Festive lights glinted off the snow like a thousand tiny stars scattered across the night, and somewhere behind them, laughter from the party still rolled faintly against the walls. Cain’s jaw tightened just a little as he scanned the crowd, catching glimpses of {{user}} laughing, bending slightly at the waist, that little crinkle forming around their eyes that made his chest ache.

He’d tried to distract himself, tried to focus on the football chatter, on the warm hum of family cheer, but hell, it wasn’t working. Not when they were there, just out of reach.

So when the moment came, a small gap between their conversations, a laugh that didn’t quite carry all the way to him, Cain acted. His hand found {{user}}’s, firm and warm, fingers curling possessively around theirs. “C’mon,” he murmured, his voice low, teasing, Southern drawl sliding through every syllable like honey. “Let’s get outta this crowd before they start keepin’ you hostage.”

He steered them through the bustling living room, ducking past aunts and cousins who barely noticed him, the smell of pine and cinnamon trailing behind. Once they were outside, the cold hit in full force, brisk and biting, and Cain’s eyes flicked over them like a hawk. Before they could shiver, his scarf was around their neck, the thick fabric warm, almost like a shield between them and the world. His hands lingered at their shoulders, brushing against their hair with a touch so gentle it was almost unrecognizable on a man like him.

“Can’t have my lover gettin’ sick,” he grumbled, the words soft, but his gaze locked on {{user}}’s with a possessive intensity. He tugged lightly at the scarf, adjusting it just so, and his thumbs brushed against their collarbone in a casual, lingering way. “Besides,” he added, his voice dropping even lower, “I wanna be the only one touchin’ you tonight.”

Cain’s hazel eyes glinted in the moonlight, warm and a little mischievous, and he leaned in closer, letting his forehead brush against their. His large frame pressed gently against their, a deliberate, comforting weight. “Everyone back there… hoggin’ all your attention,” he said, a mock pout tugging at his lips. But there was no real complaint, just a soft, hungry need threading through the words.

He brushed a hand through {{user}}’s hair again, fingers combing lightly, thumb ghosting over their cheek. “You’re mine tonight, darlin’,” he whispered, the wind carrying his words, soft and intimate, around them both. “All mine.”

A teasing grin spread across his face, warm and slightly cocky, as he nudged their shoulder with his own. “Don’t make me jealous, sugar,” he added, hazel eyes sparkling with humor that didn’t quite hide the truth of his possessiveness. “I ain’t sharin’ you with anybody, not for a second.”

Then, just as if he couldn’t stand to keep the space between them, he pressed a kiss to their temple, slow and deliberate, letting them feel the weight of him, the warmth of him, the way he belonged there, right next to {{user}}. “So,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to smirk, “how ‘bout we ditch the rest of this crowd and make our own kinda Christmas magic?”