Work Text:
Man, November was a blip.
You’ve had a quaint Thanksgiving and a chaotic Black Friday, and you’ve done quite a lot leading up to this day. There’s been a fuck ton of Christmas events you’ve has to attend, so you’ve rarely been home.
You’ve put decorations up when you had time, though it’s been lackluster, you just feel like you can’t breathe because of the holiday events nowadays. It’s not by choice either, it feels like the world is cruel and cares more about the holiday and less about the people. Your town is a prime example, you’re sure that there’s light pollution from all the Christmas lights.
You thank whatever god was above you because you have the evenings off, so you were able to set up everything. It seems the town decided to go all out on the Christmas spirit in general: Four groups of Christmas carolers, a two-hour Christmas tree lighting ceremony, a hallmark movie binge, an ugly sweater contest, and countless parties. All of those festivities and your awful work schedule, mixed as well as it could sound. Haha…… you wish that was true.
You’re tired, very tired. So, you and a few acquaintances decided to have a silent Christmas Eve. Sleeping won’t be difficult because of the constant running around town leading up to today. Now, you’re just here with some good people enjoying each other’s company.
“Are you doing anything tomorrow?” An acquaintance asked you as you poured them a glass of wine, and you shook your head, “No, I think I’m going to rest, I’ll probably visit family on the twenty-sixth.” They nodded, deciding to sip their newly poured glass. It’s been a lot for them too, they had to set up some of the events.
“Makes sense,” They took another sip as they lounged on your sofa while a Christmas movie, which you thankfully haven’t seen yet this year, plays on low volume, “Work still harsh on you?” You scoffed, “When is it not? God, I’m counting down the minutes until I can relocate.” They raised their glass, “Cheers I’ll drink to that one.” You quickly grabbed your barely-touched glass from the end table nearby. You clinked glasses and you plopped down on the couch after you put the bottle in a safe area.
You didn’t feel like drinking, but you felt obligated to when the two people joining you asked for a glass. Your glass was barely sipped out while the other two drained theirs, “Wow, was the Christmas spirit too much for you?” They rolled their eyes, “Each year they cram more and more social events on the calendar to the point where we might as well start right after Thanksgiving. I mean, Mariah Carey’s song is going to be blasting right after Halloween in the distant future.”
That got a laugh out of you, then the other person spoke up, “Even if the events are optional, everyone will know and they’ll stare. It’s like something ripped out of a horror movie.” Now that, you’ll drink too. “If we don’t attend any of the events, Frosty the snowman will give you a semi-permanent brain freeze.” You said, taking another sip of wine. You could see one choked on their drink while the other snorted, “You’re speaking from experience?”
“No, but a bunch of angry snowmen was made in my front yard overnight. It was quite a sight to see when I woke up.” You pulled out your phone and scrolled ways until you found the desired image, you then showed them the image. To which they squinted, the alcohol must’ve tampered with their vision, they let out a laugh and shook their head. “Thumpity, thump, thump, had a whole new meaning now.” You choked on your wine when they said that, it’s a corny joke, but it’s better than the crappy ones you hear constantly at big parties.
“You ass, I was mid-sip!” That got a laugh out of them, you stood up and put your glass to the side. That was when somebody spoke up, you don’t who because your back was turned, “Are you putting out cookies and milk this year?” You arched a brow and answered, “I can? I guess it doesn’t matter to me, I’m just glad I get the day off tomorrow.” “You mean, you get to sleep in.” You laughed at that statement, “You’re not wrong.” More playful banter was tossed around as you grabbed the bottle of wine to pour them another glass. The first one declined respectfully and put their glass in the sink.
You went to go pour your other guest another glass of wine, but they politely decline, “Thanks, but I best be going.” They pointed to the pitch-black outdoors, “It’s already dark out and I need to rest.” You were going to offer the guest bedroom, but they knew you all too well, “I’ll be fine, I ate way too much at that Christmas Eve feast, it’s borderline gluttonous.”
“That reminds me…Did you see the mayor? He devoured over a third of the chocolate! What’s his name again?… Paul?” You tapped your chin as you led your guests over to the door. “Yeah, need me a guy like that.” One responded with a sigh, you playfully punched their shoulder.
Both of them grabbed their coats and bid you a good night on your front porch. When you shut the door and the cold air from outside quickly vanished. Only then did you consider baking cookies. You’ve baked some a week ago, but it was for the annual baking contest, see where this is going? You then had to make extra batches for the parties as well, giving you an abundance of ingredients.
Sure you were tired, but it’s only eight and the night is still young. You got the ingredients out and began to turn your brain off for the next three hours.
.
And what a wonderful three hours it was. It was nice to let your brain wander instead of having a phone pressed up to your ear listening to the awful quarter the company is in for the eighth time this week. When you weren’t at the office for some days, you were dealing with all these meetings at home.
You turned off all the lights except a few choice lights in the kitchen. You turned off the tv as well, after an entire year’s worth of chaos crammed into one month, silence is what your brain screams for the most. You were the only one making noise, even then, it was so silent that it could rival the stealth of a cat.
Everything was silent, for once, everything was nice for you. No cinnamon fumes burning your eyes, no more itchy outfits, no more smell of peppermint imprinting every single inch of your clothing.
Speaking of smells…..
The smell the cookies gave off didn’t make you want to go nose-blind from the amount of sugar you had to add for the local baking contest, so mixing up the recipe was out of the option. Christ, you felt like the grinch dealing with The Whos, it makes you feel bad for him (And relate to him). You prefer to have teeth after you choose to eat one. But now that you’re alone, you decided to choose a family recipe, the one that would bring genuine smiles and memories to people who ate them.
Now was also the time you allowed yourself, and the alcohol, to relax any held-in tension for god knows how long. You let out a sigh as some choice joints in your shoulders and back, had popped. After that, you began to decorate the cookies as you pleased, no shitty local patterns you have to abide by, just you and your intricate mindscape. You smiled, and you ended up detailing some of the cookies that you’re quite proud of: four metal tendrils, a piece of dragon-shaped jewelry, and a tophat to name a few.
You pulled out a plate for the cookies, nothing special because if you see the Christmas patterns on another piece of tableware, you might lose it. You then put the well-designed cookies on the plate and stretched your tired bones. You’ve been at this for a while, it’s probably a good idea that you head to sleep, your eyelids are getting droopy and your legs are heavy.
You were about to call it a night, you had already left the kitchen anyway until you heard something hit your roof. Okay, a hit would be an overstatement, it felt like something had lightly perched on it. You would’ve only been able to hear it if the house is silent, which it is, so you quickly ducked behind the couch. You tried to silence your breathing as you could hear the softest of footsteps reach your chimney.
You could hear something, or someone, slide down the chimney chute with ease. You had barely any time to think when you heard something land with a heavy thud. You held in a gasp as you tried to see who your intruder was through the small gap between the couch and the floor.
You peeked your head ever-so-slightly around the corner of your couch, “No fucking way.” You were looking at a red coat with matching pants, coal-black boots, and the trademark hat. The only difference with the supposed Santa displayed in front of you is that his hair and beard are gray instead of the white that you’ve seen in every single advertisement. You like him this way over what you’re used to seeing in all those ads though.
He’s tall, big, and broad as he’s looming over your kitchen island. You can see him admire your cookie craftsmanship. He picked one up and ate it, you can see a smile form on his lips as he chewed. “Terrific.” He breathed out, his voice is so warm and welcoming, just like the fireplace he came out of moments before.
Whatever subconscious noise you made caused him to look in your direction, he froze and you were a deer in headlights. Your eyes grew wide and you scrambled back, “Holy shit.” he dropped the cookie back on the table.
You took in a deep breath, about to scream which he noticed, “Hey, hey, it’s all right!!” He held out his hands in from of him, “I’m not going to hurt you!!” “I know that!” You yelped as he took a heavy step towards you. “Then why are afraid of me?” He arched a brow as you tried your best to stumble away from this situation, “I’m not! It’s because I didn’t know you were real!! I also wasn’t expecting Santa Claus to come in through my chimney!!”
He pressed his lips to a thin line, you were about the question why but he spoke again, “Santa is more of a title.” He wriggled his gloved hands nervously and his cinnamon-brown eyes averted your gaze for a brief moment, “My name is Jim, Jim Claus.” He formerly, in an attempt for this bizarre situation, introduced himself.
His eyes found their way back to you, “And you?” He timidly waits for an answer, to which you indulge him. You can see the apple of his cherubic cheeks turn slightly pink and he smiles, “What a wonderful name, sweetheart.”
He bent down and helped you up from the floor, pulling you close to him. He radiates so much warmth, it’s comforting, to be honest, well, it makes sense for such a large and soft man from the north pole to be very warm. It would be weird if he wasn’t.
He didn’t let go of you for a fleeting moment, his hands are obscured by the leather gloves, but you can still feel the plush palms holding your hand and forearm. He releases you and there’s an awkwardness in the air.
He coughed in hopes of clearing the thick tensions forming between the two of you, “Your cookies taste lovely.” You were still in a bit of a daze from the absurdity of this moment, but you quickly sobered up from your stupor and answered, “I’m glad you do, it’s a family recipe. I figured I might make good cookies instead of making the ones so sweet your teeth hurt, I’ve attended too many events where those sugary nightmares were the norm.”
Jim gave you a soft smile in response, “You sound like you’ve been through a lot.” You gave an exasperated laugh, “You have no idea.” He huffed at your response, “I might” You arched a brow, “What do you mean?” He simply shrugged in response, “Maybe the groups of carolers that visited you might jog your memory.” ‘He knows when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re awake. He knows when you’ve been bad or good-’ You facepalmed, you’ve looked stupid in front of friends and peers before, but Santa? You feel like this is a whole new level of embarrassment. “Wow.” Your face went bright red, and you wanted to disappear if you’re being honest, seems like your shyness rears its ugly head even when you’re tired.
Jim noticed that you were about to hide in your shell, so he used his gloved hands to coax your tense shoulders. “It’s all right, dear.” You resisted the urge to lean back on his bulk, from what you’ve seen his stomach is so pillowy and welcoming that you’d never want him to leave if he is cuddling you.
He leads you back to the kitchen island, “I’ll have to be going soon, I might take your cookies to go… if you don’t mind that is.” He looked almost bashful when speaking the latter half. You waved him off, “I understand, and I made them for you after all.” You quickly maneuvered out of his hold and quickly wrapped up his cookies. As you did so, you can feel those soft brown eyes gazing at you blissfully, in a trance.
You then handed him the cookies, placing the makeshift package in his gloved hands, “I know you don’t need it, but good luck.” A smile formed on his face once more, “I’ll need it for sure.” He turned around and went to the chimney, but before he did so he spoke again saying your name, “And one more thing,” He paused for a bit, “Make sure you have time to sleep in, you’ve been so busy this entire month.”
And with that, he went back up the chimney. It’s so bizarre, but it ended up happening.
.
.
.
Wow.. what a fucking year.
To sum up the remainder of your last one, the second Jim left was the second you got an email from your boss: you got promoted… holy shit.
Normally you were wary because such sudden promotions, or any at all, are a double-bladed sword. The pay is better-ish, but you know that the work amount has tripled in weight. That, ironically, didn’t happen to you.
The workload loosened up a bit, mainly because you have more importance and maybe they want to keep the important people alive and happy.
Anyways, now you find yourself once again pulling out the cookie sheets from the oven and inhaling the scent the cookies gave off. You made quick work of decorating them too, you decided to switch it up a bit: a dagger, a golden idol, and a book. You didn’t really like to decorate the cookies in a traditional Christmas sense, you liked to put your own spin on them, making them more appealing to you.
Once again, all of the lights -except a few choice ones in the kitchen- are out, and you now wait for your jolly visitor once again.
You didn’t have to wait long, for you could hear the lightest thump on your roof and you can feel excitement bloom in your chest. You can feel the eagerness grow and bud out to be a bright red poinsettia, plucked and wrapped to present to the man sliding down your chimney at this very moment.
You see the familiar big black boots land on the chimney floor, you hide a small chuckle as you hear Jim grunt as he tries to get his paunchy upper half out of the chimney. “Do you need help?” You failed to hide a chuckle. You got a groan in response, so you grabbed hold of his boots -making sure you have a firm grip on his legs rather than the shoes themselves- and pulled hard. It was like the entire chimney was lubricated at that moment when Jim slid out. It happened so quickly that you ended up losing your balance and tumbled forward. Jim’s round tummy cushioned your fall, he let out a moan in protest when you landed on his distended belly.
You tried to get back up but thick arms prevent you from budging, “Stay. I haven’t sat down since this morning, it’s quite nice.” You let out a small chuckle and adjusted his circular glasses, “But I made cookies.” He sat up instantly and carried you to the kitchen like he owned the place.
You thought you were going to be freed from his hold when he sat down on one of the kitchen island chairs you recently bought, but no. He plopped you down on his lap, and you can feel your face burn a deeper scarlet red than his entire outfit.
You then slid the plate with your cookies over to his free hand, “Thank you,” He said your name with a softness that no man has spoken to you before… ever. He happily took the cookie and observed it, “Interesting design.” He admired the detail you put with the frosting. “Oh, I was sick of making Christmas-themed cookies, so I’d rather make the cookies look like the trinkets shown on screen during my favorite movies.” You explained with a shrug. Jim nodded, relaxing his bushy eyebrows from furrowing.
He took a bite of the Idol cookie and let out a content hum as he chewed, closing his eyes and resting his head on yours, “I love your cookies.” You snorted, “Just my cookies?” Jim let out a belly laugh, his tummy jostled -along with you- while in his merry state.
He ignored your jab and explained his earlier statement, “These remind me of the cookies my mother made for my father and I.” He smiled fondly at that distant memory, “I’d have to be quick if I wanted one, my dad would eat up that batch before I could even say a word. And from what I heard from him, his father did the same thing.” You laughed along with him as he hoisted you up higher on his lap, all those mall Santas’ have nothing on the real deal. His clothing doesn’t hide his figure at all, those thick thighs might as well be a throne to you.
You rested your body against his plump torso as he tells you more about these treasured moments of his, “My dad’s name was Chris because of his wife’s maiden name, Kringle. And my grandfather was St. Nick himself.” You gave him a knowing nod and he continued, “After a Claus reaches a certain age, they take on the role of Santa, then the one before him retires and we serve until the next Claus comes next in line.” He huffed an airy laugh, “At my age, I should’ve found a spouse to share the name already, like my father and his before me.” He shook his head, I’m not sure if I’ll ever find the one. You felt something pinch your heart, “I have faith, what’s not to like?” You readjusted a part of his coat correctly and you can feel his shift around, which told you to stand up.
You missed the warmth of his body heat, but he has to keep moving, who knows if he’s behind schedule or not? It worries you a bit if some houses will be skipped. “Do you want me to wrap the rest of the cookies for you?” Jim nodded eagerly as he finished his cookie on hand and stood up, only then did you realize how much taller he is compared to you.
You handed him the wrapped cookies and he turned to leave, not before asking, “Will you give me the recipe for your cookies?”
“No,” You smiled as if the answer was obvious, “You wouldn’t come back.”
“My profession requires me to visit every single house on earth in one night, naughty or nice.”
“Well, it keeps you here longer.”
You heard a hearty, “Ho, Ho, Ho!” As a response when he climbed out of the chimney.
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These past few years gave you a new outlook on Christmas… in more ways than one. You find yourself anxiously waiting for the holiday season time and time again. No, not the theming or all of the pointless merchandise, it’s for the man of your dreams that you only see once a year.
And you wish you can see him more than that, honestly, he hits up every house in the world and saves you for last. Just so he can be with you for a moment longer. The times he hoisted you on his lap while the fireplace crackles to life, no movie, and no music, just his presence was enough to make you happy.
The town’s local festivities still take a toll on you, but you’ve persevered through all of the events. They even decided to dedicate entire weekends to all sorts of events. You find yourself booking it around town after helping prepare the hot cocoa and eggnog for their respective chugging competitions, Jesus where do you even start with all the new events they added?!
They added multiple secret Santa parties, white elephants, and a bunch of gift exchange parties. You’ve only bought a bunch of gag gifts and everyone seems to love them, so you take it as an absolute win. The town also decided that the Friday before Christmas is the Holiday Cheermeister competition, now you feel like you’re in Whoville.
Amongst that chaos, work has finally calmed down to the point where the festivities don’t make you want to uproot your scalp from the amount of hair-pulling stress. You’re now able to work from home and at a comfortable rate. Which is something you thought you’d never see yourself doing.
Anyways, it’s once again Christmas Eve, and once again you find yourself waiting anticipatedly for your favorite man to meet you by the fireplace. Jim is deceptively fast, for a man his size he slips through a chimney, and all the gifts are delivered very fast, and then he’s onto the next house then the next neighborhood.
Every time he leaves you start to feel a pit of despair starting to form in your stomach as if he won’t come back next Christmas, you’ll be just in a loop for the rest of your life.. waiting for him. You get butterflies every time he comes, and nervous every time you see him leave. In all honesty, you want him to spend the night with you. Words cannot describe how badly you want to wake up pressed up against his soft middle.
You eagerly wait through the day and all of the stupid crazy parties and ceremonies for his arrival.
.
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After all this time, he never thought he could fall in love.
Well…. He fell as any other Claus would. Cookies.
A way to a Claus’s heart is through his stomach. That’s what his father had said, and even what his grandfather said before him. It’s like a family credo, similar to Gomez Addams falling for his spouse. His father and his before him had told Jim the stories of how they met their respective Mrs. Claus. They were lovely, warming his heart everytime he’d hear them.
Again, he just never thought he’d fall in love.
But then came you.
Then it felt like the north pole relocated to the south. He’d often get distracted by checking the naughty and nice list by thinking of you. Although if a Claus were ever to fall in love, only the nicest would suffice, even if you weren’t he’d still fall head over heels for you.
Managing the toy production would always put any thoughts of his at bay, then he’d catch sight of what you wanted this year and the head elves would snap him out of his stupor. “Jims’ got goo-goo eyes, who would’ve thunk.” Would be their reprimand, they’d then scold him a bit when he practice sleigh riding. He was a professional and didn’t need to practice, but he found himself taking frequent rides to clear his head. Then he’d start to fantasize about landing on your roof, see where this is going?
He was once known as the “No Funny Business Jim” with the belief if all the work gets done and done right, everyone would get a break for a month. That’s what November is for anyway, then they’d party up until the night of Christmas Eve.
“Sir are you alright?” One of the toy maker interns found him leaning on the balcony railing, alone. They’ve heard from their peers and superiors that this is a common thing for Jim, saying that he wasn’t one for noise, but in recent years that can’t be the only reason… right? Workshop gossip spreads like the first snow. Some say it’s because of his age, others say because of his solitary growing up, but they think otherwise: the big man -more-so giant- is lonely, in love, but for who?
They’ve heard rumors tossed around the coordination team -a a circle of top elves that help and assist every single time that sleigh takes off the ground- that he’s suggested alternate routes making his already perfected route longer. After all these years of being able to take off a sunset and make it back way before sunrise, he chooses to skip one house, then return to it and not leave before the sun breaks the sky. It just doesn’t make sense. Not one but.
“Hm? Oh, I-“ Jim knew he couldn’t bluff, the elves are always way too smart for their own good, “I’m thinking.” The intern scoffed, “I’m told you do that a lot recently.” Jim scoffed a laugh, choosing to sip his hot cocoa instead of answering. They took notice of that and decided to press him further, “Where’s your cookie? You normally take a few that the elders make, something wrong?”
“I’m saving room.” Was his answer, hoping that it worked.
It didn’t.
“It’s that person you stay with on Christmas Eve, isn’t it?” He froze, they nailed that right in the kisser. He glanced over at the elf, shocked to find out they are just an intern although they read him so well, they should get a promotion.
He let out a long sigh, “Got that right, I wish I can be there longer. It’s getting harder to keep up on the Naughty and Nice list. I keep getting distracted.” He took a hesitant sip of his hot cocoa, he eyed the elf.
“How many years have you done this?” The intern asked. “Well, it can’t be that long-“ He began to count the years in his head, his look becoming more and more solemn. That was enough for the intern to connect the dots, “Why don’t you give a gift?” Jim arched a brow, “I’m Santa? It’s my job.”
The intern snapped out of it, “No, No, I mean a gift that doesn’t require wrapping. A gift that’s a surprise despite everyone knowing what it is. A gift that one can choose to accept or reject.” Jim gave them a knowing nod.
“I’ll do that,” He turned to the intern and patted them on the shoulder,
“Tonight.”
.
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You FINALLY were able to return home after the final Christmas ceremony, thank fuck. As much as you have feelings for the big man himself, you wouldn’t get THAT much into the holiday spirit. You’d maybe sing a few carols at most.
You sat down on the couch with a sigh, you’re going to need a minute to free your legs from how long the ceremony lasted. Yeesh, looking at your watch, you discovered that the ceremony upped two and a half hours from last year. What is up with these people????
It’s crazy how with each year they somehow manage to cram more and more local festivities into the calendar. So much to the point, the press had interviewed the mayor and a few locals about the ludicrous amount of festivities.
Speaking of the mayor, your friend was able to steal his heart and tie the knot over the course of the Christmas’. According to them, he has an unquenchable hunger and thirst. Apparently, they’d try to settle his bottomless appetite, only plumping him quite a lot in the process. Anyways, it’s quite cute how they hold hands in public, the mayor showing off his spouse to the world, you wish you could have that.
You were half-tempted to pour yourself a glass of wine, but you held back. Something in your gut and the back of your mind wanted you to stay sober this Christmas Eve. You let out a sigh, that will be the last you will acridly participate in the annual ice skating race. It irks you to no end that the town’s mortician is so light on his feet, it’s like the owner of Plott’s funeral home is meant to be a dancer after all.
Anyways, you needed a minute to recharge, and then you’re up and at ‘em, you start to think of designs you want to put on the Christmas cookies.
Sooner or later, you’re back on your feet and marching toward the kitchen before any further thoughts were typed out on this doc.
Before you knew it, you were making cookies to pass the time. You find that with each passing year, it’s getting a lot harder to deal with only seeing Jim once a year and it’s not even for that long either. Just an hour or two and he’s out, gone too soon. You feel jealous and guilty every single time he leaves, his absence is starting to leave a huge hole in your poor soft, and squishy heart.
You didn’t even have the time to decorate the cookies when you heard the faint ‘thump’ hit your roof, and immediately your heart lept for joy. You had to refrain from squealing like a schoolgirl about to ask out her crush to the dance, to finally reel in her man after a very long time worth of attempts of luring him to the hook.
The cookies began to give off that smell that Jim liked when he, coincidently, slid down the chimney. You just took off the oven mitts when you saw those coal-black boots hit your floor. You smiled ear to ear as you waited patiently for him to duck out of the fireplace and over to you. In recent years, you had fixed the chimney so Jim doesn’t struggle to get in your home. You found out that he gets so excited to see you that his training goes out the window when it comes to proper Claus techniques.
When he stood to his full height, his eyes immediately went to you, “Hello.” The way he said it with such earnestness and emotion makes butterflies fly wild in your stomach and helium balloons float high in your chest.
“Hi.” You were so choked up and yet, you responded with such raw emotion matching his tone as well. An air of calmness enveloped the room as your eyes bore into his hearty soul. You only wish you can be in this moment longer, or at least have him stay the night with you.
“I’m sorry, I haven’t decorated the cookies in time-“ You stared but Jim shook his head at your statement, “Don’t worry, it gives me time to put the gifts under the tree.” “Gifts?” Jim scoffed, “I’m Santa Claus, it’s my job.” You let out a chuckle and nodded, one anecdote you wouldn’t tell a soul is that Jim went from saying your tree to the tree as if you shared it with him like he was a husband. You wish that statement was true.
You decided to decorate the cookies hastily, going with a clapperboard and a Martini. You turned around and saw that Jim was holding something in his gloved hand. “Is something wrong?” You approached Jim with concern lacing in your tone, he’s been completely bashful since he slid in tonight, and it’s making you a bit nervous if you’re being honest.
“I have an extra gift for you that can’t wait until Christmas Day.” He then gets on one knee, saying your name with such love and tenderness, “Will you marry me?”
You tackled him, “Of course, I will!” You held onto his soft tummy for dear life, afraid that he’ll take it back and leave you once again. You then strengthened up only to pepper his face with kisses, Jim slipped the golden band on your ring finger while you were doing so.
“I love you so much, Jim.”
“And I as you,” He then picked you up and somehow got the both of you on the roof, “Would you like to spend the night with me?” He awaited your answer as you got a look at his sleigh and reindeer. He held out his to convince you more.
“I thought you would never ask.” You took his gloved hand and he hoisted you on his lap as he began to steer the sleigh home.