A/N: Thanks for all of your reviews! They make me very happy. I have to knuckle down and start studying, but would like to keep going with this fic - reviews are definitely one way of inspiring me to do that…just sayin'… :D

A lot happens on Christmas Day between Aliona and Dean, so I have split it into a few different chapters. This is Part I – Morning.

I hope you like it.

Now, how do you say 'sexual tension' in Russian…?


Late Morning, Christmas Day

Las Vegas, Nevada

"Ali, wake up!"

Who was calling her name? He had a gorgeous, raspy voice, whoever he was.

"Seriously, wake up! You don't wanna miss this."

She rolled over on to her back, smiling to herself as she stretched luxuriously. Damn, this bed was comfortable. She pulled the duvet snugly around her body, burrowing down as much as she could, refusing to open her eyes and greet the day just yet.

"Hey! Pay attention to me! It's snowing!"

Mr. Bedroom Voice needed to chill out….wait a second, did he say that it was snowing? And she was still in Vegas? And oh yeah, that was Dean Ambrose's voice – her Christmas angel. Ha, he would probably pull a wrestling move on her for describing him as that.

She was about to open her eyes when she felt a warm, wet substance land on her face. Her hand reached up instinctively to touch it, noting its distinctive scent.

Her eyes flew open in surprise, taking in the white stuff that covered her fingers. She watched the thick gloop slowly slide down the length of her hand.

Dean was kneeling by her head, looking down at her with a huge grin on his face.

"I tried to warn you," he shrugged, his hand moving to rub the sticky goo into her face. Aliona batted at his hands, a shiver of horror running through her.

She stared up at him, mouth agape.

"Did you just come on my face?"

"Yes."

The silence in the room was palpable as she let that sink in. Shock caused a temporary paralysis to bleed into her limbs.

"No, I didn't come on your face! Jesus Christ, what do you take me for? One of your Russian peasant men? Does that happen to you a lot? Is that a normal occurrence for you on Christmas Day - waking up to a man coming on your face? Take your mind out of the gutter, wench."

Aliona let out a sigh of relief. She was comforted by his response (kinda...), but also slightly embarrassed by her assumption.

"Then what is this stuff? And why did you feel the need to spray it on my face?"

"I toyed with the idea of giving you a facial for Christmas…" he mused slyly. "But then I thought that I could give you something that you're equally familiar with – snow!"

She sat upright, grabbing a handful of his hair and giving it a sharp tug for his suggestive remark.

"Ow! If you're going to get handsy in the morning, at least make it fun."

Aliona loosened her grip and settled cross-legged on top of the duvet, darting her tongue out to lick at the white gloop.

"Tastes good," she noted, sucking the remainder from her fingers. "Even if it does look like spunk."

Dean paid particular attention to her little pink tongue lapping up the substance. God damn, if that wasn't a good visual to wake up to. Merry Christmas to him.

"It should, it's cream. Or snow, for our purposes today."

"Why is it warm?" She asked, stretching out her legs and rolling her neck to release some of the tension that had snuck into her body while she slept.

"I forgot to put it in the refrigerator last night. My bad. Still works, though." He pulled out a can that he had concealed behind his back, and shot another thick stream of cream on to her face.

"You troll!" She spluttered indignantly, wiping it away and lunging for him. Unfortunately for her, Dean had quick reflexes. He ninja-rolled off the bed and stood with his hands on his hips by the door, the familiar smirk pulling at his lips.

"What are you gonna do about it?"

Aliona assessed him carefully, knowing that he was ready for another quick strike. The seconds dragged on, his body still primed for the expected lightning attack.

It never came.

Instead, she chose a much more effective method to take down her enemy: the element of surprise.

Ever so slowly, Aliona rose to her feet, carefully balancing herself while standing on the mattress. Dean's expression remained neutral as he kept his gaze trained on her, still prepared to defend himself at a moment's notice.

Her fingers crept to the edge of her camisole, before whipping the material up to reveal her chest in one fluid motion.

She was still wearing her bra from the night before, but the unexpected flash of skin caught Dean off guard.

Taking advantage of this, Aliona lithely sprang from the bed, yanked the can from his hands and spurted a generous pile of cream on to his face, rubbing it in as he had done to her.

"Not the first time you've had something wet and sticky on your face, is it, Ambrose?" She taunted, adding a thick layer to his bare chest. Deciding not to push her luck, she then made for the living room, knowing that he would soon be in hot pursuit.

She leaped up on to the couch, turning to face him as he approached, his shock having worn off pretty quickly.

"You have no idea what you just started," he said, his tone deep and threatening. His blue eyes narrowed as they watched her. He was secretly pleased that she had been so brazen, and had now given him a reason to seek revenge.

Dean shoved his hand into his basketball shorts, causing Aliona to arch an eyebrow at him.

"And just what exactly are you going to do? Flash me back? Use your dick as a sword?"

Her jibes only gave him more fuel for his fire. His hand re-emerged, revealing a second can of cream.

"Oh."

"What's wrong, peasant? Fresh out of smack talk?"

A full, thick stream of cream landed on his abs in response.

The audacity of this woman! Standing there in her little shorts and top, having flashed him, and then used his own weapons against him. He was determined to make her regret such insolence.

"Eat this, Russia!" He yelled,rushing forward and pressing the spray mechanism at the same time. Massive dollops of cream flew everywhere, hitting everything…except his intended target. Aliona had bounced on to a nearby chair, where she balanced precariously on the armrest.

"Oh, it's like that, is it? The tired, old American diatribe against my beautiful motherland? Why do you hate us so much? All of the movies – the Russians are always the bad guys. Are you threatened? Is that it? I thought that such talk was beneath you." She shook her head sadly, the can firmly secured in her hand, her finger twitching to release the next wave of attack.

"The only thing that's going to be beneath me is you," he promised, all dark eyes, tousled hair and tensed firm muscle.

Aliona's eyes lit up. If only she could have him for Christmas. He looked unbelievably sexy in the morning, and his deep voice resonated even lower, vibrating with a gravelly tone.

She arched an eyebrow at him, "Promise?"

Dean was about to reply, when Aliona suddenly wrinkled her nose in confusion, momentarily taken away from their banter.

"Hang on, why are you wearing shorts? You were wearing pjs last night." Realisation dawned in her large brown eyes, surprise opening her mouth into an O of understanding. The chocolate brown depths slid up to his baby blues, offering sympathy. "Did somebody have an accident?" The last part came out in a loud stage whisper, as she pointed at his crotch.

Their eyes were drawn to his groin at the same time, both of them noticing that Dean was sporting an impressive piece of wood.

The spark of lust continued to burn bright in her eyes, as she watched the large bulge with keen interest.

"Oh yeah, that," he said, shrugging. "It's the morning."

He edged slightly to the side, intending to use his erection as a means of diversion.

"Somebody was out for the count, so I started preparing dinner and then went to the gym downstairs. Had to get a sweat in. This," he gestured to his bare torso, "is the second part of your present – I know that you've imagined me shirtless and sweaty a million times in the past twenty four hours. I would only do this for you, babe." He leaned forward and winked at her, "You're welcome."

Aliona should have known better.

She should have seen it coming.

But in her defence, she just couldn't tear her eyes away from that very distracting bulge.

Dean thrust his can forward, shooting the cream indiscriminately, landing a few good shots.

A strangled scream and several Russian curses fell from her mouth, her hands instantly going to the affected body parts, wiping at her chest and legs. She shook her head, trying to clear the lusty fog that had settled in her mind. The thick cream was making her skin sticky. She couldn't help but think that some people would pay good money to watch this.

Glancing up, she saw the look of pride on his face. His arms were crossed over his chest - providing yet another distraction by emphasising the definition there.

This. Meant. War.

Tossing strategy and tactics to the wind, Aliona jumped off the armrest and clung to Dean's neck, her legs wrapping tightly around his waist. Her position gave her a slight height advantage, allowing her to shift and catch him in a headlock. She pushed his head forward into her chest and sprayed with abandon, until his honey blonde hair was smothered in thick, tacky goop. "Eat this, Ambrose! Eat it!"

"Is this supposed to be punishment?" His muffled voice asked, his lips moving against the delicate skin of her décolletage as he spoke.

She growled and pulled his head back to glare at him.

Big mistake.

He suddenly took them to the floor, trying to grab hold of her arms as she thrashed about beneath him.

His hands landed on her wrists, squeezing them until the can fell from her grip. "Fuck!" She exhaled loudly, her chest heaving from her exertions. She watched the can roll away, pouting her rosy bottom lip. She cut her eyes back up to him, tilting her head to the side.

"No," he stated firmly. "Forget the puppy dog eyes. They won't work on me. I'm a cold hearted bastard."

She grunted out her frustration, jerking her body sharply in the hope of dislodging him. She was almost able to slip out, before he shifted his weight, and pinned her fully to the floor. This was the exact position that they had found themselves in the night before, but her wrists were now held down.

Dean took a moment to enjoy the feel of her warm, lithe body beneath his as she caught her breath. He could get used to having her writhing underneath him. Moaning his name. Begging for release.

He emerged from these thoughts when she ceased her struggle. Dean pulled both of her wrists above her head, securing them with one of his hands. He reached down with his other hand and picked up his can, goading her as he waved it in front of her unsmiling face.

"Now, I want you to think carefully about your options here," he said slowly, resting the can right by her head. "You can give up and admit that I'm the man, or you can take a face full of cream. I know that you're more accustomed to the latter, and have an impressive amount of experience with it – hey! No biting! Now, take a minute to think it through."

Aliona looked up, drawing attention to her hands, where her middle finger was raised and pointing directly at Dean.

His teeth gleamed as he smiled evilly, "Alright, if that's how you want to play it – then so be it." He moved to pick up the can, pausing when she said, "No! Wait, wait! That was a force of habit. Give me a second."

He regarded her with displeasure, before sighing and sitting back on his heels, removing some of his weight from her stomach.

Before he could realise what she was doing, she brought her right leg up and smacked him between the shoulder blades with her foot. He jumped in surprise and twisted his upper body around, which allowed her to forcefully shove him away and climb out from under him. She scrabbled for her discarded can, and swung around to face him, arm raised and ready.

Dean scowled at her, rubbing his shoulder agitatedly. "Son of a bitch!"

Aliona couldn't help but grin at the grumpy puppy expression that he wore, and his scratchy, irritated tone. She adopted a fencing pose, and pressed down firmly on the tab to release a string of cream…except that nothing came out.

She stared at the can, dumbfounded, shaking it vigourously in the hope that it would come back to life. "Shit!"

Dean's smug smile said it all. He swaggered over to her, plucked the empty can from her fingers, tossed it away and then once again took her to the floor. He pulled her back against his chest, catching her in a headlock with one arm while the other held his own can in front of her face. For extra security, he wrapped his legs around her waist. She flailed pathetically – she was well and truly caught. His firm grip left no room for escape.

"Now," he whispered in her ear, "would you like me to repeat your options?"

She shook her head, wriggling her hips desperately in a last-ditch attempt to avoid being creamed.

"That's it, darlin', keep moving like that against me," he breathed out, with a lecherous chuckle.

She immediately stilled, slapping his thigh reproachfully.

"Fine," she sighed, letting her body go limp. "I give. You're the man."

"Louder," he prompted, his voice letting her know just how much he was enjoying this. "Say it with some conviction."

"You're the man! So manly, so hairy. You win."

Aliona had assumed that he would release her then, but Dean wasn't quite finished just yet.

"Tell me that you like my cream." He was clearly loving this.

"I like your cream," she said, resigned to her fate.

"I know that you do, peasant," he murmured, shaking the can. "And, as I am in the business of making peasant girl's dreams come true, I have no other choice but to…" He trailed off, gleefully watching Aliona jump as he shoved the can down the front of her shirt and squirted.

"That was for your display of public indecency earlier. Learn some self-respect!"

The gloopy substance dripping down her chest gave her the heebie-jeebies. "I tap out! I tap out!" She yelped, thrashing about in order to end the slimy hell.

Dean smiled at her use of that phrase, but ultimately ignored her pleas, only letting go once the can had been emptied and began to spit air.

"There's nothing quite like homemade snow," he said happily, as he picked himself up from the floor and sauntered off toward the kitchen to check on the food in the oven, humming 'Let It Snow,' all the while.

"I hate you!"

"Love you too, sweetheart!"


"I'm such a mess," Aliona panted a few moments later as she lay on the living room floor, her hand resting on her heaving, sticky chest.

"Ain't that the truth," he noted wryly as he re-joined her on the floor, expertly blocking the inevitable smack that his comment provoked.

"Cute," she said sarcastically, tilting her head to face him, her eyes narrowed. "If I am a mess, than it's all your fault. You got me drunk last night, and now look at me!"

"You smell like a small brewery," he affirmed, nodding his head. "One with low-paid workers and questionable health and safety practices."

Yes, he was a smart ass. And a pain in the ass. But…he was funny.

She smiled at him, "I'll give you that one. After getting me drunk, you then decided to wake me up on Christmas Day, by kneeling over me and shooting sticky gunk all over my face. Is that a normal occurrence for you?"

"Nope, darlin', you were my first…on Christmas morning," he said smugly, stretching his hands over his head, elongating his big body, the smooth skin pulling tight over the heavy muscle in his arms and chest.

"And hopefully your last," she muttered to herself, eyeing up the light dusting of hair on his chest. "You didn't have a love rug in the photos that I saw of you online – how come you're a hairy beast now?"

He snorted loudly, running his hands through his mussed-up locks.

"My boss likes us to be hairless, it's just an aesthetic thing. With my gear at the moment, I don't have to shave my chest all of the time, but I gotta keep my pits in shape. I've been lazy the past few weeks, hence the manly chest that you see before you. But it's okay, because chicks seem to dig it."

He winked at her, lazily stroking the dark blonde hair covering his pecs, which was now matted after being thoroughly doused with cream.

Aliona wanted to lick it off.

There was also a dollop of cream just below his right ear that was begging for her attention…

He sat upright suddenly, clapping his hands together. "It's time for presents!"

"Nooooo," she groaned, throwing her forearm over her eyes. "Where do you get your energy from? We did so much yesterday, and then all of the drinking, and then our battle. It's time for bed again."

He crawled over to her, pulled her arm back and charmed her with another of his adorable smiles. "I would happily climb back into bed with a sticky girl who likes to get handsey…if she didn't have brandy breath. Now, get your butt up, brush your teeth and then you'll be showered with presents by a handsome stud."

He leaned down, pulling her hair back from her face and slowly followed a line of cream up the length of her neck with his tongue. He smacked his lips together, eyes glinting at her, "Mmmm, delicious."

"Fine, Mr. Modesty," she sighed, shivering ever so slightly at the feel of his warm, wet tongue on her sensitive skin. Could he please stop being be so sexy? That would make this whole situation easier to deal with. And why did the universe insist on engineering ways for them to get up close and personal, but then…nothing?

Although she acted as if his suggestion was a chore, she had to admit that she was loving every second that she got with him…even if all it ever amounted to was flirting.

But, in the unlikely event of anything ever happening between them, she knew that those dimples could convince her to do just about anything.

And what fun that would be.


A/N: Ooh, I wonder what they got each other for Christmas?

Please review!