Giles snippet, rated G

Giles stands by the mantle, pretending to be fussing with the strand of holly. There’s nothing wrong with it, and little he can without knocking everything else off. It’s carefully wound around the photographs, and the smiling faces look like they’re listening to one of his stories. Or, more precisely, one of his lectures.

But he stands there nonetheless, fiddling with the greenery and pretending like it has to be just so. To do anything else would mean to turn around and see the living room. Decorated for Christmas.

And empty.

Giles snippet part 2

Because some people whine. And look cute.

Part Two


Giles woke up slowly, Christmas morning. He’d long since out-grown the excitement of youth that drove one out of bed at dawn – or before. But this morning, he couldn’t find much reason to crawl out of bed. He was warm, and comfortable – and old, he told himself, and deserved a lie-in if he wanted it.

So he stayed in bed, eyes closed, listening to the silence. He could smell the pine of the tree, and the scent of cinnamon and orange.

He sat up. Cinnamon and orange?

Scrambling over to the loft’s railing, he gaped down to see a very familiar – and quite naked – figure coming towards the stairs.

Ethan smiled. “A bit early for mulled cider, but it never does smell like Christmas without it.”

Giles just watched him until he was on the landing.

“Happy Christmas, love.”

“Happy Christmas,” Giles replied, hoarsely. He pulled back the covers of the bed, and they crawled in together to celebrate the return of the sun.