Work Text:
Sundays were reserved for pajamas and being lazy. It was your favorite part of the week, curled up with Mickey on the couch, sharing a blanket and watching movies. Sometimes you’d get lost in books, only to emerge hours later to have food, or share what you’ve read. Today, you’re curled up on one end of the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table, a blanket pulled up to your chin. Mickey’s head is resting in your lap, and his thumb brushing against the back of your hand. The two of you decided on the classic children’s Christmas movies. As the credits for ‘Frosty the Snowman’ play, he sits up.
“Your turn to pick the next one.” Mickey guides your face toward his with a gentle touch of fingers under your chin. He kisses you softly, once, before getting to his feet and doing it again. “I’m going to make us some hot chocolate and get some of those cookies Bob’s girlfriend gave us.”
You scroll through the options, settling on what you know is the best version of A Christmas Carol, the Muppets version of course, when you hear the clatter of pans, and Mickey cursing softly. You get up, wandering into the kitchen to find your boyfriend standing at the stove, pouring milk and heavy cream into a pan.
“Baby we have instant.” You go the cupboard pulling out a box of powdered mix.
“That. Is not hot chocolate.” Mickey looks up from the pot, eyes narrowed playfully.
“It’s what it says on the box.” You shake it in his direction, and he shakes his head.
“No, sweetheart, I’m going to make you the good stuff. The stuff my abuelita makes.”
“Is it a family secret?”
“It is shared with those we consider precious.” Mickey plunks three large hunks of chocolate from a yellow package into the warming milk.
“Precious huh?” You wrap around him from behind, and he leans back against you with a little sigh. “I love you too.” You hide your face between his shoulder blades, and you can feel him chuckle. It was a newer development in your relationship, and it still gave you butterflies to say how much he meant to you. Mickey had said it first, but never pressured you to say it in return—rather he accepted how you showed your love rather than saying it and spent time with him.
He heats the liquid slowly, letting it thicken, stirring constantly. It smells divine. Warm, with cinnamon and just a little bit of spice. He mixes sugar in, still stirring. “Grab two mugs, please my love.”
You hand over his favorite Star Trek mug, and your own favorite mug, watching as he ladles the hot chocolate into them. You grab a container of homemade whipped cream from the fridge and pass it to him.
“Good call.” He smiles at you, adding healthy scoops on top. “Try this first.” He offers you the spoon that he was stirring the mix with, his hand under it to catch any drops of hot chocolate that might spill.
“Wow,” you breathe when you taste the drink. “Mickey, this is wonderful.” It’s sweet, thick and there’s a hint of spice that lingers on your pallet. There’s a warmth that goes beyond the temperature and when you catch Mickey’s gaze, you can feel it there too.
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