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“Are you sure you’re okay to take him?” Lisa asked for the thousandth time as she juggled opening her car door with one hand and an armful of festive gift bags with the Tupperware full of fresh cookies in the other. “I know it was last minute, but Ben’s friend got sick and they had to cancel his sleepover,” she explained.
“Nah, Lis, you know I’ll never turn down spending time with Ben,” Dean assured. “You go have fun at Dr. Right’s Christmas party, Ben and I will have a guy’s night. It’ll be fun. We’ll go to the mall, get a bite to eat, maybe hang around a bit to cruise for some chicks; what do you say, Ben?” he winked at Ben, who was obliviously lost in his Game Boy.
“‘Cruising for chicks’, hmm?” Lisa intoned with doubt in her voice. She raised a brow. “Does that mean you’re finally getting back out there?”
“What do you mean?”
Lisa gave him a sympathetic look. “It’s been a while since Lee, Dean.”
Dean sighed. His tumultuous break-up with Lee had been nothing short of the emotional equivalent to a Western shootout, and he’d needed a proportional amount of time to lick his wounds. “I’m just… taking my time, alright?”
Lisa gave his face an encouraging pat. Dean hated himself for wanting her hand to linger. They hadn’t been together in over eight years and had long since settled into a comfortable friendship, but there was something about the holiday season that tended to make his… touch starvation, or whatever the hell, worse.
Maybe it was the weather.
“You take your time. Who knows, your own Mr. Right could fall into your lap when you least expect it.”
Dean made a doubtful noise.
“Ben, game,” Lisa held out a hand once she loaded up her car.
Ben grumbled but obediently shut off his Game Boy and handed it over. She ruffled his hair and kissed him on the forehead. “Be good,” she told him. “Thanks for the cookies,” she said to Dean, before backing out of the driveway to head for her boyfriend’s Christmas party.
Ben looked up at him after her car disappeared from view. “Can I pick the music?”
“Only ‘cause you have good taste,” Dean conceded.
Ben grinned, jumping into the passenger seat of the Impala to rifle through Dean’s tapes.
“Back in Black, a classic,” Dean approved, popping in the tape while Ben got settled in the backseat to get buckled in. A lap belt wasn’t exactly road regulation, but it was better than nothing, and it was the only way Dean (or Lisa) would let Ben get in the Impala.
They sang along to Hells Bells on the way to the mall, making Dean reconsider his life choices and whether or not he was a good influence on his godson when an old lady gave him the stink eye at a red light.
One look at the kid’s happy face in the rearview mirror made him shake the insecurity off once the light turned green.
His speed didn’t save him from beating the evening crowd, though, and he had to circle the lot a few times to find a spare parking space once he pulled into the mall. Once they finally walked in, the Christmas jingles were barely audible over the din of people rushing around to get their holiday shopping done.
Garland draped every storefront, and giant ornament statues decorated every corner, propping up signposts promising deals and the best gifts of the season. It was a plethora of opportunities, but Dean and Ben shared one mind, looking at each other when the smell of fresh bread wafted in their direction.
“Pretzels,” Ben agreed, sticking close to the edge of Dean’s coat as they waded through the crowd, following the scent to the food court, where a giant Christmas tree scraped the windowed ceiling, overlooking the tables.
After they ate, they walked around aimlessly until Ben asked, “Can we go in there?” pointing at the GameStop storefront. “I want to play the demo of the new Grand Theft Auto.”
“Is that an appropriate game for you? Whatever happened to Mario Cart and Super Smash Bros?”
“That stuff’s for bitches,” Ben complained, but in a tone of voice that made Dean think he didn’t mean it.
“Hmm. You sure this isn’t about that Ryan Humphrey kid picking on you again? He say something to you?”
Ben shrugged.
“Hey. Ryan’s a real jerk. I bet you he just says that ‘cause he doesn’t have any real friends to play Mario Cart with. You play what you want to. Come on, let’s go check it out,” Dean said, skipping past the wall of nearly sold-out games with parental advisory stickers on the front, and toward the demo controllers to test out the new Mario Cart.
Ben’s insecurity faded as they played, and Dean mentally filed away the game as a gift option to buy later during the week. They played for a while, Dean stepping back when he saw a kid a few years younger than Ben wanting a turn. He smiled as he saw Ben give the kid some tips, letting him win.
Dean ruffled his hair, slinging an arm around his shoulders to keep him from getting lost in the passing crowds as they continued walking around.
“You found a gift for your mom yet? If you want to get her something here, it’s on me; you can take all the credit.”
“We made ornaments in art class…” Ben said, uncertain.
“We’ll find something,” Dean reassured. “Hey, let’s go see if Benny’s substitute is any good, I heard someone else volunteered this year,” he suggested, guiding him over to where the mall usually had a faux snowscape and Santa’s workshop.
Instead of a reasonable handful of families, Dean was overwhelmed to find a long line that almost wrapped around a different wing of stores. “When did we become Herald Square’s Macy’s?” Dean muttered, bewildered. The only time he’d seen a line this long to see a mall Santa was the one Christmas that Dad had taken them to New York City, and he and Sam managed to sneak away to explore the city, passing through the chaos that was SantaLand as they did.
“Where’s Benny again?” Ben asked.
“On his honeymoon in Greece, where it’s nice and warm. Lucky bastard,” Dean said. “Wanna join the line? We should do it now before it gets any longer.”
“I’m kinda old for that. You know I haven’t believed in Santa in like, three years, right?”
“I know, but it might be a nice surprise for your mom if we get your picture taken. It could be a good stocking stuffer,” Dean suggested.
Ben thought about it, making up his mind when he saw not only Ryan Humphrey near the front of the line, but also a girl from his grade that he liked a few spots ahead of them. Ben smoothed his hair back, straightened his jacket, and joined the line to work his way up to talking to her.
Dean scanned the crowd, noting a few giggling young adults scattered throughout, whispering to each other and pointing excitedly to where the substitute Santa was sitting. Dean tried to get a look, but Santa was obscured from view by the sea of heads in front of him.
Dean’s phone went off before he could say anything.
“Sammy?” Dean asked, plugging his other ear with his finger so he could hear better over the people around him.
“Hey— where are you?”
“With Ben, at the mall. We’re getting his picture taken with Santa.”
“Oh,” Sam sounded surprised. “That’s good, glad you’re out and about.”
“What does that mean?”
“It’s just… you know. You’ve kind of been a shut-in since Lee.”
“Have not,” Dean retorted, but when he thought back to the last few months, it was true. Aside from working at the garage and a handful of alternating visits with Sam and Lisa when they pestered him, he hadn’t been going out. Not to bars, certainly not the mall. He’d been moping on his couch, perfecting his baking skills, and rewatching his favorite movies.
Not that there was anything wrong with that, Dean maintained.
“Okay, maybe I have,” he conceded. “But I’m fine! Like I said, I’m hanging out with Ben. Why’d you call, anyway? We still on for Christmas?”
“About that… I wanted to ask what you thought about me coming down the day after Christmas. Jess wants me to meet her parents, and they invited me to dinner at theirs the day of. But I can tell them I—”
“No, hey, I get it. Don’t cancel your plans just ‘cause of me. I’m grown, I can handle it. I’ll see you the day after, alright?” he encouraged.
“You sure?” Sam asked, with concern in his voice.
Dean gave an exasperated huff. “Yes, Sam. Now get off the phone, it’s not nice to keep a lady waiting. Say hey to Jess for me.”
“Hi, Dean!” Jess’ voice, muffled in the background, called out before they hung up.
Dean smirked, pocketing his phone and mentally rearranging his holiday plans.
Ben gave him a searching look.
“What?”
“Do you want me to ask Mom if you can spend Christmas with us?” Ben asked, half sincere and half hopeful.
Dean laughed. “Oh, no, you’re not using me to get out of spending the day with your stepdad-to-be.”
Ben groaned.
“Come on, he’s a good guy, and he seems like he wants to show you he cares about you. Give it a shot, alright?”
“Fine. But you shouldn’t have to be by yourself.”
They shuffled up as the line moved, and finally, Dean could catch a few glimpses of Benny’s replacement. He couldn’t see anything at first— a flash of blue here, rosy cheeks there— but as he got closer, Dean started to understand why there were so many lone adults and teenage girls in the line.
He was kinda… buff for a Santa. Thick, and not in the traditional way. The top half of the red velvet suit was padded out to compensate for the difference between the substitute and Benny’s frame, but Dean could tell that there was nothing fake about the way Santa’s thighs strained against the fabric of his pants.
“Huh,” he muttered.
By the time they got to the front of the line, Ben had already finessed his way into a play date with the girl from his class, getting Dean to exchange Lisa’s information with her mother.
“Who’s ready to see Santa next?” a cheery elf asked, holding two thumbs up.
Dean ushered Ben forward. “Go get ‘em.”
“What’s your name?” Santa asked as Ben stepped up. The register of his voice carried underneath the cheery music, under the sound of kids screaming and playing in the fake snowscape, and over to Dean’s ears, settling warm and low in his abdomen, like a shot of good whiskey.
“Benjamin Isaac Braeden, but you can just call me Ben,” Dean laughed as he heard Ben say it, from where he was filling out an order form on a clipboard that another elf handed him.
“It’s good to see you, Ben. Is that your dad?”
“No, that’s my mom’s friend, Dean.”
Dean looked up from the clipboard, just as Santa looked up at Dean, catching eyes for a moment.
“Just a friend,” Ben emphasized.
A flush of embarrassment settled in Dean’s chest. Come on, Ben.
Santa didn’t seem to be bothered and continued. “Have you been good this year?”
“I think so. Sometimes I use bad words or I do things that make Mom mad, but overall I try to be good. I don’t want to be a jerk, like some other people I know.”
Dean smiled as he heard Ben talk. Ben was a real good kid at heart, and sure, he might pick up some of his bad habits, but Dean liked to think it was for the greater good, as he often stood up for those around him the way he used to for Sam when they were little.
“What would you like for Christmas?”
“I want Dean to be less lonely,” Ben said frankly, then widened his eyes as he looked at Dean— like it had been on the tip of his tongue for a while but he hadn’t meant to say it aloud.
Dean froze for a second before laughing nervously, waving it off. Great, now the hot Santa thought he was a loser who had kids try to pick up some game for him.
“You’re supposed to ask for something for yourself, Ben,” he encouraged.
“Well, I think that’s a noble wish indeed,” Santa praised, not missing a beat. “Others would do well to learn from you, Ben— wanting happiness for others is the best gift of all.”
Dean smiled as Ben did for his photo, patently avoiding Santa’s eyes, wondering why they sort of looked familiar.
When Ben hopped off Santa’s chair, rejoining Dean, he couldn’t stay mad. He ruffled his hair as they walked out.
“Do me a favor, and uh… don’t tell your mom about what you asked for, okay? We’ll keep that between us.”
“Only if you don’t tell her about Ryan, only bitches tell their parents.”
“Deal,” Dean promised.
They enjoyed the rest of their evening, going back to Lisa’s to watch movies on the couch until Ben conked out on his shoulder.
When Lisa slipped back in, she asked, “Was he good?”
“Always is.”
***
As he had resolved, Dean went back to the mall during the week, choosing to go right as they opened, before he opened up at the garage.
The mall was kind of quiet on weekday mornings. Nothing but store owners, mall walkers, and a handful of shoppers, like him, trying to get the lead on stock and deals.
If he was lucky, he could beat the rush and lines, and pick up the game he had pre-ordered for Ben, maybe even take it over to the Hallmark store or a department store and see if he could get it gift-wrapped— Dean’s gift-wrapping expertise was limited to using Sunday cartoons and Scotch tape.
He walked past the Santa station, where two elves were setting up. Dean slowed his stroll to snoop around: no Santa yet, though a few parents were already lining up with their cranky-looking or still-sleeping babies.
After picking up the game, he was once again distracted by the scent of just-baked pretzels on his way to find a store to get it wrapped.
The air was thick with the enticing, heavenly scent of butter and cinnamon sugar from the pretzel kiosk. He inhaled his order of pretzel bites, and as he was licking sugar off his fingers, sipping from a cooling coffee, he checked his watch to make sure he still had time to find a place. He was so busy checking that he didn’t notice where he was going until he bumped into someone, spilling coffee all over himself and the person’s shirt.
“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry—!” Dean’s apology died in his mouth as he met piercing unnervingly familiar blue eyes.
“Mr. December!” Dean exclaimed, wanting to slap his mouth immediately.
Every year for their community fundraiser, the local fire department sold a pin-up style calendar featuring one of the department’s firefighters in a saucy pose each month. Every year, Dean went to support Benny and always bought a calendar. Every year, he laughed at Benny’s plastic-fanged pose as Mr. October… and for the last twenty-odd days, Dean had been staring at the new Mr. December’s gorgeous eyes from where he hung in his garage office, fantasizing about getting friction burns on his inner thighs from that touch-of-gray beard.
Dean’s upstairs brain caught up with his downstairs brain. “I’m so sorry, I should’ve been watching where I was going.” Please forget that I mentioned your calendar, he mentally prayed.
Mr. December didn’t seem to mind.
“It’s alright.” His deep voice resonated with Dean, flowing down low in his belly, and he realized he hadn’t just run into Mr. December, but the mall Santa he had seen over the weekend. It made sense that Benny’s replacement would be someone else from the fire department.
Though part of the illusion was gone, Santa still maintained his rosy cheeks and jovial expression. “It’s nice to be recognized, I appreciate your support,” he smiled, leaning against the wall so that they’d be out of the way of passersby.
Dean joined him, fiddling with his near-empty cup. “No problem. Actually, uh, I’m friends with Benny, I dunno if you’re ever on shift with him. I was in the fire academy for a while, too. I always wanted to be a firefighter, so I’m always happy to support those who are.”
“That’s very kind of you.” Santa cocked his head. “You said you were in the academy; do you think you’ll return?”
Was that hope in Santa's voice?
“Probably not,” Dean admitted. “My Dad owns– owned– have you seen Winchester Auto in town? That’s him. Me. I’m Winchester. Dean, obviously— though I guess Ben already told you that…” Dean tripped over his words, stopping to take a deep breath. “My brother had just been accepted to law school in Cali, so when my dad died, I… I couldn’t bring myself to sign the family business over to some stranger, and I dropped out to take over.”
Santa looked sympathetic, then pleased. “You do good work. When I first moved here, you repaired the hydraulics on my Lincoln Continental.”
Dean remembered the car clearly. He’d been so busy that day that he begged Kevin, whose mother had shown up with him at the garage one day to negotiate for a summer internship to put on his college application, to help out with the intake. From under the carriage of the rustbucket he’d been working on, he hadn’t caught much of the car’s owner other than the swishing ends of a trenchcoat, but there had been no forgetting the ‘78 Lincoln when he rolled out.
“Yeah. I remember your car. She still holding up? Winter can be hell on a delicate chassis like hers.”
“She’s in my garage for now, I’ve taken to borrowing my friend’s truck.”
“Good. Hey, listen, I feel bad about staining your shirt,” he said, looking at where the unreasonably tight t-shirt strained against Santa’s biceps, “Can I run and buy you a replacement from somewhere nearby?”
Santa laughed. “Please, coffee’s far from the worst thing to get on me, I’m an expert in stain removal.”
Dean quirked a brow. He didn’t judge– he’d scrubbed more engine oil and grease out of his clothes than anyone he knew. “You’re not secretly a murderer are you?”
“No, but… being around children tends to get you used to all sorts of mishaps rather quickly. Milk, puke, glue, juice… if it’s spillable, it’s been on me. I wouldn’t have volunteered to take Benny’s place as Santa had I not been prepared for such.”
Dean laughed, imagining Benny warning this would-be Santa about the gig. “Well, I still feel bad. Are you sure?”
Santa hummed. “If you’re insistent on atoning somehow, then maybe you can give me some advice, instead. I recall you coming here with… Ben, was it?”
“Yeah, my godson. Good memory.”
“You're good with him.”
“Thanks.”
“Since you seem to have more experience… might you know a good place to get a gift for a pre-teen girl?”
Dean raised his brows, wondering if Santa was a DILF.
“Um, what’s she like? There’s a Claire’s somewhere around here, it’s all… earrings and sparkly stuff. Does that seem like her kind of thing?”
Santa wrinkled his nose. “Her name is Claire, and she has piercings, though I think that’s where the similarities between my niece and the store end.”
Dean relaxed. “Ahh, a niece… she in a rebellious phase?” he guessed, recalling Sam’s preteen years acutely.
Santa nodded.
“Hmm. You might try Hot Topic, it’s a few stores down. Perfect for sullen emo crap and novelty stuff. I’m sure you’ll find something there.”
Santa brightened up. “I’ll try there, thank you… Dean, right?”
“Yeah.”
“See you around. Be good,” he winked.
Dean felt a flush of warmth in his belly as Santa walked away. He stood, watching Santa walk toward the direction of the Hot Topic until he disappeared from view.
“Fuck me,” he muttered, and checked his watch.
Looks like it would have to be newspaper wrapping again this year.
***
Dean sighed to himself as he poured eggnog into a carafe, spiking it after a split second of thought. It wasn’t like he was driving anywhere or had anyone to see the next day. He sipped at the batch, adding more whiskey until it tasted close to the heavy-handed way Sam used to make it, and poured himself a generous glass.
He lined up a stack of his favorite holiday flicks on his coffee table, ready for an evening on the couch. The game plan was to watch all the sad and sappy movies first and get all his crying out of the way, and then watch the funny ones later. That way, hopefully, he’d feel okay come Christmas morning.
He made it through It’s a Wonderful Life with only a few tissues, making a fresh batch of cookies before he started up Home Alone.
The batch hadn’t been cooling for more than a few minutes when he was startled by a thump above him.
He muted the TV, tensing when he heard another thump and what sounded like footsteps walking across his rooftop.
“What the hell?”
He jumped up, setting his glass down. He thought about getting his gun, an old relic from Dad that he never used, but the clattering noise descending his chimney gave him no time.
“No way…!” he panicked, grabbing the first thing he saw on instinct for self-defense— a never-used fire poker— and holding it like a baseball bat. He wondered if maybe he hadn’t accidentally slipped himself something extra with his eggnog when the upside-down face of a Santa popped through the fire grate, dangling from the Christmas lights that had been decorating Dean’s roof.
“Help,” Santa muttered pitifully, muffled by his beard.
“What the… hang on.” He warily set the poker down, moved the fire grate out of the way, and carefully untangled Santa.
“You okay, buddy?” he asked, hoping that he hadn't just helped some weird, elaborate-scheming murderer or thief— stopping when he came face to face with not just any Santa, but the mall Santa.
“Mr. December?”
“Oh! Dean,” Santa said in relief as he straightened out, sounding as surprised as Dean felt.
“Hey. No offense, but what the hell are you doing in my house?”
Santa looked apologetic, taking off his strap-on white beard to reveal that delicious graying beard of his. “I apologize, my godson lives next door to you— do you know the Klines?”
“Yeah, actually, Jack goes to Ben’s school, I’ve carpooled him home a few times.”
“Oh, good! Well, Kelly knows I volunteered to fill in for Mr. Lafitte’s position at the mall since he’s on his honeymoon this year, and since I still have the suit she asked me to drop in and pretend to be Santa for Jack; he was so excited,” he smiled. “But… as I was on the ladder to get off her roof, I fell back onto your roof. I tried to get down as quickly as I could, but I tripped and got tangled in your lights, and one thing led to another, and…” he sighed, looking down at himself. “I must look a sight,” Santa bemoaned, brushing his rumpled suit.
“You’re a fine sight to me,” Dean said before he could help himself.
The Santa looked up, eyes twinkling. “I am?”
Dean felt heat rush to his cheeks and blamed it on the eggnog as he nodded. “Are you alright?”
“I think so, your lights caught my fall. And I must say, your chimney is the cleanest chimney I could ever have had the luck to fall into,” he commented, looking back at the soot-free brick.
“Yeah, I never use it,” Dean mumbled. “Still, you sure you’re okay? I have a first aid kit, maybe I should… check you out.”
There was a heavy weight to the beat of silence that followed as Santa considered the offer. “Maybe you should.”
“Why don’t you have a seat, make yourself comfortable.”
Santa obliged, sitting in the armchair by the tree.
When Dean was out of view, searching his bathroom medicine cabinet for the first aid kit he kept around, he paused to take a few deep breaths to calm his pounding heart.
Any calm he’d gained while away disappeared as his heart picked up the pace again at the sight that waited for him. In the light of his Christmas tree and the TV, his Santa looked pretty good, all things considered. His legs were spread slightly, his lap so inviting.
Dean restrained himself as he visually scanned for any scrapes, cuts, or bruises— years of patching Sammy up after he’d fallen or played too rough or been pushed by some jerkass-bully meant he was an expert by now in quickly finding even the smallest of injuries, even the ones that others were trying to hide.
Thankfully, Santa hadn’t sustained more than a few scrapes and cuts around his forehead through his ordeal. It seemed as though the suit had taken the brunt of any damage for him.
“Well, it’s a Christmas miracle,” Dean murmured as he gently dabbed some Neosporin onto the largest scrape. “All good,” Dean finished, taping a butterfly bandage over the small cut over his brow. His fingers lingered, itching to drift down and run them through the salt and pepper scruff of his beard. “So, Santa… do you have time to stay for a nightcap, or would Mrs. Claus get upset?”
“There’s no Mrs. Claus,” Santa admitted. “Nor another Mister, for that matter.”
Dean felt a flicker of hope in his chest.
“All by your lonesome in the North Pole?” Dean asked.
“It’s not so bad, right now.”
A fluttering warmth stirred in Dean’s groin.
“I’ll bring you that nightcap, then, and some cookies— they just came out of the oven, they should still be warm.”
Dean poured a scotch glass full of spiked eggnog and settled a slightly melty chocolate chip cookie onto a plate, bringing it out to him.
Dean’s heart was in his throat, beating wildly as his legs tensed, gathering courage.
He sat down on Santa’s lap, holding his breath.
Santa grunted, and Dean immediately regretted it, thinking back to all the baking samples he’d had throughout the month (hell, all the treats he’d had since October if he’s being honest with himself)— but Santa grabbed his hips and pulled him closer until they were sharing breath.
If Dean had breath left to share, anyway.
This close he could really appreciate what a beautiful blue Santa’s eyes are, and could notice all the white and gray peppering the brown of his real beard. The real deal was even better than a certain calendar picture.
“This okay?” Dean whispered, and Santa rumbled, taking a pleased sip from the glass Dean offered.
“Mmm, perfect,” he complimented.
Dean broke off a piece of cookie, melted chocolate dripping onto his fingers in strands. He held it to Santa’s plump lips, letting out a shaky breath as Santa licked his thumb.
He ate the cookie like that, as offerings from Dean’s fingertips. When the cookie was gone, he continued blessing Dean’s skin with his lips, kissing up from his fingers to his knuckles, his wrist, up his forearm, to the juncture of his exposed neck. With one arm wrapped around his waist, one gloved hand wormed under the fabric of Dean’s shirt, over his shoulder, holding him in place so Santa could nuzzle him.
Dean gasped as his beard rubbed his neck, and his collarbone, rocking in his lap, crushing the cheap velvet of his pants.
Santa finished off the eggnog when offered, and Dean licked the dregs off his mustache, before finally sealing the deal with a kiss.
The empty glass and plate fell to the floor with a ‘thunk’.
“Have you been naughty or nice this year?” Santa asked as they broke apart for air.
“I dunno, I think I’ve been pretty naughty,” Dean played into it, wondering if this near stranger to him would spank him if he wanted.
Santa hummed, disagreeing. “No,” he decided, giving him a soul-searching look. “I think you’ve been good. I think you’ve been a very good boy, Dean.”
Dean gasped, becoming a puddle in Santa’s arms. “Yeah?” He asks, hating how desperate his voice sounded.
Santa rumbled, kissing his neck. “The best,” he tugged on his earlobe with his teeth. “And good boys get what they want for Christmas. Tell me, Dean, what do you want?”
“I think you know,” he said, leaning away to look Santa in his glacier-beautiful eyes.
“Ask me.”
“I want this,” he said, rolling his hips and grinding himself against the velvet of Santa’s lap for emphasis. He put a hand up to Santa’s face, scratching his beard. “I want you. I just want you, please—”
Santa cut off his pleas with a deep kiss, and Dean moaned into his mouth as they sank closer together. Gloved hands moved to squeeze Dean’s ass through his sleep pants, kneading his cheeks like dough. Dean groaned, belatedly remembering he was wearing his favorite hot dog PJs. Maybe it should be flattering that he could still get some while wearing them.
He worked the top half of Santa’s suit off, pausing to run appreciative hands over the muscles it obscured. He slowly slipped Santa’s undershirt off, taking his time to reveal a wall of abdominal muscles. Dean ran a hand over Santa’s chest, wanting to bend down to bury himself in between his pecs.
“Fuck,” he hissed.
Santa chuckled, kissing Dean’s wrist before gently moving Dean’s arms away, long enough to encourage Dean to raise them so he could snake Dean’s shirt off.
Dean felt nervous for a moment, heat coming to his cheeks at the stark contrast between Santa’s tan, work-worn body and his own. It wasn’t that he didn’t have muscles, too– repairing cars was no easy feat, and he was often on his feet. He just didn’t have the same body he had a few years ago when he was actively doing daily drills for the fire academy, and before he picked up baking as a hobby.
“There you are, gorgeous,” Santa whispered, his gloved hands running an appreciative hand over Dean’s belly, the same as Dean had to his arms. “You’re beautiful,” Santa declared, and cupped his face, bringing him close for a kiss so that they could feel the contrast of their torsos against each other.
Dean turned his head to tug the gloves off with his teeth, finger by finger. Santa got with the program, tearing the other one off and throwing them to the floor.
Tan hands with long fingers took a moment to stroke Dean’s face again, to trace the contour of his cheeks, tracing his lips. Dean took one finger in his mouth, knuckle by knuckle, his cheeks hollowing out as he sucked them wet, not breaking eye contact as he did. One finger, then another; meanwhile Santa used his other hand to work Dean’s pants and underwear off. Dean whimpered at the feeling of the velvet against his bare skin— This was so wrong, they were going to have to tell Benny to get a new suit.
Dean paused in sucking on Santa’s fingers to shove the velvet pants off, dropping them around booted ankles. Santa’s cock was just as impressive as the rest of him as it sprung free from his briefs, and Dean burned with the need to feel him, all of him, now.
Dean leaned forward to suck bruises onto Santa’s neck and shoulders as those wet fingers circled his rim, teasing him. “Please!” he gasped, sinking into the burning tightness as Santa opened him up, slowly— one knuckle at a time, one finger at a time, until Dean was ready.
When Santa’s cock finally filled him, and he sank fully onto Santa’s lap anew, it felt right. Dean’s hands couldn’t decide if they wanted to feel Santa’s chest, his beard, or his thick thighs, frenetically roving over all of him. He wished he had more hands so that he could feel all of him at once. He tried to get as deep as he could on the chair, but couldn’t– and gasped when Santa picked him up, stepping out of his pants and boots, leaving them behind as he took them over to Dean’s couch, where the TV was still paused on Macaulay Culkin’s shocked face.
Santa shoved a few throw pillows under Dean, making sure he was comfortable before he hooked Dean’s bow legs over the catch of his hips. The angle made Dean’s tummy fold over more, but with the way Santa gripped his thighs tight, like he didn’t want to go, that possessiveness exorcised Dean’s body of any needless self-consciousness.
Dean didn’t care, focusing on the rainbow halo of light that his Christmas lights and ornaments made around Santa’s handsome face, his expression so painfully fond and enraptured, a heavy contrast against the animalistic noises coming out of him, against the way he was slamming into Dean’s ass and snapping his hips.
Pressure built in Dean’s groin, building, and building— and when Santa let one final, harsh snap of his hips, letting out a hearty shout, Dean yelled, “Santa!”
He collapsed against the couch, boneless. He laughed as Santa grabbed a cookie from the coffee table, taking a ravenous bite before he slid out of Dean, snuggling up behind him instead. Santa kissed Dean’s neck as he caught his breath, cookie crumbs falling into crevices they shouldn’t be in.
“You’re incredible,” Santa praised.
Dean beamed in the afterglow as Santa murmured nonsense praise and traded bites of Dean’s cookies and eggnog cup.
“I’ll be right back,” Santa said as he stood up.
Dean wondered if Santa was going to try to leave the way he came - up the chimney - but when Santa just started rooting through Dean’s kitchen, he shrugged and unpaused the movie, letting it play on low.
Santa made himself at home, coming back with some clean towels from his hallway closet so they could clean themselves off, and two glasses of water
After Santa drained his glass of water, giving Dean a glass and lovingly wiping them off, Dean was pleased when he settled behind him again, hooking his bearded chin over his shoulder to cuddle.
“So… you got a real name, that way I don’t have to call out ‘Santa’ next time?” Dean asked.
Santa let out a short laugh. “My name is Castiel.”
“Huh. I dunno if ‘Santa’ or ‘Castiel’ is weirder.”
“‘Cas’ is more than fine. Though I think you kind of liked it– calling out Santa,” Cas teased.
“Maybe I just like you.”
Cas hummed, nudging his chin. “So there’s a next time?”
“There’s definitely a next time. A thousand next times. A next time tomorrow, even, if you wanted. Or, hey— you have any New Year’s Eve plans?” Dean asked.
“Kelly is having a get-together… so if you’re staying in town, I’ll be right next door. I’ll ask her tonight when I go back if she’s not opposed to guests. Would you like to come?”
“Oh, I want to come,” Dean rolled over, grinding against Cas’ leg for emphasis. “I think my resolution is going to be to come more, with you. After the ball drops you can come back over to my place and we can do this again, what do you say?”
“Without the Santa suit, right?”
“Eh, I dunno…” Dean joked. “Yes; without the Santa suit, with the Santa suit, I don’t care, I just want you.”
Cas looked at him with half-lidded eyes. “Well, good boys do get what they want,” he said.
“Is ‘next time’ right now? ‘Cause you keep looking at me like that, it’s gonna be right now.”
“Whatever you want, Dean.”
Dean smiled as he kissed Cas, moving in for round two. It looked like his Mr. Right fell into his life, after all.