Bandom One-shots book 3

The Fire To My Light (Gene Simmons x Nikki Sixx)

The room smelled like pine and cinnamon, the kind of festive overload that Gene loved to orchestrate. The massive Christmas tree in the corner of his living room looked like something out of a department store catalog: perfectly symmetrical, covered in shiny ornaments, and lit up with an almost blinding amount of lights. It was pure Gene Simmons, meticulously planned and impossible to ignore.

I sat cross-legged on the plush rug, a glass of bourbon in one hand and a cigarette dangling from my fingers, watching him fuss over the final touches. Gene, in all his six-foot-something glory, was rearranging the presents under the tree like he was curating a museum exhibit. The guy never did anything halfway, even Christmas.

"You know," I said, taking a drag from my cigarette, "most people just toss the gifts under the tree and call it a day."

Gene turned to look at me, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. "Most people aren't me, Nikki."

I smirked, leaning back on my hands. "Yeah, no kidding."

He straightened up, brushing his hands together like he'd just finished solving a world crisis. "You can't expect me to half-ass Christmas. It's a brand, Nikki. Presentation matters."

"Of course, it's a brand," I muttered, rolling my eyes but unable to hide the grin tugging at my lips.

Gene's attention shifted to me, and he crossed his arms, towering over where I sat on the floor. "And what have you done to contribute to this holiday masterpiece, hmm? Besides drinking my bourbon and chain-smoking?"

"Moral support," I said, holding up my glass like it was a toast. "You're welcome."

He snorted, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. He walked over and sat down on the couch, his presence immediately commanding the space. "You're lucky you're cute, Sixx. Otherwise, I'd have kicked you out hours ago."

"Yeah, yeah," I said, taking another sip of bourbon. "You'd be bored out of your mind without me, and you know it."

He didn't argue, which felt like a small victory. Instead, he reached for the remote and turned on some Christmas music—not the usual overplayed stuff, but some jazzy instrumental crap that felt way too classy for either of us. I raised an eyebrow, and he shrugged.

"Atmosphere," he said simply.

I laughed, shaking my head. "You're unbelievable."

"I'm Gene Simmons," he said, flashing that smug grin of his. "Unbelievable is part of the package."

Before I could come up with a snarky reply, he leaned forward and grabbed a box from under the tree. He handed it to me, his expression softening slightly.

"Here," he said. "Open it."

I looked at him, surprised. "You actually got me something?"

"Don't make me regret it," he said, but there was no real bite in his voice.

I set my glass down and unwrapped the gift, revealing a sleek, black leather-bound notebook. It was high-end, the kind of thing Gene would pick out, and when I flipped it open, I saw an inscription on the first page:

"For Nikki, because chaos deserves a place to live. - Gene"

I stared at it for a moment, a lump forming in my throat. It was thoughtful in a way I wasn't expecting, and it hit me harder than I wanted to admit.

"Jesus, Gene," I said, my voice quieter than I intended. "This is..."

"Don't get all emotional on me," he said quickly, but I could see the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Just figured you could use something to jot down all those twisted little ideas of yours."

"Thanks," I said, looking up at him. "Really. This means a lot."

He shrugged, like it was no big deal, but I could tell it was. That was Gene for you—all bravado on the outside, but underneath it, he cared more than he'd ever admit.

"Alright, your turn," I said, grabbing a poorly wrapped box from behind me. I handed it to him, smirking. "Fair warning: my wrapping skills suck."

"Clearly," he said, eyeing the tape job with mild disdain before ripping it open. Inside was a vintage KISS tour poster, one of the originals from the '70s that I'd tracked down at some sketchy collector's shop. It was framed, ready to hang.

He stared at it for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he looked up at me, and for once, he seemed genuinely speechless.

"You found this?" he asked, his voice low.

"Took me a while," I admitted, scratching the back of my neck. "Figured you'd appreciate it."

"Appreciate it?" he said, shaking his head. "Nikki, this is... incredible."

"Don't get all emotional on me," I teased, throwing his words back at him.

He laughed, setting the poster carefully aside before leaning back against the couch. "Touché."

For a while, we just sat there, the Christmas lights casting a warm glow over the room. The music played softly in the background, and the snow continued to fall outside. It was simple, easy, and for once, I felt like everything was exactly as it should be.

"Merry Christmas, Gene," I said, raising my glass in a toast.

"Merry Christmas, Nikki," he replied, clinking his glass against mine.

And in that moment, I couldn't imagine being anywhere else.

~The Fire To My Light~