Work Text:
The fire crackled merrily in the fireplace, the fairy lights twinkled jollily on the Christmas tree, and outside, a light dusting of snow completed the picture-perfect view. It was, Greg reflected with a contented sigh, lightly stroking the head of the small dog currently drooling on his knee, exactly like something from a Currier and Ives print.
Well, not the racist ones. The Christmas-y ones.
You know what he meant.
He felt someone kiss the top of his head and tilted his head back to smile up at Alex. “You all right?” Alex asked, passing him a mug of something warm and hopefully alcoholic. “You looked deep in thought.”
Greg shook his head. “Just thinking about racism.”
“Ah.” Alex settled down next to him on the sofa, letting out an oof when Loky dislodged herself from where she’d been happily drooling on Greg to instead hunker down between them so that she could drool on them both. “Why?”
“Long story,” Greg said, putting his arm around Alex’s shoulders and pulling him close, turning to kiss his temple and instead wrinkling his nose when he got a mouthful of fuzz from the Santa hat Alex was still wearing. “Kids get off to bed all right?”
Alex nodded, taking a sip from his own mug before telling him, “Rachel’s turned in as well. She did warn us not to stay up too late, lest we, er, stop Father Christmas from coming.”
Greg snorted a laugh. “Are we meant to take a bite of cookies and drink the milk before we go to bed, too?” he asked wryly.
“Shh,” Alex admonished, glancing almost guiltily over his shoulder in the direction of the kids’ bedrooms. “There’s still one believer among them, you realise.”
Greg’s lips twitched. “I’m trying very hard not to make a joke about how gullible your youngest is.”
Alex gave him a look. “I never said it was my youngest,” he said primly, though he ruined it immediately by adding, “I blame Rachel’s parents, they coddle him.”
“As opposed to you, notorious ruiner of fun.”
But Alex just pulled a face. “If you listen to my kids, at least,” he said with a sigh. He hesitated for a moment before asking, “How old were you when you stopped believing in Father Christmas?”
Greg blinked, surprised by the question. “Fuck if I remember,” he said, taking a sip before guessing, “Seven or eight, maybe?”
Alex nodded slowly, staring at the fire, something unreadable in his expression. Then he sighed and scrubbed his free hand across his face. “You just– you want them to stay innocent forever, even if it’s not possible.”
Greg’s arm tightened around Alex’s shoulders. “You realise if anyone ever said or did anything to your boys, I’d kill them with my bare hands, yeah?”
Alex glanced up at him, a small smile on his face. “I know,” he said. Then his smile faded. “Bit more difficult when you’re the one most likely to ruin their innocence.” He shook his head slowly before telling Greg, almost as if it were a non sequitur, “I used to think my dad was infallible, you know?”
Greg nodded. “Yeah, so did I.”
“Stopped believing in that right around when I stopped believing in Santa Claus.”
Alex said it casually, almost off-handedly, but Greg’s chest still felt tight at the thought, and he did as he always did to try to lighten the mood: he tried to make Alex laugh. “You’re not under the impression any of your boys have every thought you’re infallible, are you?” he asked, poking Alex lightly in the side where he knew he was ticklish.
As predicted, Alex laughed lightly, squirming away from Greg’s finger. “No, I suspect I ruined that straight away,” he said, still a little too seriously for Greg’s liking. “Which is why it’d be nice if they still believed in one thing, at least.”
“And you’d like that thing to be Santa Claus,” Greg said, not pitching it as a question.
Alex honked a laugh and shook his head. “Not quite,” he said, leaning his head against Greg’s shoulder. “I suppose I’d like that thing to be the belief that everything will somehow end up okay.” Greg tried very hard not to pull a face, aware as he was that he and Alex were never going to quite see eye to eye on this particular streak of optimism. “I’d like them to believe that there’s good in this world and, well—” Alex scrunched his nose uncomfortably before saying, a little reluctantly, “that there’s love to be shared even in unconventional ways.” He shrugged and took a swig of his drink before finishing, his voice hoarse, “No matter how much the world will try to stamp that out of them.”
Greg’s throat felt strangely tight, and he cleared his throat before saying, a little gruffly, “That love being…Santa Claus.”
Again Alex laughed, just as Greg had intended him to, even as he said stubbornly, with just a hint of his most officious persona, “As represented through the giving of gifts, yes.”
Greg just shook his head, equally stubborn. “But that’s not what you’re actually talking about.”
Again he didn’t pitch it as a question, and Alex shrugged as best he could while still snuggled under Greg’s arm. “Could be.”
Greg exhaled heavily, staring determinedly at the fireplace even as he asked, unsure if he even wanted to know the answer, “Have you and Rachel talked about when you’re going to tell them?”
To his credit, Alex didn’t bother playing stupid. “Yes.”
Greg glanced down at him. “And?”
“And we’ve agreed to wait a little while longer,” Alex told him. “Until after the holidays, at least.” He shrugged again. “So they can have one last Christmas where…”
He trailed off, and Greg felt it a bit like a blow to the chest, even though he knew Alex didn’t mean it that way. “Where everything’s normal?” he supplied, aiming for a joke and not quite getting there.
“Where the youngest still believes in Santa,” Alex said, tilting his head to give Greg his best gap-toothed grin. “Why, what were you asking?”
Despite himself, Greg barked a laugh, something like relief and love for the idiot sitting next to him warming him even more than the toasty flames of the fire. “You little shit, you know that’s not what I was talking about,” he said, cuffing him gently on the back of his head, dislodging his Santa hat in the process, and he snagged it and placed it on his own head like some form of retribution.
Alex grinned. “Oh, it’s like that, is it?” he asked, his eyes bright, and Greg couldn’t help but lean in and kiss him, open-mouthed and sweet.
There was a sudden, sharp gasp from behind them, and both turned simultaneously to see Alex’s youngest bolting back up the stairs. Alex blanched. “Guess the time is now,” he said bracingly, starting to stand, though he froze when they heard his youngest shout ecstatically, “Guys, guys! You’ll never guess what I just saw! I saw Daddy kissing Santa Claus!”
Greg and Alex both looked at each other for a long moment before cracking up. “Never thought I’d be so relieved to be compared to Father Christmas,” Greg managed, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.
“Looks like the magic of Christmas stays alive for at least a little bit longer,” Alex agreed, leaning down to kiss him once more.
Greg kissed him back before standing as well, draining his mug and then grabbing Alex’s hand and squeezing it. “And thank God for that,” he said, kissing the top of Alex’s head. “Now come on, let’s get to bed before the other two decide to come have a peep.”
They headed toward the bedroom, pausing just long enough for Alex to take a believable bite from the plate of cookies that had been left for Father Christmas. Just to keep the belief going for a little while longer.