under the mistletoe

’’ere son, ‘ere’s a taste of everythin’ ya never ‘ad in that awful place.’

Last Christmas it had felt like Magnus was trying too hard to win his love. All that patience bleeding into the over-generosity. Christmas tree, lights, presents sitting under it in a heap like he’d never known what it was like to feel wrapping paper crinkle under his fingers before. He’d opened them, feeling like there was an entire world of expectations that he had to hold up like he was Atlas with the sky propped on his shoulders.

Linc frowned, wrinkled his nose as he pressed the last piece of tape into place on the present. Yeah, there’d been expectations of a sort, but not the sort he’d wrongly sensed. Magnus had made that clear enough in the alleyway when he’d found him and pulled him up out of the depths he’d tumbled into in a belief that he didn’t have that hand to pull him up and away from what he might’ve been. It was a parent’s expectations, the real sort – not the ones that demanded silence and not an ounce of need – wrapped up in the sort of unconditional love people who really deserved the title gave you. The sort he’d had snatched away by what happened to your brain when you weren’t what they were and got old. Time was a bitch, one he wouldn’t really have to worry about anymore.

He drew the tag closer, hesitated only a moment before he started writing on it. Mrs Graham would have him do hers, and her Christmas cards, blaming it all on shaky old hands, but he suspected it was because she’d wanted him to feel all the good bits of Christmas. The giving, the well wishes, getting to put the star on the top of the tree, even if he’d had to drag one of the kitchen chairs in to do it. The tree had seen better days, its feathery green plastic ‘needles’ flaking away as he leaned into it, but it’d shone bright in the middle of her living room. Some of the bulbs in the string of little coloured lanterns had blown out, it hadn’t mattered though.

Their tree this year was … perfect … well, none of the bulbs were out at least. He’d let Magnus put the angel on top (longer arms trumped dragging in a chair), but he’d slipped the decorations over the ends of the branches and had plugged the lights in. Jo had seemed happy about it, bringing in glasses of hot apple cider when they were done, with some mince pies. Apparently back in their day none of this was a thing – people actually fasted before Christmas, only letting loose when the big day happened. That had meant more work for her in the kitchens (damn, trying to feed himself in a house where food shopping was non-existent had been bad enough, let alone doing it for a whole castle and a family), but when the day came it was all about family.

Crouching in front of the tree, Linc slipped the present on top of the little bag of them he’d put together for Cassie. Shit. Maybe he should’ve gone for a stocking instead, but it’d felt weird when he’d been looking at them draped in an arc in the window of some shop in town. That was the sort of thing you did for kids not for … whatever they were now. Nah, the bag was right. At least he’d managed to get the last of the wrapping done before she’d got here. It might’ve been close though. She’d text him a while ago, long enough that she should’ve been here already.

The clock said it was definitely past time, even without him tugging his phone from his pocket to double check. He turned towards the window, walking towards it like he’d see her rushing up the path, all pink cheeked and bubbling over with an explanation of how she’d been caught up in something on the way. The scuffing at the door detoured him though, a bubble of something that wasn’t excitement starting to swell in the pit of his stomach. Linc swallowed it back, felt it pop when he opened the door and it was Cassie on the other side.

His brows hitched, a half smile starting to crease his face as she squeaked out a protest and went to snatch a … what was that? A pine cone? A real one, not one of the little plastic ones he’d hung on the tree. ”Hi,” he echoed, his smile broadening as Cassie looked up at him. Snowflakes that had been dancing in the air were now clinging to her hair, little bits of glitter to reflect what was sparkling in her eyes. Her cheeks were pink, the tip of her nose too, and excitement like he’d expected wafted out of her. Linc felt the little nips of cold against his cheek as he wrapped his arm around her in return and squeezed. Did he cling on, or did Cassie? Either way he was happy to bask in the warmth that clung to her, like the scent of spices had in the house after Jo had bought the Christmas treats out of the kitchen. ”Happy Yule! There’s some inside, not much of the real thing though.” Had she gone picking them up in the woods? In this town that felt like it would be tempting fate.

Linc stepped back as Cassie finally let go and bustled in. Her boots were kicked off by the door, the Christmas spirit of the elf-like sprite radiating out to fill the house with that warmth. ”We got it put up a couple of days ago.” Made an event of it, like he was doing with this Yule thing now with Cassie. His nose wrinkled again as he glanced at the tree. ”You can’t imagine Magnus twirling around with the tinsel? It was a group effort, Jo cooked though – if you can call mince pies cooking.” Girlfriend. Magnus probably would’ve swallowed his tongue at the word, it was too informal, too soon maybe, although Jo had been around since the night he’d … in and out of the house so much that it felt like a full family actually lived here at times.

Brows furrowing, Linc trailed a step closer as Cassie started digging in the basket. He dipped his head, trying to see what lay under the scatter of pine cones before the basket was held out to him. Taking it like he was asked to, Linc lifted the basket to his nose and sniffed. He wouldn’t have felt that same bliss at biting into them as he would’ve done a decade ago, but they still smelled good (bought or not, it didn’t matter). ”What’s ginger got to do with it?” he asked, looking up at Cassie. Maybe it wasn’t that different to what you were meant to add to wine and stuff. ”Craft stuff? You’ve really got this planned.” More than he’d done, although there was some more of that cider in the kitchen, set in a pan on the stove to heat up, some of the left over mince pies too, stuff that was meant to give the house that human holidays feel.

He considered it all for a second, tilting his head back and forth before he nodded. ”Errrr, let’s go craft first. Then we can have some cider and crack on with the decoratin'. Or did you want a glass first? Holy shit!” The laugh burst out of him, his face lighting up with the flames that suddenly danced in the fireplace, his eyes widening at the holly that budded suddenly on the tree. ”You’re amazin',” be breathed, looking back at her with the wide-eyed sort of wonder that had spent years buried under that veneer of quiet grim. Cider, definitely cider, something to keep his hands and mouth occupied because he wanted to capture all that joy and pride in them and hold on the way he hadn’t before. He backed towards the kitchen, his hand held out to Cassie.

Tagged: CASSIE LUANNA * Word Count: 1354

It had felt odd thinking that Jo might end up his ‘mum’. Magnus hadn’t introduced her that way, hadn’t really introduced her at all. She’d been there in the alleyway, bending towards him, touching him gently before he’d leapt away from her. He hadn’t hurt her, but the thought that he could’ve done had wrung an apology out of him when she’d come to his room after. She hadn’t taken offence at the way he’d acted, had promised him it would be alright as she brushed the damp hair clinging to his forehead back. Like a mum would’ve done, taking care of a kid with a fever. They’d talked a little then, more since, and he knew she’d had kids of her own, ones that probably would’ve called Magnus their uncle.

Having her bustling around the house had started to feel normal, like the house was filled with a proper family and not some ancient vampire bachelor and his progeny - was that what they called them? That should’ve felt weird maybe, put his back up, but it hadn’t. He’d eaten a half dozen of the mince pies, the enjoyment of them more a memory than anything else. Mrs Graham would’ve loved them.

Linc’s nose wrinkled in amusement as he scratched at the bridge of it. He grinned at Cassie, shrugging. ”I guess they don’t usually have them here.” Forget the difference between old and new traditions, there was a massive gap between the American and British sides still. ”They’re like pastry with mince meat in them – not like meat meat, it’s chopped up dried fruit and spices. They’re pretty good.” He suspected Cassie probably wasn’t gonna want to test the leftovers though. In a house full of vampires there had been plenty. Eating for show and effect didn’t exactly leave you ravenous for that stuff the way he would’ve been up until that night Wesley had decided not to step in and stop him from becoming a canapé.

He handed off the basket as Cassie reached for it. Her traditions were stacked up in it, woven through whatever celebrations they had going on like the pinecones through the garlands. Linc dipped his chin slightly, smiling to let Cassie know the slip wasn’t anything to be embarrassed about. ”Like the houses and stuff?” Another tradition that hadn’t exactly made its way into the Crowne household. If Magnus heard about it he’d probably have bought one of those kits though, turning it into a version of the castle he’d lived in, complete with the Queen in gingerbread woman form. ”Jo or Magnus could probably tell you about the start of anything, they were probably there when someone had the original idea.” Well, they weren’t that old, but it felt easier to joke about it than to sit down and blow his mind thinking about what they’d actually lived through.

Suddenly he felt a little unprepared. They’d decorated, he’d planned to put the cider on, but he hadn’t thought about activities, just kinda settling on the couch with Cassie maybe, watching the lights from the Christmas tree twinkle in her eyes. There was probably some sort of Christmas movie marathon on TV. ”It all looks good, really,” Linc promised, trying to reassure her. Whether he’d be good at it was another thing entirely.

Cassie didn’t have to worry about that. Her only skill wasn’t being able to move really fast, or even look like a teenager for all of time. She could murmur a few words, have her fingers lighting up the room in an instant. Linc breathed out his awe and watched her light up at it. He felt the flames in himself, leaving his cheeks glowing at her soft words and that warmth permeating out from his stomach into his chest. ”Jo’ll be glad to hear it,” he told Cassie with a grin as he drew her into the kitchen by their joined hands. ”I guess it’s what they always got drunk on.” There was a time where he couldn’t imagine Magnus like that, but finding him and Hector absolutely rat-arsed in London had changed all of that. Magnus had lived dozens of lives before he’d ended up who he was now.

Setting his own glass down on the island, Linc settled on the stood next to Cassie’s. He scooted it in, his forearm laying right alongside hers as she set an orange down in front of him and started to demonstrate how to stab the orange with a tooth pick and then pop what looked like gnarly little bits of wood - smelly wood he realised as he picked one up to look at it – into the holes. ”They’re really strong,” he said, half in agreement. He wasn’t about to nibble at one to see how it tasted after that. ”Good though.” Just in case Cassie thought he was grossed out by it. Stuff tended to smell stronger now, his senses heightened enough that it could be overwhelming – in a good way when it was the scent of Cassie’s shampoo that he was drowning in.

Brows knotting faintly, Linc began to stab the orange with the toothpick. Juice beaded up onto his fingers, leaving him sucking his knuckle into his mouth as she started to tell him about her grandma. Like him Cassie hadn’t exactly had a white picket fence kind of upbringing. It hadn’t been easy, she’d hinted at some of the awful stuff that had happened, but from the sounds of it, she’d had a little of the good too. He poked a clove into the hole he’d made, poked and filled a second one. ”She sounds like an amazin’ woman,” he said softly. ”I’m glad you had someone there when your parents weren’t. It makes a whole world of difference. Did she do the whole big Wiccan Yule thing?” Can’t complain wasn’t much comfort when you were the kid caught up in that sort of situation. You held onto the good bits you had all the tighter because you knew they could be taken away and you could end up in an even worse situation.

Mrs Graham had been his saviour. An old woman who should’ve been relaxing and enjoying the time she had left instead of trying of having the burden and the exhaustion of trying to parent a kid that wasn’t hers. He glanced up from his orange – slowly being circled by a wobbly zig-zag line – one corner of his mouth quirking up faintly as she asked about Mrs Graham. Linc shrugged slightly, wondering how Magnus would’ve taken the conversation. ”I had a couple with her, before … you know …" He gestured at his head, like that demonstrated the way her brain had slowly disintegrated like a wet tissue. ”They weren’t fancy, not like Magnus’, but she tried. She had oranges too. Put them in this stocking she had for me. We ate them though. It was meant to be an orange come Christmas if you were good, a lump of coal if you were bad.” By that point his parents had deserved a whole sack of coal but they probably would’ve just sold that too, or ended up burning down the whole block trying to use it to stay warm.

He stabbed the orange again, laughing faintly at how far out of line it was. It didn’t matter, it still smelled good and he knew Cassie wouldn’t start smacking his fingers over messing it up. ”Magnus went all out last year though. I think he was worried I hadn’t had one, you know, wanted me to realise that I would now. We didn’t do anything like this though.” Puffing out his chest like a five year old taking some mishapen lump of painted clay home as a mother’s day present, Linc held up his orange. ”Are we meant to hang them up after? Or do you just sit there breathin’ in the smell of Christmas?” Or the smell of her. Linc craned in over Cassie’s shoulder, sniffing at the orange and catching the hint of her shampoo again instead.

Tagged: CASSIE LUANNA * Word Count: 1347

Linc’s fingers tightened around the orange. The apology for finding another way to stick his foot in it log jamming in his throat as that went tight too. Did ’I’m sorry' cover I wish your granny would’ve stood up for you and stopped people slaughtering you? Probably not. It wasn’t like he would’ve taken that sort of thing from one of his teachers at school for not noticing there was something very wrong during his childhood and hearing it from one of his parents? He had to try and swallow past that. There’d never been an ounce of regret from either one of them about the way they were raising him. Even when they’d seen Wesley gathering him under his wing they hadn’t said a word to get him out of it.

Cassie’s drawn out anyway had him temporarily abandoning his orange stabbing. It was clear she didn’t wanna talk about that bit anymore, and he wasn’t gonna push her, but he got it in a way most probably wouldn’t. ”It’s always better when it’s just yours,” Linc agreed. Not some shitty multicoloured lights strung up around the club with some tinsel and plastic mistletoe, like that’d leave anybody feeling festive. A private celebration, one of your own with people who loved you.

If she’d been able to Mrs Graham would’ve given him so much more. He’d seen the regret in her eyes that she couldn’t, not entirely understanding it at the time. As a kid you could tell you were poor, that other kids parents were there more than yours were, but the little subtleties of the whole situation passed you by. After Linc had found himself poring through it, trying to hold onto those bright little moments when he’d been trapped in the dark with the stink of oncoming death all around him. He huffed out a breath now, his smile growing as he nodded. ”Yeah, it was a Santa thing. I never really liked the taste of them all that much, but I’d eat the ones on Christmas, ‘specially if I got a selection box after – that's chocolate.”

Grinning now as he had done then – albeit without the smear of chocolate around his mouth as he’d tried not to eat them all at once – Linc reached up and batted at Cassie’s hand. He laughed as she pulled back, running his knuckles over the spot she’d pinched. The heat of his blush was already rising under his skin. ”I’m sure I could be a little devil at times. It always was an orange though. I’d try and get her one too.” It wasn’t like he’d had more than the tiny bit of pocket money she’d slip him to get her anything. What came free always went her way though, the cards he made at school, paintings he brought home, things that would’ve gone ignored by his parents. Things were different now, money wasn’t everything, but he earned enough to get Magnus that ridiculous silk tie covered in elves, and the little bag of gifts he’d put together for Cassie that really should’ve been a stocking now he was thinking about it.

The orange was the sort thing that he would’ve taken home from school and Mrs Graham would’ve acted like it was the best thing she’d ever seen. Cassie tried, laughing as he did, giving that compliment that was the equivalent of patting him on the back. Linc’s nose wrinkled as he stared at it. ”It’s horrendous,” he corrected, grinning even as he gave a little groan. Magnus would probably praise it – if it was even visible where he hid it behind the one Cassie had done. He’d probably spent his childhood with these things hanging from the fireplace in the … wherever Magnus had grown up before he’d slid on into the castle and the queen’s bed. ”He’d probably give it a go if I asked him to,” Linc murmured, sticking one last rock hard little nugget of spide into his orange. ”He’s more the go out into the woods and hack the tree down himsef sort.” Probably with the sword he’d kept in pristine condition, although maybe that was some sort of absolute no-no – you wouldn’t wanna dull the blade or anything.

Close as he’d put himself to her, Linc wasn’t really thinking about the orange anymore. It was a floating orange blob in his peripheral vision as he focused slyly, at least he thought he was being sly until she turned her head and they were so close. His eyeballs practically ached with the desire to drop his gaze to her mouth, but then Cassie was jerking back and he felt like there was a string tied between her and his gut. It pulled hard enough that he felt it in his chest.

Putting out a hand, Linc braced himself with one hand against the edge of the counter. He continued to watch her, seeing her blush rise in a way he knew hadn’t been caused by anger. She wasn’t pissed at him, she was … ”I’ll try and remember to do it. Magnus probably knows about the takin’ care of them bit at least.” Without fuss Magnus tended to handle almost everything in the kitchen, a proper parent making sure their kid ate healthily, even if most of his nutrition came out of a blood bag. His gaze rose from where it’d ticked to the orange as he realised she’d said they’d make more next year. Cassie definitely wasn’t planning to bolt...

Linc startled faintly, going to get down off of his chair to find the string she asked for. He cleared his throat, frowning at one of the drawer fronts. ”There’ll be some somewhere...” But who needed string when you had a witch? He perched there on his chair, watching – open mouthed and awestruck again – as the oranges rose like bubbles in the air, hovering high enough that he didn’t smack his head off of it as he blundered down off bis perch. ”But it’s amazing. I still can’t believe you can do that.” It was like watching a mini-miracle every time, one that surpassed whatever he was capable of as a vampire.

Fumbling his cup off of the counter, Linc started after Cassie. There’d been a bunch of other things in her basket – pine cones and all sorts, probably all meant to go up around the house somewhere. He lifted the cup to his lips, shrugging as he did. ”There’s a box somewhere. He’d probably love it if we ended up fillin’ the whole house.” He’d see it as some sort of success in getting him excited about the holiday. Linc trailed after Cassie, close enough that she could’ve brushed him with her wringling fingers as she raised them up in the air. The mood had definitely shifted from the quiet of poking the cloves into the oranges. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach like a thousand little shivers, waiting to roll together and leave him breathless.

”What’s that?” Linc asked quietly. There was a rough edge to his voice – far better than the squeak that might’ve emerged. Maybe there was something Magnus had missed a chance on, something that was pure Yule, something... Mistletoe. Of course, Magnus wouldn’t have put that up, he’d left his wild days back in England in 1512, or whenever. ”It’s magic,” Linc told her, amusement wrapped around his voice. The sort he hadn’t expected to get again after that same power had been woven into the ring that glittered on his finger in the low light.

How was his throat suddenly so dry when he was choking down cider like a man who’d just stumbled on an oasis after a month in a desert? The reality wasn’t far off of that, although it had been more than a month since he’d last kissed Cassie and that glut of pleasure had left his self-control slipping just enough that he’d freaked her out.

He stared at Cassie as he swallowed – it had to be some sort of Christmas miracle that he didn’t actually choke on it (were Yule miracles a thing too?) - his gaze slowly trailing up her arms, giving on the spot where the mistletoe had bloomed. He’d wanted to kiss her again from the moment she’d pushed him away, hadn’t wanted to stop kissing her from the instant their lips had first met, even when the hunger and his hatred of it had burned inside of him like twin suns, trying to eclipse everything else. Linc reached out almost blindly, lucky that the half full cup of cider found the coffee table.

Those flutters in his stomach were rolling together now, a wave of something rising up, sinking back, pushing at him until he was right in front of her. She was smiling, but his expression was deadly serious. There was no way she would’ve put it up there if she didn’t want him to kiss her right? The line that had been drawn between them after vanished as he settled his hands lightly at her hips. Eyes turned dark by the pupils that expanded to drink up the blue dropped to Cassie’s mouth finally, giving it just a moment to holler stop at him before he was settling his mouth back there, light as a feather, a kiss so soft he couldn’t have sworn for sure when it actually started.

Tagged: CASSIE LUANNA * Word Count: 1570