12 + 1 Days of Christmas (A Very Syverson Christmas)

Day Twelve: Christmas Dinner

Late afternoon on Christmas Day, you climb onto Sy's lap and nuzzle into his neck, drinking in his heady scent. Smoke from the BBQ, the beer on his breath, the faint sweet smell of sweat mixes with his gently lingering spicy fragrance of his cologne.

Without dropping a word from his conversation with your dad, he gathers you tighter to him. You don't know what they are talking about, you don't care, you just want to hear his voice, feel it rumble in his chest and vibrate in his throat.

You're exhausted, it's been long day. Like all Christmas's it started at dawn with the kids waking you, running up the stairs screaming and shouting that Santa's been and there's presents under the tree. Then later, you pack all the kids into the 4WD and go to your parent's place for Christmas lunch.

Glazed ham, roast chicken and gravy, salads, potatoes, corn, prawns, and bread all spread out on the table on the veranda. The young ones at the kids table where fights are common over who pops the Christmas crackers. Paper crowns for the winners, scowls for the losers and Dad jokes that Sy and your father take great delight in reading for the kids.

Your younger brother, sister and their partners were there too, your brother with his two little ones and your sister pregnant with her first. You had helped your mother in the kitchen and made the Pavlova with your sister, while the guys cooked the BBQ. Sy had become a cherished part of your family, your parents enjoyed having him around and your younger brother had always looked up to him. Apparently, he still rings Sy for advice when he has little tiffs with his wife.

But now lunch is over, the kitchen is clean, leftovers divided amongst the family to take home for dinner tonight and maybe lunch tomorrow. The kids play with their toys, and everyone gathers for a quiet afternoon. Until the kids start to get bored at least and the screaming starts indicating it's time to go home.

Until then, you snuggle with Sy, the aircon making the closeness bearable. It seems most of your family has the same idea as you, your sister lays with her head on her husband's lap, your mother leans her head on your father's shoulder and your brother sits on the floor with your sister-in-law between his legs. It is rare you're all together, next year it will just be you and Sy at your parent's place, your sister and your brother will be at their in-laws, so although everyone is tired, no one wants the day to end.

But eventually you yawn and Sy lower his head. "Wanna go home, Baby?" he asks, softly so the others can't hear.

"Yeah, I'm tired."

"Ok." Sy kisses your temple softly and pats your arse.

Hugs and kisses are exchanged and then tears from the kids who don't want to go home yet. Sy promises left over trifle and custard for dinner to Pippa if she stops crying. You chuckle, he must be tired if he's letting her get away with her theatrics.

The kids end up in bed early, even Bindi who has struggled sleeping the past few months is in bed before the others. Still tired you tell Sy you're going to shower and go to bed.

"I'll join ya," he says sedately, obviously as tired as you were.

It starts out like a normal shower, Sy washes, and scrubs his beard while you wash your hair. But by the time you're washing your body, the atmosphere changes and Sy's eyes begin to darken.

You feel his hands on your back, slick with soap, and they start to roam. He's wordless as he touches you, over your hips and ass, only a soft appreciative moan falls from his lips as you lean against him. His arms encircle you, his hands move over your breasts, and his breathing gets heavy in your ear. They slide over your belly though the soap has washed away now, and down between your legs. Almost lazily he touches you, his caress unhurried, explorative as if he doesn't know you as well as he knows himself.

Sy's hand cups your neck, turning your head to his, his lips are on yours as his fingers languidly circle your clit. Like his kiss and his touch your body approaches the edge smoothly, a gentle tightness coiling deep inside before snapping and a soft warmth washes over you as you come undone. Sy watches you, silent except for his hoarse breath, and when he hears your moan of release, his eyes burn, and his jaw tightens.

"I could watch ya fall apart a million times and it wouldn't be enough," he murmurs. You kiss him, and he turns you, lifting you to his hips before pressing you against the tiles.