Title: Nice and Naughty
Author: Night_Lotus
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 6,378
Chapter: 1/1
Disclaimer: I neither own Chuck nor its marvelous characters, but because of the creative genius of Chris Fedak and Joshua Schwartz, I have the opportunity to play in their sandbox.
Summary: Have the ladies that descend upon the Buy More been naughty or nice? Only Santa Claus knows for sure.
Author's Note: This hand-crafted Christmas present is dedicated to my sisters in Jellie, GoddessofBirth, KuryakinGirl, Basched, SunshineAli, Raevon0206, Jellie_Rayneluv and Brandywine_00. Have a very Merry, ladies!
The sleek black stretch limousine cruised down the Sunset Strip, easing to a stop in front of the Mondrian Hotel. Twin doormen opened the 30-foot tall mahogany doors and three blondes, four brunettes and a redhead, all dressed for a night out on the town, stepped out into the mild West Hollywood night and into the waiting limo.
Each was striking, their individual beauty as unique and varied as the stories they spun. They had come from near and far, gathering in Tinsletown to celebrate the holidays and their friendship.
"Welcome, ladies. My name is Jonas," the tuxedoed man sitting beside the bar smiled, greeting the women as they seated themselves on the plush leather seats lining the spacious interior. "Julian," he nodded toward the suited driver, "and I are going to make sure you lovely ladies have the time of your lives and get a true taste of L.A. tonight."
As the limo smoothly pulled away from the curb, Jonas flung open the black lacquered doors of the wet bar, pushed a button and the song "Sexy Chick" starting pounding as hot red and smoky purple lights pulsated along the mirrored ceiling and streamed along the gilded silver walls. "Whoo Hoo," the women cheered in unison, ready to dial it up and get the party started. Jonas gestured to the well-stocked bar, the bottles of Grey Goose, Absolut and Bacardi at the front of the cabinet glowed an electric, sapphire blue, absorbing the cool inner hue of the liquor cabinet. "What'll it be, ladies?"
Cocktails in hand, they lounged on the plush upholstery as Julian skillfully navigated their party on wheels on a guided tour of the holiday lights in West Hollywood and Beverly Hills on their way to dinner, as Jonas narrated. As they cruised down Sunset Boulevard, life-size figurines of Dorothy, the Cowardly Lion, the Tin Man, the Scarecrow, and Toto came to life in glittering, sparkling glory, welcoming shoppers to the Oz Boutique.
The girls giggled and pointed, amused by the buxom figure of a femme fatale in a red 1950s-style bathing suit and matching swim cap agilely diving into a bright blue neon swimming pool, further down the street.
"On your right, ladies," Jonas piped up "is the famed Whiskey a Go-Go where Jim Morrison and a little band called 'The Doors' were the house band. The reddish-brown building was still funky, its sides plastered with billboards of the modern day and 60s-era bands that etched their notches in history on its famous stage.
The hip, urban flare of the Sunset Strip gave way to cool, upscale elegance as the stretch turned onto Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills. The palm trees lining the road were wrapped in twinkling white lights, and miniature chandeliers hung from the lampposts, their dangling crystal prisms glittering, casting small rainbows against the night sky.
Tiffany's holiday display window was a winter fantasy land. A hand-carved, snowy white carousel gilded in gold slowly rotated with fluid grace as red and white painted horses gently canted up and down on red and white striped wooden poles. Thousands of rhinestones winked and shimmered in the fluffy white snow blanketing the base of the carousel. Jonas chuckled at the multiple sets of faces and fingers pressed against the glass, enchanted by the pretty, shiny scene.
"If you enjoyed that, ladies, Gucci is gonna knock your socks off," their tour guide promised as the limo purposefully slowed to a near stop in front of the flagship store. Flanking the base of a towering red metallic tree hung with large metal interlocking Gs, and seated atop sequined golden pedestals, were two live and very male Adonises striking The Thinker pose. Their bare bodies were coated in gold, and they gave off a warm glow in the well-lit window. Chiseled chins, bulging biceps, steel-cut abs, carved buttocks and thickly-muscled legs and thighs were seemingly sculpted by Rodin himself. Save for the well-timed "Juicy" throbbing through the limo's speakers, you could hear a pin drop. The silence was broken when one of the women whispered "I love L.A.," and drew a heart in the stream created by her soft sigh.
A short time later, the lustrous black limo entered a cobblestoned circular drive, a tall, leafy magnolia tree tastefully decorated with Christmas lights, its centerpiece. Julian slowed the vehicle to a gentle stop in front of the valet stand. The Grove was spelled out in elegant gold metallic script on the front of the dark oak podium. Jonas and Julian exited the vehicle, and along with the two valets, offered their hands, helping the women out of the car. "Ladies, enjoy your meal and after-dinner activities," Jonas said, glancing at his watch. "Julian and I will meet you back here in two hours."
The eight friends walked the short distance to the restaurant, admiring the decorated trees and other colorful Christmas decorations along the way. Within moments of entering the Whisper Restaurant and Lounge, they were winding their way through the softly lit supper club to their private table. The 1940s speakeasy décor seamlessly blended rich mahogany wood, warm amber lighting, burgundy quilted leather booths, and pristine white table linens. At either end of their table, bottles of Krug champagne chilled, nestled in ice-filled sterling silver buckets that rested atop long, slender silver columns.
Chatting and laughing about their night so far and the fun yet to come, the ladies sipped champagne in between bites of Kobe beef sliders, which were smothered with grilled onions and blanketed in gooey sharp cheddar, albacore tuna tartare with a zesty citrus ginger dressing and spicy, sizzling chili garlic prawns.
For their second course, they dined, family style, on oven-roasted Hawaiian seabass, prime rib and wild mushroom and truffle flatbread, accompanied by braised Tuscan kale with wildflower honey and sherry vinegar. All the while, the soft strains of Frank Sinatra, Billy Holliday and Bing Crosby floated through the air.
At the conclusion of the meal, they were each served the restaurant's signature desert, chocolate orgasm cake. The melt-in-your-mouth culinary masterpiece was a rich, sinfully decadent flourless cake dusted with powdered sugar and topped with bright red raspberries. The moans and groans of appreciation truly began when they reached the center of the cake and were rewarded as the combined flavors of red and black raspberries, vanilla, honey and cognac exploded in their mouths as the thick, velvety Chambord filling infused their taste buds, coating their tongues.
Pleasantly full and brightened from the champagne and the cocktails they enjoyed in the limo on the way over, the girls departed the restaurant and walked along the festively lit grounds, making their way to the singing fountain. Quite a crowd had amassed for the hourly show, which was set to begin within the next five minutes. They managed to wiggle their way to the front, just as the large, pond-sized fountain began to bubble, signaling the start of the show.
Eight streams of water, arranged in a circle in the center of the fountain, began undulating and swaying in time to Christmas carols that joyously rang out in the square. As the music built to a crescendo, the thirty two pulsating jets ringing the outer edge of the fountain came alive, shooting water 60 feet straight up, their trajectory illuminated by bright, multi-colored, lights. The water appeared to be alive as it gushed, throbbed and sprayed high in air, droplets settling on the faces and in the hair of the closest onlookers. Cheers erupted as the show came to a close, the suspended columns of water raining back down into the fountain, the still-lit water rippling in the aftermath.
Moisture still clinging to their skin and hair, the ladies walked the short distance to the green and gold-colored Grove Trolley. Various styles, sizes and colors of heels pushed off of the red oak running boards and hands gripped the custom-cast brass handrails as they boarded the renovated street car, which now ran on electric power. They climbed one of two spiral staircases leading to the upper deck, taking a seat in the open air. Their lofty vantage point afforded them a spectacular view of the colorfully decorated grounds as the trolley slowly traveled along the quarter mile track, making the six and a half minute trip between The Grove and The Farmer's Market and back again.
Eight laughing and still slightly wet women greeted Julian and Jonas who were waiting next to the limo at the valet stand. Before climbing back in, the redhead rested a hand on Julian's arm, beckoning him to lean down. She whispered in his ear, evoking a smile and a slight nod from the big man. "Hey, no fair telling secrets," accused one of the blondes, laughingly.
"Yeah," agreed one of the brunettes.
"Don't worry, all will be revealed," the redhead returned over her shoulder, as she got in the car.
The rest of the women climbed in after her, as Jonas poured another round of drinks. When the limo approached the on-ramp for the Ventura Freeway, Jonas pulled a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket, frowning in confusion as he looked at the list. "I thought our next stop was Deep?" he questioned, referring to the club on Hollywood Boulevard. "Why are we headed to Burbank?"
The redhead turned, looking Jonas in the eye. We'll definitely get around to diving into Deep, but first, there's a little Santa in store," she said with a wink.
Earlier that morning at the Burbank Buy More…
It was a bright day in Burbank and the sun was shining through the sliding glass doors of the Buy More. Green shirts and Nerd Herders alike were lined up, military-style, bearing the scrutiny of assistant manager, Michael Tucker. Big Mike paced up and down the line, his hands behind his back, assessing the raw material he had to work with. He stopped in the middle of the line, starring down a newbie green shirt that was wriggling uncomfortably.
Big Mike placed his hands on his hips as his chin jutting out just a bit, adopting his battle stance. His narrowed, brown-eyed gaze bore down upon the newb, who was now jiggling like Jell-O under the large man's stare. Mike leaned down, getting nice and close. "Son, now none of that," he cautioned. "Do you know what today is, boy?" "Today is the day you grow a pair. Today is the day you become a man. Today is the day that the Buy More Winter Wonderland Village is reborn!" A collective gasp was heard up and down the line.
John Casey, who was standing further down, felt a hot, prickling sensation begin to crawl up his neck as an overwhelming sense of dread overtook him. He kept his eyes focused straight ahead, not daring to even glance in Big Mike's direction. He wanted absolutely no part in this holiday horseshit. Thankfully, before leaving for some much-needed weapons training at Langley, Morgan had scheduled Casey for a partial shift today. Chuck had accompanied Morgan for moral support. Casey started to relax, letting out a sigh of relief, when Big Mike stopped in front of him.
"Now, I've got mark-ups to do, so John, I'm putting you in charge of seeing to it that the Village gets set up properly. The pieces are in crates in the back of the storeroom. Your elves here," he said, gesturing with his thumb toward Jeff, Lester, Fernando, Bunny and Skip, "will help you. And, since you were such a hit last time, the Santa suit is hanging on the back of the break room door for you."
Big Mike started to depart, heading for the foot-long meatball sub waiting for him in his office, when he heard the noise coming from Casey's direction. Casey cleared his throat, carefully constructing his response. Diplomacy was not his strong suit, but for Big Mike, he was willing to make an effort.
"John, is there something you need to say, son?" Big Mike asked as he halted and turned around to face Casey. The expression on his face was clear. He would brook no challenge, not even from one 6'4" John Casey.
"Uh, Big Mike, I'm scheduled off at noon today. Grimes put it on the schedule before he left for the emergency year-end managers' conference," Casey supplied, sticking to the cover-story that had been created to explain Morgan's absence during the most important week in retail.
"I don't know nothing about you being scheduled off today, Casey," Mike sputtered, hands on his hips, clearly flustered over losing the only other man at the Buy More capable of keeping the chaos to a minimum. "You wait right here while I check the schedule," the manager ordered, stalking back to his office at a speed that belied his slimmed down but still bulky size. "Don't move," he threw over his shoulder, casting a final glance at Casey, feeling the other man's desperation to avoid being trapped in the hot, red suit, pretending to be merry while candy, snot and other child-like substances coated every square inch of him.
Casey remained stock still, waiting for the big man to return, while the other employees took advantage of Big Mike's departure to scatter to the four winds. "Cowards," Casey muttered under his breath.
A tick started under the NSA agent's left eye as he watched Big Mike return, schedule in hand, a triumphant smile on his face. "Look here, Casey," Mike crowed, thrusting the schedule at the other man, his finger stabbing the blank white space listed under today's date. "Pure as the driven snow, son. No one is scheduled off on 'Do or Die' Day."
Casey's blue eyes widened, an incredulous look spreading across his face, which would have been comical if the frustration and resentment building up and burning in his gut wasn't about to spew forth. "The bearded Hobbit is going to die!" murmured as the boiling hot rage melted away the gossamer thin layer of calm overlaying his angry red center .
Big Mike had the audacity to chuckle, actually chuckle, as he ambled back to his office to finally attack that foot long.
Casey, arms crossed over his broad chest, reluctantly supervised as green shirts and Nerd Herders sweat and slaved as the Winter Wonderland Village started taking shape in the center of the store.
Next to go up after the long, red carpet runner was laid, was the cozy little log cabin welcoming visitors to the Village. Bunny adjusted the evergreen and holly berry wreath hanging on the front door of the cozy little home and stood back to admire her work. Skip and Fernando were busily decorating the two full-sized Christmas trees that stood proudly on either side of the huge red, gold-gilded velveteen throne that Lester was enthusiastically assembling. Bunny made slight adjustments to the animatronic doe and her little fawn, positioning them just so at the base of one of the trees. Casey turned his back for a few moments to assist two newbie green shirts in erecting the red-roofed portico supported by striped candy cane columns, which loomed over the throne.
The lead singer of Jeffster took advantage of the intimidating Marine's diverted focus and delighted in the sensation of the plush velvety fabric as it slid against his lightly stubbled cheek as he rubbed it back and forth against the cushion of the chair. "Ahh, reminds me of the velvet yarmulke that I wore at my Bar Mitzvah." A nostalgic sigh escaped his lips. "The memories," he whispered, still nuzzling the soft, padded cushion.
Meanwhile, Jeff coated the windows of the faux log dwelling with spray-on snow, drawing silhouettes of busty, naked women in the sticky, quickly-drying substance.
"Barnes! Patel!" Casey barked at the horror that greeted his eyes when he turned around after finishing with the portico. "Listen, morons, get your freak on in private. This is still a place of business, not your personal perverted playground. A low growl resonated within the depths of his throat. "I have to sit there," he spat, with undisguised disgust, as he eyeballed the spot Lester had just finished desecrating. His glare narrowed as he spotted Jeff's artwork in the window. "Barnes, scrape that smut off the sill and start over!"
Lester sidled up to Casey and cleared his throat, daring to pat the larger man on the back. "C'mon, Jonathan, you don't have to pretend to be such a buzz kill, not in front of us," he said, gesturing with his head toward Jeff, who was sullenly cleaning the faux snow from the window. "We know you like to party."
"Yeah, and you like to dress up in costumes, too," Jeff returned, giving Casey a saucy wink.
Costume? The imbecile had the balls to call his dress blues a costume? Casey pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a weary sigh. He didn't even have the wherewithal left to growl. He was never going to live down that dumpster incident, and couldn't believe that he was sentenced to Christmas purgatory with these halfwits again. God, he missed his Special Forces team.
Later that evening at the Buy More…
As the clock struck six, Casey Claus sat upon his velveteen throne, trying his best not to groan. He barely concealed a moan as Skip, Fernando, Jeff and Lester entered the Village dressed as lively elves from head to toe, tapping the curled ends of their boots in the sparkling freshly driven snow blanketing the Village. Dressed in a long, red velvet dress trimmed in white fur, black leather boots, a white-haired wig with a bun crowning the top and tiny spectacles resting on the bridge of her nose, Mrs. Claus, aka Bunny, unhooked the plump red velvet rope, removing the meager barricade that was barely restraining the excited children that were waiting for their turn with Santa.
The red-suited Marine listened carefully and patiently as little girls and boys entrusted him with their Christmas wishes. "Excellent choice young man," Casey complimented one small boy who asked for a model Abrams tank.
He chuckled a bit and his blue eyes widened slightly when a little girl in pigtails wrapped in lacy white ribbons requested that Santa make her baby brother disappear for Christmas.
Several hours later, nigh on ten o'clock, there was finally a lull in the crowd, allowing Casey to assess the damage done to his costume and fluffy white beard. Unlike last year, his beard was free of sticky red and white chunks of candy and his lap was surprisingly dry. Jeff and Lester had minded their Ps and Qs under the threat of death. Bunny, Skip and Fernando stood, bored, playing a holiday-themed version of 'I Spy.' "I spy with my little eye," Bunny started, looking pointedly at Skip, "some Mistletoe." Wordlessly, the tall, red-haired, tree-like elf took Mrs. Claus' hand and led her off to the back of the store where the Christmas kissing plant hung over the threshold of the employee break room.
"Hey, what did I say about getting your freak on," Casey called after them half-heartedly.
The ever present glazed look suddenly cleared from Jeff's eyes and he quirked an eyebrow, a lascivious leer spreading across his face. "I spy with my little eye," he said looking toward the entrance door, "a limo full of hot babes headed our way."
Three other sets of very watchful eyes joined Jeff's as Casey, Lester and Fernando focused their attention on the long, black stretch limo idling in front of the Buy More's entrance door. "Dude, Christmas came early this year," Jeff whispered with reverence, mouth slightly ajar, as eight radiant and joyful women gracefully exited the car.
Three blondes, four brunettes and a redhead paraded through the door, their mission clear, making a beeline for Santa, the jolly dear. "Are we doing some last minute Christmas shopping?" one of the women asked.
"Not exactly, my friend," answered the redhead. "They have a very special Santa Claus here." The woman with the flaming red curls urged her friends forward, and they formed a line, each patiently waiting for their turn with Santa.
Casey's eyebrows rose to meet the bottom of the fleecy white band of the Santa hat resting atop his head, as he assessed the women queued up to greet him. I wonder if they've been naughty or nice," he speculated, gesturing with a large, white-gloved hand to the lady first in line, beckoning her forward.
Sudden recognition overcame Lester. "Jefferson," he wheezed, choking on his own saliva, his panic-filled eyes as large as saucers, "it's her!"
"Her, who?" Jeff questioned, his watery gaze following Jeff's shaking finger, which was pointing at the brunette who was now walking toward Casey.
Lester crouched down low, hiding behind Jeff's bulkier frame. "Our stalker," Lester hissed under his breath, peering out from between Lester's legs.
"C'mon, we need to get out of here," Lester pleaded, now down on all fours, crab walking his way toward the break room.
"Cool, maybe she just wants to party," Jeff replied, staring intently as the woman moved closer.
Lester paused, temporarily ceasing his crustacean-like movements. "Jefferson, snap out of it!" he commanded. "Don't you remember what happened the last time she wanted to 'party?"
"Yeah, I remember," Jeff said, a dreamy smile appearing on his face. "It involved handcuffs."
Reluctantly, Jeff followed his skittering friend to the break room, allowing Lester to barricade them inside. Seeking the only form of sweet consolation available to him, Lester rummaged around in his locker, searching for his ether stash as Lester nervously looked out of the small window in the break room door, still at DEFCON four.
Fernando flanked Casey's right side, a cherubic smile spreading across his rosy cheeks as the brunette gently sat down on Casey's lap, looping an arm around his neck, resting her hand on his broad shoulder. He placed a hand on her hip, steadying her. After the woman settled, Casey attention was drawn to the small pin she wore pinned just below the collar of her dress. "KuryakinGirl," he read, a question forming in his blue eyes.
The soft-spoken woman gave a small giggle as she began to explain. "My friends and I," she said, gesturing to the other women waiting in line, "are writers. Each year," she continued, "we get together to write as a group and to have some fun. We've dubbed ourselves the 'Literary Ladies,' and this is my pseudonym," she supplied, pointing to the name printed on the pin, carefully gauging his face for a reaction.
His eyes lit with approval. "Writing is a dying but definitely needed art," he replied.
"Now, little girl," he asked, leaning in close. "What can Santa bring you for Christmas?"
Feeling warm and secure in this sexy Santa's muscular embrace, she cupped a hand over his ear and shared her secret wish.
"I'll see what I can do, my dear," he said, giving her a squeeze before she bonelessly slid from his lap, managing to stay upright through sheer determination.
"Thank you, Santa," she said, smiling back at him as she returned to the line and the excited chatter of her friends.
Next in line was another brunette, who excitedly ran her fingers through her newly shorn hair as she approached the hottest Santa she had ever seen. She seated herself on his lap with confidence and purpose.
Casey's eyes quickly skimmed her pin. "So, GoddessofBirth, have you been naughty or nice?"
She threw her head back and laughed, the sound music to his ears. "Well, Santa," she prettily hedged, "I've definitely been nicely naughty."
"And what would you like for Christmas?" he asked, his blue eyes filled with mirth.
Temporarily distracted by the feel of his rock-hard thigh under her bottom, she hesitated before answering. Regaining her composure, she whispered in his ear.
A look of comprehension flashed across Casey's face. "That is a tall order, young lady, but one that Santa will most definitely try to fill."
"Thank you," she breathed, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He gave her a hug in return and readied himself for his next lovely visitor.
The petite blonde approached him shyly, hesitating when she reached his side. He held out his hand to her. "It's all right, I don't bite." He cut a glare at Fernando, who was snickering loudly. "Ignore him," he implored, catching the worried look on the woman's face. "He's had a little too much of Mrs. Claus' eggnog," he shared in a stage whisper. A small hand covered her mouth, smothering her giggle as she climbed up on his lap, feeling more at ease.
"Basched," he said, tracing the name on her pin with a fingertip. "That's a very unique name."
"Ah, it's a combination of me two favorite characters, Basch and Ashe, from the game Final Fantasy," she clarified. Casey smiled, captivated by her charming British accent and the way her eyes lit up when she spoke of role playing game.
Settling an arm around the young woman's shoulders, he inquired "What Christmas wish are you holding in your heart, Ms. Basched?"
She blushed as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear as she put her lips to his ear. After finishing her entreaty, she saw the confused look upon his face. Leaning back down, she whispered an amendment. "Ah, I understand," he assured, understanding dawning on his face.
She smiled in delight, kissing his cheek and offering a quick hug. His large, warm hands engulfed hers as he gave them an encouraging squeeze. She hopped off his lap and motioned forward the next one in line.
The tall classy blonde moved forward with grace, sitting down on his lap with fluidity and ease. Casey admired her style and aplomb and felt an urge to tease. "Ms. Raevon, share with me your Christmas needs, and don't forget to say please."
She braced a hand against his broad, muscular chest, reveling in all of that definition and heat. Producing an iPhone from a hidden fold in her dress, she deftly ran her thumb down the screen, tapping a link. She handed the device to Casey, whose brows knit together in concentration as he focused on the illuminated screen.
Her breath hitched, and her heart skipped a beat as a beatific smile lit up his face. "Which model?" he asked, a smirk on his face. "Nice," he said as her wish unfurled in his ear. "I thought you might agree," she replied with a laugh, kissing the tip of his nose as she eased off his lap.
"Your turn," the blonde said, winking at the statuesque brunette now leading the line.
An unnerving sense of déjà vu settled over Casey as the elegant woman with the curly dark hair perched upon his knee. He suddenly had visions of incense and tea. He shook his head to clear his mind. What the hell is happening to me?
"BrandyWine," he breathed the name on her pin, "two of my favorite things. Share with me your deepest Christmas desires, m'lady."
A coy smiled played upon her ruby red lips, as she traced a matching, perfectly lacquered fingernail down the white fringe edging his furry red coat. His eyebrows shot up with great force, nearly unseating his shiny red hat. "Ahem," he cleared his throat. "I think Mrs. Claus keeps those locked up in the back."
Her rich, throaty laugh enveloped them both. "Xie xie, Santa," she said as she lifted his beard and placed a kiss along his finely-sculpted jaw.
The green-shirted newbie standing next to Big Mike stared at Casey in awe after dropping his jaw. The assistant manager thoughtfully assessed the situation unfolding in the Village. "That man definitely has a way with the ladies, son," Big Mike professed. "Always thought that he might," he added.
An athletic blond approached Santa next. "Your pseudonym suits you," he said with sincerity as he gazed upon SunshineAli's sweet and gentle face.
"Thank you," she said, blushing.
"What can I do for you, my sweet dear?" he questioned, drawing her near. "You can whisper it in my ear."
Her arms encircled his neck, and she sighed in blissful delight as she felt two large hands span her waist. She closed her eyes in a dreamy state as the scent of warm, spicy male permeated her senses as she whispered in his ear.
"Very fitting," he assessed after hearing her request. "You will do it proud," he proclaimed, enfolding her in his arms, giving her a hug.
"Thank you, Mr. Claus," she said gratefully, kissing him on the cheek and giving his shoulder a squeeze.
"You're up next, Jellie," Ali said to the next woman in line, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze.
The shy brunette tentatively approached the humongous man sitting atop the massive red throne. "Come sit with me, pretty lady," he requested, his gloved hand extended in invitation.
As she gingerly sat upon his lap, he whispered in her ear, making her laugh.
"Hmmm, JellieRayneLuv," he murmured, a question lacing his voice.
"It's a long story, she laughed," feeling more relaxed and exceptionally comfortable on his well-toned lap.
"So, my love, whisper in my ear and let me know what you want."
She snuggled in close and relayed her hope into the shell of his ear.
"That is a most unique, beautiful and befitting request," he said with an encouraging smile, hugging her warmly.
She hugged him back and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, sliding off his lap and returning to the encouraging squeals of her friends in line.
Last but not least, the redhead sauntered up to the smokin' hot Santa, and seated herself square in the center of his lap.
"NightLotus," he said. "How very Zen. Somehow, thought," he continued, twisting a fiery red curl around his finger, I doubt you have a calm and utterly still center."
A tinkling laugh escaped her lips. "You must be psychic, Santa."
"Nah," he winked, "I just know a kindred spirit when I see one."
He encircled her waist, letting a hand rest on the curve of her hip. "So, I have a sneaking suspicion that you want more than just a new bonsai tree for Christmas."
"You know me so well, Mr. Claus," she confided, her pleasure caressing his ear.
"Exquisite choice, my evening flower," he praised, enfolding her in a heartfelt embrace.
She gripped the curly ends of his fuzzy white beard, easing it down and away from his face, planting a bold kiss in the middle of his strong, sculpted chin. "Namaste," she said with a wink, noticing the blush on his now reddened and smiling cheeks.
And just like a warm summer breeze, the Literary Ladies swept out of the Buy More, leaving holiday cheer in their wake, and a very happy John Casey, who was still grinning from ear to ear.
"Thank you lovely ladies for adding some grace and good cheer to our little store," Big Mike said with gratitude as he escorted the women out to the waiting limo.
"Julian!" Big Mike exclaimed, recognizing the burly driver standing by the side of the car.
"Cuz!" Julian greeted in return, as the men began running, crushing each other in a big bear hug.
As Julian and Big Mike caught up, Jonas ushered the flushed and excited women back into the warm, softly glowing blue, red and purple interior.
"That must have been some Santa, ladies!" Jonas declared.
A collective sigh filled the air, as the sleek black limo sped off into the mild California night.
Big Mike ambled back into the store, noticing Casey stretching his arms and legs as he vacated his thrown. "Not such a bad gig, is it, son?" Big Mike queried, noticing the smile on the tall man's face and the glint in his blue eyes as they tracked the limo that was slowly pulling away from the parking lot.
"Heh. Merry Christmas, Mike," Casey responded, clapping the other man on the back before turning and walking toward the break room to change. Assured that he was out of the big man's earshot, he said loud and clear, "Suck it, Montgomery," I definitely know how to steer.
Christmas Day, Around the World…
Dressed in pajamas, a steaming cup of hot cocoa topped with marshmallows in hand, KuryakinGirl, took a seat by the tree. She and her family exchanged presents with glee. But, there was still one more present left wrapped underneath the mini spruce.
After much discussion, it was determined that no one knew how it got there. Lifting the silvery package in her hand, KuryakinGirl slid her finger under a corner of the metallic paper, easing it free, until curiosity got the better of her and she tore the rest off.
Inside, much to her surprise and delight, she found a copy of the "Inception" script, autographed by Joseph Gordon-Levitt, and a commemorative replica of Dom's spinning totem top.
Now that's a real Christmas coupe, she said, spinning the top.
Having celebrated Christmas with her family a few days earlier, GoddessofBirth was intrigued to find a cream-colored envelope with her name written on the front in black, thick flowing script, waiting for her under the tree.
Breaking the seal, she removed a matching piece of heavy bond stationary, inviting her to attend a private meeting with Susan Kamil, editor-in-chief at Random House. "Bring your manuscript. ~Susan" was scrawled at the bottom of the otherwise neatly-printed note. She would start making arrangements as soon as she was certain that she was no longer in danger of fainting.
Across the pond in Great Britain, propped up under the tree, was a large, hot pink envelope with "Basched" written in neat script. She looked to her boyfriend, who shrugged his shoulders in the universal gesture of 'I don't know.' "It's not from me. But, open it, I can't wait to see."
She ran a letter opener across the seam, gasping as the contents fell into her lap. Still not believing her eyes, and stunned speechless, she continued to stare at the two front row center tickets and two backstage passes to an upcoming Stone Sour concert at Wembley Stadium. "Aww, bless," she murmured, realizing there was only one person from whom these could be.
Back in the U.S., Raevon began to stir. She threw the covers back and leapt from her bed, feeling the pull of the Christmas tree. And what did she find under the needles of scented pine, but a black lacquered case topped with a shiny red bow.
"Oh!" she gasped as she released the latch, and found a Glock 22 RTF2 with specialized scalloped serrations at the sides and rear of the slide, nestled snug within the custom-fitted red velveteen lining. Resting alongside the firearm was a pass for a free day at the range.
Enjoying the customized grip and heft of the gun in her hand, she smiled appreciatively and murmured, "Thank you Santa, not only are you hot, but I bet you're one hell of a good shot."
In the wee hours of Christmas morn, awakened by a soft but sudden noise suffusing the air, BrandyWine padded into the kitchen. All is quiet, she noted with care. She walked to the counter to clear the cookies and milk left out for Santa the previous night and found a clean plate and an empty glass. Awaiting her on the large white china dish was a large, red silken drawstring bag.
After making quick work of the loosely tied bow, she peered in the satiny sack. "Xie xie again, Santa," she said with joy and delight, returning to the bedroom and her sleeping husband to spread some right shiny Christmas cheer.
Arriving home late on Christmas night, after a day spent with family, JellieRayneLuv turned the key wearily in the lock.
Turning on the holiday lights, preparing to make a quick cup of tea, she noticed a small square red box secured with a black lace ribbon waiting for her under the tree. All thoughts of a hot beverage were cast to the side as she slipped two fingers under the ribbon, easing it off the box top with a gentle slide.
She gasped as the contents were revealed. A private fitting at the Bad Attitude Boutique, including a customized wardrobe handmade with fabrics of her choice was her gift.
"Thank you, Santa," she whispered after recovering her voice. You are so sexy and sweet, and this is a mighty fine treat."
Rays of bright, early morning sun bathed SunshineAli's living room in a golden light. The ornaments on the tree sparkled and the cats scattered as she squealed in delight. Parked underneath the towering tree, was a brand new, candy apple red Trex Fuel EX 8 trail bike with a matching glossy helmet.
Still in her robe, she spun the globe standing next to the tree, her finger coming to rest on the home of Saint Nick. "How did you know, Santa, that riding makes me feel so relaxed and free?" she asked with a grin on her face. "Thank you," she said, hurrying off to her bedroom to change into her riding clothes.
Late to bed but early to rise, NightLotus made her way to the tree.
"Oh, there's a little something for me! What could it be?"
A majestic eagle, wings spread wide, sat atop a stars and stripes seal with flowing golden scrollwork underneath. The name 'Wayfare Tavern' was emblazoned in sparkling gold across the front of the heavy vellum envelope. Breaking the embossed burgundy wax seal, she withdrew a private invitation from the head chef himself, inviting her to join him for a seven course meal at the chef's table in the cozily warm kitchen of the newly opened restaurant.
Already planning for her trip to the city by the bay, she paused along the way to give thanks. "Santa you are a true gentleman and a class act, but now I've really got to go pack."
And in answer to the question oft asked by those young and old, yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He just happens to work for the NSA.
~Fin