A/N: Hi, guys! I started this last December, but…well, you know how it goes. This takes place sometime after season 5 but without Sam having gone back to Lima and with Sam and Blaine still being roommates. (With or without Mercedes living there too, whichever you prefer to assume, but she and Sam are not together.) It completely disregards season 6.

Blaine thinks he's somehow walked into the wrong apartment. He actually steps back and checks the number to make sure it's his.

The first thing that's off is that the whole place smells like pine, instead of its usual Froot Loops aroma. It's too strong a pine smell to be just from the wreath on the door, which by the way wasn't there when he left this morning, and what the hell, Sam? The wreath is beautiful—and huge—and all covered in gold and silver bells and bows, and there's no way Sam should have spent his money on this. Not when he couldn't even afford to travel home to see his family for Christmas.

The entry way is all lit up in white lights, and when he steps into the living room...holy shit, there's a huge tree there, all covered in even more white lights and gold and silver decorations. And it's not just the tree, he sees: there are lights and bells and candles and ribbons everywhere—mostly in the same silver and gold, with some red accents here and there. It's beautiful, but it's so weird. There's no way Sam should be able to afford any of this—none of it looks cheap—and if Sam could afford it, wouldn't he pick something a little more his own taste? Like with lots of colors? Not that the silver and gold isn't lovely, but it isn't really something Blaine could see Sam picking out.

Just as he's about to call out for Sam to ask him what's going on, he hears a Surprise! and there the guy is, jumping out from behind the tree…wearing a Santa hat and outfit that's...well, it's kind of snug, and, uh, suggestive. The pants hang very low on his hips, and the top doesn't quite reach the waistband, so there's about an inch of skin revealed in between. Plus it's open kind of low at the chest, so...

Sam's looking at him expectantly. "Well? What do you think? Oh, shit, wait a sec!" He turns the radio on to an all-Christmas-music station, and asks again, "Now what do you think?"

"It's...wow! Sam, how...?"

"They're all props from my job this morning. I gotta give back the lights and the ornaments, but I get to keep the candles and anything that's gonna die."

"So the tree is yours?" Blaine asks, wondering how he's going to get rid of it after Christmas.

"The tree is ours, dude," Sam confirms. "I mean, I know you didn't want to make a big deal since it's just you and me and everyone else went home or on vacation or whatever, but...it's Christmas, and, I know it's just you and me, but...I wanted it to be nice."

"Thanks, Sam." Blaine smiles. "It is nice. Uh...is that the outfit you were modeling today?"

"One of them." Sam turns slowly to give him a better view, and the way the pants hug his ass...dear Lord. It was one thing rooming with Sam when he was still with Kurt, but now that they've broken up, he's finding it harder and harder to keep his thoughts about his gorgeous, male model, straight best friend entirely appropriate.

"Huh?" Blaine asks, realizing Sam just said something else that he was too distracted to catch.

"I asked if you like it."

"Uh, yeah. It's...nice. Um...should I change into that Christmas sweater my mom sent me?"

"Your mom sent you a Christmas sweater and you haven't shown me yet? Dude, it's Christmas Eve, what were you waiting for?" Blaine just stands there until Sam sighs and says, "Yes. Go put it on right away."

Blaine goes up to the bedroom to see if he can remember which drawer he buried the thing in. He's just found it when Sam yells from the bottom of the stairs, "Why didn't you wear it to work? I mean, I know no one sees you but the rest of the cast and stuff, but…Or wait! Did Adrian end up taking the Christmas Eve matinee off? You woulda told me if he did, right? So I could come watch you? Blaine?"

"He didn't take it off, Sam," Blaine calls down. Adrian is the lead in Aladdin; Blaine is his understudy. He has yet to appear onstage in front of people—Adrian is annoyingly healthy. He was complaining a few weeks ago about having to do a show on Christmas Eve, and Bl

aine was sort of hoping he'd call in sick, but the guy's a trouper.

Blaine finds the sweater and grimaces at it. Ugly Christmas sweaters are a "thing" now, according to his mother. She says the idea is to find the most hideous, over-the-top monstrosity you possibly can. By that standard, the chartreuse, jingle-bell-bedecked garment with working lights that he's looking at now is perfect. However, his mother also assures him that so-ugly-it's-cool is a real thing, so what does she know? But Sam will never let him live it down if he doesn't wear it, so he strips off his tasteful cardigan and the polo underneath, and puts on a long-sleeve cotton undershirt, followed by the itchy, acrylic sweater. Just before descending the stairs he remembers to press the little button that activates the lights.

He expects Sam to be at the bottom of the stairs still, but he isn't. He finds him in the kitchen instead, head behind the open refrigerator door. "So you want eggnog or..." He looks up and gets a view of Blaine in his ridiculous get-up, and it's obviously all he can do not to burst out laughing.

"And now you see why I can't wear this thing out of the house."

Sam stifles a laugh and says, "It looks so festive!"

"Okay, festive means atrocious. Can I take it off now?"

"No! It looks awesome. On anyone else it might look atrocious, but on you it looks good."

Blaine rolls his eyes. "What's my other option?"

"Unless you have a second Christmas sweater that awesome, you don't have any other options."

"No, I mean...you started to ask if I want eggnog or..."

"Oh!" Sam tears his eyes away from the disaster of synthetic fibers and looks back in the fridge. "Eggnog or hot chocolate?"

"Hot chocolate," Blaine answers, and he helps Sam make it. When it's ready, they take their mugs into the living room and settle in on the couch. With all the candles and stuff it looks almost...romantic.

Poor Sam.

Blaine wishes he could find a girl who he could be happy with.

"So..." Sam looks around, like he's suddenly nervous or something. "Can I give you your present tonight?"

"Sam! We agreed no presents!" Sam was so broke, and what little money he did have to spare he had spent on gifts for his family in Kentucky. As he should! "Spending Christmas Eve with my best friend—that's all the present I need."

"Yeah, but...Dude, I wouldn't have lasted two days in New York without you. And I don't just mean the practical stuff like having somewhere to live and everything. I mean, I do mean that, it's huge, but I don't only mean that, I just...I want to do something to show you how much you mean to me..."

"And you have! The decorations, the hot chocolate, lying to my face and telling me I look good in this god-awful sweater..."

"You do look good in the sweater." Sam reaches over and touches the sleeve, but then pulls his hand back quickly. Yeah, it feels even worse than it looks like it would feel.

"The point is, I don't need stuff from you."

"It's not stuff, though."

"Oh! Is it a song? Or a coupon to do something around the apartment, like clean the bathroom sometime when it's my turn? Or—"

"Blaine?" Sam takes his arm and holds it, even though it means prolonged contact with his super scratchy sleeve.

"Yeah?"

"It's kind of hard for me to say anyway, even without you trying to guess, so..."

"But why would it be hard to say?" Blaine asks, a split second before he realizes that talking is the exact opposite of what Sam is asking him to do.

"Because...I think it's something you'll still like, but I could be wrong and maybe it's something you used to be into but you're not anymore, and—"

"Did you write me a Star Wars fanfiction?" Blaine asks excitedly. "I'm totally still into that!"

"Oh for the love of..." Sam leans toward him and holds his hand over his mouth. "My gift is me. I want you to do me. Or I'll do you...whichever you like most. Or both, we can go all night, or...well, I might need a short break now and then, but..." He trails off and removes his hand from Blaine's mouth before sitting back on his side of the couch.

Now that Blaine's apparently expected to say something, he's speechless.

Because, come on, Sam can't be serious!

Yeah, of course Blaine would still like to "do" him. Or be done by him. Or both. But it's not an offer you can take your straight best friend up on. Certainly not when you're both sober, and, sadly, their beverages consist only of milk, chocolate, and sugar.

Finally he realizes he has to say something, because the look in Sam's eyes is so...so vulnerable...likes he's afraid of Blaine taking the offer the wrong way or something. Blaine's not actually sure how he is supposed to take the offer, except: not as a joke. That much is completely clear.

"Sam, I'm touched, but..."

"But you're not into me anymore. It's cool, I get it."

"No, it's not that at all, it's..."

"Just...I'm sorry, I shouldn't have even...I mean it was so long ago, when you were into me, I should've done something about it then, but I still thought...well, and then you got back together with Kurt, and then after you broke up it seemed to take you a while to get over it even though it was mutual and everything, but...I dunno, I thought it might finally be the right time now, but if it's not...Can we forget I said anything and just...Hey, why don't see if we can find some Christmas fanfiction?"

"Sam, what are you saying?"

"Well, I know Jesus was only born on earth and it's not realistic to think aliens would celebrate Christmas, but fanfiction doesn't always have to be logical, right?"

"No, not that. I mean...the part about you should've done something about it then?"

"Oh, that." Sam looks away, but Blaine can't help but notice that he's blushing. "Yeah, I've always regretted that. It's not like I ever had a problem with gay dudes—I mean, gay dudes who weren't me—but I had just felt totally straight for my whole life, so it took me a while to figure out why I'd even be interested in...well, and by the time I had figured it out enough to consider asking you out or something, you and Kurt were back together."

"So...wait, are you saying you're bi?"

"I don't know. Can you be bi if you've never actually done anything with a guy?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Then I guess so."

"Wow. I'm really proud of you, Sam. Am I the first person you've told?"

"Of course. You're the guy who I want to do me."

"Um...so wait. Is it a present to me? Or something you want?"

"A present to you," Sam says quickly. "Definitely. Unless, um...unless the only way you'll say yes if it's something I want."

"Sam!"

"Shit! Now you know I'm a crappy gift giver on top of everything else. Okay, it is something I want. I just got the idea to give myself to you as a Christmas gift because...well, for one thing it seemed easier than spilling my guts, which you've managed to make me do anyway. And I figured this way that if one of us didn't like it—like if I'm really bad at it, or if I figure out somehow that it was just curiosity and I really am strictly straight—then there wouldn't be all these expectations of it being an ongoing thing."

"That's, uh..." That's actually a better thought-out explanation than Blaine was expecting.

"Plus of course I don't really know what I'm doing with a guy, so I thought putting you in charge of what we do would make it easier. Not to mention that I really do want to give you something you'll enjoy and that will show how much you mean to me!"

"Okay," Blaine says.

"Okay? As in...?"

"Okay as in okay." Blaine ignores the little voice—all the little voices and big voices in his head telling him this is a terrible, terrible idea, and he continues, "Okay as in I accept your generous gift. When do we...?"

Sam smiles at him and says, "Whenever you want."

"Okay." Blaine looks around. They've got the place to themselves, there are candles all around, and Sam is wearing that sexy Santa outfit. "How about now?"

Sam nods. "Your wish is my command."

Blaine rubs his arm. "This thing about doing whatever I want...The first thing that I want—the most important thing that I want—is that you'll tell me if anything makes you uncomfortable and you want to stop. Okay?"

Sam nods again. "Your wish is my command."

"Seriously, Sam."

"Yeah, I get it. I promise I'll say something if I'm uncomfortable." They both just sit there for a minute, looking at each other awkwardly. Finally Sam stands, holds his arms out, and says, "So, you know. Have at me."

But Blaine just keeps sitting and staring. Not out of awkwardness anymore, or not just out of awkwardness anyway, but because he's letting himself really look at how gorgeous Sam is. After all this time living so close, having to avert his eyes or pretend not to notice Sam's body a dozen times a day, it's such a luxury to be able to really look. His smooth chest and throat emerging from behind the fuzzy white collar of the Santa top is quite the sight, but his eyes are even more drawn to that little strip of skin visible just above the waistband.

Sam must be psychic, or something, or—hell, Blaine's not even trying to be subtle, so all it probably takes is being a tiny bit observant—but anyway he starts to slowly unbutton his Santa top. "You want, like, a show?"

"Um...yeah, but..." Blaine forces himself to look away from Sam's abs and into his eyes. "But not if you'll feel weird about it."

Sam shakes his head fondly. "I offered, didn't I?"

Blaine nods mutely in agreement—yes, he did offer, after all—as he watches Sam add some rhythmic hip swaying to his unbuttoning display. "Jingle Bells" is playing in the background, which makes the show a little weird at first, but when that song ends the next one up is "Santa Baby," which works much better. By the time Sam finally discards his unbuttoned Santa top, Blaine is pretty ready to hurry down his chimney...which he realizes is a terrible metaphor/innuendo, but he so doesn't care.

Not that the show is over yet—Sam still has his form-fitting Santa pants and some black boots on. Still moving in time to the music, he starts to push them down on one side. Blaine doesn't think he has anything on under them because...well, he's been looking in that region, and there are no underwear lines. But it turns out he's wrong, which he realizes as he catches a glimpse of what can only be a thong strap. "Dear God, Sam, are you wearing...?"

See, the thing about Sam in underwear is...Blaine's seen him that way many times. But, like, regular underwear. Boxers or sometimes boxer briefs. Not that the sight of Sam in boxers does nothing to him, but Blaine can handle seeing him like that without...you know. But the first time he saw Sam in, like, sexy underwear? Jesus fucking Christ. He didn't even see him in person, he saw some photos from one of his modeling jobs...Sam in these tight little shiny blue bikini briefs that totally accentuated his package...him giving the camera this fuck-me look...Blaine was still with Kurt at the time he saw those photos, and he actually...obviously it didn't win him any boyfriend-of-the-year awards (not that he told anybody about it, obviously), but he hopped on the subway, showed up at Kurt's unannounced, and begged Kurt to fuck the living daylights out of him. The bad part of that being, of course, that he was thinking of Sam the whole time, especially when Kurt was inside him.

He's aware that that wasn't the last risqué underwear shoot Sam has done, but he's been vigilant about not letting himself see any of the photos since them. But now...

Now Sam is facing away from him and inching the pants lower and lower, gradually revealing...holy fucking...a tiny strip of red silk above the swell of his ass and an even tinier strip threaded right down the crack. "You like 'em?" Sam asks.

All Blaine can say in response is, "Sam..."

"You should see me in the Bubble ones. You know, the booty-contouring underwear for men?"

Yeah, Blaine remembers hearing about those. "From where I'm sitting, your booty doesn't look like it needs any contouring."

Sam scoffs. "Yeah, right. I actually like wearing the Bubble ones. They make me feel like you."

"They make you...huh?"

"Yeah, you know how your butt is all cute and round and fuckable? I wish mine looked like that."

"You think my butt is cute and fuckable?"

"Duh! I mean, I guess anyone's is technically fuckable, but it's not everyone's that makes you really want to super bad."

"You want to...super bad?"

"Super bad, yeah. But tonight's about you, so...I mean, it's my gift to you, so I shouldn't have brought up what I want."

Blaine gets up and stands behind Sam, resting his hands on his shoulders. "I don't accept that this is just for me. I only agreed to it because you said you wanted it too."

"I do, but—"

"Then it's for both of us." He strokes Sam's arm and asks, "Okay?"

Sam leans his head against the hand still on his shoulder and says, "Yeah. Okay."

Blaine takes a step closer and tentatively plants a kiss on Sam's exposed neck. Sam sighs, so he plants another, and then he wraps an arm around his chest. Sam leans back against him, but a second later he steps forward again. "Dude, that sweater is really scratchy."

"No kidding."

Sam turns to face him, and Blaine gets his first glimpse of the front of the tiny thong. It consists of just enough red silk to contain Sam's sizable—and stiffening, from the looks of things—junk. And a little white bow at the top. He's just about to utter something profound and witty like oh my God when Sam tugs at the bottom of his sweater and says, "Let's get it off you then." He helps Sam remove the objectionable item and he hurls it across the room. Then—for no good reason, because it isn't itchy at all—Sam helps him out of the cotton undershirt too.

They stand there, shirtless and facing each other, for several seconds before Sam is the one to go in for a kiss. Sam's pillowy lips feel strange on his for only the very shortest of times before they just feel good and right. Sam's hand on his back—that feels good and right too. Sam's lips parting and his tongue finding Blaine's, Sam's hand gliding down his back and onto his butt—both very, very good and very, very right as well.

Blaine lets his own hands start a similar descent down Sam's back. If he's going to change his mind about this whole thing—and it really can't be a good idea...probably—then now, i.e., before he touches Sam's bare ass, would probably be a good time to stop. But...well, why can't this be a good idea, after all? With his hands so close to that ass he suddenly can't think of a single reason not to proceed, and he slides them down farther and farther until each one is cupping a round, firm cheek.

Sam responds by kissing him harder—and by groping his ass harder and pulling him in closer. The fronts of their bodies are smushed together now, and Blaine can feel that Sam is definitely stiffening...if not outright stiff already. As is Blaine himself.

They grind against each other...or rather, Blaine grinds. Sam tries but only does so awkwardly, and Blaine realizes it's probably because of his pants, which are pushed down to around his thighs. So...well, he guesses the thing to do would be to help Sam out of them.

He pushes them down as far as he can while kissing along Sam's jaw and neck, down onto his collar bone and chest. The skin feels as warm and smooth against his mouth as he always imagined it would. He takes the time to lick and suck at each nipple a little—which Sam makes the most amazing little moans at—before he crouches down to pull the pants all the way off.

The easiest way to get them off would be, of course, to remove the boots first. But the boots are laced kind of high and tight and, more importantly, Blaine is struck by the idea that Sam would look incredibly hot with just the boots and Santa hat on, and so he goes to some trouble to pull the pants off over the boots. Looking up, he sees he was totally right in his guess about how hot Sam would look with the boots still on. True, he does still have the thong on too, and that will have to go...

He shifts onto his knees so he's face to face with that little white bow. It's a real bow, not just an image of one, and it looks so pretty there right at the tip of what he imagines is a very pretty cock. He doesn't say this out loud, because he remembers what he just told Sam about not wanting it to be all about him, but the tiny little bow really does make it look like Sam's dick is a gift just for him...and that's not actually an unappealing thought at all. He flicks at the little bow with his tongue.

Sam gasps. He reaches down and works a hand into Blaine's hair, which luckily he's not gelling anymore. He doesn't exactly pull Blaine's head closer to his crotch, but it's pretty clear that's what he wants. Blaine obliges, mouthing all over the silk until it's wet everywhere and Sam is involuntarily moving his hips again—and the radio is playing "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer" now, so the music probably isn't the reason.

Slowly Blaine pulls the thong down, and Sam is just...wow. Blaine can't say he's never seen him naked before, but he's always looked away quickly when it's happened. He's never really looked at Sam's cock before, certainly not when it's erect. "So beautiful," he whispers, mouth close enough for Sam to feel his breath.

"God, Blaine..."

Blaine pulls the thong all the way off, over the boots, and tosses it with the other discarded articles. He takes just a moment to appreciate the visuals of Sam looming above him in just black boots and a Santa hat before he lunges. Sam falls back, almost into the tree, but at the last second he manages to fall onto the couch instead, with his legs spread open. Blaine positions himself on the floor between them and, without any further preamble, attaches his mouth to Sam's nutsack. He works the balls over with his tongue and mouth, aware of nothing but Sam's warmth and flavor and his tiny movements and murmuring.

He starts gently stroking Sam's shaft before he gradually moves up with his mouth. He's going slow, not to tease but because if he's never going to get a chance to do this with Sam again, then he wants to savor it as much as possible. He wants to completely coat Sam's dick in his spit, he wants to taste every square millimeter, and if it takes all night for him to do so, so be it.

Sam, however, doesn't apparently feel the same way. By the time Blaine starts lapping up the pre-come on the tip of his dick, Sam's murmuring is more of a whining. And by the time Blaine has encircled the head with his mouth and starts to really suck, Sam is thrusting up into his mouth. Which Blaine has no problem with, to say the least—he'd love to let Sam fuck his mouth, and he'd really love to taste his come. But Sam goes, "Stop, stop, stop" and pushes his head away.

Blaine looks up at him, dazed. "What's wrong?" he asks.

Sam looks even more dazed. "That was awesome," he says. "It was too awesome. I just don't wanna let you make me come before I even get your pants off you."

Blaine is so tempted to protest. But, remembering that he was the one who made a big deal out of this being about what Sam wants too, he doesn't. Instead he just reaches for his belt so he can get undressed as quickly as possible and get back to what he was doing.

But Sam has other plans in that regard too. He takes his hands and says, "No. Let me." And he gives Blaine's elbow a gentle tug to indicate that he wants him to stand, which Blaine does. Sam scoots to the edge of the couch, works open his belt and his fly, and pushes the pants and underwear down to his knees, and now Sam is the one staring at Blaine's junk, which feels just so...weird.

"Obviously I'm not underwear model material," Blaine says with a forced chuckle when he can't stand it anymore.

Sam looks up at him with such sincerity and says, "I love it."

"Sam, you don't have to..."

"What? I do. I've never...But, I mean, I've always..." He reaches forward but stops just shy of touching to ask, "Can I?"

Blaine nods, and he and Sam both watch as Sam's fingers make their first contact with his dick. And then he immediately has to close his eyes. He tunes out whatever pop-Christmas tune is playing and he just feels Sam's hands on his most sensitive area...exploring it...caressing it...

"I really love it," Sam announces again, and then—oh God—his mouth is on it! He's kissing up and down the length of it, tentatively at first, but the kisses don't stay tentative for long. Nor do they remain closed-mouthed for long, quickly becoming more tongue than anything, and soon Blaine feels that tongue sliding right over the slit. He's sure there must be some pre-come there, but Sam doesn't react at all negatively; in fact, he wraps his lips around the head and starts to suck gently, which is just...just...Blaine has to use every ounce of self-control to keep his hips still, because it's Sam—Sam is actually, really sucking his cock right now—and it's been so long since anyone has done this, so that it's Sam...and the last thing he wants to do is push too far and make him stop. Because, holy Christ, it feels good.

Oh! Sam's hand is squeezing his ass now! And now the other is playing with his balls, Jesus! And he's suddenly taking a lot more of Blaine's cock in his mouth, and he's sucking a lot harder suddenly, and...and, oh shit...Blaine feels his balls tightening and... "Sam...Sam, wait, I..." Oh fuck, oh fuck, it's too late, his hips are pumping shallowly, he can't stop them, and he's starting to unload in Sam's mouth. "Fuck, oh fuck..."

Sam sputters a little but never stops sucking. Not able to do anything else, Blaine holds onto Sam's shoulders and lets his cock empty into his best friend's mouth.

When it's over, Blaine takes a step back and lets his soft cock fall from his friend's lips. He almost can't bear to see Sam's reaction, but he makes himself look. Sam doesn't look totally disgusted or freaked out, just a little...stunned. "Sam, I'm so...God, I'm so sorry!"

Sam shakes his head and goes, "No, it's..." and from the way he's holding his tongue Blaine can tell he's still holding his come in his mouth. Horrified, he assures Sam it's all right if he spits it out. Sam looks around the room, his glance lingering for a second first on his hot chocolate mug, then on the Christmas tree stand, but ultimately he swallows it. "It's not that bad!" he declares, despite a facial expression that tells a different story.

"I am so sorry!" Blaine tells him again as he watches him take a long sip of hot chocolate.

"Totally fine. Though you could kiss me again. I wouldn't mind replacing the taste of...that...with the taste of your mouth." And he pats his lap like he wants Blaine to sit there, so of course Blaine does. Sam wraps his arms around him as they kiss, and Sam's mouth tastes like chocolate and semen, but mostly like Sam, which is awesome. And then an arm disentangles itself from around Blaine's waist and starts tugging his pants down instead. They stop kissing for a second so Blaine can help get them off.

Just as they're about to resume kissing, Blaine now even more naked than Sam, Sam strokes his thigh and whispers in his ear, "I just hope we can coax another boner out of you tonight."

"Yeah?" Blaine asks. He doesn't think it'll be a problem if they keep up with the naked kissing.

"Yeah. Because I really want you to fuck me."

"Seriously?" He knows Sam hinted at the possibility earlier, but this really wanting it thing is news.

"Yeah. Cause, I mean..." Sam blushes a little. "I mean, you like, uh, taking it. Right?" Blaine nods, although it's not really necessary—they've talked about sex enough that Sam knows Blaine likes taking and giving roughly equally. "So I thought I should...you know...see what I've been missing out on."

"It is pretty great," Blaine says. "At least...a lot of guys think so."

"And there's no one I'd trust my first time to more, so..."

"Well, I think it can be arranged." He shifts in Sam's lap so he's facing and straddling him. He kisses and nibbles up his neck until reaching his ear, into which he whispers. "And would you like to fuck me too?"

"Fuck yes," Sam answers, grabbing hold of both his butt cheeks and squeezing them. "I mean, if you want me to..."

"I do. And I was thinking that you should do me first." He feels Sam's dick twitch against his own at the suggestion.

But Sam answers slowly. "Well...but only if you promise you won't come from my cock nailing your prostate." He totally knows that that's a real thing that can happen.

Blaine slaps Sam on the shoulder but laughs and plays along. "Fine. I promise." Except...now that he's promised he's actually a little worried. It's never happened to him against his will, but it has happened, and now with the pressure not to let it... "Or at least, if I do, I promise to do whatever it takes to get hard again so I can still fuck you." That's a promise he knows he'll have no trouble keeping.

"Well, and I'd be happy to help you get hard again if it comes to that." Realizing what he just said, Sam chuckles to himself. "Comes to that, heh."

"So…should we go upstairs, or…?"

"No, man. Down here with the tree and the candles and stuff."

"Yeah, okay, but…" Blaine doesn't want his first and probably only time fucking his longtime crush to be to the tune of "Frosty the Snowman" or, worse, another ad for Sleepy's holiday mattress sale. "…can we kill the radio?"

Sam smiles. "Your wish is my command." He pats Blaine's butt and adds, "You have to hop up, though."

Blaine stands and watches Sam walk toward the radio. "Why do you keep saying that?" he asks when the music stops.

"Saying what? That you have to hop up? I'm pretty sure I only said that once."

"No. 'Your wish is my command.'"

"Cause it's pretty much your sexiest line in Aladdin."

"It's not my line, though. It's Genie's."

"You say it to him, he says it to you…what's the difference?"

"He says it to Jafar."

Sam thinks about this for a second. "The bad guy!? He's not hot at all!"

Actually, the guy who plays Jafar is a little hot, but Sam hasn't met him and is probably thinking of the animated movie Jafar. "That's okay," Blaine says. "You saying it to me is plenty hot."

"Damn right."

Sam stops by the mantle, where he's stashed lube and condoms in one of the stockings. To be honest, though, he's kind of hoping they won't need the latter. "So, um…" he starts, holding up the strip, "I haven't done anything with anyone since they last time we got tested, and as far as I know you haven't either, though I guess it's possible you'd hook up with someone and not mention it to me, and not that you have to tell me now if you don't want to, but—"

"I haven't," Blaine says. "Let's not use the condoms." He's never barebacked—not even with Kurt, even though they were each others' firsts, because Kurt didn't like "messiness"—and he's always wanted to. And there's no one he trusts more than Sam.

"Thank God," Sam says. "I mean, if you're sure." He looks, and Blaine definitely looks sure. Thank God. He holds up the bottle of lube and asks, "Ready?"

Blaine nods and asks, "How do you want me?"

"Jeez, Blaine." Sam walks over and lightly touches his cheek. "Because you're my best friend, and so much more. Because you're sweet and sexy and funny and you care about me like no one else and…God, why wouldn't I want you?"

"Sam, that's so…" Great, now Blaine has a giant lump in his throat. "That's the most awesome thing anyone's ever said to me."

"Well, someone should've said it a long time ago. I should've said it a long time ago, I just—"

It really is the most awesome thing anyone's ever said to Blaine, and the last thing he wants is for Sam to apologize, even if it's not for saying it but for not saying it sooner, and so he cuts him off with a kiss.

Nor does Blaine want to ruin the moment by admitting that that wasn't even what he was asking, that he just wanted to know what position Sam wanted him in. So when they reluctantly break away from the kiss, Blaine just takes a guess at what position Sam might like. Since Sam apparently has a thing for his ass, he guesses Sam might like it if he just bends over the back of the couch.

And, oh fuck, Sam does like that very much! Those two perky round mounds, hiding between them that sweet little hole he's been wanting for so long to sink his cock into…He kind of can't believe he's really going to finally get to.

But not quite yet. First he has to get Blaine ready to take him. He squirts some lube onto his fingers and carefully slides one in.

Blaine gasps. It's just one finger, he knows, but it's been so long since he's had anything up there. He's fucking missed it; he just didn't realize how much he's missed it until this very second. He's seriously going to have to break down and go buy a dildo.

Or get Sam to do this to him regularly.

Sam adds a second finger after a few minutes, and then a few minutes later a third. He's very thorough. And it's amazing; Blaine finds he's grinding against the back of the couch, and he could probably come from this if Sam keeps going. But this isn't how he wants to come, all lightheaded from his head hanging down and, worse, without Sam's dick touching him. And so he stands.

Sam takes a step back and says, "Sorry! I—"

"No, no. Don't be sorry. Fuck me now."

Sam smiles. He was hoping Blaine would be the one to say it was time. "How should we…?"

Blaine glances around the room, his gaze lingering on the far wall. He probably shouldn't suggest it. This is Sam's first time with a guy (though not his first time doing anal, which Blaine knows thanks to Sam's "sharing" about his activities with Brittany in high school) and what he has in mind might be a little tricky. It's just…he's always wanted a guy to pick him up and fuck him against the wall.

But Sam isn't the only one who's shared stuff about his sex life, so he knows about the wall fantasy and figures out why Blaine is looking over there so wistfully. Maybe he should wait for Blaine to say it, but since he seems weirdly hesitant to do so, Sam just picks him up.

Startled, Blaine wraps his arms around Sam's neck and his legs around his waist. They're heading right for the spot Blaine was imagining Sam doing him; how did he know!?

But Blaine doesn't have much time to wonder about that, because soon his back is pressed against the wall and Sam's hands are under him, partially supporting him and at the same time separating his cheeks. And then Sam lets him drop, just a little, just enough to meet his cock.

It's so hard for Sam not to thrust up into Blaine while lowering him onto his dick. But he's afraid that might be too much for Blaine all at once, and so he holds himself still, only letting Blaine move. And Blaine's not moving much at first, though Sam can feel every miniscule movement—down to his halting breaths—reverberate through his cock.

Blaine whimpers and grips Sam's shoulders tight. Sam's dick in him is…it's a lot to take. Blaine feels so stretched and so stuffed and it's going to take him a minute to get used to it.

He doesn't get used to it, though, not exactly. Instead he reaches a point of needing more. Using the wall behind him as leverage, he starts to slide up and down the hard cock that's impaling him. It's not enough, though—he can't move very fast or very forcefully, and soon he's begging, "Please fuck me, Sam. Please fuck me hard."

Sam doesn't know why Blaine just repeated himself; it's not like it was something Sam needed to be asked twice. He tilts Blaine's hips just enough to give himself a slightly better angle, and he fucks in hard. And he does it again and again, harder and faster, until Blaine is literally screaming his name: "Sam! Sam! God, Sam!"

That thing that Sam said earlier, the thing about not wanting Blaine to come from getting his prostate nailed…yeah, Blaine is glad he didn't actually promise anything, because it could happen. Because Sam is absolutely nailing his prostate every fucking time he slams in. And probably the only reason Blaine hasn't come already is that orgasm he had earlier.

Part of him wants to let it happen. A big part. Because, come on, how amazing would it feel to come on Sam's cock? Unbefuckinglievably amazing, no doubt. But. Sam asked him not to.

But there's only so much he can take before…even if he's not going to involuntarily come just from the prostate stuff, the temptation to start jerking himself is getting harder and harder to ignore.

Blaine's vaguely aware that he's been screaming, and he figures that Sam has probably tuned him out. So he's careful to control his voice when he says, softly but clearly right into Sam's ear, "I want you to come in me."

It's not just about wanting Sam to finish so Blaine doesn't come too soon. He also really wants to feel Sam come inside him. "Please, Sammy," he adds. "Please, please let me feel your come fill my ass." His voice isn't so soft anymore, and it's more whiny than clear probably, but the more he thinks about it the more desperately he wants it. "Please."

Sam's been holding off because…because it's what you do. But it's really taken all his willpower to just keep going when Blaine is so hot and so tight and has been fucking screaming for him. So to hear Blaine beg for him to finally come? Hell yes, Sam is going to grant that request. Even if he didn't want to, something about the tone of Blaine's voice on the final please gets him in such a way that it's beyond his control. He growls into Blaine's shoulder as he surges in one last time, releasing a blast of white hot seed into his lover.

He's completely still and content for about one second before he feels his knees buckle. There isn't time to do anything but utter a surprised "Fuck!" before finding himself and Blaine a tangled and collapsed heap on the floor.

Blaine, laughing, asks, "Are you okay?"

"Fine," Sam says. But then he amends his answer: "I mean, fine is an understatement. I actually feel incredible. You?"

"I feel incredibly..." Blaine could finish this sentence a couple different ways. Turned-on is one that comes to mind. But what he actually goes with is: "...messy." He landed with his legs spread wide, and he can feel Sam's come dribbling out of his fucked hole, all warm and gooey and fucking messy as hell.

"Messy?" Sam asks. It's not a word he was expecting. "Uh, is that okay?"

"It's...awesome. I mean, I really hope you're gonna think it's awesome too."

Sam hasn't really considered that aspect of what they're going to do next. Is he going to find having his ass full of another guy's jizz awesome? Well, maybe. Because it won't be just any guy's jizz, it'll be Blaine's. (And at least he doesn't have taste buds in his ass.) "So are you ready to...I mean, you didn't already..." He reaches into Blaine's lap and discovers that, no, his friend did not come already.

Blaine whines at the unexpected touch. And then the whine becomes a moan as he lets himself rub against Sam's hand, just a little. "Yeah, I'm not the one who needs to be gotten ready." It occurs to him that post-orgasm Sam might not be as enthusiastic about getting fucked as pre-orgasm Sam was. "I mean, if you still want..."

"Yeah," Sam says. "I still want it."

"Thank God. I mean...if you're sure."

"So...should I bend over the couch, or...?"

"You're fine down here. Just lie down on your stomach and spread your legs."

Blaine disentangles himself so he can find the lube. He spots the bottle on the back of the couch and gets up to get it. When he turns back around to see Sam face down and spread-eagle on the floor, naked except for his black boots (the Santa hat having apparently fallen off at some point), the sight makes him groan. Loud enough for Sam to twist his head to look at him and ask, "You all right, man?"

"So all right, Sammy. You look so..." And he can't think of a word to end that sentence with, so he fills in the blank with another groan. He rushes back over to Sam and lies on his stomach between Sam's legs. Before it really even occurs to him to ask if Sam is okay with it, he licks a broad stripe from Sam's balls to his hole.

And Sam is totally okay with it! Surprised as hell—it's about the last place on his body that he ever expected anyone to put their mouth—but in the best possible way, because it feels really good. Like, really, really good. He spreads his legs a little wider to be helpful, give Blaine better access.

Blaine takes this as the invitation to continue that it most definitely is, and he continues to lick around Sam's entrance, more and more forcefully, and then not just forcefully but intrusively, as he breaches Sam's barrier with his tongue. Sam gasps and squirms. He hopes getting fucked with Blaine's dick is going to be as good as getting fucked with his tongue.

The hard wood floor is not great for humping, and Sam's dick is...it's not, like, in desperate need of attention again yet, but he does feel like touching it would be good about now, so he lift up on his knees a little so he can reach it.

Blaine, of course, notices the change in position, and he curiously reaches around too. Sam is getting hard again already! He didn't want to get his hopes up that this would happen, so he's pleasantly surprised that it is. He really hopes he can get Sam to come again—ideally while being fucked, but after would be good too. And so, although it means ignoring for a while his own overwhelming desire to start fucking Sam, Blaine spends a long, long time rimming and fingering Sam, occasionally sucking his balls and stroking his cock, trying to get him as turned on as possible.

His patience pays off when Sam, rocking backward onto his face, starts actually mewling. And then he's mewling and panting, and then he's whining, "Please, Blaine! You gotta...you gotta..."

Sam's plea is more than welcome at this point as, in addition to really, really needing to fuck him now, Blaine's mouth is tired and his knees are sore. He quickly slathers Sam's well-stretched hole and then pats his butt. "Up," he tells him.

What happened? Sam wonders when Blaine moves away from him, leaving him feeling all empty all of a sudden. He looks over his shoulder in dismay and sees Blaine standing, heading toward the couch, and beckoning him. Oh, okay. The floor was getting a little uncomfortable, now that he thinks about it.

Blaine sits on the couch and slouches down so his ass is at the very edge of the cushion. He pats his lap for Sam to ride him.

"I don't know," Sam says. It looks tempting, but... "Won't I crush you?"

"Hey, I'm not that tiny," Blaine objects. "And it's your first time. You should be in charge of how fast we go, and how hard, and how deep."

"Okay, fine," Sam says, deciding to humor him. He knows that, after how much he loved Blaine's tongue and fingers in him, there's pretty much nothing he's not ready for.

But it turns out Blaine kind of had a point, and a dick in his ass isn't quite the same thing. Sam discovers this by straddling him and sliding down entirely too fast, then yelping and quickly sliding the hell back up and off.

"It's okay," Blaine reassures him. "Just take it easy. There's no rush." Which his dick is telling him is kind of a lie, but he tells his dick to shut up.

"Right. Easy." Sam holds onto Blaine's shoulders this time and lowers himself a lot more carefully. Blaine holds his dick in place for Sam with one hand and caresses his back with the other, but otherwise he doesn't move.

It feels a lot better on the second attempt. Sam can feel himself stretching to accommodate Blaine, but it's a good kind of stretch. And there's nothing stabby about it like that first time. He keeps slowly dropping lower and lower, enjoying the feeling of being more and more stuffed, until he realizes that he can't drop any lower, that Blaine is all the way in. It's kind of an amazing thing to think about, and it's an even more amazing thing to feel. "Oh God," he says, looking wide-eyed at Blaine. "We're really doing this."

Blaine laughs because it's not like they just this second starting doing stuff. But he sees that Sam wasn't joking at all, and he gets it immediately—taking a cock is the part of all this that's the biggest first for Sam. He rubs up and down Sam's back and says, "Yeah, we are. Are you still okay with it?"

Sam considers whether he is. It still feels a little strange, but more good than strange. And it's not like there's anything to be ashamed about. So, yeah. "I'm still okay. Will you be okay if I start to move?" This last part is a joke. He knows perfectly well Blaine will be okay with that.

But Blaine doesn't realize it's a joke, and he answers solemnly, "That'll be fine for me. Just do what's good for you."

Sam thinks moving will be good for him, actually. Remembering to take it easy until he knows for sure, he tightens his grip on Blaine's shoulders and cautiously grinds forward in his lap.

"Oh God!"

"Oh God?"

"Oh God, that's…that's really, really good!"

Yeah, Blaine couldn't agree more. He lets his hands slide down onto Sam's ass, but he makes himself refrain from using them to urge Sam to do that again (and again and again).

It turns out Sam doesn't need any urging. He grinds again…and then a little harder…and then a little harder still. The feeling of his dick rubbing against Blaine's stomach is pretty great, but the feeling of Blaine's dick moving inside his ass even greater.

He's pretty sure, though, that Blaine's cock isn't hitting his prostate. He grinds harder and faster, and it feels super good, but he's still pretty sure it isn't working the way it's supposed to, and he lets out a little whine of frustration.

Blaine is in kind of a haze: It feels so good to finally, actually be inside his best friend, who he's been secretly and not-so-secretly lusting after for years. But he's also fighting the urges of his body, which seems to think it would feel even better to be actively fucking his best friend instead of just sitting here. Through this haze, something registers as a little off about the noise Sam just made. "Still okay, baby?" he asks.

"Yeah, it's just…you called me baby."

"I'm sorry!"

"I liked it," Sam admits.

"So…that's not what's wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong, I just…I don't feel anything in my prostate. I mean, I don't think I do."

"You'd know."

"So what am I doing wrong? Or maybe I don't have one."

"I'm pretty sure the only way you wouldn't have one is if it was surgically removed," Blaine says, brushing the hair out of Sam's eyes. "Maybe it would help if you moved up and down instead of back and forth."

So Sam tries that, raising and lowering himself on Blaine's cock. And it's good. The friction on his rim as he drags it up and down Blaine's dick—he really likes that. But he still doesn't feel like he's getting what he's after, exactly. "You find it!" he finally tells Blaine.

"You…want me to fuck you?"

"Um, hello? Aren't you already?"

"Well, yeah, but right now you're doing everything, and—"

"Exactly!" Sam says. "And I don't know what I'm doing." And he's pretty sure Blaine knows how to find it, because when he lived with him and Kurt he used to sometimes hear Kurt yell Right there! Don't stop!

Fucking Sam is what Blaine wants right now more than anything. But still he feels obliged to ask, "Are you sure you're ready?"

"Blaine, please! I'm not just ready, I'm fucking desperate!"

That's enough for Blaine. He maneuvers Sam onto his back on the couch, placing a pillow under his head and one under his butt. Sam puts one leg up on the back of the couch and brings his other knee to his chest. He looks so fucking hot this way that Blaine's not sure how he's not going to bust a nut the second he enters him again.

He doesn't, though. He actually manages to push in reasonably slowly, reasonably gently. Until Sam digs his fingers into his ass and goes, "That's it! Oh God, you found it!" And from then on Sam is pulling Blaine into him, and Blaine couldn't go slowly or gently if he wanted to.

Which he doesn't.

"Oh God!" Sam cries out every time Blaine hits that spot. "Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!" He doesn't want it to end, like, ever. But then he feels Blaine's hand on his cock and he knows it will end, but in the best possible way.

"Are you gonna come with me, baby?" Blaine coaxes, and Sam is powerless to resist the suggestion. He screams and thrusts into Blaine's fist, come gushing out onto his chest as Blaine continues fucking him.

Blaine manages to hold off his own orgasm just until he's seen what he's sure is the last rope of Sam's come fly out. He mutters, "Fuck, fuck, fuck" as his hips stutter and he releases his load in Sam's tight, previously virgin ass.

Sam gets the giggles before Blaine has even pulled out of him, before Blaine can even see straight again. He does pull out, but he doesn't move away, before asking, "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," Sam says between giggles. "I have no idea why I'm laughing."

"Oh." Well, Blaine's definitely glad he's not crying. "It's not some kind of freakout, though. Right?"

"No. No way." Sam manages to stop laughing, but he's still smiling.

"Okay. Good." Blaine believes him. Still, he asks, "How do you feel?"

"Awesome," Sam answers instantly. He thinks for a second and adds, "And messy. Like you said." The inside of his ass feels all sticky and…well, messy. "But it's cool. What's a little spunk between friends? I mean…" He trails off.

"Yeah? You mean…?"

"I mean, we'll always be friends. But if you maybe wanted to be more than that? Like, I dunno, friends who do this more than just on Christmas? Or more than that even? If you wanted. I mean, you called me baby, and maybe it was just a heat-of-the-moment thing and I shouldn't read too much into it, but…"

Sam looks so hopeful. And Blaine's always been half in love with him…at least half. But he's not sure what Sam wants exactly, or if he'll still want it when he's not in the heat of the moment. He wants to make sure they're on the same page. He says, "We should talk about this when we're…you know, dressed and sort of…back to normal."

"Yeah, okay. Of course." Sam takes Blaine's hand and pulls it to him. "Just…that's not code for no way, is it?"

"It's definitely not code for no way."

"Okay."

"Okay."

"So…" Blaine's suddenly enjoying that messy feeling less than he was when they were still doing stuff. "Maybe we should shower."

"Together?" Sam asks hopefully.

Blaine smiles. "Yeah, of course together." They can always wait to have that talk in the morning.