Private Finished Baby, It's cold Outside

She was still sleeping when he came back into the room. She was wrapped up in the comforter and her hair was spilling across the pillow like a sunrise. She looked so small, so delicate, so very, very human.

It made Lochlann hungry.

It was Christmas.

The house was warm for once, toasty almost. The aroma of chocolate, nutmeg, and mint seemed to permeate the entire house. If the door was open, she'd be able to hear the faint sound of Christmas Carols being played over the radio, but Lochlann shut it behind him when he came into the room.

He wanted to be the one to wake her up.

He knelt in the bed next to her and aligned it with her mouth. He felt a rush of heat on the back of his neck. He'd woken her up by violating her before, but that was different. That was to bring her pleasure. He'd never done anything so shamelessly for himself before.

It was warm in his hand and the end was a little sticky. He nuzzled her lips with the tip and then, slowly, he began to push. His breath caught in his throat. His other hand went to her face, caressing her cheek, pushing her hair out of the way and then stroking the back of her head as though coaxing her to take more of it into her mouth.

"Guinevere," he whispered. "It's time to get up. Breakfast is ready. Come on baby."

There were pancakes downstairs, and eggs, and French toast, and waffles, and syrups, and more of the breakfast sausage like the one Lochlann was shoving into her mouth now.

————
@Kyros

Guinevere's reaction was both appropriate and over the top for waking up with sausage in her mouth. Lochlann set the meat back down on the plate he'd brought up, liked his fingers, and crawled over to where she was. He was on her level now, not looping over her like some horrible faerietale monster.

He leaned down and licked the bead of sweat off her neck.

"I'm waking you up baby," he said. He brushed the hair out of his face and then kept his hand on her face. He didn't ask her what was wrong, but Lochlann tried to comfort her all the same.

"It's Christmas," he said. 'And breakfast is ready. I want you to come eat while it's warm."

He felt an illicit thrill of excitement at feeding Guin but pushed it away.

If it where any other day, Lochlann would crawl in bed next to her, rub her legs, and tell her there was no need to get up. He'd persuade her to stay by making it impossible for her to get out of bed.

For a moment, Lochlann almost did just that. One of his hands went to her shoulder as though he was going to push her back down in bed, but he gave her a gentle squeeze instead. He released her and sat on the end of the bed, avoiding eye contact to give her the semblance of privacy while she got ready, and so he could ask her this.

"Was it a nightmare?" he asked. "I have them a lot, too. It's better when I sleep with you, though."

"Fair enough," Lochlann said. He didn't push her anymore on the dream. He was thinking about the last nightmare he'd had, or rather, he was trying to, but he kept thinking about the way Guin's face flushed when she was aroused. It brought the memory of a smile to his face.

When she came at him with the scissors, Lochlann's hand shot up and grabbed onto her wrist and his eyes where wide, but he forced himself to let go of her and relax himself. It happened easier than it might.

"No," he said.

But he wasn't denying her. "Not in here. You'll get hair all over the place. We'll do it in the bathroom. It'll be easier to clean up."

Lochlann picked himself up off the bed and down the hallway to the small bathroom. The bathroom was still faintly warm and humid from a shower, and Lochlann's hair was still a little bit damp, evidence that he'd been up a bit longer than Guinevere expected.

Truthfully, he gave up trying to sleep. Last night had been intense.

He sat down on the edge of the tub to minimize his height and to wait for Guin. it gave him the unfortunate view of himself in a mirror. His hair was long. He was pale and had a massive bruise across his neck from Guin, and even though it was fading, it was still prominent.

Christ, he looked like some kind of addict.

"You can't keep getting out of eating though," Lochlann told her. "After this, it's breakfast."

Lochlann shrugged, although, he supposed, she was right. He couldn't really see the back of his head but it probably did look terrible.

"Knock yourself out," he told her.

He was surprised she'd even asked, but he didn't want to make a big deal about it and stop her from asking him like that again. Lochlann swallowed.

He could see her in the mirror, her hair done, dressed, make-up on, holding a pair of scissors, and he said, "Just...not too short, okay? It um...it makes my neck cold."

He swallowed again.

He fumbled with his hands in his lap.

He didn't understand why she was doing this, but it seemed important to let her.

"What would you do if you didn't have to kill people?" he asked her.

Close his eyes.

Could Lochlann trust her with a pair of scissors while his eyes were closed? Could he trust her after all the things he did to her last night? Could he trust her, period?

Absolutely not.

He closed his eyes anyway.

Guinevere made quick work of him. He could feel some of the weight fall away, and when she said she was finished, he shook his head before he opened his eyes.

The first thing he saw in the mirror was her.

He couldn't imagine another way, either.

He inspected his hair in the mirror and lifted a hand to touch the back of it. It was shorter, but not unreasonably so, and for that Lochlann was grateful. He looked down at the mess of hair in the tub and turned the water on, slooshing it down the drain. He was determined not to let Guinevere grab a single piece, but he'd never confess that.

Once it was gone, he dried his hands off and then turned to face her suddenly. His hands caught her wrist and squeezed as if asking her to drop the scissors. He caged her body in against his own, tilted her chin upwards, and leaned down.

He was close enough to kiss her. He closed his eyes. His bottom lip brushed against hers while he said, "Thank you."

Something was different but Lochlann didn't know what.

His smile grew mischievous and when he opened his eyes, he bore into her own face as though he was looking for something and liking what he found.

"Are you ready for your first Christmas, miss haze?"

She kissed him.

Lochlann didn't expect that. After all, he didn't kiss her, and he was always the one doing the kissing. It'd been that way since the very first time they met. It was like a rule. She broke the rules.

Lochlann felt her worry the cut on his bottom lip back open. It was never going to heal. She was walking away when he said, "You should find out."

But it was too late--she was already going down the stairs. Lochlann wanted her to find out what she would do if she wasn't killing people. Here, she should stay here, with him. He wasn't thinking about his life without her. Lochlann was thinking about his life with her in it. She could stay, maybe. They were both good at playing pretend. They could keep pretending a little while. It was nice to have someone who already knew his secrets.

It was a pipe dream and he knew it.

Lochlann touched the blood on his bottom lip with his index finger. He wondered if this was some kind of spell, too. He picked up the scissors, tucked them into his pocket, and headed down the stairs after her.

The downstairs was decorated even further than what they'd done last night. Fresh cut pine boughs where over all the doors and windows. The fire place and woodstove both had fresh logs in it and were burning bright, lighting the room and sending a pleasent aroma through the room. There was a pot over the fire pit that was simmering a mixture of hot chocolate and the kitchen table was covered with food. Beneath the tree were a few small presents.

Despite everything else, this didn't look like a picture in a magazine. it looked like something handmade. Lochlann was pleased by this turn of events. His family muttered their greetings to each other, although Lochlann's mom was once again absent.

Lochlann looked for Guin on his way to the kitchen.

"Baby you better be hungry," he said.

Lochlann was surprised to find that he was ravenous.

He was ravenous, and not just for Guinevere. He wanted some unspeakable, unknowable thing.

Lochlann's face got hot, his eyes softened, and his boner grew three sizes that day heart did something strange.

Holy shit.

Holy shit what the hell did she just do to him?

Lochlann put his hand over his heart and tried to figure out why it was stuttering so badly. He was smiling at her and he didn't remember deciding to smile. Oh god, okay, he could do this. He could get back in control. He had to shove something in her. yes, that was the best course of action.

He put his hands over her eyes and cut out a piece of the french toast, which had apples and syrup baked into it. The top was sprinkled with powdered sugar.

"Open your mouth," he told her. "And taste this for me. It's sweet, like you are."

Lilianna rolled her eyes.

Lochlann couldn't breath but he held steady.

He felt her eyelashes fluttering against his hand and Lochlann felt something inside of him flutter just like that.

Fuck. What the fuck was wrong with him. Maybe he'd picked up a parasite; he didn't think it was possible for a fae like him to get any kind of parasite, but who knew what he could have consumed on a magical island like starlight academy.

Maybe Guin was really a parasite and she needed to kill him by lowering his guard. Hadn't he hated her a few days ago? Why didn't he want her to go? Was she really a human or was she just pretending.

Maybe he was just pretending.

"Yes," he said.

He handed her the fork and sat down into the seat besides her. He found excuses to touch her during dinner, but he didn't do anything untowards to her. They ate and made small talk with his family, laughing at appropriately placed jokes and comments about the weather.

After breakfast, Lochlann was happy to retire back into the living room with her. The house was warm and for the first time in a while, Lochlann felt warm. He felt like maybe he didn't have to belong at the bottom of a cold lake, but he was just pretending.

"Guin," Lochlann said, surprising himself. "I have something for you."

He reached for a small box beneath the tree. It was square, wrapped neatly if a little bit awkwardly, in plain brown paper. The bow was the same shade of purple as her hair.

He handed the box to her and then became intently focused on his feet.

"Uh. Merry Christmas."

"It's for you," Lochlann said in way of answering.

He was growing excited suddenly, but then scared just the same. He sat down on the couch next to her and pulled his long legs up, then folded them like origami until they fit beneath him. He put his hands on his lap, then fumbeled with them, then tucked them in his pockets only to realize he wasn't wearing anything with pockets.

"Open it," he urged her onwards.