A/N: For my lovely jscoutfinch as her GF Christmas gift. The cheesy lines are not of my own creation - thank you Google!
All I Want For Christmas
"Well, I am not paying for this disaster." The shrill voice rang in Emma's ears as yet another unhappy mother jabbed her red painted nails at the images on her computer screen. The small girl featured in the photos sniffled beside her mother, the occasional sob still racking her small body. The lollipop in her hand was doing little to calm her and Emma couldn't say she blamed the kid.
This was the kind of thing that turned kids off Santa for good.
It was certainly the kind of thing that was turning her off Santa for good. As she reassured yet another irate customer that of course there would be no charge for the photographs, she caught a glimpse of Santa, slouched in his sleigh, his eyes narrowing at the waiting children.
Not that there were too many of them left. This last mother had been particularly vocal, and coupled with the disconcerting wailing from the little girl, the waiting crowd had definitely thinned.
Where the hell had Mary Margaret found this guy?
Emma stalked towards him, doing everything in her power to look imposing while dressed in green tights and pointy shoes. "Come on, Santa, can you quit scaring the kids?"
Santa looked her up and down derisively. "Tell you what, sister, how about you get with the snappy snappy and I'll bring the Christmas cheer? Last time I checked I'm the one wearing the red suit around here." Emma was well aware she had been dismissed and made her way back to her camera, shaking her head.
"Come on kid, I haven't got all day," Santa barked at the next in line. The little boy was cute as hell, all dark hair and dimpled cheeks, his smile wavering slightly as he approached the sleigh. Santa's eyes flashed as he clambered towards his lap. "Woah, woah, woah, where do you think you are going, kid? On the seat. Don't touch the big guy."
The child's bottom lip had a definite wobble as Emma lined up her shot, hoping that maybe this time she could get a halfway decent picture before all hell broke loose. Again.
It wasn't to be.
Christmas had never been her holiday - years in the foster care system followed by years of bad romantic choices had put paid to that. And yet every year she ended up behind this camera, the only employee of her best friend's promotions company that had the combination of photography and tech skills to run the equipment. And put out the parental fires apparently.
At least last year's Santa was happy.
The little boy was only moments away from meltdown, his parents hovering beside her. The father looked anxious, reassuring his son gently, coaxing him to smile with a stuffed monkey toy he had pulled from a backpack. The mother, on the other hand, was stalking angrily, her heels clicking on the tiled floors.
"This is ridiculous," she snapped at Emma. "Since when is it a picture with Grumpy Claus? If you think for one minute I am paying for this…"
Emma sighed deeply, holding in her desire to snap right back by the finest thread. She took a business card from under the counter and slid it to the dark haired woman. "Ma'am," she said through clenched teeth, "I hear you. But I just take the pictures. Perhaps you should talk to the person who does the hiring?"
"Well if I have anything to do with it, they'll be doing the firing too," she threatened. Her demeanor changed as she spoke to her son, her voice softening as she held out her hand to him. "Roland, sweetie, Santa has to feed his reindeer. We'll come back again when he is less...busy. Let's go." Her husband gathered up the kid and they hurried away, leaving Emma glaring at Santa, who just shrugged his shoulders and wandered off towards the gingerbread cottage that doubled as a break room.
As she placed the "Santa is feeding his reindeer" sign across the entry, Emma felt her body slump. She was not going to make it through two more weeks of this guy - the tiny modicum of Christmas spirit she had draining away with every new drama.
Dragging herself back to the mall the next day was one of the hardest things Emma had ever done. Another day placating angry mothers and crying kids was not anyone's idea of a good time and the temptation to call Mary Margaret and tell her she was sick was strong. Very strong.
Her head pounded harder with every step she took towards Santa's grotto so it was hardly a lie.
The grotto was empty when she arrived, a sigh of relief escaping her at the thought of a few extra minutes before the Santa-wrangling began. A part of her hoped against hope the angry Momma bear from yesterday had made good on her promise to complain and complain loudly, but the chances of soft hearted Mary Margaret actually following it through seemed unlikely.
Emma was surprised to find the door to the gingerbread cottage unlocked when she went to change. She pushed the door open cautiously, before stepping into the small space - and right into the red clad figure that had been obscured by the door.
Strong arms came around her to steady her. "All right there, love?" came a slightly muffled voice, his beard slipping in their collision. Emma sprang back, the voice warm and softly accented and nothing at all like the raspy grumbles she had become accustomed too.
"Who are you?" she asked quickly, taking in the lean frame and the twinkling blue eyes that stood before her, his red jacket hanging open to reveal a form-fitted white undershirt and just the hint of defined abs.
He merely raised a knowing eyebrow at her in reply. Oh good, Emma thought, Grumpy Claus had been replaced with a wiseass. A wiseass with very, very blue eyes that were definitely wandering over her as they stood face to face.
"Let me guess? Santa?" She answered her own question with a sigh. He straightened his beard, revealing soft, pink lips that were quirked up in a grin.
"Well, that is the name I am going by professionally, love." He winked mischievously and Emma rolled her eyes. And fought desperately to ignore the little flip of her stomach that happened at the same time. It had been a long time since she had felt that spark of interest, but there it was, fueling her curiosity about just what she was going to find under that beard.
"And what shall I call you, my elfish offsider?" he asked, holding out his hand to her. She paused before grasping it firmly, afraid to confirm the physical charge that she felt in the room by making skin to skin contact. But as his fingers curled around hers there was no denying the tiny shiver that made its way through her body.
"Emma. Emma Swan," she answered quickly, desperate not to stumble over her own name in the haze. Santa smiled softly, his hand still holding hers although they had long since stopped shaking.
"Well, Emma Swan," he said quietly, the playfulness gone now and replaced with a softer, more sincere tone. "Allow me to secure my rather attractive belly here and I will give you some privacy to get ready." He stepped away from her, placing the padded stomach against his own lean one, securing it with the ties of his jacket. Arms outstretched, he looked questioningly at her.
"What do you think, Swan? Will I pass for the man himself?" In a moment of madness, Emma reached up to adjust his fur trimmed hat, his smile growing as her body came into his personal space.
"You'll do now," she said quickly, hoping the tremor in her voice was not as obvious to him as it was to her. He thanked her softly and made his way out to the grotto.
Emma sank down onto the wooden bench in the cottage, a few steadying breaths required before she faced the holiday onslaught with a very different co-worker. She hadn't even seen his face properly and she was rattled, overtaken by the kind of physical urges she had thought long forgotten. She forced herself into her tights and pointed shoes, mind spinning at the idea of working closely with this Santa.
Pushing her way out into the grotto, she expected to find him seated in his sleigh, but he was nowhere to be seen. A childish giggle grabbed her attention and she turned to find Santa, crouched down on his haunches and deep in conversation with a small blonde girl. The child's face was alight with wonder - certainly the first time that had happened this Christmas season - and her mother's eyes were firmly planted on the man in the red suit. Apparently Emma was not alone in her reaction to the sparkle of those blue eyes and the lilting voice.
That was not a tiny surge of jealousy, either.
She busied herself at her workstation, snippets of his conversation with the little girl drifting back and making her smile despite her best efforts to ignore the effect he was having on her. The mother laughed at something he said, a very different sound to her daughter's giggle and Emma's stomach twisted traitorously again.
"Perhaps I should sit on Santa's knee and tell him what I want for Christmas?" the woman purred, her hand on Santa's arm doing nothing to ease the uncomfortable feeling in Emma's gut. She held her breath for his reaction, but he merely chuckled, ruffled the little girl's hair and walked towards his sleigh. He passed deliberately close to Emma, winking at her before leaning in close to her ear.
"I think that woman is flirting with me, Swan," he whispered, his breath hot on her skin.
"You don't miss a trick, do you Santa?" she muttered back. "If you're lucky you'll get your Christmas wish." Emma regretted the bite in her voice before the words were out but he appeared unconcerned as his eyes ran appreciatively up and down her form.
"She is not what I am hoping for for Christmas, love."
He was in position in the sleigh, looking every inch the jovial old elf, before the flush of heat that made its way up Emma's cheeks at his tone subsided.
She was not even going to consider what he made her hope for, Christmas or not.
"Looks like things are running a little smoother today."
Mary Margaret appeared behind Emma as she was watching Santa convince a shy little boy to come that little bit closer, his voice quiet and reassuring while his smile was warm and real and reflected clearly in his eyes. The child had been clearly reluctant when he had joined the queue with his parents, sobbing intermittently as he waited, his lip wobbling and his grip tightening on his mother's hand with every step closer. Years in this role had made Emma acutely aware of potential disasters and she knew this little guy was only minutes away from full scale wailing.
But she hadn't counted on Santa.
As the child sidled up to him in the sleigh, a wan smile on his face as he climbed up on the seat, Emma turned to her employer.
"Where did you find this guy?"
"Killian?" A name, thought Emma, filing it away for an appropriate opportunity. "We are starting up some pirate birthday parties on a sailing ship and he is going to run them. He was in the office when I fielded a terrible call about Leroy and he suggested he fill in as a sort of job trial as he will be working with kids." Mary Margaret smiled appreciatively as she watched the small boy giggle at him, before giving him a high five and sliding in close for a picture.
"Looks like he passed that test," Emma said as she lined up the shot, casting a quick glance at the happy mother beside her, nodding encouragingly at her son as Santa - Killian - directed his attention towards the camera.
"Oh he's wonderful," the woman gushed. "The best Santa I have ever seen. Lucky you to get to work with him all day." She giggled conspiratorially to Emma. "You'd stay on the naughty list for a voice like that wouldn't you?"
Emma looked to Mary Margaret in a panic, unable to find a way to respond appropriately to that statement. Clearly sensing her friend's discomfort, Mary Margaret grinned at the woman, pulling her a few steps away from Emma. "Oh yes, Killian is wonderful. He's going to be running pirate birthday parties in the Spring on a real ship - perhaps you'd like a brochure? I think there's a picture of him in costume..."
Breathing heavily in relief, Emma couldn't help but chuckle at Mary Margaret's opportunism. She had a feeling, given the volume of well dressed mothers that had come through the grotto today, that the pirate parties would be very popular.
And she wasn't at all imagining those twinkling eyes and the firm torso she had seen earlier in pirate leather. She was not…
"Swan?" His voice brought her back to reality with a jolt. "I would imagine my gallant steeds are parched by this juncture - as am I. Perhaps a break is in order?"
"Sure thing, Killian," she said pointedly and he shook his head sadly, although his eyes were clearly smiling.
"Come now Swan, we all know how the saying goes - if you don't believe, you don't receive." His voice lowered dangerously as he once again moved that little bit closer than necessary. Emma's senses were on alert, her skin tingling at his nearness. "Surely there must be something you want from Santa this year?"
There was no way he could have missed her sharp intake of breath but she was saved from responding by Mary Margaret's return.
"Killian, I am very excited about you," she gushed. "You are going to be a fabulous addition to our company, don't you think Emma?" Emma just nodded, still unsure of her ability to speak in coherent sentences, jumbled thoughts of blue eyes and naughty wish lists still running through her mind.
"Swan certainly looks excited, so we can only hope." This was accompanied by a wink that had Emma wavering between punching him hard and dragging him by the beard and kissing him like he had never been kissed before.
Mary Margaret just laughed at him. "Go and have your break, Santa," she grinned and gave him a shove towards the cottage. As he walked away, she turned her attention to Emma, one eyebrow raised far too knowingly.
Emma busied herself with logging out of the computer but she knew it was a pointless exercise.
"Emma?" her friend started, "Is something going on with you and Santa?" Emma could almost hear the cogs turning in Mary Margaret's head, her eyes shining with the very thought. "Because that would be a great idea. Fantastic. He's perfect, actually."
She had to put a stop to this before her friend called in the caterers. She had her damn phone out already.
"I haven't even seen his face, Mary Margaret! I met him four hours ago. You and David might have this whole 'love at first sight' thing going on, but it's not really my style."
That urge to punch something was resurfacing as she looked at the smug expression on her friend's face.
"But you are attracted to him? Don't deny it, Emma, I saw the way you reacted to him. I know you."
Emma's shoulders slumped. The woman was a relentless relationship tyrant despite her pixie cut and fresh-faced appearance and Emma knew it all too well.
"Fine. There's something hot about that accent and seeing what was under the jacket did...things...to me." She regretted admitting that as soon as the words left her mouth, Mary Margaret's eyes widening. "A bit. But it's hardly love's young dream."
"Leaving the whole 'you saw his pecs' thing aside." The "for now" was heavily implied. "What's the harm, sweetie? He's an attractive guy, you're gorgeous, why shouldn't you have a bit of fun? Live a little, Emma, don't close yourself off to the possibility of love."
No no no. Emma wasn't giving her any traction with the l-word.
"How do I know he's attractive? He could be a troll who works out for all I know."
Mary Margaret tapped quickly on her phone and held out an image to her. She couldn't mistake those eyes despite the expertly applied eyeliner that surrounded them, it was him undoubtedly. But instead of red velvet, he was dressed in tight black leather, shirt unbuttoned deeper than was strictly necessary, showing of a dusting of dark hair on his muscled chest. His dark hair looked wild and windswept - the cynic in Emma wondered how long it took in front of the mirror to look that unkempt - and a carefully manicured scruff covered his chin.
He was possibly the most attractive man she had ever seen. Ever.
"Fuck."
"Indeed," Mary Margaret smirked. "Perhaps you sh…"
Emma held out a hand to stop her mid thought. "Don't you say it. Just stand there and gloat silently. Count the millions you are going to rake in from those freaking pirate parties." Her friend had the good grace to look slightly embarrassed. Emma looked to the gingerbread cottage where she assumed he was changing. She couldn't go in there, not now, not knowing what she knew. She looked down at her tights and elf shoes and sighed, shaking her head.
"Come on," she said. "I'll just go to lunch like this."
They were halfway to a coffee shop before she realised her bag was still in the cottage. Emma looked at Mary Margaret, the satisfied smile on her friend's face clear evidence she was still considering the leather clad gold mine she had discovered.
"By the way, lunch is on you."
It was only the sheer believability that he brought to his role as Santa that got Emma through the next couple of days. She could almost forget the image of the hot as hell pirate when she watched him charm small child after small child - not to mention their parents - the epitome of Christmas cheer crafting perfect opportunities for her to take her pictures every time. She was glad she had made Mary Margaret pay for lunch - at the rate photo sales were going she could damn well buy her several dinners too. Each picture was more delightful than the one before as he worked his magic on the most reluctant of participants.
And none were more more reluctant than Emma herself.
Nevertheless, when he sauntered towards her work station, blue eyes flashing and his lips quirked in a flirtatious grin, she couldn't fight the flush of heat that coursed through her. She had woken more than once in a sweat, unable to remember the details of her dreams but knowing it was him that had set her skin aflame. Normally, she scoffed at a cheesy line, but somehow his collection of Christmas related ones, whether whispered close to her in that lilting accent or brazen as hell in front of a client, made her stomach twist with longing in a most disturbing way.
Emma Swan didn't do flirting - she never had - but something about this man was making the tiny voice of Mary Margaret that lived in her head take over from her common sense.
"What say we join in some reindeer games, Swan?" Her body tingled as he raised his eyebrows at her, his smile wicked but his blue eyes held something slightly different.
Her mouth was moving before her brain had kicked into gear, her voice with a hard edge brought on by her nerves. "I don't think you could handle playing with me, Santa." He paused at that, surprise clouding his features for the briefest moment. Emma looked away quickly, composing herself, preparing herself for his comeback, but when she met his eyes they had softened and he stepped back.
"Quite likely, Swan, quite likely." His smile was tighter as he walked towards the waiting children, summoning the next one to join in him in the sleigh. Emma bit down on her bottom lip, not sure what had shifted but sure that something had.
For the rest of the session, he was busy with a never ending stream of small visitors. He made no move to engage her, his smile still warm and genuine when their eyes met but the cheek and the mischief that she had fought against enjoying for so long was somehow gone. Emma tried not to dwell on how much she missed it.
Just before their day was over, a familiar face appeared in the waiting area. The curly haired boy held his father's hand tightly, his eyes anxious and no sign of the dimples Emma remembered so clearly from his first visit to Santa. The mother who had been instrumental in Killian's appearance was nowhere to be seen, just the father who crouched down next to his son, speaking quiet words of encouragement. When Killian saw the boy's reluctance, he made his way over to the child, holding out a gloved hand for him to shake. With a small shove from his father, the boy walked with Killian to the sleigh, the man pointing out various items around the grotto as the child became comfortable.
Emma watched, still amazed at the power he had to put the most nervous child at ease with his quiet turn of phrase and his gentle humour. It was in such contrast to the flirtatious scoundrel - a persona she had clearly linked with black leather and eyeliner ever since Mary Margaret had shared that picture.
"Well he is just made for this job, isn't he?" The boy's father had come to stand beside her, smiling happily at Killian and his boy as they patted the reindeer that stood next to the sleigh."When he said he was doing this, I laughed," the man continued, his accent not unlike Killian's. "He's not been one for Christmas for a long time. But he has always had a way with Roland."
Emma was surprised. "You know him?" she asked.
The man looked her up and down, a warm smile breaking out on his face. "You must be Emma," he said, and she nodded curiously. "Oh yes, of course you are." He paused and shook his head apologetically. "How rude of me. I'm Robin Locksley, long time friend of Mr Claus over there."
Emma shook the proffered hand, still unsure how he knew her name. A fact that was obviously evident on her face as he continued. "Our man there has told me all about you - doesn't shut up about the gorgeous lass he is working with…" His voice trailed off and he looked sheepishly at Killian, who was still so involved with Roland that he hadn't noticed the adults talking, before looking back at Emma. "Probably shouldn't have mentioned that. Our secret, love?"
"Sure, sure," Emma said, busying herself with her camera as Killian and Roland settled themselves in the sleigh. She was not sure what to make of the fact he had talked about her to his friend, not now that something seemed to have subtly changed between them. She snapped a collection of pictures, keeping herself focused on the boy throughout. Robin chatted easily with her, his natural friendliness making up for any lack of conversation on her part.
The pictures finished and printed, Killian waved good bye to Roland, winking surreptitiously at his father before stopping at her workstation. "Another day done, Swan. I'll not keep you hanging around, I'm sure you have plans this close to Christmas." Before she could answer him, he was headed towards the gingerbread cottage, Emma watching helplessly as he went.
Mary Margaret's voice was all but shouting in her head, reminding her to take a chance, to have some fun. She packed the equipment away quickly, steeling herself to step outside her comfort zone and break every man-related rule she had worked so hard to develop. She stood at the door to the cottage, taking several deep breaths before she pushed it open.
He was standing in just his red trousers and close fitted undershirt, his beard and hat abandoned on the bench beside him. All the words that had been on the tip of Emma's tongue left her for a moment as she realised Mary Margaret's picture had understated the effect of the man in person. His hair was tousled and untidy as if he had run his hands through it repeatedly, something Emma felt an unmitigated urge to do herself at that moment.
Her eyes ran hungrily down his torso, unable to contain the need to drink him in, want screaming through every fibre of her being. But somehow, he seemed not to realise the effect he was having on her, stepping towards her with sadness in his eyes.
"Emma, I wanted to apologise for my poor form," he began. "Clearly I stepped over a line with my flirting and the last thing I wanted to do was upset you. I confess it has been some time since a woman made me...well, suffice it to say I found myself a little out of my depth and if I have offended you I am sincerely sorry." Emma's eyes widened as she began to comprehend his words. He thought she was offended, that the sharpness in her attempt to flirt back was something other than her own insecurity at play. It was almost laughable…
"Swan?" He had stepped closer again, doubt still darkening his blue eyes. Her decision was made in a moment - ever a woman of action rather than words, there seemed only one way to make it clear how wrong he was.
She fisted her hands in the fabric of his undershirt, pulling him towards her as her lips crashed into his. His body tensed momentarily, before she felt his arms come around her and he relaxed into the kiss. The spark between them was unlike anything she had ever felt, his mouth working hungrily against hers before she parted her lips and allowed his tongue entrance. His hand found its way to her hair, tangling in her blonde curls as he deepened the kiss, her fingers tensing and releasing his shirt as heat pooled in her belly.
When they stopped to breathe, she bit at his bottom lip playfully, eliciting a longing moan from him that did nothing to slow her desire. With the hand still anchored in her hair, he angled her head gently, his lips working their way down the long column of her neck, nipping and nuzzling every inch of skin. His lips moved against her as he spoke. "So you're not upset then, love?"
Emma shook her head, walking him back towards the bench seat and pushing him down before lowering herself into his lap. Her hands went to his dark hair, fingers tangling in it as she found his lips again. His arms snaked around her waist, holding her hard against him as their tongues curled around each other in a game of give and take that left them both breathless. Emma could feel the hard ridge of him against her, clearly wanting her as much as she wanted him. It was all she could do not to grind herself against him, seeking relief from the desire that had set her whole body aflame.
She heard her name slip breathily from him she started to move above him, her need so strong she could no longer ignore it. His hands gripped her hips, slowing her movement as he nuzzled his nose against hers, steadying the pace as they both breathed deeply. "We need to slow down, love," he whispered. "God knows I want you, but not like this." He pulled back slightly, his thumb caressing her cheek as he peppered her skin with soft little kisses.
Emma knew he was right but the pout came unbidden, and he chuckled as he ran his thumb along her bottom lip before kissing her gently once more. He rested his forehead against hers, fingers making lazy circles against her lower back as they sat together. "Let me woo you, Emma. You deserve more than some hurried assignation in a flimsy shed." His voice was still deep with desire, and Emma sighed deeply as she kissed him one last time, her lips lingering as long as she could manage.
She stood, one hand caressing his cheek as she did. He captured it in his, placing a kiss on her palm as his eyes locked with hers before releasing her. They said nothing as she prepared to leave, Killian's eyes following her every move as a soft smile played on his lips.
"Till tomorrow, then?" he said as she made her way out the door.
"Tomorrow."
She saw the unfamiliar object on her workstation well before she reached it. The Christmas themed reusable cup was steaming as she picked up the card that sat in front of it. The handwriting was looped and beautiful, somewhat of a contrast to the message.
Swan.
If you were one of my reindeer, you'd undoubtedly be Vixen.
Santa xx
Emma snorted at the line, her stomach doing a little flip of anticipation as she looked around for him. She took a sip from the cup, the taste of hot chocolate just the way she liked it bringing a smile to her face. Killian was nowhere to be seen as she put her things away in the cottage, a flood of warmth coursing through her as she remembered their moment from the night before. Nor did he appear as she set up the equipment, her mind racing at the novelty of a man who went to this effort for her. It had been a long time since…
Who was she kidding? No man in her life had ever gone to this effort for her.
As the line to see Santa was starting to form, he appeared in full costume, eyes lighting as he saw her. She tipped her cup to him with a grin and he bowed ridiculously.
"Shall we spread some Christmas cheer, Swan?" he asked, waving to the waiting kids.
"I think you already started, Santa," Emma laughed as he made his way to his sleigh to start their day.
It was the same each morning - a gift and a card waiting for her as she arrived at work, no sign of the man himself until it was time to start the day.
One day it was a small box containing a glass swan ornament with the message, "Do you celebrate Boxing Day, Swan? Because you look like the complete package."
On another, two small notebooks entitled "Nice" and "Naughty". The card said only two words. "You choose."
With each passing day, Emma felt herself more drawn to him. It was no longer the heady pull of lust, though the urge to kiss him senseless yet again came over her from time to time, as the spiced scent of his cologne wafted past her in the grotto or he sidled past that fraction too close to be strictly professional - now she sought the comfort of his company, his friendship, just as much as the heat of his kiss.
She suspected there was a word for what she felt - but like would do for now.
On Christmas Eve, Emma found a well-loved copy of the Grinch wrapped on her table, his words inscribed on the first page.
What's the difference between you and the Grinch? The Grinch just stole Christmas, but you've stolen my heart…
As always, he was nowhere to be seen as she put the gift away carefully, running her fingers over the flourished writing before she did. He was already chatting to a group of children when she emerged, giving her a quick wave and a hopeful smile before returning his attention to his small visitors.
The day stretched on interminably, as Christmas Eve is wont to do, made worse by the unrelenting stream of kids desperate for one last chance to finalise their Christmas lists. There was no moment for them to relax, to drop their Christmas personas for even a second and be themselves, to enjoy the newness of what was growing between them.
When the last of the children had gone home, eyes shining with excitement, and the mall staff scurried back and forth finishing last minute tasks before they could go home, Emma and Killian looked at one another and smiled.
"Time to pack up and go home, Swan?" he asked. Emma looked around at the grotto, an idea firming in her mind. Grabbing a small remote from her camera, she walked towards him, a wicked grin on her face. Killian raised an eyebrow curiously at her as she came towards his sleigh.
"I haven't had my turn to tell you what I want for Christmas, Santa," Emma breathed, relishing his expression as it changed from confusion to understanding. His smile turned feral as he inclined his head at her, beckoning her over to him.
"Well then, love, you better come and sit on Santa's lap and do just that." Emma wasted no time, settling herself on him and snaking her arms around his neck. He wrapped his own around her waist, and she pointed her remote at the camera and snapped a series of pictures. Realising her plan, his expression softened just a little as he pulled her in close for one or two more.
Emma shifted herself on his lap, moving her body deliberately to maximise the contact between them. He nipped at her ear, before growling at her. "So what do you want for Christmas, Emma?'
The way he said her name made her skin tingle, deep and wanting, and she hit the remote again as he nuzzled longingly at her neck.
"It's actually less of a what,'' she breathed as he nipped at her earlobe, "and more of a who do I want for Christmas."
She slowly pulled down his beard, and lowered her lips to his. His fingers worked their way into her hair, pulling her in and deepening the kiss until their tongues clashed furiously together, every part of Emma's body alive at the touch of this man who was so much more than she had ever imagined.
Her finger pressed the remote again and again, wanting to remember this moment, the day when Christmas became just that little bit more. She pulled back from him slowly, pressing soft kisses to his cheeks, the tip of his nose, his forehead as he held her tight. She leaned in close to his ear, feeling him shudder as her warm breath tickled the sensitive skin, her lips moving against him as she spoke.
"So Santa, I hear you always come on Christmas Eve," she whispered into his ear. He leaned back, the initial shock on his face giving way to unbridled lust as she snapped the remote over and over, laughing as he launched himself at her for one more breathless kiss. His hand grasped hers, wrestling control of the remote from her as he did.
He looked knowingly at her, staring her down as his eyebrow lifted in an obscene display of sex. "Oh I won't be the only one, Swan," he said, enunciating each word precisely as he pressed the camera remote himself. "I have the stamina of a jolly fat man - I can go all night."
As she pulled him by the hand towards the gingerbread cottage, she had every intention of making him prove it.
