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Christmas In June by IcedHotChocolate

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Story Notes:
For some reason, I've had this urge to write a mistletoe scene. So, there you go. I love teh slashezz, so I decided to have Edgar and Alan smooch. It is cute to me. I have a special brain ^.^
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Warnings: Slightly crack-ish, naughty language, and some boy smoochies. And yes, the boy smoochies are between brothers, but depending on how you look at it, it might not be really incestuous. One of them is drunk, see. If it's not your thing, just don't read it. The style of this is a little strange, because I wrote it on a random creative burst and my brain wasn't working correctly xD


“I hate parties,” said Edgar, frowning at his eggnog. “Why is mom having a Christmas party in June, anyway?” Alan scratched his head and looked around at the group of people clad in shorts and Santa hats.

“I wish I could answer that, brother dearest,” he said. “As you know, or at least, as I would hope you know, our mother is a strange and free spirited woman, who often is inclined to do strange and free spirited things just for the sake of being strange and free spirited.” Alan smiled and took a sip of his eggnog. It was strangely addictive this year. Whoever made the eggnog was clearly an expert. He would have to congratulate them later.

Edgar gaped at his brother. That was the most intelligent sounding sentence that had ever passed Alan’s lips. Alan never paid any attention in school, and rarely read. When he did read, it was usually a comic, or a book about vampire cults. He was pretty sure that books like that weren’t the most intelligent reading material. The only explanation for Alan’s strange behavior was…

“Alan, are you drunk?” asked Edgar, peering into Alan’s glass of eggnog. Now that he looked at it closely, he noticed that it had a strange amber tint to it. Alan giggled and gently slapped Edgar across the face.

“Drunk? You silly goose! Who do you think I am?” He giggled again and stumbled, spilling some of his eggnog onto Edgar’s shirt. Edgar lifted his shirt and sniffed the spill. Yeah, that definitely wasn’t pure eggnog.

“I can see your tummy, Edgar,” said Alan, poking Edgar’s bellybutton, “How very indecent. You are such a whore.” Edgar frowned at Alan and pulled his shirt back down. Alan snickered and lifted it back up. He resumed his poking at Edgar’s stomach, which happened to be very ticklish. Edgar twitched and slapped Alan’s hand away.

“You are drunk,” he said, “Very, very drunk.” Alan shook his head and leaned over right next to Edgar’s ear.

“Your face is drunk,” he whispered. Edgar sighed as Alan started giggling again.

“Ok, I’m taking this away,” he said, grabbing Alan’s drink and setting it on one of the tables. Alan pouted and tried to reach for it, but he tripped on Edgar’s foot. Edgar managed to catch him before he fell face first into the punch bowl.

“You’re drunk, admit it,” he said, trying to get Alan to stand up on his own. Alan sighed and dramatically pressed a hand to his forehead.

“I have seen the light,” he said, swooning theatrically, “The drunken, lovely light. When did we get that lamp, Edgar?” He pointed at the cake shaped like a Christmas tree. Edgar draped one of Alan’s arms over his shoulder and started to drag him in the direction of the stairs.

“That’s not a lamp, that’s a cake,” he said, “I think you need to just lie down and relax for a while. Let your head clear.” Alan shook his head.

“My head is as clear as crystal. Clearer than crystal. Clearer than a transparent condom that hasn’t been used yet!” Alan tried to wave his arms to accentuate his drunken ramblings, and almost made both of them fall into the Santa Claus ice sculpture. Or, the part of a Santa Claus ice sculpture. It seemed to be melting in the Santa Clara heat that even managed to get inside the house, despite the air conditioning.

Edgar steered his brother away from the ice sculpture, and tried to weave his way through the forest of chattering adults. He had to use all of his strength to keep Alan away from the “grownup eggnog.” Great. His mother finally decided to put a sign on it. Alan laughed when he saw the sign.

“I guess I am drunk,” he said, twirling a strand of Edgar’s hair between his fingers. “That’s pretty silly. That’s pretty ridiculous. I’m ridiculous, Edgar.” Edgar nodded and turned to avoid getting hit in the face by a tray of crackers with some unidentifiable goo smeared on them.

“You are ridiculous, Alan,” he said, dragging him up onto the first step. “Now, I need some help. I can’t get you up the stairs all by myself.” Alan sighed and took a step forward.

“I’m fine with the whole walking thing,” he said, “I just can’t tell the difference between right and left. You’ll need to help me out with that.” He stepped up again. “See?” He teetered on the edge of the stair and Edgar grabbed his arm to steady him. They slowly made their way to the top of the stairs. Alan swayed like he was on the deck of a ship, and spouted random, drunken nonsense. Edgar caught his brother when he swayed too far, and agreed with whatever drunken comments Alan made.

Alan whooped when they finally reached the top.

“We did it!” he cried, “We are just so amazing! So amazing. So beautiful! We are beautiful, Edgar, you know that? We are beautiful. Beautiful brothers. Beautiful Frogs. That are brothers.” He smiled and flopped forward, wrapping his arms around Edgar. Edgar groaned. Of course his brother would be a cuddly drunk.

“You’re the best little brother ever, you know that?” Alan mumbled into his shoulder. “You’re just so awesome. Like me. That’s because we’re brothers. We share the same jean-etics, which means the awesome juice that flows through our veins.” Edgar snorted. What he wouldn’t give to have a video camera right now.

“Hey, Edgar…” Alan stared at the ceiling.

“What?” Edgar looked up to where Alan was staring. “Oh, yeah, mistletoe. Mom hung it everywhere, for some reason. I even found some in my closet. She’s crazy about that sort of thing.” Alan tilted his head to the side. He looked like a little kid.

“Yeah…” he said, still looking at it. It wasn’t even real mistletoe. It was the plastic kind that you can get from party stores anywhere. It looked sort of like a shrub that had been infested by a puffy white mold. Not something that made you feel romantic and kissy. Edgar jumped as he felt warm lips pressing against his cheek.

“It’s tradition, Edgar, we can’t break tradition.” Oh my god, was his brother using a sex voice on him? It sounded like a sex voice. Warm, purring, seductive… No! Alan and seductive should never be in the same thought. That was just weird.

“Alan, you’re drunk, I think we already established this.” Edgar pushed at his brother’s chest. “You don’t know what you’re doing. I’m a guy. I’m your brother.” Alan frowned, and seemed to consider Edgar’s words.

“That is very true,” he said, “You have a point worth noting. But…” Edgar raised his eyebrows. But?

“It’s just a kiss,” Alan said happily, “And it’s tradition! And I’m drunk, so I won’t remember it tomorrow anyway!” Edgar squeaked as Alan pressed their lips together in a chaste kiss. Okay, that wasn’t so bad. They did this sort of thing when they were little. It was all right. Edgar could deal with this. He felt a tongue poking at the corner of his lips. Oh god. He could not deal with that.

“Alan, stop it,” he said, turning his face away. “A little kiss is all right. That’s ignorable. But no tongue. We’re related, in case you managed to forget.” Alan laughed and flicked his brother’s nose.

“Edgar, we’re teenagers now. Just touching the lips simply doesn’t qualify as a kiss anymore.” Edgar would have agreed with him, if he had been a totally hot girl, and not his brother.

“Now, I demand that we complete this task properly.” Edgar sputtered.

“Properly?” he asked, “Alan, kissing your brother with tongue is the definition of improper. Wrong. Depraved. Perverted. No no!” Alan shook his head and smiled.

“Yes yes,” he said, and pressed his lips against Edgar’s once more. This time, it was, well, far from chase. Alan ignored Edgar’s little noises of protest and pried his mouth open with his tongue. Edgar to push Alan’s tongue out of his mouth with his tongue, but he realized that he was accomplishing exactly the opposite of what he wanted to accomplish. He grabbed Alan’s shoulders and roughly shoved him away.

Alan stared off into space, looking very dazed and still very wasted. Edgar wiped viciously at his mouth, gagging and spitting onto the carpet. He couldn’t believe he just did that. Alan was his older brother! He was supposed to be the mature and reasonable one!

“Edgar, I think I’m going to throw up,” muttered Alan, clutching at his stomach. Edgar snorted.

“Yeah, so do I. What the fuck did you do that for?” he demanded. Alan shook his head.

“No, really. I think I’m going to throw up.” He swayed again. He did look a little pale.

“Do you need me to walk you to the bathroom?” Edgar asked, holding his shoulder to keep him from falling. Alan nodded and made a gurgling noise. Edgar grabbed the top of Alan’s head and faced it away from him. Getting thrown up on was the last thing he needed right now. He dragged Alan in the direction of the bathroom and Alan stumbled after him, alternating between gurgles and giggles.

Edgar pushed open the door and shoved Alan towards the toilet. Alan stood there, looking at the toilet. Edgar sighed.

“You can’t be that drunk,” he said, “It’s a toilet, Alan. See? You lean over it, and puke into it.” Alan gagged and grabbed his stomach.

“Not on the floor!” shouted Edgar, grabbing the back of Alan’s head and positioning it over the toilet just in time. He grimaced and looked away. If you put a cat in the microwave, he bet it would smell like Alan’s puke. When Alan finally finished emptying his stomach into the toilet, Edgar handed him the handy dandy cup of water that he had sitting on the sink, and let Alan clean himself up.

“You owe me one,” he said, as Alan swished the water around in his mouth and spit into the toilet. “No, wait, you owe me three. One for getting your drunken ass out of the party and up the stairs, one for helping you throw up, and one for letting you rape my mouth.” Alan refilled the cup and rinsed his mouth again.

“Can you hand me my toothbrush and some toothpaste?” he said, “My mouth still tastes like puke.” Edgar grumbled and opened up the cabinet.

“You’re lucky I’m such a good brother,” he said, handing Alan his toothbrush and toothpaste. “Where would you be without me?” Alan shrugged and started brushing his teeth.

“Passed out on the floor in the living room, left to the mercy of Mom’s creepy friends, that’s where,” continued Edgar, sitting down and leaning against the bathtub. “You know, if you pulled that mistletoe crap on one of them, one of the unhappy businessmen or something, they’d probably rape you or something.” Alan rolled his eyes and spit his toothpaste foam into the toilet.

“I just saved your ass virginity, man. The least you could do is say thank you.” Alan flushed the toilet and set his toothbrush on the edge of the sink.

“Thank you for saving my ass virginity, and getting me up the stairs, and helping me puke, and letting me ‘rape your mouth’” he said, leaning back and sniffing Edgar’s neck. Edgar pushed his head away.

“What are you doing?” he said, “I thought you were sober now!” Alan laughed and poked Edgar’s nose.

“Nope, I don’t think so. Not yet.” Edgar sighed.

“Great. Well, then, I think you need to get to bed. You can have your crazy drunken spasms in your room, where I don’t have to watch.” He stood up and offered his hand to Alan. Alan grabbed his hand and let Edgar pull him to his feet.

“You know, we make a good team,” he said, smiling and reaching for Edgar’s stomach. Edgar batted his hands away.

“Stop it. I don’t know why you are so fascinated by my stomach. It’s creepy.” Alan giggled.

“You have a cute stomach,” he said, poking each of Edgar’s ribs. Edgar grabbed his finger and glared at him.

“I am not ‘cute’. I am a guy. Guys aren’t cute. Guys don’t have ‘cute’ stomachs.” Alan tried to pull his finger away.

“But you do!” he protested, nodding his head towards Edgar’s stomach, “See for yourself.” Edgar shook his head and yanked Alan’s finger, pulling him out of the bathroom.

“I’m not going to look at my stomach. You are a freak of nature, Alan.” Alan mumbled something incoherent and tried again to regain his finger. Edgar dragged him down the hallway, until they finally reached Alan’s room. He happily flung open the door and pulled Alan over to his bed.

“There you go,” he said, “Now you can lie there and be drunk and not hurt yourself.” Alan didn’t say anything. He didn’t seem to be paying any attention to Edgar. Instead, he was staring wide-eyed at the ceiling above their heads. Edgar groaned and looked up, already knowing what he was going to see.

“There’s mistletoe in here,” said Alan, pointing at the ceiling.

“Yes, Alan, I can see that,” Edgar said, pushing him towards the bed. “I’m sure you can have a lovely time looking at it in the morning, when you aren’t wasted.” Alan grinned and grabbed Edgar’s hand, pulling him close.

“Are you scared that I’m going to kiss you again?” he asked, leaning his face in right next to Edgar’s. Edgar gulped and looked away.

“I wouldn’t put it past you, I mean, you’re pretty—“ He stopped abruptly as Alan slid his hand up his shirt.

“I’m pretty? Aw, thank you Edgar,” he said, grinning. Edgar glared at him.

“I didn’t mean that. I was going to say ‘you’re pretty messed up’. Would you leave my stomach alone?” He tried to remove Alan’s hand from his shirt.

“But I like your tummy. It’s so cuuute!” Alan flicked Edgar’s bellybutton.

“You are so gay when you’re drunk,” said Edgar, shoving Alan’s wandering hands away.

“You are so cute when you’re pretending to be angry,” replied Alan.

“Ugh, just go to bed Alan,” said Edgar, pushing Alan onto the bed. Alan snickered and flopped over.

“Be gentle with me,” he said, batting his eyelashes, “It’s my first time.” Edgar laughed.

“You are so weird, but in a good way,” he said, “You make life interesting.” Alan wiggled his eyebrows.

“Interesting in what way?” he asked, attempting to pose sexily.

“Interesting as in being weird and random and saving me from a boring Christmas party that mom decided to have in the middle of June,” said Edgar. “Of course, you saved me by being drunk and kind of creepy, but whatever.” Alan pouted.

“Creepy? I thought we had something special, Edgar,” he said dramatically, “My heart is broken.”

“Aw, really?” said Edgar, “I didn’t mean to.” Alan mock-glared at him.

“It doesn’t matter if you meant it or not,” he said, “You broke it. It’s in a million billion little pieces now.” Edgar laughed and turned to walk out of the room, but Alan grabbed the back of his shirt. He pulled Edgar down onto the bed next to him. Edgar shifted, slightly nervous. He didn’t like the look Alan was giving him. That was his mischief look.

“You could fix my heart,” said Alan, “You could make it all better.” He gently grabbed Edgar’s chin.

“Kiss me, my love, make me all better,” he murmured. Edgar leaned away from him. Not this crap again. He was going to dispose of all of the alcohol in the house. Alan was really scary when he was like this. Funny, but scary. Not funny enough to outweigh the scary.

“Alan, I am not going to kiss you again. Once is enough.” Edgar put his hand over his mouth to emphasize his point. Alan sighed.

“Fine. If you don’t want to kiss me, I won’t make you. You don’t know what you’re missing, though.” Edgar pulled away, relieved.

“Instead, I want you to sleep with me.”

“What?!” Edgar shrieked, jumping away from Alan.

“Not like that, you dumbass,” said Alan. “I mean, just sleep. With me. Here.” Edgar wrinkled his nose.

“Why?” Alan shrugged.

“I don’t know. I feel spooning. I don’t want to be alone. I like to cuddle. I’m drunk. Do I really need to explain myself?” Edgar sighed.

“I guess not.” Alan smiled.

“So will you?” he asked. Edgar thought for a moment. There was the possibility that Alan would do something strange and random to him while he was sleeping. That was the sort of thing Alan would do even if he was sober. But, then again, if he didn’t, he would probably be forced by his mother to go back downstairs and mingle with her scary friends.

“Sure,” he said. Alan clapped happily.

“Yay!” he said, pulling his shirt off.

“W-what are you doing?” Edgar sputtered as Alan began to take off his pants as well. Alan looked at him.

“Uh, getting ready for bed? Sleeping fully clothed isn’t exactly comfortable.” Ah. Okay. So he wasn’t doing what Edgar had thought he was doing for a moment.

“Aren’t you going to get ready too?” Alan asked him. “I’m your brother, I’ve seen you in less than your boxers before.” Edgar nodded slowly and pulled off his shirt. This was going to be interesting. Sleeping mostly naked with his drunken brother. He had always imagined doing crazy things when he got older, but this was never one of them. This was so weird.

Edgar climbed in next to his smiling brother and lay down stiffly. Alan would have none of that. He wrapped his arms around Edgar in a bone-crushing hug. When Edgar didn’t respond, Alan hugged him tighter. Edgar still didn’t do anything. Alan kicked him. Finally, Edgar got the idea and hugged his brother back.

“This is so weird,” he muttered. “I don’t know why I’m doing this. Your crazy must be rubbing off on me.” Alan giggled.

“It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone. And if it really bothers you, you can just pretend you’re drunk too! Then there won’t be any problem at all.”

“Alright then,” said Edgar. “I am so drunk that I can’t see two inches in front of me. That is why I am in my brother’s bed, wearing nothing but my boxers, hugging my brother who is also wearing nothing but boxers.” Alan tittered.

“You make it sound so perverted,” he said, “And you’re not wearing nothing but your boxers. You’re still wearing your headband.” Ah, right. The headband. That made it so much better. Alan muttered something about sheep and closed his eyes.

“Are you seriously just going to fall asleep?” Edgar asked incredulously.

“Yes,” came the irritated reply. “Just get over yourself and shut up. You can bitch about it in the morning.” Edgar sighed as Alan snuggled closer.

“But, Alan, seriously—“

“Shut. Up.” Alan slapped him gently. Edgar couldn’t believe this. This was weird. This would totally freak out any normal person. Then again, he and Alan weren’t exactly normal people. They were elite vampire slayers. A team of fierce and powerful hunters. What did that have to do with this? He squirmed a bit.


“Good night, Edgar.”

Fine. Whatever. He would scream at Alan in the morning. Most definitely.
Chapter End Notes:
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