Work Text:
'"I'd totally be his little ho ho ho."
"I'd definitely help that Santa empty his sack!"
"I'd 100% lump his coal."
"Susan, what the fuck does that even mean?"
"I don't know, I just know that I would."
Charlie has written a list, checked it twice, and come to the department store to buy everything on it for his friends’ and family's Christmas gifts. The cheesy festive music being piped through the speakers is not loud enough to drown out the many thirsty comments he hears about the store's Santa as he makes his way round the aisles. Some think he's hot. Some think he's cute. Charlie thinks he's intrigued…
Charlie makes good progress on finding everything on his list, and it's all rung up and paid for within the hour, leaving him with another hour to fill before he can grab the bus back to his student accommodation. He walks towards the exit, thinking he'll nip to Costa for a gingerbread latte and an insta scroll when he sees the sign for the Grotto. It must have been over a decade since he sat on Santa's lap and whispered his Christmas wishes to the big man himself. Nostalgia gets the better of him, and he goes to have a look.
The Grotto is a grand wooden cabin covered in fairy lights and cotton wool snow, large enough to house a full Santa's sleigh, all nine reindeer and McCauley Culkin quite comfortably. It's situated in a corner of the department store, close to the doors. The floor surrounding the Grotto is buried deeply in even more cotton wool snow, with statues of polar bears and penguins dotted around for effect. A large, sparkly Christmas tree sits to the left of the Grotto. It's really quite sweet.
The queue is controlled within red velvet ropes, and an elf so happy she verges on manic works the door. Wait, Charlie knows that elf — she's in his lit class at uni. He likes her a lot. Charlie tries to peek inside the Grotto from afar but it's impossible due to the fake snow spray that effectively whites out the cabin windows.
Charlie watches two grown women exit the Grotto, giggling and making lewd gestures to each other like teenagers. He sees the next woman in line release the top two buttons on her blouse and muss her hair a little before entering, as the woman behind her applies a new coat of lipgloss.
Guess I may as well join the queue and see what all the fuss is about…
🎅🎅🎅
It's nearing the end of yet another stupid day full of uninvited groping, flirty innuendo, and barely concealed ogling. Nick's pocket is stuffed full of phone numbers he has no intention of using, he reeks of seventeen different perfumes, and last time he checked the mirror he had three shades of lipstick on his fake beard. This was not what Nick signed up for. Fucking stupid tight costume.
When he heard about this Santa gig, he imagined adorable little kids asking him for unicorns and dinosaurs while their grown ups took pictures and swooned over their sweet little humans. He thought it'd be a great way to make a bit of extra cash, and he figured broadening his experience of interacting with children would only help with his teacher training, right?
Nick was horrified when he discovered there had been an issue with the suit order and he was presented with a Santa suit one size too small. The way the velvet stretched tight against his muscular thighs and the accompanying obscene outline of his yule log when he first pulled the trousers on had left both himself and the Grotto coordinator blushing. He had requested a new costume but had yet to hear back from management.
His first few days had been fairly quiet, so when he did get a couple of children coming to visit, he made a huge fuss of them and made it really special. As the days went on, the queues began to build, and Nick proudly assumed word had spread amongst the parents of Leeds that he was a really good Santa. He was half right. Word certainly had spread through the parents of Leeds, but not that Santa was mistleto-tally jolly, but that he was tree-mendously fucka-bell.
Imogen, Nick's best friend and faithful elf, skips over to him, all pointy hat, stripey tights and Christmas spirit. "Santa, there's a spicy little treat for you next in line, and it's not a mince pie!" She winks a bright green eyelid. "I think this guy could really jingle your balls!"
"Really, Imogelf? As if I'd ever let one of those nut-crackers anywhere near my sack? Please!"
"You are snow fun, Nelson," she huffs, belled shoes jingling as she stomps off to let the person through.
Nick registers yet another adult form enter the Grotto and rolls his eyes. He is done with this shit. He closes his eyes, rakes his fingers into his fringe and presses his forehead into his palm, willing himself to calm down enough to be polite to yet another jingle-bellend who thinks it's alright to blatantly objectify him just because he's wearing a snug red suit and a stupid itchy beard.
He feels a warm weight drop onto his lap and a soft hand snake around his neck. At least this festivoyeur smells good — a deep, rich, moreish scent. Nick braces himself for the hungry stares, lewd comments and wandering hands that he's grown to expect when an adult comes to his grotto. Uggh.
🎁🎁🎁
Charlie looks down at Santa from his seat on the big man’s lap — he can definitely see the appeal. Red fabric clinging indecently to broad shoulders and strong, muscular biceps; a black leather belt accentuating a thick waist; the hint of a well-filled stocking resting between his meaty thighs, as the stretchy velvet crotch of his trousers leaves little to the imagination... What a treat!
Charlie can't see much of Santa's face as his forehead is smashed into his hand and a fake beard covers his chin, but he can make out rosy cheeks dusted with beautiful freckles and can see plump, pink lips pulled into an impressive scowl. He looks like he's been inhabited by the Ghost of Christmas Pissed.
This is not what Charlie had pictured whilst he waited in the queue as he reminisced about all the times he had previously sat on Santa's lap. He remembered feeling full of Christmas joy as a squishy, merry man made him feel special for once. Charlie wants that magical feeling again, and he's not going to get it from a grumpy, miserable Santa, no matter how insanely ripped he is.
"That's a real resting Grinch-face you've got there Santa. Someone spill your eggnog?" Charlie asks, his voice thick with a concern that could very easily be mistaken for condescension.
"Excuse me?" Nick asks through gritted teeth, scrunching his eyes tighter, seemingly willing himself to calm down.
"Your bowl full of jelly looks like it needs shaking a little…" Charlie frowns.
Santa grunts in annoyance. This is not going well. But Charlie can turn this around. I can cheer him up. I'll tell him that stupid joke of Olly's…
"Bet I could make you shake?" he teases, playfully. The joke is okay. It might make Santa laugh. Worth a shot at least.
"Seriously? You want to make me shake ? That is such an invasive thing to say. What am I supposed to say to that?! Am I supposed to be intrigued? Aroused? Drop my red trousers for you, right here right now? Is that what you want?"
"What?! No! No, I was just—"
"What do you have that will make me shake ? You gonna blow, blow, blow me? Is that what you're getting at?"
"Oh my god, no!! I just meant you could maybe loosen up a bit and I—"
"What? What are you going to say to 'loosen me up' that I haven't already heard six thousand times today?" Santa asks in a cool, clipped tone, removing his hand from his head and placing it on the armrest of his plush velvet chair.
Now that Charlie can see his whole face, it's clear that this Santa is stunningly beautiful. Charlie opens his mouth to reply, to say it's just a misunderstanding, but he's cut off by Nick continuing in a mocking tone "You can come down my chimney! I'll be extra naughty for you, Daddy Clause! I've been soooo good—"
❄️❄️❄️
Nick finally opens his eyes to glare at the man on his lap in annoyance and takes a sharp intake of breath as he's confronted with soft curls, sharp cheekbones, a cute nose and very pokable dimples. And those eyes…
Oh shit, Imm was right, he is pretty. Be-yule-tiful. I'm in danger.
Charlie narrows his frosty blues as the force of Nick's glare hits him square in the eyes like a well aimed snowball. "Wow. There is no need to be so rude-olf! I didn't come here to proposition you! I was just curious and nostalgic and had a little time to kill. I hope you're nicer to the kids, Jeez!"
Nick bristles at the implication that he would ever be a bad Santa for a child. "You did not just sleigh that?! I have been jolly as fuck with both of the children that I have seen this week thank you very much!"
"Both? That's sad." Charlie snorts sarcastically.
"Fuck off. It's not my fault all those horny bastards out there want me for Christmas!"
Nick gestures roughly towards the Grotto door, jostling Charlie on his lap as he does so. Charlie throws his other arm around Nick's neck for support, gripping firmly and pulling in closer as he barks a bitter laugh.
"Wow. Someone's elf-esteem is through the chimney isn't it! You are aware that you're wearing a suit that appears to be expertly tailored to emphasise your every muscle?! It hugs your thighs in a way that makes me wonder if they should be allowing children in here at all! Seriously, what did you expect when you chose this suit?!"
"I didn't choose this! There was a mixup! I wanted to be a snuggly Santa!"
"Yeah, you seem like a real cuddly guy…" Charlie scoffs.
I don't have to put up with this shit. Nick abruptly stands, forgetting in his annoyance that he can't storm off while Charlie is sitting on his lap. Charlie yelps, startled, and loses his grip on Nick's neck, landing on the floor on his arse. Luckily the Grotto is padded with cotton wool snow on the inside too.
"Oh my god, you absolute prick!" Charlie scowls. He stands and forcefully pushes his palms against Nick's chest, shoving him back into the Santa chair. "So what if a few adults want to pull your cracker? You still get paid right, milk and cookies?"
"Very fucking funny." Nick matches Charlie's scowl with one of his own, his beautiful, freckled nose scrunching in anger. "It's actually horrible being stared at and groped and innuendoed all day long by a bunch of thirsty strangers! Suggesting you could make me shake crossed a line! That's so intimate!"
Charlie shakes his head and closes the small gap between them so his knees bump against Nick's, and he bends down to look him in the eyes, appearing pleased to have the physical high ground as well as the moral, which only serves to piss Nick off further. "What, are you gonna put me on the naughty list now for a comment you have wildly misinterpreted?"
"You know what, I think I will. You don't deserve presents with that attitude," Nick hisses, feeling an angry heat fill his belly as Charlie bears down over him.
"Oh, my attitude is bad? I came in here to see the cute Saint Nick, sit on his lap and tell him I want a nice man and the new Mario Kart for Christmas and go about my day, maybe get a photo for Insta and a little colouring book to unwrap on the bus home — but no! I sit on the lap of grouchy Saint Dick, who shouts at me for no fucking reason and throws me on the floor? Ho, ho, hope you choke."
🦌🦌🦌
Charlie takes a small step back, ready to leave the arrogant arsehole behind and catch his bus home. He takes one last lingering look over Santa's face and body before he does so, A: to piss him off, and B: to commit him to memory as he fully plans on having an angry wank over this unfairly attractive knobhead of a Santa when he gets home.
"Hey! This is not over!" Nick reaches out to grab Charlie's waist, misjudging the force required to keep him in place to finish this stupid argument. He pulls him roughly back down on his lap, the extra momentum propelling Charlie so close that his arse lands right in Nick's crotch, and their noses practically touch. Neither man moves back, both quietly seething, not willing to back down.
Imogelf enters the Grotto carrying Charlie's present under her arm, ready to move him along as his time is up. She watches the men snarl at each other — eyes locked intensely, chests heaving from the heated argument. The chemis-tree is palpable. She likes this for Nick. She sneaks back out of the room, cursing her noisy shoes and informs the next person in line that Santa is having a hot chocolate break.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Charlie demands, his voice breathy but steely.
"Finishing this argument. You're not getting your present til I'm done with you. You got a problem with that?"
"What if I do? You gonna candy cane me?" Charlie snarks heatedly, smirking as he feels Santa's toy soldier jump to attention beneath his arse at this imagery.
"Bet you'd like that, wouldn't you, cheeky shit, if I bent you over my knee and smacked those peachy snow globes?!"
It pisses Charlie off even further that he's too close to hide his own developing chub. Stupid skinny jeans. "Fine," Charlie spits. "Let's finish this. I genuinely meant you looked like you could use a laugh when I came in here. You misinterpreted my words as a half-arsed come on, and that's on you," Charlie says, prodding Nick in the chest with a long finger to emphasise his point.
"Right, sure." Nick rolls his eyes.
"Yes, right. And even if I had been flirting, the socially acceptable way to rebuff unwanted advances is to politely decline, not yell and throw people on the floor!" Again, punctuated by a jab, causing Nick's dick to twitch again.
"And another thing," Charlie leans forward and growls in Santa's ear, roughly kneading Nick's tit, finding his nipple and beneath the tight fabric and pinching it hard, "As it snow happens, I could make you shake harder than you ever thought possible, but you'll never know now because you're a miserable twat."
Nick flushes at Charlie's words and the fire behind his touch, and he squeezes Charlie's hips where his hands are still resting, hard enough to make Charlie's eyelids flicker and his breath catch. Charlie's words catch up with Nick and he visibly boils with indignation. "Wait — miserable twat?! Like you’re so full of fucking Christmas cheer!"
"I was until the stupidly hot Santa started being a dickhead when I tried to offer to cheer him up — my plan was just to tell you a stupid knock, knock joke by the way —"
"You think I'm stupidly hot?"
"You fucking know you are with your eyes and muscles and… Oh, I'm so sorry," Charlie's face suddenly scrunches in overdramatic mock concern, "I know it pisses you off when people think you're hot."
"You don't get it!" Nick exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air in annoyance, bringing them back down to rest on the sliver of Charlie's arse that hangs off his lap. Charlie grips Nick by the biceps for balance as he's jostled by the movement. "You don't know what it's like when this many people think you’re hot"
"Are you saying the masses don't think I'm hot? I'm plenty hot you wankbasket!"
"You can't call Santa a wankbasket!"
"I can and I will. SANTA IS A WANKBASKET!" Charlie shouts, right in Nick's face.
Nick releases Charlie's arse to press an index finger onto his lips, his middle finger catching on Charlie's lower lip, tugging it down into a slight pout, and resting there. Charlie's breath catches and his heart beats wildly under Nick's fingertips.
"Shh! Don't Claus a scene! There's people out there," Nick hisses.
Charlie feels electric. Why is he reacting so primally to this arrogant bastard's touch? Is it just the fact that he's insanely hot? Is it the big dick energy? Please don't say he has a latent Santa kink? Whatever it is, Charlie has to stop himself from sucking Nick's fingers into his mouth and making the yuletide very fucking gay right here on the floor of this Grotto.
"Wank. Basket." Charlie says defiantly against his fingers, over-enunciating each syllable in a wickedly sinful tone. Nick presses down more firmly, smushing Charlie's lips down hard before trailing his fingers heavily down Charlie’s body, making heat crash through him, as his hand finds its way back to his arse. Both men stare at each other, silently daring each other to take things further, faces so close they're practically panting in each other's mouths.
🌰🌰🌰
The noise from the queue outside grows, the sounds of increasing collective irritation beginning to seep into the Grotto. Imogen returns, unable to hold the queue at bay much longer. She finds the men tangled together on the chair, the tension between them palpable.
"They're sharpening the edges of their tree toppers and winding fairy lights round their hands like garottes out there, Nelson. Time's up gentlemen."
"I'm Santa. I say when time's up," Nick barks, not moving his eyes from Charlie's face, where they flicker between blue eyes and blush lips.
"Oh my god, you are such a twat!" Charlie snaps, slapping Nick's chest, making him gasp and tighten his grip on Charlie's arse.
"What, Nick? Nick's not a twat, Charlie! He's my best friend from secondary! He's an adorably sweet muffin who loves baking and doggies and cuddles! He's at the same uni as us doing teacher training."
"Imm, you know this guy?" Nick asks, tearing his gaze away from Charlie to raise his eyebrow at his elf.
"Yes, Nick! This is Charlie, he's in my lit class, and he's so smart and funny. He helped me with my essay last week even though he really didn't need to. He's so caring."
Nick processes this information. He trusts Imogen's judgement and realisation dawns on him that he might have been a little sensitive earlier. "Wait, you actually were asking if I was okay, weren't you?"
"Yes I was, you dickmonster. You actually are here for the kids aren't you?” Charlie replies, having also reflected on their interaction since Imm filled in some of the blanks.
"Yes I am, you arsepipe," Nick releases Charlie's bum and wraps his arms loosely around his waist instead. Charlie snakes his arms gently around Nick's neck in response.
"Fuck off, horsebutt. It's a very easy mistake to make when you’re dressed like the lead in 'A Very Chippendale Christmas'!"
"Oh, you'd love to see me strip, wouldn't you?" Nick smirks, a teasing glint in his eye.
"Yes. I would actually," Charlie affirms with a sly grin, as he climbs off Nick's lap to accept his present from Imogen and collect his shopping. "What time do you get off?"
"Seven."
"Imm, can you give Nick my address please, darling?"
She grins widely and nods, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Charlie gives Nick one last smouldering look over his shoulder as he exits.
"Great, see you after seven then, dicknozzle. Wear the suit."
🎄 🎄 🎄
Charlie’s stomach fizzes all the way home, a mixture of post-argument adrenaline and anticipation. He lets himself into his student flat and sets some Christmas music playing loudly in the shared living space. His flatmates have already gone home for the holidays, excited to spend time with their families, unlike Charlie, who booked the last possible train home on Christmas Eve, a week from now. Fuck Jane and her fucking festive hand towels.
He wraps his gifts, straightens his room and hops into the shower, nervous energy pulsing through him in waves. He's not exactly sure what will happen when Santa Claus comes to town tonight, but he prepares for a full snow plough, just in case he’s on the Big Man's naughty list. Fuck, he hopes he is, because he has a catalogue full of things he'd like to have done to him by that Navidaddy…
Charlie dries after the shower, brushes his teeth and dresses in comfortable lounge clothes that he has zero intention of keeping on for long once Nick arrives. He folds himself into his favourite yoga poses, relaxing his mind and stretching his muscles as he waits impatiently for his cockhead date to arrive. Charlie knows he's not really a cockhead if Imogen vouches for him, but he definitely acted like one when they met, and Charlie decides he would like a side of apology with his order of dick tonight.
Charlie checks the time on his phone and bites his lower lip as yet another thrill courses through his body — any minute now Santa will be decking the halls of his building and hopefully his arse. He hears a festive knock on the door and pulls it open to see Nick leaning casually against the doorframe, red velvet stretched taut over flexed biceps, black knee high boots crossed at the ankle, brooding expression on his now beardless face.
“Fuck trumpet.” Santa nods.
“Tit wizard,” Charlie volleys back.
They stare at each other, both men too stubborn to lose the upper hand by making the first move. Their eyes travel each other's bodies shamelessly. They both know what this is. Turns out being eyed up by Santa is a massive fucking turn on. Charlie can't wait any longer.
“You gonna dickorate my tree then, or what?” Charlie concedes. Nick smirks and nods, and Charlie rolls his eyes and pulls him roughly inside by his bright red lapels. Nick kicks the door shut behind them, and Charlie barrels forward, pushing Nick into the back of the door. His head makes a satisfying thwack against the wood which Charlie enjoys immensely.
“Ow!”
“Poor Santa baby,” Charlie coos with a sarcastic pout. He reaches down to wrap his long fingers around Nick's wrists, sliding Nick's arms up beside his head, pushing him firmly into the door with his body, pressing his weight against him, enjoying dominating Father Prickmas. He sinks his lips and teeth into Nick's throat, devouring his musky skin. Must be hot under all that velvet and all those people if his tangy, slightly salty taste is any indication. Charlie laps it up.
Nick is pleasingly responsive to his touch, both verbally and physically, and his sighs and shudders give Charlie the confidence to fuck around with him a little. “I'm waiting,” Charlie breathes into Nick's ear, still holding his wrists tightly beside their connected bodies.
“I kind of need my hands if I'm going to stuff your stocking,” Nick replies tersely, a slight breathlessness undermining his business-like tone.
“Mmm, but you don't need them to apologise for being a twatty Santa do you?” Charlie says, sucking and nibbling on Nick's earlobe, nipping hard enough to make Nick inhale sharply.
“Seriously? You actually want me to apologise for earlier?! I'm here aren't I? Is that not apology enough?” Nick huffs, craning his neck so Charlie has more access to continue his assault of bruising kisses. Instead, Charlie pulls back to shoot Nick a pointed look. Nick whines under his breath at the loss of Charlie's teeth on his skin.
“You literally threw me on the floor! I deserve a proper verbal apology for that, dicksack!” Charlie demands, eyes narrowed, lips puffy from grazing against the stubble on Nick's neck. Charlie releases his grip on Nick's arms, carding one hand into Nick's hair and pulling firmly, making Nick whimper. Charlie's other hand presses flat against Nick's chest, then slides firmly up to Nick's shoulder as he leans in close and whispers, “Give it to me, and I'll be so good,” into Nick's ear.
Nick shivers and Charlie feels his dick twitch against his thigh. “I'm not giving you the Santa-sfaction.” Nick's voice is thick with both desire and defiance, and Charlie's done with foreplay and teasing. Fuck this guy. Literally. Now.
“Fine, I'll fuck my apology out of you then!” Charlie snaps, stalking to his bedroom, confident that Nick will follow. He does. Charlie pulls his jumper over his head and raises an eyebrow at Nick.
“What? You just assumed you'd be the one going down the chimney tonight?” Charlie challenges, as he throws his jumper on the floor and gestures impatiently for Nick to do the same.
“I am Santa… if the red coat fits…” Nick says, clearly appreciating Charlie's toned body, his eyes roaming olive skin and defined abs, as he peels off his Santa jacket and tosses it onto the end of the bed. They continue to bicker as they strip down to their boxers.
“But it doesn't fit, does it, Nicholas?”
“Didn't hear you complaining about that in the Grotto, Charles. ”
“No, because I couldn't get a word in edgeways with all your bitching and whining!”
“Excuse me, bitching and whining?” Nick's eyes blaze as he stands, hands on his hips, in just a pair of brussels sprouts patterned boxer shorts.
“Yes, you little bitch, whining about how you're so hot you strike fear into all snowmen in a five mile radius,” Charlie mocks, flushing as he slyly appraises Nick's nearly naked body out of the corner of his eye. He is meltingly hot.
“You are so fucking sarcastic, you massive baubellend!” Nick bites back, clearly finding a semi-nude Charlie just as attractive if the strain of his festive fabric is anything to go by.
“I wasn't being sarcastic when I said I'm going to fuck some manners into you,” Charlie says, grabbing supplies from his bedside drawer.
“I hear talk; I see no action. Santa is fairly busy at this time of year, you know,” Nick tsks, tapping his foot on the floor impatiently.
Charlie turns, tossing some lube and a condom onto the bed. He moves into Nick's space, pushing him onto the bed beside them, and then climbs over him, straddling his strong thighs. Charlie’s fingers dance lightly across Nick's belly. “You want action? All you have to do is say two little words...”
Charlie strokes the bottle of lube on the bed suggestively while he waits for his overdue apology. Nick clamps his mouth shut like a petulant child.
“I'm…” Charlie prompts, rolling his hands in the air in a ‘come on’ gesture.
Nick glares in response. Charlie traces the line above Nick's ridiculous boxers excruciatingly delicately. He drags his fingers up to stimulate Nick's nipples, and prompts Nick again.
“I'm… aww come on… I'm…”
Nick stays firmly silent, although Charlie notices a rapidly spreading damp patch over one unfortunately placed sprout.
“I'm…”
Charlie huffs and crooks a finger inside the waistband of Nick's boxers. “May I?”
“Fuck yes!”
“Oh, good. You can talk,” Charlie mutters as he rolls off Nick to slide away the veg and release the meat. Nick's girthy dick snaps up and, wow, Christmas really has come early for Charlie. Holly jolly me.
“I'm…” Charlie repeats as he slides a teasing finger under the band of his own, non-ridiculous underwear. Charlie basks under Nick's appreciative, hungry gaze as he removes his boxers, his own lengthy cracker standing proud in the dimly lit room, begging to be pulled.
Charlie climbs back onto Nick, straddling him again, grinding just enough to spur Nick into action. With a frustrated groan he reaches a large hand up to cup the back of Charlie's head and brings him down forcefully towards him to crush their lips together. They grind and kiss messily, hungrily, swearing into each other's mouths, hands grabbing hair and biceps and pecs.
"I'm sorry," Nick pants, staring hungrily at Charlie's wrecked lips as if everyone forgot to leave him his milk and cookies for the past decade and he desperately needs nourishment.
“There see, was that so—” Charlie starts, before Nick suddenly flips them over, Charlie landing with his back on the bed, pinned under Nick's bulk, knees up from straddling Nick moments before.
“I'm sorry you’re such a scroogy little fucker,” Nick growls as he reaches for the lube and snicks it open.
“I'm sorry you won't stop yapping,” he says, lubing up his fingers and reaching back, seemingly enjoying Charlie’s gasp at the cold as Nick touches him.
“I'm sorry that nothing for the rest of your life will ever live up to what I'm about to do to you,” Nick continues, as he circles Charlie's hole with his finger, his other hand roughly gripping Charlie's inner thigh as he pushes his leg back a little further. Charlie quivers beneath him, swearing softly and clutching fistfuls of the duvet.
“I'm sorry that you're going to get hard as shit every Christmas from here on in until the day you die, remembering how Santa wrapped up the biggest gift you ever got and delivered it hard,” he smirks as he breaches with his fingertip. Charlie is pretty sure he won't just be getting hard over this particular memory at Christmas time alone, but okay, sure.
“I'm sorry you'll still be feeling this come New Year's Day,” Nick says, voice husky now as he pushes his finger in, causing Charlie to mewl and bite at Nick's shoulder. He'd be embarrassed but, fuck, who cares? Imm says Nick's a good guy, and they clearly have chemistry, but this is just a festive one shot, right?
“And I'm sorry that you're an absolute dick-wreath,” he finishes, as he adds a second finger easily. “You're so ready for me — couldn't wait for me to get here to open your present, hmm?”
Charlie nods beneath him, his back arching off the bed as Nick continues to open him further. Nick is decisive and confident and fuck Charlie finds it so hot.
“Green, yellow, red. You got that?” Nick instructs.
Charlie nods, ready for more.
“Excuse me?”
“Yes,” he strangles out.
“There, that's how you get on Santa's nice list,” Nick purrs, finding Charlie's prostate in reward.
“Greengreengreen!”
🛷🛷🛷
Nick grins wickedly. He pulls away for a moment to roll on a condom and lube hinself up, adding more to Charlie too but warming it this time. Then he slowly, steadily parks his sleigh in Charlie’s arse. He follows Charlie's lead, until his chestnuts roast against Charlie's warm skin. Nick closes his eyes and quietly names the reindeer for a moment. Charlie adjusts but does not give the green for Nick to move.
“Yellow,” he breathes as Nick opens his eyes and searches Charlie's face for readiness. “I’m…” Charlie prompts once more, circling his hands in the air again.
“Oh my god, are you not going to let me move until I actually apologise?!”
Charlie shakes his head and strokes himself coyly while he waits. Nick curses himself for finding Charlie’s stubbornness so hot.
“I'm sorry alright! I'm sorry I was a massive candycunt, now can I please fucking fuck you?!”
It's Charlie's turn to smirk. “Green. So fucking green. Was that so hard now?”
“I'll show you hard, you absolute wankwaffle!” Nick proceeds to fuck Charlie dizzy until Charlie blows his snow and tips Nick over the edge too, chest heaving, shouting merry expletives as he comes. He pulls out of Charlie and disposes of the condom and they lie beside each other, panting as they recover. That was… wow. If Charlie didn't have daddy issues before, he sure as shit will now. Daddy Claus issues, Nick grins, feeling very proud of himself.
“Thank you,” Charlie says softly after a little while, rolling onto his side to face Nick, resting a slender hand on Nick's freckled belly, “for apologising. I'm sorry, too. I really didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable at the Grotto.”
“Oh, you're welcome. For the apology. I really am sorry. I shouldn't have assumed you were hitting on me, and I shouldn't have acted so dickishly about it. If I'd had my eyes open when you said what you said I would never have been such a bellend. I probably wouldn't have said anything at all, I mean… Look at you! You're way too beautiful for me to talk to!” Nick blurts, feeling his cheeks heat up.
“What?” Charlie squeaks, “Shut up! I'm not the one with a line of people queueing up to sit on my lap! You're the beautiful one,” he says, running his fingers up Nick's body to card them into his floppy hair, damp with sweat. “Imogen says you're wonderful, you know? Kind and sweet and loyal. ‘Like a puppy,’ she said. She's been messaging me about you all afternoon, actually.”
“Yeah, she's been talking you up to me, too, between grotto gawpers. She said you play the drums? That's so cool! And apparently you're also smart and funny and kind… Maybe—” Nick reaches for Charlie's free hand, then hesitates and pulls back.
“What?” Charlie asks, reaching out to link his fingers reassuringly between Nick's. Charlie smiles an adorable, dimpled grin. Nick hasn't properly seen his smile. It's much nicer than his scowl and gives Nick flutters in his belly.
“I was going to say, maybe we could go for a drink sometime? Imogen's usually right about people… It's okay if you don't want to though.” Nick mumbles shyly, covering his eyes with his free hand. “I know we didn't exactly… hit it off at first.”
“I'd like that,” Charlie smiles, reaching up to plant a soft kiss on Nick's cheek. “I have eggnog in the fridge if you fancy a drink now? Maybe we could watch a Christmas film?”
Nick uncovers his eyes and nods, beaming at Charlie like… Yep, Imogen was right, I'm acting like an excitable puppy. Dammit. Charlie drops a kiss onto Nick's furry chest and pads to the kitchen for eggnog.
“Green, yellow, red. You got that?” Charlie instructs faux-bossily when he returns and reaches for the TV remote. Nick blushes and nods.
“Jingle all the Way?”
“Red.”
“Home Alone?”
“Yellow.”
“Arthur Christmas?”
“Greengreengreen!”
🌨️🌨️🌨️
They watch Arthur Christmas lying next to each other on Charlie's bed; Nick back in his novelty underwear, Charlie donning a pair of avocado-patterned boxers gifted to him by his brother so they're even. They chat shyly over their disgusting yuletide drinks, making nervous eye contact and giggling a little as they talk. When they load up Die Hard, they're under the covers, three drinks in, eagerly listening to each other's hopes and dreams. By the time they press play on Get Santa, Nick is snuggled into Charlie's side, drinks and boxers long forgotten, while Charlie strokes his head, basking in the warm glow of their second orgasms of the evening.
Nick agrees to stay the night, after a rousing rendition of “Baby It's Cold Outside” — that Charlie was really rather pleased he maintained a decent pitch for throughout — and a convincing point well made that walking through Leeds city centre at 3am dressed as Santa's slutty cousin would be less than wise. Charlie finds Nick a spare toothbrush and a clean towel and swoons a little as he watches Nick’s round, freckly arse boing off to the bathroom to get ready for bed. What a wild day. To think, all Charlie wanted was a hit of festive cheer and maybe a Christmas colouring book. Instead, he got a double hit of festive queer and a dot-to-dot of hickeys down his inner thigh.
🐻❄️🐻❄️🐻❄️
Charlie spends the rest of the week leading up to Christmas firmly attached to Nick's red velvet hip. They walk through the city hand in hand, admiring the twinkling Christmas lights. They play and kiss in the snow like giddy, lovesick teenagers. They bake Christmas treats and survive on gingerbread and chocolate chip cookies and iced vanilla biscuits for the week, snacking on them between insatiable shagging. They stay up late every evening – talking and laughing and falling fast.
Each night, wrapped tightly in strong rugby arms, Charlie wonders if Nick is a Christmas miracle who will disappear when the clock strikes midnight at the end of Christmas Day. He quietly dreads opening his advent calendar each morning, each little door a chocolatey reminder that reality looms over them in the form of Christmas Eve trains to their respective family homes. So when Christmas Eve Eve rolls around, Charlie is unapologetically peak clingy.
“Do you have to go and tidy away the Grotto tomorrow morning? Is that really Santa's job? Surely that's why you have elves?” Charlie whines from his position under Nick on the couch, his arms wrapped tightly around the shoulders of the man snuggled on his chest as they take a breather from snogging passionately to the dulcet tones of The Muppet Christmas Carol playing in the background.
“Yes, my figgy pudding. They want all the Christmas stuff gone by Boxing Day,” Nick replies, softly kissing the pout from Charlie's Rudolph-red lips.
“But I'll miss-tletoe you!”
“What if I sneak you in with me in Imm's elf costume? You could come and help?”
“What?! You want me to dress as one of your sexy elf girls?”
Nick nods. “It could be hot?” He blushes. “And. Well... I’m not really ready to let you go just yet. If you come and help me take the Grotto decorations down, it gives us a little more time together...”
Charlie weighs his options. He really doesn't want to look like a complete tit in front of Nick. And what if they get caught? But also, this might be it. He's acutely aware they haven't discussed what comes after the holidays and he's starting to worry that might be because Nick doesn't see this relationship outlasting the snow. If he only has one more day with Nick, he's not going to waste it alone in his room.
“Fine. But I'm ripping the stupid bell off the hat.”
“Feisty. I like it!” Nick growls, sitting up to pull his t-shirt over his head before sinking back into Charlie's arms and kissing his mouth, his jaw, his chin… The soft touch of Nick's lips is everything. Charlie feels flames licking his skin where Nick's tongue brushes against him. It feels so good, so right. And not just physically. To Charlie, this incredible man on top of him, pressing his weight down on him so deliciously, outshines all the lights on all the Christmas trees in all the world combined.
It's a real Claus for concern how bad Charlie is down for what was supposed to be just a festive fuck, but he just can't help himself. He craves more than just Nick's Christmas. He wants his New Year's, his Valentine's, his Easter… Charlie pushes his spiralling thoughts down and sinks into Nick's deepening kisses. Nick is here now; thoughts of the future can wait.
🍪🍪🍪
“What. The. Jinglebells?”
Nick delights at the horrified expression on Charlie's face as he steps off the bus bright and early on Christmas Eve and takes in Nick's hoodie and joggers, and the casual clothing of the handful of other workers who mill around in the cold outside the store waiting to be let inside to remove all traces of Christmas and bring in the sparkly New Year's themed decor before the store opens mid-morning.
“Santa, you absolute sack!”
Charlie stands shocked in Imogen's elf costume, his toned, trim figure accentuated beautifully by the shimmering red and green spandex. He stamps his foot angrily on the ground, the accompanying jingle catching the attention of the other workers, most of whom have the decency to cover their laughs with polite coughs. Charlie's furious expression is completely undermined by the rosy red circles he's painted on his cheeks and the spattering of dark freckles he's drawn across his delicate nose. He yanks the stupid hat off his head and throws it at Nick with a huff.
Charlie turns to leave but Nick grabs him by the elbow and pulls him firmly to his chest, lowering his head a fraction to murmur into Charlie's ear, “Where exactly do you think you're taking that temper and that arse, Elf? I'm Santa, remember. I'm the boss. I didn't say you could leave.”
“I'm taking my arse home tinsel-tits! I can't believe you set me up! I thought— Fuck you!” Charlie glares, looking up at Nick, blue eyes flashing ice white with pure anger. Nick's heart races under the intensity of Charlie's gaze. He looks so fucking hot when he's raging.
“Please do,” Nick breathes, tracing a light circle on the inside of Charlie's wrist. “In the Grotto chair. With this attitude.”
“Wait. You wanted to make me mad?! So we could have festive hate sex in your golden Santa chair?” Charlie hisses, an incredulous look on his face.
Nick nods, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Like we wanted to the day we met.”
“You absolute, utter fucking prick!”
“So that's a yes?”
“Yes, it's a yes, shithead.”
Nick's boss arrives with the keys. He punches a code into a panel on the wall and unlocks the doors, forcing his way inside to flick a switch which sets the automatic door sensor working. The doors open and the workers pile in, Nick and Charlie bringing up the rear.
“Brought yourself a little helper, Nelson?” The man laughs as he turns to lock the door behind Nick and Charlie.
Nick lets out a strangled “Yep!” as he's shoved hard towards the Grotto by an irate and impatient elf.
They rush to the Grotto and tumble inside, Charlie dragging the tree from the corner of the room to push against the back of the door, ensuring no unexpected visitors come for a final sit on Santa's lap only to find it being ridden furiously by a semi-clothed elf. Nick grabs some supplies from his pocket and removes his pants, sitting back on his Santa throne with a saucy grin and a rather large present to wrap for his angry little elf.
“Let me check my list, see how naughty you've been,” Nick says, pretending to read the back of the condom packet in his hand.
Charlie glares at him again as he struggles his way out of his ridiculous tights and straddles Nick on the chair. “You're the naughty one, making me dress like this for no good reason!”
“Is this not a good enough reason?” Nick asks, wrapping his arms around Charlie and reaching up for a kiss.
“I'm not kissing you! I'm mad at you! We absolutely could have done this in our normal clothes!” Charlie huffs, snatching the pocket lube from Nick's hand.
“Yes, but I thought this would be more appropriate… for old times’ sake...”
“Shut up and let me jingle bell rock your world one last time!” Charlie demands. Nick's posture changes and the hot, cheeky expression drops from his face.
“Red.”
Charlie immediately jumps off Nick's lap, dropping the lube as he lifts his hands up. “What? What's wrong, Nick?” Nick watches Charlie looking towards the door handle, checking it for wiggles.
“One last time?” Nick asks quietly, all the excitement and energy draining from his body at Charlie's words. Is this just a holiday romance for him? Oh god, is it just a casual fuck to him? Has Nick managed to be overly extra, yet again, and get carried away in the Christmas spirit and dream up a relationship that doesn't exist?
“Well, we haven't talked about what happens after Christmas, and you haven't asked—” Charlie replies slowly, hesitantly perching himself back on Nick's lap.
“Char! Boyfriends are not just for Christmas, haven't you heard that?!” Nick blurts out, his distress smashing his social filter to pieces. Oop.
“That's dogs, not boyfriends, idiot!” Charlie shakes his head fondly, then smiles a huge, dimpled smile that immediately settles Nick's nerves. “Wait, boyfriends? We're boyfriends?”
“Well we have spent almost every single moment together since we met— this hasn't just been a hook up for me. Has it for you?” Nick asks, worriedly.
“No. It really hasn't.” There's that smile again. His boyfriend's smile. Nick's been calling Charlie his boyfriend in his head since they baked their Christmas cookies together the day after he spent that first night. He doesn't let just anyone lick his spoon…
“Good. Then shut up about ‘one last time.’”
“Don't tell me to shut up, boyfriend — where did that lube go?”
“I will tell you to shut up if you're saying stupid stuff like ‘one last time’ — it’s there.”
“How was I supposed to know we were boyfriends?! — Move your hips.”
“I figured it out, so you could — fuuuuuck green!”
🐧🐧🐧
Charlie enthusiastically elicits his second apology from Nick just before the store opens to the public. Then they set to work boxing up the Grotto decorations, rolling up the cotton wool snow and carrying the winter animal sculptures to the basement to be stored until next year. Nick hands in his Santa suit and they leave hand in hand to get some lunch and pick Nick's bags up from his flat. Charlie throws on one of Nick's hoodies that he ‘borrows’ in a moderately successful bid to look slightly less ridiculous as he walks Nick to the train station.
“I'll see you when you get back?” Charlie checks as they arrive at the station.
“I'll run to your door the minute I get off the return train, Char,” Nick reassures him, planting a light kiss on Charlie's forehead and wrapping his strong arms around his boyfriend’s waist.
“Okay. Good. Erm… I got you a present. Well, I stole it actually…”
Charlie reaches into the pocket of his stupid elf dress and produces the prop nice list from the Grotto. “Sorry I didn't get a chance to wrap it.”
“Char!” Nick grins, accepting the ornate scroll. He unrolls it and sees Charlie has written in big, bold letters ‘Santa is a wankbasket’ in sharpie over the generic names that have been carefully calligraphied onto the parchment. He must have done it while Nick was taking the baubles off the Grotto tree. Cheeky elf.
“I definitely won't get the Santa job next year now!” Nick laughs, shaking his head.
“It's only a little list, Nick! They won't notice!”
“It's not just the list though!” Nick says, looking a little shy. He pockets the list, shrugs his backpack off his shoulder and crouches down to tug at the zipper. He pulls out the Santa hat with a flourish and stands, handing the hat to his boyfriend. “Merry Christmas, my baubellend!”
Charlie smiles and hugs the hat. “Merry Christmas, my miserable twat!”
Nick slings his backpack back onto his shoulder and sighs the resigned sigh of a man who has to leave his new boyfriend’s side and would rather be trampled by a herd of reindeer than do so. They kiss, a long, lingering, fuck-who-sees kind of kiss, and Nick reluctantly heads towards his platform. Charlie stands and watches him walk away. Nick turns back at the last minute and shouts over the crowd, “Char, what was the joke you were going to tell me in the Grotto? The one you said would get my bowl full of jelly shaking?”
Charlie blushes under his very smudged elf makeup, and raises his voice over the mass of people bustling around them in all directions.
“Knock, knock!”
“Solid start. Who's there?”
“Ho ho.”
“Ho ho, who?”
“Your Santa impression needs a bit of work!”
“Oh. My. God, Charlie! That's terrible!”
Charlie laughs a massive belly laugh at Nick shaking his head in mock outrage. They hear Nick's train being called over the tannoy, and Nick blows Charlie a kiss as he hurries to his platform before he misses his train home. Charlie squeaks happily to himself. Yeah. This is definitely not just a festive one shot.