A few days after Kurt's Christmas party, he's moaning the fact that he didn't get to defile his beautiful tree.

But that's easily fixed.

On his hands and knees, head bowed in compliance, Sebastian tries not to stare as Kurt wraps a string of Christmas lights around his body starting from the ankle of his right foot, up his leg, around his waist and torso, traveling back down his left leg, where he plugs the male end into a nearby extension cord. Sebastian is familiar with this string of lights. They're the same sharp bulbs attached to green wire that Sebastian wore when he served as Kurt's Christmas tree days before. Thinking about that night makes his body sickly cold, all the way down to his toes. It wasn't being Kurt's Christmas tree, as exhausting as that was, that was the most difficult for him, but being tortured by Elliott. Fucking Elliott. And even then, the hand crushing a cage of spikes around his cock didn't hurt most, regardless of the fact that it bled.

It was being told that he was replaceable. Being reminded that, eventually, he would leave, and Elliott would have Kurt to himself.

That he would put Kurt's pieces back together.

But, if he's being the tiniest bit petty, Sebastian is here with his Master, alone, naked and preparing for domination …

… and Elliott isn't.

That's a victory as far as Sebastian is concerned.

The clips return to his nipples, but they've changed. Instead of light, feathery partridges, these clips have sparkly red Christmas balls dangling from them … and they're weighted. They pull at Sebastian's nipples after Kurt lets them go, the pinch deepening as their teeth dig in to remain attached. Kurt hangs a few more (purely decorative) Christmas balls to the wires, then strings red and gold garland around his shoulders. Considering how meticulously Kurt is decorating him, how much attention he's putting into recreating the look from that night (plus a few additions), Sebastian can't help wondering: "Are you planning another party, Master?"

"Yup." Kurt takes a quick swig from a bottle of honey mead he'd opened before they'd started, one that Marley had hooked him up with at the party. Apparently, she and her sub make their own - raise the bees and everything. Sebastian was surprised when Kurt told him, and that's when Sebastian realized he still has a lot to learn about this lifestyle. He has to stop being surprised when Kurt reveals tidbits like this to him. People are people. They have all sorts of interests. What they do behind closed doors doesn't change or taint that.

For example, it is possible to raise champion show poodles (the way Adam does) and still be involved in the "kinky" lifestyle. Being a Dom doesn't make him any less respected in the American Kennel Club circuit.

Sebastian's drink of choice is Courvoisier. He tends to steer away from what he considers frou-frou "dessert" alcohols. He believed they weren't manly enough or something. But he loves the taste of mead on his Master's lips – the heat it lends to his mouth, the sweetness the honey adds to the sharp flavor of cloves and marijuana when Kurt smokes a little too much.

"A party of two. Just you and me, preppy. I didn't get to fuck my beautiful Christmas tree last time. I'm making up for that right now."

"I … didn't know that fucking trees was something you did, Master," Sebastian teases.

"Normally not, smart ass," Kurt says, smacking his boy's cock playfully hard. "But because it's you, I'll make an exception."

Kurt doesn't put the angel back on Sebastian's head, but he fixes a collar around his neck – thick, black leather with bells encircling it that jingle when Sebastian moves. The simple slide of leather against his skin has Sebastian melting into his Master's touch, makes him as relaxed as if he were drinking Kurt's mead or taking a hit off his bong.

It's the trigger to that internal switch that automatically puts him into submissive mode with no foreplay or commands involved. Once Kurt puts a collar around his neck, no matter what it looks like or what it's made of, that's a signal to Sebastian's entire body that he's owned. That he belongs.

And he behaves accordingly.

"There. That way we won't need to put on any background music. You'll be our radio."

"Yes, Master."

When Sebastian is adorned to his Master's liking, Kurt starts in on himself, putting similarly belled leather cuffs around his biceps and thighs, a leather bulldog harness on his chest, topping the look off with a fluffy red Santa hat on his head.

It's difficult to focus on Kurt getting dressed with Sebastian's eyes aimed down his own body. Sebastian has never been quite so decorated for sex before. It feels awkward, yes. Uncomfortable, definitely. But it's also an intoxicating combination of sexy and endearing. This is how Kurt wants to see him. Kurt had wanted to fuck him like this days ago. He missed his chance, but he's not going to let that stop him.

He knows what he wants, and he takes it. And right now, Kurt wants Sebastian.

That's a humbling feeling, but it's a powerful one, too.

Part of him wants to preen over being on display, wishes that Kurt would invite his guests back over, especially Elliott, so they can watch Kurt fuck him, wrapped in Christmas lights and garland, on his hands and knees. He wants them to see how much Kurt enjoys him as something other than an object, like those subs who spent the party acting as tables and chairs. And besides, Sebastian loves having an audience. Not like before when having people watch him was a simple taboo, screwing guys under the bleachers or in the back seats of their cars (never his, theirs) in the hopes of getting caught, to show how few fucks he actually gave. It made him feel badass. He never realized how much of an honest-to-God exhibitionist he was until Kurt fucked him on his stage in front of one of the largest crowds Pavarotti's Prison has ever seen.

Kurt looks Sebastian over, leaning left and right to drink him in from all sides. He shakes his head. Even though his baby boy is quite exquisite from the back, the front is where the party is.

"Let's switch this up." He tugs Sebastian's hips to relocate him. "I think I want to lie back and look up at you. This way I can see all of your pretty decorations." He knocks the Christmas balls together, but thinks - Like your smiling face. And your gorgeous eyes. And your delectable o-face ... Kurt re-positions himself on the mattress with his head on his pillows, then directs Sebastian on top of him, straddling his hips. He tosses Sebastian a condom and a bottle of lube, and while Kurt reaches over to his bedside table for his pack of cloves and a lighter, Sebastian gets to work rolling the condom on Kurt's cock and lubing him up. "Why don't you sit on that, preppy?" Kurt says when he's done, lighting the clove sandwiched between his lips. He watches Sebastian with hawkish eyes as he lifts himself up, spreads his cheeks, and carefully inches his way down his Master's cock - the bob in his Adam's apple when he swallows, adjusting to Kurt's girth, that mirrors the bobbing of his cock (which Kurt has left uncaged); the quick exhalation of breath through Sebastian's nostrils as he slows; and his sigh when he settles in his Master's lap. For a boy who thought that riding a man like this would make him a bitch, this feels like heaven for him.

It feels like perfection.

"Don't move yet," Kurt commands, glancing at his full-length mirror. He sees the two of them, posed like the holiday edition of some raunchy porn mag, and chuckles at the absurdity. "Now don't we look charming? I should take a picture. Make this my Christmas card."

"Yeah - a rough trade Santa and his demented reindeer," Sebastian remarks, taking a good long look for himself as Kurt grabs his cell phone and starts snapping off pics. God, they look ridiculous! But Sebastian loves every frickin' second of it.

Especially being immortalized.

He doesn't know what Kurt actually intends on doing with those pics, but as long as he has them, Sebastian doesn't care.

If Sebastian has to leave, maybe this is one way Kurt can keep him.

"Except in this scenario, Santa doesn't ride the reindeer, the reindeer rides Santa." Kurt shoves his phone underneath his pillow and smacks Sebastian's ass. "Ho-ho-ho, preppy. Giddy up."