For TheOriginalHufflepuff's 'The Twelve Fics of Christmas' challenge. She's been an awesome, loyal reviewer and I'm really excited to be taking part in this challenge; my first, actually. :o)
Prompt 4: Firewhisky
Halo
Fabian brings out the Firewhisky on Christmas Eve, after dinner at Molly's is finished and they've returned home to the warm little flat they keep near Manchester.
Dorcas manages to swallow a little of it; she can't bear the taste of straight alcohol. It's enough, along with the glasses of wine from earlier, to make the room glow in the firelight from the hearth, to make Fabian's touch on her skin more heart-stopping than usual.
She doesn't drink normally, but the lovely light feeling it creates makes her wish that drinking wasn't such a chore. Fabian laughs at her when she sways back onto the sofa, smiling dizzily.
She pulls him down on top of her, kissing him breathless, only to pull away when his hand drifts down to the back of her knee and tickles her. Dorcas shrieks and Fabian dives for her sides, tickling her mercilessly until she rolls off the sofa to get away from him and scrambles to her knees, crawling along towards the bedroom until she can get up the momentum to jump to her feet.
He starts after her, removing his wire-rimmed glasses from where they sat skewed on his face and tossing them away. His legs are longer and she was already breathless with laughter, and he rushes the door and tackles her onto the bed before she can slam it behind her.
When they make love, giggling and playful, they don't know it's the last time. Fabian doesn't know about the death that waits for him and his brother in an alleyway in Newcastle. Dorcas doesn't know how desperately she'll wish she'd been sober, that she could recall every detail and touch and whisper and giggle and feeling in crystal clarity. The Firewhisky will put a hazy golden halo on every memory and she'll regret that for the rest of her life (she won't regret for very long).
But in the moment, before grief and regret can tarnish the memory the moment will become, Dorcas is perfectly in love with her Fabian, with the shade of his dark red hair and the way he squints at her, as good as blind without his glasses but still desperate to see the shape his name makes on her lips. The world is golden and warm when he's in her arms then, his hair like spicy-smelling autumn leaves spread across her chest and she's sure she knows why they call it Firewhisky. Pale fingers lace through Fabian's beautiful hair and Dorcas wonders how they don't burn in the embers.
She finishes Fabian's bottle in bleak February, cold and alone and desperate to see the world in a colour other than grey. The grey just falls away to black.