Series Note: A child of several spirited Twitter conversations, "The 12 Days of Sexmas" marathon is an ode to Helen and John. The idea is very simple: Throughout the month of December, a group of authors will be posting stories that include: Helen/John, Sex/Smut, and Christmas. Any other details are up to the author! Good/Evil John, Established/New relationship, drabble or drama… Whatever! We hope you enjoy our festive offerings. If anyone wants to jump into the fray and contribute, please contact MajorSam (check or ) for details! Enjoy!
Author's Note: In this story, John is cured of his energy creature and in an established relationship with Helen. This story can be considered part of my "No Destination in Mind" series/universe. I own nothing of Sanctuary or its characters. I just play with them. My words, however, are my own. Enjoy, and happy holidays!
The Twelve Days of Sexmas:
Peppermint Twist
(Copyright 2010, NoCleverSig)
John Druitt walked into the bathroom he shared with Helen Magnus in his black silk pajama bottoms, shirtless, shoeless, and sniffing the humid air.
"Why does it smell like peppermint?" he asked, nose wrinkled.
Their bathroom, like everything else in their quarters, was quintessentially Helen. And just like her, it had a certain ambience to it. In this case, lavender, sandalwood, and an exotic scent John could never quite identify. Although pleasing, peppermint was an odor Druitt neither noted nor associated with his lover.
He turned around to find Helen, naked, lounging in a bevy of white bubbles which, unfortunately, covered every inch of her gorgeous frame. She lay relaxed and lethargic in a large, white, claw foot tub with an assortment of soaps, candles, and sponges on a silver tray beside her. A standing shower with intricate green and black marble inlays was built into the far left corner of the room. Adorning her vanity were neatly arranged colorful glass bottles of perfumes and more candles along with stylish, but utilitarian, dishes for soap, tissue, and toothbrushes. A glass vase filled with purple and blue lavender flowers stood in the middle of the vanity against the mirror. On the floor was a thick, lush Persian rug covered in splashes of blue, brown, and crimson.
And in the middle of it all, sat Helen Magnus in splendent repose, soaking in what appeared to be a peppermint bubble bath. John smiled. Despite her practical and scientific nature, his lover enjoyed her creature comforts.
Helen's dark hair was pulled up lazily atop her head in a large silver clip, presumably to keep it out of harm's way of the prevalent foam. Her expression was one of sheer bliss. In fact, John noted, she looked asleep.
He should have known better.
"It smells like peppermint, John, because I'm soaking in a peppermint bubble bath," she answered him distractedly, eyes closed, her face expressionless except for the relaxation that smoothed her brow. It was a look John appreciated. She worked too hard, took on too much. It was a treat to see her this way, tranquil and serene.
"And where, pray tell, my love, did you acquire peppermint bubble bath?" he teased.
She smiled a bit at that. "Tis' the season….Actually, when I went Christmas shopping this weekend I picked up a bottle from the local bath shop; the oatmeal peppermint soap, and the matching candles as well." Helen lifted her hand out of the tub, the first sign of hidden flesh John saw, and pointed, eyes still shut, to the flickering wicks on the vanity and silver shelf. "I find it refreshing. And just a tad bit…tingly."
Something about the way Helen said, "tingly," made John's groin tighten.
"I see," he said, trying to keep his voice from cracking like a school boy. "So I take it this is an annual holiday tradition I am just now privy to?"
She smiled again. "Well, since this will be our first Christmas together in a rather long while. Yes, I suppose this is a tradition you would have had no knowledge of previously," she said coquettishly.
He was sure he heard a flirtatious intonation in her voice. A "come hither" invitation that he didn't dare ignore.
"Well, then, if you don't mind, I'll join the festivities…"
Before Helen could stop him, John had slipped off his black silk pajama bottoms, stepped into the tub, and was positioning his rather large frame down into the water in front of her.
"John!" she yelled, sitting up, but it was too late. The bath, which was already full, splashed buckets of water and bubbles over the side and onto the tile and rug.
Helen shot Druitt a pointed glare. "Somebody," she directed her stare straight at him, "Is going to have to clean this mess up."
He smirked at her, reached out, and tucked a stray hair back behind her ear, trying his best not to laugh at her angry expression. "The price we pay, my dear, for holiday traditions."
She was annoyed. Truly annoyed with him. He'd disturbed her perfectly peaceful, relaxing respite. A rare treat for her on the best of days. Yet, as she looked at him sitting there in front of her, a mischievous grin upon his face, his muscular body dripping with water and puffs of peppermint bubbles slowly sliding down his chest, her anger quickly dissipated. It had been a long time…a very long time…since they had done something like this together. The rug would dry. The tile would be mopped. But moments like these, Helen had learned long ago, were too precious to ignore.
Helen reached up onto the silver tray beside her and grabbed the round, rough bar of peppermint oatmeal soap she'd bought, lifted John's hand into hers, and began to stroke the soapy suds up and down his long, firm arm.
"You look dirty, John," she murmured, her voice low. "In need of exfoliation," she added, drawing out the last word. "Perhaps I should clean you up?" she suggested coyly.
Druitt lifted an eyebrow, his skin beginning to glisten with goosebumps at her touch and the coolness of the surrounding air.
He stared at her as she moved to his other arm, stroking it slowly up and down, and felt himself quite suddenly overcome with love for her. He reached out and laid a hand atop hers, just as she reached his shoulder, stopping her movement, catching her gaze with his own.
"You've already cleansed my soul, Helen. I can't think of any more you could do for me."
He lifted his hands from the water and cupped her face, tilting it up, and leaned in to kiss her softly, unhurriedly. There were no sounds but the occasional drop of water from the faucet, and the slow movement of their bodies in the water. No light but the flicker of the candles as the afternoon sun grew dim outside.
Helen let the bar of soap slide out from under her hand down John's chest and into the water as she reached out to wrap her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. She opened her mouth to him, inviting him in, teasing him with her tongue, her hand slipping to the back of his neck, her nails playing with the bristles of hair she found there.
John moved his hands down to Helen's waist, tightening his hold on her, his heart pounding. He could feel the slickness of her bare breasts, partially hidden still with drifts of white bubbles, warm against his chest.
Suddenly she broke away, taking her warmth with her. He looked at her oddly when she smiled a playful grin and reach down between his legs. "Oops. I dropped the soap. I should find it."
Her hand, of course, found something else, and he closed his eyes, gasping at her firm hold on him. She kept one hand on his length, stroking him, the other she lifted up, soap in hand.
"Found it," she smiled wickedly, and began rubbing his chest in lazy circles.
Helen was right. The peppermint tingled. His whole body shivered at her touch and the strong, sweet scent of mint that filled the air.
After a time, John reached down and stilled her hand under the water, afraid that if she continued, their intimacy might end too soon. She followed his lead and let go, looking up at him with expectation in her deep, blue eyes. He smiled at her and took the soap from her hand.
"Turn around, love," he directed her. "I'll wash your back."
Helen smiled at him and did as he instructed, turning her back to his front, positioning her body between his long, lean, outstretched legs.
There was a reason she had bought a tub large enough for two. She just never imagined John Druitt would be the one she might share it with. Despite the sadness, the losses in her life, Helen mused, the years were also filled with surprises and unexpected joys.
John took the soap and with his right arm stroked her back in deliberate, lazy circles, droplets of water trickling down her spine into the cooling bath. With his left he worked his long fingers up and down her arm in leisurely stretches. The sun had now set. The candles flickered, casting dancing shadows across the walls. The silence, the scent, the sensation of John's quiet touch on her back, her arm, was hypnotic, like a drug lulling her into peaceful slumber.
Helen felt John shift behind her and his lips were on her neck, raining feather light kisses from her cheek to the hollow of her collar, down one side and up the other. The sensation sent waves of goosebumps up her legs, her sides. He stopped the movement on her arm, her back, let the soap glide from his hand into the water, and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her firmly against his chest, still showering her neck, her cheek, her ears with kisses. He dipped his left hand under the water and began stroking her. Helen opened her legs wider for him, inviting him in. With his other arm, he reached up to cup her breasts, massaging one then the other with the tufts of slick white bubbles still clinging to her skin. He continued this way for awhile, until he could hear her breathing grow shallower, feel her body instinctively begin to rock against his. She leaned back further into him, tilting her head back. He moved his head forward until she breathed into his ear.
"John," she whispered. "I want you inside me."
He nodded into her neck, still raining kisses upon her, unable to find the words to respond. He lifted her gently atop him, slowly easing her down upon his shaft, feeling her shudder, hearing her sudden intake of breath as he filled her.
She reached one arm behind her and circled his neck, pulling his head forward, seeking his mouth and latching onto it with her own in a frenzied dance.
With one hand he stroked her as she rode him slowly, leisurely, up and down, the water splashing gently in time with their rhythm. With his other he kneaded her breast, pinching her, pulling her, flicking her.
Their lips finally broke apart as their rhythm quickened. John stroked Helen faster, pumping into her as she sank down atop him, lifting her with his arms.
The scent of peppermint wafted through the air, hitting Helen's nostrils, awakening her every sense. She could hear the water slapping against and over the sides of the tub as their lovemaking grew faster, harder, more frenzied. She briefly wondered what her staff would think if they suddenly plunged through the ceiling onto the floor below, when suddenly, waves of pleasure crashed over her. Lights burst in her mind's eye as she convulsed on top of John, coming hard, her breathing heavy and ragged. John tumbled after her, pouring into her, wrapping his hands tight about her waist pulling her down in one last thrust onto him, crying out as he came inside her.
They sat there, Helen atop him, her hands holding onto his as he gripped her stomach, his head against her shoulder, breathing heavy but silent.
The water slowly receded, lapping gently once again against the side of the porcelain tub.
"I think I could get used to this tradition," John mumbled after a time, smiling into Helen's neck.
She leaned her head back to rest against his. "As could I," she grinned in agreement. "Happy holidays, John," she added, and as soon as the phrase left her lips, Helen realized she hadn't said those words to him in over a century. The thought of it suddenly choked her.
John must have heard. He turned his head, kissed her cheek, and tightened his grasp on her to keep her warm in the now too cool tub.
"Happy holidays, my dear. Now, and forever more."
END