A/N: Well, it's after Thanksgiving, which means I'm officially able to post holiday drabbles, right? Right. Also, I hope it's OK that I gratuitously stole Cain's real name, I want to give credit, but I don't even remember who came up with it in the first place, so I'm sorry, and if it's a problem, please let me know! :)
ETA: Cain's real name comes from asocialconstruct's wonderful story Appearances which FF won't let me link to, but go to her profile RITE NAO and read if you haven't already.
-EM
Presents
It had taken an hour to get downtown; an hour when any other day in heavy traffic it would have taken thirty minutes. By the time Sacha finally made it to the mall, he took one step inside and immediately fought the urge to turn around and get the fuck out again. He actually turned toward the doors—who cared if it took another hour to get back to the apartment, at least he could get away from the fake snow and trees and holiday muzak—but a few dozen people streamed through the entrance before he could take a step. After a brief attempt to fight through the crowd, Sacha eventually gritted his teeth and let himself be borne away toward the shops.
It only took a quick glance at the map for Sacha to realize that he was in over his head. He usually never visited Ethan this late in the year. Usually, he stopped by sometime in September, stayed through October and got out before Thanksgiving. There was a reason for that, Sacha reminded himself, pushing past a group of gabbling school girls, map be damned. He wasn't an idiot; he and Ethan weren't playing house, they weren't a thing. Sacha had his own place downstate; a shitty little hole-in-the-wall with water damage, cockroaches, and a leaky gas pipe. He spent as much time as he could at Ethan's, where there was always hot water and good food, but he didn't stay through the holidays; he wasn't a fucking idiot.
But he hadn't been able to visit during September this year; had lost his job mid-August and been scrambling to pay his rent ever since. He'd been working odd jobs whenever he could, scouring the newspapers, thinking about how he had risked his life for years to protect every fucking lowlife who turned him away and they didn't even have the decency to repay the favor.
He didn't have enough time or energy to visit Ethan, was too busy trying to assemble some sort of life out of the broken fragments he had left. But when he was no better off in December than he had been in September, Sacha cut and ran; ditched his shithole with the things he could carry and the rest of his measly savings in his pocket.
Ethan was happy to see him; was always happy to see him, like it made his whole fucking year when Sacha showed up on his doorstep. Sacha had kissed him before Ethan could ask about the extra bags he brought, grabbed his ass and walked him back against the wall, spreading his thighs and rubbing against him.
Later, once they had both collapsed onto the floor, sweaty and half-dressed, Ethan had again looked toward Sacha's bags. Sacha braced himself for the interrogation, the "What happened?" or, "How long are you staying this time?"
Instead, Ethan had buttoned himself up and gotten to his feet. Then he'd smiled and said, "Are you hungry?"
So Sacha had stayed; didn't have anywhere else to go anyway.
He ate Ethan's food and listened to him leave to go to work in the mornings, fucked him senseless at night. When he found a bra under the bed after trying fruitlessly to clean up a scorch mark in the carpet, he just lit another cigarette and flushed the lacy thing down the toilet. When Ethan came home that night to find the bathroom flooded, and two plumbers wearing black wellingtons huddled around the toilet, Sacha didn't say anything, even as the plumbers extracted the soaked fabric with a long rod.
Ethan waited until the men had left, taken the bra back with a wince and dropped it into the garbage. He'd tried to explain, had turned to Sacha and held his hands up, palms out, as though he were surrendering, but Sacha had just grabbed his coat and Ethan's wallet and left to get a beer or six.
When he got back, drunk and stupid, Ethan was still awake. He rolled over when Sacha slumped into bed beside him, watched as Sacha struggled out of his clothes and then gave up halfway through.
"You weren't here," he said, and Sacha heard him even though he wished he hadn't. He swallowed and kept silent, eyes closed.
He let Ethan finish stripping him down. He rolled over and felt Ethan settle in behind him, pulling the blanket over them and kissing his shoulder.
They didn't talk about it after that; hardly talked at all. When Ethan left for work a few days before Christmas, Sacha had half a mind to get his things and take off again, maybe go back downstate—or hell, maybe go back to the fucking colonies because what the fuck was the point of sticking around here.
So he'd gone to the closet and pulled down the duffel bag from where Ethan had stuck it. He dislodged a package along the way; a black box the size of his palm that thudded heavily to the ground. Sacha crouched and picked it up, flipping open the lid. A silver watch sat nestled in black velvet inside. It gleamed and ticked softly as Sacha watched; gray hand rotating around a darkened face. Sacha made to close the box again when he saw a note wedged inside the lid.
So you'll always find the time to visit. –Ethan
Sacha let the case close with a snap, setting it on the bed and sinking down next to it. He dug around his pocket and pulled out his carton of cigarettes, turning it over only to find that it was empty. He sighed and got to his feet, kicking aside the duffel to get to the door and get the fuck out of there.
He took the elevator down to the lobby, shaky and in need of a cigarette, even fumbled out the carton a few more times only to remember that he was out. Sacha made his way toward the front doors, boots echoing around the marble entryway. The man at the front desk only managed to give Sacha a tiny glare before a man and woman trying to ease a large Christmas tree through the front door diverted his attention.
He bustled around the desk to get to the harried couple, saying, "Mr. and Mrs. Carsons, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—building policy, we can't allow tenants to bring trees in."
Mr. Carsons' sweaty, flushed face fell. "But it's Christmas!" he said.
Sacha brushed past them, the front door closing as the deskman said, "I'm sorry, sir. It's procedure."
Sacha didn't have any set idea about where he was going until he found himself on a bus to the city, and then suddenly the mall. His first stop was the drugstore. He walked up to the cashier and pointed to a carton of cigarettes behind the man's back. It wasn't until the cashier slapped the box down on the counter and Sacha surveyed the state of his wallet that he sighed, thinking back to that silver watch in its velvet bed.
He closed his wallet and slipped it back into his pants. "Just forget it," he muttered, and stalked out again.
Then he was really at a loss. After a quick turn around the mall and a half dozen or so more checks with his wallet, Sacha decided that even if he knew what to get Ethan, there was no way he'd be able to afford anything near as nice as that watch. Damn it, there was a reason why he was always gone before December.
After an hour, the only thing Sacha had gotten was a pounding headache and a growing hatred for mall-shoppers. He stopped by the drugstore again because fuck it, he could afford a pack of cigarettes now that he wasn't getting anything else. He waited in line, tapping his foot against the chipped linoleum and looking around. His eyes landed on the box for a collapsible Christmas tree, complete with little twinkling lights and a bag of tinsel.
Sacha frowned, edged past an old lady who had come to stand in line behind him, and got a closer look. He consulted his wallet again, scrubbed a hand through his hair. He glanced to the right and picked up a few car fresheners that smelled like evergreens. Then he grabbed the Christmas tree box and got back in line.
When he edged back into the apartment lobby an hour later, the Carsons, and any sign of their tree, were gone. Sacha had barely struggled through the door before the deskman came over to chastise him as well, saying, "It's building policy—we can't have any trees, weren't you listening?"
But Sacha just scowled and shouldered past him to the elevators. "Oh, shut the fuck up; it's not even real."
The deskman's eyes popped, hands flexing uselessly at his sides. He opened his mouth—no doubt to tell Sacha where he could put his tree instead—but the elevator doors slid shut before he got a chance.
Sacha was ready when Ethan got home from work that day. It had only taken a few minutes to assemble the tree, but decorating it with the tinsel was another story. The gold strands got everywhere and wouldn't hang off the branches as they were supposed to, instead creating a glittery carpet around the base. After an hour of trying to get it right, Sacha eventually just grabbed a beer and collapsed onto the couch, watching more golden threads flutter to the ground. He only just remembered to hang the car fresheners on the tree and plug it in before Ethan unlocked the door.
"God, you wouldn't believe the day I had," he said, fumbling his key out of the lock, and pushing the door closed with his hip. "I had to talk to HR because apparently someone put in a complaint about me at the office—not like I don't know who it is; remember that guy I told you about—the one in advertising who always says I'm coming onto him?" He snorted and stripped off his jacket, dropping his bag to the floor. "And then, I had to disassemble an entire—what's that?"
He had turned around and was staring at the Christmas tree, his dark scarf unraveled and hanging off one shoulder, forgotten.
"It's not real," Sacha said at once, figuring he should just get it out before Ethan got his hopes up too high. "And all the—the glittery shit keeps falling off so I think I got a defective tree or something, but—"
"I love it."
Sacha frowned, glanced down and reached for his pocket again, but he still hadn't bought any goddamn cigarettes.
Ethan stepped forward, dropped the scarf to the floor and pulled something out of his jeans. "I saw you were almost out," he said, holding the pack toward Sacha.
Sacha just stared. He had thought that maybe he and Ethan could be on the same level for once; a present for a present, but just like that Ethan had managed to one-up him. Sacha didn't know why he was surprised; Ethan would always be better than him and Sacha fucking knew it, but that didn't mean he had to like it.
He reached out to take the pack, but Ethan twitched it back before his hand could connect. "Only on the balcony," he said.
Sacha scowled and snatched the carton away, tapping out a cigarette and lighting it right there in the living room. When Ethan kept staring at him however, he just took a quick tug, rolled his eyes and stubbed it out again, putting it in his pocket.
Ethan turned his face away, but Sacha still caught the little smile tugging at his lips. He walked toward the tree and then glanced back. "It smells real."
"Well, it isn't," Sacha snapped. Fuck, but all he wanted was to just finish that cigarette.
Ethan gave him a look, smile slipping off his face. "What's wrong with you? Are you still made about the bra? Cain, I said—"
"It's Sacha, and it isn't about the fucking bra."
"Then what?" Ethan asked, walking toward him. "What's—"
"I found the watch."
Ethan's eyebrows rose, then lowered. "You don't like it?"
Sacha blew out a breath, picked up his empty beer bottle and tried to drink from it anyway. "Why the fuck would you buy that for me? You now I can't afford it."
"I know that," Ethan said, "but I can."
Sacha said, "Tch," and brushed past Ethan, heading toward the bedroom, where the duffel bag and the watch were still strewn on the floor.
He picked up the duffel and threw it on the bed, opening the dresser drawer that Ethan had cleaned out for him and grabbing an armful of his clothes.
"You're leaving?" Ethan asked, coming to stand in the doorway. "Just like that? It's only been—"
"I know how long it's been," Sacha muttered. "I shouldn't have come in the first place."
"C—Sacha, if you don't like the watch, I can get—"
"Shut the fuck up about the fucking watch," Sacha said. "I don't—I can't—" He bent to pick up the black box and then shoved it into Ethan's chest. "Just take it back, I don't want it."
Ethan looked down at the case, turning it over in his hands and flipping it open. "I can't take it back," he said quietly. "It's non-refundable, you might as well just have it."
Sacha paused and glanced at him. His face was still lowered, fingers running over the dark velvet inside.
"Christ, fine, give it to me," Sacha said, taking the watch and shoving it into the bag. At the very least, he could make a mint off it at any pawnshop in the colonies. He stomach clenched uncomfortably at the thought.
"I really do like the tree," Ethan said quietly. Behind Ethan's back, Sacha could see the multi-colored lights and ragged tinsel of the tree; the best he could afford.
Sacha sighed and turned back toward his bag, zipping it up and slinging it over his shoulder.
"Please don't go," Ethan said, and when he finally met Sacha's gaze, his dark eyes were big and pleading. "Please, it's…it's the holidays. You're never here for—"
"OK, OK," Sacha said before he could think better of it, for Ethan looked on the verge of tears and Sacha wouldn't have any idea what to do if the waterworks started, if Ethan stood there crying just in front of him. "All right, I—but just for tonight."
Ethan nodded, walked forward quickly and slid Sacha's bag off his shoulder and onto the ground, grabbing at Sacha in the next moment and pulling him down, kissing him fast and desperate.
"It's all right, baby," Sacha said, wrapping his arms around Ethan's waist. "Go on, get on the bed."
And Ethan went, always so eager, stripping his clothes off as he did so, watching Sacha hungrily as he climbed on after him. He lay down across Ethan, running fingers through his pale hair. Ethan's eyelids fluttered as Sacha moved against him, a little sigh slipping through his lips. Sacha grinned as he nipped at Ethan's ear, eking more of those sweet noises out of him. He could still see the tree out of the corner of his eye, casting colors across the living room. Sacha looked away, focused his attention back on Ethan and making him feel good because this, at least, was something decent Sacha could give him.