-I'm still writing this! Yes! Inspiration has officially come in the form of Christmas! Yeah, so new warning for this: pretty much all of it will now have to do with winter and Christmas. We've hit that time of the month when I get a little crazy about Christmas cuz it's my favorite holiday to write about. So cozy and romantic feeling! (okay, I'm done. I'm officially fangirling over Christmas -_-) Here. Read this.

-DAY 20: Model new clothes or lingerie for each other-

Lingerie? No. Clothes? Sure, why not?

Or, well, you'll see.

-X-X-X-

"I'm not coming out."

"Aw, come on, Minho!"

"No. This is the worst Christmas present ever."

"It can't be that bad..."

"Getting clothes from your mother for Christmas is ALWAYS bad."

"Stop being so shy and get out here!"

Newt was sitting cross-legged on their bed, in the lamplit bedroom. A wide grin split his face and his blue eyes sparkled eagerly. It was dangerously close to his favorite time of the year: Christmas. In fact, the big night was only a short week away. He already had tons of gifts picked out for Annabelle and a very special present for Minho...but that's a different story, isn't it? No, he wasn't going to get ahead of himself here.

THIS night was all about the presents Minho had gotten from his mother. Mrs. Park was always surprising the Newton's with her goofy, random acts of kindness. Or, er, what she THOUGHT was kindness, but what was sometimes just weird (like the time she called them on the way to their honeymoon to ask if Minho had packed any condoms). This year, as an early gift, she'd sent over neatly wrapped packages of clothes for her son. The note attached to the first box proclaimed that more was coming for Newt later; she just felt like it was more her place to send these kinds of things to her son.

Newt was fine with that, because it gave him an excuse to do this: look at Minho trying on his new clothes and tell him which ones were keepers and which ones needed burned. So far, there'd only been one obnoxiously ugly sweater. Minho didn't care how gay he was, he was NOT wearing a hot pink sweater for Christmas. But there was a very nice, brown leather jacket in there that looked oh-so-delicious on Minho. Newt had had to hold himself back from jumping off the bed and yanking Minho into a kiss right then.

What he REALLY wanted to do was get Minho to show him this newest atrocity he'd apparently found. But Minho had insisted on changing in the smaller bathroom joined to their bedroom; he didn't want Newt to see the new clothes until he was wearing them.

But he was suddenly so shy about whatever he was wearing in there now and Newt was dying to see.

"It can't be more embarrassing than that sweater," Newt called, picking absently at the sheets underneath him.

"Oh, trust me, it's ten times more embarrassing," came the flat reply. "God, I can't. I just can't."

"You have to!" Newt whined. "You promised you'd show me everything."

"I didn't know she bought me...this." Newt could hear the grimace in Minho's voice.

"Minho," Newt began drily, "I've seen you in ugly sweaters, sweaty track T-shirts, and nothing at all. I don't think it can get much worse than that."

"I thought you liked it when I wore nothing at all," Minho protested.

Newt rolled his eyes, despite the fact that Minho couldn't see him. "C'mon, already, Min."

"No. I can't let you see me like this."

"Why not?"

"Because you're my husband and you will remember this forever."

"Damn right. Get out of that bathroom before I come in."

"...okay."

Grinning in triumph, Newt shifted to face the bathroom door a little more. His smile widened as the door creaked open, and then Minho came shuffling glumly out, and Newt could not stop laughing. He really couldn't stop; one look at Minho and he was laughing so hard, his ribs ached. "Oh...my...GOD!" he gasped out. "Those are RIDICULOUS!"

Minho just sighed, because he'd already known. His mother had struck again. He was wearing nothing but bright red—like, PAINFULLY red—boxer briefs that resembled Santa-style shorts. With a printed-on belt and white snowflakes all over them. It was, by far, the most hilarious thing Newt had ever seen in his life.

"Bloody...Shuck...I can't stop...laughing..."

Minho flushed hotly. "Well, you have to stop," he huffed. "Because it's making this worse." He crossed his arms over his chest and sulked.

"Awww, baby," Newt crooned between giggles. "They aren't so bad. I have a thing for Santa anyway."

"AND handcuffs?" Minho asked with a raised eyebrow.

Resting his elbows on his knees, Newt just bit his lip over his little smile. "Maybe I'll have to get those out again," he suggested wickedly. "You'd kinda make a sexy Santa."

"Never say that again," Minho replied. "I'd rather wear these than be compared to a sexy Santa."

"Who do you wanna be compared to then?"

"No one."

Newt's smile became more genuine and he unfolded his legs to slip off the bed. Looping his arms loosely around Minho's waist, he felt the bare skin above Minho's waistband at his back. "Okay. I won't compare you to anyone then," he murmured. "My Minho." He tucked his head into the crook of Minho's neck.

Sighing defeatedly, Minho rubbed his hands up and down Newt's arms. "Okay," he muttered. "Can I take these off now?"

"Yeah," Newt purred out, as Minho massaged the back of his neck. "You need help with that?" He nuzzled Minho's neck, before nipping at the warm skin.

Minho's breath hitched. "Depends," he managed. "Are you really gonna use the handcuffs again?"

"I think I'll let YOU decide." Newt ran his nose up the side of Minho's neck, inhaling that burnt-wood scent he positively loved. "Naughty or nice?"

Okay, maybe that Christmas present wasn't so bad after all.