Xavier organizes a schoolwide Christmas party and dance for the holidays. A massive tree is stationed solidly in the main living room, dazzled with hand-made and store bought decorations from the students and instructors. There’s music and food and good spirits all around this Christmas Eve.
Kurt is absolutely floored by the amount of lights and tinsel and laughter and presents that the holiday brought along, as he had never really celebrated Christmas like this before. He goes on a knitting spree and makes fluffy sweaters for the X-Kids, decorated with tiny bells and bows.
Kurt goes to deliver Warren’s sweater to him on Christmas Eve - the night for the party preparations - but finds him on the roof of the school with his wings wrapped tightly around his body. The only protection he has from the cold is his leather jacket and a dark blue scarf. He has half of his face covered, a pink-tipped nose poking out from the top of the scarf.
Kurt, being the kind soul he is, sees how cold Warrren is (it IS December, after all) and slips off his jacket, offering it to his friend.
Warren doesn’t move. He turns away slightly as to not let Kurt see the pitiful tears rolling down his cheeks.
Kurt understands that Warren is not in a talking mood as he sits down next to him, re-wrapping his jacket around his shoulders.
Minutes pass in silence and the boys inch closer together. Warren eventually stretches out a wing and wraps it around them both. Kurt lets out a soft gasp, which allows a watery chuckle to escape Warren’s cracked lips.
“My mother,” Warren mutters, quietly running his knuckle over Kurt’s jacket. “My mother knit me sweaters every year for every holiday, birthday, you name it - until the year she died.” His breath catches in his throat and he forces down a sob.
Kurt’s tail wraps around his waist and pulls him closer, silently encouraging Warren to keep going. He’s at a loss for words, as Warren never talks about his family, ever.
“She loved Christmas,” Warren sighs. He sniffles and unconsciously nudges Kurt’s head with his own. “Always the romantic. She used to joke about when I would find my one true love to kiss under the mistletoe.” He pauses to take a breath before adding, “She told me that the one who gives me a sweater on Christmas Eve would be the one I would marry.”
Kurt blinks as he processes what Warren just said. His ears slowly turn purple, followed by his cheeks and his neck. He can see Warren’s face flush as well, already pinkish from the nipping cold.
“Vould you?” Kurt asks after a minute of quiet.
“Would I…?”
Kurt flushes darker and turns his focus on the sweater in his arms. “Vould you actually kiss me?”
Warren blinks and his eyes trail down to Kurt’s gift. He freezes, then sighs.
Kurt feels a finger lifting his chin. He turns his head and is met face-to-face with Warren’s watery gaze. His eyes, normally sharp and confident, now look weary, like he’s lived for longer than he should’ve.
“To be perfectly honest, Blue, I would like nothing more. There’s no one in this world that I’d rather share that moment with than you.” Kurt’s eyes are wide and he’s clutching his gift too tightly, but he’s leaning in and he doesn’t know why. His eyes are slipping closed and, though he’s terrified beyond belief, he’s also never been more excited.
Their lips connect in a chaste kiss. It’s swift and light like the swirling clouds above the boys’ heads, but just as warm as the sun now set behind them. It’s everything Warren had wanted in a kiss - he’d shared many, but none were as sweet as this.
Kurt slips his hands into Warren’s jacket and wraps them around his waist. He hums contentedly as they pull away, needing air. The grin they both have plastered on their lips is irreplaceable.
Warren hugs Kurt to his muscled chest with a sigh of relief.
It’s comfortably quiet, until Kurt breaks the silence with a question. “Did your mother actually say that?”
Warren looks down thoughtfully at the curious rubies staring up at him. He laughs, tears springing to his eyes.
“Not exactly. She said I would kiss the love of my life on a Christmas Eve one day, but I tacked the sweater thing on to get you to kiss me.”
Kurt flushes and buried his face into Warren’s neck. He tenderly kisses the skin behind Warren’s jaw, sending a shiver down the winged mutant’s spine. “Vell then. Shall ve get back to the party, then? To make that premonition come true?”
Warren nods, and before he can speak again they are back in the School.
It’s warmer than Warren thought it would be, partially caused by the lean blue mutant attached to his hip.
Kurt tugs him over to a closet and folds the sweater into his hand. Warren looks him up and down, a teasing smirk on his face.
“I am not wearing this. I have an ego to protect, which will surely be crushed by a frilly sweater-”
Kurt connects their lips once more, slipping off Warren’s jacket and working on his t-shirt. Warren melts into the kiss, and before he knows it, he’s shirtless and a blushing mess.
Kurt sends a toothy grin his way, tossing the sweater at him once more.
“Vell, now you have to put on something, might as vell put on the sveater.” Kurt turns and, making sure to wave his tail a little more than usual, slips into the crowd of people to find the rest of his friends.
“You little fox,” Warren hums as he slips on the sweater, chuckling at the tinkling from the tiny bells sewn into the fabric. It’s actually quite comfortable against Warren’s flushed skin, still buzzing from Kurt’s touch.
He smooths back his hair and sets off to find the blue mutant, cheeks rosy and heart soaring.
Warren reaches the group within minutes and immediately wraps his arms around Kurt’s waist. He smirks as Kurt lets out a squeal of surprise, tail wrapping around Warren’s leg.
Warren removes himself from Kurt’s body and settles for standing next to him wth a hand on Kurt’s hip. He falls into easy conversation with the X-gang as they acknowledge his presence. It feels so alien to be joking and toasting with people who, half a year ago, wanted nothing more than to see him dead on the ground.
Alien, but not unwelcome.
Later in the night, Xavier announces that everyone get in pairs for slow-dancing. Kurt tugs on Warren’s arm excitedly, but Warren’s face goes pale.
He hadn’t formally danced in years, he would surely make a fool of himself -
A reassuring squeeze of his hand brings Warren back to his senses. He looks down at the blue mutant, whose eyes are lidded and whose sharp teeth are slightly poking out from his lips.
Warren doesn’t realize he’s being dragged to the dance floor until the music begins playing and suddenly he’s swept away in an ocean of swaying bodies. The only thing he can see is two red jewels staring up at him as the lights dim. His chest tightens.
“I don’t know how to do this,” Warren whispers while fumbling to grasp Kurt’s hips. He receives a giggle in response as Kurt slips his hands behind Warren’s neck. Kurt gently applies pressure and soon they fall in time with the heavy beat.
Warren’s mouth goes dry as Kurt presses his head against his chest. He’s singing, Warren notes, and the world disappears from around them.
It’s him and Kurt, Kurt and him, pressed against each other in green and red knitted sweaters on Christmas Eve. It’s so cliché, but Warren couldn't care less as he grabs ahold of Kurt’s waist and dips him to the floor.
Kurt’s expression goes from surprised to gleeful in a split second.
Warren hates people staring at him, especially at such an intimate moment as this, but for the third time that night Kurt’s lips take away all of his pain, all of his worries, all of his strife.
It’s a wonderful feeling, and he thanks his mother for the courage she’s given him to take a chance with this strange blue mutant he’s fallen so hard for.
Warren knows she’s proud.