Work Text:
Helen Sharp is awoken by the press of a kiss to her cheek and the enticing scent of coffee. She opens her eyes to see her wife—her absolutely gorgeous, perfect wife—offering her a snowman mug and looking at her with hopeless adoration.
“Good morning, baby. Merry Christmas.”
Helen grabs the mug and takes a sip, drinking in the beautiful life she has found herself living.
“Merry Christmas, Mad. And thank you for the coffee, you take good care of me.”
“Well of course I do,” she responds haughtily. “But keeping you caffeinated is just something I do for the good of humanity.”
“Fair enough,” Helen replies. “Aren’t you getting back in bed?” she asks when Madeline remains standing.
“Aren’t you getting out of bed? We’re going to Ernest and Sarah’s, remember?”
Helen is careful to set her mug on the bedside table before shoving her face into the pillows and groaning. “Why?” she whines, muffled.
“You know, people always act like I’m the dramatic one in this relationship and no one ever believes me when I tell them that you are so much worse.”
Helen pops her head up slightly. “I’m not ‘so much’ worse.”
A weak defense from a woman who both knows how dramatic she is and how much Madeline loves it.
“C’mon, baby, get up, get up!” Madeline taps her ass as she pulls the covers away, getting far too much joy out of this. When that’s not enough, she grabs Helen’s arms and pulls her fully out of bed and into a searing kiss.
“See?” Madeline smiles as she pulls back slightly, arms still around Helen. “Wasn’t that worth it?”
“We could’ve done that in bed, too.”
Madeline doesn’t bother to roll her eyes, but the sentiment is there.
“Go get started with your morning stuff, I’ll make the bed.” Madeline shoos her away and Helen pads over to the bathroom to wash her face.
Madeline turns back to the bed, leaning over to rearrange the pillows.
Making the bed was never something she did until she started sharing one with Helen. But it’s something that Helen has always done; initially, it was a rule imposed by her parents, but she’s grown attached to it. She says it helps whole room to feel more organized and cleaner, and that it’s a calming ritual in the morning. Madeline had always thought it was a little silly, or at least not relevant to her—just another thing Helen does that she’ll never fully understand but has learned to respect.
But Madeline has come to see what Helen means about making the bed and, as annoying and Sisyphean as it sometimes seems, she finds she quite likes being able to make it for Helen. And Helen appears equally happy with the ritual of watching Madeline, or doing it together.
However, Madeline’s noble completion of her wifely duty is almost immediately interrupted by a strangled noise behind her. She spins around, stepping towards the spot where Helen stands frozen in the doorway, eyebrows furrowed in a look of insistent concern.
“Hel, baby, are you okay?”
Helen nods frantically, swallowing and forcing out a strained “Yep, everything’s fine.”
Madeline surveys the situation, noting the way Helen’s entire body has turned bright red and the fact that she seems both unable to look at Madeline and incapable of keeping her eyes off of her. Her worried frown quickly transforms into a smirk, her eyes glinting at the chance to tease her wife.
She takes another step closer, feigning oblivious concern. “Are you sure, baby? You look really flushed.”
Helen glares. “I’m fine.”
“Okay, if you’re sure. Let me just finish making the bed and then we can go downstairs.”
“Oh that’s not—“
Madeline is already moving, this time taking care to make her movements languid and accented as she pulls the sheets and comforter taut. From behind her, she hears a quiet—quiet enough that Helen might think she’s gotten away with it—“Fuck.”
Madeline leans completely across the bed under the pretense of smoothing out the blankets. Helen begins to crack, saying, loud enough that it’s clearly an admonishment, “Jesus christ.”
“What’s that, baby?” she asks, still bent over.
Helen’s voice is suddenly much closer. “I said ‘jesus fucking christ,’ Mad. Because you’re trying to make me crazy.”
Madeline stands, turning to face her wife. “I’m just making the bed,” she replies with an innocence that is mostly manufactured but slightly real—this is a little much, even for them. Sure, she started playing things up after she noticed Helen getting all hot and bothered, but she just woke up, it’s not like she looks good.
“You know what you’re fucking doing.”
“I really was just making the bed at first.”
“Well these pants, Mad…”
“The ones with the pictures of Snoopy buying a Christmas tree?” she teases. “That’s just so irresistible?”
“They’re cute!” Helen protests. “You said you liked Snoopy,” she adds with a pout.
Madeline leans forward to give Helen the smallest of pecks before pulling back immediately—if she does any more than that, they won’t be able to stop, and she’s not quite done talking yet.
“I do like Snoopy. But he’s not exactly a sex symbol.”
“Well, no. But jesus, Mad, these pants make your ass look fucking incredible.” Madeline preens. “And this little fucking tank top too?” she adds, playing with one of the straps and shaking her head.
“It’s just… well, I’m not pretty right now.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m not saying I look, like, super awful or anything, but I mean… I just woke up. I don’t have any makeup on, I haven’t brushed my hair, and I’m wearing pants with cartoon dogs on them.”
Helen grabs both her hands, squeezing them.
“Madeline. You just woke up in the bed we share. You’re letting me see you without your armor on. You’re wearing pants that I know you think are silly, just because I got them for you. And Snoopy is more than just another cartoon dog, give him some respect.”
Madeline gives her a small smile. “I apologize to Snoopy.” Then, in an even softer voice, she asks, “You really think I look good?”
There is a part of Helen that wants to laugh because the whole thing is so absurd. Obviously she knows that body image and self-esteem are complicated things, it’s just that… it’s Madeline. And she looks like that. For her to think she is anything less than absolutely perfect is just ridiculous.
“Madeline. You are the most beautiful woman in the world.”
Madeline’s cheeks go a little pink and she repeats, a little more confident and knowing this time, “Really?”
“You are so fucking hot. Way hotter than anyone has a right to be in pajamas at eight in the morning.”
Helen sits down on the bed, pulling Madeline onto her lap to straddle her. Helen takes advantage of the position to palm and squeeze her ass; she was getting tired of not touching her.
“Hel…” Madeline warns.
“What?” Helen can play innocent with the best of them.
“We really don’t have time.”
“Of course we have time, we don’t have to be there until 9:00.”
“That’s in forty-five minutes.”
“Exactly, plenty of time.” She leans forward to kiss Madeline but is stopped by a hand on her chest.
“It takes me at least an hour to get ready. You know this.”
“Okay, then we’ll be a little late, it’s fine.”
“Hel, we’re the ones in charge of bringing breakfast. Are you really going to deprive our niece and nephew of donuts on Christmas morning just because you have no self-control?”
“I have plenty of self-control, I just know what I want. And what I want is you.”
Madeline doesn’t resist when Helen leans in a second time, not after what she said. And Madeline, now that she’s decided to fold, goes all in, as she does with everything.
Their lips part so Madeline can pull Helen’s shirt over her head, and the air on her bare skin is like a bucket of ice water for the redhead.
“Shit, Mad, we actually do need to stop. Otherwise we really will get there way too late.”
Madeline has not been listening to a word she’s said, too distracted by the sight in front of her. She has spent plenty of time looking at Helen’s tits—and touching, and squeezing, and sucking them—but they never get any less mesmerizing.
“Madeline,” Helen grips her chin, forcing the blonde to look her in the eyes. “Children. Very sweet children whom you love very much. Waiting for food that we are supposed to bring.”
“Oh please, they’ll be fine, it builds character. And they’re not that sweet, they’re still half Ernest.”
God, Madeline really has a one-track—and horny—mind right now; there is precisely one person in this world she loves more than Georgie and Amanda Menville, and normally she would never say a word against them, even as a joke. But desperate times call for desperate measures, Helen supposes. And Madeline does have a habit of forgetting about the rest of the world as soon as Helen’s tits are in view.
“And you know what,” Madeline continues, “really this is all Ernest and Sarah’s fault. They know us. If they wanted breakfast on time then they shouldn’t have made it our responsibility.”
“Maybe they thought we’d get our shit together for once since it’s a holiday and it’s for the kids and, you know, you said that we could definitely handle it.”
“Well they’re idiots,” Madeline snarks—not exactly the world’s most eloquent defense, but she’s preoccupied with more important matters. “I want my Christmas morning treat, too.”
“Oh jesus, Mad,” Helen groans while maybe, just maybe, smiling a little.
“Think about it this way: Ernest and Sarah would probably rather have us be late than have us fuck in their bathroom again.”
“I think they would rather us arrive on time and not have sex in their home.”
“Well now that’s just an unrealistic standard. I mean, look at you,” Madeline says, heavy with intention.
But as she’s talking, Helen pulls her shirt back on because she knows if she doesn’t, they’re never getting anywhere. She ignores the disappointed noise that comes out of Madeline’s throat.
“Yeah, I think we’ve had enough of you looking at me, baby.”
“Ugh,” Madeline whines. “Why did we ever agree to go to Ernest and Sarah’s for Christmas?” Her hands sneak under the hem of Helen’s shirt, not attempting to remove it but needing to touch her skin.
“Well, they’re our only friends—“
“We don’t need friends, we have each other.”
Helen fixes her with a look. “That’s not healthy.”
“Do you think I care? Do you think you care?”
Helen can’t really argue with that.
“We decided that it would be nice to be around more people. And you said that experiencing the magic of Christmas with happy kids would heal your inner child. And mine, too,” Helen says with a roll of her eyes.
“Oh,” Madeline replies with a slightly abashed smile. “I did say that, didn’t I?”
Helen nods. “Yep, you did.”
“Well, we can get there late and still have all that.”
“You specifically said that the very beginning of the day when they first come downstairs is the most special part.”
“Shit, I did,” Madeline laughs, rueful but amused. “Well I guess you’re just going to have to show some self-control and keep your hands to yourself, Hel,” she instructs with haughty—and adoring—condescension.
“Me?! What about you? I am not the problem here.”
“You started it today.”
Helen’s face twitches in acknowledgment that she stubbornly tries to conceal. “Only because you look like that.”
“Helen, there are only so many times you can use that excuse.” They share a smile, both knowing how much Helen loves using the excuse and how much Madeline loves hearing it. “Like I said, self-control. And aren’t you always talking about how delayed gratification is good for you?” Madeline smirks. “I promise I’ll make it worth the wait,” she murmurs, teeth grazing the shell of Helen’s ear before she stands up and walks away.
Helen watches the sway of her ass as she goes—something which she is sure Madeline is exaggerating just to fuck with her—and almost folds.
In the end, the only thing that keeps them from fucking that morning is their competitive spirit. (And maybe also a bit of guilt and the knowledge that, as women in their fifties, they really should have the self-control. But that wouldn’t have been enough on its own.)
They almost got derailed once again when Helen saw the candy apple red lingerie that Madeline was putting on under her jeans and sweater—again, Madeline’s fault, not hers—but she stayed strong. And she definitely didn’t spend the whole car ride glancing over at Madeline, looking at her exposed collarbone and the freckles dusting her skin.
Helen dressed strategically, too, wearing a tight sweater with a deep v-neck, a skirt that hugs her curves, and heeled boots. (Madeline calls them her fuck-me boots; Madeline isn’t wrong.) And the blonde certainly noticed, if the way she swallowed as her eyes scanned up and down Helen’s body was any indication.
Still, they arrive only fifteen minutes late, which Ernest and Sarah will certainly treat as a miracle, though they might not say it to their faces. They ring the doorbell and Ernest immediately opens it, hushing them. Both women roll their eyes and push their way in.
“Ernest,” Madeline orders, speaking slightly quieter than normal but still at a volume much higher than the whisper Ernest is using, “go get the gifts for your children, they’re in the box in the trunk.”
She dangles the keys—with their stupid giant plastic keychain that reads “AUNTIE” in leopard print block letters, which Madeline bought as soon as they learned Sarah was pregnant—in front of his face. He huffs but grabs the keys and walks out into the cold. Helen should not find Madeline’s smug little smile as attractive as she does.
Ernest returns heaving a large and overflowing plastic bin. “My god, what did you put in here? And we told you two not to spoil them so much this year.”
“Well Ernie, just because you hate your children doesn’t mean we do,” Madeline teases.
“I don’t—” Ernest protests in a high-pitched voice before he’s interrupted by Sarah.
“Honey, you really should’ve learned by now that ninety percent of arguments are not worth having with them,” Sarah lightly chides.
Madeline nods in satisfied agreement.
Once all the presents are unpacked and placed under the tree—by Ernest as the three women instruct and critique him—it’s time for Christmas to really begin. After Ernest goes up to tell Georgie and Amanda that they’re finally allowed to see what Santa brought, the kids rush downstairs and race towards their stockings, completely bypassing the adults.
“What are we, chopped liver?” Madeline grumbles to Helen before making a show of clearing her throat very loudly.
The kids take the cue, spinning around and noticing for the first time that their aunts are there. The sight makes their faces light up and they reverse course, rushing over to Madeline and Helen instead.
“Auntie Maddie!” Georgie cries as he runs over to the blonde, his little sister following suit.
“Auntie Helly!” Amanda bounces over to Helen, clinging to her knees in a hug that almost knocks Helen over and then, in another unbalancing attempt, she tries to launch herself into the redhead’s arms.
Helen lets out a light grunt at the sudden weight of a human person, albeit a small one, and compromises by sitting on the steps and pulling Amanda onto her knee to hold her.
Next to her, Madeline has fully lifted Georgie like it’s nothing; Helen spares a thought for the flexed bicep hidden under the knit of her wife’s sweater.
“Our own children, and it’s like we’re not even here,” Sarah jokes, feigning annoyance. “I carried each of you for nine months, you know!” she shouts fondly at her kids, though her complaint falls on deaf ears.
Madeline and Georgie seem to both be babbling with equal excitement and incoherence. Madeline follows Georgie’s pointing hand—she listens to him—and quickly carries him over to the mantle, kissing his forehead before placing him on the ground to tear into his stocking.
Amanda begins to bounce again, scrambling to get out of the arms she had just been so determined to be held by. Helen manages to set her down, then almost falls again as a four-year-old arm grabs her, tugging her towards the fireplace.
“Hurry, Auntie Hel! We can let Georgie and Auntie Mad get all the good presents!”
“Everybody has their own stocking, it’s not a competition,” Helen grumbles, but she lets herself be pulled.
As Amanda begins to unearth the treasures in her stocking, Madeline turns from the wind-up dinosaur Georgie had been showing her to look up at Helen. Despite her smile, there are tears in Madeline’s eyes. Helen manages to fight through her aching joints and makes her way to the ground, sitting behind Madeline and wrapping her arms around her waist as she presses a chaste kiss to the crook of her neck. It isn’t until the blonde reaches up to wipe a tear off of Helen’s cheek that she realizes she has started to cry, too.
Madeline kisses the cheek she just dried and looks at Helen with eyes almost too tender to bear.
But Helen bears it. Madeline’s love is the sweetest pain she could ever hope to endure.
As the kids open their gifts, Madeline burrows into the corner of the couch, pulling Helen half on top of her. Then, in her classic fashion, the blonde repeatedly pushes Helen up to fetch them presents to open before making grabby hands and pulling her back in as soon as she’s within reach.
It’s stupid and irritating; Helen should be annoyed.
Instead, she is endeared. Because it’s hard to be upset when Madeline’s arms are wrapped around her, when Madeline is whining like it’s a crime against humanity to go more than thirty seconds without touching her.
And Madeline thanks her with a kiss every time she brings a present back.
Helen doesn’t have to stand to get the present the kids got for them, though. Georgie is more than happy to scurry over with excitement, bearing the gift he and Amanda had worked so very hard on making for them. He knows to hand it to Madeline because she is, of course, the designated unwrapper of any and all joint gifts the two of them receive.
Madeline, who claims to have good taste, melts at every kitschy little gift and trinket that refers to her as an aunt. So, when she opens this present, which is handmade and incredibly heartfelt, it’s no surprise to anyone that she immediately starts to cry.
How could she not, though? It’s a scrapbook, crafted by the kids (with a lot of help from Sarah, judging by its quality). The cover is decorated with a picture of the four of them posed in front of the Eiffel tower, taken over the summer when Madeline and Helen took the kids to Paris. It is accompanied by the words Georgie and Amanda ❤️ Their Aunties. Madeline squeals with excitement trying to show Helen, as if she’s not sitting right next to her and already looking at it.
And as they flip through the pages together, yes, maybe Helen starts crying a little bit too, but she is not as bad as Madeline.
They help the kids open up the toys they’d gotten for them—the numerous, expensive, and in-demand gifts they bought, as per Madeline’s orders. She had been adamant to a degree that Helen had assumed was a joke but, as Madeline continued to bring it up, Helen realized truly meant something to her.
“Well I have to make sure I’m living up to my ‘World’s Best Aunt’ mug,” Madeline had haughtily told her. Madeline loves that goddamn mug so much.
Helen had received one from Ernest and Sarah as well, and she had been quick to tell them that the sentiment was undermined by two being gifted. Madeline had admonished her just as quickly, saying We come as a pair, Hel in so casual and sure a way that Helen fell in love all over again.
Now, in practice, both of the mugs belong to Madeline, allowing her to use one every day without having to wash dishes as often. And she does indeed use it every single day, without fail.
It’s sweet to see Madeline care so much about something other than herself and Helen.
They start with the most complicated toy, some elaborate apparatus with about a thousand pieces, requiring extensive effort to assemble.
Helen, like any normal person, begins by pulling out the instructions, informing Georgie and Amanda of the importance of reading them in their entirety before starting to actually put anything together.
Madeline, in all her impatient glory, ignores her entirely, recruiting the kids to assist her in ripping open every single baggie, pouring the pieces into a disorganized mound, a move surely done specifically to get under Helen’s skin.
It works.
“Mad, what are you doing? How the hell are we—“
“Language, Helen!” Sarah calls brightly from the other room. Madeline snickers and Helen rolls her eyes before continuing.
“How are we supposed to know what any of the pieces are now that you’ve mixed all of them together?”
“We’ll look at them,” Madeline says like that is obvious and reasonable and Helen is the one who’s acting insane.
“But if you’d just kept them in their bags, or at least separated them out while you were opening them, then we wouldn’t have to go through organizing them again. I’m in the right here. Aren’t I, Ernest?”
Ernest knows better than to do anything other than hum in an incredibly non-committal manner; it’s not like he was listening.
“Helen,” Madeline gives her one of her suggestive little smiles. “It’s really not that big of a deal. Can’t you forgive me, baby?” Madeline leans forward and shifts her arms in a very deliberate way, her festive sweater’s wide loose neckline dipping to reveal even more creamy freckled skin and a hint of the red lace of her bra.
Helen’s breath hitches as it always does, without fail, when Madeline acts this way. At times, when Helen has this degree of physical reaction to Madeline’s seductive behavior, she feels like she’s no better than all the men who have chased after the blonde. But she always winds up convincing herself that, since she is gay, and since it’s her wife, and since it’s Madeline, it is okay. She is better than a man.
And her wife is fucking hot.
It almost breaks Helen, derailing her irritated train of thought entirely. But then she remembers that she, too, has tools at her disposal. So Helen mirrors Madeline’s position, drawing attention to her own ample and exposed cleavage, and Madeline’s eyes go where they’re supposed to.
“Of course I forgive you,” Helen says. “Just like I’m sure that you can admit that you were wrong and you’ll do things my way from now on.”
“Um.” Madeline is blinking in what appears to be an attempt to reboot her brain, but it is not working. “Yeah, uh, you know, um. Well. Building the toy seems more like an Ernest thing, doesn’t it? They’re his kids after all.”
Said kids have disappeared, placing their attention on other toys that are already made and ready to be played with. They’ve been gone since they finished the fun part of ripping open bags with Madeline.
Ernest, however, is still nearby, and he makes the mistake of looking up when he hears his name. Sarah walks in, perching on the arm of the chair Ernest is sitting on and ruffling his hair. “Oh, is Ernest helping make the toy?”
“No, I’m not,” Ernest whines. “They’re already doing it, they’re just fighting about it because they’re them.”
“We won’t stop you from helping,” Madeline chimes in, able to pull her focus from Helen just slightly in pursuit of shirking this responsibility.
“You don’t need to stop me, Madeline, I’m not going to do anything. This is your mess.”
“Well they did buy it, dear, the least you could do is put it together,” his wife argues.
“I told them not to buy so much,” he protests, his voice reaching a near-hysteric pitch. “And if you feel that way, why don’t you do it?”
Sarah laughs in his face, as do Madeline and Helen. “Good joke, honey. So Ernest will do it?” she asks the other two women.
Helen can feel the heat of Madeline’s gaze as she says, “Well, since you offered. Besides, I’m sure you two and the kids would like some family time before dinner.”
“Oh no, Helen, we—“ Ernest starts until he is stopped by Sarah’s hand on his arm.
“That’s not what she meant, honey.” Sarah lets out a long-suffering sigh as she looks over at Helen. “Can you at least use your car and not whatever room in our house you were planning on defiling?”
Helen glances at Madeline, raising her eyebrows in a silent check for approval.
“Fine,” Madeline says with a roll of her eyes. “Since it’s Christmas.”
“Thank you for your generosity,” Sarah replies, deadpan. “Just be back by 4:30, okay? And, like… get it out of your system. It is not fun to be around you two when you’re like this.”
“Well, somebody insisted that it would be a moral failing for us to arrive late.” Helen complains.
“Um, excuse me? I was willing to drop that, remember? But then you had your whole speech about how we needed to ‘think of the children.’”
“Yeah, but—”
“Stop!” Sarah interrupts. “Good lord, you two are absolutely impossible. Just… get out of my house before this fighting switches over into… the other thing,” she shoos them away with a laugh.
They go out to the car, Madeline taking her seat behind the wheel as she bosses Helen around.
“Ok Hel, find us some empty parking lot or something,” she orders.
It would be simpler and far more reasonable to just go back to their house and their actual bed, but that’s not what they do. Mostly because they both know there’s no chance they could get themselves back to Ernest and Sarah’s house in that scenario, but also because, in many ways, they remain horny teenagers at heart.
“What, am I just supposed to know all the random places where we can go parking?”
“Yes,” Madeline quickly replies, unapologetic. “I mean, don’t you?”
It’s possible that Helen does have an awareness of a place or two or five that would be conducive to their activities, but Madeline knows them just as well. It’s not like either of them have ever gone without the other. It’s just that Madeline likes telling Helen what to do, and then being told by Helen what to do, and then complaining about it.
So Helen plays along, directing Madeline and sniping back in all the right ways when Madeline—the woman who asked Helen to pick a place—tells her she’s wrong. Eventually, they do make it to a secluded spot and the bickering over the course of the drive has only served to add fuel to the fire of their desperation.
As soon as she’s pulled the parking brake, Madeline climbs over the center console and onto Helen’s lap.
“Hey, baby,” Madeline smiles. “Ready for your Christmas present?”
Helen nods, eyes dark with desire.
Madeline takes off her sweater and it really is like she’s unwrapping a gift.
Helen wonders, for the millionth time, how she ever got so lucky. How did she end up here, with, truly, the most beautiful woman on the planet, sitting on her lap, wrapped in red ribbons and lace. And how is it that that woman is looking at her like she is the most perfect thing she’s ever seen?
Somehow, somewhere along the way, Helen must’ve done something really right. She has no clue what that could’ve possibly been, but she’s not about to question it. No, she’s just going to touch and kiss and fuck and love her wife and thank every deity she can think of that this is her life.
They’ve rearranged their clothes and are about to buckle their seatbelts when Madeline turns to her.
“I love you, Helen.”
Helen’s brow furrows slightly, not at the words but at the sudden seriousness. “I love you too, baby,” she replies, her voice lilting at the end, wordlessly asking about the change in tone.
“No, of course, I know that, I just mean… I really love you, Helen. I never thought I would have any of this. Between my career, and my sexuality, and all my fucking issues with intimacy, it seemed impossible. But now… I do have all of it, and I can’t even imagine things being a different way. Because I’m with you. So it all just… makes sense, you know? After we got things with the two of us sorted out, it’s like the whole rest of the universe just… fell into place. I just… I love you so much, and I love Georgie and Amanda, and Sarah, and Ernest, too, even though I bitch about him. And, I mean, look at the family that we’ve made, Hel. It’s perfect, exactly right for us. And I am just so incredibly happy and grateful that we’ve managed to end up here.”
Helen has been trying very hard to keep the sound of her blubbering from drowning out Madeline’s words. She has just barely succeeded—in the sense that Madeline is still audible. Not in the sense of not sobbing.
“Mad, you’re making me cry on Christmas. When we get back, they’re gonna look at my face and think you told me you wanted a divorce or something.”
“They’ll probably just think I went overboard with spanking you.”
“Mad!” Helen’s admonishment, as is so often the case, is accompanied by a smile and unconcealed affection.
“I’m just saying, it’s the more logical explanation. They’re not idiots—well Sarah isn’t, at least. They know there’s not a chance in hell we’re ever getting divorced.”
“No, there’s not,” she murmurs fondly. “And we got off track, but Madeline…god, well you already said it. I mean, I guess I did think I would have most of the pieces of this life, but not really. Not in a way that would make me happy.” She pauses to contemplate. “I guess it’s more that I never wanted any of this before you. But just like you said, once we got together, everything seemed so clear. And now... this is more than I ever could have hoped for, and it is absolutely fucking perfect. You are absolutely fucking perfect. God, I love you so much, Mad. More than I can ever show you.”
“You do show me, Hel. Every single day.”
“It’s still not enough, Maddie. I will never be able to do as much as you deserve. But I sure as hell am gonna try.”
“Yeah," Madeline smiles. "But I hope you know you don’t need to. You could give me next to nothing, you could string me along with scraps, you could hurt me, you could kill me—I would take all of it gladly. Even the tiniest fraction of you is so much more than I could dream of. But you love me so much that you’ve given me all of you,” she adds in a way that’s probably supposed to be teasingly smug but just comes out full of awe.
Then, Madeline leans in for a languorous kiss and Helen thinks that the touch of Madeline’s lips alone is enough to prove that everything she’s saying is completely true. Not that Helen needed any convincing.
They stay like that a while longer, lazily making out until the alarm Helen had set—because she is responsible—goes off. Well, she's responsible-ish; Sarah said to be back by 4:30 and Helen set the alarm at 4:30 and they still have to make the drive. Whatever. Madeline likes to make and entrance and, honestly, Helen does too.
“Okay, we really should be getting back now, we’re already late.”
“Do you think they’ll forgive us if we tell them it’s because we were having a heartfelt conversation, not fucking?” Madeline asks.
“They won’t believe us. Plus, we did spend most of the time fucking.”
They arrive back at Ernest and Sarah’s house, touching up their makeup in the driveway. Madeline has a couple hickeys which, while not egregious, are very much there, but she refuses to even try to cover them up.
“What about the kids, Mad?” Helen challenges, feeling slightly embarrassed at the prospect of her handiwork being seen.
“They are six and four years old, Hel. They don’t know what a hickey is. If they ask I’ll just say, I don’t know, that… oh, I’ll figure it out.”
“You have concealer in your bag, you could at least do something to make it a little less obvious.”
“Well I don’t fucking want to,” Madeline replies playfully. “And if you were so concerned you shouldn’t have left them.”
“If you didn’t want me to leave them, you shouldn’t have worn that sweater that shows off your entire decolletage.”
“My entire decolletage,” Madeline scoffs fondly at the word choice. “That’s the thing, Hel. I did want you to leave them.” She presses a kiss to Helen’s cheek. “I like everyone knowing I’m yours.”
And then Madeline climbs out of the car without another word because she is an evil woman. And Helen is too flustered to realize that Madeline left a lipstick mark.
They walk up the driveway and when Sarah opens the door, she lets out an affectionate scoff at the state they’re in. “You two are certainly consistent.”
Madeline tosses her hair over her shoulder, exposing more of her neck. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Helen follows behind her, trying and failing to look apologetic instead of proud.
As Madeline walks back to the living room, Sarah pulls Helen aside.
“Really, Helen? You have no shame.”
“Can you blame me?” she shrugs. “It’s Madeline fucking Ashton.”
“Well, currently you’ve got a perfect imprint of Madeline fucking Ashton’s lips on your cheek, in case you want to take care of that.”
After dinner, Helen watches Madeline reading to the kids—Helen had insisted that, in addition to the various fad toys and items from their Christmas lists, Georgie and Amanda would each receive a minimum of three books. It was because of the importance of literacy, but she has to admit that it did cross her mind that buying them books would mean getting a chance to see Madeline reading aloud to them.
Now, her wife sits on the floor with a child on either side of her, wearing a blanket like a shawl. She uses her proper actress voice to read the narration and does character voices for all the dialogue. It delights the kids, who giggle and tell her she’s the best storyteller ever.
It delights Helen, too.
“Hey, Helen,” Ernest settles next to her on the couch.
“Hi,” she says, tossing a lazy smile in his direction before returning her attention to Madeline.
“You know, I always assumed she’d be terrible with kids,” Ernest comments, following the direction of Helen’s gaze.
“Madeline is incredibly compassionate when she wants to be. Plus, she’s basically on the same maturity level, so she gets them. All that said, though, I know what you mean,” Helen concedes. “I wouldn’t have expected this.”
“Well, a lot of it is a testament to your relationship. I can guarantee she wouldn’t be this way if you two weren’t together. She sure as hell was never like this when she and I were married.”
“Well she was a lesbian married to a man, Ernest, so cut her some slack.” She doesn’t mean to sound defensive, and she isn’t quite, but there’s an edge to her voice.
“No, I know, I do, and I didn’t mean anything bad by that. Besides, that’s all in the past. I just mean… she’s more herself with you, more whole. Just like you are with her.”
After the kids have been put to bed, the adults share a final drink together.
“Oh my god,” Sarah whines, collapsing into Ernest’s chest. “Christmas is exhausting with kids. You two are lucky.”
“You’re only saying that because you don’t realize how exhausting Madeline is,” Helen snarks, full of love.
“I’m exhausting?” Madeline gasps, indignant. “This woman can’t even fucking get out of bed if I don’t wake her up with coffee and a kiss.”
“Thank you,” Ernest interrupts with sincere gratitude before this turns into a full-blown argument. “Thank you for buying the lovely, if excessive, gifts for Georgie and Amanda, and for spending Christmas with us. I really am glad that all of us are friends now.”
“I mean, I only came because I didn’t want to disappoint my niece and nephew. And because I wanted to see Sarah. But you, Ernest, I couldn’t care less about,” Madeline teases.
“What she means is, thank you for having us,” Helen corrects with a light slap to Madeline’s shoulder. “It means a lot for you to include us in your celebration.”
“It really does,” Madeline agrees, finally allowing herself to be sincere. “It’s…it’s nice to be reminded that there’s more to life than just Hel. And me, of course.” Mostly sincere—she still has to do at least something to counteract the vulnerability.
The group shares a knowing chuckle and Madeline could stop there, but something compels her to keep talking.
“Honestly, though, thank you—” her voice cracks. “Thank you for including us in your lives, in Georgie and Amanda’s lives. And thank you for letting me be their aunt, god, it’s my favorite thing in the world and— I’ve never— Well, it just… it means a lot to me. To both of us. And I figure there should be at least one day a year when I say that out loud to your faces.”
Helen, who has been rubbing soothing circles into her back as she speaks, has a tissue ready when Madeline is done talking.
“You’re saying they let you, baby, but there was no stopping you. You were gonna be the world’s best aunt regardless of anything they said or did. And,” she adds, looking up at Ernest and Sarah, “for the record, there was no stopping me, either. She’s just louder and she speaks for both of us, so it usually seems redundant for me to say anything.”
“We’re aware,” Sarah smiles. “Of all of it. And, while I certainly appreciate the outward display of gratitude, especially from you, Madeline, it isn’t necessary to thank us. This isn’t us doing you some favor; Georgie and Amanda adore you and, as terrible as you are, Ernest and I do, too. And even if we didn’t, it’s not like any of us really have any choice in the matter. This family isn’t complete without you two.”
Madeline takes a big gulp of her drink and tries to calm down, because she is once again on the verge of tears and she has spent far too much of this very happy day crying. Next to her, Helen isn’t faring much better. And honestly, neither are Ernest and Sarah.
The holidays have always been a difficult time for both Madeline and Helen, stirring up complicated emotions and an unshakable sense of melancholy. Tears are par for the course, it seems, but they have never been born of love before. So, yes, maybe all four of them are sitting here with watery eyes, but it isn’t a moment of pain. No, it’s more like when you sit in front of the fireplace too long, a warmth so strong it can start to burn.
On the car ride home, Helen runs a hand up Madeline’s thigh. She intends for it to just be a reassuring touch, her hand anchoring them together. Madeline perceives it as more and has to brush her off in order to avoid getting into an accident.
“So impatient,” Madeline tsks. “Can’t you keep it in your pants for ten more minutes?”
But Madeline is the one who speeds the rest of the way home, and Madeline is the one who leaps out of the car—not that Helen is far behind. And Madeline is the one who is in such a hurry that she drops the keys twice while attempting to unlock the door.
Then again, it is Helen who grabs her waist and pulls Madeline’s back flush against her front when the blonde stands back up. It is Helen who kisses and bites at her wife’s neck while they stand under the porch light. And it is Helen who, after growing tired of waiting and grabbing the keys to open the door herself, takes three tries to succeed.
Eventually, though, they manage to make it inside. As soon as the door is closed, Madeline pushes Helen against it, capturing her lips in a searing kiss.
They part just long enough for Helen to gasp, “Take me to bed, Maddie.”
And Madeline does.
Much later, after experiencing Madeline's Christmas lingerie in all its glory and being ravished by her wife, it is finally time to go to sleep. As she drifts off, Helen thinks that lying here, wrapped in Madeline's arms, she has finally found her way home.