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Nick and Charlie race to their sitting room to find the angel abandoned. Instead, Green is on his knees before Red with a sad expression on his usually cherubic face. His hands are clasped and his gaze is almost imploring as he stares at a very put-out Red, whose arms are crossed and head is turned away.
"So Green is cheating then?" Charlie asks, his brows pinched as he takes in the bizarre scene. Does this mean their Christmas tree topper is also sentient, or has Green just found himself attracted to an inanimate object?
Or, perhaps Charlie has well and truly lost the plot. At least Nick seems to be having the same yearly experience.
What's a bit of holiday madness shared amongst loving partners, after all?
Nick interrupts his spiral. "Still don't think Green is cheating."
Charlie sighs. "Well, Red clearly thinks something is going on."
“Do you think he’s just jealous of whatever relationship Green seems to have with our angel?” Nick wonders aloud.
Charlie shrugs. “Maybe? I mean that seems plausible.” He bites the inside of his cheek, assessing and contemplating. And then–because if he truly is losing it, he may as well lean into it–he says, "I wish they could talk to us. Maybe we could help them work it out."
Whatever it is.
Nick shudders. "No thank you. These little guys are cute and all, but they already have too much... life, for my liking. No offense you two," he adds hurriedly, addressing the elves.
Charlie has to admit he finds the elves' moving around and changing facial expressions creepy, too, even if they are usually quite endearing. Usually.
"So do we just let them work it out on their own then?" he ponders.
“And risk more mishaps to my Christmas decorations?" Nick scoffs. “I’ll pass.”
Charlie raises a brow. "Do you have a better idea then?" He knows how hard his husband works every year to make their home a replication of Santa's workshop.
Huh. Maybe that's why the elves like to hang around despite the men not having any children yet.
Nick rubs the back of his neck, his eyes darting back and forth between the elves and then at the bigger picture of their sitting room. "Maybe we could... that is to say, I..." he sighs. "I've got nothing. I guess we just have to trust that our elf friends here will work it out without further damaging our things. I have to get some marking done before supper." Nick kisses Charlie on the cheek and heads over to their entryway to grab his school bag by the door before making his way to their kitchen.
Once he's out of earshot, Charlie leans in close to the elves, the rejection of forgiveness still on prominent display, and whispers to them conspiratorially because, sure, this is normal behaviour for a sane adult. "I'm really sorry you guys are having some issues. Nick and I both wish we could help but we don't know how. But, if I could ask that you not mess with or break our Christmas decorations anymore; Nick's worked really hard on setting everything up and I know he'd really appreciate it. As would l."
He’s not entirely sure if they can understand him, but he hopes they can. He hopes they listen. He doesn’t want his husband to be so disappointed during his favourite holiday because more shenanigans interfere with his decorations.
The next day, Charlie comes home from work to find Nick already in their kitchen, icing gingerbread cookies. Their house is warm with baking and the scent of cinnamon and ginger. Charlie inhales the aroma deeply and lets it settle his coiled muscles.
Ariana Grande's Santa Tell Me is playing in the background and Nick is swaying his hips to the (off)beat–the man never did learn how to dance well, bless–his coveted, frilly little bisexual apron flapping along his sides.
Unable to resist, Charlie walks up to his husband and rests his hands on those shimmying hip bones, plastering his front to Nick's back. Nick melts into the touch as the two of them dance, Charlie trying to lead them to the beat.
"Been busy have you?" he asks, noticing at least five other types of cookies cooling in various locations around their kitchen. He should've known Nick would use the half day from work to his advantage like this.
Nick's body is warm beneath Charlie's cold fingers as they worm their way under Nick's shirt.
"Maybe one day you could do some baking with just this adorable little apron on," Charlie purrs into his ear. It would barely cover Nick’s ass and that sounds more delicious to Charlie than the delectables resting in their kitchen.
Nick jumps and playfully slaps at Charlie's hands. "Unsanitary!" he chides with a giggle. He turns in Charlie's arms and wraps them around his neck, his own coming to rest on Charlie's waist as they continue to move together. "And your fingers are bloody frigid, as usual."
Charlie smirks. "You don't seem to mind much when these "bloody frigid" fingers are wrapped 'round your-”
Nick presses a hand to his mouth and yelps, "That's quite enough out of you, you cheeky menace."
Charlie, predictably, licks Nick's palm. It tastes sweet, like frosting and icing sugar. Nick, predictably, shrieks like one of his kids on the school playground and pulls away.
"You arse!"
"You love it," Charlie teases.
Nick puffs air from his mouth but the smile that creeps along his face lets Charlie know it's all fond exasperation. He pulls Charlie closer and places a soft, lingering kiss on his forehead.
"I do," he whispers, his voice sweeter than the sugary remnants left on his skin as his eyes melt like the chocolate chips in his famous, gooey cookies. "I love you so much."
"l love you too," Charlie whispers back, the permanent butterflies in his belly reminding him that they’re still there, even after all this time. They haven’t gone away. They never will. God, he’s so lucky.
Just then, Bing Crosby's White Christmas comes on the radio and Nick and Charlie fall into a very simple two-step, their arms lovingly wrapped around each other as they move softly to the music at a tempo all their own. It’s easy to get lost in his husband’s eyes, but it’s as natural as breathing when those eyes are locked onto his own.
They dance well past the end of the song and they only pull apart when Charlie notices movement out of the corner of his eye.
“Nick, look!” he gasps.
Red is standing over the tray of gingerbread men, a contemplative look on his little face. Can an elf on the shelf be contemplative? Well, if one can be remorseful and imploring, he supposes anything could be true.
Nick releases Charlie and slowly makes his way over to the cookies. “Hey, friend. Did you, uh, want a cookie or…?”
Charlie’s not sure what he’s expecting. For the elf to shake his head or make some sort of movement in answer? Nothing happens.
“Maybe we should leave them an assortment before we go to bed tonight,” Charlie muses aloud.
Nick pouts. “But…these are for the annual Sarah Nelson cookie party.”
Charlie rolls his eyes. “Baby, they may just take some anyway. It’s better to offer some up for them.”
“Fine,” Nick sighs, a great gusting resignation.
That night when they go to bed, Nick and Charlie leave a little plate with a chocolate chip cookie, a sugar cookie, and the gingerbread man Nick thought Red was eyeing earlier. Charlie even pours them a bit of milk because he’s long past questioning his sanity now–really, he shouldn’t even be questioning it these days, this isn’t his first year with the elves–and lets the elves know they are free to help themselves to the cookies on the plate.
In the morning, no cookies are eaten–and Charlie wonders about the complexity of these elves. Do they need to eat? How do they socialise? Is it telepathic?--but Red is sitting cross-legged by the plate, chin in his little gloved hand.
Green is on the mantle, looking lonely and sad, and Charlie feels heartbroken for both the little creatures. It’s almost Christmas and he wants them to get along. He believes Nick when he says Green isn’t cheating but then what is it? What is causing this rift? Is this something only Santa can resolve?
Turns out he gets his answer when he gets home from work the next day. It’s Christmas Eve and Charlie finds his husband standing in front of their mantle, his shoulders shaking with great big sobs.
“Nick?” Charlie calls, concern lacing every inch of his voice. He slides his laptop bag off his shoulder and hurries to Nick’s side. “What’s wrong, baby?”
But they aren’t tears of sadness on his husband’s handsome face. It’s tears of…joy?
“Look,” Nick whispers in awe.
Charlie follows where his finger is pointing and sees Red with an arm around a gingerbread plushie. He looks much happier than Charlie has seen in days. Green, looking equally as happy (and immensely relieved) is by the angel once more but this time, it looks as though the elves are performing an introduction of sorts. What sort of introduction, he can’t be certain.
“What’s going on?” Charlie whispers, afraid of ruining the moment.
“Red sat by the gingerbread cookies for ages this morning and it made me wonder if maybe, since Green has taken an interest in our tree topper, Red might’ve taken an interest in something else as well. So I ran to the shops and scoured the shelves for a plushie. I found that one, brought it home, and left it out while I went to get some wrapping done. When I came back down, I saw this.”
“And what is this?”
Nick shrugs. “Dunno for sure, but the elves already look a lot happier, don’t they? Maybe they just needed another friend and time to work things out between themselves.”
They do look happier. In fact, Charlie would go so far as to say they look excited, which is not a look he’s seen yet this holiday from those two.
“Perhaps we ought to give them some privacy. Besides,” he holds up the package he knows contains the dress he and Nick looked at the other day between two fingers and smiles, slow and sultry. “A certain package was delivered to our house today.”
Nick’s eyes light up and his cheeks flush a brilliant shade of pink beneath his tawny freckles. Both men giggle as they race to the bedroom, the door closing resolutely behind them.
That night, Nick and Charlie are cuddled up together like two birds of a feather on the sofa under a large fluffy blanket, hot cocoas in hand as a fire roars gently next to them. It’s a snowy night and there’s magic in the air. And love. So much love that Charlie can feel it coating him like a second warm blanket.
On the mantle sit their elves, side by side, hands clasped and heads resting against each other and both men know, that for this year at least, the tension is gone and the fight is over. Their elves look so happy and, dare he say it, in love . Next to them sit the angel and the gingerbread man, both of whom are also close in proximity, though they don’t appear as…coupley, as the elves do. And though Charlie still cannot discern whether the angel has sentience or not, there is the promise of peace radiating off of every group in that sitting room, so he lets the magic of Christmas explain the rest.
He feels a nudge to his ribs and looks over to see Nick smiling at him with a twinkle in his eye. Charlie quirks a brow but can’t help returning his husband’s smile.
“What?”
Nick gestures toward their ceiling with his chin. “Look up.”
There, hanging just a foot or so above their head is mistletoe. Charlie gawks at it a moment, wondering how the hell he missed that.
“Did you put that up there?”
Nick shakes his head. “No. In fact, I just saw it there a minute before you did.”
Charlie looks back at the two elves who have not moved in quite some time and seem very content to sit there, cosy and cuddling just like Charlie is doing with Nick. He smiles at them as the clock strikes midnight, the toll ringing twelve times. He looks back at his husband, who has not stopped watching him, his eyes golden in the firelight. Charlie reaches a hand up to cup Nick’s cheek, his thumb running along the skin beneath his eye.
“Merry Christmas, Char,” Nick says, nothing but adoration and so much love coating his voice as he gazes affectionately into Charlie’s eyes.
“Merry Christmas, Nick,” Charlie whispers, his tone heavy with reverence as they both lean in, their lips meeting in the middle.