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Gabriel lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling, trying to let his mind drift. Beside him on the bed, curled up and facing away from him, lay the beautiful cremello mare who had shared with him delights he wasn't even entirely sure he could have known anymore. The room was dark, only a bit of still-gray light peeking around the edges of the curtain, and very warm, in no small part due to the mare's body heat and the burning memories of her affections and attentions. Had he been home - or that portion of the planet that he had once used that word to describe - Christmas would have been its old familiar self, a warm or even hot day, long hours of sun, so near the summer solstice. This was the first time he'd ever experienced winter at Christmas.

He felt warm, very warm. Even as she dozed next to him, Cory was still burning, an ember of the essential female fire that every myth and legend said was the birthplace of all living things. Make whatever jokes you wish about the forty-something female; the simple truth was that, unlike males, that was the time when females (given half the chance) would come fully into their own, knowing who they are, what they want, and (given the other half of that chance) how to get it. Males sprouted quickly, felt their potency in far younger years, and only the cleverest of them had any idea what they were doing by the time they were thirty. When males enter their forties, they question everything, think they missed something essential in their youth, and most of them had. This was the essence of the differences between the sexes, even in areas other than sexuality: Males burned hot, bright, fast, while females grew searing, intense, deliberate. By the time most males had, so to speak, "come and gone," most females were just getting warmed up.

Was that, Gabriel wondered idly, the attraction to homosexuality? Males could explode quickly together, females could spend languid hours entwined. You knew what you were dealing with, if it's someone of your own kind. With the opposite, you either had to learn, or to put up with the various differences and not mind them. Males pretended to slow down, females pretended to speed up. With the exception of those who actually did know how to listen, have the patience, the desire, to explore, most heterosexual sex was a pairing of mismatched expectations.

The stallion was still young, not yet thirty, and he'd learned some things over the years about pleasing females. Some of what he'd learned had happened under circumstances he'd rather not think about too closely; the rest came from trying to be something other than an insensitive stud with more brawn than brains. How he wished that he had known Cory in his beginning years. Patient, intuitive, urging, appreciative... she was greater than any dream or fantasy that he had ever begun to consider. He used what he knew, bringing it without hesitation to the sharing, and she brought the rest to him in a chorus of whinnies, snorts, shouts, and nickering that told him exactly what he was doing right.

For more than four sweet, lingering hours, he had thought of nothing but her, and after a brief doze, another hour was spent in a slow, tender dalliance that raised even the worldly Clydesdale to a shattering conclusion that - he could not deny it - brought him close to tears. Was it simply her age and experience? Of course not; he'd fattened his wallet more than once on such pastures. It was a necessary skill for a while, and he'd made a vow that he'd never regret what he did to live. He stopped when he was able to find other, better employment - more hours, harder work, less pay, but honest and clean. He had put himself through uni, and no one ever asked what color his money was, and he'd no reason to say. Pecunia non olet, and his degree was as sweet as a rose.

No, this was different because it was Cory. It was this strong-willed, intelligent, capable, fit, filly-at-heart who made the difference. It had been a very long time since Gabriel had actually lost himself in the act of love, had forsaken any thought of past, present, or future as he brought his entire world into the small, dark, warm space of a single female, her body, mind, spirit, all tied together with his own, and making, creating, love out of their shared attentions. Had you asked him even three weeks ago, he'd have told you that it was no longer possible. If you had asked him three years ago, he would have told you that it was the only thing worth living for. But when he'd lost touch with--

His eyes darted toward the sounds beside him, as Cory slowly wakened. To do nothing seemed distant, to pounce seemed rash. He reached out to stroke the beautiful, smooth coat at her shoulder, smiled a little as he felt her tremble. The mare mmm'd at his touch, stretched luxuriously, and murmured, "Happy Christmas, Gabriel."

"Happy Christmas, Cory." He reached his near arm up under her pillow and gathered her to him, pressing his broad, muscular chest against her back, his upper arm across her trim belly. She wriggled back against him, her arms going to the one holding her so close. He put his nose to her neck and gently nibbled at it, more an expression of affection than rekindling the night before. "You're the best thing I've ever found in my stocking."

"I'm not wearing stockings."

"So much the better."

She chuckled. "Hey, I'm the one who got a pony for Christmas."

"Who you callin' pony?" the stallion grinned. She laughed again, and it was like music to him. For once, the sound of a female's laugh wasn't forced or faked or just too much to have to deal with. That was when he knew that he was in trouble.

"So," Cory said, wriggling against him a bit more. "You want that breakfast I was bragging about not so long ago?"

"Not yet," he said, his heart snapping so loudly, he was sure she could hear it. "I'm greedy enough to want to cuddle a bit more."

"Then I'm greedy too," she said, her head turning upward over her shoulder. He took his cue and reached his muzzle around to meet hers halfway and give the perfect waking kiss - soft, swollen lips, velvety, nuzzling, and closed to prevent any possible attack of morning breath. The movement seemed to reawaken the scent of him on her muzzle, the scent of her on his. The moment lingered until both fell back, spooning contentedly in the new morning. "Not to put any pressure on the moment," Cory said softly, "but this may be the best Christmas morning ever." She hugged his arm against her. "No strings, Gabriel. I'm just feeling very content right now. I had no idea that the North Pole was actually in Melbourne."

"Our best kept secret." The Clyde forced his lips to smile so that the words would sound right in the mare's ears, but he felt like crying more than smiling. And to make it worse, she would misinterpret the tears entirely, because she was too kind to think otherwise. He choked down the emotion as best he could, trying to cap the light of the Ghost of Christmas Past, and rested his chin against her shoulder. "No strings, Cory, but I'd like to say something. I hope it comes out right."

He felt her hesitate slightly, but finally she said, "Give it a try."

"This... was loving. I haven't felt like this in a long time, and again, no strings. If nothing happens between us again, I'll still take this with me. I wanted to say, thank you for loving me. It's been years since I felt loved on Christmas morning. Thank you."

For a long moment, she said nothing. Just when he thought he might be safe, that he might have gotten away with going through the motions, of pretending to himself that what he'd said wasn't true, she spoke softly into the darkened bedroom. "I've known too many of those empty Christmas mornings, Gabe. Out of more than 40 of them that I've experienced, this has been the best by far." She paused, squeezed his arms again. "I hope it's okay if I say that I very much hope this happens again."

He kissed her eartip tenderly, forcing his lips to smile again. "So do I."

For years, his Christmases had been warm outside of the house and so very cold within. Now, the world was cold, the room was warm... and he forced the extinguisher cap down hard upon his heart. He still had work to do. And he damned everyone who had made him do this.

Truth lives, whispered a voice from the film he had watched the night before. Truth lives...

* * * * * * * * * *

Waking early on Christmas morning, Bobby and Malcolm greeted each other by pretending that the mistletoe was actually posted over their bed. They snuggled warmly together until the smell of sausage and bacon cooking convinced them that they would do well to join the rest of the family. It was Malcolm who noticed that Santa had apparently managed to sneak into their room in the middle of the night. They donned their lounge pants and t-shirts, then put on the rather luxurious-feeling matching robes that had magically appeared in their rooms, before going out to enjoy a huge celebratory breakfast with Lisa and Dave.

Duncan and Daniel appeared a bit later on, and the family was ready to dig into the pile of gifts under the tree. They had discussed Bobby's special status prior to all this. They were used to it, as both of the twins had college scholarships subject to the tyranny of the NCAA rules. Technically, Bobby was enjoined even from allowing Malcolm to pay for a meal that they shared. In general, the rules regarding gifts were aimed at preventing any NCAA player from being "bribed" or "losing their amateur status," by being given ridiculous extravagances from scouts for professional teams. Meanwhile, as players starved and worried about being handed a free hot dog, the coaches got millions and the organization itself made a billion-a-year. Logically, gifts from family shouldn't count, but because Bobby was now a target for gay-bashers from all fronts, everyone agreed to keep things quiet.

"It's a shame," Lisa grinned all the way to her whiskers. "I'd meant to buy two robes for Malcolm, in case he wore one out, but darned if I didn't get a larger size by accident."

"You really should be more careful, Mom," Duncan agreed, also grinning. "You might have to take that back to exchange it."

"Lost the sales slip."

"So careless!"

"It's such a pain..."

Formalities out of the way (and witnesses to swear that Bobby got absolutely nothing for Christmas that year), the family settled in to enjoy opening their various presents. Both Bobby and Malcolm got a bit of dispensation, being the poor college students that the twins (and parents as well) remembered with greater clarity than strictly necessary. Duncan made the opening salvo by tossing what appeared to be a small plastic pill bottle to his youngest brother. Malcolm read the label and laughed. "Candy 'birth control' pills?"

"Assuming a bit, aren't you?" Bobby smiled, raising an eyebrow as if threatening a barrage of WTMI.

"Let's hear it for equality," Daniel announced, tossing an identical bottle to the quarterback.

"Oh, and I so want grandkits!" Lisa pined.

"It's just too soon, Lisa," Bobby managed with a (if the expression could be pardoned) straight face. "We should wait till we're out of school, at least!"

Malcolm, all but glowing in neon colors with embarrassment, fell against his lover's side, laughing along with everyone else. Dave and Lisa decided that it was their turn, opening the presents they gave to each other. For the tom of the house, yet more gadgetry for his electronic playthings; for the queen, some special items for the kitchen. Dave was saved from a playful mauling by suggesting that Lisa look into the box with the bundt pan. Wrapped around the central funnel, protected by velvet, the necklace of blushing pearls made up for any improper implications of Lisa's role in the household.

"They're beautiful, hon," the tigress exclaimed softly.

"Not so beautiful as you, but they'll just have to do."

Almost in unison, all four younger males chorused, "Ooo, someone's baking brownie points!"

"Gibbs-slaps for all," Lisa managed before providing a raspberry for the crowd.

Other gifts included some "practical" ones for the twins, along with a variety of gift cards for all concerned. Lisa chuckled at Bobby and Malcolm's reactions to gift cards from the Rathskeller. "I enjoyed Coach Stackhouse's company as well as the food, and I availed myself of their gift certificate program while I was there. No one goes hungry on my watch."

"That helps to explain these," Duncan said, passing grocery store gift cards to Malcolm. "Daniel and I remember what it's like to be on a college budget. Oh, and Bobby... you've already given me a very special present, and I want to thank you."

"What might that be?"

"A surgical procedure. You removed a malicious growth." The smile was rueful, yet grateful. "I'm well rid of her. One final time, I'll apologize. And once more, thank you for being family."

It was Bobby's turn to blush, and Malcolm put an arm around him, hugging him close. "That really the last one?" the athlete asked.

"At least until I do something else stupid. But I think I can count on you to let me know. And you," he punched his twin playfully in the arm, "need to back him up."

"Deal. And 'nuff said."

After a few more exchanges (including joke gifts from twins to parents and vice versa), one package - something that looked suspiciously like clothing - was left under the tree, and the card on it was addressed to both Bobby and Malcolm. The young tiger found himself wondering aloud if it were "His and His" towels. He and his lion leaned in together to read the card. Bobby looked up, only slightly confused. "It's from Coach Stackhouse."

"And most of the rest of the team, by the look of these signatures," Malcolm added. "How did...?"

"He sent it to us at the park," Dave supplied. "Best way to hide it from you two until now."

"Going to share with the rest of the class?" Duncan quipped.

"Bobby," the lion read from the letter inside the card, "you already know that you're to be my starting quarterback for varsity next year, so my present to you is to assure you that we've found some loopholes in the NCAA rulebook that will allow you and Malcolm to continue sharing the apartment. As any of the honest administrators will tell you, there's more than one way to make it look like a not-for-profit school, making millions, is almost broke. The lease will go through your graduation, and we might even find a way to make it last through Malcolm's graduation. That's what the rest of this package is about.

"Malcolm: You may not know it, but there are actually rules governing the use of numbers on a football team's jerseys. Here, we use 1-99, and depending upon the position of the player, his jersey has to have a number in a certain range. However, that applies in particular to the players on the field. I had an idea, and I presented it to the rest of Bobby's team; you might be pleased to know that my proposal was carried unanimously. The shirt is yours, Malcolm, as you are - as officially as we can make it - our team's personal good-luck-charm. I hope you'll wear it to every game that you can attend, for two reasons. First, and most important, because you're one of us. And second, I can think of some coaches on opposing teams who will be totally pissed off by it.

"Hope it's not inappropriate for an old dog to wish you both love, for the holidays and for all your lives. -Stackhouse."

In disbelief, Malcolm raised the official university team jersey - not an imitation or promotional product available for purchase at the Student Union, but an actual jersey - bearing his name above the number 100. Bobby leaned into him, purring, as the rest of the tiger's family applauded.

"Nice going, Mal," Daniel grinned. "Now you're a nerd and a jock."

"It's okay," Bobby said, kissing his cheek warmly. "Now, we both are."

* * * * * * * * * *

Parker had never really thought of himself as much of a "family type," in a lot of ways. Wee yowens under a certain age (post high school, he thought ruefully) tended to make him nervous. He was never really able to reconcile that feeling with the notion of wanting to find himself a good female, settle down, and raise pups of his own. It was as if that were the logical thing to do, or the accepted thing, or the expected thing... he never really thought that far down the road. It was just what straight males learned how to do.

Which was why he was still a little in awe of Cole and Guy, and their all-but-twin little bairns, and the way that both Benedict and Eoin were so comfortable around them. Even Jerry was at ease, smiling, laughing, not minding the strange ways of these larval creatures that seemed somehow alien to the Akita. The crimson dragon, who must have seemed ten times the size of Annabelle and Paulo, was to them a source only of giggles, awe, and a never-ending supply of delicious food. The young female flit-tiger had mastered "G'andpa," and her brother was close behind. It was clear that "giant, grinning, and deep red" equaled some sort of familial safety in their minds. Parker envied that.

"Zachary?"

Jolted out of his reverie, the athlete looked to Jerry apologetically.

"Just needed a bit of syrup, if you could pass it my way..."

"Of course." The Akita did so, smiling. "I'm addicted to Benedict's crepes."

"And so you should be," the dragon grinned, offering a small bit of fruit to Annabelle. "I lace them with opiates."

"T'aint funny, McGee," Eoin grumped slightly, although smiling.

"Perfectly legal ones!" the professor replied, pretending great offense taken at the suggestion. "Good fruit and fine amber maple syrup are wonderful addictions." His long tail moving gently with barely-contained mirth, he graciously encompassed all with his gaze. "It never hurts to have an appreciative audience, and how better for me to celebrate one of my favorite holidays?"

"Is there a holiday that isn't a favorite for you, Benedict?" Cole asked with a smile.

"Good Friday," he replied. "As Jesus said, what's so good about it?"

Guy cringed, also smiling. "Prepare to dodge lightning bolts!"

Parker laughed, feeling easy about being at this table with literally generations around him. He saw two doting parents with their yowens, two males near his own age, and a dragon of years quite possibly near to the combined total of the rest of those at the table. What must he have seen of families, of loves and lovers, of friends and coworkers? Had he ever sired bairns of his own? Yes, the great crimson drake was gay, but that didn't necessarily make it impossible; like Cole and Guy, Benedict might have contributed his seed to some sort of surrogacy. The Akita wasn't sure why he was thinking about it quite that way, but the word "family" means a lot to someone who never really had one before. He was beginning to wonder if there were another way for that word to be used, a way that was different but held no less importance.

"Oh, crud, I left it in the car," Jerry said, frowning. "Cole, may I borrow the keys? I made something for Zachary, and I..."

"No problem." The flit-wolf found the keys in his pocket and handed them over.

"Zachary, may I borrow you for a moment?"

"Sure." The Akita wiped his muzzle with a napkin, just in case he'd let some syrup drip that he hadn't been aware of. He got to his hindpaws and excused himself from the table, following the otter out of the kitchen and into the front hall. He seemed a little surprised that Jerry wasn't getting his coat on.

Shyly, the mustelid looked up at the young athlete, blushing a little. "I lied. I've got it here." He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a CD jewel case. "An introduction to ambient music, as promised. I burned a few selections from my rather large library. Fair warning: You may not like it, and it's okay if you don't." Jerry grinned a little. "It's kind of an acquired taste."

"Thank you, Jerry." The Akita looked at the printed playlist on the inside of the case and laughed a little. "I've never heard of any of these people."

"It's a niche market, I promise you."

"Brain Laughter?" the pup chuckled. "Dogon... System 7... Locust... wow, sounds like I'm in for a whole new experience."

"A good one, I hope." His thick tailtip thapping on the floor behind him the otter said, "I have one other gift I'd like to give you, but I'm not sure if it's time. I'll understand if it isn't."

Jerry reached up to cup Parker's cheek in one soft, webbed forepaw and looked him in the eyes for a very long moment without moving. It took the athlete a few seconds to understand, and then a few more to wonder why he wasn't freaking out. He found his own forepaw moving to Jerry's cheek, almost of its own accord, but not entirely. His thumb brushed gently against the otter's golden fur, and Jerry chittered a little at the touch. The grad student's eyes were both imploring and hesitant, wishing and understanding. His breathing a little unsteady, Parker leaned down and gently pressed his lips to Jerry's.

It was just a touch, no big passion, no hidden ideas, just something that the pup found to be very, very warm. Neither closed his eyes, but instead looked deeply into each other's, Jerry reassuring, Parker seeking. The moment protracted, and neither pushed nor retreated, until at some unspoken signal, they pulled apart by a half-dozen centimeters, forepaws still to each other's cheeks, still looking into each other's eyes.

"Thank you," Jerry whispered. "Thank you for trusting me."

Parker didn't answer.

"Are you okay, Zachary? Did I go too far?"

"No," the Akita managed, and he realized to his surprise that he wasn't lying. "I'm okay, it's just... I guess I just..." He swallowed. "That was nice, Jerry."

"I agree." The otter smiled. "Want a hug to go with that?"

He pulled the grad student to him gently, put his chin on his shoulder, pet the otter's short headfur with a tenderness that surprised him. I felt good. Not sexy, not wrong, not gay, just... warm. It had been a long time since he had felt this sort of warmth. He couldn't really remember when it was, or even who, but it didn't change this moment, this here, this now. Something inside of him, like a great black snake, tried to cloud his mind, but it couldn't. Jerry was pressed up against him, holding him, like a friend, like one true friend. Two, he corrected himself, remembering how Eoin had shown him how to hug. Friends hug too.

Parker felt the otter shift slightly, pull away just a bit. The smile on the otter's muzzle was soft, perhaps even affectionate. "They're going to wonder what happened to us."

"Is it..." The Akita paused, answering his own question before it was asked. He smiled back at his friend and said, "Let's do that again sometime."

Jerry chuckled, having the grace to look a little embarrassed. "I think I'd like that," he said. "Besides, I'll have even more music to inflict on you."

"You said it was an acquired taste, right?" The canine leaned in and placed another kiss, this one to the otter's forehead. "One song at a time."

"Yes," the otter said, taking the Akita's arm in his own before heading back toward the breakfast table. "One at a time."

Parker found himself looking forward to the music.