baby, it's cold outside
Title: Santa Jared (Hurry Down the Chimney Tonight) 2/2
Author: veterization
Disclaimer: I do not own these people.
Rating: NC-17
Genre and/or Pairing: Jared/Jensen (and a side of Steve Carlson/Christian Kane)
Word Count: ~17,000
Summary: AU. Jensen meets Jared Padalecki, the Santa at the store, and happens to fall for him. Festivity and romance ensues.
Part I
To be fair, accepting Steve’s offer of taking his archaic plastic tree, crookedly bent at the tip because the box Steve stores it in is a handful of inches too small to accommodate its size, might have been easier than going through the trouble of getting a real tree.
Then again, Jared Padalecki’s presence and with it, his addictive bursts of laughter, come with option number two, something that Jensen would choose blindfolded over the packaged promptness of an artificial Christmas tree.
Apparently, it had been a crime that by mid-December, Jensen was still sans tree, something that would have inevitably forced him to celebrate Christmas Eve sitting under a coat hanger decorated with ornaments versus sliding presents across the tree skirt and sipping hot chocolate by an impressively sized Christmas tree glittering with lights. His house in general is severely lacking any holiday festivity, front door free of wreath and mantle free of stockings.
Meanwhile, Jared’s house appears as if it’s been built off of a holiday card, the only thing missing from the explosion of cheer and Christmas being the ice rink full of twirling couples in red scarves sharing Eskimo kisses. He has garlands hanging from kitchen cabinets, lights strung not only from the rooftop but also from the indoor walls, snowglobes depicting elves and Santa carrying armfuls of gifts with wide grins, and best of all, a Santa outfit hung up in the closet.
So now he’s here, being led onto a Christmas tree farm stacked with trees tall enough to scrape the stars and green branches as far as Jensen’s eye stretches to the horizon. He can hear children squealing and watches as one toddler bundled in multiple coats yanks on the branches of one particularly fat tree from atop his father’s shoulders and proceeds to nibble on the needles now sticking from his fist. There are couples walking hand in hand observing the Virginia Pines and families circling the slender options on the left. Beside him, Jared is beaming like he’s about to adopt an energetic puppy instead of preparing to purchase a Christmas tree. Unfortunately, it’s contagious, and despite the bitter breeze and the chill of the brisk evening that whips on Jensen’s cheeks like a blade, Jensen feels a smile play on his own lips as he breathes in the fresh scent of pine needles and snow.
“My momma never would’ve left a house without a tree around Christmastime if she can help it,” Jared tells him, weaving between the lines of soldiered trees all differing slightly in size and height. “When I got my own place and, my dogs were always trying to eat my tree, so I almost thought about getting rid of it, but my momma wouldn’t allow it.”
Jensen fingers a few needles and slides his gaze back to Jared. There’s a faded green hat bunched atop his head, hair by his ears curling up around the hem, and the tip of his nose is a gentle shade of pink. His cheeks are equally whipped by the cold, rosy on the cheekbones when his lips split apart into a grin, and somehow, even without his Santa suit, Jared looks like Santa personified. Jensen watches Jared’s tongue slide out to lick over his lower lip, dry from the chill, and refrains from the bubbling urge ordering him to bury himself into Jared’s coat and press his nose into his neck. Somehow, even amidst a canvas of snow crunching under their shoes and the telltale wind of a December night, Jensen knows that Jared is warm. It’s not until Jared shoves his elbow into Jensen’s stomach that he realizes that he’s been ogling Jared’s teeth and the line of his jaw instead of critiquing trees. It’s not until Jared shoves his elbow into Jensen’s stomach that he realizes that he’s been ogling Jared’s teeth and the line of his jaw instead of critiquing trees and the two of them veer down a path laden with snow and proudly erected trees.
“Smell this one, Jen,” Jared pleads and almost pushes Jensen headfirst into a tree trunk. A branch of pine needles tickle his nose and worm up his nostrils, which Jensen would mind if it wasn’t for the broad hand splayed out on the small of his back and Jared’s eyes watching him for a reaction over the fresh, festive fragrance of a Christmas tree’s pine needles. Jensen takes a whiff and pulls back, silly smile still etched on his face that only seems to encourage Jared’s holiday spirit even further.
“It’s good,” Jensen says, and catches the aroma once more, “better than the plastic trees, that’s for sure.”
“What do you think of the tree?” Jared asks, hand on Jensen’s back curling over his hip as he pushes himself up onto his toes to peer at the peak of the tree and deem it suitable in terms of size. He ruffles the needles as if he’s petting the head of a furry dog. Jensen chuckles and leans into Jared’s side, warm like the soft air billowing from a furnace.
“Looks nice and big to me.”
“You think it’ll fit in your place?”
“Yeah, I bet it will.”
Jared trots around the tree, the hand secure on Jensen's hip sliding down from his torso to grab his hand instead. He intertwines his gloved fingers, fuzzy and knitted as if crocheted by a first grader, the yarn pulling apart and revealing slivers of Jared's palm that press straight into Jensen's hand, encased in warm leather mittens. He expects there to be glares from disapproving fathers at their PDA, repugnant glances from the trees salesman at the sight of their looped fingers on proud display in between their bodies, but there aren't. Jared's thumb rubs a slow, circular pattern on the back of Jensen's palm like it’s the most natural thing in the world for them to be constantly in contact, whether it be their hands intertwined or their thighs aligned when they sit on sofas together. Jared is always touching, touching things so much some might assume that he's a blind man searching out guidance in other people's arms and legs. He pats little children toying with Santa's beard on the head and holds their hands when they need assistance climbing onto his lap. He strokes Jensen's palm when he holds it, massages his shoulders when he's standing in front of him, and gives out hugs, genuine hugs that require involvement from both arms and thorough squeezing, as if whoever he's pulling into his embrace is a long lost relative rescued from the clutches of a lethal illness.
“These trees,” Jared says, nestling his nose deep into the branches and murmuring from within the cocoon of the tree's needles, "smell amazing. They need to make air refresheners that smell like this.”
The hand gripping onto Jensen's tugs insistently until Jensen stumbles into his side, catching a whiff of the scent of fresh pine needles when Jared waves a handful of fat, brilliantly green branches under his nose with his free hand. He looks thrilled. Thrilled to be breathing in the scent of a Christmas tree that only tickles the nose and reminds the brain of wintery memories of hanging up garlands and throwing snowballs down icy driveways during a certain time of year, thrilled to be perusing through a line of endless trees during a freezing night in December, the snow under their boots slowly causing cold to worm through the protection of their shoes and socks, thrilled to be doing it with Jensen pressed up against his side.
Jensen feels a trickling of warmth slithering through his veins that has nothing to do with the murky hot chocolate he was given in a Styrofoam cup upon arriving to the tree farm, the very tips of his fingers electrocuted with a burst of heat that seems to radiate from his heart. He feels like a character that jumped straight out of a Christmas special, caught in the snow, cheeks nipped pink, and feeling the undeniable surge of love in his belly. It feels overwhelming, cliché, and incredibly corny, but before he stomps the cheese into the snow beneath the sole of his shoe, Jensen indulges and furls his hand around the nape of Jared’s neck to tug him down, Jared going willingly with a wolfish smile when he realizes Jensen's intentions. Their chapped lips rub together, Jared’s tongue sliding out to wet Jensen’s lower lip and Jared’s hand, previously occupied ruffling the tree's needles, sliding up Jensen's jaw. Two gloved fingers prop up Jensen's chin as he kisses the cold away from his mouth, soft and languorous and spreading warmth throughout Jensen's limbs like the heat from a roaring bonfire.
When they pull back, there’s a snowflake on Jared’s eyelashes, delicate and incredibly small in comparison to the rest of Jared’s face. Jensen spies the slightest bit of evening stubble on his chin, a mark on his cheek, a miniscule scar by his eyebrow, a mossy green set of eyes, and a very pointy nose. The snowflake melts into Jared's eyelashes, and Jensen leans in for another kiss.
He’s pretty positive that he’d buy every tree on the lot if Jared would promise to keep kissing him in the snow like this. It still feels corny, it's still a scene that would have his roommates cracking up at exactly how much of a teenage girl in love Jensen is, and it still feels like something pulled from the middle of a romantic holiday film. But even if heavy duty cameras started recording their walk through the snow laden grounds to sell to Lifetime, Jensen couldn't bring himself to mind.
--
“Uh, Jensen? Santa Claus is here and he says you’ve been a very bad boy this year.”
Jensen throws the dishtowel at Steve when he starts chuckling over the tomatoes and turns out of the kitchen to where Chris is holding open the door open for a very stuffed, toothy Santa with a familiar set of teeth promptly on time for dinner. When Jensen had arranged tonight’s date a week prior, it had seemed like a splendid opportunity for the two of them to share a wintery night nestled into the same end of the couch while feeding Christmas pudding to Jared’s bottomless stomach. When Steve and Chris had overheard Jensen’s phone call and made the valiant decision to join him and Jared under the bribe of Steve providing his own homemade, complementary dinner with the pork chops Jensen can’t resist, Jensen should have seen the blinking, neon warning lights and backed out.
“Chris, stop harassing your childhood hero.”
“He could be dangerous, Jensen. He could be hiding all kinds of things and presents in his pants.”
Chris’ smirk dissolves into poorly suppressed sniggers, going as far as to find purpose on the wall and leaning against the door for support. Santa ho-ho-hos cheerfully from the threshold and jiggles his padding rhythmically. The ho-ho-hoing is sort of adorable and makes Jensen want to giggle like a child on Santa’s lap, and apparently he’s not doing a very good job of hiding his smitten smile, because two seconds later Chris digs his fingernail into Jensen’s cheek where his mouth cracks into a smile and continues his tirade of chortles.
“Would you pipe down?” Jensen gives Chris a look which wordlessly pleads through a telepathic link formed after years of dysfunctional friendship for him to keep his hobby of ridiculing Jensen in front of attractive men to a minimum and emphasizes that point by swatting Chris in the back of his head.
“What?” Chris yowls, rubbing at his neck with an immovable smug grin that seems to have immunity to any pain Jensen attempts to inflict upon him, “Like you wouldn’t be doubled over if I walked through this doorway mooning over an elf.”
Jensen has half a mind to strangle Steve with the garland looping around the staircase only a mere tantalizing two feet out of his reach, but Jared interrupts as if he has no issue watching Jensen banter with his friends over his uniform.
“I take it you must be Chris?” He asks in the same jolly tone that suggests that if Chris answers correctly, Santa will unload a brand new choo-choo train for him from his bag.
Chris nods, taking Jared’s hand and shaking it as Santa jovially wiggles his belly in tune to their handshake.
“Tell me, Santa, what kind of conditioner do you use for your beard, I’m thinking of growing mine-”
Jensen shoves Chris bodily into the staircase banister and yanks Jared in from the cold. He plucks his beard away from his mouth and plants a kiss on his lips, one Jensen had first intended to be brief for the sake of the lewd audience nearby that is Chris Kane sitting on the steps, but Jared seems to be either uncaring of mockery or unaware of exactly who Jensen’s friends are as he slides a hand to his neck to keep him firmly in place.
Hardly to Jensen’s surprise, the catcalls start a few seconds later and Steve’s low whistle of approval wafts over to their ears, so by the time they finally resurface, Steve and Chris are clapping like automatons on the steps. Both of them have the decency to blush when Jared readjusts his beard and threatens to put both of them on his notorious Naughty List for blatantly eavesdropping on Santa and his new boyfriend.
“And you must be Steve!” Jared says after his reprimand, still uncannily replicating Santa’s tone of voice, his arm still around Jensen’s waist and the other settled comfortably on his hip. Jensen will admit that it’s a little disturbing, but after Steve also gets a good handshake in and Jared turns back to Jensen with a private smile and squeeze to the fabric at the small of his back, Jensen’s back on board whether or not Jared’s clad in his suit or not.
After half an hour of Jensen introducing Jared, Steve and Chris both sporting matching grins the entire time, the wig and beard get itchy and eventually get dumped onto the floor alongside the stuffing deposited nearby on the couch, Jared ultimately clad in an oversized festive suit and matching hat as they all bustle around the kitchen. Chris is in the armchair finding possibly every holiday-themed Friends episode in existence while Jensen tends to the one light that’s malfunctioned and caused the lower half of the tree to blink furiously in the corner. Steve is cursing over his steaming pots like always and Jared is lending hands to everyone. It feels incredibly odd to not be at home or on a plane headed to Texas without the snowy conditions or overload of work to blame for his absence from his family’s dinner table, to be without his mother making too many potatoes and his father teaching Mackenzie how to understand the rules of football or without Josh spiking the eggnog just enough for him to feel like a deviant but not enough to make mom notice after her second glass of holiday wine. The house doesn’t smell like one of his mother’s cinnamon pies and the tree isn’t decorated with the traditional ornaments that he and his siblings made in second grade. But there’s still everyone he needs here, and when the tree finally lights up two seconds away from Jensen hauling it to the window and tossing it straight into the neighbor’s lawn, ornaments and all, and Jared yanks him onto his lap with a hand rubbing in circular patterns on the small of his back, Jensen feels perfectly comfortable exactly where he is.
--
It takes another hour before Steve finishes dinner, a delay that Jensen is convinced was orchestrated by Chris when he leant over Steve’s shoulder and offered the distraction of kneading his ass while Steve stirred tomatoes into his soup, and another ten minutes before everybody’s settled onto the couch with their respective plates and utensils. Jared’s plate is the biggest of them all, stacked with everything Steve made in bulk plus the leftover Christmas cookies that were sitting on the counter after Jensen’s elderly neighbor brought them over in a tin box alongside a few holiday wishes for him and his household.
They sit in relative silence after Chris puts the Fight Club DVD in, except for when Jared continuously praises Steve for his ability to tastefully prepare meat with just the right amount of spice that reminds him of his momma’s cooking, or when Chris comments on the realism of Brad Pitt’s acting, or when Jared starts leaning in to leave lazy kisses following slow, gentle sucks and flicks of his tongue over Jensen’s neck and Jensen responds with gasps that leave Steve and Chris throwing pillows at both of them.
So far, there have been three can-I-visit-your-North-Pole jokes directed at Jared and two instances of Chris trying on Jared’s Santa Claus beard and attempting to replicate Santa’s low, stereotypical rumbling chortle. There has been a lot of teasing, a lot of lewd jokes that on any other occasion would have humiliated Jensen enough to summon up a rosy tinge to his cheeks - similar to how his younger sister shrieked and blushed when Jensen accidentally stumbled upon her diary - if Jared hadn’t responded with laughter that tipped his head back, and a lot of superfluous grinning that hint to Jensen that Steve and Chris are biting back enough eruptions of laughter to cause their stomachs to implode. Somehow, though, he’s aware that this is his bizarre friends’ method of speechlessly approving of Jensen’s equally bizarre relationship with a Santa Claus actor.
Jensen’s spent a lot of years living vicariously through Chris and Steve’s blossoming relationship, whether it be when they first had sex and Jensen found the evidence on his couch cushions the morning after while the two of them were hiding their faces in their coffee cups, or when they danced around each other like men hopping on eggshells until Chris summoned up his Southern courage and pressed Steve up against a kitchen cabinet for a spontaneous, slightly awkward make out. It had been right before the three of them had settled onto Jensen’s sofa to watch Die Hard, which meant that Steve had been in the middle of his signature pre-movie preparation of popcorn, which had been promptly discarded and dropped onto the floor upon first contact with Chris’ surprise assault with his mouth. Jensen had been the one to pick the bits of popcorn off the floor, which hadn’t been the best way to spend the evening when earlier he had been promised Bruce Willis on his television, but he would have plucked kernels from his kitchen floor for hours if only to stop watching his friends behave as if they were channeling the spirit of shy schoolgirls in rabid love with each other.
Now, however, it’s Jensen who gets to fall in love. As if on cue, Jensen feels a flutter like a firework sizzling to life in his stomach as Jared nuzzles his cheeks and hitches up his shirt, two fingers sliding over the bare sliver of skin exposed at his hipbone. Jensen’s had his fair share of crushes, ranging from his fixation on his photography teacher in ninth grade to ogling the guy with the low-riding jeans and rugged brown hair who sat behind him in Physics class. He’s also had his fair share of one night stands after Danneel had dragged him out to her favorite club and he’d been bought too many drinks that were nine parts hard, unidentifiable liquor and one part soda, where a man with a hard body and hot breath pressed up against him under dancing lights and a sweaty dance floor.
And now, he’s not in the middle of a high school crisis of unrequited love, and he’s not in the middle of a bar where all the men who hit on him tug on his belt loops and ask what his favorite position is before they ask what his name is. He’s in the lap of a very touchy, very giggly, and very wonderful boyfriend who’s kneading the muscles on his shoulders and slowly making him hard with soft kisses on his jaw where the evening stubble is being born. This time, Jensen feels like he is the firework. He leans over his shoulder, catches Jared’s half-lidded gaze that causes Jensen’s dick to stir in his pants, and presses their lips together.
By the time Fight Club is over, all Jensen knows is that his boyfriend is a lot hotter than a shirtless Brad Pitt.
--
Jensen hasn’t had someone in his bed since Danneel brought her diva dog with her a few months ago who wouldn’t settle for sleeping anywhere soft enough except right atop Jensen’s pillow, whether or not his head was already occupying it. He’s woken up curled around his pillow like seaweed knotted around an ankle and once in Steve’s bed after a night of intoxication and karaoke that ended in Jensen not being able to stumble up the stairs all the way to his room when the doorknob ended up being too tricky to operate. But falling asleep and then proceeding to wake up in the same bed with another human being willingly curled up next to him with a head cushioned on his chest and little to no clothes separating their legs and torsos, this is something Jensen hasn’t practiced in a while.
Steve is in the middle of packing away the Fight Club DVD and collecting the dishes when Jared decides to crawl into Jensen’s lap and tug his bottom lip into his mouth. He’s still wearing the ridiculous red pants, hemmed with black, fluffed furs and soft to the touch. Behind him, the tree glitters and the ornaments seem to wink and glint at him, and a part of Jensen feels like he’s been suddenly transported to the corny end of a Christmas family film. Then Jared grinds down into Jensen’s hip and suddenly, there isn’t anything family-appropriate about this moment.
“Mmm, Jensen,” Jared murmurs on his lips, mouth hot and slurring wetly on Jensen’s as a tint of Texan accent slides into the edge of his words that makes no detours and rushes Jensen’s blood straight southward. As if completely unaware of the two men still clattering about the room behind them, Jared pulls back from Jensen’s mouth to rub the pad of his thumb over Jensen’s lower lip and flit over his facial features, and for once, Jensen feels entirely focused on. He clutches at Jared’s hips and plants a kiss to his chin before Jared slides his large hands to his cheeks and grins.
“You wanna go upstairs?” Jensen asks, and Jared’s smile grows, crooked and adorable in ways that makes Jensen want to mentally stretch the minutes out he gets to stare unabashedly at Jared's swollen, spit-slicked lips and memorize the look of Jared’s dimples.
“Not so fast there, cowboy,” Chris’ bemused voice drawls from the kitchen, and Jared eases himself off of Jensen’s lap reluctantly. “Mind if I borrow Mrs. Claus before the two of you go running off upstairs?”
Jared smirks, seemingly immune to the Santa jokes and comments by now, and, one hand curled into Jensen’s sweater, gives him a tender kiss on the side of his mouth before heading for the kitchen.
“No problem, dude,” he says, and grabs the dishtowel slung over Chris’ shoulder, “I’ll just help Steve with the dishes.”
Jensen still has a semi-prominent boner poking its way through his boxers and slightly tenting his jeans when Chris grabs him by the elbow and yanks him over to where the tree is twinkling prettily. He’s still smiling, smug like he’s recorded the entire evening to later broadcast to Jared and Jensen’s adopted children to prove how they couldn’t even make it through an entire movie before searching out each other’s lips. Jensen frowns.
“What have you been grinning about with Steve all evening long?” Jensen mutters. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches as Jared helps wipe off the counters and chuckle good-naturedly at something Steve is saying, hopefully not a distasteful pun about Santa Claus. Beside him, Chris shrugs.
“Nothin’,” he says, rather evasively, and when fixed with a hardly amused glare, Chris expounds, “You just look happy, man. Even if your boyfriend’s Santa.”
“So… you like Jared?”
“’Course I like Jared,” Chris says, and he’s looking at Jensen like he’s slow in the head, “but you know I’m never going to let the Santa thing go, right?”
Jensen pushes Chris into the tree, which jiggles, shakes, and almost loses a few ornaments. Chris gracelessly regains his balance by swiping for the mantle and tugging himself upright, picking a stray needle off of his shoulder. He jabs a finger into Jensen’s chest.
“And that is why you are on the naughty list this year,” says Chris, and Jensen smiles, “Just keep it down tonight.”
--
When Jensen finally shakes off Chris and Jared is done fastidiously cleaning Steve’s countertops, his pulse is running like a drumbeat ready to leap straight from his body and take all of the air in his lungs along for a coffee break. He tries to shrug off the burning sensation that fuels Jensen’s adrenaline and treats him with the far from foreign sensation of adolescent, crazy love burning his esophagus like a sweet drug. He clutches at Jared’s hand when it winds into his and tugs him up the stairs, and by the time that they make it past the door of Jensen’s room, their want changes to a desperate yearning that develops a life of its own.
Jared’s hands wind into Jensen’s hair, fingers playing with the strands on the nape of his neck, right where it gets rough and bristly, and their lips connect again.
“What - what did Steve say?” Jensen manages in between fevered kisses, Jared’s tongue starting to demand equal attention from Jensen’s ministrations as he swipes it over Jensen’s lower lip, and suddenly, their kiss is interrupted with Jared’s grin pressing into his lips.
“Just wanted to make sure I’d be treating you right,” Jared murmurs, the hands drawing patterns onto the nape of Jensen’s neck sliding down from his shoulders to his chest to his waist, pulling him in closer until their chests bump and hips buck together, “Since, y’know. I’m planning on stickin’ around.”
Jensen pulls back and refills his lungs. He inhales and slides his thumbs over Jared’s cheekbones, remembering when they were pink and kissed with the cold when they shopped for trees, or how he first fell in love with his laugh when his nephew was situated on top of his lap, and how right now, his heart is pumping fast enough to jumpstart a parking lot full of cars all thanks to the man in front of him grinning down at Jensen like he’s awed to have him in his arms.
“I think I’d be okay with that,” Jensen breathes.
“Me too,” replies Jared, suddenly whispering, as if they’re sharing secrets, and Jensen presses their forehead together with another cautious inhale, “And Steve as well.”
“Fuck Steve,” Jensen says firmly, determined not to imagine his friends leaning against the door with their ears on the slivers where the sound wafts out just to make sure that Jensen is finally getting laid after months of unwilling abstinence, instead concentrating on the panting man in front of him pulling him in the direction of the bed until they both topple on the mattress in a tangle of limbs and knocking of knees.
The conversation stops there, not to the dismay of either man as Jared straddles Jensen’s hips and takes a moment to watch Jensen readjust on the mattress beneath him and lick his lips. Silently, Jensen realizes that it’s probably his own saliva Jared’s licking from his shiny mouth, and eager to leave as many marks that’ll survive in the morning, he sits up and dives into Jared’s neck, hands winding around his broad shoulders and mouth sucking bruises up his jugular.
Jared makes small, whimpering noises of content as Jensen licks over the spots he’s darkled on the expanse of his neck that only manage to spur Jensen on like alcohol being dribbled to a flame. Right now, he feels a bit like that flame, hot and spreading fast like wildfire, his entire body alight with the brazen energy that has Jensen nipping over the lobe of Jared’s ear and panting onto his eardrum. He’s barely been on this bed for sixty seconds and his lung is already lacking oxygen as he struggles to find the capacity to breathe when he’s this close to Jared, a man who is incredulously handsome, inconceivably funny, and somehow, wants Jensen too.
Next thing Jensen’s aware of, he’s on his back and his head is cushioned on his pillows as Jared’s fingers tickle up his shirt to rub over his chest and play with his nipples, murmuring at the skin on his jaw. Jared’s jaw is rough with stubble, burning on Jensen’s like tires finding friction on the road, but Jensen’s already too dazed to mind. He doesn’t remember getting this breathless, or getting this awed by the color of Jared’s eyes, but when he slides his hands to the hem of Jared’s sweater to pull it over his head and Jared grins at him with blindingly white, adorably uneven teeth, Jensen once again remembers why he’s so gone from Earth for this guy. His length jumps in his pants, and suddenly, Jensen can't wait, can't wait for Jared to wrap his lips around his cock and tickle his tongue around the slit, he can’t wait for Jared to push into him and fuck him into a state of dribbling incoherence, for him to feel the pinpricks of sated pain ghost up his rear in the morning. He feels the blood rush and gather where Jared nips and bites and can't wait to press into his abused flesh come his shower, can't wait for it all to happen again, can't wait to recreate this moment and how fast his pulse is running over and over again.
Jared aligns their hips and rolls downward, their tented erections rubbing at each other through the denim and causing Jensen to cry out and pull Jared down for another kiss. He’s hard enough to hammer nails, and from the hard line of Jared’s length pressed into the crook of Jensen’s thigh, Jensen knows that Jared is too, but even through the haze of lust, Jared is still unbelievably gentle. He keeps up the slow rock of his hips and drinks in all of Jensen’s short, broken moans when he softly presses kisses to his chin and his mouth, tongue sliding in slowly, lazily, like the languid heat of a muggy August afternoon in Texas. He kisses with the unhurried intensity of sleepy teenagers lounging on a rooftop in the sun, drawing out Jensen’s tongue with his own and mmmming against his mouth like he’s licking the flavor out of the creamiest, tastiest chocolate pie he’s ever eaten. He feels like he’s back at home in Texas eating his mother’s apple tart in the back of Josh’s car, except this time, there’s a beautiful boy on top of him leisurely kissing him like he’d be happy to make out for hours at a time.
Jared takes his time, mouth slow and hot like a brand on his skin as he indulges in the expanse of Jensen's bare skin, and suddenly, Jensen wants to memorize the sight of Jared Padalecki crawling in between his legs, hands braced on his thighs, while his tongue leaves a trail of suckling kisses down his chest, as fuel for a decade's worth of masturbation. He slides his hands into Jared's hair, soft and curling around his fingers when Jensen twirls his thumb around the wayward strand winded around the shell of Jared's ear, and Jared grins up at him, lips slick and mouth crooked and mischievous, roguish like the countenance of a teenage rebel, and the shiver that it results in runs through Jensen's body like electricity. Jared tongue acts in slow motion, fastening over Jensen's left nipple and moistening it as the flesh pebbles beneath his lips before moving down to lick over Jensen's navel and leaving a shadow of slick wetness in his wake that only makes Jensen’s dick press harder against the cruel confines of his boxers. Jared crawls back up to continue his ministrations on Jensen’s mouth, tongue swiping over his lower lip, and Jensen whimpers.
“C’mon, Jared,” Jensen says. Jared’s lips are already swollen from their onslaught of kisses, a sight tempting enough to Jensen to make him reach out to suck Jared’s lip back into his mouth and not let it go until it’s bruised and bright.
“Pants off?” Jared finally groans out, and Jensen nods.
Jared fumbles with the zipper of Jensen’s pants, which would have been laughable had it happened in any other circumstance, but in the now, Jensen’s erection is aching to be freed and to feel the contact of Jensen’s broad palm pumping it. When Jared finally succeeds in shimmying Jensen’s jeans down to his ankles, Jensen feels as if his hormones are going to rear their desperate heads enough to become their own entities. In a fleeting moment, he feels like he’s thirteen and eager again, and when Jared follows suit and pushes down his own pants and boxers, Jensen almost foams at the mouth.
Jared’s hands are impressively sized, just like his shoulders, just like his feet, and apparently, just like his erection. Jensen reaches out, fingers wrapping around Jared’s length, already leaking at the slit and hot and heavy in Jensen’s palm. Jared keens at the touch and kisses at Jensen’s neck like he’s frantic to taste him, tongue licking over the beads of trickling sweat gathering under his ear and by his jaw. His hand slithers down Jensen’s torso and matches the rhythm Jensen’s hand is sliding to, his own fingers, long and slender, wrapping around Jensen’s dick and stroking.
It is, quite simply, heaven offered in the form of Jared Padalecki’s hands. The contact feels blissful, enough for Jensen to moan and rut up during Jared’s down stroke when Jared’s thumb teases over the head of his length and smears the precome there until his hand is slick and glides like skates on ice.
Their cheeks rub together while Jared pants in his ear, hand squeezing and rubbing like he’s reading all of Jensen’s thoughts, already aware of his sensitive spots and what turns him on the most. Part of it, Jensen knows, is just Jared himself, who smells like cinnamon and the spice of Steve’s dinner and underneath it all, Texan musk and burnt sugar. He makes Jensen want to shake like a storm-tossed kitten at the intensity of it all, and at the same time, tear off Jared’s undergarments with his teeth, whether or not it’s a Santa suit or traditional jeans in the way of him doing so properly.
“Nn, Jen, lean in, just - lean in for me,” Jared pleads, voice raspy and desperate like he’s just downed a bottle of ancient whiskey, and Jensen can do little but obey. He arches up into Jared like he’s hungry for his touch, and a second later, when Jared takes both of their erections into his hand and squeezes with just the right amount of pressure, Jensen doesn’t know how he’s ever going to survive without Jared nestled in his sheets every night.
“God, Jared, please,” groans Jensen, voice unleashed and volume no longer a concern Jensen’s bothering himself with, despite the discomfort and awkward moments over breakfast cereal it might bring his roommates. Jared only moans, gripping Jensen’s jaw and pulling him back into a wet kiss that is everything Jensen’s been yearning for since he first saw Jared grin at the giggling children on his lap at the mall. Everything about Jared is perfect, from how he laughs, to how he treats his friends, to how he can pull off a red Santa Claus suit with matching beard and hat and still manage to tingle Jensen’s inside like a feather tickling the walls of his stomach.
“So hot, Jen. Jesus. So close for you,” Jared murmurs on Jensen’s lips, hot and needy, dick rocking against Jensen’s hard enough to create friction that has Jensen whining. They thrust against each other like shameless teenagers in the back of the movie theater, mouths searching for each other and legs bumping as they roll their hips together and let out low, guttural moans in unison.
When Jensen comes, he does so with the intensity of a car crash. He’s moaning, sweaty, and his neck is damp with Jared’s saliva, and somehow, he doesn’t remember the last time he’s felt this thoroughly satisfied. There isn’t a part of Jared that he isn’t touching with bare, slick skin, not a part he isn’t planning on thoroughly discovering with his tongue until he knows Jared’s figure like a map and is fluent in his body language, and coming in his arms is better than opening a million presents on Christmas morning or getting the first Christmas cookie out of a warm, fresh batch. He rolls his hips with trembling thighs into Jared’s still frantic thrusts, a movement which, when combined with the sight of Jensen reaching completion and letting out a litany of low moans, makes Jared come within two minutes of Jensen with just as much noise and quivering as the man underneath him did mere minutes earlier.
Jared collapses on Jensen’s chest without a shred of energy to muster up to force his muscles to move, his breath hot on Jensen’s shoulder and his grin easy to detect on the flesh of his neck. Their chests heave together as their lungs regain their lost breath and suddenly, Jensen laughs.
“Can’t believe I just let Santa give me a handjob.”
Jared snickers and rolls off of Jensen’s chest, hand sliding up his sweaty forehead to tangle in the hair by Jensen’s ear. He plays with a few short strands with a tender thumb until the chortles sizzle to a comfortable stop and both of them lean onto their sides and meet gazes. The air is cool and ghosts over their bare torsos, Jared nude with the exception of fuzzy red socks pooling at his ankles that Jensen seemed to bypass in his rush to remove Jared of all garments cruelly attempting to keep him from accomplishing his goal of undressing him. Rays of white moonlight filter through the blinds slanted over the windows, splayed over Jared's face in intervals so Jensen catches sight of one bright green eye and the line of his jaw.
“So,” Jared whispers, suddenly feeling the need to, and Jensen shuffles closer, Jared taking it as an invitation to throw a warm leg over his hip, “I know Santa isn’t normally the one to make the lists, but… I want you to know that you’re on my wish list this year. Y’know. Just in case you were curious.”
Jared’s tongue presses against his teeth and he grins. The strands of his hair are still in chaos as if recently electrocuted, his lips are still bruised and shiny from Jensen pulling him down for wet kisses, and their come is cooling between their thighs, threatening to get crusty on their skin by morning light. Jared looks unspeakably adorable with his post-coital grin of lazy bliss, adorable enough for Jensen to muster up the remaining dredges of his energy to give into his desire to plant one last sleepy kiss onto his beaming lips being nestled his nose into Jared's chest and breathing in the scent of minty aftershave and the lingering aroma of beads of sweat slowly evaporating as their lust climbs down to a sleepy dormancy.
“So I guess that this year, I should be under your tree on Christmas morning?” Jensen murmurs, and really, he should’ve known that Jared wouldn’t settle for anything other than cuddling after a handjob. He feels himself being manhandled into Jared’s arms and positioned atop his chest, Jared softly breathing out on top of his head and nuzzling the hair there with his chin.
“Well, now that would be a Christmas miracle.”
“Arranged,” Jensen murmurs onto Jared’s chest, warm and thumping with even palpitations under his ear perfect for lulling him to an easy sleep. He feels Jared grin on his scalp, nose buried in his hair, and with one hand curled around Jared’s hip and the other tugging Jensen's forgotten sheets atop their entangled legs, Jensen is lured into slumber without a murmur of protest.
--
When Jensen comes home on Christmas Eve, the first thing he sees is startling darkness, and the second is the flame of a stubby candle alit on the mantle with molten wax trickling a river down the wall.
He follows the candles licking light onto the walls with their burning wicks, all mismatched and varying in sizes as if they were dusty candles neglected in the back of the pantry until someone happened to seize them by accident while searching for the cinnamon, until Jensen comes across what appears to be the corny conclusion to a holiday-themed romantic comedy in the form of his roommates necking on the couch.
“Evening, ladies. Am I interrupting a homemade dinner preceding a bubble bath?”
“Jesus, Jensen, I didn’t know you were there,” Steve’s voice drifts out of the darkness before Jensen makes out the clear cut shape of a shadow in the form of Steve’s seemingly shirtless body shooting up from the couch and flicking on the lamp by the sofa. Jensen catches sight of Steve’s thoroughly rumpled hair and Chris’ lazy smirk from his position lounging on the sofa as if waiting for Steve to inevitably crawl back into it. Instead, Steve tugs on his shirt as if Jensen hasn’t walked in on his roommates sans-towel after a shower painstakingly naked or even thoroughly debauched and tangled around each other before. Jensen smirks and eyes the collection of sundry different candles all pooling with liquefied wax and flickering in the air.
“Yeah, keep makin’ fun, Jensen, you’re going out with a guy who owns stomach stuffing and a big white beard," drawls Chris, stretching on the couch and reaching to grope Steve’s behind and tug him back down onto his thigh, “I can light some candles on Christmas Eve and get a blowjob on the couch.”
“Speaking of Jared,” Steve mentions, one hand trying to smooth the disarray of his hair and the other attempting to still Chris’ roaming hands wandering over his hindquarters, "Is he not coming tonight? He’s not spending Christmas Eve with Mrs. Claus?"
“Santa’s giving gifts to all the good little boys and girls," Chris sniggers, languid grin still painted on his face as if he's fully aware that once Jensen retreats into his room, the potential of him receiving an exquisite blowjob promptly resumes, “Think it’s too late to be nice this year?”
“He has to work at the mall today. Last chance for kids to sit on Santa's lap and all," Jensen says, valiantly ignoring Chris' far from clandestine attempts to fiddle with the zipper of Steve's pants.
“Then why don’t you go to the mall and see him?” Steve suggests, as if Jensen failing to produce such an idea or simply dismissing it to spend Christmas Eve with his roommates that happen to be in the middle of a romantic candlelit make out session deems him officially slow in the head.
“Yeah, because," Chris murmurs, “the blowjob continues whether or not you’re here.”
Jensen throws a couch pillow at Chris, which ricochets off his shoulder and nearly catches fire on one of the multiple candles as the cushion whizzes narrowly by. The candle flames flutter indignantly. The cushion lands on the carpet with a dull plop, and Chris takes it as his cue to commence his sniggering and yank Steve back onto his legs.
“We'll break out some eggnog with you if Santa's already off with his reindeer," Chris promises.
“Yeah, okay,” Jensen concedes, wrapping his scarf back around his neck and tucking it into his jacket as he reaches for his keys dangling from the hook by the door where yet another candle illuminates a corner eclipsed in shadows. "Have fun with your bath salts."
“Put your mouth back around your boyfriend’s dick where it’s useful,” Steve calls half a second later, only to be followed with a litany of noises consisting of burly squeaks and poorly stifled moans.
Needless to say, Jensen doesn’t need any more motivation, and with a few frantic steps past the candlelit hallway, Jensen's heading to his car and securing the buttons of his coat as beneath him, freshly lain snow crunches and glimmers.
--
By the time Jensen pulls into the parking lot of the store, readjusts his scarf, and turns off his windshield wipers as they smear away the snowflakes drifting onto his car's windows in gentle swirls journeying downwards, night has officially set. On the sides of the roads, streetlamps and the fleeting illumination from the passing headlights shine light onto the canvas of snow, barely yet flecked with the pollution of the dirt.
The store is barren with the exception of a handful of shoppers, all donning similar expressions of pure panic as they toss items into their cart without second glances to reconsider their impulse purchases before steering their way toward the late-night cashiers prepared to aid the last-minute gift-givers. Over the speakers, tinny, soft Christmas music in the form of Dean Martin's peaceful voice singing about snowmen and chestnuts wafts over the aisles, and in the corner, empty with the exception of a blanket of cotton ball snow and a red carpet winding its way through a crook of a winter wonderland complete with plastic elves and an enormous crimson sleigh, sits Santa atop an plush armchair, legs swinging.
The torrent of children that surely plagued the mall earlier today and threw themselves onto Santa's lap to beg for their last-minute wishes of ponies and collectible dolls are long gone, busy preparing the platter of cookies to be left out for their mythical hero or running off their Christmas Eve excitement before crawling under their sheets. For a second, all is quiet with the exception of Andy Williams' humming, and then a low, jolly voice speaks up.
“Why, son, you aren’t coming to visit old man Santa, now are you?”
Jensen turns to Santa, grinning from beneath his beard and jiggling his stomach in merry invitation. Jensen unhooks the golden chain roping off Santa's corner and takes a step in past the ornate sleigh to where Jared sits as Santa himself with outstretched palms. It hits Jensen then that Jared is more of a little kid than any of the children that sit on his lap and share their wish-lists of unicorn farms, and with a smile of his own that makes Jensen's heart jump and flutter like a roller coaster taking a plunge, more intense than any hordes of butterflies that could be dancing in his stomach, Jensen steps close to him until their knees bump.
“You want me to get on your lap, Santa?” Jensen asks, and he looks down with a tint of amusement at where Jared is tapping his legs as temptation before patting his thighs and giving him a jolly laugh that bubbles up deep from his toes.
“Hop on,” Jared whispers, pulling his beard away from his mouth to send him a furtive smile before aligning it with the curve of his jaw.
“My momma would smack me if she saw me sitting on Santa’s lap as a grown man,” Jensen says, and is about to peer over his shoulders to scan the area for any disapproving elders or mothers watching the scene in front of them in horror as a fully grown man settles himself into Santa Claus’ lap and decide if he wants to risk the potential humiliation, but Jared’s hands twine into Jensen's and tug him down with a sharp yank until Jensen's draped over him and readjusting on his legs.
“Now, are you going to tell me what you want for Christmas?"
Jensen resists the urge to wrench off bizarre Jared’s beard and kiss him silly until by the time they come up for oxygen, Jared’s forgotten how to morph his voice into one identical to Santa's. He shifts on his lap, watching as one of Jared's hands curls around his thigh protectively. He remembers when he first saw those hands and how much they mesmerized him, from his long, slender fingers to his broad palm. Behind the fuzz of his cottony beard, Jensen sees a smile, all teeth with the slightest of pink tongue making an appearance.
“What I want for Christmas?” Jensen asks, and the beard shakes in a firm, expectant nod, Jared’s other hand sliding up to palm the small of Jensen's back. His thumb rubs slow arcs into his shirt, soft and soothing, and Jensen finds himself leaning into his touch despite the fact that he's perched atop his lap while Jared’s clad in his Santa outfit in the middle of a store containing strangers easily amused by unorthodox sights similar to the one that they're currently creating.
“Anything. Anything you wish for,” Jared’s voice is softer now, no longer resembling the jolly tone of Santa Claus' deep, merry voice but remaining purely his own soft rumble, breath warm on Jensen's jaw as he speaks.
“Well,” says Jensen, "I was thinking a toy car. Or a real car. And better roommates. And a new camera. Oh, and... I was sort of hoping I could get a guy under my tree this year."
“Oh?” Jared whispers, eyes alight and lips tugged into a seemingly immovable smile, "What type of guy?"
Jensen twirls a thumb into the mop of white locks curling down Jared's chest over the curve of his stomach stuffing, "Hilarious. Ridiculously immature. The nicest guy you'll ever meet. Oh, and gorgeous. Can't forget that."
“You know, Jensen,” Jared murmurs, squeezing him when Jensen readjusts on his lap and raises his eyebrows in intrigue, "I don't know about the first few wishes. But the last? I think I got someone with all of those qualities."
“Who?”
“Me.”
They look at each other and in a fleeting moment, their eyes lock and their minds seem to telepathically align, both of them chuckling into each other’s faces when Jared pushes their foreheads together and laughs over Jensen's jaw, breath warm and cozy and slightly minty when it wafts over Jensen's nostrils. He tugs on a single silver curl locked around his thumb and grins.
“You, really? Gorgeous and hilarious? Conceited much?”
“Hey. I’m Santa,” Jared says, as if this firmly ends the conversation, and when he pulls Jensen in by the collar of his jacket to push their mouths together and lick into his mouth, it effectively manages to cease the banter. The plastic curls of Jared’s beard is itchy against Jensen’s chin when he kisses back and somehow, Jared’s resolute smile angles their lips together in a manner that is only cumbersome, but even if an entire family of innocent children came perusing by to stumble upon the sight of Santa thoroughly kissing another man atop his lap, Jensen wouldn't dream of pulling back.
Author: veterization
Disclaimer: I do not own these people.
Rating: NC-17
Genre and/or Pairing: Jared/Jensen (and a side of Steve Carlson/Christian Kane)
Word Count: ~17,000
Summary: AU. Jensen meets Jared Padalecki, the Santa at the store, and happens to fall for him. Festivity and romance ensues.
Part I
To be fair, accepting Steve’s offer of taking his archaic plastic tree, crookedly bent at the tip because the box Steve stores it in is a handful of inches too small to accommodate its size, might have been easier than going through the trouble of getting a real tree.
Then again, Jared Padalecki’s presence and with it, his addictive bursts of laughter, come with option number two, something that Jensen would choose blindfolded over the packaged promptness of an artificial Christmas tree.
Apparently, it had been a crime that by mid-December, Jensen was still sans tree, something that would have inevitably forced him to celebrate Christmas Eve sitting under a coat hanger decorated with ornaments versus sliding presents across the tree skirt and sipping hot chocolate by an impressively sized Christmas tree glittering with lights. His house in general is severely lacking any holiday festivity, front door free of wreath and mantle free of stockings.
Meanwhile, Jared’s house appears as if it’s been built off of a holiday card, the only thing missing from the explosion of cheer and Christmas being the ice rink full of twirling couples in red scarves sharing Eskimo kisses. He has garlands hanging from kitchen cabinets, lights strung not only from the rooftop but also from the indoor walls, snowglobes depicting elves and Santa carrying armfuls of gifts with wide grins, and best of all, a Santa outfit hung up in the closet.
So now he’s here, being led onto a Christmas tree farm stacked with trees tall enough to scrape the stars and green branches as far as Jensen’s eye stretches to the horizon. He can hear children squealing and watches as one toddler bundled in multiple coats yanks on the branches of one particularly fat tree from atop his father’s shoulders and proceeds to nibble on the needles now sticking from his fist. There are couples walking hand in hand observing the Virginia Pines and families circling the slender options on the left. Beside him, Jared is beaming like he’s about to adopt an energetic puppy instead of preparing to purchase a Christmas tree. Unfortunately, it’s contagious, and despite the bitter breeze and the chill of the brisk evening that whips on Jensen’s cheeks like a blade, Jensen feels a smile play on his own lips as he breathes in the fresh scent of pine needles and snow.
“My momma never would’ve left a house without a tree around Christmastime if she can help it,” Jared tells him, weaving between the lines of soldiered trees all differing slightly in size and height. “When I got my own place and, my dogs were always trying to eat my tree, so I almost thought about getting rid of it, but my momma wouldn’t allow it.”
Jensen fingers a few needles and slides his gaze back to Jared. There’s a faded green hat bunched atop his head, hair by his ears curling up around the hem, and the tip of his nose is a gentle shade of pink. His cheeks are equally whipped by the cold, rosy on the cheekbones when his lips split apart into a grin, and somehow, even without his Santa suit, Jared looks like Santa personified. Jensen watches Jared’s tongue slide out to lick over his lower lip, dry from the chill, and refrains from the bubbling urge ordering him to bury himself into Jared’s coat and press his nose into his neck. Somehow, even amidst a canvas of snow crunching under their shoes and the telltale wind of a December night, Jensen knows that Jared is warm. It’s not until Jared shoves his elbow into Jensen’s stomach that he realizes that he’s been ogling Jared’s teeth and the line of his jaw instead of critiquing trees. It’s not until Jared shoves his elbow into Jensen’s stomach that he realizes that he’s been ogling Jared’s teeth and the line of his jaw instead of critiquing trees and the two of them veer down a path laden with snow and proudly erected trees.
“Smell this one, Jen,” Jared pleads and almost pushes Jensen headfirst into a tree trunk. A branch of pine needles tickle his nose and worm up his nostrils, which Jensen would mind if it wasn’t for the broad hand splayed out on the small of his back and Jared’s eyes watching him for a reaction over the fresh, festive fragrance of a Christmas tree’s pine needles. Jensen takes a whiff and pulls back, silly smile still etched on his face that only seems to encourage Jared’s holiday spirit even further.
“It’s good,” Jensen says, and catches the aroma once more, “better than the plastic trees, that’s for sure.”
“What do you think of the tree?” Jared asks, hand on Jensen’s back curling over his hip as he pushes himself up onto his toes to peer at the peak of the tree and deem it suitable in terms of size. He ruffles the needles as if he’s petting the head of a furry dog. Jensen chuckles and leans into Jared’s side, warm like the soft air billowing from a furnace.
“Looks nice and big to me.”
“You think it’ll fit in your place?”
“Yeah, I bet it will.”
Jared trots around the tree, the hand secure on Jensen's hip sliding down from his torso to grab his hand instead. He intertwines his gloved fingers, fuzzy and knitted as if crocheted by a first grader, the yarn pulling apart and revealing slivers of Jared's palm that press straight into Jensen's hand, encased in warm leather mittens. He expects there to be glares from disapproving fathers at their PDA, repugnant glances from the trees salesman at the sight of their looped fingers on proud display in between their bodies, but there aren't. Jared's thumb rubs a slow, circular pattern on the back of Jensen's palm like it’s the most natural thing in the world for them to be constantly in contact, whether it be their hands intertwined or their thighs aligned when they sit on sofas together. Jared is always touching, touching things so much some might assume that he's a blind man searching out guidance in other people's arms and legs. He pats little children toying with Santa's beard on the head and holds their hands when they need assistance climbing onto his lap. He strokes Jensen's palm when he holds it, massages his shoulders when he's standing in front of him, and gives out hugs, genuine hugs that require involvement from both arms and thorough squeezing, as if whoever he's pulling into his embrace is a long lost relative rescued from the clutches of a lethal illness.
“These trees,” Jared says, nestling his nose deep into the branches and murmuring from within the cocoon of the tree's needles, "smell amazing. They need to make air refresheners that smell like this.”
The hand gripping onto Jensen's tugs insistently until Jensen stumbles into his side, catching a whiff of the scent of fresh pine needles when Jared waves a handful of fat, brilliantly green branches under his nose with his free hand. He looks thrilled. Thrilled to be breathing in the scent of a Christmas tree that only tickles the nose and reminds the brain of wintery memories of hanging up garlands and throwing snowballs down icy driveways during a certain time of year, thrilled to be perusing through a line of endless trees during a freezing night in December, the snow under their boots slowly causing cold to worm through the protection of their shoes and socks, thrilled to be doing it with Jensen pressed up against his side.
Jensen feels a trickling of warmth slithering through his veins that has nothing to do with the murky hot chocolate he was given in a Styrofoam cup upon arriving to the tree farm, the very tips of his fingers electrocuted with a burst of heat that seems to radiate from his heart. He feels like a character that jumped straight out of a Christmas special, caught in the snow, cheeks nipped pink, and feeling the undeniable surge of love in his belly. It feels overwhelming, cliché, and incredibly corny, but before he stomps the cheese into the snow beneath the sole of his shoe, Jensen indulges and furls his hand around the nape of Jared’s neck to tug him down, Jared going willingly with a wolfish smile when he realizes Jensen's intentions. Their chapped lips rub together, Jared’s tongue sliding out to wet Jensen’s lower lip and Jared’s hand, previously occupied ruffling the tree's needles, sliding up Jensen's jaw. Two gloved fingers prop up Jensen's chin as he kisses the cold away from his mouth, soft and languorous and spreading warmth throughout Jensen's limbs like the heat from a roaring bonfire.
When they pull back, there’s a snowflake on Jared’s eyelashes, delicate and incredibly small in comparison to the rest of Jared’s face. Jensen spies the slightest bit of evening stubble on his chin, a mark on his cheek, a miniscule scar by his eyebrow, a mossy green set of eyes, and a very pointy nose. The snowflake melts into Jared's eyelashes, and Jensen leans in for another kiss.
He’s pretty positive that he’d buy every tree on the lot if Jared would promise to keep kissing him in the snow like this. It still feels corny, it's still a scene that would have his roommates cracking up at exactly how much of a teenage girl in love Jensen is, and it still feels like something pulled from the middle of a romantic holiday film. But even if heavy duty cameras started recording their walk through the snow laden grounds to sell to Lifetime, Jensen couldn't bring himself to mind.
--
“Uh, Jensen? Santa Claus is here and he says you’ve been a very bad boy this year.”
Jensen throws the dishtowel at Steve when he starts chuckling over the tomatoes and turns out of the kitchen to where Chris is holding open the door open for a very stuffed, toothy Santa with a familiar set of teeth promptly on time for dinner. When Jensen had arranged tonight’s date a week prior, it had seemed like a splendid opportunity for the two of them to share a wintery night nestled into the same end of the couch while feeding Christmas pudding to Jared’s bottomless stomach. When Steve and Chris had overheard Jensen’s phone call and made the valiant decision to join him and Jared under the bribe of Steve providing his own homemade, complementary dinner with the pork chops Jensen can’t resist, Jensen should have seen the blinking, neon warning lights and backed out.
“Chris, stop harassing your childhood hero.”
“He could be dangerous, Jensen. He could be hiding all kinds of things and presents in his pants.”
Chris’ smirk dissolves into poorly suppressed sniggers, going as far as to find purpose on the wall and leaning against the door for support. Santa ho-ho-hos cheerfully from the threshold and jiggles his padding rhythmically. The ho-ho-hoing is sort of adorable and makes Jensen want to giggle like a child on Santa’s lap, and apparently he’s not doing a very good job of hiding his smitten smile, because two seconds later Chris digs his fingernail into Jensen’s cheek where his mouth cracks into a smile and continues his tirade of chortles.
“Would you pipe down?” Jensen gives Chris a look which wordlessly pleads through a telepathic link formed after years of dysfunctional friendship for him to keep his hobby of ridiculing Jensen in front of attractive men to a minimum and emphasizes that point by swatting Chris in the back of his head.
“What?” Chris yowls, rubbing at his neck with an immovable smug grin that seems to have immunity to any pain Jensen attempts to inflict upon him, “Like you wouldn’t be doubled over if I walked through this doorway mooning over an elf.”
Jensen has half a mind to strangle Steve with the garland looping around the staircase only a mere tantalizing two feet out of his reach, but Jared interrupts as if he has no issue watching Jensen banter with his friends over his uniform.
“I take it you must be Chris?” He asks in the same jolly tone that suggests that if Chris answers correctly, Santa will unload a brand new choo-choo train for him from his bag.
Chris nods, taking Jared’s hand and shaking it as Santa jovially wiggles his belly in tune to their handshake.
“Tell me, Santa, what kind of conditioner do you use for your beard, I’m thinking of growing mine-”
Jensen shoves Chris bodily into the staircase banister and yanks Jared in from the cold. He plucks his beard away from his mouth and plants a kiss on his lips, one Jensen had first intended to be brief for the sake of the lewd audience nearby that is Chris Kane sitting on the steps, but Jared seems to be either uncaring of mockery or unaware of exactly who Jensen’s friends are as he slides a hand to his neck to keep him firmly in place.
Hardly to Jensen’s surprise, the catcalls start a few seconds later and Steve’s low whistle of approval wafts over to their ears, so by the time they finally resurface, Steve and Chris are clapping like automatons on the steps. Both of them have the decency to blush when Jared readjusts his beard and threatens to put both of them on his notorious Naughty List for blatantly eavesdropping on Santa and his new boyfriend.
“And you must be Steve!” Jared says after his reprimand, still uncannily replicating Santa’s tone of voice, his arm still around Jensen’s waist and the other settled comfortably on his hip. Jensen will admit that it’s a little disturbing, but after Steve also gets a good handshake in and Jared turns back to Jensen with a private smile and squeeze to the fabric at the small of his back, Jensen’s back on board whether or not Jared’s clad in his suit or not.
After half an hour of Jensen introducing Jared, Steve and Chris both sporting matching grins the entire time, the wig and beard get itchy and eventually get dumped onto the floor alongside the stuffing deposited nearby on the couch, Jared ultimately clad in an oversized festive suit and matching hat as they all bustle around the kitchen. Chris is in the armchair finding possibly every holiday-themed Friends episode in existence while Jensen tends to the one light that’s malfunctioned and caused the lower half of the tree to blink furiously in the corner. Steve is cursing over his steaming pots like always and Jared is lending hands to everyone. It feels incredibly odd to not be at home or on a plane headed to Texas without the snowy conditions or overload of work to blame for his absence from his family’s dinner table, to be without his mother making too many potatoes and his father teaching Mackenzie how to understand the rules of football or without Josh spiking the eggnog just enough for him to feel like a deviant but not enough to make mom notice after her second glass of holiday wine. The house doesn’t smell like one of his mother’s cinnamon pies and the tree isn’t decorated with the traditional ornaments that he and his siblings made in second grade. But there’s still everyone he needs here, and when the tree finally lights up two seconds away from Jensen hauling it to the window and tossing it straight into the neighbor’s lawn, ornaments and all, and Jared yanks him onto his lap with a hand rubbing in circular patterns on the small of his back, Jensen feels perfectly comfortable exactly where he is.
--
It takes another hour before Steve finishes dinner, a delay that Jensen is convinced was orchestrated by Chris when he leant over Steve’s shoulder and offered the distraction of kneading his ass while Steve stirred tomatoes into his soup, and another ten minutes before everybody’s settled onto the couch with their respective plates and utensils. Jared’s plate is the biggest of them all, stacked with everything Steve made in bulk plus the leftover Christmas cookies that were sitting on the counter after Jensen’s elderly neighbor brought them over in a tin box alongside a few holiday wishes for him and his household.
They sit in relative silence after Chris puts the Fight Club DVD in, except for when Jared continuously praises Steve for his ability to tastefully prepare meat with just the right amount of spice that reminds him of his momma’s cooking, or when Chris comments on the realism of Brad Pitt’s acting, or when Jared starts leaning in to leave lazy kisses following slow, gentle sucks and flicks of his tongue over Jensen’s neck and Jensen responds with gasps that leave Steve and Chris throwing pillows at both of them.
So far, there have been three can-I-visit-your-North-Pole jokes directed at Jared and two instances of Chris trying on Jared’s Santa Claus beard and attempting to replicate Santa’s low, stereotypical rumbling chortle. There has been a lot of teasing, a lot of lewd jokes that on any other occasion would have humiliated Jensen enough to summon up a rosy tinge to his cheeks - similar to how his younger sister shrieked and blushed when Jensen accidentally stumbled upon her diary - if Jared hadn’t responded with laughter that tipped his head back, and a lot of superfluous grinning that hint to Jensen that Steve and Chris are biting back enough eruptions of laughter to cause their stomachs to implode. Somehow, though, he’s aware that this is his bizarre friends’ method of speechlessly approving of Jensen’s equally bizarre relationship with a Santa Claus actor.
Jensen’s spent a lot of years living vicariously through Chris and Steve’s blossoming relationship, whether it be when they first had sex and Jensen found the evidence on his couch cushions the morning after while the two of them were hiding their faces in their coffee cups, or when they danced around each other like men hopping on eggshells until Chris summoned up his Southern courage and pressed Steve up against a kitchen cabinet for a spontaneous, slightly awkward make out. It had been right before the three of them had settled onto Jensen’s sofa to watch Die Hard, which meant that Steve had been in the middle of his signature pre-movie preparation of popcorn, which had been promptly discarded and dropped onto the floor upon first contact with Chris’ surprise assault with his mouth. Jensen had been the one to pick the bits of popcorn off the floor, which hadn’t been the best way to spend the evening when earlier he had been promised Bruce Willis on his television, but he would have plucked kernels from his kitchen floor for hours if only to stop watching his friends behave as if they were channeling the spirit of shy schoolgirls in rabid love with each other.
Now, however, it’s Jensen who gets to fall in love. As if on cue, Jensen feels a flutter like a firework sizzling to life in his stomach as Jared nuzzles his cheeks and hitches up his shirt, two fingers sliding over the bare sliver of skin exposed at his hipbone. Jensen’s had his fair share of crushes, ranging from his fixation on his photography teacher in ninth grade to ogling the guy with the low-riding jeans and rugged brown hair who sat behind him in Physics class. He’s also had his fair share of one night stands after Danneel had dragged him out to her favorite club and he’d been bought too many drinks that were nine parts hard, unidentifiable liquor and one part soda, where a man with a hard body and hot breath pressed up against him under dancing lights and a sweaty dance floor.
And now, he’s not in the middle of a high school crisis of unrequited love, and he’s not in the middle of a bar where all the men who hit on him tug on his belt loops and ask what his favorite position is before they ask what his name is. He’s in the lap of a very touchy, very giggly, and very wonderful boyfriend who’s kneading the muscles on his shoulders and slowly making him hard with soft kisses on his jaw where the evening stubble is being born. This time, Jensen feels like he is the firework. He leans over his shoulder, catches Jared’s half-lidded gaze that causes Jensen’s dick to stir in his pants, and presses their lips together.
By the time Fight Club is over, all Jensen knows is that his boyfriend is a lot hotter than a shirtless Brad Pitt.
--
Jensen hasn’t had someone in his bed since Danneel brought her diva dog with her a few months ago who wouldn’t settle for sleeping anywhere soft enough except right atop Jensen’s pillow, whether or not his head was already occupying it. He’s woken up curled around his pillow like seaweed knotted around an ankle and once in Steve’s bed after a night of intoxication and karaoke that ended in Jensen not being able to stumble up the stairs all the way to his room when the doorknob ended up being too tricky to operate. But falling asleep and then proceeding to wake up in the same bed with another human being willingly curled up next to him with a head cushioned on his chest and little to no clothes separating their legs and torsos, this is something Jensen hasn’t practiced in a while.
Steve is in the middle of packing away the Fight Club DVD and collecting the dishes when Jared decides to crawl into Jensen’s lap and tug his bottom lip into his mouth. He’s still wearing the ridiculous red pants, hemmed with black, fluffed furs and soft to the touch. Behind him, the tree glitters and the ornaments seem to wink and glint at him, and a part of Jensen feels like he’s been suddenly transported to the corny end of a Christmas family film. Then Jared grinds down into Jensen’s hip and suddenly, there isn’t anything family-appropriate about this moment.
“Mmm, Jensen,” Jared murmurs on his lips, mouth hot and slurring wetly on Jensen’s as a tint of Texan accent slides into the edge of his words that makes no detours and rushes Jensen’s blood straight southward. As if completely unaware of the two men still clattering about the room behind them, Jared pulls back from Jensen’s mouth to rub the pad of his thumb over Jensen’s lower lip and flit over his facial features, and for once, Jensen feels entirely focused on. He clutches at Jared’s hips and plants a kiss to his chin before Jared slides his large hands to his cheeks and grins.
“You wanna go upstairs?” Jensen asks, and Jared’s smile grows, crooked and adorable in ways that makes Jensen want to mentally stretch the minutes out he gets to stare unabashedly at Jared's swollen, spit-slicked lips and memorize the look of Jared’s dimples.
“Not so fast there, cowboy,” Chris’ bemused voice drawls from the kitchen, and Jared eases himself off of Jensen’s lap reluctantly. “Mind if I borrow Mrs. Claus before the two of you go running off upstairs?”
Jared smirks, seemingly immune to the Santa jokes and comments by now, and, one hand curled into Jensen’s sweater, gives him a tender kiss on the side of his mouth before heading for the kitchen.
“No problem, dude,” he says, and grabs the dishtowel slung over Chris’ shoulder, “I’ll just help Steve with the dishes.”
Jensen still has a semi-prominent boner poking its way through his boxers and slightly tenting his jeans when Chris grabs him by the elbow and yanks him over to where the tree is twinkling prettily. He’s still smiling, smug like he’s recorded the entire evening to later broadcast to Jared and Jensen’s adopted children to prove how they couldn’t even make it through an entire movie before searching out each other’s lips. Jensen frowns.
“What have you been grinning about with Steve all evening long?” Jensen mutters. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches as Jared helps wipe off the counters and chuckle good-naturedly at something Steve is saying, hopefully not a distasteful pun about Santa Claus. Beside him, Chris shrugs.
“Nothin’,” he says, rather evasively, and when fixed with a hardly amused glare, Chris expounds, “You just look happy, man. Even if your boyfriend’s Santa.”
“So… you like Jared?”
“’Course I like Jared,” Chris says, and he’s looking at Jensen like he’s slow in the head, “but you know I’m never going to let the Santa thing go, right?”
Jensen pushes Chris into the tree, which jiggles, shakes, and almost loses a few ornaments. Chris gracelessly regains his balance by swiping for the mantle and tugging himself upright, picking a stray needle off of his shoulder. He jabs a finger into Jensen’s chest.
“And that is why you are on the naughty list this year,” says Chris, and Jensen smiles, “Just keep it down tonight.”
--
When Jensen finally shakes off Chris and Jared is done fastidiously cleaning Steve’s countertops, his pulse is running like a drumbeat ready to leap straight from his body and take all of the air in his lungs along for a coffee break. He tries to shrug off the burning sensation that fuels Jensen’s adrenaline and treats him with the far from foreign sensation of adolescent, crazy love burning his esophagus like a sweet drug. He clutches at Jared’s hand when it winds into his and tugs him up the stairs, and by the time that they make it past the door of Jensen’s room, their want changes to a desperate yearning that develops a life of its own.
Jared’s hands wind into Jensen’s hair, fingers playing with the strands on the nape of his neck, right where it gets rough and bristly, and their lips connect again.
“What - what did Steve say?” Jensen manages in between fevered kisses, Jared’s tongue starting to demand equal attention from Jensen’s ministrations as he swipes it over Jensen’s lower lip, and suddenly, their kiss is interrupted with Jared’s grin pressing into his lips.
“Just wanted to make sure I’d be treating you right,” Jared murmurs, the hands drawing patterns onto the nape of Jensen’s neck sliding down from his shoulders to his chest to his waist, pulling him in closer until their chests bump and hips buck together, “Since, y’know. I’m planning on stickin’ around.”
Jensen pulls back and refills his lungs. He inhales and slides his thumbs over Jared’s cheekbones, remembering when they were pink and kissed with the cold when they shopped for trees, or how he first fell in love with his laugh when his nephew was situated on top of his lap, and how right now, his heart is pumping fast enough to jumpstart a parking lot full of cars all thanks to the man in front of him grinning down at Jensen like he’s awed to have him in his arms.
“I think I’d be okay with that,” Jensen breathes.
“Me too,” replies Jared, suddenly whispering, as if they’re sharing secrets, and Jensen presses their forehead together with another cautious inhale, “And Steve as well.”
“Fuck Steve,” Jensen says firmly, determined not to imagine his friends leaning against the door with their ears on the slivers where the sound wafts out just to make sure that Jensen is finally getting laid after months of unwilling abstinence, instead concentrating on the panting man in front of him pulling him in the direction of the bed until they both topple on the mattress in a tangle of limbs and knocking of knees.
The conversation stops there, not to the dismay of either man as Jared straddles Jensen’s hips and takes a moment to watch Jensen readjust on the mattress beneath him and lick his lips. Silently, Jensen realizes that it’s probably his own saliva Jared’s licking from his shiny mouth, and eager to leave as many marks that’ll survive in the morning, he sits up and dives into Jared’s neck, hands winding around his broad shoulders and mouth sucking bruises up his jugular.
Jared makes small, whimpering noises of content as Jensen licks over the spots he’s darkled on the expanse of his neck that only manage to spur Jensen on like alcohol being dribbled to a flame. Right now, he feels a bit like that flame, hot and spreading fast like wildfire, his entire body alight with the brazen energy that has Jensen nipping over the lobe of Jared’s ear and panting onto his eardrum. He’s barely been on this bed for sixty seconds and his lung is already lacking oxygen as he struggles to find the capacity to breathe when he’s this close to Jared, a man who is incredulously handsome, inconceivably funny, and somehow, wants Jensen too.
Next thing Jensen’s aware of, he’s on his back and his head is cushioned on his pillows as Jared’s fingers tickle up his shirt to rub over his chest and play with his nipples, murmuring at the skin on his jaw. Jared’s jaw is rough with stubble, burning on Jensen’s like tires finding friction on the road, but Jensen’s already too dazed to mind. He doesn’t remember getting this breathless, or getting this awed by the color of Jared’s eyes, but when he slides his hands to the hem of Jared’s sweater to pull it over his head and Jared grins at him with blindingly white, adorably uneven teeth, Jensen once again remembers why he’s so gone from Earth for this guy. His length jumps in his pants, and suddenly, Jensen can't wait, can't wait for Jared to wrap his lips around his cock and tickle his tongue around the slit, he can’t wait for Jared to push into him and fuck him into a state of dribbling incoherence, for him to feel the pinpricks of sated pain ghost up his rear in the morning. He feels the blood rush and gather where Jared nips and bites and can't wait to press into his abused flesh come his shower, can't wait for it all to happen again, can't wait to recreate this moment and how fast his pulse is running over and over again.
Jared aligns their hips and rolls downward, their tented erections rubbing at each other through the denim and causing Jensen to cry out and pull Jared down for another kiss. He’s hard enough to hammer nails, and from the hard line of Jared’s length pressed into the crook of Jensen’s thigh, Jensen knows that Jared is too, but even through the haze of lust, Jared is still unbelievably gentle. He keeps up the slow rock of his hips and drinks in all of Jensen’s short, broken moans when he softly presses kisses to his chin and his mouth, tongue sliding in slowly, lazily, like the languid heat of a muggy August afternoon in Texas. He kisses with the unhurried intensity of sleepy teenagers lounging on a rooftop in the sun, drawing out Jensen’s tongue with his own and mmmming against his mouth like he’s licking the flavor out of the creamiest, tastiest chocolate pie he’s ever eaten. He feels like he’s back at home in Texas eating his mother’s apple tart in the back of Josh’s car, except this time, there’s a beautiful boy on top of him leisurely kissing him like he’d be happy to make out for hours at a time.
Jared takes his time, mouth slow and hot like a brand on his skin as he indulges in the expanse of Jensen's bare skin, and suddenly, Jensen wants to memorize the sight of Jared Padalecki crawling in between his legs, hands braced on his thighs, while his tongue leaves a trail of suckling kisses down his chest, as fuel for a decade's worth of masturbation. He slides his hands into Jared's hair, soft and curling around his fingers when Jensen twirls his thumb around the wayward strand winded around the shell of Jared's ear, and Jared grins up at him, lips slick and mouth crooked and mischievous, roguish like the countenance of a teenage rebel, and the shiver that it results in runs through Jensen's body like electricity. Jared tongue acts in slow motion, fastening over Jensen's left nipple and moistening it as the flesh pebbles beneath his lips before moving down to lick over Jensen's navel and leaving a shadow of slick wetness in his wake that only makes Jensen’s dick press harder against the cruel confines of his boxers. Jared crawls back up to continue his ministrations on Jensen’s mouth, tongue swiping over his lower lip, and Jensen whimpers.
“C’mon, Jared,” Jensen says. Jared’s lips are already swollen from their onslaught of kisses, a sight tempting enough to Jensen to make him reach out to suck Jared’s lip back into his mouth and not let it go until it’s bruised and bright.
“Pants off?” Jared finally groans out, and Jensen nods.
Jared fumbles with the zipper of Jensen’s pants, which would have been laughable had it happened in any other circumstance, but in the now, Jensen’s erection is aching to be freed and to feel the contact of Jensen’s broad palm pumping it. When Jared finally succeeds in shimmying Jensen’s jeans down to his ankles, Jensen feels as if his hormones are going to rear their desperate heads enough to become their own entities. In a fleeting moment, he feels like he’s thirteen and eager again, and when Jared follows suit and pushes down his own pants and boxers, Jensen almost foams at the mouth.
Jared’s hands are impressively sized, just like his shoulders, just like his feet, and apparently, just like his erection. Jensen reaches out, fingers wrapping around Jared’s length, already leaking at the slit and hot and heavy in Jensen’s palm. Jared keens at the touch and kisses at Jensen’s neck like he’s frantic to taste him, tongue licking over the beads of trickling sweat gathering under his ear and by his jaw. His hand slithers down Jensen’s torso and matches the rhythm Jensen’s hand is sliding to, his own fingers, long and slender, wrapping around Jensen’s dick and stroking.
It is, quite simply, heaven offered in the form of Jared Padalecki’s hands. The contact feels blissful, enough for Jensen to moan and rut up during Jared’s down stroke when Jared’s thumb teases over the head of his length and smears the precome there until his hand is slick and glides like skates on ice.
Their cheeks rub together while Jared pants in his ear, hand squeezing and rubbing like he’s reading all of Jensen’s thoughts, already aware of his sensitive spots and what turns him on the most. Part of it, Jensen knows, is just Jared himself, who smells like cinnamon and the spice of Steve’s dinner and underneath it all, Texan musk and burnt sugar. He makes Jensen want to shake like a storm-tossed kitten at the intensity of it all, and at the same time, tear off Jared’s undergarments with his teeth, whether or not it’s a Santa suit or traditional jeans in the way of him doing so properly.
“Nn, Jen, lean in, just - lean in for me,” Jared pleads, voice raspy and desperate like he’s just downed a bottle of ancient whiskey, and Jensen can do little but obey. He arches up into Jared like he’s hungry for his touch, and a second later, when Jared takes both of their erections into his hand and squeezes with just the right amount of pressure, Jensen doesn’t know how he’s ever going to survive without Jared nestled in his sheets every night.
“God, Jared, please,” groans Jensen, voice unleashed and volume no longer a concern Jensen’s bothering himself with, despite the discomfort and awkward moments over breakfast cereal it might bring his roommates. Jared only moans, gripping Jensen’s jaw and pulling him back into a wet kiss that is everything Jensen’s been yearning for since he first saw Jared grin at the giggling children on his lap at the mall. Everything about Jared is perfect, from how he laughs, to how he treats his friends, to how he can pull off a red Santa Claus suit with matching beard and hat and still manage to tingle Jensen’s inside like a feather tickling the walls of his stomach.
“So hot, Jen. Jesus. So close for you,” Jared murmurs on Jensen’s lips, hot and needy, dick rocking against Jensen’s hard enough to create friction that has Jensen whining. They thrust against each other like shameless teenagers in the back of the movie theater, mouths searching for each other and legs bumping as they roll their hips together and let out low, guttural moans in unison.
When Jensen comes, he does so with the intensity of a car crash. He’s moaning, sweaty, and his neck is damp with Jared’s saliva, and somehow, he doesn’t remember the last time he’s felt this thoroughly satisfied. There isn’t a part of Jared that he isn’t touching with bare, slick skin, not a part he isn’t planning on thoroughly discovering with his tongue until he knows Jared’s figure like a map and is fluent in his body language, and coming in his arms is better than opening a million presents on Christmas morning or getting the first Christmas cookie out of a warm, fresh batch. He rolls his hips with trembling thighs into Jared’s still frantic thrusts, a movement which, when combined with the sight of Jensen reaching completion and letting out a litany of low moans, makes Jared come within two minutes of Jensen with just as much noise and quivering as the man underneath him did mere minutes earlier.
Jared collapses on Jensen’s chest without a shred of energy to muster up to force his muscles to move, his breath hot on Jensen’s shoulder and his grin easy to detect on the flesh of his neck. Their chests heave together as their lungs regain their lost breath and suddenly, Jensen laughs.
“Can’t believe I just let Santa give me a handjob.”
Jared snickers and rolls off of Jensen’s chest, hand sliding up his sweaty forehead to tangle in the hair by Jensen’s ear. He plays with a few short strands with a tender thumb until the chortles sizzle to a comfortable stop and both of them lean onto their sides and meet gazes. The air is cool and ghosts over their bare torsos, Jared nude with the exception of fuzzy red socks pooling at his ankles that Jensen seemed to bypass in his rush to remove Jared of all garments cruelly attempting to keep him from accomplishing his goal of undressing him. Rays of white moonlight filter through the blinds slanted over the windows, splayed over Jared's face in intervals so Jensen catches sight of one bright green eye and the line of his jaw.
“So,” Jared whispers, suddenly feeling the need to, and Jensen shuffles closer, Jared taking it as an invitation to throw a warm leg over his hip, “I know Santa isn’t normally the one to make the lists, but… I want you to know that you’re on my wish list this year. Y’know. Just in case you were curious.”
Jared’s tongue presses against his teeth and he grins. The strands of his hair are still in chaos as if recently electrocuted, his lips are still bruised and shiny from Jensen pulling him down for wet kisses, and their come is cooling between their thighs, threatening to get crusty on their skin by morning light. Jared looks unspeakably adorable with his post-coital grin of lazy bliss, adorable enough for Jensen to muster up the remaining dredges of his energy to give into his desire to plant one last sleepy kiss onto his beaming lips being nestled his nose into Jared's chest and breathing in the scent of minty aftershave and the lingering aroma of beads of sweat slowly evaporating as their lust climbs down to a sleepy dormancy.
“So I guess that this year, I should be under your tree on Christmas morning?” Jensen murmurs, and really, he should’ve known that Jared wouldn’t settle for anything other than cuddling after a handjob. He feels himself being manhandled into Jared’s arms and positioned atop his chest, Jared softly breathing out on top of his head and nuzzling the hair there with his chin.
“Well, now that would be a Christmas miracle.”
“Arranged,” Jensen murmurs onto Jared’s chest, warm and thumping with even palpitations under his ear perfect for lulling him to an easy sleep. He feels Jared grin on his scalp, nose buried in his hair, and with one hand curled around Jared’s hip and the other tugging Jensen's forgotten sheets atop their entangled legs, Jensen is lured into slumber without a murmur of protest.
--
When Jensen comes home on Christmas Eve, the first thing he sees is startling darkness, and the second is the flame of a stubby candle alit on the mantle with molten wax trickling a river down the wall.
He follows the candles licking light onto the walls with their burning wicks, all mismatched and varying in sizes as if they were dusty candles neglected in the back of the pantry until someone happened to seize them by accident while searching for the cinnamon, until Jensen comes across what appears to be the corny conclusion to a holiday-themed romantic comedy in the form of his roommates necking on the couch.
“Evening, ladies. Am I interrupting a homemade dinner preceding a bubble bath?”
“Jesus, Jensen, I didn’t know you were there,” Steve’s voice drifts out of the darkness before Jensen makes out the clear cut shape of a shadow in the form of Steve’s seemingly shirtless body shooting up from the couch and flicking on the lamp by the sofa. Jensen catches sight of Steve’s thoroughly rumpled hair and Chris’ lazy smirk from his position lounging on the sofa as if waiting for Steve to inevitably crawl back into it. Instead, Steve tugs on his shirt as if Jensen hasn’t walked in on his roommates sans-towel after a shower painstakingly naked or even thoroughly debauched and tangled around each other before. Jensen smirks and eyes the collection of sundry different candles all pooling with liquefied wax and flickering in the air.
“Yeah, keep makin’ fun, Jensen, you’re going out with a guy who owns stomach stuffing and a big white beard," drawls Chris, stretching on the couch and reaching to grope Steve’s behind and tug him back down onto his thigh, “I can light some candles on Christmas Eve and get a blowjob on the couch.”
“Speaking of Jared,” Steve mentions, one hand trying to smooth the disarray of his hair and the other attempting to still Chris’ roaming hands wandering over his hindquarters, "Is he not coming tonight? He’s not spending Christmas Eve with Mrs. Claus?"
“Santa’s giving gifts to all the good little boys and girls," Chris sniggers, languid grin still painted on his face as if he's fully aware that once Jensen retreats into his room, the potential of him receiving an exquisite blowjob promptly resumes, “Think it’s too late to be nice this year?”
“He has to work at the mall today. Last chance for kids to sit on Santa's lap and all," Jensen says, valiantly ignoring Chris' far from clandestine attempts to fiddle with the zipper of Steve's pants.
“Then why don’t you go to the mall and see him?” Steve suggests, as if Jensen failing to produce such an idea or simply dismissing it to spend Christmas Eve with his roommates that happen to be in the middle of a romantic candlelit make out session deems him officially slow in the head.
“Yeah, because," Chris murmurs, “the blowjob continues whether or not you’re here.”
Jensen throws a couch pillow at Chris, which ricochets off his shoulder and nearly catches fire on one of the multiple candles as the cushion whizzes narrowly by. The candle flames flutter indignantly. The cushion lands on the carpet with a dull plop, and Chris takes it as his cue to commence his sniggering and yank Steve back onto his legs.
“We'll break out some eggnog with you if Santa's already off with his reindeer," Chris promises.
“Yeah, okay,” Jensen concedes, wrapping his scarf back around his neck and tucking it into his jacket as he reaches for his keys dangling from the hook by the door where yet another candle illuminates a corner eclipsed in shadows. "Have fun with your bath salts."
“Put your mouth back around your boyfriend’s dick where it’s useful,” Steve calls half a second later, only to be followed with a litany of noises consisting of burly squeaks and poorly stifled moans.
Needless to say, Jensen doesn’t need any more motivation, and with a few frantic steps past the candlelit hallway, Jensen's heading to his car and securing the buttons of his coat as beneath him, freshly lain snow crunches and glimmers.
--
By the time Jensen pulls into the parking lot of the store, readjusts his scarf, and turns off his windshield wipers as they smear away the snowflakes drifting onto his car's windows in gentle swirls journeying downwards, night has officially set. On the sides of the roads, streetlamps and the fleeting illumination from the passing headlights shine light onto the canvas of snow, barely yet flecked with the pollution of the dirt.
The store is barren with the exception of a handful of shoppers, all donning similar expressions of pure panic as they toss items into their cart without second glances to reconsider their impulse purchases before steering their way toward the late-night cashiers prepared to aid the last-minute gift-givers. Over the speakers, tinny, soft Christmas music in the form of Dean Martin's peaceful voice singing about snowmen and chestnuts wafts over the aisles, and in the corner, empty with the exception of a blanket of cotton ball snow and a red carpet winding its way through a crook of a winter wonderland complete with plastic elves and an enormous crimson sleigh, sits Santa atop an plush armchair, legs swinging.
The torrent of children that surely plagued the mall earlier today and threw themselves onto Santa's lap to beg for their last-minute wishes of ponies and collectible dolls are long gone, busy preparing the platter of cookies to be left out for their mythical hero or running off their Christmas Eve excitement before crawling under their sheets. For a second, all is quiet with the exception of Andy Williams' humming, and then a low, jolly voice speaks up.
“Why, son, you aren’t coming to visit old man Santa, now are you?”
Jensen turns to Santa, grinning from beneath his beard and jiggling his stomach in merry invitation. Jensen unhooks the golden chain roping off Santa's corner and takes a step in past the ornate sleigh to where Jared sits as Santa himself with outstretched palms. It hits Jensen then that Jared is more of a little kid than any of the children that sit on his lap and share their wish-lists of unicorn farms, and with a smile of his own that makes Jensen's heart jump and flutter like a roller coaster taking a plunge, more intense than any hordes of butterflies that could be dancing in his stomach, Jensen steps close to him until their knees bump.
“You want me to get on your lap, Santa?” Jensen asks, and he looks down with a tint of amusement at where Jared is tapping his legs as temptation before patting his thighs and giving him a jolly laugh that bubbles up deep from his toes.
“Hop on,” Jared whispers, pulling his beard away from his mouth to send him a furtive smile before aligning it with the curve of his jaw.
“My momma would smack me if she saw me sitting on Santa’s lap as a grown man,” Jensen says, and is about to peer over his shoulders to scan the area for any disapproving elders or mothers watching the scene in front of them in horror as a fully grown man settles himself into Santa Claus’ lap and decide if he wants to risk the potential humiliation, but Jared’s hands twine into Jensen's and tug him down with a sharp yank until Jensen's draped over him and readjusting on his legs.
“Now, are you going to tell me what you want for Christmas?"
Jensen resists the urge to wrench off bizarre Jared’s beard and kiss him silly until by the time they come up for oxygen, Jared’s forgotten how to morph his voice into one identical to Santa's. He shifts on his lap, watching as one of Jared's hands curls around his thigh protectively. He remembers when he first saw those hands and how much they mesmerized him, from his long, slender fingers to his broad palm. Behind the fuzz of his cottony beard, Jensen sees a smile, all teeth with the slightest of pink tongue making an appearance.
“What I want for Christmas?” Jensen asks, and the beard shakes in a firm, expectant nod, Jared’s other hand sliding up to palm the small of Jensen's back. His thumb rubs slow arcs into his shirt, soft and soothing, and Jensen finds himself leaning into his touch despite the fact that he's perched atop his lap while Jared’s clad in his Santa outfit in the middle of a store containing strangers easily amused by unorthodox sights similar to the one that they're currently creating.
“Anything. Anything you wish for,” Jared’s voice is softer now, no longer resembling the jolly tone of Santa Claus' deep, merry voice but remaining purely his own soft rumble, breath warm on Jensen's jaw as he speaks.
“Well,” says Jensen, "I was thinking a toy car. Or a real car. And better roommates. And a new camera. Oh, and... I was sort of hoping I could get a guy under my tree this year."
“Oh?” Jared whispers, eyes alight and lips tugged into a seemingly immovable smile, "What type of guy?"
Jensen twirls a thumb into the mop of white locks curling down Jared's chest over the curve of his stomach stuffing, "Hilarious. Ridiculously immature. The nicest guy you'll ever meet. Oh, and gorgeous. Can't forget that."
“You know, Jensen,” Jared murmurs, squeezing him when Jensen readjusts on his lap and raises his eyebrows in intrigue, "I don't know about the first few wishes. But the last? I think I got someone with all of those qualities."
“Who?”
“Me.”
They look at each other and in a fleeting moment, their eyes lock and their minds seem to telepathically align, both of them chuckling into each other’s faces when Jared pushes their foreheads together and laughs over Jensen's jaw, breath warm and cozy and slightly minty when it wafts over Jensen's nostrils. He tugs on a single silver curl locked around his thumb and grins.
“You, really? Gorgeous and hilarious? Conceited much?”
“Hey. I’m Santa,” Jared says, as if this firmly ends the conversation, and when he pulls Jensen in by the collar of his jacket to push their mouths together and lick into his mouth, it effectively manages to cease the banter. The plastic curls of Jared’s beard is itchy against Jensen’s chin when he kisses back and somehow, Jared’s resolute smile angles their lips together in a manner that is only cumbersome, but even if an entire family of innocent children came perusing by to stumble upon the sight of Santa thoroughly kissing another man atop his lap, Jensen wouldn't dream of pulling back.