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Tim hummed contentedly along with some Christmas music, slipping wine bottles into their gift bags. Hawk got slightly grumpy if they turned up to Christmas parties without a host gift — "it's the height of rudeness, Skippy, to turn up empty-handed". And Tim knew better than to risk upsetting Hawk tonight. Tonight's Christmas party was one Tim looked forward to every year. Frankie and Marcus's annual Christmas sweater party. Or, as Hawk called it: the night that fashion forgot. But since Hawk was reluctant to turn up at parties in anything less than a three piece suit, Tim lovingly ignored Hawk's input for tonight's attire.
"You have outdone yourself this year, Skippy." Hawk's disgruntled voice drifted from their bedroom with the perfect mix of exasperation and loving annoyance that Tim aimed to achieve every year.
Tim smiled to himself, turning around so he could see Hawk as soon as he left their room. He had to admit, he was particularly proud of this year's selection. It was a fine line he needed to toe; tasteful enough that Hawk would wear it, yet ugly enough that they were still letting go. Freeing themselves from the trappings of a picture perfect, cookie cutter Christmas. As Frankie put it "show some individuality, for fuck's sake".
"You are lucky I love you," Hawk decreed, appearing in the doorway with what was probably supposed to be a scowl on his lips. The expression fell short, undone by the softness in Hawk's eyes, the barely perceptible curl of his lips as he looked at Tim. Just the sight of him enough to lift Hawk's mood.
Even after their years together, Tim was no less affected. Disgruntled and almost-frowny as he was, Hawk was a sight for sore eyes. Although Hawk would probably say that he made his own eyes sore looking at himself, Tim wouldn't hear it. Hawk could wear the most luridly coloured, loud patterns ever invented and he would still be the most handsome man Tim had ever seen.
Yes, even in that sweater.
The pattern of white snowflakes against the deep blue of Hawk's sweater was both loud and garish - and deliberately so, true. And the ugliness was certainly more obvious than last year's muted bottle green with reindeer choice. But blue was Hawk's colour, complementing the vibrant shine of his eyes, and Hawk carried it off with the easy elegance of the unfairly handsome.
Warmth kindled to life in Tim's chest, as familiar as the love he carried for Hawk every single day. Hawk clearly hated every second of wearing it and Tim knew he'd be regaled in great detail about later (probably using the words monstrosity and eyesore, and the question "good God, Skippy, where do you find them?"), but he was wearing it and for one simple reason: Tim had asked.
Tim couldn't deny the curl of possessiveness at the sight of Hawk in the sweater that he had chosen. The implicit claim in the matching contrast of Tim's own ugly Christmas sweater - a warm festive red, yet exactly matching the garish pattern on Hawk's sweater. He was Hawk's, Hawk was his; they were a pair.
Tim crossed the room to stand in front of Hawk, leaning in to brush a kiss over his lips. His thumb stroked over the lines beginning to crease the corner of Hawk's eye, sighing happily as Hawk's hands settled at his waist.
"You look handsome."
Hawk leaned into Tim's touch, his lips curling fondly. "You're biased, angel."
Tim felt his nose crinkle with the force of his smile. "I am," he agreed brightly, resting his free hand in the middle of Hawk's chest. "But that doesn't make it untrue."
Hawk rolled his eyes, yet no further protest passed his lips. He took an unforgivable step back, Tim instantly feeling chilled at his loss. Hawk didn't stray too far though (he never did), just far enough to regard Tim with an all too brief appraisal.
"Frankie's going to disqualify you from the ugly sweater contest, Tim," he teased playfully, Tim scowling in mock offense. "You look far too good in that."
Tim looked down at himself, almost expecting to see the Christmas sweater he wore every Christmas morning with Hawk - the one he'd worn when they'd first exchanged presents - but all he saw was the ugly sweater he'd had fun in picking out.
"It's almost identical to yours," Tim protested, plucking at the red wool.
"True," Hawk allowed, eyes sparkling merrily. "But you're far too adorable not to pull it off, my Skippy."
Tim shook his head, lifting the needle off the Christmas record he'd had playing. With his back to Hawk so his love wouldn't see his silly smile, Tim said, "You're a menace, Hawkins Fuller."
Hawk wrapped his arms around Tim from behind, holding him against his chest. "I am," Hawk conceded, pressing a kiss to the top of Tim's shoulder. "But it's one of the many reasons you love me."
"I love you in spite of that," Tim lied horribly, squeezing Hawk's hands where they met around his middle. Just so Hawk really knew that he was lying - though the years hadn't made him any more adept at the practice.
Hawk chuckled softly, letting Tim after a moment more of closeness. Tim busied himself with putting the record away (years living with Hawkins Fuller had made the proper care of records a second nature), then he turned back to face the rest of the cozy apartment.
The wine bags were dangling from Hawk's right hand, his left stretched out towards Tim. "Since we have to go, angel," Hawk teased, amusement dancing in his eyes like the fairy lights shining on their tree. "Let's horrify our neighbors with the sight of two men as handsome as we are wearing sweaters as ugly as these."
Tim took Hawk's hand, lacing their fingers together. Still, that didn't stop him from rolling his eyes lovingly. "In public," he gasped, too dramatic but it worked. "Surely the world will end."
Hawk used their entwined hands to reel Tim in, kissing him until they were both smiling too much for the kiss to hold. "No, it won't," he disagreed, smiling still. "But I'm sure Frankie will make us feel like it is if we're late to his party again."
Tim couldn't disagree, so instead he swung their clasped hands between them as they walked the short distance to Frankie and Marcus's apartment. Once there, Frankie and Marcus would undoubtedly effortlessly outmatch them with their tastefully hideous Christmas sweaters, but that didn't matter. Nothing said "Christmas is nearly here" like their nearest and dearest in ugly festive knitwear.