A/N: It's December 11th! Fun fact: my birthday is in a month! Another fun fact: It's time for a little more Mullette! So let's open the metaphorical calendar door!

December 11

Hercules woke upon that Sunday morning bleary-eyed after a long night of sewing a garment which he couldn't stand to leave unfinished. It was hardly a rare occurrence for him to find that he was unable to set down an item of clothing he was working on, because he knew that with every exquisite piece he finished, an abundance of awe-filled gratitude would be awarded to him, and he was not ashamed to admit that he relished the high praise his precise work almost always earned him. Though his broad shoulders and tall stature could be said to give the Irishman an intimidating appearance, in reality his heart was as soft and tender as a roasted marshmallow, and the tiniest of smiles held the power to motivate the mountainous man to do incredible things.

As a result, it was something of a regular occurrence that he should wake up slumped over his desk, needle and thread still perched between his finger and thumb, and temporarily oblivious to where he was.

Such was the case on that misty Sunday morning. He wasn't entirely aware of his surroundings in those first moments after forcing his eyes open, which is why he jumped practically out of his skin when the doorbell rang. Even so, he braved leaving the desk in his room and crossing the threshold into the rest of his shared apartment, being assaulted by a garish barrage of Christmas decorations as he did so, (Which, dare he admit it, had significantly grown on him since he decided to give in and allow Lafayette's decorations to encroach upon every area of his life) including paper chains zigzagging across the hallway low enough that he had to stoop to avoid them.

He opened the door to find a struggling mailman - or at least, the bottom half of one. The top half was primarily hidden by an enormous box, leaving only a pair of eyes peering over the top.

Surprised, Mulligan commented with an amused chuckle, "You must really feel lucky today, right buddy? Not only do you have to deliver post on a Sunday, but you're lumbered with that!" The sarcasm was evident in his tone, but it was highly sympathetic rather than spiteful. "Let me help you out," he offered, reaching for the parcel, eager to ease the mailman's burden.

"Oh, just a minute, Sir, I just need to check," the postman apologetically replied, still holding the parcel. With an almost desperate edge to his voice, (I'd be that desperate if I had to run through procedures before being allowed to offload that, too, Hercules reflected) he enquired, "Is this the home of," he hesitated, shifting the colossal package and reading the label, "Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette?"

Hercules beamed with sudden comprehension, realizing that the oversized parcel and the unusual day of delivery made perfect sense. Shouting into the apartment, he called, "Laf! Delivery for you!" Turning back to the mailman, he confirmed, "Yup, he lives here. Thanks man - I guess that must be pretty heavy, all things considered." Lafayette definitely comes from a long line of Frenchman and women who go infinitely overboard when it comes to Christmas. Then again, there's not a thing about Laf that I'd change, this included. With that, he took the parcel from the smaller man, finding it was not so heavy to him as he had feared despite the way the mailman had blanched from the effort of carrying it. Or perhaps he was just provided with an additional burst of energy from seeing that relief on the postman's face.

As an afterthought, Hercules shifted the box into one arm and dug into his jean pocket with the other, delving deep to find a Christmas tip for him; there was no saying if they'd receive more post closer to Christmas itself, and he would have hated to forget to tip altogether - he had never been wealthy, but now he was financially secure, he had no qualms about sharing his fortune. He produced a few notes, and passed them to the mailman, warmly wishing as he did so, "Happy Holidays, man!"

The postman returned his cheerful expression and gratefully pocketed the cash, responding wholeheartedly, "Thank you, Sir. I hope you have a great Christmas." With that, the man shuffled away, more of a spring in his step than when he had approached the building.

Hercules turned into the hallway and made his way into the sitting room, placing the box in the middle of the floor - or what little floor space remained beyond the perimeter of their oversized Christmas tree. Again, he called, "Laf!"

He knew the Frenchman was a heavy sleeper, however he also knew that he loved to make the most of his days off. Which is why, moments later, the sound of stumbling, sleepy footsteps grew increasingly louder as the lanky man made his way towards his flatmate, mumbling almost incoherently, "Oui, oui, mon ami, I'm here, lower your booming voice. Qu'est la probleme?"

Smirking in amusement, Mulligan gestured to the parcel on the floor and explained, "It's no problem. I'm guessing this is from your parents?" He knew that, though his flatmate's parents had both been incredibly busy throughout his childhood with very demanding jobs, they had also reaped the financial rewards, and despite their emotional distance from their son, they had always been prone to buying him bundles of gifts for any occasion that warranted it, even after he had moved to the United States.

Lafayette's eyes widened as he noticed the large box. He dropped to his knees before it, immediately reaching for the tag and reading the elegant cursive, before looking back up at Hercules with a sudden grin. "Oui. I believe it is time to open some gifts!"

"But... It's not Christmas day yet, Laf," Mulligan pointed out. He himself had a high regard for complying with the moral obligations to wait until the very day before opening any presents. Then again, if Lafayette was so insistent, who was he to argue and wipe that entrancing grin from his features? Already willing to give in and observe the proceedings, he, too, sat down on the floor.

The Frenchman simply placed both hands on either side of Hercules' face, brought them almost eye to eye, and solemnly promised, "My parents did not send that parcel with the expectation that it would remain unopened for more than a few minutes. They would be ashamed of me if I did anything but dive in." He shuffled aside, an unspoken invitation for the larger man to sit even closer, and Hercules complied, crawling around the package and coming to sit beside Laf as the Frenchman began to attack the box with animalistic determination.

It was barely thirty seconds before Lafayette was taking the lid off of the parcel to reveal a selection of smaller gifts of varying shapes and sizes, all wrapped in cream paper decorated with small Eiffel Towers and festive holly leaves, tied with a scarlet ribbon. All of them but one, which was instead wrapped in red paper and tied with a white bow. Mulligan settled himself comfortably, his elbows resting on his knees and his head propped up by his hands, a peaceful smile illuminating his features with radiant pleasure as he indulged in watching his best friend's blooming delight.

It was a bizarre way to find joy, but given his feelings for the Frenchman it was hardly surprising that he adored seeing him happy. And when tearing recklessly through carefully wrapped parcels to discover the generous gifts bestowed on him by his parents, Lafayette was definitely happy, his eyes aglow with the combined effect of his excitement and the multi coloured Christmas lights glistening within the branches of the tree and reflected off of every other glistening decoration placed throughout the sitting room; his smile, the very one which provoked a spike in Mulligan's pulse, was perpetually plastered upon his lips, and from time to time he glanced up to see Hercules' reaction to whatever it was that he had just opened, with such adorable innocence that the tailor almost expected to spontaneously combust then and there from his inability to process the gorgeous sight of the man before him, with his hair still scraped into a messy bun which had slipped slightly to the left overnight, and marginally long pyjamas which covered his hands and pooled around his ankles.

But it was when Laf reached for the final gift that he became more unbearably sweet than Herc had ever seen before:

Curious about the different red paper used, Lafayette took a moment to read the label, his smile fading momentarily into stunned astonishment which swiftly returned to euphoric ecstasy. Without a word of explanation, he passed it to his roommate, a lithe, knowing smirk appearing on his elegant features as he watched the mountainous man's mounting confusion. It was all explained within a moment, however: Hercules read the familiar slanted cursive on the label, and it fell into place:

To Hercules Mulligan,

Thank you for looking after our son. Here is a small token of our immeasurable gratitude for all you have done for little Gilly.

All our love,

Michel et Marie du Motier

XoXo

Reassured that Laf hadn't made some error in handing him the parcel, Mulligan began to open it, pulling gently at the corners with all the meticulous precision that one learns to have when working with fabric every day. It was very different to Lafayette's style, but the Frenchman watched with uncommonly patient anticipation in exactly the way his dearest friend had done when it was he who was unwrapping his parents' Christmas gifts.

With a flourish, Hercules pulled away the unripped paper to reveal a blazer, obviously designer, and in the very shade of navy blue which he was known to favour. Confused as to how strangers would know precisely the gift he would adore, he looked to his friend for an explanation of sorts.

It was rare that Gilbert should appear bashful, but he did on that morning, blushing and muttering under his breath as he confessed, "I suppose I speak a lot about you to mes parents." Hercules accused him of nothing, but he was defensive nonetheless as he insisted, "Well, that is no crime! Of course I tell them about you - you are my best friend and my flatmate, you took me in when I first arrived here and the lease for my flat fell through, and you have been wonderful to me ever since!" So much so that my fragile French heart can't help but adore you.

"Calm down, I never said I minded," Mulligan placated him, reaching a hand out to sit on his friend's knee in an effort to reassure him, before recognizing that placing his hand in such a way could be interpreted as something more than platonic and snatching it away again, anxious to do anything which might give away his crush. Clearing his throat, he suggested, "I think I'll try this on, if you don't object."

Lafayette only nodded, watching Hercules leave and stewing in his own thoughts while he awaited his return. He considered the gift. Hercules was right to be confused, it was everything he adored in a single package. And yes, Lafayette would admit that Hercules' name left his lips more times than he could count, but then he had struggled to properly grasp counting in English, so then that didn't say much.

Forcing himself to genuinely think about it, he recalled the last phone call he made to his parents - Hercules won't stop complaining that he hits his head on the tinsel I streamed across the ceiling seemed a familiar phrase now he thought of it - and thought of the last text he sent, Soz JLaur, busy with Herc. We both have a day off soooo... ;). That second recollection in particular sparked a sudden wave of regret, Mon Dieu, did I really use a winky face to express how I feel about spending the day with Hercules? Panicking as the truth set in, Lafayette came to a realization which was obvious to all but him: that he spoke about Hercules Mulligan almost as much as he thought about him, which consequently meant that everyone he knew, including his parents an ocean away, could tell precisely how infatuated he was with the young tailor.

His crisis was interrupted by Hercules, returning to the room fully dressed in a white shirt and tight cream trousers which perfectly complimented the rich blue of the new blazer. Hercules had even taken a moment to drag a comb through his luxuriously thick hair rather than simply covering it with a beanie or a bandana as he was often prone to do, and the sight of the often rugged man transformed caused the Frenchman's jaw to drop.

Neither Lafayette nor Mulligan was particularly prone to being hesitant, in fact their love life (or lack thereof) was the one exception to that behavioural pattern. But the combination of the festive season and the gratitude of receiving gifts and reassurance of affection from his parents but most predominantly the way Hercules' large, strong arms and broad shoulders filled that blazer provoked a shift in the lanky man. Forgetting reservations, Lafayette simply stood and remarked, "You are magnifique, mon chere. Je t'adore."

Hercules knew enough French to decipher that phrase, however before he could even react, Lafayette's long legs had crossed the distance between them in a single stride and now he was bringing his lips to Hercules', screwing his eyes tightly shut and capturing any attempt to reply in his own mouth before his lingering doubts could kick in.

And though he was taken entirely by surprise, Mulligan found that he could identify no reason why he should not kiss his crush of too many years back, with all the Irish fire he could muster.

And so, he did.

A/N: 11 days in and we've got our first (I think) proper, official kiss!