Title: Seasonal Adjustments
Author: Rionne
Fandom: QAF
Category: PWP, Romance
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: B/M
Status: Complete
Disclaimers: Obviously not mine, because if it was, QAF would not be in it's current state of utter shittiness.
Spoilers: Through Season 4.
Summary: Brian and Michael go Christmas shopping. Can Brian behave himself?
Warnings: Light fluff towards the end. Hey, it's Christmas. ::grins::

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Michael came to an abrupt stop, his sneakers squeaking against the polished floor. About six people bumped into him from behind, but he didn't notice, 'cause you were always bumping into someone at the mall. He snagged an arm through his companion's elbow, halting him in his tracks.

"Ooooh, Brian, look! Williams-Sonoma!"

Thumbs hooked through the front of his belt loops in bored indifference and a shopping bag filling either hand, Brian rolled his eyes for the eighth time and sighed for the twenty-fifth. "Williams-Sonoma? Is he hot?"

Michael's laugh was like the tinkle of crystals; light and carefree and amused, although Brian's intention had not been to amuse. "It's a store, smartass. Ma adore's their Sevillano olive oil. C'mon!"

"Michael..." Brian's ominous protests were lost in the clamor, carried away by the hollow echo of frantic shoppers. He was being pulled along by the sleeve of his jacket, guided through the noisy throng of rabid mall-goers, and he gritted his teeth hard enough to make jaw ache, muttering curses under his breath and deftly sidestepping a horde of whiny brats. He wondered just what he had done to deserve such a grim fate. Christmas shopping with Michael.

He should have been relieved to find that the inside of the store wasn't nearly as crowded as the main interior of the mall, but there was little that could relieve him at this point, save for a stout drink, a fridge full of poppers, and a blowjob. The din from which they had just emerged faded to a droning background noise, but it wasn't a relief, because now he could hear the sappy Christmas songs playing over the store radio. He put on his best fuck you face and sauntered through the arched doorway, hazel eyes scanning for a certain dark haired man. He spotted him over by the silverware, already being pestered by an Italian looking sale's boy. His eyes narrowed, but no warning blip appeared on his gaydar, so he drew his gaze away and slipped off his sunglasses, hooking them through the front of his shirt. To the right, a young boy greeted people at the doorway, a falsely sweet smile on his ruddy face.

"Hello sir, welcome to Williams-Sonoma. Is there anything I can help you find?."

Brian raised one perfect brow and eyed the kid up and down. Door-boy squirmed.

"My sanity?" He flashed a cynical smile and headed off to find Michael--who of course was no longer in the same spot because Michael never stayed in the same spot for long when they shopped--leaving the perplexed teen to stare after him with an open mouth and a a slightly fixated gleam in his beady eyes.

God, so many fucking breeders, Brian groused, edging by a stroller stuffed with no less than three babies, one of them screaming at the top of it's lungs, the other reaching for the knife display. He finally made his way to the middle of the store successfully, without flipping the bird or calling anyone a crazy fuck. Michael would be proud. He figured it might've been slightly worth the effort, because his sharp vision spotted a cake stand stacked with samples of something that resembled frosted cookies. Small paper cups stood to the side, and he prayed to whatever gods were listening that it contained something alcoholic.

He eyed the smashed pile of cookies dubiously. Am I really this fucking desperate? It was eleven in the morning, and they hadn't stopped to eat. Correction: Michael hadn't allowed them to stop and eat. Something about beating the crowds. Oh, he'd beat the crowds, alright.

His stomach growled. His stomach never growled. Maybe he'd try the drink first. He leaned over to peruse the contents--which resembled piss--and wrinkled his nose.

He shot a look towards the young blonde who stood behind the counter, batting her eyelashes and gazing at him like a smitten schoolgirl. "What the hell is that?"

She smiled a white, congenial smile, undeterred by his forwardness. "Apple cider."

He gave her a disgusted frown. "Cider? Don't you have anything stronger? Like, say, Jim Beam?"

"Um, no, sir."

So maybe he'd try the cookies first. Couldn't be any worse than what Michael baked. He lifted one and eyed it skeptically, not believing that he had reduced himself to this. His stomach growled again.

He took a tiny bite. Not that bad. Not bad at all.

"Hey. You get lost?" Michael was suddenly at his arm, looking up at him with those enthusiastic puppy dog eyes.

"Unfortunately, no," Brian mumbled through the cookie.

Michael's took a closer look at his friend, and his eyes widened.

"What?"

"Eww, Brian...you're actually eating one of those?! Do you know how many germy little kiddie hands have probably touched them? Do you have a death wish?"

Brian's chewing slowed, then stopped completely, and he tossed the cookie back down onto the platter. "Yes, as I matter of fact I do. And since I'm going to die of boredom anyway, I figured I might as well die with a full stomach."

Michael's giggle should have irritated him, but it only chased away his annoyance, which irriated him. "You're so dramatic. I'm gonna pay for this and then we can go."

"Wait, have some bourbon."

Michael's pink lips flexed into a pout. "Do I look like I just fell off the turnip truck?"

"I won't answer that, but look..." he restrained a grin and pointed to the shelf next to them. It was stocked with large bottles of rich, amber liquid, straight from Bardstown, Kentucky. "They're letting customers sample it. Try some."

Michael's trusting brown eyes were doubtful, but he lifted the cup to his lips, took a sip, and gagged.

"You asshole!" he choked out, "That's cider!"

"Gotcha, Mikey." He flashed his most charming you-know-you-love-me smile, but Michael punched his arm anyway.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

After moving the candy and the wadded dollar bills and the grocery lists from two months ago; Michael pulled a rumpled piece of notebook paper from his pocket and ticked off the list with the chewed tip of his pen.

"Let's see...we've got...Ted's, Ma's, Cynthia's, Justin's, Emmett's, Linds and Mel...all that's left is Gus."

"Hurrah." Brian was leaning casually against a huge potted plant, pretending not to listen. He flicked his cigarette butt down into mottled leaves.

Michael brought the tip of the pin to his mouth and cocked a hip indignantly. "You know, it would be nice if you could be a little bit more enthusiastic about Christmas shopping for your son. He's the funnest one to shop for, for Christ's sake."

Brian examined his nails. "I'm overflowing with excitement. Let's just get him a gift card to Brat's R Us and be done with it."

"Brian! He's a toddler, and we're going to get him a toy. Linds said he's absolutely obsessed with Thomas the Tank Engine. Now come on." Michael gave Brian a forceful shove and together they walked down the mall. Brian slipped a hand around Michael's waist.

"Does Mikey wanna sit on Santa's lap?"

Michael returned the gesture, snaking his arm around Brian's back. "I don't need to. I have everything I want."

Brian felt an all too familiar tightness in his chest he could never banish and looked at him sidelong. "Everything?"

"Almost everything. I'd really like a best friend to shop with who doesn't grumble and whine every five minutes."

"Mikey, the Pope would grumble and whine if he had to shop with you."

"Well you should at least be in better spirits, now that I've fed you."

"My, my, Mikey, no need to be lewd." Brian's fingers dipped down the back of Michael's pants and caressed the base of his spine.

Michael gasped at the feel of Brian's warm fingers. "Get your hands out of my pants, thanks. And that's not what I meant."

"No?"

"No."

"Mmm, Hallmark." Michael veered off and disappeared.

"Michael!" But he was already out of sight.

Brian attempted to calm himself. He inhaled, exhaled, a series of deep, ragged, useless breaths. "This is insane. Fucking insane. I'm crazy. No, he's crazy. This is hell. Hell hell hell hell." He ignored the various looks of distaste aimed in his direction and stalked towards the looming Hallmark sign, cursing his every step. This time, he wasn't going to give in. He was gonna go in there, find Michael, drag his ass out and...

"What the hell are you doing?"

"It's a dress-up set. Wouldn't Emmett be proud?"

Brian's mouth gaped. Michael had a pink feather boa around his neck, a bejeweled tiara atop his head, and he was waving around a purple wand with a star on the tip.

"Look! The chair comes with it." He plopped into a feather encrusted, hot pink chair with squat legs that were obviously designed for five year olds.

"Adorable, isn't it? Just think...when Jenny's a little older, I can get her stuff like this."

"Maybe that was bourbon."

"What?"

"Nothing. Mikey, you've already bought her Christmas present. Now let's get the fuck out of here."

"You're no fun. Were's your holiday spirit?" Michael flicked the end of his boa in Brian's face.

"I think I left it back in the parking lot, right next to the lovely new dent in my Stingray."

Michael bit his lip. "Oh. Yeah. That."

Brian scowled at him.

"Stop being such a grinch and come help me pick out some Christmas cards."

Brian threw his hands out in exasperation, the precarious balance that was his patience tipping dangerously. "Cards?! For who?!

Michael simply giggled, that giggle, removed his tiara and boa with a flourish, and grabbed Brian's outstretched hand. "Some of us send out cards. And we're not getting the one with the naked dude on it. Ooh, Yankee candles!"

Brian's frayed nerves became extremely thin as Michael darted over to the endless shelves of stinky, overpriced candles. But just like last time, just like every time, his anger dissolved to endearment when Michael looked at him with big dark eyes and thrust a jar under his nose.

"Mmm. French Vanilla. Here, smell."

Brian took a cautionary sniff. "Not bad."

"Oooh, Mistletoe." He took a sniff and passed it to Brian.

"Jesus, that smells like shit."

Michael laughed. "Look at this one! Butter."

"Butter? You should get that one for your mom."

"Mmm, now this one is good!" He passed a jar labeled Mocha Nut Latte.

Brian's eyebrows lifted in agreement.

Christ. Only Michael could make him enjoy candle sniffing.

Michael continue shuffling through the shelves, humming along with a particularly horrid Christmas song that was rasping over the store's radio.

"Are you through? If we sniff anymore more we're gonna get high."

"And that would be a bad thing?"

He ducked his head and licked Michael's earlobe.

"Not particularly. Now let's go."

"Brian, you've still got the candle."

"I want it."

"Why?"

"You'll see." Brian grinned wolfishly when he thought Michael wasn't looking.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

The line at KB's extended to the very back of the store.

"Jesus fuck, Michael, look at the goddamn line. You're not going to wait are, are you?"

"Of course we are. This is the only store that carries this Thomas set."

Brian made a noise that was akin to a growl. "You owe me big time, Novotny."

Michael inclined his head and flashed a toothy grin. "Don't I always?"

Brian grumbled something about ungrateful assholes and reached for a cigarette, then remembered where he was. He smiled when Michael leaned back against him, peering at him over his shoulder. It amazed him how Michael could tolerate the rude people, the screaming kids, the endless lines...and still be so fucking sweet and cheery. The world looked so much better through Michael's eyes.

"Just picture the look on Gus's face when he sees this."

"It's not working."

"Try harder."

"Still not working."

"Picture something else, then. Just shut your grumbling piehole, would ya?"

"I've got it...you, naked, tied up-"

Michael smashed his foot. Brian yelped.

xxxxxxxxxxx

"Hey Brian," Michael said through about six chocolate covered pretzels, "Let's get a picture!" He nodded his head towards the photo booth situated in the main strip of the bustling Pittsburgh Mall.

"Sure. Why not? It's tradition, after all."

Michael quirked a brow, because tradition to Brian was Jim Beam at eight, a blowjob at nine, Ecstasy at ten, and full-out fucking all hours afterwards.

They were perched on a ledge above one of the many fountains, their feet swinging back and forth idly as they stuffed themselves silly with an array of candy, the good stuff they used to eat as kids. They'd bought it after braving KB's, only to face a new kind of crazy--the greasy old fuck at Stocking Stuffer's who Brian had wanted to leap across the counter and throttle with his bare hands because he'd looked at Michael for too long and in the wrong way. He knew there was a reason he steered clear of Red #40 suffused corn syrup in the first place, and he realized dimly that he hadn't eaten so much modified sugar since he was fifteen, and he counted in his head the extra time at the gym this particular splurge would cost him--never mind the calizone from earlier and the gigantic sugar cookie Michael had tricked him into eating.

He snatched another pretzel from the bag in Michael's lap, enjoying the illusion of peace and quiet projected by the steady rushing of the fountains.

"You know, we probably shouldn't be sitting up here," Michael said with unconcern, licking his fingers. They were quite high up, having reached their current location by climbing up the step-ladder like ledges of the fountain edge. They had a bird's eye view of the mall, but they were faced away from it, towards the cool spray of the fountains. The oval pool of water was positioned in the middle of the food court; a huge, chemically altered, chlorine-infested body of water that cascaded tranquilly over varying levels of earth-hued concrete.

"Yeah, the mall police might come after us. Or, you might...fall in," Brian teased, giving Michael's shoulder a light push.

Michael gasped and gripped the edge with white knuckles. "Christ, Brian! That's not funny!"

"I dare you," Brian singsonged, feet still swaying to and fro.

Michael regarded him warily from the corner of his eye, the memory obviously not yet surfacing. "Dare me to what? Fall in?"

"To jump in."

Michael laughed and wiped his sticky hands on the leg of his designer jeans. "Christ, you think I'm going to do that again?"

"Why not, Deb's not here to whop you upside the head with her purse." He paused, remembering the dare Michael had so gullibly seen through, or else divulge who his secret crush was in Mrs. Rosenburg's English class. As if Brian hadn't known already. "Remember the look on your mom's face?" Brian did a very good imitation that sent Michael into fits of laughter.

"She pulled us both out of the mall by our ears, if I recall."

Their boyish laughter subsided after awhile, lost in the shared memories of that first Christmas shopping trip they had taken as a not-quite family, more than eigthteen years ago. Michael bit his lip in concentration and leaned back, reaching into the pocket of his jeans. He pulled out a grimy looking penny and held it up. "Make a wish, Bri."

Brian closed his eyes. "I wish for this day to be over."

"Thanks alot. And you're not supposed to say it aloud, stupid."

Michael squeezed his eyes shut, then tossed the coin into the bubbling water.

Brian pressed his forehead against Michael's temple. "What did you wish for, Mikey?"

"Not telling."

"Please." Brian stuck his bottom lip out for effect, and Michael caught it with his own, running his tongue over moist fullness that tasted of watermelon jellybeans. He pulled back and smiled like Brian was the only person in the world.

"I didn't have anything to wish for, because everything I want is right here."

It was terribly cliched and printed on Hallmark cards worldwide, but it was true, and unique, because at this time of day, at this time of year, Brian would usually be in the back room, indulging in his variety of holiday cheer.

xxxxxxxxx

By the end of the god-awful day, Brian was lugging about six bags. He stole reluctant glances at himself in the reflective glass of store fronts and grimaced. His hair was out of place, his complexion dull--no doubt from consuming vast amounts of greasy, carbohydrate saturated mall food he knew he shouldn't have let Michael talk him into eating in the first place--and the front of his favorite white shirt was graced with a nice, big stain--thanks to Michael's big feet and heaping cup of honey mustard sauce.

Michael, on the other hand, looked like he'd just emerged from the local spa. Cheeks flushed a healthy pink, black hair tousled charmingly, and his energy level as high as it had been before they left the loft--undoubtedly bolstered by the ungodly amounts of sugar he'd consumed in the past five hours. It wasn't fair.

Of course, this was merely his own vain and egotistical grousings. He looked beautiful, he turned heads, and he made Michael's stomach flutter every time their warm skin brushed, which wasn't exactly an erotic thing, because he was feeling a tad queasy at the moment.

Brian glanced over at his companion and watched him chew at the straw of his extra large Slurpee.

"Are you almost done with that thing?"

"Mmmhmm. Want some?"

"No thanks. I've consumed my limit of processed sugar."

Michael shrugged and popped another Jordan almond into his mouth. "Suit yourself. Hey...isn't that Emmett and Ted over there?!"

Brian stiffened. "Ssshh. Be still. Maybe they won't see us."

"You're terrible." Michael laughed and pocketed the small bag of almonds. He made to get up, but Brian pulled him back down urgently.

"I swear to God Michael, I am not shopping with those two. Haven't you tortured me enough as it is?"

"Relax. I was just gonna say hi." Michael leaned across the bench and pressed a soft kiss to Brian's mouth, stilling his protests. He tasted like almonds and cherries, and Brian moaned softly in his throat. "Thank you, Brian. Thank you for coming with me."

Dammit. There went his resolve. He traced Michael's jaw lightly, the two sarcasm-free words coming before he could stop them, because he meant them. "You're welcome." Michael's smile was intoxicating, and his lips were so warm and soft, but the intimate moment next to the shimmering lights of the mall Christmas tree was shattered by the glum voice of Theodore Schmidt.

"How romantic. Making out on the mall bench."

"Hey, sweetie! Fancy meeting you here!"

Michael rose and kissed a bubbly Emmett Honeycutt on his cheek. "Hey Em. Great to see you guys. Brian and I were just about to finish up."

"And some dickheads had to come along and interrupt," Brian intoned darkly, shooting Ted a menacing smile.

"Well, we won't keep you, just wanted to pop over and say hello! Oh! You have to see the absolutely fabulous outfit I got your baby girl." He dug through a frazzled GAP bag and pulled out a pink frilly dress, complete with feathers around the collar and a tiny tiara. "Isn't it the cutest thing?!"

"It's adorable, Em. She's lucky to have an Aunt with such good fashion sense."

Brian snorted.

"Well, Ted and I should be off. Next on the list...Spencer's! Bye sweeties!"

Emmett grabbed hold of Ted's arm. Ted mouthed a plea of help before they vanished into the crowd.

Michael turned back towards Brian, who still wore a permanent look of disgust, and walked over to him slowly, standing directly in front of him, studying his clenched jaw and gazing deep into patient pools of hazel. "Are you mad?"

Brian sighed and wrapped his arms around Michael's slim waist, drawing him in and resting his head against his stomach. "No. I'm not mad."

Michael threaded his fingers through Brian's silky hair. "Hey Brian? I was wondering...can we go to the pet store?"

Brian snapped one eye open. "Now I'm mad."

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If screaming kids, blocked aisle ways, and plastic, singing snowmen were bad--barking puppies, screeching birds, and the smell of fresh dog shit were worse. Much worse.

The only thing that made it remotely tolerable was the light in Michael's dark eyes--the light Brian put there, but it was ridiculous to be jealous of a dog, wasn't it?--as he held a wriggling puppy with sable fur and blue eyes.

"Oh, God, isn't she sweet? I always wanted a puppy when I was kid. We couldn't afford one, of course, and Ma said she didn't want it shitting on her kitchen floor." He chuckled and dug his fingers in fuzzy puppy hair. "Can't hardly blame her."

Brian made sure his Doc Martins were still safe and watched with a wrinkled nose as the other puppies in the bottom of the pen pounced and growled like miniature lions. They were kind of cute--noisy, destructive, shit-machines that they were--but he'd be damned if he was going to admit it.

"She looks like a Lucy. Doesn't she look like a Lucy?" Michael asked, grinning as he clutched the rooting puppy close to his chest.

"No, no...more like Ginger. She looks like a Ginger."

"Ginger...I love that name."

"Well don't get any ideas," Brian snapped, but at the same time, he found himself smiling as the puppy rested it's head in the bend of Michael's neck.

Michael looked down quickly. "No, of course not." He paused before looking up at Brian thoughtfully. "Didn't you ever want a dog?"

"No. Just something to eat and shit and scratch the finish of my hardwood floors."

"Yeah, a puppy would make a pretty big mess in the loft, wouldn't it," he said quietly, and Brian thought he detected a faint hint of regret in his voice, a hint of something that shouldn't be there.

Brian reached out tentatively and patted the puppy on her soft head. She reached for his finger and nibbled on it with her sharp milk teeth.

"Ow. Sharp little fuckers. Can you imagine what those would do to my couch? My-"

"I know, Brian. I can't ask you to have a dog in the loft, and I won't. It was just a thought."

Neither of them mentioned that Michael hadn't really asked, and Brian hadn't really said no, because that was simply how they communicated. They knew what was on the other's mind and what they were going to say before they said it.

"Good." He started towards the back of the store, because Michael always had to look at the kittens, too. Then after that, it was the fucking birds, and then if Michael had looked enough, they would go home.

"You coming?"

"You go on ahead. I'll just stay here for a few minutes."

"Whatever." He didn't know why we went on, because there wasn't anything remotely pleasant about walking through one-hundred-and-one god-awful smells without Michael there to endure it as well, but Brian strolled through the store and every now and then, stole a discreet glance at Michael's back, where he stood playing with the pup. God, he felt like an asshole, and the weird thing was he didn't know why. He always knew why he was being an asshole. How did Michael put up with him? Because he loves me, you idiot.

An inner battle raged within him. He tried to stave it off, occupying himself by getting the parrot to say fuck and asking the blushing sales boy how turtles reproduced. He slowly lost the battle.

xxxxxxxx

The bed bounced violently, much too violently for six o'clock on a Saturday morning, and Brian groaned accordingly.

"Briiian. Wakey, wakey. It's Christmas."

Brian jerked the covers back over his head and for good measure, threw a pillow over it. "So," came his muffled response.

"So, we have a full day ahead us, Ebenezer. First you fuck me silly, then we exchange gifts, then we fuck again, then we have coffee and a shower, then we fuck again, then we have dinner at Ma's, then we--"

Brian laughed and rolled over. "Alright, I get the point." Michael crouched giddily above him, hands and knees planted on either side of his body. Brian slipped a hand around his neck and pulled him down on top of him, but not before throwing the covers back, allowing their naked bodies to mold together. "Can we just, you know, cut everything out but the fucking?" He rocked his hips into Michael's to punctuate his point.

"Nooo..." Michael gasped, burying his face in Brian's neck. "I'm sore enough as it is. We were up until three last night."

"Mmmhmm," Brian hummed against Michael's salty skin, his hand sliding down his back and over the curve of his ass, resting it there. "And you're complaining?" He teased, kissing Michael's cheek.

"Never." Michael smattered Brian's chest with a trail of soft, moist kisses. Brian arched into him and wound his arms around Michael's back before flipping them over smoothly. Michael reflexively wrapped his legs tight around Brian's waist and looked up into eyes he had loved since he was a gawky teenage boy with asthma and pimples. "Merry Christmas, Brian. I love you."

Brian framed Michael's face with his hands and kissed him gently. "Merry Christmas, Mikey. Me too." Maybe someday, someday soon, he could say what Michael said so easily. But right now, he was comforted by the knowledge that Michael knew, and Mikey didn't expect him to say it.

"So, you want your present?" he breathed, waggling his eyebrows and slithering down Michael's torso.

"Yes, I do, but not that one, silly." Michael unwound his legs from around Brian and leapt out of bed. "I'll go get them."

Brian watched him go before falling back onto the bed. He nearly dozed off, lulled by lingering scents of Michael and the Mocha Nut Latte candle. He heard bare feet pattering around and felt the mattress jar when Michael jumped back on the bed, bouncing like a hyper kid with ADD.

Michael flopped over onto his belly. "Feels like we're fourteen again, doesn't it?" And it did, Brian thought, because every year after he'd met Michael, Christmas Eve and Christmas day were spent at Michael's house, and usually even several days before and after that. They'd curl up in bed together, read comics, talk about the new hot guy at school and who was getting laid and who wasn't, which usually included Michael, but they didn't mention it. It was just like any other night, except there was more people in the house, and Deb cooked more than she usually did, which meant they would raid the fridge in the middle of the night, shoot whipped cream into each other's mouths and leave dirty spoons in the sink just because they knew Deb would bitch about it in the morning. Afterwards they'd sneak back upstairs, and fall asleep with the radio on, a sleepy mess of limbs and Captain Astro sheets.

Michael's hand on his stomach snatched Brian from his memory. "Whatcha thinking about?"

Brian reached over and pinched Michael's nipple. He gasped and bent back the offending finger playfully.

"You."

Michael blinked. It was a rare thing - Brian expressing sentimentality. It always caught him off guard, but in the best kind of way--like multiple orgasms.

"You, in your baggy Captain Astro P.J.'s, with this big goofy grin on your face. Your eyes were huge when you saw what I'd got you," he chuckled from the memory, watching as Michael crawled over to him and rested his chin on the center of his chest. Michael gazed up at him adoringly, and nodded his head back towards the interior of the loft, where Captian Astro hung in the corner, just to the left of the window and behind the television. "It's the one thing I'd take with me to a desert island."

Brian ruffled messy spikes. "You are so pathetic."

Michael grinned and leaped up again. He handed Brian a small, purple box. "Open your's first."

"No, open your's first."

"Pathetic guy always goes last," Michael said with a smirk.

"You always go first," Brian said, scooting over in the bed. He pecked Michael on the lips to make his meaning clear.

Michael smiled and gave the box a little shake. It rattled noisily.

"Careful, it's breakable."

"You? Got me something breakable? I find that hard to believe." He carefully unwrapped the box, knowing from the methodical folds and taping that Brian had cajoled Lindsey into wrapping it for him.

He reached in and pulled out a small, black leather collar.

"And I thought you couldn't get any kinkier. It's a little small, don't ya think?" He tried pulling it over his wrist, but it wouldn't fit.

Brian rolled his eyes. "Look in the box, Mikey."

Michael's eyebrows scrunched together curiously as he felt around in the bottom of the box. He withdrew a small slip of paper, instantly recognizing the flowing dips and curves of Brian's cursive.

Brian sat back and watched the emotions play out across Michael's face.

Michael slowly read aloud, "This is good for a puppy of your choice. And it better be the sable and white one at the mall because I've already had her set back and she cost a fucking fortune and she pissed on me while I was paying for her.

Merry Christmas, Mikey.

Brian."

Michael turned incredulous eyes to Brian. "Holy shit...you...you got me a puppy?"

"Yep. And I even conned Emmett and Ted into picking her up at the mall yesterday. They're keeping her. We can go get her after dinner at your mom's."

Michael's mouth hung open in wonderment. He crawled over to kneel in front of Brian, draping his arms around his neck, like he did when they danced. "Brian Kinney...you did that? For me?"

"No, for my peace of mind. You've talked about that dog for days, and well, you know-" Michael kissed him, keeping his eyes open, eyes that held so much love and understanding that Brian thought his heart would surely burst.

"You don't have to explain. I know."

They fell back onto the bed as one, Michael on top, teasing Brian's lips with his tongue. Brian pulled back, grinning impishly, and looked into Michael's eyes.

"Sooo...where's my present?"

Michael threaded their fingers together, stretched their arms out above their heads.

"This first."

-end.