her belly button downwards, over the curve of her groin and then out to her hip, which he lays his palm on.

Resuming his toying with her hair, he says, "I do always miss the freedom to do this."

"Lay around doing nothing?" she asks innocently.

He chuckles. "You know exactly what I mean."

Her cheeks dimple in a grin. "Maybe it'll be—" She pauses to yawn. "—slow tomorrow."

He lets her hair slip off his finger, only so he brush it aside and expose her ear. Which he then proceeds to kiss slowly, his tongue maybe more than a little involved, as he murmurs, "And why ever would it matter if the arcade's slow tomorrow?"

"You know exactly what I mean," she says, her words fizzing with suggestion.

With another chuckle, he squeezes her hip, and then she sighs and relaxes into him, turning her head so that her nose is pressed into his cheek and her eyelashes flutter against his face as she closes her eyes. They lie there in warm silence, cinnamon logs burning down to embers in the fireplace and he's tempted to just stay there, put his arms around her and fall asleep until the fire burns down completely and they wake up shivering, but that would be fine because they'd go upstairs to bed, crawl under the blankets and perhaps in clinging together for warmth he might, possibly, spread her legs apart with his knee and put his hand between her thighs, and his fingertips would be cold at first and she'd gasp and squirm and then she'd warm his fingers up with the sweet, thick fluid already dripping out of her and then she'd moan…

Yes, well, he's tempted by that but it'll have to wait because he has something to show her. "Hey Taff," he whispers.

"Mm?"

He eases himself into a sitting position, and her with him, and she yawns again, her blue eyes hazy with sleep. "Hey," she protests weakly.

And then she gives him a confused look as he reaches for the nearest article of clothing, which happens to be his shirt, and drapes it around her shoulders. "C'mon," he says, bouncing to his feet and pulling on his pants without bothering with his tights. He doesn't need to be put together, just the important parts covered in case any one happens by, which is unlikely at this time of night but still. He has some decency left, even if the things he does with Taffyta cross ever single line ever drawn or laid down or imagined.

There's still a confused furrow in her forehead as she gets to her feet, and he moves to her side to button up his shirt for her. Which she lets him do, watching his fingers, then tilting her head and looking through her bangs at his face. After a second, he meets her eyes and moves to the next button, then the next, closing them all by feel alone. When he gets to the top one he pauses, then cups his hands around her face and she's gorgeous she's gorgeous, he's never exactly been humble about what he thinks he deserves out of life but Taffyta…she's something else, her love is a precious gift and the way she looks at him, the way she's looking at him now, it's…well, it's what makes him happy.

And it's why he's done what he's done, so he grabs her hand and pulls her towards the door. "By the way," he says, because he can't let the opportunity pass, "that shirt looks good on you, but…" He pauses for effect and she raises an eyebrow, clearly knowing exactly where this is going, and he finishes, "…it's going to look even better off you."

"Why was it so important that it end up on me in the first place?" she asks, pulling it down so that it covers her backside, which it doesn't quite and he casts an appreciative eye over the way he can see just the very bottom of her ass curving upwards under the shirttails.

He opens the door and ushers her out into the front yard after both of them have slipped shoes on. It's cold outside, glittering snow blanketing the ground and silver nonpareil stars sparkling in the black sky, and Taffyta hugs her arms around herself and shivers. He pulls her back against his bare chest and wraps his arms around her. "I know Christmas is over," he murmurs into her ear, "but consider this a…New Year's present."

"Standing half-naked out in the cold?" she asks, and he can hear the smirk in her voice.

"Not quite."

"You're right, we're mostly naked."

With a smile, he reaches behind him to touch the invisible spot on the door frame that he'd programmed, like a button he guesses only this is one-time-use only, with his coding abilities it was easy to tie this event to a specific location that will activate it, like looping the strands of code together and hooking them around one certain spot, so that when he touches it (and it will only recognize his touch), the package runs.

So he taps his finger in the precise spot and then he puts his arm around Taffyta again and he only has half a second to wait before the package activates, runs, and makes her instantly happy like he knows it will.

The house and the snow covered yard light up suddenly, glowing soft pink and white with a million tiny lights covering everything and rice cracker lanterns suspended in midair and Taffyta gasps and puts both hands to her mouth.

"Oh…" she exhales. "What…?"

He bites his lip as a grin threatens to split his face, and he tightens his arms around her and knows that all the trouble he'd gone to was worth it, every single bit. He'd snuck into the code vault at the castle, more than once because this needed to be perfect—which was obviously something he wasn't supposed to do, something actually that he was expressly forbidden to do and threats had been made, no more racing, life imprisonment, execution the glitch had said in one of her darker moods but he didn't really take her seriously, she didn't have the guts for it just like he hadn't had the guts to do the same to her all those years ago.

And eventually he'll tell Taffyta about all of that, because it's a good story, it'll make her laugh and then she'll probably throw her arms around him and smirk and tell him how brave he is, and she'll say it like it's a joke but really it won't be. Even though he wouldn't go so far as to say she's approving of his unauthorized visits to the code vault…he wouldn't exactly say she's disapproving, either.

She takes a step forward, out of his arms, and he lets her go and just watches as her feet crunch in the snow. Four steps, five away from him and she's surrounded by light; the fence and trees and house are covered in tiny Christmas lights but everything else is just a soft floating glow, lanterns dipping and bobbing in the air, and balls of diffuse light contained by nothing. They'd been the hardest to code, they'd been what had sent him back into the vault (and the devil dogs had been howling, but fifteen years as king had taught him a thing or two about hiding places in the castle where no one would be able to find him).

It had been the right thing to do. She turns slowly, head tilted up, mouth open and eyes wide, and her whole…everything, her face her hair her graceful neck her bare legs, even the part of her covered with his shirt, it's all lit and glowing soft pink and white and—and she's producing this glow too, she always does but it's burning even brighter now, taking in all this light she's surrounded with and it's like a feedback loop, a feedback loop of luminous beautiful color.

And the thing is, the thing is, he's not…great, really, at expressing himself. Not out loud. He can never actually make the words come out, he always wants them to be perfect, like a flawless line of code and then they don't come out at all, and he's not…well, he's just not good at saying those sorts of things anyway. Saying 'I love you', that's one thing. But it's insufficient, it's not just that he loves Taffyta, it's so much…more.

They've been together a long time now and both of them know the way the other feels, they know that it can all remain unspoken most of the time because it's in everything, the look they shoot each other before a race, her hand brushing across the back of his head, the way they reach for each other in bed and hold on. But that doesn't mean that he doesn't want to tell her, doesn't want to to express it somehow, and if his words can't be as perfect as code, then…well then he'll have to make his coding perfect.

Because this, this is how he feels.

She's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen—has been from the moment Sugar Rush's upgrade took effect—and right now she's radiant. Even though he's never been able to say it, he knows that she knows—she's hislight, the most luminous thing in his life and he'll follow that light like a beacon guiding him home.

That beacon has always been her, anyway, even when he didn't realize it.

Taffyta turns to face him, light glittering on the snow around her, illuminating her eyes and her face, and, her gaze locked on his, she takes the five steps back to him, puts her hands on either side of his face and kisses him hard. He wraps his arms around her, pulls her close and kisses her back and the taste of her is at odds with the winter around them and yet perfect for the landscape he's created, she's all summery strawberries and light, which—no of course light doesn't have a taste but if it did it would be this, it would be her.

This projection of his heart can't last long, can't be permanent, and he gently breaks their kiss and turns her around so she can see it in its dying seconds, one last flare before it's gone and the night is dark and cold and silent once more.

His actual heart—well, that will never be dark or cold or silent ever again.

She shivers in his arms and he has to admit it's cold, but she's warm, her body heat leeching through his shirt to his skin, and neither of them makes a move to go back inside. The only move she makes is to put her arms over his and lean her head back at the same time that he leans his forward, and their faces fit side-by-side comfortably.

"Thank you," she whispers.

He turns his head so he can kiss her cheek, and then his lips travel down to her jawline, trail across to her chin and she sighs and by the time he gets to her lips, her mouth is open and ready for him and they kiss slowly.

"You're welcome," he murmurs into her lips eventually.

And it's probably not, strictly speaking, appropriate, considering the moment they've just had, the moment he created for her, but…King Candy hasn't forgotten that his shirt doesn't quite cover her backside, and as much as he enjoyed buttoning the shirt up to come outside and show her this, he's going to enjoy unbuttoning it much more.

He doesn't have to say any of that out loud. If they'd mastered the unspoken language of their bared hearts, well, they'd mastered the unspoken language of their bared bodies and desires long before that. The quality of his kiss changes and she comes right along with him, not following but completely in step and if it wasn't cold and snowy outside…

But it is, and anyway she tugs on the waist of his pants and steps out from the circle of his arms, opens the front door and gives him a hooded-eyed look. The meaning of that is unmistakable.

His fantasy from earlier doesn't happen exactly the way he'd imagined, though—turns out they're both terribly cold, and the bedroom's up such a steep flight of stairs, and frankly by the time the front door closes behind them he wants her so badly that making it to the couch is an impressive enough feat.

And he takes his time telling her something else, something similar but not quite the same as what he'd said outside, slow hands and lips and her hair falling over her face as she leans her forehead against his and breathes out and whispers his name. He gives her everything like he always does, like he always will—because she gave him the choice to step into her light, a choice that wasn't one at all in the end. He couldn't do anything else.