25 Days of Christmas

Title: Warm and Fuzzy
Rating: PG-13 (nothing too in-your-face)
Warning: sexual situations, innuendo, tiny sprinkling of language, some borderline sappiness a la the title, lol
Pairing/Characters: Gwen/Fox, mentions of Sheridan/Luis
WordCount: 1,329
Summary(for chapter): "I'm not a warm and fuzzy type of girl." A follow-up of sorts to my ficlet, Can You Hear the Horses.


"I'm not a warm and fuzzy type of girl."

"Really?" Fox raises a sly brow, cups his hand around her elbow, carefully maneuvers her down the sidewalk, crawling with wide-eyed tourists and disinterested, blasé natives weaving in and out of the crowd in their haste to make it to their unknown destinations. "I hadn't noticed."

Gwen bites back a smile, bites back a shiver (December in New York is damned cold), ignores his teasing. A stiff winter wind lifts her loose blond hair from her shoulders, and she carefully removes a strand from her lips, laments again, "I can't believe I agreed to this."

"I did tell you I make an outstanding cup of hot cocoa," Fox reminds her with only the slightest trace of mocking amusement twinkling in his brown eyes. "With whipped cream," he adds, somehow (expertly) turning that little addendum into an innuendo that makes Gwen's cheeks burn (and not, he knows, from the frosty air that nips and tugs insistently at their skin, their clothing).

Gwen turns to him when they reach the appointed, quaint little coffee shop, stares up at him with brown eyes earnest and lips trembling just slightly from the cold. "You know why I agreed to this." Her gloved hands slip into his, curl tightly around his fingers.

Fox leans forward, warms her lips with his own, before he answers, his tone serious but his eyes dancing, "Because Aunt Sheridan is a warm and fuzzy type of girl?" He grins when she rolls her eyes at him, captures a fine strand of blond tickling at his cheek, and tucks it behind her ear, earns himself a smile that curls its whispery fingertips around his heart strings and tugs with his next comment, "Because you're a good friend, to my aunt and anyone that earns your loyalty. I think even Luis can appreciate that."

"Speaking of Luis," Gwen prompts him, stamping her feet slightly against the sidewalk, stealing her hands beneath his wool coat briefly to warm them, "he's not very approving of having to wait, so…"

"Into the lions' den," Fox nods sagely, releasing her and gently propelling her forward.


Gwen's cheeks are flushed and pink from the cold, her lips slightly chapped as Fox presses her into the door with his long, lean body, his fingers sweeping her hat from her tousled blond hair before traveling down her neck (lingering briefly over her thrumming pulse) and sliding beneath the parted edges of her coat.

The heavy garment slips from Gwen's shoulders, down her arms, pools at her feet, and she winds her arms around his waist beneath his own coat, wedges her cold fingers beneath his waistband (where had her gloves gone?), stares up at him, unspoken questions in her curious brown eyes. "You're trying to distract me," she breathes out the realization. "Why?" She sucks in a startled mouthful of air when his cold fingers burrow beneath her sweater, settle in the small of her back, caressing idly.

"I'm not trying to distract you," Fox responds easily, his fingertips tracing (said) distracting patterns on her back, tickling to her front and creeping beneath the lace of her bra. "I am distracting you," he says, a slow, lazy grin flirting with his handsome features as he watches her eyes flutter shut at the gentle, possessive contact. He touches his mouth to her parted lips, savors her moan as he kisses her deeply, thoroughly, robbing her of her thoughts. "I think it's working quite well, don't you?" he murmurs against her lips, cradles her head with one large hand, blond strands falling like a waterfall from his grasp.

"Mmm," Gwen hums, eyes still closed, smile on her face. "It is," she sighs, following him blindly as he backs them deeper into the quiet, darkened space. She allows the pleasurable distraction to continue, caught up in the red haze that always threatens to consume her whole when they are together, like this, and the faint yellow light of a lamp illuminates their penthouse bedroom, crystal snowflakes swirling like little wintry tornadoes outside their window. "It won't," Gwen gasps when the cool air and Fox's skillful hands make her body tighten, shudder with anticipation. "It won't work forever though," she insists finally, shakily.

Fox holds her close, tight in his arms, and their clothes disappear, melt away, underneath greedy hands (his, hers). "Good things come to those who wait," he grins against her throat, making the world beneath her feet fall away as he lays her down, melts against her like a forgotten puzzle piece.

"That so?" Gwen smiles back at him with feverish eyes, one hand feathered through his soft hair, the other gripping his shoulder as he descends down her body, his sly, smug mouth mapping out a few points of considerable interest before reaching their ultimate destination. "I'm going to hold you to th…Oh," she breaks off as he steals the very breath from her lungs.


His gray turtleneck flirts with her knees as Gwen pads into the living room on bare feet, the cashmere soft and indulgent against sensitive skin still tingling from his phantom touch. "Fox?" His name is (more than) a question lost in the silent room, and the world outside is nothing more than a cloud of white, the metropolitan landscape outside transformed into a Christmas-time postcard during the few short hours of their respite. "Fox?" she calls again, startling only momentarily when she feels him blanket her with his (protective?) embrace without an answering word.

Her blond hair is fragrant, delightfully disheveled, and Fox lets his nose linger there for a second before he pulls it back with the fingers of one hand, carefully places a kiss at the juncture of her graceful neck. "Looking for me?"

Gwen rolls her eyes at the smile she can hear in his voice, but she sinks back into the arm he wraps more firmly around her, accepts the steaming mug of hot cocoa he offers as a token of his goodwill (apology), brings it to her lips. She does smile at the whipped cream she finds, and her brown eyes dance at him as she sips gratefully. "Truly outstanding," she concurs after a moment, recalling their earlier conversation.

"I'm not one to brag," Fox responds with his characteristic slyness. "But someone," he says, taking her by the hand and leading her to the plush sofa and its mountain of decadent pillows, "doesn't know the meaning of patience." He softens his scolding with a fleeting kiss to her knuckles before he gently pushes her to the sofa below, and Gwen curls her legs beneath her like a child's, gooseflesh pebbling her exposed skin.

Gwen's mouth twitches, and she watches him drag the soft, tattered chenille throw (that had been a constant, traveling companion of hers since college) from the back of the sofa to tuck around her snugly. "I understand the meaning of patience. I just don't fully appreciate it anymore."

"That so?" Fox echoes her earlier words, more than a touch of humor in his eyes as he instructs her to close hers. His faint, purposeful footsteps lead him away from Gwen for but a moment before he returns, sits down beside her, carefully loops a (falsely) casual arm about her shoulders. "Now." His lips brush her earlobe, making her shiver deliciously.

Christmas lights twinkle from a tiny tree before her, and tears start to fill Gwen's eyes with an embarrassing quickness. She struggles to hide her smile at his slightly irritating, proud smile, and she feels another little piece of the protective ice around her heart fall, helplessly, away. Her hand reaches up to capture the hand draped over her shoulder, brings it down to rest over her rapidly beating heart, and she admits, "Maybe I am a warm and fuzzy type of girl."

"Maybe," Fox agrees knowingly as she rests her head contentedly on his shoulder.

"But only kind of," Gwen can't help one last, stubborn amendment.


So...what did you think?


I rather like the end result, especially considering this is not the story I set out to write at all. I hope you don't mind that the Gwen and Fox from my ficlet Can You Hear the Horses hijacked this first installment.

This is another one of those grand ideas of mine that's been on the backburner for a while, pushed there by my genuine attempts to update my other, older fics. I sat down to try to finish up the latest chapter of The Story languishing on my hard drive then attempted Anna Begins when that didn't work, and then, well then I just said to heck with it and started writing, and this is the finished the product.

I can't promise this story will be finished before Christmas because RL and creative pursuits don't always have each other's best interests at heart, lol. But I will be working on this little collection of ficlets whenever I have the time or whenever I just can't seem to find the right words for my other fics (which seems to be all the time these days).

Like Game of Love (which I hope to someday add more to), this fic will feature all manner of pairings and characters. Unlike that fic, as I'm sure you can already see, this fic will occasionally visit different scenes from other fics/universes of mine. I hope you don't mind that particular indulgence; I think it has definite possibilities.

Anyway...enough of my rambling.

Feedback is love!

Thanks so much for reading!

P.S. Mistakes are all mine.