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It only took Peter about five minutes to collect two berries from the various hanging bunches of mistletoe in the faculty’s annual Christmas Party.
The first one he couldn’t really avoid; the bunch was hanging right over the doors to the college’s gymnasium, suspended from the ceiling by a thin bit of fishing line so it could be reached by almost anyone under it. It was plastic, but the berries popped off pretty easily, and after bending down to press a firm kiss to the smirking mouth of Anastasia Eaves from psychology department, Peter pulled one free as instructed, tucking it into the pocket of his slacks to throw out later after the party. He was cornered seconds later at the drinks table, and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he indulgently leaned over to kiss elderly Ms. Burk from administration, who winked as he pulled a berry from the bunch above their heads. Adding it to the one in his pocket, Peter grabbed himself a cup of eggnog, hoping it hadn’t been spiked yet.
A tap on his shoulder caught his attention, and Peter turned to see Myra grinning at him, hands immediately jumping into signs as soon as he was looking at her.
You came! she said, prompting him to roll his eyes.
It was mandatory. Secret Santa exchange and all that, Peter replied, waving the little gift box he had with him before tucking it back under his arm and setting his drink aside momentarily to wave in greeting to Myra’s wife Cora, whose eyes twinkled with amusement.
We saw you catching some action under the mistletoe already, she teased, wagging a finger at him when he shrugged. Neither kiss had been intentional, and there was mistletoe hanging in about ten places around the gym; he’d have to be trying very hard to avoid being caught under it.
I hear whoever has the most berries at the end gets a gift card from Michaelson to Adam and Eve, she added, and Peter rolled his eyes, wondering how likely it was that was true. By the couple of people he could see darting from one bunch of mistletoe to the next to kiss and grab a berry, he thought the gift card part might be true, though he doubted it was actually to an erotica shop of all places. It was probably to Wal-Mart or something, knowing SPU’s Dean.
Bidding goodbye to Myra and Cora, who wanted to make their way towards the half of the gym that had turned into a small dance floor in front of the large speakers playing hip-hop covers of popular Christmas tunes, Peter glanced around the gym, looking for Michaelson so he could say hello, prove he’d shown up as required, drop off and get his Secret Santa gifts and then leave. Despite it being early in winter break, he had some planning he wanted to do for next semester, and Christmas shopping to do for his parents before the crowds started to flood the stores in the next few days.
Instead, Peter spotted a figure he’d expected would skip the entire party, or possibly slink in and out as fast as possible.
Miggs Ortega was hiding near the bleachers, holding his own cup of eggnog and a small gift bag in one hand, scowling as he clearly waited impatiently for the exchange to take place so he could leave.
Peter noted that the man looked pretty damn miserable, standing by himself with a minimum of five feet between him and the nearest person, his shoulders hunched defensively around his ears. When Peter had first met Miggs, he’d assumed he was just an asshole, an assumption that had been confirmed by the other staff at SPU, but later refuted by Miggs himself. Peter worked in the same building as him after all, and Miggs had crossed his path a few times now, mostly to discuss curriculum and students. And instead of finding the man an asshole, Peter had realized that Miggs was just very very socially awkward. And yes, a bit of a jerk as well, but mostly just because he didn’t really seem to know how to interact with most people. After a couple of times talking to him, Peter had greatly softened in his opinion towards him; Miggs was one of the few non-signing people that actually allowed, expected, and appreciated that Peter could hold up half a conversation, even if he had to write it all down or mime it at him.
Seeing him awkwardly standing alone made Peter feel a bit bad for him, so he made his way through the room until he reached the edge of the radius of space Miggs had somehow cleared for himself, giving him a friendly smile when Miggs glanced up at him.
“What,” Miggs said flatly, tone more hostile than usual and Peter blinked before shrugging, lifting a couple fingers from around his cup to wave. “Just saying hi?” Miggs guessed and Peter nodded, earning a short huff of impatience from Miggs.
“Hi,” Miggs finally bit out, glaring down into his cup of eggnog. “I hate this thing, Michaelson does it every year and it always turns into a shitstorm.” Peter shrugged, leaning against the nearby wall to take a sip of his own drink as Miggs sent a poisonous glare towards the gathering of their coworkers. Peter hadn’t worked here last year but knew Miggs had been teaching at SPU for a while, and wondered how badly Michaelson was trying to stoke some camaraderie among his staff for the Christmas party to be mandatory and include prizes like gift cards for participating in mistletoe.
Speaking of, Peter glanced up to be sure and suddenly realized why Miggs had such a wide berth around him.
There was a sprig of mistletoe above them, a bit more scraggly-looking than the others Peter had been caught under, but with a dozen or so berries clinging to the plastic stem. Peter guessed Miggs hadn’t noticed it; he doubted the antisocial man would willingly stand alone under mistletoe for several minutes.
“What are you— oh. ” The strangled turn Miggs’ voice took on definitely pointed in the direction of being unaware of the mistletoe’s existence before, and Peter looked back down to see Miggs’ face flushed dark, staring at the mistletoe with a vaguely horrified look on his face.
Peter did his best not to wince; most people were more than happy to be caught under the mistletoe with Peter, but then again, Miggs wasn’t most people. Peter tried to look nonchalant when Miggs turned his apprehensive gaze on him, shrugging and more than ready to ignore tradition and allow Miggs to keep his personal boundaries intact.
“Uh.” Miggs flushed darker and glanced down, shifting his weight for a second. And that was about all the warning Peter got before Miggs had dropped the small gift bag he had in favor of stepping forward and reaching up to grab the collar of Peter’s shirt, yanking him down the short space between their heights to bring their mouths together.
Peter’s heart lurched at the feel of Miggs’ mouth on his, soft and surprisingly eager. He automatically reached out with his free hand to grab Miggs’ hip and pull him in. Miggs made a soft sound at the touch that had Peter’s attention narrowing down to just Miggs against him, and how he could get Miggs to make more noises like that.
Peter realized somewhere in the back of his head that this was already way past what was normal for a mistletoe kiss between coworkers, but he couldn’t quite stop himself from tilting his head to the side and deepening the kiss, earning a tiny whimper and then a low moan when he slid his tongue into Miggs’ mouth.
He tasted like eggnog and peppermint, and Peter’s hand slid from Miggs’ hip to the small of his back, trying to draw him in closer. The hand fisted in Peter’s collar snaked up to grab the back of Peter’s neck and Peter growled softly, pulling away for just a brief second to breathe before pressing back in, kissing Miggs again. Peter would stop, knew he probably should stop, they were in a semi-public place and mistletoe kisses were supposed to be relatively chaste, but Peter made the mistake of nipping at Miggs’ lower lip and then pulling it into his mouth briefly, earning a soft whimper that could only translate as more, please. Peter leaned into Miggs, dragging him flush against himself, feeling the long line of Miggs stretching along his own body, chest and belly pulled tight to Peter’s front, hips giving the tiniest tilt toward Peter, the littlest hint of interest and Peter’s heart started racing at the implication of that.
“Daaaaaaaaammmn, Peter, get it!”
Peter jumped in surprise and so did Miggs, the two of them springing apart like teenagers caught making out in a dark corner at a high school dance. Peter realized that most of the faculty was watching them, some grinning and elbowing at each other, one or two lowering their phones looking disappointed they hadn’t managed to snap a picture before Peter and Miggs had been disturbed.
Speaking of which, Peter noticed Myra and Cora nearby, Cora looking a little sheepish as Peter recognized her as the heckler. She nodded her head towards someone who was tucking their phone away and Peter felt a bit of gratitude that she’d intervened before anyone could capture the moment, probably for nefarious reasons, considering Miggs wasn’t exactly well-liked among the staff. Awkwardly rubbing at the back of his neck, Peter glanced at Miggs, hoping he wasn’t too angry.
Peter tried to remind himself it was rude to stare, but couldn’t quite help himself, taking in Miggs’ state.
Miggs was flushed, cheeks dark and warm, eyes hooded and nearly black, his usually scowling mouth curled into a bit of a silly smile, showing enough of his teeth for Peter to notice the gap in the front two, creating quite the enchanting image, topped off by mussed curls that Peter was suddenly very interested in burying his hands in.
Looking Miggs over for a second, Peter smirked and then reached up to wrap his hand around the whole sprig of mistletoe above them, tugging hard enough to break the thread holding it to the ceiling. Miggs blinked, staring at him, and Peter grinned, tucking the whole thing into his pocket.