Mistletoe by Itomaki05

Unbetaed 596 word drabble

"Yzak, its tradition."

"Not a Russian(1) tradition."

"Well no; an American tradition."

"I'm not American and neither are you."

Dearka sighed in agitation, running his fingers through tangled, blonde locks. Yzak could be so very difficult at times; an incorrigible prick with a nearly unbreakable resolve. Squaring his shoulders, Dearka decided to take another approach, determined to win this particular verbal brawl.

"I get it now. You're scared."

"What!" Yzak shouted, visibly fuming. His normally pale face was presently a bright shade of red, his beautiful blue eyes flashed with anger. Yzak Jule, heir to the estate of Jule(2), was afraid of nothing and he be damned if he allowed Dearka to call him a coward. To his face, no less.

"Don't be ridiculous, Elthman. I'm not afraid. I just have no interest in participating in such trivial traditions." There, you bastard.

"Mmm…sure." Came a condescending reply. Yzak bristled, staring at his fellow Zaft partner with an undisguised amount of disgust. It took all Dearka's willpower not to burst with laughter at the adorable pout issued by the pilot.

"If I wanted to, I would! But I don't and especially not here, at this time with you, Dearka Elthman!" He growled, although remaining deathly quiet, out of prying ears' hearing range.

The look on Dearka's face screamed Prove it.

"Shut up!"

"Yzak, Yzak, Yzak…It is just a simple holiday tradition, to put people in the Holiday spirit and the truth is you're afraid of it. If you weren't, then you would not be fidgeting, now would you?" The statement held mirth, which infuriated Yzak to no end. He is mocking me.

"Fine, you bastard! You want me to prove it, I will."

Snatching the small mistletoe from the other's hand, he held it above their head. With his empty hand, Yzak grabbed the collar cuff of Dearka's shirt, hauled him forward with a great quantity of inhuman strength and planted a closed mouth kiss on his waiting lips.

The collective gasps from the room could not be heard over the soft buzzing noise that hummed within Yzak's ears. Though a chaste kiss, it sent tingling vibrations throughout his body. It was his first and he was starting to wonder why he had not done it before: Dearka's lips were hard against his own pliant mouth but it was the most pleasurable feeling he had encountered in all his life. Pulling away, he turned to hide the telltale blush encompassing his cheeks.

"Satisfied?"

There was no reply for a quiet moment.

Then suddenly, Yzak felt strong hands drawing him by the waist into Dearka's lap. He gasped and was bombarded with the taste of his companion's forceful mouth. A tongue aggressively plunged passed his lips, devouring him whole and the faint tang of French vanilla could be detected. Yzak moaned, his trembling hands dropping the mistletoe and coming up to tangle their selves into blonde tendrils as he melted against the body that held him tenderly.

This must be what it feels like to fall, he thought wistfully, shuddering when Dearka's tongue swept through his mouth again, coaxing him. And follow Yzak did, shyly touching his tongue to the foreign appendage.

This time, Dearka shuddered. His grip tightened and he began to suck with an earnest, much to the mortification and delight of the other. It was pure bliss and he unexpectedly wished it to never end.

Abruptly, the two jerked away, gasping softly for much needed air. Yzak's gaze was half-lidded and unfocused as he gaped at his friend with uncontained lust. …that was …unforeseen.

At the dreamy look plastered on his comrade's face, Dearka smirked, an feral twist of the lips that made him appear quite arrogant and roguish. His purple eyes sparkled as he answered belatedly

"Yes. Very."

(1) – The majority rule was Russian, so Yzak's Russian.

(2) – He might not be the heir, but I thought it fit.