Mistral-PG13, Alias-Vaughn
Peregrine (E. Klisiewicz)

Rated PG13 for language and sexual innuendo.

mistral: a cold, dry, northerly wind common in southern France and neighboring regions.

Summary: Vaughn's thoughts on Alice, office Christmas parties, and the meaning of life and death.

So, backtracking again. The party draws closer. Memos proliferate. Donate items to the local food pantry. Open our pockets (if not our hearts) to local charities. Drop off presents for homeless kids. Sign up to bring in food. I add cookies (store bought) to the growing list. Join a group of office carolers to bring joy to the entire office (I kid you not).

Tacky decorations appear on every pole and cubicle wall. Strings of dime store lights. Plastic snowmen and eight not so tiny reindeer, complete with Rudolph's Jimmy Durante schnozz. Elevators and hallways full of canned holiday tunes, competing with Muzak for the snooze award. And in Martha's office, the piece de resistance: a life-sized crèche with animated figures.

Detailed instructions appear on my desk: the care and feeding of elf hats. As I examine my pointed little head in the glare from my monitor, I notice that something finally overshadows my nose (for once). That's when I hear the door open, followed by an amused cough.

"Hey."

It's her. Hair swept into a ponytail, lissome curves covered in black silk. Two steps closer and I catch her scent as she drops into a chair, dimples deepening when I start flushing. The hat disappears into a drawer and I attempt to form a coherent sentence, slightly intoxicated from yet another whiff of her perfume. Pure heaven in a bottle (ask Will what it is; gift problem solved). "So what brings you here?"

"Paperwork," she says with a groan. "You know, for Kashmir."

"Right." My head bobs like a dashboard dog and I start craving my coin, which I've vowed to give up. Needing (and not having) its focus, I actually meet her gaze, startled by the flecks of green and gold in those hazel depths. "So, the party…I saw your name on the food list."

"You sound surprised." And she sounds flattered that I'd notice at all. Can't tell you what that does to me, all dry mouth and rumbling stomach.

I nod. "It doesn't seem like your thing."

She smiles nervously and I watch the way she knots her fingers together, telling me she's not immune, that maybe I make her a little nervous. "It isn't, but…things have changed since last year."

Good answer. And we're not even on Family Feud. "Did Martha try recruiting you?"

Her fingers form into antlers and her smile reappears. "She failed. What about you?"

I show her the hat. "Santa's little helper."

Syd's eyes take me in, crossing the breadth of my shoulders and stopping on my lips. "I beg to differ," she offers huskily.

My breath catches at the predatory look that flashes across her face. "Maybe I'll see you there."

"Maybe." She raises her arms and I gulp when her shirt stretches across her breasts. A clear view that confirms my deepest fantasies. High, tight, and very sweet, unrestrained by a bra of any kind. Heat shoots straight to my groin and I am grateful for the cover of my desk. Syd stands and the shirt works loose from her trousers, revealing a quick flash of her perfectly sculpted abs. I swallow again and try to bury the thought that she is also aroused, that I am only imagining the flare of her nostrils and the fine beads of sweat on her forehead.

The space between us grows very small and hot, thick with ropes of sexual tension that I long to break in the only way I know how, wanting to bury my face in her hair and subsist on the taste of her skin against my lips. With a tremulous smile, I say, "In case you don't make it…"

Her fingers find my hand and her thumb caresses my palm softly. The breath catches in my throat when she says, "Happy holidays…Michael."

The crash of cymbals breaks my reverie and I see we've reached our destination. And she waits, huddled against the cold in a long black coat, chestnut hair cascading in waves to her shoulders. With a glad smile, I close the door on speed metal and open the door to new possibilities, forgetting for a moment that Alice is waiting at the Plaza, expectant and deserving far better than I am giving her. But for now, I am where I want to be.