A fluffy Cockles Christmas
a fluffy Cockles Christmas
He still doesn’t know what to get Misha for Christmas.
It’s not their first one together, not by a long shot, but Jensen finds himself struggling for ideas this year.
The closer the holiday season approaches, the more anxious he gets. His searches online this far have proved uninspiring, so now he is forced to thread his way through crowds of other shoppers in a large department store, hoping his attempts at going incognito with bland clothing and a baseball cap are mostly successful.
He studies shelves lined with snow globes, the tiny glass domes filled with ice skaters and colonial houses, pine trees and cardinals and snow hares. He chooses one at random, grasping the gold flecked base before inverting the heavy water filled sphere, then quickly flipping it over to watch the tiny white flecks scatter, a miniature flurry that settles gently over delicately sculpted evergreen boughs.
There’s a row of tacky Christmas sweaters, the brightly dyed yarn woven into festive images of gingerbread men and Santa’s face and clusters of holly and bells. He can imagine Misha wearing one, hurriedly pulling it on as soon as it’s rescued from a tissue paper laden gift box, raven tresses charging with static electricity, sticking every which way while he grins all the while, the full smile that creases his eyes and the bridge of his nose and pulls those full lips taut.
Another display highlights common gifts for men: electric razors and leather billfolds, tie tacks and cuff links and pens with silver and marble casings. Once upon a time, in the early days of their relationship, he might have considered the latter, something for the older man to use when scribbling down thoughts for a poem or other random musings. But Misha isn’t one for frivolous things like fancy writing utensils. He’d be equally as content with a pencil or one of West’s crayons.
Jensen spends a long time at the jewelry counter. This is something he feels certain his blue eyed costar would appreciate, his passion for silver rings legendary. The concern, however, is twofold: Misha is inclined to lose his accessories, particularly rings, and the fans are merciless when it comes to noticing new details. Whether he chooses to truthfully acknowledge the jewelry’s origin or not, the rumors will spread like wildfire. It won’t upset Misha, but he can’t let it go that easily. He does care what other people think, or think they know.
Which leaves Jensen right back where he started. He still doesn’t know what to purchase, but the thought of leaving the store empty handed is something he’s unprepared to deal with. He has to find something, now.
“Can I help you find something?”
The woman at the counter instantly reminds him of his sister Mackenzie, with smokey blue gray eyes and loosely curled blonde hair that frames peach tinted cheeks and a warm smile.
“Actually…” He hesitates. Maybe some outside input wouldn’t be a bad idea. “I’m looking for something for a friend. A male friend.” He cringes inwardly, thinking the implications behind that late addition are a little too obvious.
If the salesperson notices anything in that statement, she politely chooses to brush right over it. “What sorts of things is your friend interested in? What are his hobbies?”
The green eyed actor hesitates again. Misha isn’t into the things most guys are. He’s not an avid sports fan or a television junkie. His idea of a fun weekend is kayaking for charity or making a video of himself speaking in a thick Russian accent.
“I was thinking of getting him a piece of jewelry. Not a ring,” he adds quickly. “He has a tendency to lose them really easily. Maybe a leather bracelet?” It’s a little more subtle, he thinks, easily covered by a shirt sleeve.
The blonde nods, leading him to a small selection. A woven navy specimen catches his eye, the rose gold hook and loop contrasting nicely against the dark strips of leather. He can easily envision it encircling one of Misha’s wrists, the color perfectly coordinating with his eyes.
She withdraws the bracelet from the case and he examines it briefly, deciding that this will be a solid start.
“Maybe you’d like to add some other accessories? We have a variety of items over here…”
After that the shopping goes a little smoother.
An indigo cotton scarf and a pair of semi matte gunmetal sunglasses soon join his previous purchase, and Jensen begins to feel a little better, satisfied with his choices so far.
But there’s still something missing. He worries his bottom lip, paused in front of the register, trying to determine what would make this collection complete.
“Anything else I can help you with?”
“I’d like one more thing. Something a little more personalized and unique. We both do a lot of traveling and aren’t home as often as we’d like, so I’d like to give him something easy to keep with him. I don’t know…”
The cashier hums thoughtfully. “Hmm…well what about you? What leisure activities do you enjoy?”
Jensen rubs the back of his neck, feeling awkward. “Me? I don’t know. The usual stuff I guess. I like golf. He definitely doesn’t. I play a little guitar, sing sometimes.”
The blonde claps her hands together. “That’s perfect! You could record something for him.”
The actor feels his cheeks flushing. “I’m really not that good. I mean, I don’t put much time or effort into it. Pretty amateur. I don’t think he’d be that into it.” Despite the numerous compliments and encouragement he’d gotten regarding his musical talent over the years, he still lacked confidence in his ability, and was extremely reluctant to play in front of large crowds.
“He’d probably really appreciate it, knowing it was something you made just for him, something he could take with him anywhere and be reminded of you.”
“Yeah? You really think so? Maybe you’re right.” He lifts the shopping bag from the counter, returning her wishes for a Merry Christmas before he leaves the store, deep in thought.
~~~
The bracelet sits in a narrow strip of darkness over winter white skin.
Jensen’s already draped the oversized scarf around Misha’s throat, tugging him closer for a kiss.
The CD sits at the very bottom of the wrapped pile of presents, encased in a slim paper and cellophane sleeve. His loopy handwriting says only ‘For Misha’ scrawled across the mirrored surface of the disc.
It catches the lights on the nearby tree as Misha withdraws it from the envelope, the glinting metallic sliver clasped at the edges, a look of genuine curiosity on his features.
He murmurs a suggestion as to what the contents might be, an allusion to something naughty purred beside one ear, the kiss that follows a little rougher, a little more lingering than its predecessor.
“I just recorded something. A few songs. Nothing special. You don’t have to upload it onto your laptop or your iPod or anything.” He’s suddenly feeling unsure again, fingers worrying over the feel of the blue knit fabric, already warm from his body heat, eyes not quite meeting Misha’s.
“You sang for me?” The raw wonder in his voice instantly draws his gaze to the other man’s face. He’s never, he realizes, done so. Never exclusively for him.
“Yeah. Is that…okay? I mean, you could always use it as a coaster—”
“Jensen,” he says, in that way he does sometimes, that just brings everything to a halt; his breathing and the beat of his lashes and a palpable short in the air current around them, as if Misha has managed to somehow stop time itself, a pause just before their lips meet and he realizes he’s gotten him the perfect gift.