Happy holidays everyone! Have a little gerita drabble for your troubles.

A cooling cup of coffee sat on the coffee table, a suitable place for coffee and resulting ring that would surely have Ludwig yelling at him later. Most likely about his deficiency in coaster use.

He really should get up and stoke the fire. It was so cold in Berlin in the winter— all this week and had looked as if it was going to snow. The only way to get through such weather was with heavy quilts and a lover to be under them with you. He was sorely missing the latter.

If he wasn't going to stoke the fire he should at least get up and start dinner. Lud was so tired in the evenings and he did like to treat the German—one less thing to worry about. It was cold though, out from under this quilt, far too cold for an Italian. From his horizontal position on the couch, the kitchen seems a long way off anyhow.

He could probably reach the phone from here, call Lud and ask him to pick something up. Problem though: Blackie lying comfortably across his legs, keeping him warm despite the drafty house. He couldn't tell Lud about him letting Blackie up onto the couch—Luddy hated vacuuming the couch cushions.

Short nails clacked on the hardwood, Berlitz and Aster going to see where their third musketeer had disappeared to. The shepherds came to a halt at his side. Despite their fearsome appearance, they were gentle giants, like their master. Very well disciplined, those dogs, even able to handle his childlike demeanor. They never scolded him about messy kitchen counters or told him not to be so bothersome. They nuzzled and licked and woofed, calm and happy and oh so very accepting. Respectable, stately creatures, Ludwig's dogs.

Mmm, perhaps he'd take a five minute siesta and call Luddy after...

.

.

.

The key easily notched itself in the lock, turned with a squeak, and Ludwig was able to open the door with a grunt.

The tall German toed his shoes off, looking for the telltale signs of his happy, petit Italian to be in the kitchen, whipping up something far too exquisite for Wednesday night.

But there was no singing, or the smell of savory spices being thrown into a pot of tomato sauce. Radio was silent, the kitchen darkened.

A soft woof came from the hallway leading out of the kitchen. Blackie stood with his head cocked one side, then turned tail and headed for the sitting room.

The fire in the hearth was dying, low light emanating from the embers. Lud padded in socked feet in after his dog. Blackie stopped in front of the couch, nosing the lump under the quilt—the lump that happen to be Feliciano. The redheaded Italian was snoring softly, blanket clutch tightly in one hand while the other dangled off the edge, resting on Aster's head. Berlitz raised his head in acknowledgment then continued his snoozing.

Feliciano and his guard dogs. The thought warmed Ludwig's heart knowing his lover was in good hands—er—paws.

"Gute Hunde," he said after, heading towards the kitchen to find one of their Thai takeout menus.

Thanks for reading, reviews are love and feed my lonely inbox!