#the hideous I mean festive green and red one is from his christmas suit from when they were all ice skating!
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What to wear, what to wear??
(He always goes with the red one) 🎀
#Buster Moon#my art#sing movie#sing 2#the hideous I mean festive green and red one is from his christmas suit from when they were all ice skating!#I imagine he would also match his suit with his different bow ties#I love thinking about all his little fashion possibilities#dapper guy#gotta look his best every day#buster x julie#sing julie#bow tie#🐨🌙🎀#illustration
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The Other Day at Hot Topic: Sea Salt
The unlikely pair approach a tiny, circular wooden ice cream kiosk strung with tiny rainbow Christmas lights and frosted with fake cotton snow. As they join the brief line, Axel explains to Roxas his lifelong mission to sample every single flavor, of which, a glance to the wall-length menu, tells Roxas there are upwards of twenty-five.
It doesn’t seem humanly possible for such a skinny man to consume that much ice cream, but Roxas is reluctant to divulge this and crush Axel’s dreams.
“They only have a box of each kind and then you’re S.O.L. until their next shipment,” Axel is saying. “I’ve been trying to get my paws on a paopu one for months, but, well,” he waggles his eyebrows, lips pursing, “you know the legend.”
“Ugh.” Roxas nods. “Yeah, my little brother’s kind of the hopeless romantic type. We used to go looking for paopu trees all over the play island.”
It’s adorable, like everything else about Roxas’ younger brother, but Roxas would never admit it to Sora.
“Not your thing, huh?” Axel’s gaze shifts from the ice cream stand to his new companion, curious.
“Eh, I dunno. It’s a bit much, right?” Roxas frees a hand from his pocket to gesture vaguely, “Destiny. Like, I want to control my own fate, you know?” Roxas can feel his intensity thrumming in his throat but can’t seem to deescalate it. “I don’t like the idea that my path is set and I can’t change who I am, what I do, who I love. Isn’t that the entire point of it all?”
Axel’s takes this in, his colorless clothing redirecting Roxas’ attention back up to thoughtful jade green eyes. “Atta, boy.” His hands clasp Roxas’ shoulders again, squeeze. “Fuck destiny. Blaze your own trail, Roxas.”
It sounds teasing, almost condescending, but when Roxas glances up, there’s a look in his eye like he means it and a purr to the way he says his name like nobody else says it. Like he likes the taste. Roxas’ head goes fuzzy.
Shit. Because a day one crush on a manager is just what any new Hot Topic employee needs.
The line moves forward and Axel and Roxas follow.
Axel’s still watching him, so Roxas searches for a less existential conversational thread. “Uh, so, what’s been your favorite flavor so far?”
Axel laughs at the abrupt shift, his fingers smoothing a gelled red spike of hair. He grimaces like Roxas asked him to name his favorite band or hair product. “Well.” Then he has a thought, smirks. “You’ll see.”
Roxas feels his nose crinkle. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ll like it. You’ll see.”
The line moves up again and before Roxas can ask for more details the ice cream saleswoman is hanging out her window waving with both hands. “Axel! Hey, babe!”
“Hey, Yufe! Shop looks cute.” Axel smiles and nods toward the lights, the snow. “Very festive.”
“Thanks!” Yuffie claps her hands together, her tone and expression so super charged with enthusiasm Roxas feels like he’s standing next to Sora. “Put them up myself.” She rests her arms on the counter. “Haven’t seen you in a while, red! What gives?”
“No, well…” Axel rubs the back of his neck, frowning and flipping open a worn wallet. “The boyfriend is on a diet, so...”
Boyfriend. Of course. Biting at his bottom lip, Roxas tries not to visibly deflate. Axel had flirted with Demyx, Luxord, and Saïx, so, of course he was comfortable with himself and in a happy relationship.
Boyfriend. Of course. Good for him.
Yuffie blanches, brows drawn up. “Neither of you studs needs a diet. Tell him I said so.”
Axel brushes this off with a flick of his wrist like he’s too polite to argue. “Nah, it’s important. But, not to worry, I’ve nabbed a new ice cream hostage.”
Taking this as a cue, Roxas tentatively steps up beside him, “Hey, Yuffie. So, what’s good here? Axel’s been cryptic.”
Axel places a hand over Roxas’ mouth midway through, “Just two of the usual, please.”
Yuffie jumps a bit, grins. “Hey, it’s Roxas from AP Bio! How’ve ya been, Rox?”
Axel drops his hand as Roxas bats at it, gaze shifting between the two.
“Great, well,” Roxas reflects on the past month. If he could have put coffee in an IV, he would have. “Okay. College, finals, you know, exhausting, so, okay. And you?”
They exchange a couple more pleasantries about Sora and Yuffie’s sports medicine program and mutual friends, as Yuffie rings up two ice cream popsicles, and Axel makes good on his offer to pay.
“Well,” Axel accepts the popsicles and presses Yuffie’s hand in parting, “looks like you know my ice cream buddy better than I do. Guess I better work on that.” He leans back from the counter and Roxas follows suit.
“Hey, go easy on him, Axel,” she calls as they turn to go, “he looks like a punk but he’s a huge sweetheart.”
“Yuffie,” Roxas all but growls, ears flushing, fingers dropping halfway through fixing up his hair. She just laughs and waves them off.
Axel salutes her with a popsicle. “I’ll be a perfect gentleman, as always.”
Roxas bumps Axel in the shoulder as they walk and Axel grins again, passing him an ice cream.
Roxas examines the dessert through its packaging, tilting it up toward the light. “Blue, huh?”
“Blue.” Axel peels away the soft paper as they walk, exchanging with Roxas and doing the same to the second. “Like the ocean.”
They settle themselves on a seat shaped like a ten-person ottoman with a hideous print. Axel’s lanky legs hang over the edge, and Roxas sits cross-legged, examining the light blue sheen and savoring the gentle scent of vanilla.
Roxas takes a tentative bite and finds the consistency softer than expected.
“Well?”
Roxas sees that Axel hasn’t touched his, distracted, waiting to gauge his reaction.
“It’s salty,” he frowns twirls the stick in his hand, smiles, “but sweet. Like you said. Like the ocean. It’s…”
“Yeah?”
“It’s kind of amazing.”
“Yeah.” Axel smiles, stares up at the glass panes in the ceiling two stories up where the sun floods in. “It is, isn’t it?”
Roxas looks up as well, face warming, throat blessedly cool. “Thank you.”
“Ah,” Axel shrugs a shoulder, flutters his hand, “it’s just ice cream, Roxas. Gees.”
And saving me this morning, and coming back, and not treating me like an outsider, even though you know everybody in the place.
“Yeah,” Roxas mumbles, “still.”
Ice cream finished, Axel leans onto his back and stares up at the sunlit windows. He asks Roxas about the rest of his first day, and Roxas shares Demyx’s antics, Saïx’s freak out, Luxord’s clever, early exit.
Roxas lays back beside Axel, and Axel tells him about the rest of the staff, the good and the bad. Larxene who eats grown men for breakfast, Zexion, a diehard biology student, never without a textbook, Xaldin and Lex the strong, silent types, Aqua, mom friend extraordinaire who can still kick ass, Vanitas who would be fired a thousand times over if his uncle didn’t run the place, his uncle, Xemnas, the sexiest man alive.
As Axel pulls out his phone to prove this final point, he winces at several rows of missed messages.
It occurs to Roxas he hasn’t asked or learned much of anything about Axel—let alone the name of his man.
Roxas pushes himself up, throat a bit dry, “I should probably get going too.”
“Oh.” Axel turns to him, a bit wide-eyed, or it might be the sheer amount of eye makeup he’s wearing. “Alright.” He sits up as well, watching Roxas adjust the laces of a combat boot, and smiling. “Just know that if you continue to drip ice cream all over yourself like that, I’m going to continue making you my ice cream buddy just so I can make fun of you for it.”
“Hey.” Roxas wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, leaving behind a self-conscious frown. He’d had no idea how fast the thing would melt, but he’d licked most of the blue streaks off of his hands and lips after a cackling Axel refused to do a napkin run.
But the kiosk is all the way over there, Roxas. Just be a man and use your tongue.
“C’mon,” Axel looks up from the message he’s tapping out, lips tipping up, “you don’t know how to say no to ice cream.”
God, his eyes are pretty.
“Damn,” Roxas doesn’t want to smile back or agree, but he feels himself doing it anyway, “you’re right.” He forces himself to get to his feet, and then to check his own phone, nothing from his brother yet, though he should be off by now.
He glances up to find Axel thumbing through his own, mumbling, “Yeah, I am definitely penning ‘ice cream with hot mess’ into my calendar. When’s your next shift?”
Roxas’ arms cross and Axel stands, smile sweetening, phone tucking away.
“You’re a dick.”
“You’re welcome, Roxas.”
“Thursday.”
“Okay. See you Thursday, Roxas.”
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Traditions Are The Root Of Love
Illya doesn't care for Christmas and Napoleon has never celebrated it properly. But maybe a team effort and Gaby's intervening can create the perfect experience... Written for the tmfu winter fic exchange, enjoy!
A/N: Everyone’s revealed so it’s safe to cross-post now <3 Check out the ao3 collection for more fabulous fics!
Napoleon had never really given Christmas a second thought but the fact that Illya hadn’t even given it a complete first thought made him stop and give it an entire contemplation.
The three of them had been finishing off the boring parts of their mission, the written report and the evaluation of sorts, when Gaby had suddenly stood up from the sofa and stretched, clicking a good few bones in the process.
“This silence is overbearing, anyone know which station plays Christmas songs?” she asks, already walking over to their little - definitely not stolen - radio.
Before Napoleon can reply, Illya scoffs. “Is not Christmas yet, why would we need Christmas music?”
Gaby and Napoleon both turn to him, shocked and mildly concerned, but it’s Gaby who narrows her eyes and says, “Illya, Christmas starts as soon as November does.”
“It is pointless scam to make money.” Illya waves a hand dismissively, attaching one of their better recon photos to the report.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Napoleon mutters, taking the glue from Illya before he can ignore them any further. “Are you telling me you ignore the whole thing until it’s about to be over?”
Illya looks up at that, albeit mostly just to take the glue back, which he does rather forcefully. “You said you had never properly celebrated either so why are you surprised?”
A soft, exasperated sigh escapes Gaby as she switches the radio on without bothering to try and find a station, hoping for the best, then flops back down between the two of them, glancing between them seriously. “Why am I stuck with the only two men in the world who don’t indulge in festivities?”
“Are we meant to answer that?” Napoleon asks, leaning back and raising an eyebrow.
“Can we just finish mission and move on?” Illya asks, already filling in another one of the endless pages.
Napoleon gives him a pointed look and where Illya’s display of determination would usually cause pride and respect, it now leaves remorse and an idea that Gaby seems to catch on to surprisingly quickly, within half a sideways glance.
They go back to it, of course, it is a team effort after all, but as soon as they’ve reached a respectable place to stop - almost the end, to be fair - Napoleon takes the pen from Illya and Gaby scoops up the papers as smoothly as a heron.
“And that’s the end of that for now!” Napoleon grins.
Illya glares. Menacingly.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that, Peril, I’ve hardly stolen your left lung,” Napoleon says both defensively and just because he can, which are really two of the main reasons he does anything, ever.
“First up, Christmas shopping!” Gaby announces, making her way across the room and chucking their coats at them before slipping her own on, a determined look on her face and a thoughtful glint in her eye that neither of them wants to argue with.
Begrudgingly, Illya pulls himself up and takes one last glance at the unfinished report before letting Gaby loop her arm in his, her other arm looped through Napoleon’s, of course, as the three of them start moving.
“Must we do this right now?” Illya asks sourly, even though the cold outside clearly affects him the least.
Napoleon sighs. “When have we ever successfully changed Gaby’s plans? And no, don’t bring up chess games because they don’t count.”
Since there are no examples outside of their numerous chess games, the three of them end up at the most lowkey supermarket around, immediately heading to the bakery section.
“Fruit and sugar, no big deal,” Illya complains.
“It is a mince pie and you will give it the respect it deserves!” Gaby frowns, grabbing a couple of packets and slipping them into the basket she’d surreptitiously picked up.
Napoleon’s turn leads to him picking up some DIY gingerbread men next, grinning childishly. “You have not lived if you haven’t terribly decorated a gingerbread man and I’d rather not leave my life in the hands of a dead man so you absolutely cannot refuse to take part.”
Surprisingly, all Illya picks up from that is: “You would leave your life in my hands?”
Feeling the blood rush to his face, Napoleon clears his throat roughly. “All part of the job, right?”
“Right,” Illya echoes blankly.
Gaby clicks her tongue at them in disapproval but moves on, grabbing overly iced cupcakes and sparkling water instead of alcohol because she claims she’d rather they be sober so they can remember their first Christmas together. Illya, to his credit, only complains minimally, until they get to the clothing section.
“No,” he says bluntly, as soon as Gaby picks up a green hat with a tinsel bobble on the top.
“You’re right,” Napoleon replies smoothly before smirking at Gaby, “I think red suits him better, don’t you?”
She snorts. “Suit yourself,” she mutters, picking up two red hats and a green one before moving on, leaving the two men to stare after her in confusion.
“Why did you not celebrate?” Illya inquires suddenly, turning to Napoleon with a rare, curious look.
Napoleon just shrugs at first but he knows that stubborn look in Illya’s eyes so he adds: “There was never really much point, too many things to worry about and too many people chasing me to allow a night of carelessness. I would rather not do something than do it pitifully.”
Illya’s expression softens considerably. “But now it is worth it?”
Slowly, Napoleon nods. “Yeah, it seems to be, don’t you think? Waverly will definitely give us bonus points for enjoying the festive traditions together.”
Despite the serious element to their conversation, Illya laughs. “That I can agree with.”
“Alright, Peril, let’s go find Gaby,” Napoleon says, sending one last scowl to the hideous outfits behind them as they head towards the exit, figuring that she’s already paid.
Which she has.
“Took you long enough!” she grumbles lightly when they arrive, refusing to hand over the bags and marching ahead.
Napoleon and Illya share a sideways glance but follow her anyway, engaging in only the mildest of chatter until they get back to their rented apartment. They must have spent longer than they’d thought shopping because it’s almost pitch black when they get back, meaning that it takes them an unnecessarily long time to find the right corridor and unlock the door.
“So now we finish our report, yes?” Illya asks, not really waiting for an answer.
Gaby gives him one by throwing a red hat at him. “Get back here and help me unpack or so help me I will confiscate your glue stick!”
“Really, Gaby, you should have gone with his chess set,” Napoleon comments as he places the green one on her head before putting the other red one on for himself, raising an eyebrow at Illya, who sighs defeatedly and slides his own hat on too.
Gaby looks shocked for a second before dumping the bags on the counter and starting to pull things out. “Gingerbread men first, right?”
“Sounds perfect!” Napoleon agrees, taking the packets from her and setting them out on the table, opening the little icing tubes and tiny containers of sweets and what looks like glitter.
Illya simply watches, occasionally moving forward to help before thinking better of it and staying in one spot, his arms folded and a faint smile appearing on his face as he watches his team set up festivities for him.
Sparkling water is poured out into sparkling glasses, a log cake is unwrapped and placed on a somewhat garish doily, and Napoleon even dares to wrap tinsel around Illya’s neck. The tinsel is promptly removed and used by Gaby as a scarf but Napoleon escapes the situation with no injuries so it’s a win from his perspective.
“So, what do I do to this biscuit?” Illya asks once they’re all seated.
Gaby raises the most sceptical eyebrow she’s ever raised at him. “Are you serious, Illya? You simply use the decorations to create something that resembles a person.”
Her tone is exactly why none of them says a word until they’re done, at which point Illya has broken two gingerbread men and Napoleon has accidentally squeezed green icing over Gaby’s face, earning himself a dousing in the contents of her glass.
“I think mine is best,” Illya says, glancing between theirs.
Napoleon takes one look at his and bursts out laughing, finding it hard to comprehend that Illya had taken it so seriously and genuinely made his look like an exact replica of himself. Even Gaby is speechless, blinking at him in shock before giggling. “You Russians never do anything halfway, do you?”
“Why would we?” Illya shrugs, then bites the head of his gingerbread man with a smile. “That was quite fun, thank you.”
Matching soft smiles settle on his teammates’ faces before they share a relieved look and eat their creations too, after which Gaby leaves to ‘freshen up’ and the other two put any rubbish in the bin before waiting for her to get back so they can cut the cake together.
“Did you do this?” Illya asks suddenly.
“Peril, you’re going to have to be a bit more specific than that.” Napoleon folds his arms, twisting in his seat a little to look at Illya better.
Illya rolls his eyes. “Decorating. Did you do it when you were young?”
After a moment’s hesitation, Napoleon shrugs. “Yes. And no. I will admit I’ve stolen from bakeries in the past; you can draw your own conclusions, I presume.”
Something like sympathy flashes in Illya’s eyes but he quickly buries it, not allowing his mind to venture into why he wishes better for a thief. Instead, he focuses on changing the topic, asking: “Gaby has been gone long, don’t you think?”
Napoleon sighs in what might be disappointment or agreement. “Probably getting that icing off her face.”
“Was not that much icing, cowboy,” Illya argues.
“Alright, then maybe she’s throwing holly leaves all over your bed so that you finally learn to take a joke?” Napoleon smirks.
Either way, when she does get back, she makes a big fuss about cutting the cake herself, muttering something about the two of them acting too much like children to be in charge of a knife. Of course, they don’t argue against her and she dishes out a piece to each of them, smiling proudly.
“What is it, what have you done?” Napoleon asks suspiciously.
“Just enjoy your log and, Illya: there is liquid chocolate in the middle so be careful because you seem to be wearing white for some reason.”
Illya hums, already having eaten a spoonful, his eyes going wide as he glances to Napoleon. “You did not warn me it was so soft.”
Napoleon chuckles. “The mighty Kuryakin, taken down by soft cake.”
“Is this what Christmas feels like?” he asks them, genuinely.
Gaby answers before Napoleon can: “We’re meant to have a tree and badly wrapped presents but we’ve got received a new mission that starts tomorrow so there isn’t enough time.”
It takes Napoleon half a second to splutter. “Tomorrow?”
Nodding, Gaby swallows she piece of cake she’d eaten and glances between them. “It’s an emergency so Waverly couldn’t find a way to give us a break for Christmas.”
Napoleon groans. “I had plans!”
“What plans?” Illya asks, having finished his piece of cake by this point.
His face flushing slightly in embarrassment, Napoleon’s gaze shifts to the floor as he lets out a small mumble: “Badly wrapped presents.”
Now it’s Illya and Gaby’s turn to share a look, both of them knowing they hadn’t planned to get each other gifts and feeling slightly bad. Napoleon is not widely known for his sentiments so his plan to get them gifts truly means more than they can articulate.
“It’s alright, Napoleon, we can do that on New Year’s, right?” Gaby asks brightly and more or less rhetorically.
He nods but Illya is not convinced his spirits have been lifted so he nudges Napoleon gently. “Can I ask favour? Will you bake your, uh, cookies again? They are much better than this cake.”
“What?” Napoleon asks, his annoyance melting to pleasant confusion. “But you adore this cake, you just proved that.”
Illya’s smile doesn’t have to be faked when he replies: “But I love your baking more.”
“Really?” Napoleon’s voice is quiet, stripped of its usual confidence, and Illya has never been so taken aback by someone’s voice in his life.
Sensing that neither of them will notice, Gaby quickly rises so she can set up her plan to give them some kind of gift. Sure enough, they’re still staring at each other when she gets back, meaning that she can pointedly clear her throat and watch as they scramble to appear poised, turning to her with questions in their eyes.
“We don’t have forever, you know. If you want to get those cookies baked, you might want to start now,” she says casually, raising her eyebrows at them, almost from muscle memory at this point because of how many times she’s done it before.
Illya recovers first, nodding briskly. “Ready, Cowboy?”
Napoleon beams at him, whether or not he knows it. He probably doesn’t, it’s not an action he would accept as part of his usual behaviour. So the two of them get up and, with a little persuasion from Gaby, leave their plates, heading to the kitchen empty-handed.
They’ve only just stepped into the kitchen when Illya pauses. “What is that?”
“Hmm?” Napoleon turns, having been thinking about whether or not to add chocolate chips to his cookies or not.
As he turns back around, the first thing he does is internally curse Gaby.
Mistletoe.
Of course she’d do something like that, he should have seen it coming. He could easily just lie to Illya, he knows he could, but dishonestly towards his team isn’t something he wants to indulge in, ever. He sighs, glancing at the small, oblivious white berries.
“It’s called mistletoe,” he says eventually.
Illya frowns. “It has purpose involving feet?”
Napoleon chuckles before shaking his head. “Not quite, Peril. It’s, uh- well, if two people stand under it together, they’re meant to- they’re meant to kiss before they continue walking.”
“Oh,” Illya says blankly, staring at the little plant with curiosity. He glances at Napoleon and his eyes are filled with both hope and fear, which Napoleon hadn’t even thought physically possible for him.
Taking the emotions in Illya’s eyes to mean he’s uncomfortable, Napoleon laughs lightly, shaking his head. “It’s just Gaby having some fun, I’m sure, we don’t have to humour her.”
“Oh,” Illya repeats, as if the entire English language has failed to satisfy him.
Napoleon bites his lip, then reaches up to grab the mistletoe, wondering how on earth Gaby had placed it there. “I can just relocate this then…”
Just as his fingers are brushing the berries, Illya’s hand envelops his wrist, causing him to freeze, a shiver running along his arm despite the warmth in their apartment. He looks up to see Illya frowning and clearly thinking something over.
“I thought traditions were meant to be kept?” Illya’s voice is smooth, calm.
Napoleon’s jaw drops ever so slightly. “And... you’d be okay with that?”
Illya lifts his other hand to cup Napoleon’s cheek, his skin cool and soft and possibly full of adrenaline if the sparks on Napoleon’s face are anything to go by.
“I would be more than okay with that,” Illya confirms, letting go of Napoleon’s wrist, “if that is something you want.”
Finally remembering that dignity is something he’s meant to have, Napoleon lowers his arm back down and takes a deep breath. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more, Peril.”
“Then take deep breath, Cowboy,” Illya instructs, a slightly serious expression on his face.
“What? Wh-”
Illya fulfils the tradition of mistletoe.
By kissing Napoleon.
And Napoleon forgets what oxygen is, never mind how to breathe it in.
Then oxygen and everything else is irrelevant because as soon as their lips meet, they are the only thing that matters and they might as well be in deep space because neither of them can breathe properly but that’s okay because they’re practically inhaling each other’s happiness and that’s enough to keep them going until they’re slightly dizzy, both donning impossibly bright smiles and dazzling glints in their eyes.
Napoleon pulls back first, not because he wants to but because he knows he might otherwise fall and that’s not something he wants to happen just after he’s discovered his appreciation for mistletoe and his love for Illya’s oxygen.
“Is not bad tradition,” Illya murmurs ever so gently.
A small, breathless chuckle escapes Napoleon as he nods. “It’s probably the best one.”
They stay there until they can breathe again, simply enjoying the feeling of reciprocity and laughing when Gaby smugly yells ‘Merry Christmas!’ at them before her bedroom door slams, signalling that they’ve been left alone for the night.
“Still want to bake those cookies, Peril?” Napoleon asks, not even trying to hide the euphoria in his voice.
A fond look in his eyes, Illya nods slowly. “Would not be early Christmas without them.”
Still, neither of them move, not wanting to disenchant the moment and disturb the magic of it. It’s almost a staring contest, except that they’re gazing and competition may just be the last thing on their minds.
Only when their eyes water and their lungs throw a tantrum do they move, making more of a mess than actual cookies, trading soft kisses rather than questions and answers about the recipe, knowing they have to be up early the next day but electing to forget about that in favour of spending as many seconds with each other as possible.
Once the dubious cookies to be are in the oven, Napoleon wraps his arms around Illya and smiles up at him for the millionth time that evening. “Do you like Christmas yet?”
Illya plants a small kiss on Napoleon’s forehead and brushes a chocolate chip off his curls, his eyes positively twinkling. “I like you.”
Napoleon’s blush is redder than the Christmas hats they’d discarded without noticing but he doesn’t mind because it gives him an excuse to hide his face under Illya’s chin and breathe in the scent of sugar and wine and something sharp that he can’t quite place.
Illya pulls him closer and nobody is around to blame him if he chooses to soothe the burn on Napoleon’s tongue - from choosing to check whether the mixture was turning out alright before thinking about it - with his own, or if he gets distracted from keeping an eye on the clock and instead chooses to steal Napoleon’s breath just because he now has the right to.
The cookies almost burn.
like/reblog but don’t repost, thanks!
#tmfu#my writing#Napoleon Solo#Illya Kuryakin#gaby teller#ot3#napollya#napoleon x illya#fanfic#fanfiction#tmfu winter fic exchange#tatrol#the man from uncle
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*Christmas* (Chapter 23)
CHRISTMAS LIST HERE!
Enjoy!
***********************
{{SONG}}
Any other time of year, it would have been disconcerting to see Deadpool--in full Mercenary regalia complete with a mask and with the added bonus of a Santa beard--crooning a surprisingly good karaoke rendition of Last Christmas to his blushing, grinning boyfriend.
And Peter was blushing, a bright red that almost overshadowed the obnoxious suit he was wearing, {{SUIT}}, but he couldnt stop smiling either, still buzzing from an incredible first night and day in their new home together, too happy and too in love to care that the rest of the Avengers were cat calling good naturedly at Wade, Hawkeye flinging one dollar bills at him, and a surprisingly tipsy Maria Hill hollering for him to take it off!
Wade had wanted the obnoxious suit, of course, but his self consciousness had crept in at the last minute and he had opted to hide beneath his costume, but gamely added a Santa beard to make it festive.
Peter had kissed his boyfriend on the lips, told him that it was perfectly fine to wear his suit, and bought the suit in a smaller size.
And now Wade was belting along to George Michael and making a spectacular scene---
---And Peter just cheered his love on.
***********************
Natasha had poured herself into a sparkly green dress with silver pumps, a Santa hat pinned on top of her hair, and every time she crossed her legs, the already short skirt rode up and showed the holster on her thigh.
Pepper was in a nearly matching dress in a sultry shade of red, a black pair of heels putting her a few inches over six feet tall, and showing off miles and miles of perfect legs, and the tiny bells on her earrings tinkled every time she laughed.
Val had even come tonight, looking less Christmas-y but still amazing in leather pants and an off the shoulder sweater, her hair loose around her shoulders and a smile on her face as she stood and talked with the women. Sam had talked her into tucking a sprig of mistletoe behind her ear, and Bruce had shoved a poinsettia at her as they came through the door, so she looked at least a little festive, even if she kept rolling her eyes every time Pepper’s earrings jingled.
Clint, Sam, and Rhodey, all looking equal parts dashingly handsome and also entirely ridiculous in their Christmas suits {{SUITS}}, watched their girls chat and laugh and drank their beer.
“Gotta tell ya.” Sam took a long drink, his eyes lighting when Val looked his way and waved. “I dont know what I did in a past life to get me a girl like Val in this one, but damn. Damn I did good.”
“I hear that.” Rhodey raised his glass in a salute. “Pepper is the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“How long did it take her to say yes to a date, again?” Sam needled. “Six years?”
“Five.” Rhodey sent him a look. “And in my defense--”
“Isnt she beautiful?” Clint sighed dreamily and the other men turned to look at him, grinning at each other over how he was just staring at Nat. “Look how good she looks in that dress. In those shoes. Look at the ring on her finger. Ive waited seven years to give her a real ring and damn if it doesnt look amazing on her. Seven years to give that woman a diamond she deserves and I still don’t know if its enough for her.”
“She’s stayed with you this long.” Rhodey elbowed him teasingly. “The diamond should make sure she stays another seven or so, huh?”
“Leave him alone.” Sam signaled the bartender for another drink. “He’s spending Christmas with the terrifying woman he loves--”
“--you’re one to talk--”
“--SO WE SHOULD LET HIM BE ALL SAPPY IF HE WANTS!” Sam finished loudly. “And you know what, Colonel. At least my woman--”
“OH! We are not going to get into a conversation like that!” Bruce interrupted their chat, pushing through to get to the bar. “Do not start comparing women. All three of them are beautiful and incredibly smart and terrifying in their own way.”
“Ill drink to that.” Rhodey nodded.
“Here here.”
***************************
“Im not really sure the cape goes with your suit, babe.” Steve teased, running his hands up Thors arms, squeezing at his biceps appreciatively. “But maybe later you ditch the suit and just keep the cape?”
“Steven, my love.” Thor cocked an eyebrow at him. “I have always worn a cape, and I will continue to do so. Even with this--” he glanced down at the suit Steve had ordered for him in distaste. “-- Even in this version of Earth clothing.”
“Dont worry.” Steve leaned up and kissed him. “You look great in it. And did you see Tony’s face when we walked in?”
“Yes, he--”
“Oh look.” Bucky joined them, casting a critical eye over their matching suits {{SUITS}} “Its Tweedle Dee and Tweedle- Dumb-Ass. Nice suits.”
“Tony made you watch Alice in Wonderland?” Steve asked instead of commenting on Buckys own {{SUIT}}, an atrocious thing that he had found just earlier today in a thrift store.
“God yeah, what is wrong with that movie?” Bucky asked, exasperated. “Tony loves it!!”
“Yeah. Made me watch it like eight times with him.” Steve groaned. “But you know, literally anything is better than watching the Grinch of repeat so you know--”
“Where is Anthony?” Thor looked around the crowded room, over the heads of the team and the agents from SHIELD Tony had invited, and the other various vigilante types like Matt Murdock and the sharp tongued Jessica Jones.
“Yeah, why’s Tony late to his own party? That doesnt sound like--”
Before Steve could even finish the sentence, the soft music cut out, and a new song started playing just as the balcony doors flew open and the Iron Man suit came flying through, music blasting from its outer speakers {{SONG}} as it barrel rolled and shot off glitter bombs as it circled the huge room.
The suit landed with a boom-- and Tony jumped out with his arms held high, a huge grin on his face, the worst Christmas {SUIT} anyone had ever seen tailored perfectly to his body.
“Christmas Party!!!” he yelled and everyone yelled right back at him, lifting their drinks in a cheers as the music started blasting again, and Tony started moving through the room, shaking hands, and sharing hugs and exclaiming over everyones suit.
“You guys all wore suits!” he cried, dragging Bucky down for a kiss and snatching a bottle out of the air as Clint tossed him one. “Best party ever!”
“Where did you get this?” Bucky tugged at the hideous thing. “I mean you look great, sugar but... damn.”
“I had it specially made.” Tony waggled his eyebrows. “I got a guy for this.”
“Of course you do.”
“Merry Christmas Tony!” Nat and Pepper nearly attacked him with kisses to his cheeks, and Sam snapped a picture just as Tony was laughing over it.
“Merry Christmas guys. Lets get holly jolly drunk, huh?”
***********************
***********************
It was four am when the party finally cleared out, the last guest put up in a spare room, the alcohol put away.
Most of the guys had ditched their suit jackets and were lounging in just the brightly colored pants and dress shirts, snacking on whatever was left over, laughing over the evenings events.
Nat was sprawled across Clints lap, letting him work his fingers through her hair, pulling bobby pins out and massaging at her scalp.
Pepper and Rhodey were cuddled up on the recliner, Peppers shoes somewhere over by the karaoke stage, Rhodey’s jacket draped around her shoulders to keep her warm.
Steve was full on straddling Thor, teasing him about how good he looked in the suit, and then lowering his voice and teasing things that no one wanted to have to overhear.
Tony came back downstairs from making sure Wade and Peter had found their room -- and been thoroughly warned on pain of being thrown out a window to not destroy it-- and Bucky reached for him instantly, tugging him onto his lap and kissing him soundly.
Sam and Val sat holding hands, talking quietly with Bruce, who was having a cup of tea to try and get a jump on what would be a hell of a hangover later on.
“How you feeling, baby?” Bucky whispered. “You doing alright? Happy with the party?”
Tony looked around the room with a little smile on his face. “The party was perfect. Got a Tower full of friends and family who had a blast tonight. And now now its 4am on Christmas Eve, and Ive got my arms around my fells--” Bucky grinned at that. “-- So I am just about as happy as Ive ever been.”
Tony leaned in and kissed him again. “Just as happy as Ive ever been.”
************************
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