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Nick scrunches his eyes up tight, purses his lips and blows, putting all his yearning and desire into one raw wish as the little flame flickers out. Is it weird that a 34-year-old man popped a birthday candle in a single-bite mince pie because he felt like a Christmas wish would help? Maybe. Is he half-cut after watching The Holiday with a selection box and two blue Wkds? Yes. Does he feel better for making his wish though? He just might…
Charlie shares a Christmas Eve hug with Isaac, burying into his warm, spice-scented chest before wishing him goodnight and taking himself off to his room in the flat they share. His pajamas are a thick, festive flannel and his bed is all toasty from his electric blanket so he quickly drifts off to sleep, the combination of physical and emotional snuggliness working magic on his nervous system.
What doesn't work magic for him – somewhat ironically – is the ruckus of bangs and bumps at his bedroom window a few hours later, followed by cold air hitting his cheeks and the sound of many tiny bells jingling towards him. “What…,” Charlie mutters, sitting himself up and rubbing his eyes sleepily.
“Ho ho ho,” a kindly old man salutes, smiling cheerfully at the foot of Charlie’s bed.
“Excuse me, but what the fuck?” Charlie blinks at him, patting the bedding and himself to check if this is real and not some Santa kink dream he's definitely not going to admit to having had more often than he should.
“Yes. Not who you were expecting to see, eh, old chap?” Santa says, stating the goddamn obvious. Because no. No, as a grown man, Charlie was not expecting to find Santa Claus stuffing his stocking tonight. Though now he thinks about it…
“What have you brought for me?” Charlie can't help but ask with curiosity, benching for the moment the whole magical breaking and entering thing.
“You'll see when you're in the sack,” Santa tells him breezily, holding out a large burlap bag. “I always make sure people get their wishes.”
“Come again?” Charlie asks, peering at Santa in bewilderment. He's pretty sure this isn't how a visit from the big man went in any of the Christmas fairytales he read as a child.
“In you get, son,” Santa encourages him, giving the bag a little wiggle for emphasis, his bell lined jacket tinkling as it shakes.
“Come again again?” Charlie frowns. He's supposed to get in that sack? Voluntarily? For a fictional Christmas wizard? That's a hard no.
“I’m taking you,” Santa tells him matter-of-factly. “You're on someone's list.”
“The fuck you are,” Charlie growls, reaching blindly towards his bedside table, his fingers finding his phone and launching it towards his velvet-clad abductor. Unfortunately, it's attached to the charging cable so it just does a sad, pointless arc in the air, banging into the front of the bedside table. “Fuck,” Charlie swears, scrambling for something else to throw, finding a cushion and chucking it at the merry intruder to very little effect.
“You're going to end up on the naughty list if you keep this behaviour up, Mr Spring,” Santa warns.
“But… I… Erm… Isaac!” Charlie yells, climbing out of bed so he's not a sitting target and hoping his buddy has read a book about defense against festive folklore.
“What's happening here?” Isaac asks sleepily when he ambles into the room a few minutes later, Charlie fending off Santa with a drumstick while he waits.
“He's abducting me! I'm being abducted!” Charlie shrills.
“He's someone's Christmas wish,” Santa explains calmly, dodging a particularly aggressive stick poke.
“How romantic,” Isaac sighs dreamily, leaning against the doorway and smiling at Old Saint Kidnapper.
“Isaac! Now is not the time!” Charlie scolds him, grabbing a plant pot from his window ledge and aiming for the beard.
“I think it is. You've been single for ages, Charliebob. Santa, he has a weak left knee,” Isaac tells him, the traitor. Santa hums a festive tune as he kicks Charlie in the back of it and sweeps him into the sack. Fuck, Isaac!
A dark and bumpy ride later, an irritable Charlie finds himself tumbling out of a sack – that did not do anything good for his hair – and landing on his back at the foot of a tree. Two neatly wrapped gifts plonk out after him. He grumbles and sits himself up, rubbing a bruised elbow and huffing at Kringle. When he looks around Charlie catches a glimpse of two black boots shooting up a chimney.
Charlie peers around some more. He hates to admit it but this place is actually quite nice. It feels cosy, smells of cinnamon and every mismatched textile feels correct. The walls are cream, and the floor hardwood, with a beautiful Persian rug bringing pattern and softness. The brown leather settees in front of the fireplace look plush and comfortable, with an array of blankets and cushions to snuggle into. There's worse places to be deposited he supposes. There's a rumble and pop, and his captor appears out of thin air, slaps a bow on his head and fucks off into the ether again before Charlie can say a word. Bastard.
Charlie picks up the gifts beside him and checks the tags – one for him as promised, and one for someone named Nellie. Who's she? As he waits complacently beneath the tree to be opened – because what else is he supposed to do in his pajamas with no phone – he unwraps his present. A smutty book and a buzzy new plaything. Really? He supposes he did wish to de-stress over the Christmas holiday. This fits the brief. You know, aside from the small side of abduction.
After about twenty minutes he opens Nellie's gift too – he's bored, okay. He's surprised to find it's a chew toy. So Nellie's a dog. Or a really fucking weird person. No judgement. Either way, that's one less worry. It's half a relief and half a shame he won't get to witness a telanova-worthy meltdown when this guy's girlfriend or wife finds him nestled amongst the gifts. He assumes he's on a guy's list, at least, or Santa really cocked up.
Charlie runs a hand through his hair and finds a gift tag of his own. He plucks out the textured card and reads the name of his giftee. Nick. That's a nice name. Charlie tentatively likes the sound of this Nick character with the welcoming home and the excellent taste in Christmas wishes. Maybe there's potential here? At the very least he'll get a story out of this that he can tell at New Year's. Tao will be livid – Charlie kind of can't wait to see it.
After a few hours of napping beneath the tinsel, Charlie hears encouraging noises coming from upstairs – the shuffling of feet and the running of a shower. Charlie listens to a sweet, sexy voice singing Nellie the Snowgirl to the tune of Frosty the Snowman as water batters against glass. What a dork. Still, it's kind of cute hearing Nick’s doggo yapping along to the tune. It sounds so domestic from Charlie's position beneath the tree. When he hears footsteps on the stairs Charlie straightens up his posture and smooths out his pajama shirt. May as well look pretty for the man.
Speaking of whom… “What the!” a very handsome man startles when he comes into the living room and flicks on the light to find Charlie blinking up at him expectantly. “Who the hell are you?!” he asks, clutching a hand to his chest.
“Charlie,” he answers.
“And you're under my tree because…,” Nick questions, his hand migrating from his chest to the back of his neck. Charlie has to admit it's a very cute gesture.
“Apparently I was on your list.”
“You were on… my wish! I'm so sorry! I didn't actually think…” Nick starts to apologise, before peering closer at Charlie and muttering under his breath, “Santa really nailed it though…”
Charlie smirks, and Nick blushes fiercely, caught out. Charlie roams his eyes over Nick in return and decides that he's quite pleased with what he sees himself. “Will you take me home, please?” he asks of Nick, after a short but promising period of staring at each other lustily.
“Absolutely, I'm so sorry,” Nick apologises. “Can I make you Christmas pancakes first? For your trouble?” he asks, offering both hands to help Charlie to his feet. Charlie doesn't mind feeling Nick's strong arms in action. The way the tree lights surge brightly when their hands touch is a little much though.
“Okay Santa, we get it,” Charlie rolls his eyes. “I'm his dream guy. We're going to fall in love, blah blah, blah, won't Isaac be thrilled…”
“Erm, we are?” Nick asks, turning Rudolph-red but not letting go of Charlie's hands.
“Seems so,” Charlie sighs. “Now let's have these pancakes then I can grab my new vibrator and we'll be on our way.”
“Your new… okay,” Nick agrees, nodding obediently. That bodes well. Nick leads the way to the kitchen, asking, “who's Isaac?” as they go.
“My evil best friend. I'll tell you all about him while you cook…”
Charlie tells Nick not just about Isaac, but about his world in general, as Nick makes their breakfast. As they eat, Nick shares his life in return – his job, his hobbies, the people who matter. They find common ground and interesting differences and their shy, hesitant smiles only grow surer and stronger as they get to know one another.
“I like you, Nick Nelson,” Charlie says after they, and Nellie, have eaten and Nick's found his car keys ready to take Charlie home.
“I like you, too, Charlie Spring,” Nick replies, stepping towards Charlie, nervous, hopeful, first-kiss energy bubbling off him.
“How annoying,” Charlie sighs as he mirrors Nick's movements and brings them closer still, reaching to wrap his arms around Nick's neck.
“Why annoying?” Nick asks, his hands finding Charlie's lower back and pulling him close.
“Because I wanted to stay mad at Santa. He literally abducted me,” Charlie pouts, reaching up on his tiptoes to bring their faces in line.
“Poor baby,” Nick coos, meeting Charlie's lips with his own, soft and gentle, before urgency and arousal shapes the kiss into something deeper, leaving the journey home forgotten as snow begins to fall outside the window and a flash of something red disappears into the sky above.