I've never thought of celebrating Christmas by myself. Usually, I just go to my parents' house where mom has the tree lavishly decorated and a delicious meal cooked. But now...

I glance at sleeping Hart on the next pillow, messy hair framing relaxed face with no bruises, and think that maybe this year, I should do something differently. I mean, I never asked Hart if he even celebrates Christmas. Maybe he's a new-year kind of guy. I'm fine with both. It's just I got used to having a family Christmas at home. But now my H(e)art lies here, and it feels special. I want to do something about it.

Hart shifts and opens his eyes. He squints and furrows, blinking around until he sees me. His usual morning grumpiness fades a little.

"Morning," Hart says in a husky sleepy voice. He turns on his side and snuggles up to me, his body hot and firm against mine.

"You slept ok?" I ask him, stroking his shoulders and the back of his neck.

"Yeah..." he nuzzles the side of my chest. I have my t-shirt on, but the way Hart cuddles me still seems pretty intimate, even through the fabric. "You aren't working today?"

"I have a photo shoot at 4, so I thought I could stay in bed for a little longer."

"I hate waking up without you," Hart mutters as if to himself. His hand easily slides under my t-shirt and goes up my side.

Hart is calm and relaxed. Since we got together, he was gradually letting himself go... Bit by bit, he became more comfortable around me. And the most drastic change of all (besides that he ceased to drink and fight) was that Hart started to laugh. Like... a lot. He likes to watch stand-up while he's working. And his work is quickly fading into the background. It starts with giggles and chuckles and then turns into uproarious laughter. The first time I saw it, I couldn't believe my eyes. But Hart's laughter made me teary... I can't explain... he just looked so genuinely carefree.

Another thing that changed was our meals together. They are hardly silent anymore. Hart can be quite chatty. The only time he's silent or even sullen is in the morning. He's always dozy for quite some time, and it's useless to get him to talk. But I'm fine with it. Everybody has their quirks.

And the last thing that changed was sex. Quantitatively and qualitatively. I think there is nothing left from common sex life that Hart didn't try with me. He seemed embarrassed at first and never diverted from kisses and plain sex. But as our relationship progressed, I think Hart started to feel safe to express his desires, and thus he became more confident. And hot as hell.

Though the first time he gave me head, I was so shocked that I couldn't finish for a long time. And I was afraid that Hart would be uncomfortable... In the end, it led to a very heartfelt conversation about things we want to do to each other in bed. And that was so refreshing for me as if we got to the next level of our relationship and trust.

"How about breakfast?" I ask Hart, still stroking the back of his head. Hart props himself up on one elbow and stares at me. "Until you're in the mood for something else," I smile at him playfully.

"Don't go anywhere," Hart says and gets out of bed. By the sounds, I can conclude that he's in the bathroom. I've done with my morning routine already, so I just wait for Hart to come back.

He climbs on the bed and straddles me without a second thought. His hands firmly grab my neck as he plants a passionate kiss on my lips. I give up willingly, sinking into the pillows. Hart frees me from my t-shirt, his lips persistently following the path from my jaw to my chest. When his tongue sweeps over my nipple, I gasp, fingers ruffling disheveled black hairs on the back of his head.

Oh... devil... my nipples are sensitive, and I guess Hart just likes my reaction when he licks, sucks, and nibbles on them, driving me crazy. I swear I'm almost cumming every time he does it. But when his hand slips inside my underwear, I'm getting dangerously close to the edge.

"Hart," I barely breathe out against his hot skin.

"Already?" he grins, panting.

In reply, I let out a very strange sound as a short moan pushed through clenched teeth. Hart stops, staring at me with affectionate eyes. He is confident and enjoying this.

"I want your hand," he whispers and grinds against me. He doesn't need to ask twice. Our lips merge in a kiss. With one hand, Hart is still teasing my nipple, with the other driving me to the climactic point. I try to catch up, caressing him too, but it's impossible... I finish first but never let Hart out of my hand. And as soon as my mind is out of the post-orgasmic bliss, I make Hart feel good too.

He's still sitting on top of me, his head resting against my shoulder, and he's catching his breath.

"What do you think about breakfast now?" I ask softly, caressing his neck. My heart flutters in my chest. I'm so in love with him.

Hart chuckles and raises his head to meet my eyes.

Once at the table with hot coffee in our mugs and toasts in our hands, I can't think of any more appropriate time to bring up the matter.

"How do you want to spend the holidays?" I ask, eyeing Hart. He sips from the mug, a musing look on his face.

"Do you have something in mind?"

"Nothing particular. Usually, I spend a couple of days at home, but we can, you know, do something together," I give him an intent stare. "To start our own tradition..."

I'm not pushing too much, am I? Hart doesn't show any displeasure; he seems rather pensive about my words and a bit confused. I wonder what his best Christmas was. Does he have good memories of holidays at home at all?

"Like... what do you think about decorating the tree?" I decide to help by showing small steps along the way. Hart glances at me.

"I... isn't it for kids?" he furrows.

"Not necessarily," I object. "My mom still decorates it though I'm grown-up and don't live with them."

"You are a kid," chuckles Hart. I pout jokingly, but Hart's face takes on a serious expression. "I... look, I really don't care about such things," he shrugs. "I'm not religious, absolutely do not believe in Santa Claus, and..."

"Don't like presents?" I probe, trying not to look hurt. I'm not really... I suspected something like that.

"Presents are fine!" Hart retorts. "I don't mind celebrating if it means good food, good booze, and good company."

"Check, check and check," I grin at him. "We can go celebrate somewhere nice."

Hart's eyes lay on me; his gaze is persistent. He swallows and licks his lips.

"Can it just be the two of us?" he asks, his voice deep.

"But it's always like that," I smile and get nervous for some reason.

Hart doesn't avert his eyes as if studying my face. I start feeling hot and flustered under his relentless gaze. Hart's lips curve into half-smile, which should be illegal because it makes him irresistible, and he says, "It's the only thing that matters, and I don't want to change it."